Spiller Creek to Twin Lakes

Looking back to Horse Creek Pass

The wind picked up and howled throughout the night. It continues now this morning. Our broken-zipper doors face directly into the wind, so our tents, and even sleeping bags, blow up like crazy clown balloons. Although very cold, it is a dry wind, for which we are very thankful. The moon, nearly full, was so bright last night it kept us up. No bother. We are up now, and today is moving day.

We pack, have our last wilderness breakfast, and begin to stroll up the gentle slope of Spiller Creek. It is deceptively simple, for beyond Horse Creek Pass, the 33rd and final pass, is a long nasty run of talus and scree. Kevin points out that it would not be the Sierra High Route without it. There are occasional social trails, which appear and disappear without explanation. I am ready for this to be over, but it is not.

Twin Lakes Marina

We begin thinking about Terri, my uber wife, Kevin’s uber mother, and at this important moment, our uber driver.  Will she be waiting for us, or will we be waiting for her?  Her track record from the PCT is good, but Kevin is not giving good odds on the over/under.

As we drop down Horse Creek, the talus begins to thin, and the trail begins to thicken. There are now trees and switchbacks. We begin to see more and more hikers.  A few people ask, “Where are you coming from?” It is too long a story. Besides, right now all we care about is: where we are going… to Twin Lakes, to cold drinks, to showers, to laundry, to pizza, and home.

This all started 20 days ago, in Kings Canyon, at a place called Road’s End. And now, as we reach the other End of the Road, we celebrate… and wait for our driver. About 20 minutes it turns out. We are sure glad to see her.

End of the Road Celebration

Cascade Lake to Spiller Creek

We wake as we knew we would, cold and wet. The melted snow is now frozen water, on the ground, on our tents, and condensed inside our tent. Our water bottles are frozen. The stars are still out, which is a good sign our closest one will also appear and begin drying us out.

We stay hidden in our frozen tent caves until actual sun rays reach us. We slowly move things around, brush them off, and position them appropriately for the sun god. It is 9:30am by the time we get going, and we have to stop for non-frozen water to filter, so it is closer to 10:00am when we start our assent of Sky Pilot Col.

Sky Pilot Col

Sky Pilot Col feels like a triple by-pass. First we scramble up to a tarn. Second we scramble up nasty talus blocks, which keeps getting steeper. It is like the sloped wall in American Ninja Warriors. Third we scramble up loose scree, which keeps getting even steeper and looser. The ground is so unstable, each step forward involves some sliding backwards. There are times we slide further backwards than we stepped forward.

Looking forward from Sky Pilot Col

The view at the top is amazing, but even more amazing – my phone starts dinging with messages from Terri. I didn’t even know I was not in airplane mode. I try to call, but that fails. The few text messages that went through made it seem we were on track to be picked up tomorrow. It sounds great, though frankly, we have lots of miles and elevation left to do to make that happen.

The trip down from Sky Pilot Col was crazier than the up. The down can only be described as a series of bone chilling avalanches. Each step was a complete mystery. It could be a normal step on reasonably stable scree, or it could be the beginning of a Mister Toad’s wild ride, as a large section of rock appears to liquify and make a run for it.

Looking back at Sky Pilot Col

The steepness eventually becomes more reasonable, and the avalanches less frequent. Instead we faced miles and miles of miserable boulder and rock hopping. It seems like we are killing ourselves, and yet have so little mileage to show for it.

We eventually reach Shepard Lake, where we take a break and snack. We continue down towards Virginia Canyon. The journey is through mazes of willows, and eventually a not so pleasant crashing through the forest. Each step down is made more painful because, as soon as we reach the bottom, we will cross the creek and climb right back up over 1,400 feet of elevation.

The climb up out of Virginia Canyon for me is miserable. The forest is steep and thick. We are constantly zig zagging, trying to get over logs, around brush, and over rocks. You really can’t see the forest for the trees, and the maze offers no feeling of progress. I need to stop for physical and mental breaks. I can tell Kevin is worried we will not be making the necessary miles to get out tomorrow.

Soldier Lake

We eventually break out into open granite and I get a second wind. We press up to Soldier Lake, where we fill a water bottle and move on up past Grey Butte. We are now staring across at Stanton Pass. It looks ridiculously steep, with impassible cliffs, but given that this is our 32 pass, and we felt the same way about most of them, we just shrug our shoulders and press on. We dip down to a tarn, where Kevin fills a bottle, and we start up. Our GPS waypoints indicate we should move right, but Kevin likes the look of a ramp/ledge on the left. We traverse to it, and eventually slide into place a little above the pass, but perfectly.

Stanton Pass to Spiller Creek

From Stanton Pass, we can now see Spiller Creek, our goal for the night. Like most passes, the down side seems way worse than the up. There are several “you have got to be kidding” moments. At one point, Kevin falls, flinging one of his trekking poles on an amazing flight. The slope eventually un-slopes a bit, and we struggle the rest of the way down, with Kevin reminding me it is past his mountain bedtime.

We crash through brush and willows, and find a flat spot in the valley. We setup camp, cook, and retire to bed, knowing we have only one more pass, and we should be done by tomorrow.

Tuolumne Meadows to Cascade Lake

We again wake in total darkness. Getting any early jump in September is difficult. I pack up and visit the flush toilet one last time. After consuming muffins we purchased yesterday at the store, we now need to get back to the trail. Roper warns of a potential river ford, which given the drought is probably not a problem, but we road walk just in case. The lack of any walking space next to the road, makes it more exciting than the wilderness.

We reach the Gaylor Lakes trailhead and head up. Across a meadow we see a huge black bear. This time there is no confusion with a dog. If the bear stood up, he would look exactly like you’d expect a Sasquatch to look.

Great Sierra Mine

We next work our way up a steep slope to the ruins of the Great Sierra Mine. Rock structures, in somewhat disarray, are scattered about. The walls are extremely thick, which according to Roper means they worked the mine in the winter as well. We go over Mine Shaft pass.

Dark clouds are forming around us. The 40% odds are starting to seem low.

To avoid dropping all the way down to Fantail Lake, we make a massive traverse left, across unstable talus. We then drop down a wacky chute to Spuller Lake. It begins to snow off and on, and the storm is clearly catching up to us from behind. We consider pitching tents and hunkering down, but it is only noon. We agree to push on to Maul Lake and consider our options before facing the Spuller-Maul Pass.

After a snack, we figure we have nothing to lose, other than our lives, so up we go. The snow gets serious, pelting bean bag stuffing, sleet, and fluffy flakes. It is as if Mother Nature is trying to get our attention, but we are not listening.

Spiller/Maul Lake Pass

At the top of the pass, it is clear going down the other side without a flying squirrel suit is not possible. We travel up and to the left, until we find a class 2 chute of talus we can negotiate down. The sky is darkening and the snow intense-ing. We pass by Conness Lakes, and scramble over a small saddle towards Cascade Lake. It is so stormy now, we cannot even see the lake, nor anywhere to camp. We duck into a small rock cave, to wait out the worst, and consider our options. No longer moving, we are now cold, so we snack, change into rain gear and add layers.

At a brief break we pitch our tents, but it starts snowing again. There is an inch of snow now on our tents. Once set, we return to our dry rock cave and cook Indian Curries with rice. The snow stops again, and we slip into our tents. We are well satisfied with today’s milage, but realize breaking camp tomorrow may take longer than usual.

Lyle Fork to Tuolumne Meadows

I wake in total darkness and begin packing up. I am hoping to get an early jump on what seems like a long day. Kevin, however, seems less concerned. My packing does not seem to disturb him in the least. He eventually comes around, and we are on the trail by 6:30am.

We begin a long upward traverse along spectacular cliffs overlooking Lyell Creek. We are salmon headed up against a sea of Conservation Corp trail workers, coming down to work the Isberg Pass Trail. We eventually come upon their massive encampment, with comically large everything: huge tarp buildings, pots I could climb into and bathe, giant hanging ladles. It reminds me of Buster Keaton cooking in the galley of an huge abandoned ship. Well, I doubt it would remind anyone else, but it does me.

Vogelsang Pass

We then drop down the zig zaggy switchbacks to Lewis Creek. We snack, with me dreading the long up towards Vogelsang Pass. It takes several more snacks, electrolytes, and Kevin’s patience to get me to the top. After a brief rest, we meander down and over the gentle Tuolumne Pass.

From Tuolumne Pass, the rest of the day is a long, long down by Rafferty Creek. The creek, however, is missing one key ingredient: water. The down is easier on me than the up, but the trail has a nasty design. Every 10 or so feet, there is a massive granite block/drop. I am sure it is designed to prevent erosion, but it is momentous and painfully jarring on my internal organs, which it turns out is most of them.

We drop down into Tuolumne Meadow, and join the PCT/JMT for a march to the campground, and more importantly, the Post Office, store, and hamburger joint. The hamburgers are mediocre at best, but our standards are pretty low. Both our packages are at the PO, so we will have food for the next leg, and a SPOT so Terri will know when and where to get us.

We are now trying to sleep in the $6/person backpackers campground. A ranger is doing his best to host a rousing campfire program about trees, which to us, is way more noise than we actually want. He just told the crowd there is a 40% chance of thunderstorms the next few days. I really do not like this chipper ranger.

Tomorrow we start the final leg of our trip, thunderstorms or not.

Twin Island Lakes to Lyle Fork

We wake with tents and sleeping bags wet with condensation, making for a slower than usual start. We climb up and around the higher Twin Island Lake, to the outlet. We head southwest around a steep ridge, then head northwest, trying to gain elevation towards an unnamed lake. The steepness of the side slope and required gain is more than I expected. I can feel myself struggling. Today just might not be my day.

Bench towards Blue Lake Pass

After a snack and break at the lake, we have another massive side slope, where we target a notch on the ridge. It is a mindless talus and scree traverse. The views down into Bench Canyon are spectacular, with one problem; we have to figure out how to get down there. The GPS waypoints make it look like a straight shot, but it isn’t.  We zig zag down loose talus to the bench. Down like this is not the long gentle down you feel like you earned after a grueling up. This was a grueling down.

The bench is relatively flat, so we enjoy a reasonable stroll through beautiful country. The creek is fairly dry, and big trout are trapped in short runs and shallow pools. Kevin again is sure we should give them purpose by eating them.

Blue Lake from Blue Lake Pass

We then hump it up a much steeper incline to Blue Lake. Black clouds are again forming in the classic Sierra thunderstorm manner. I would love to rest at the lake longer, but we push forward to avoid being caught in lightning, on the treeless pass, holding metal trekking poles. Roper describes this pass as “remarkably easy,” which we seriously doubt staring at it. The boulder hopping and granite slabs seem straight up. Within a half hour, however, we are standing at the top, remarking, if only to give Roper his due.

Talus below Blue Lake Pass

As we scramble down from Blue Lake Pass, it begins to rain. Talus boulders are hard enough to hop dry, but when wet, the fun really begins. We now hear thunder, and the rain thickens, then hardens into out right hail. At the bottom is a small lake and a couple of good sized granite blocks. We set up a temporary refuge under the rocks. We keep our packs and clothes relatively dry, as we make a tortilla wrap lunch. Birds keep flying to our rock shelter entrance, then squawking when they see us. This must normally be their thunderstorm shelter. The thunder and hail are strong enough to keep us hunkered in place for about an hour. This is not helping us with my aggressive mile schedule for the day.

We repack all our gear in plastic compactor trash bags, put on rain pants and jackets, and head out in it. The sky has lightened where we are, but where we are headed it looks like all hell is breaking loose. We plow along a broad plateau, above a very steep cliff line. We push forward, knowing at some point we have to drop down. Kevin, who is well ahead of me, startles what he thinks is a large dog, but I am sure is a small bear. There is, after all, a lot of bear scat around.

We give up on finding a logical way down, and begin illogically plowing down a steep covered forest. Half walking and half falling, we make it to a valley floor. We are suppose to cross the faint Isberg Pass Trail. My GPS shows us right on it, but we never see it. We search wide in both directions, far beyond what we assume is the margin of error. We then track via GPS to the top of the chute where the trail should be, but still can’t find it. Skurka warns us not to go off the trail, which only adds insult to injury. We follow various social trails in multiple directions, but none make sense. Standing on a cliff edge, Kevin sees a clear trail far below, but how to get there is unclear. We have to go back up, and do some serious traversing to finally reach it. By the time we zig zag down the now totally easy trail, we are spent. Far shorter on miles than we had hoped, we find ourselves at a reasonable flat spot near water. It is camp.

Tomorrow we will have to do some serious trail miles to make it across to and over Vogelsang, and down to Tuolumne.

Minaret Lake to Twin Island Lakes

Minaret Lake

Kevin wakes feeling much better, and we get an early jump on the day. We round the Lake’s east and north shores, then head up a light social trail towards Cecile Lake. Roper instructs us to head for a crevice on the right side of the natural damn. We aim even further right and scramble a much longer and higher class-3 chute, which actually positions us even better to round Cecile Lake. The talus blocks are tedious, but passable.

Chute to Cecile Lake

From the outlet of Cecile Lake we drop down a steep traverse of talus to the right, towards Iceberg. The social trail is completely wiped out by rock slides, but the general idea of what we need to do is clear, and we do it.

Traverse from Cecile to Iceberg Lake

After rounding Iceberg Lake, we begin what is a convoluted route around the massive Mount Ritter and Banner Peak. West of Ediza Lake, we head straight for Ritter. As if juking it, at a tarn we turn 90 degrees, and traverse up and over Whitebark Pass. The north side is again steep talus, which drops us into a bowl above Garnet Lake, but requires us to climb back up an unnamed pass overlooking Thousand Island Lakes.  We push down the pass, and walk northwest along the shore of Thousand Islands, where we then pivot 90 degrees, now heading southwest up towards Glacier Lake Pass.

Garnet Lake from Whitebark Pass

We break for a tortilla wrap of salami, cheese, and Fritos, which is amazingly good. The canyon towards Glacier Pass starts gently. We come upon thee beautiful bucks, with decent racks. As we reach higher, the grass reverts to massive talus blocks, and we aggressively boulder hop, passing a couple of women hikers along the way.

Lake Catherine

Over the pass is Lake Catherine, where I thought we might camp. The campsites are not good, and Kevin is up for pushing on to Twin Island Lakes. We rock hop around Lake Catherine to the outlet, where the world drops off significantly. To avoid cliffs, we stay right and navigate various ramps and ledges, with occasional class-3 mini chutes. We then start a long traverse towards Twin Island Lakes. Black clouds roll in, and it begins to lightly rain. I am not crazy about the steep slope on now wet stones, but it never rains too hard, and we eventually make it.

We are exhausted, but need to setup camp, filter water, and make dinner. On and off it rains as we work our chores. We have Mac & Cheese, which Kevin kicks up with garlic salt, chopped salami, sliced Jarlsberg and parmesan cheese.

As we lie in our tents, it continues to rain lightly.

Mammoth Lakes to Red’s Meadow to Minaret Lake

The Mammoth Lakes Cab is to pick us up at 7:15 am. We wake in time to pack and make another dash to Schat’s Bakery across the street. We share cinnamon rolls and a lemon poppy seed muffin. I am pretty sure it is not as good as the Schat’s in Bishop, but it is way better than the one that does not exist in the wilderness.

Our cabby races us back to that Schat’s-less wilderness, in a van clearly in need of struts. We plod up the seven miles of trail before reaching Superior Lake, our exit for more cross country fun.

As we filter water at the lake, we are confused. We can see two passes, a major saddle to the left, and a minor player to the right. It appears from distant patches of packed sand/scree that both have been climbed. Roper’s description favors the left saddle, but Skurka’s maps and GPS waypoints suggest the right. Roper’s looks harder than Andrew’s, but since Roper designed the High Route, we go with his.

From Nancy Pass

The willows and brush make scrambling up the real Nancy’s Pass one of the most frustrating yet. Controlled falling through brush on your way down from a pass is one thing, but trying to throw yourself up it is quite another. The heat, the bushes, and the steepness is taking its toll. We curse Andrew for taking the easier pass, and we curse Nancy, well just because.

Kevin is starting to feel poorly. We are not sure if it is heat exhaustion from Nancy, something he ate, or something he didn’t eat (Ben & Jerry’s milkshake). After the pass, we take more breaks and travel slower. We pass over the “Inconspicuous Saddle.”

We reach our primary goal of Minaret Lake, but decide to pass on any bonus miles. Kevin rests in the shade, while I pitch my tent and filter water for both of us. Some neighbors, large men who clearly arrived via the Minaret Lake Trail and not the cross country route over Nancy Pass, have decided to go skinny dipping. To be clear, skinny is not the right term, and this dipping is not helping Kevin feel any better.

We cook Indian curries, which you might not have picked for someone feeling poorly, but the curries are our heaviest dinner, so they are the first to go.

Kevin pitches his tent and retires early, hoping to feel better in the morning. I am hoping he does so too.

Mammoth Lakes Zero

I wake and shoot across the street to Schat’s Bakery. I capture and return with a bear claw and apple fritter. It is merely a stall tactic, until we can get to a breakfast cafe for four-egg omelets and hash browns.

Ben and Jerry’s closed again!

Terri has agreed to purchase a SPOT replacement at the REI in Dublin, then ship it general delivery to the post office in Tuolumne Meadow. Assuming that all works out, she should be able to track our last leg of the trip, and pluck us from the wilderness on re-entry.

We sort our food, make a few additional purchases, and relax with the television satiating our intellectual hunger like Saccharin cures a sweet tooth.

After having passed 20 passes, I am beginning to understand the High Route. Completing the High Route is a lot like touring the hilly city of San Fransisco. That is, if while touring San Francisco, you avoid the cafe-lined streets, and instead climb over all the medium size buildings. You scramble up fire escapes, walk on window ledges, and hang from rain gutters to pull yourself onto the roof. Oh sure, the crowds are thin and the views are spectacular, but the views from the ground were pretty cool too.

We arrange a cab pickup for tomorrow morning, later than we want, but as early as we can get. We go back out for a light taco dinner, and to collect those evasive Ben & Jerry’s shakes. The tacos are great, but B&J closes 4 minutes before we get there. You have got to be kidding!? We hit a local shop and grab a pint of caramel ice cream, and talk about the ones that got away.

Duck Lake to Red’s Meadow to Mammoth

We wake early, with pizza on the brain. The climb out of Duck Lake is pleasant, but we are changing out of our jackets before we reach the pass. From there we travel along the Sierra Crest for the first time on the High Route. Views to our right are of the eastern Sierra, to the left the western. The ridge is relatively open, with mostly brush and loose slate to navigate.

Deer Lakes

We hump it up a small pass and drop down on Deer Lakes. We were warned that this is our last water until Red’s Meadow, so we camel up, and carry a liter each.

From the lake we follow a steep pack trail back up to the crest. Cruising along the top of our pumice filled world, we can see down into Mono County. Eventually we can see Mammoth Lakes. I quickly check for cell coverage, and have it for the first time on the trip. I call Terri, and she reports that Eric did call with news about the SPOT and our actual well being. Nice going Eric!

Mammoth Lakes

Huge cliffs to the north require that we traverse left to a steep sand slide, down a wide chute. Each step involves placing your foot forward a few feet, then sliding a few feet more. It gives that sensation you get when walking on an airport moving sidewalk, each step propelling you further and faster than it should. We have no idea how someone could walk back up it.

We eventually rejoin an actual trail at Mammoth Pass. We practically fly down, gliding through the massive tree blow down I referenced in my PCT blog. Kevin had never seen it, and it really is quite startling. The shortcut to Red’s Meadow was anything but, but we get there just the same. I am shocked to see the Eastern Sierra bus. It turns out that today is the last day it is running. We quickly grab our mailed package, and purchase our $7 round trip ticket. We will not get to use the return portion, and are warned the one-way cab fare back will be $75. Ugh. Oh well, Mammoth here we come.

We catch the local bus and trolley to the same Motel 6 Dish Cloth and I stayed in during my PCT thru-hike. We order a pizza delivery, because while washing our clothes, we have nothing to wear.

I call around to all the sporting goods stores, but no one has a replacement SPOT. Without one, I am not sure how Terri will know when to pick us up in Twin Lakes. We also need a replacement Sawyer Squeeze bag, but strike out there as well. We finally hike to a Ben & Jerry’s for shakes, only to discover they are closed on Wednesdays.

We fall asleep knowing that tomorrow will be a relaxing zero.

Laurel Lake to Duck Lake

Because of mosquitoes, I had closed up my tent flaps tight, and now wake up paying the price in condensation. I pack up everything wet.

Bighorn Sheep Pass from Shout-of-Relief Pass

We finally agree on what Roper means by “Leave this body of water near the two massive granite blocks adorning its northwest shore and ascend precipitous, grassy slopes,” so we climb with some level of confidence. It is the ultimate grassy stair stepper, but we reach the top of Bighorn Pass in less than an hour. Our next pass, Shout-Of- Relief, is at a similar elevation, but way around an “S” shaped contour. Traversing to keep elevation is tricky, and a few times we get cliffed out and have to scramble hand and foot up ridiculous terrain I doubt Roper intended. Nonetheless, in about another hour we are standing at the pass, but Kevin refuses to shout, either in relief or agony.

On Shout-of-Relief Pass

We then scramble down, keeping to the left of several lakes. The drops involve a mix of granite slabs and steep thick forest. You quickly realize there is no perfect route, and you measure success by movement. Don’t admit your routing mistakes, just keep going quickly.

We eventually crash our way into Horse Heaven and an actual trail. We now race down to Tully Hole, where we filter water and enjoy snacks. We rejoin the John Muir Trail for about six miles. The first, of course, is straight up exposed switchbacks.

Because of the whole SPOT situation, and the fact we have neither showered nor done laundry in 10 days, we decide to zero in Mammoth. The bus from Red Meadows is no longer running, so we will have to figure out transportation when we get there late tomorrow. In the mean time, Kevin keeps listing toppings he wants on his pizza.

Virginia Lake

We push by Lake Virginia and Purple Lake, on our way to Duck Lake. Camping is not permitted within 300 yards of the lake inlet. In Roper talus field measurements, that would be something like 3 miles. There are lots of people here, and flat spots are at a premium.

Duck Lake

Tomorrow we again leave the trail and will reach the actual Sierra Crest for the first time, at Mammoth Pass. Kevin, however, will be more interested in a Sierra crust at a Mammoth pizzeria.

Lake Italy to Laurel Lake

Last night I read to Kevin that Roper considers the Lake Country as the easiest of the five sections. For example, “The hiker will experience occasional talus, but only for a few hundred yards at a time.” We can use a little easy, as we attempt to get to Reds Meadow early, make some calls and start the Obama-like “we lost our SPOT” apology tour.

I wake later than normal, but given I have no SPOT to remember to turn on, we can make up some of the time.

Gabbot Pass

We round the north side of Italy Lake, past the toe, and press up what should be gentle granite slabs. Gentle is not exactly how I would describe it, but we eventually reach the top of Gabbot Pass. As promised by Roper, the view is not much, as the pass is boxed in. We do see, however, a small plane flying along our route, lower than anything we have previously seen. We assume it is my dad, sitting in the seat next to the head of Search and Rescue. Oh, why did that SPOT fall off?

Lower Mills Creek Lake

On our way down from the pass, we question Roper’s measurement skills. Clearly these jumbled talus fields are way longer than advertised. We pass Upper and Lower Mills Creek Lakes. The steep trip down to the Second Recess is a complete disaster. We crash through impossibly thick brush, willows, and Quaking Aspens, though we are clearly doing most of the quaking. We cannot even see our feet, but if we don’t push on hard enough, the brush throws us back up the hill. We can see from broken branches and occasional footprints that others have gone this way, but they were clearly not the top of their class, and likely rode to school in the short bus.

We eventually reach a light use trail that improves with time. We reach the bottom at Mono Creek, then work our way up the Laurel Lake trail. I am not sure what it is about switchbacks, but some trail builders have clearly never heard of them. The first mile or so is straight up, through exposed manzanita. Kevin is patient, but I am bonking. It takes a Snickers and liter of water to drag me up.

Laurel Lake

After the trail eventually levels out, we pick up steam and make it to Laurel Lake, which is boiling with fish. Kevin is sure catching and adding them to our bean burrito diner, would give new meaning to their lives.

We pray Eric and Jorge have kept their promise and called Terri and my Dad with the good news – that we are alive and doing fine. Otherwise, I may get killed.

Elba Lake to Lake Italy

For some strange reason, Kevin and I had been discussing a theory that one reason we have become an obese society is that we no longer allow ourselves to be cold. Well last night we did our best to bring down the weight average, because we froze all night.

We wake as if in little snow globes. When we touch the side of our tents, flakes of frozen dew and condensation fall onto our sleeping bags. We pack up frozen, knowing as we hike it will melt into a wet mess. We wear most of the clothes we have, including useless and freezing gloves. Alas, we press on down through a thick forest, towards the sound of a cascading falls. By the time we reach it, we are overheating and have to strip. It is amazing what a difference a half hour makes.

We work down to a little used trail going up to Merriam Lake, which both Roper and Andrew Skurka describe as a steep trail. They are right about steep, but I think fall line is more accurate than trail. We are rewarded for our effort with three bucks. After smelling us, however, they wander off.

Feather Pass

We work our way by a few lakes, including La Salle, before facing our primary task: Feather Pass. Roper’s descriptions often frustrate me. “Ascend a headwall via an obvious cleft” causes a fair amount of discussion, but little agreement on exactly what it means. We stare at a jumble of rocks and cliffs. We push on, unclear.

Looking down from Feather Pass

After reaching the top, we are further enlightened with “Careful routefinding in this short section pays off; otherwise you may encounter a few class 3 dropoffs.” I am pretty sure that sentence can be randomly inserted into any paragraph in his book, to the same effect.

The boulder fields seem to go on forever. We eventually work our way through Bear Paw and Ursa lakes.

At a rest, I realize my SPOT tracking device is no longer attached to my pack. I had double strapped the SPOTs carabiner to different parts of my pack in case one ripped. The carabiner is still securely attached, but not the SPOT. We of course have no idea when it came off, nor where it is now. Ironically, my wife and parents know exactly where it is, and probably assume I am still attached to it. I hope they realize since we did not press the emergency button, we are fine, but we have no way to tell them.

We come upon two hikers, Eric and Jorge, who will be back in civilization (cell phone range) by tomorrow night. I give them Terri’s cell number and my Dad’s home number with instructions to tell them the SPOT fell off, but Kevin and Rick are fine.

Looking back at Whitebear Pass

We press on, full of guilt, but with no ability to do anything about it. After White Bear Pass, we push on to Lake Italy, a lake Roper describes as ugly. Kevin and I think it is just fine. If Roper wants to see real ugly, he should join me when I try to explain to my wife how I lost the SPOT.

Frances (“11092”) Lake to Elba Lake

Looking back at Snow Tongue Pass

We wake early to start our climb of the dreaded Snow-Tongue Pass, always described in the top three most difficult. The south facing side is deceptively easy, at least relatively. We trudge up rather quickly. At the top of the pass, the straight down chute can only be described as: “Shoot no!” Higher to the right is a slightly less insane chute, which can be described as: “Well shoot, we came this far.”

Because of the loose rock, only one hiker should go at a time, and I guess my time has come. I begin down what can only be described as a series of slightly controlled avalanches. Hand holds, trekking poles, foot holds, everything is tried, and occasionally some work. I move left into another chute, out of the direct fall line, giving Kevin a chance to try his luck in the first.

Things seem to be going fine, until I hear a huge crashing rock slide, and massive boulders scream by on their free fall journey to the bottom. I yell for Kevin, but he cannot hear me. I yell several times, and eventually the sound of the careening boulders dissipates, and I can hear Kevin. His attention is heightened, but he is fine. At the bottom we stare back, wondering how anyone climbs up this side.

Boulder Field Below Snow Tongue Pass

The avalanches are now over, but the seemingly endless miles of talus boulder hopping has just begun. We get into a rhythm, bouncing slightly under control from boulder top to boulder top, hoping not to slip between, twist an ankle or crush a femur.

We continue to drop down towards Wahoo Lakes. Will this ever end?

We eventually break through and make a descent into, and a climb out of, Humphrey’s Basin. As open as it seems, we cannot see the lakes we are instructed to go between, because they are above us. Roper’s tip is not quite as helpful as it might have been. Once past Mesa Lake, Roper instructs us to climb a wedge to the northeast. Although the views are spectacular, it leaves us hanging, trying to figure out how high we have to climb to find a safe ledge back west to Puppet Pass. Having to come down in elevation to get to the pass is a little frustrating, but we make it alive, which is a clear plus.

Puppet Lake from Puppet Pass

The north side of Puppet Pass looks just a little too much like Snow-Tongue Pass. It is steep! There are black clouds all around us, so we are motivated to move on. As we descend, however, we realize what a difference stable talus can make. We do not experience the rock slides and avalanche rides from the previous pass.

We scramble down past Puppet Lake, and drop further to our targeted camp at Elba Lake. We are early, but if it is going to rain, we want our tents set up first.

Camp near Elba Lake

While filtering water Kevin drops his bottle lid, which magically travels into a deep rock crevice. When he shows me the problem I say, “Well we aren’t getting that out.” Kevin replies, “Your dad would not give up so easily.” He is right. I go get his tent poles from camp, and after some prodding, manage to free the cap. Thanks Dad, for the motivation.

The clouds are blowing in and out, unsure of what they are going to do. But we know what we will do… sleep soundly.

Le Conte to Lake “11092” Frances

We wake and return to our trail Stairmaster. Muir Pass is our first target. Roper describes it as the only place on the entire High Route where you cannot see any trees or plants. This of course means every time we walk by a tree or plant, we know we are not anywhere near the pass, nor can we even see it from here.

There are hordes of people enjoying the landscape, so it is clear we are on a major scenic trail. Mindless “How are you doing?”s are responded to with equally mindless “Great, isn’t it beautiful?”s.

We pass beautiful Helen Lake, named after one of John Muir’s daughters. Later we will pass not nearly as beautiful Wanda Lakes, named after another of John’s daughters. She must have been the one with personality.

Muir Hut

At the pass, we knock on the Muir Hut door, but John isn’t there. We were secretly hoping it had been converted to a Pizza Hut, as we are now starving most of the time.

We push on down the trail, with down being the key word. We stop at Evolution Lake for a rest and snack. We are about to leave the trail to traverse 3 miles to the lake known by its elevation”11092″, or as Roper refers to it, Frances. What Roper describes casually as a traverse across various ramps, turns into a thick forested obstacle course jungle of guesses and second guesses.

Lake Frances below Snow Tongue Pass

We eventually reach the lake, though the scramble is much more physically and mentally exhausting than anticipated. We have dinner to the sounds of howling coyotes at the base of Snow-Tongue Pass. Snow-Tongue is one of the scariest on the trip, and the coyotes are just setting the mood.

Long Lake to Le Conte Canyon

Dropping Into Le Conte

It is surprisingly windy and cold below Bishop Pass. We hit the trail by 6:30am, wearing more clothes than usual when walking. We push hard through the granite Stairmaster, reaching the top by 8:00am. The views are awesome, but we now face an elevation drop from about 12,000 feet down to 8,700. The steep decline is easy on the lungs, but devastating to the knees and ankles. A huge inviting water slide parallels us down the incline, but ends in a giant log jam, which puts a sudden end to our fantasy ride.

At the bottom, we turn right on the John Muir Trail, and head back up. Our time in lower elevation is quickly ended. We enjoy plenty of mule deer and cascading water. We stop for an hour to soak our feet, and rinse out our salty sweat coated shirts. It is a silly venture, because we have plenty more up today, but it feels awesome, if only for a while.

We find an early camp, set up, pump water, and cook. Tomorrow we will tackle Muir Pass.