Minaret Trip
I’d always wanted to visit the Minarets. Visit them up close and personal. I’ve been near them on a couple JMT thru-hikes and on a few other flybys. Even last year, when attempting the Sierra High Route, I was supposed to hike through the shadow of these majestic peaks. But in all these years, I’ve never gotten up close and personal with these giants.
A few weeks ago, a good friend, Derek, surprised me with a “care package” of sorts. Inside of this surprise box was a book I’ve been wanting to read for years. I’d never purchased it and put it in the pile, so it’s never happened. Missing in the Minarets by William Alsup -1-. I was about ½ way through the book when one of the podcasts I listened to dropped. It was called “High Alpine Amnesia” and when I started listening to it, I immediately realized it was, ironically, also about the Minarets -2-. I’m a believer in “triangulation” (keep reading for number 3). Coming into contact with something three times to either help validate something I’m noodling through or bring my awareness more clearly into focus.
I’d been struggling a bit over the past few weeks. This struggle, combined with a major fall trip having to be canceled due to wildfire smoke (the new normal here in the west), led to a lack of motivation on an upcoming weekend trip to a smokeless spot I’d been to before many times and loved. I just couldn't motivate myself to do much planning or start gathering food or my gear.
The night before I was still deciding if I’d even go into the backcountry for the weekend, I picked up the book I was reading and thought, “This is where I want to go.” Within a couple hours, I’d found a permit (not so easy and just got lucky) planned a route (Day 1 and 3 would be on trail where Day 2 would be completely off trail and up close to those peaks I’d sought after), put together my food, and packed my backpack. A storm was supposed to hit the area on Monday and I made sure to pack with the knowledge that storms are unpredictable in the Sierras in September.
A few weeks ago, a good friend, Derek, surprised me with a “care package” of sorts. Inside of this surprise box was a book I’ve been wanting to read for years. I’d never purchased it and put it in the pile, so it’s never happened. Missing in the Minarets by William Alsup -1-. I was about ½ way through the book when one of the podcasts I listened to dropped. It was called “High Alpine Amnesia” and when I started listening to it, I immediately realized it was, ironically, also about the Minarets -2-. I’m a believer in “triangulation” (keep reading for number 3). Coming into contact with something three times to either help validate something I’m noodling through or bring my awareness more clearly into focus.
I’d been struggling a bit over the past few weeks. This struggle, combined with a major fall trip having to be canceled due to wildfire smoke (the new normal here in the west), led to a lack of motivation on an upcoming weekend trip to a smokeless spot I’d been to before many times and loved. I just couldn't motivate myself to do much planning or start gathering food or my gear.
The night before I was still deciding if I’d even go into the backcountry for the weekend, I picked up the book I was reading and thought, “This is where I want to go.” Within a couple hours, I’d found a permit (not so easy and just got lucky) planned a route (Day 1 and 3 would be on trail where Day 2 would be completely off trail and up close to those peaks I’d sought after), put together my food, and packed my backpack. A storm was supposed to hit the area on Monday and I made sure to pack with the knowledge that storms are unpredictable in the Sierras in September.
Day # 1 Elevation Increase-2163 ft Elevation Decrease-611 ft Daily Miles-8.4 Total Miles-10.3 I set out on Friday and hit the trail at about 2:30. Hiking out of the Agnew Meadows trailhead, I was aiming for the Shadow Creek Trail, to the River Trail all the way to Thousand Island Lake. From there, I hoped to hike off trail to the quieter south side of the lake directly under Banner Peak, the northernmost end of this tiny mountain range within a mountain range. In the past months I’d been reading what, when finished, rated as my favorite book ever centered on the Sierra Nevada, “High Sierra-A Love Story” by Kim Stanley Robinson. In this book, one of the things I loved the most was that Robinson explained, in layman's terms, the geological story of the Sierra Nevada. In one section he talks specifically about the Minarets -3-. Robinson explains that the Sierra Nevada granite is a result of molten rock that never made it to the surface and cooled slowly over MILLIONS of years underground. The Minarets stand out as geologically significant in the Sierra Nevadas because they are a completely different type of rock. Darker, almost black, and completely different consistently- much more brittle and sharp. The Minarets consist of rock much more similar to that of the volcanic Cascade Range much further north. The difference due to the rock cooling above ground instead of below. At about 6:30pm I arrived at Thousand Island Lake and was immediately aware of just how many people were camped at this beautiful lake. The long end of the lake runs north to northwest to southwest and the JMT runs across the shortest end on the upper part of the lake. This is where the vast majority of the campers were hunkered down. This was just fine with me as Thousand Island Lake was where the off-trail section of my trip was to begin. As the evening light started to fade, I made my way towards the back of the lake on an occasional use trail. As the light continued to cast amazing colors on the peaks and ridges surrounding me, I found myself on a peninsula on the far southern end of the lake. A spot that lay at the foot of Banner Peak. At 12,942 feet high, this is the second highest peak in the tiny Ritter Range. It was getting dark and I was hungry and getting a bit cold in the icy wind that had been blowing hard. I made dinner and set up camp in an area that although stunning, I knew to be a poor place to set up my camp of a lightweight bivy. This close to the water, in both proximity and in elevation, was not a prime spot in terms of condensation. I knew this intellectually but I was hungry and getting colder and ready to eat, take some pictures, and crawl into my bag. At about 8pm I was full, warm, and horizontal. Condensation was already forming on my bivy. It was going to be a cold night. The stars, with no moon until much later in the night, were coming into view in clusters every minute or so. It was a beautiful spot and a spectacular night. I drifted off to sleep. Sometime a few hours later, I awoke to a thin layer of ice covering my entire bivy. I swore at my poor decision, promised myself to choose more carefully and thoughtfully on night two, and drifted back to sleep. I awoke a few more times throughout the night with the ice getting thicker and the air getting colder and more moist. |
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Day # 2 Elevation Increase-2532 ft Elevation Decrease-2539 ft Daily Miles-8.4 Total Miles-18.7 Morning came soon enough and the first hour of direct sunlight had me spreading out all my gear to dry out while I fixed some breakfast and coffee. By about 8:30, my gear was dry, I was fueled up and I started my day. Today would include an almost 10 mile section of the Sierra High Route. This was a tiny part of the 200 mile route I had set out on last summer but had to pull off after only 60 miles with a set of badly twisted ankles. I started the morning by making my way off the peninsula and then back around the most southern part of Thousand Island Lake directly under Banner Peak. My first goal of the day was to make my way up the Class 2 Granite Pass topping out at 10,178 feet. This would be a short assent of about 500 feet up a talus scramble to the top. It was beautiful and as I got closer to the top, I could make out the chute that I needed to aim for to put me in the right spot to cross over. I took my time enjoying each decision and move to the top. As I crested the ridge, I was blasted with wind gusts of 34-40 miles an hour (as measured on the Beaufort Wind Scale). I stayed for a few minutes to enjoy views I’d never had of Thousand Island Lake from the north, Banner Peak straight above me, and Garnet Lake to the southeast. I’ve seen all of these features many times but seeing them from this vantage point was brand new and spectacular. After a bit, I made my way in a direct line for my next goal, Whitebark Pass. To get there, I’d pass over an inlet fed by a tiny glacier left on Banner Peak. This fascinating inlet led into a small unnamed lake which in turn led into the large Garnet Lake. Garnet Lake, just like Thousand Island Lake, runs along the JMT but both lakes only have a small shoreline that borders the trail. It was amazing to see just how large this lake actually is from this vantage point high above the opposite side. The inlet that I crossed was formed in a way I’d never quite seen in my years in the Sierra. The dry base of this waterway was formed with rocks that were all perfectly the same size in patterns much like early cobblestone streets were built. It was just another example of mankind imitating what nature has been doing for millions of years. Incredible. After spending some time admiring mother nature’s civil engineering marvel, I set out again towards the pass. Whitebark Pass sits at 10,552 feet and includes at least 350 feet of Class 2 tallus. It was another example of what Robinson calls, “Type two fun” as I scrambled my way to the top directly under Mt. Ritter. At 13,149 feet, this is the tallest peak in the Ritter Range and sits just to the south of Banner. Ritter was first climbed in 1882 by John Muir. This area is steeped in history beginning in the late 1800s and building in curiosity into the early 1900s. Mt. Ritter was the last peak that Walter Star Jr., who went by Peter, successfully climbed in July of 1933 before falling to his death just a mile south of here on Michael Mineratt. Peter Star was a well respected San Francisco attorney but he was a giant in the Sierra climbing world. In the preceding years, Starr had scaled more than 40 prominent peaks in the Sierras and kept personal field notes of his trips. He'd also hiked practically all of the brand new JTM, including its lateral spurs and was just about finished with his well known Guide to the John Muir trail when he disappeared in late July of 1933. I’d known about Starr, his accolades, guidebook and death for decades and this was the book I’d been reading when I decided to make this trip. Whitebark Pass was stunning as well. Directly below sat Nydiver Lakes which I’d only seen on maps and in pictures. Above, the imposing Mt. Ritter. And to the south, the glaciated emerald reflections of Ediza, Iceberg and Cecile Lakes in the distance. All points on my route today. Just as windy, I took my pictures, soaked in the views and the history, and made my way southwest, trying to stay up as high as I could without losing too much elevation. After about a quarter mile, I was sufficiently out of the gale, and took my pack off for a lengthy break. A view with this many lakes and peaks should not be taken for granted. I rested in this spot for about 30 minutes appreciating and thanking my body for getting me to this place. Appreciating the fact that what I was looking at, with not another human or man made object in view, looked as close to what it has looked like for thousands of years as anywhere on this planet. It was truly amazing. I reflected on John Muir and Peter Starr being in the exact spot almost 150 years ago and feeling the exact same feelings of awe that I was lucky enough to feel at this moment. It was time to get moving. I angled around the bowl, past a couple tarns and found a small valley beginning on the flanks of Ritter and moving down slope. I followed a meandering creek which formed mini waterfalls every 50 yards or so and kept this area green all year long. Before I knew it, I’d entered one of the finest Mountain Hemlock forests I’d ever seen. Mountain Hemlocks are my favorite Sierra tree. Growing very small at high elevations above 10,000 feet and to almost 150 feet tall as elevations drop to around 8,000 feet, they are easy to spot by spotting a tilted or drooping lead shoot, becoming cylindric in older trees. The immature cones are dark purple, my favorite color and this slow growing tree has its own distinct personality. I remember, when first reading John Muir’s writings years ago, learning of his love for the Hemlock and remembering the closeness I felt to nature and Muir. In his writings, he professes his love for this tree and says, “the best words only hint of its charms. Come to the mountains and see.” I wound through a single track use trail with almost nothing growing but for the Hemlock. The sweet smell filled the air and the trees buffeted the heavy winds. The purple cones’ sap glistened in the sun and I had to slow my pace to keep from stumbling in my stupor. It was truly beautiful. As the forest opened up, there was Ediza Lake in all of its glory. There were a few tents at the far side of the lake but I’d be staying on the higher south side and not dropping to the water’s edge. It was here at the end of July 1933 that Peter Starr was base camped. It is believed he summited Ritter and then took a day in lower elevations to make more notes for his almost complete John Muir Trail Guide. After one more night at Ediza, he set off for what is believed to be his last attempt that took his life on Michael Minaret. Michael and most of the other named Mineretts are visible from Ediza. History was in every step up here. I wound my way up a series of gullies and grassy ledges, in and out of Hemlock groves. There were deep gorges on my left that marked the outlet of Iceberg Lake. Back in the day, the next two lakes were named Lower and Upper Iceberg Lakes in honor of the ice that they held almost year round many seasons. In later years, maps changed the names into Iceberg Lake (formally Lower) and Cecile Lake (formally Upper). After a few more twists and turns I crested the outlet of Iceberg Lake. The wind was kicking up sizable waves on its surface as Leonard, Turner, Jensen, Dyer, Dawson, Bedayan, Rice, Eichorn, Clyde, Micheal, Ken, Kehrlein, and Starr Minarets (in that order) bordered the cobalt blue sky beyond. This is where, in the summer of 1933, Norman Clyde stayed and searched after the Starr search party had left without finding Peter. This is where he climbed up and down countless times searching for his fellow climber finally finding the place where he lay. And here I was. In this same area looking at the same jagged peaks. There were a few hikers sitting around and resting either in anticipation of climbing the next pass to Cecile or resting after descending. I didn’t linger to find out, just stopped to fill my water bottle before moving on. The 500+ foot climb from Iceberg to Cecile was without a single living thing, except myself. The hostile environment was filled with nothing but talus and huge boulders. The “path” to the top included picking out the best next 20 feet, over and over and over again. It was a blast. Having a light backpack made it even more enjoyable. At the top of the climb I was now directly under the heart of the Minarets. This was a place I’d always wanted to come and I was here. I only had another mile and a half of similar type terrain to get to Minaret Lake, so once again I settled in for a good long break. After lots of deep breathing, appreciation, water and a snack, I got on my way. I wound my way around the north side of Cecile and then dropped steeply down to Minaret Lake. Because a trail leads up to Minaret Lake from Devils Postpile, there were quite a few tents on the lake. I walked through an area where some campers were setting up their tents to make my way to the southwest side of the lake that had no trail and also had some interesting geography with ledges above the lake. Wanting to make sure I chose a camp spot wisely, I ended up doing some Class 2/3 scrambling to get over a knob and to the other side of the lake. Once over the knob, I dipped down to the lake to fill up my water with the understanding that I didn’t want to pick a spot well above the shoreline only to have to hike back down to the lake later for water. After filling up, I made my way up towards the ledges I’d seen earlier and found a number of perfect camp spots all 40-50 feet above the water. It was only 3:30 and I took my time setting up camp and making my favorite dinner of burritos. After lots of food and water, I took about an hour to walk around and up higher against Starr Minaret. It was a fitting last night to a trip so steeped in history. Just after sunset the sky began to fill with clouds. A storm was scheduled to come in but not until Monday. To be safe, I put up my tarp and called it a night
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Day # 3
Elevation Increase-2734 ft Elevation Decrease-1212 ft Daily Miles-12.73 Total Miles-31.43 I woke up to a warmer morning, cloud filled sky and snow flurries. I ate a bit and packed up heading the quarter mile around the southside of the lake and met up with the trail. The 13 miles back to Agnew Meadows flew by and the sky moved through many stages with most including falling snow. I saw only two people, both day hikers with dogs. I finished the 12.53 miles at exactly 12:30. Got cleaned up, into a change of clothes and headed to, yup, you guessed it, The Barn in Bridgeport. My fav. What a trip. It was the perfect place at the perfect time. Not much more to say. I’m so grateful I was able to go. 
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