Eastern Sierras Trip #1 2025
Prologue
Summer 2025 was packed, and it started with a trip into the Eastern Sierra. This summer, I was visiting places I’d seen on maps and read about for years but had never ventured into. My first goal: Wallace and Wrights Basins.
The original plan was a short 13-mile approach over Shepherd's Pass, but a nasty hanging cornice of snow — which sticks around until mid-summer most years — forced a change. Instead, I committed to a 28-mile approach from Horseshoe Meadows, crossing Cottonwood Pass. Because of that shift, I added two more goals to the trip: one place I’d never been to and another that remains one of my favorite spots on earth.
The original plan was a short 13-mile approach over Shepherd's Pass, but a nasty hanging cornice of snow — which sticks around until mid-summer most years — forced a change. Instead, I committed to a 28-mile approach from Horseshoe Meadows, crossing Cottonwood Pass. Because of that shift, I added two more goals to the trip: one place I’d never been to and another that remains one of my favorite spots on earth.
Day 1
Daily Miles: 25.95
Total Miles: 25.95
Elevation Gain: 4,799 ft
Elevation Loss: 4,094 ft
Daily Miles: 25.95
Total Miles: 25.95
Elevation Gain: 4,799 ft
Elevation Loss: 4,094 ft
I woke up without my alarm in the back of the Honda Pilot at 5:20 a.m. I was packed and ready to go by 5:50.
The backpack felt heavy that morning — 30 lbs after food and water. I’ve only carried a pack that weight a handful of times in the past decade.
The trail started at a cool 43°, and gloves were a necessity. The climb was gradual until the final half-mile of steeper switchbacks. I topped out at just over 11,100 feet on Cottonwood Pass at 7:29 a.m. After applying sunscreen and taking a swig of water, I crossed to the west side of the pass. I was now on the “inside” of the Range of Light.
About 7.5 miles in, I took a break to dry out my feet and take the weight off my back. I unintentionally jump-scared two thru-hikers when they came around the corner — apparently I was blending in with the rock too well. Emma and Ben had started their hike on March 20 and had even taken a detour to visit the Grand Canyon. Both were from Australia and had never been to the U.S. before.
They lit up when I pulled out a little magic from my food bag — a handful of Tootsie Pops. They were delighted, but also confused. Neither had ever heard of them. I did my best to explain the late ’70s/early ’80s commercial with the wise owl asking, “How many licks does it take?”
A couple more hikers passed while we were chatting. One introduced himself as “Big Cheese.” Oh, the magic of trail names. I stayed a little longer after they left, but caught back up to them later.
The backpack felt heavy that morning — 30 lbs after food and water. I’ve only carried a pack that weight a handful of times in the past decade.
The trail started at a cool 43°, and gloves were a necessity. The climb was gradual until the final half-mile of steeper switchbacks. I topped out at just over 11,100 feet on Cottonwood Pass at 7:29 a.m. After applying sunscreen and taking a swig of water, I crossed to the west side of the pass. I was now on the “inside” of the Range of Light.
About 7.5 miles in, I took a break to dry out my feet and take the weight off my back. I unintentionally jump-scared two thru-hikers when they came around the corner — apparently I was blending in with the rock too well. Emma and Ben had started their hike on March 20 and had even taken a detour to visit the Grand Canyon. Both were from Australia and had never been to the U.S. before.
They lit up when I pulled out a little magic from my food bag — a handful of Tootsie Pops. They were delighted, but also confused. Neither had ever heard of them. I did my best to explain the late ’70s/early ’80s commercial with the wise owl asking, “How many licks does it take?”
A couple more hikers passed while we were chatting. One introduced himself as “Big Cheese.” Oh, the magic of trail names. I stayed a little longer after they left, but caught back up to them later.
At Rock Creek, I stopped to refill water and give my feet another break. I met two more PCT thru-hikers — one from Sydney, Australia and the other from Yakima, Washington. We chatted for a while, though I forgot to ask their names. Once again, the Aussie had never heard of a Tootsie Pop. As I walked away, I overheard the Washingtonian explaining what was inside.
I made an unplanned stop at the top of Mount Guyot — the climb, combined with the full weight of food, was especially rough. Thankfully, the next three miles to Whitney Creek were a cruise. Once there, I took off my shoes and waded across the creek to a group of five thru-hikers who were deep in conversation. I didn’t interrupt. Four of them eventually left, and the fifth — from Melbourne, Australia — stayed behind. We had a great conversation, though I forgot to share any Tootsie Pops.
Leaving Whitney Creek, I had four miles to go before Wallace Creek, where I’d leave the PCT and head off-trail into the basin. My body was tired and I was starting to fade.
A few hikers passed me late in the afternoon as my pace slowed. Day One was really kicking my butt. Wallace Creek also needed to be forded. Three other hikers stood there too — probably the ones who had passed me. I crossed, dried off immediately, shouldered my pack, and walked into the woods, following the nonexistent Wallace Creek Trail.
They probably thought I was a little crazy. A faint path appeared, but disappeared just as quickly. The hiking wasn’t overly technical, but I was done. I made it about a mile and a half farther before calling it quits — nearly 26 miles for the day with eight days of food on my back. Not too shabby.
Unfortunately, I missed my planned campsite by around two miles. I’d hoped to camp there for two nights in a row so I wouldn’t have to break down camp the next morning. Oh well — I’d made it farther than the trail gods would’ve guessed.
It was buggy that night. I tied up my bivy using hiking poles before crawling in. Thankfully, both my day hiking clothes and sleep clothes were thick enough that the skeeters couldn’t bite through. By 7:20 p.m., I’d stretched, zipped in, and crossed my fingers for a good night’s sleep.
Leaving Whitney Creek, I had four miles to go before Wallace Creek, where I’d leave the PCT and head off-trail into the basin. My body was tired and I was starting to fade.
A few hikers passed me late in the afternoon as my pace slowed. Day One was really kicking my butt. Wallace Creek also needed to be forded. Three other hikers stood there too — probably the ones who had passed me. I crossed, dried off immediately, shouldered my pack, and walked into the woods, following the nonexistent Wallace Creek Trail.
They probably thought I was a little crazy. A faint path appeared, but disappeared just as quickly. The hiking wasn’t overly technical, but I was done. I made it about a mile and a half farther before calling it quits — nearly 26 miles for the day with eight days of food on my back. Not too shabby.
Unfortunately, I missed my planned campsite by around two miles. I’d hoped to camp there for two nights in a row so I wouldn’t have to break down camp the next morning. Oh well — I’d made it farther than the trail gods would’ve guessed.
It was buggy that night. I tied up my bivy using hiking poles before crawling in. Thankfully, both my day hiking clothes and sleep clothes were thick enough that the skeeters couldn’t bite through. By 7:20 p.m., I’d stretched, zipped in, and crossed my fingers for a good night’s sleep.
Day 2
Daily Miles: 7.90 + 2.51 evening walk
Total Miles: 36.36
Elevation Gain: 2,116 ft + 475 ft evening walk
Elevation Loss: 1,486 ft + 459 ft evening walk
I didn’t sleep great, but not terribly either. It stayed warm until about 4 a.m., when the temperature dropped below 30° for a couple of hours. I packed up and headed out by 6:50.
Following Wallace Creek up the basin, I was walking alongside cascades that framed an eastern view of Mount Kaweah, Red Kaweah, Black Kaweah, and Kaweah Queen—all towering over 13,000 ft.
Daily Miles: 7.90 + 2.51 evening walk
Total Miles: 36.36
Elevation Gain: 2,116 ft + 475 ft evening walk
Elevation Loss: 1,486 ft + 459 ft evening walk
I didn’t sleep great, but not terribly either. It stayed warm until about 4 a.m., when the temperature dropped below 30° for a couple of hours. I packed up and headed out by 6:50.
Following Wallace Creek up the basin, I was walking alongside cascades that framed an eastern view of Mount Kaweah, Red Kaweah, Black Kaweah, and Kaweah Queen—all towering over 13,000 ft.
Soon I reached Wallace Lake and found a perfect spot for camp.
I hadn’t eaten much the previous day, so I bonked a bit while setting up. Once camp was settled, I refilled water, sat down, and ate. As I ate, I debated whether to push up to Tulainyo Lake. I decided to go for it, leaving most of my gear behind and taking only essentials.
I ascended above Little Wallace Lake and caught my first glimpse of the vast main Wallace Lake. Turning south, I climbed toward Wales Lake. The snow was patchy but firm. When I reached Wales Lake, I rested at the thawing water’s edge.
I ascended above Little Wallace Lake and caught my first glimpse of the vast main Wallace Lake. Turning south, I climbed toward Wales Lake. The snow was patchy but firm. When I reached Wales Lake, I rested at the thawing water’s edge.
There, I scoped out my route toward Tulainyo Lake—using a snow chute about 300 feet above me. It was time to test my new lightweight spikes, the Snowline Chainsen Trail Light Traction Devices, paired with my trusted Black Diamond Whippet. The Whippet doubles as a trekking pole and ice axe—the perfect match for late-spring terrain.
After 15 minutes of scrambling up rock, I sat down, snapped on the spikes, and screwed in the Whippet head.
The traverse was steep—just 30 or 40 feet—adrenaline filled for sure. I settled into the exposure quickly.
After that stretch, I removed the spikes but kept the Whippet on my pole. The next couple miles moved gradually across short snowfields—some soft like mashed potatoes, swallowing me to my waist, others solid enough to walk across comfortably.
I reached Tulainyo Lake just before 1 p.m.
The name is a bit asinine as it sits between Tulare and Inyo Counties. It’s one of the highest, largest alpine lakes in the Sierra, sitting at 12,829 ft in a granite amphitheater, almost directly beneath Mt. Whitney—the northernmost I’d see of the summit on this trip
The name is a bit asinine as it sits between Tulare and Inyo Counties. It’s one of the highest, largest alpine lakes in the Sierra, sitting at 12,829 ft in a granite amphitheater, almost directly beneath Mt. Whitney—the northernmost I’d see of the summit on this trip
I spent nearly an hour soaking in the views, hydrating, and airing out my feet—it was spectacular.
Later, I retraced my steps through snow patches and seasonal creeks back to the snow-filled gully. The descent was easier as the snow had softened. Before exiting the chute, I noticed a panoramic view of both Wallace and Wales Lakes with the Keweah peaks towering beyond—stunning.
Later, I retraced my steps through snow patches and seasonal creeks back to the snow-filled gully. The descent was easier as the snow had softened. Before exiting the chute, I noticed a panoramic view of both Wallace and Wales Lakes with the Keweah peaks towering beyond—stunning.
At the base of the chute, rather than return to camp, I detoured to Wales Lake—one of the prettiest I’d ever seen. It sat in a bowl beneath jagged peaks, directly below Mount Hale (13,481 ft). It was mind-blowing. I lingered for almost two hours.
I even decided to have my dinner there because I was carrying it. I planned to revisit Wales Lake in the morning before moving the remaining ~7 miles to Wrights Basin. That afternoon, I settled back at camp by 6:20 p.m. he light changed every 10 minutes and the sound changed every time there was a shift in the wind. The juxtaposition of these jagged, menacing cracks with this wild ridge lined from one end to the other in almost half an oval was stunning.
Day 3
Daily Miles: 7.10
Total Miles: 43.46
Elevation Gain: 1,266 ft
Elevation Loss: 1,601 ft
I slept better than the previous night and woke to a stunning sunrise. I spent the first few hours exploring the basin—about a 2.5-mile loop—visiting the backside of Wallace Lake, where tiny streamlets ribboned off melting snow. I took my time, pausing often to appreciate the surroundings.
Daily Miles: 7.10
Total Miles: 43.46
Elevation Gain: 1,266 ft
Elevation Loss: 1,601 ft
I slept better than the previous night and woke to a stunning sunrise. I spent the first few hours exploring the basin—about a 2.5-mile loop—visiting the backside of Wallace Lake, where tiny streamlets ribboned off melting snow. I took my time, pausing often to appreciate the surroundings.
Already packed by 10:30 a.m., I decided to hang out a bit longer before setting off toward Wrights Basin. I avoided the use trail, opting for a shortcut over a ridge to the northwest. The descent was rocky with tricky talus, but the chosen route worked out well.
At the top, I found a seldom-used path, a small tarn, and beneath me, the shadow of a soaring bald eagle—a moment that never fails to fill me with awe.
Refueled by snacks at the tarn, I wove my way into Wrights Basin, entering a grove of ancient foxtail pines. Found only at 10,000 to 12,000 feet in the Sierra Nevada and living for almost 2000 years, this species of pine tree is named for the appearance of its needles, which are bundled together in groups of five, resembling a fox's tail.
The trees often look twisted, stunted, and sculpted by centuries of wind, snow, and lightning. The deadwood stands for centuries sometimes, bleached and contorted into beautiful forms. I’ve always loved bonsai and walking among these ancient foxtails is always like walking through a living bonsai forest.
On the basin floor, I meandered alongside small streamlets toward a pre-mapped campsite. I managed to find crossing spots that didn’t require removing shoes.
When I got to the lake I had marked as “good camping” in comparison to many other things, it was less than stunning. This trip was about planting myself in stunning spots. I had also marked an unnamed upper lake to try to possibly explore if I had time, and while I sat and swatted away the pesky mosquitoes at the lower lake, I decided to push up another 700 feet. I got to the lake at 3:30 and was not disappointed. This lake sat in yet another cirque surrounded on three sides by a towering ragged ridge. The lake was still about half covered in ice and in the afternoon light was exactly what I wanted, stunning.
I guessed that sunshine would last until around 6:30 p.m. ducking behind the ridge. I found a pre-built spot campsite cleared of rocks and ringed with stones, settling in with a majestic view.
After dinner, I made a long loop around the lake (with the exception of the treacherous backside)—climbing hills, dipping into fresh creeklets, and snapping photos nearly everywhere I paused.
Day 4
Daily Miles: 5.54 + 3.12 evening walk
Total Miles: 52.12
Elevation Gain: 971 ft + 642 ft
Elevation Loss: 1,419 ft + 633 ft
Last night was the toughest yet—sleeping near 12,000 ft with exertion, a dazzling starry sky, and a full moon rising around 10:30 p.m. made it both exhilarating and restless. The morning light looked entirely different.
Daily Miles: 5.54 + 3.12 evening walk
Total Miles: 52.12
Elevation Gain: 971 ft + 642 ft
Elevation Loss: 1,419 ft + 633 ft
Last night was the toughest yet—sleeping near 12,000 ft with exertion, a dazzling starry sky, and a full moon rising around 10:30 p.m. made it both exhilarating and restless. The morning light looked entirely different.
I climbed above 12,000 ft for sweeping views of the cirque and basin below. Five Wrights Lakes lay beneath snow-patched ridges, framed by the Keweah Range.
I had very little distance to go on this day, so my plan was to sit and take in the views whenever they presented themselves, which was every ridge I crested and every turn I made.
I saw two martin and a coyote while taking a break at a middle Wright Lake and also saw a bighorn sheep from far and stared at it for a while.
After photographing another Wrights Lake, I attempted to sneak up on the sheep—unsuccessfully. Turning away, I noticed another coyote watching me.
Later, around 3:05 p.m., I stood atop Bighorn Plateau with a 360° panorama: Wrights Basin, Wallace Basin, Mt. Whitney, and the Keweah Range.
Later, around 3:05 p.m., I stood atop Bighorn Plateau with a 360° panorama: Wrights Basin, Wallace Basin, Mt. Whitney, and the Keweah Range.
At the plateau summit, someone had built a one-person windbreak—I laid down inside and claimed it for the night.
The PCT was less than an eighth of a mile to the west of me but the vast majority of those hikers will never leave the single track long enough to experience everything that’s off the trail. Although I’ve always wanted to hike the PCT in its entirety, it’s trips like these that remind me how much I truly appreciate immersing myself in stunning landscapes where so few people ever go.
Day 5
Daily Miles: 9.96 + 3.24 evening walk
Total Miles: 65.32
Elevation Gain: 1,913 ft + 652 ft
Elevation Loss: 1,781 ft + 650 ft
I slept well and woke to a cloudy but beautiful sunrise. I hit the PCT southbound (SOBO) and encountered a parade of thru-hikers, and three High Sierra Trail hikers. I chatted with one of the HST hikers from Southern California, and later walked a mile with his two partners—one on his first big hike, the other two having recently hiked the JMT.
I continued toward Hitchcock Lakes, stopping at Timberline Lake for a break. A seasoned hiker who’d just climbed Whitney stopped to chat—he’d injured himself with his ice axe and wasn’t sure if he’d continue on his PCT adventure. It was a reminder how quickly adventures can end.
I left the trail and climbed through waterfalls and snow patches to lower Hitchcock Lake.
Daily Miles: 9.96 + 3.24 evening walk
Total Miles: 65.32
Elevation Gain: 1,913 ft + 652 ft
Elevation Loss: 1,781 ft + 650 ft
I slept well and woke to a cloudy but beautiful sunrise. I hit the PCT southbound (SOBO) and encountered a parade of thru-hikers, and three High Sierra Trail hikers. I chatted with one of the HST hikers from Southern California, and later walked a mile with his two partners—one on his first big hike, the other two having recently hiked the JMT.
I continued toward Hitchcock Lakes, stopping at Timberline Lake for a break. A seasoned hiker who’d just climbed Whitney stopped to chat—he’d injured himself with his ice axe and wasn’t sure if he’d continue on his PCT adventure. It was a reminder how quickly adventures can end.
I left the trail and climbed through waterfalls and snow patches to lower Hitchcock Lake.
I found a natural windbreak and camped there.
Late in the afternoon, I saw a giant Golden Eagle launch from snow above the lower lake, soaring before landing.
As I approached Upper Hitchcock, its back wall’s geology reminded me of Devils’ Postpile, and Mt. Whitney formed a dramatic “candy cane” silhouette above.
As I approached Upper Hitchcock, its back wall’s geology reminded me of Devils’ Postpile, and Mt. Whitney formed a dramatic “candy cane” silhouette above.
Returning to camp on high ground, I caught the alpenglow lighting up the basin.
At about 3:30 a.m., I awoke to see 25–50 hikers’ headlamps snaking up to Whitney’s summit for sunrise. I wasn’t jealous—I knew their cold, tired experience from having done it myself 5-6 times. I snuggled deeper into my 20° down bag and drifted back to sleep.
I found myself waiting in my sleeping bag each morning for the sun to hit the very spot I chose to lay down for the night. It made me think a lot about indigenous people across the planet across tens of thousands of years, doing the exact same thing; waiting for that globe of heat to warm the cold night air and make it comfortable to rise up and start another day.
I found myself waiting in my sleeping bag each morning for the sun to hit the very spot I chose to lay down for the night. It made me think a lot about indigenous people across the planet across tens of thousands of years, doing the exact same thing; waiting for that globe of heat to warm the cold night air and make it comfortable to rise up and start another day.
Day 6
Daily Miles: 4.52
Total Miles: 69.84
Elevation Gain: 954 ft
Elevation Loss: 1,208 ft
A coyote’s howl, bark, and yips greeted me shortly after 6 a.m.—a perfect start.
Yesterday, I was becoming more concerned about the battery levels on my two portable chargers, and the fact that both my watch and phone were seeming to eat a lot more battery than I had remembered in the past. This morning my phone was around 21% and I decided to give it a little charge. When I plugged it into my charger, the charger itself showed that it was still nearly fully charged. I’m not sure why earlier in the trip it showed otherwise but it was a comforting thing knowing that I had battery life left. I lingered in my sleeping bag as the sun took another 40 minutes to hit camp.
My plan was to avoid the trail and descend via an off-trail line around the ridge into Crabtree Canyon. On the way down, I saw another bald eagle circling above.
The walk around the ridge went very well. Each day I’ve grown more confident in my off-trail skills. I choose a line, walk until that line presents a “problem” and then reassess choosing my next line. Sometimes the lines are longer, maybe 50 or even 100 feet. Sometimes the lines are much shorter, being as short as 5-10 feet. When the lines are longer, I have more time to sight-see and/or ponder. When the lines are shorter, my focus narrows and the act of choosing and rechoosing my line in a quick fashion becomes quite meditative.
Daily Miles: 4.52
Total Miles: 69.84
Elevation Gain: 954 ft
Elevation Loss: 1,208 ft
A coyote’s howl, bark, and yips greeted me shortly after 6 a.m.—a perfect start.
Yesterday, I was becoming more concerned about the battery levels on my two portable chargers, and the fact that both my watch and phone were seeming to eat a lot more battery than I had remembered in the past. This morning my phone was around 21% and I decided to give it a little charge. When I plugged it into my charger, the charger itself showed that it was still nearly fully charged. I’m not sure why earlier in the trip it showed otherwise but it was a comforting thing knowing that I had battery life left. I lingered in my sleeping bag as the sun took another 40 minutes to hit camp.
My plan was to avoid the trail and descend via an off-trail line around the ridge into Crabtree Canyon. On the way down, I saw another bald eagle circling above.
The walk around the ridge went very well. Each day I’ve grown more confident in my off-trail skills. I choose a line, walk until that line presents a “problem” and then reassess choosing my next line. Sometimes the lines are longer, maybe 50 or even 100 feet. Sometimes the lines are much shorter, being as short as 5-10 feet. When the lines are longer, I have more time to sight-see and/or ponder. When the lines are shorter, my focus narrows and the act of choosing and rechoosing my line in a quick fashion becomes quite meditative.
A few hours later, I found myself on my favorite sandy beach in the Sierra—Middle Crabtree Lake. I’ve swum here every visit. As I sat on the sandy shore drying off, I heard a massive rock fall off the opposite ridge. I scanned left and right, but the scene was so enormous, there was no way to pick it out.
I spent the afternoon soaking up the sun and letting clothes dry, with no agenda.
Day 7
Daily Miles: 9.39
Total Miles: 79.23
Elevation Gain: 2,710 ft
Elevation Loss: 2,808 ft
I slept like a log at Middle Crabtree Lake. It felt less cold—perhaps because I slept through more of the night. I donned a head net while breaking down camp to fend off early mosquitoes.
The snow had developed deep “snow cups” in the mornings—stable to walk on, but slushy by early afternoon. I trusted them more than late-day mashed-potato snow.
Daily Miles: 9.39
Total Miles: 79.23
Elevation Gain: 2,710 ft
Elevation Loss: 2,808 ft
I slept like a log at Middle Crabtree Lake. It felt less cold—perhaps because I slept through more of the night. I donned a head net while breaking down camp to fend off early mosquitoes.
The snow had developed deep “snow cups” in the mornings—stable to walk on, but slushy by early afternoon. I trusted them more than late-day mashed-potato snow.
Ken Robinson, in High Sierra: A Love Story, describes class two and class three scrambling like this: When on Class 2 you can feel adrenaline pumping through you while on Class 3 you begin to feel fear. A fall on Class 2 could equal pretty bad injury. A fall on Class 3 could include possible death.
Crabtree Pass was real Class 2 terrain—I chose a line, stayed with it until I hit a “problem”, then carefully chose a new line.
Crabtree Pass was real Class 2 terrain—I chose a line, stayed with it until I hit a “problem”, then carefully chose a new line.
Before this trip, I had never felt consistently comfortable on Class 2 terrain, let alone Class 3. This hike changed that for me. Although I’ve hiked thousands of miles, the majority of those have been on trails.
Off-trail is where the real magic lives—when you don’t know what’s around the corner, you rarely see another soul, you hear and see wildlife, and each day is a challenge—and each step delivers an immense reward.
This had been a trip of reflection for me. It was the first trip of the summer and therefore one that I was trying to work out a lot of trip “kinks.” I’d taken lots of notes and knew I had lots of work to do when I got home, but that’s another life away. At that moment I was in Miter Basin at Iridescent Lake. It was still almost completely frozen over with random patches of open water. There was a waterfall coming off the back of the lake, not especially large relative to things I’d seen, but the silence all around creates the perfect environment for that fall to sound 10 times bigger than it really is. The jagged ridge winding 75% around this lake still held some patchy snow. A light breeze was blowing, and the sky was the bluest of blues. I was home.
Sitting there, thinking about my surroundings and my life, I realized that the day was not just any day, it was Father’s Day. As I sat, I couldn't imagine being given any better gift for Father’s Day than to have family, Paula and Bee, that have given me the gift of time, trust, belief, and solitude out here in the backcountry. An amazing Father’s Day I may just have to make into a tradition.
I ended up walking diagonally from Iridescent Lake down to the bottom of the Miter Basin and then back up to Primrose Lake. Unlike Iridescent Lake, which was still frozen over, Primrose was wide open.
I ended up walking diagonally from Iridescent Lake down to the bottom of the Miter Basin and then back up to Primrose Lake. Unlike Iridescent Lake, which was still frozen over, Primrose was wide open.
The wind that gusted up at Iridescent followed me all the way to Primrose and my final campsite on the basin’s lip. I was exactly where I’d hoped to be: overlooking Miter Basin valley from ridge to ridge.
When the wind remained relentless, I shifted to the backside, overlooking Lower Soldier Lake to sit and ponder.
It was my last night in the backcountry—tomorrow I’d head out on a new route: up a long ridge with no trail, past the approaches to Mt. Langley, Old Army Pass, New Army Pass, and over Cirque Peak before dropping to Cottonwood Pass Trail and the trailhead.
My time had been incredible. I knew I’d miss it.
My time had been incredible. I knew I’d miss it.
Day 8
Daily Miles: 11.97
Total Miles: 91.20
Elevation Gain: 2,511 ft
Elevation Loss: 3,817 ft
What a night—and what a day! The wind didn’t calm at sunset as it had the two previous days—it howled until after 1 a.m. With just a bivy and no tent, I oriented so the wind hit my back while on my side, avoiding face dust and dirt. I pulled the sleeping bag hood snug and anchored my bent knees to prevent being rolled over by the strong gusts. I didn’t sleep much, but I stayed warm and oddly comfortable.
I woke up as the sky was just starting to get light around 5:00am and just laid in my bag for a while. I watched the world light up till just before 5:30 am when I started packing up. I was on the trail by about 5:50am.
I followed a use-trail around Upper Soldier Lake toward the ridge.
Daily Miles: 11.97
Total Miles: 91.20
Elevation Gain: 2,511 ft
Elevation Loss: 3,817 ft
What a night—and what a day! The wind didn’t calm at sunset as it had the two previous days—it howled until after 1 a.m. With just a bivy and no tent, I oriented so the wind hit my back while on my side, avoiding face dust and dirt. I pulled the sleeping bag hood snug and anchored my bent knees to prevent being rolled over by the strong gusts. I didn’t sleep much, but I stayed warm and oddly comfortable.
I woke up as the sky was just starting to get light around 5:00am and just laid in my bag for a while. I watched the world light up till just before 5:30 am when I started packing up. I was on the trail by about 5:50am.
I followed a use-trail around Upper Soldier Lake toward the ridge.
The climb across loose sandy granite was tricky—each step forward slid back—but shade helped until near the top.
Upon cresting the ridge, it felt like a roller coaster—gentle climbs and drops toward Old Army Pass, followed by another climb to New Army Pass.
From there, I continued up another 600 ft to the summit of Cirque Peak at 12,900 ft—the highest point of the trip.
The ridge’s rock had been sculpted as though I were near a river or ocean—not at alpine elevation. Deep pocks and ripples suggested ages of pounding by water, but in reality the textures were the result of freeze-thaw cycles, strong alpine wind, and ice abrasion. It felt both fascinating and challenging.
Cirque Peak had a register for hikers to write in and I found all kinds of interesting writings before continuing on my least set of ups and downs before finally rejoining the trail (for the first time in days) just below Cottonwood Pass. The three or so miles to the trail head were hot and dusty and I was excited to get back to my car to get cleaned up.
Once settled in the parking lot, I made the three-hour drive to my favorite post-adventure spot along Highway 395: The Barn in Bridgeport.
It had been a trip stronger than expected—packed with peaks, surprises, and lessons. The wild took me off-trail and filled me with adrenaline. Every step brought awe and focus. From the high-altitude rock and the stunning lakes, I felt both grounded and free. This summer’s journey reminded me that true magic lives off-trail—and sometimes the best Father’s Day gift is solitude in the Sierra.
TOTALS
Total Miles-91.20 ((31.79 ON Trail and 59.41 OFF Trail))
Total Gained Elevation-19,009ft
Total Lost Elevation-19,974ft
Pack Weight without food/water -11.78lbs
It had been a trip stronger than expected—packed with peaks, surprises, and lessons. The wild took me off-trail and filled me with adrenaline. Every step brought awe and focus. From the high-altitude rock and the stunning lakes, I felt both grounded and free. This summer’s journey reminded me that true magic lives off-trail—and sometimes the best Father’s Day gift is solitude in the Sierra.
TOTALS
Total Miles-91.20 ((31.79 ON Trail and 59.41 OFF Trail))
Total Gained Elevation-19,009ft
Total Lost Elevation-19,974ft
Pack Weight without food/water -11.78lbs