Day 1

7.2 mi | +2086 ft | -1122 ft

After the unmitigated success of our 2023 long term, we were eager to get back out there and explore another section of the JMT. Unfortunately, our dear David, fearful of his knees after descending thousands of vertical feet, bowed out this time around. So our little group was whittled down to just two: Chris and myself. We were trying to decide between the segment from Mono Pass to Mammoth (which overlapped significantly with my first-ever long-term back in Scouts), and the segment from Kearsarge Pass to Mt Whitney. Surprisingly, permits were floating around for both options in September, but we decided to go with the less strenuous former route. We’d be heading northbound from Mosquito Flat up through Mono Pass, eventually popping out at Horseshoe Lake just south of Mammoth Mountain (which also happens to be exactly where we started our 2023 trip). I also wanted to do some cross-country on this trip, so I found a stretch in the middle of the route where we could bypass the lower-altitude wooded portions of the JMT in favor of some high altitude alpine bush-whacking. Well, there aren’t many bushes at 11,000 ft. Boulder-whacking? You know what I mean. For this bit of our trip, I followed the excellent route outlined by Steve Roper in his classic guidebook Sierra High Route: Traversing Timberline Country.

We were hoping to get on the trail a few weeks earlier, but an early-season snowstorm derailed our plans. I was tracking the weather closely. Daily satellite imagery from CalTopo revealed a solid white layer of snow all across the first 2 days of the route. We didn’t want to deal with that, so we postponed for a few weeks until we could grab another permit, pushing us out to the end of September.

We did not want to repeat the insane bus logistics of the previous year, so we opted for a 2-car strategy. We’d drive up separately, drop one car off at the terminus, and then carpool to the starting point. Then we’d pick up the second car on the way out. This would add a bit of travel time, but it was preferable to all the one-car shenanigans we dealt with in 2023.

The forecast was good the second time around, so we woke up at 4:30 am on Sunday, got some McMuffins, filled up on gas, and headed up to Horseshoe Lake. The drive took about 5 hours – I absolutely smoked Chris to the finish line and had a solid 20 minutes or so to doze off in the parking lot before he arrived. Then I hopped into his car and we drove back down to Mosquito Flat. On the way into the valley containing Mosquito Flat, Rock Creek Lake, etc. we saw tons of tourists stopped on the side of the road to take photos of the aspen groves, which were draped in eye-popping gold. By this point it was already nearly noon and parking was totally full, so I dropped off Chris and our packs at the trailhead and drove a quarter mile or so back down to park on the side of the road.

Unfortunately, Day 1 was going to be a rough start. The goal was to reach Mono Pass at about 12,000 ft and continue down a few miles to camp at Trail Lakes. This meant we were in for a climb of over 2000 ft with our fully-loaded packs weighing in at 40-50 pounds. And all of that starting at 10,000 ft with no acclimation. Fun! We were on the trail by noon.

The first quarter mile or so was a bit steep; I remembered that from our previous trip up Little Lakes Valley in 2023. But then the trail flattened out for a bit before splitting off from the Little Lakes Valley Trail to climb the right side of the valley towards Ruby Lake. As we started to climb the valley wall, our exertion was rewarded with some beautiful views of the golden aspen and the impressive spires guarding the end of Little Lakes Valley (1).

On our way up, we happened to run into another Medtronic employee. Chris didn’t know her, but they chatted for a bit. The same thing had happened during our 2023 long-term trip – will it become an annual tradition? The climb was tough. As we gained altitude, a few of the numerous eponymous Little Lakes popped into view under the massive bulk of Mt Morgan which comprised most of the opposite side of the valley (2).

At around 11,000 ft the trail mercifully flattened out and meandered into a beautiful alpine valley containing the outlet creek from Ruby Lake. A short quarter-mile trek up the creek led us to pristine Ruby Lake, where we took lunch (3). On the menu today: spam musubi for me and an Ike’s sandwich for Chris. The water was crystal-clear and almost supernaturally light blue, and we could see trout swimming around lazily in the shallows. Above the lake’s surface stood sheer granite cliffs culminating in Ruby Peak, with some gorgeous splotches of green and yellow foliage in between. I considered taking a swim, but after dipping my feet in I reconsidered. The water was freezing, and I wasn’t desperately grimy just yet. That’s how you know it was damn cold.

We hung out at Ruby Lake until about 3 pm, at which point we begrudgingly headed back to the main trail for the final 1000 ft ascent to Mono Pass. This was a major slog and we took it slow-and-steady with plenty of breaks. The altitude, lack of acclimation, and nearly-maximal pack weight were not doing us any favors. At least we got a full view of the Abbot group of peaks standing well over 13,000 ft to the south (4).

Finally, after a brutal set of switchbacks, the trail flattened out for the last few hundred vertical feet up to Mono Pass. Vegetation grew sparse, and the environment began to feel more and more like the surface of the moon (5). I remembered this feeling from the last time I was at Mono Pass back in 2008. I think it’s fair to say that Chris was battling with some existential thoughts at this point.

But finally – mercifully – the pass came and went at around 5 pm. Just to the north of the highest point lies a tiny, lifeless tarn named Summit Lake (6). It was eerily silent up here with no foliage to rustle in the wind. We took a break on the shores of the tarn, during which a trail runner casually passed us with 2 dogs in tow. Chris and I stared in slack-jawed silence. We never saw that man again, so he either ran straight through the whole JMT or met an unfortunate demise…

As we descended back to an altitude where shrubs could just barely cling to life amongst the boulders, Pioneer Basin came into view. This was where we had set up base camp for some peak-bagging back in 2008. We had spent a few days here and summitted most of the surrounding peaks, including Mt Hopkins, Mt Crocker, and Mt Stanford. We also bagged Red Slate Mountain earlier in the trip, which can be seen poking its stubby pyramidal mass over the ridgeline on the left.

As we continued northwest, more of the massive glacial valley came into view along with the very tops of a few prominent peaks that we’d be getting acquainted with over the next week. On Day 2 we’d be heading down the valley alongside Mono Creek before taking a right to climb up the secondary valley behind Larkins Peak, which is terminated by Red and White Mountain.

We continued onto a flat plateau that sat a few hundred feet above and to the north of Trail Lakes. Here we dropped our packs to take a short detour to the northwest edge of the plateau, which offered awesome views of Pioneer Basin and the expansive valley housing Mono Creek (7). We descended the last few hundred feet to Trail Lakes, but not before I snapped a photo of the main lake, backed by a massive unnamed flank of Mono Pass Peak, with a glimpse up the Fourth Recess on the right (8).

There was another small group of campers who had already nabbed a flat, sandy area in the center of this small basin. This was clearly the best campsite. There weren’t a ton of other options, but we were able to find a decently flat spot near the northwestern shore of the largest lake. We set up camp around 6:30. Light was fading fast, so we pumped water and ate dinner quickly. I finished off my spam musubi and Chris had some drunken noodles which were decent. We were cold and extremely tired, so we got into the tent at 7:45 and knocked out.

Day 2

10.3 mi | +1595 ft | -2514 ft

Unfortunately, Day 2 was not going to be much easier than Day 1. We had quite a lot of distance to cover, with a bit less climbing than Day 1 but a lot more descent. I had an expectedly awful night of sleep: my watch reported 3.5 hours. I don’t think Chris suffered the same fate, considering that he was snoring within literally 2 minutes of getting into his sleeping bag. The wind also picked up in the middle of the night and caused a ruckus, which doesn’t help with the sleep thing. I woke up before sunrise and read a bit of Expecting Better (baby was due in only 5 months!) until around 7:45, at which point we roused ourselves. We packed up and ate breakfast: pop tart and coffee. Considering the tough day ahead, we tried a new strat: pump only 2 quarts of water each. This would lighten our packs significantly, and we knew there was plenty of water on our route. I am honestly not sure why we hadn’t tried this before…

It was a cold night at 11,200 ft, and morning wasn’t much better. I was glad I packed gloves this year! But once the sun poked above the ridge to the east, it warmed up quickly. Our Trail Lake glittered in the morning rays (1).

The day’s journey began with a long descent. It was steep at first, and then more gradual. On the way down we had some more great views of Pioneer Basin across the valley to the north. We also got some new views of the Fourth Recess, a prominent geographic feature in this area. The primary valley containing Mono Creek branches off to the south in four “recesses,” each of which forms a “hanging valley” where long ago a tributary glacier joined the primary glacier heading west. I snapped a photo of the peaks guarding the uppermost reaches of the Fourth Recess (2). We even got a glimpse of the top of Mt Gabb, a 13er looming behind the terminating ridge of Little Lakes Valley, which had dominated our views on Day 1.

Our first proper break was in a handsome meadow (3) with a nice view up to the bowl where Golden Lake was nestled. Chris was in standard form – horizontal whenever possible. But at least we weren’t hiking uphill…yet.

The trail flattened out into a gently descending stroll through the wooded base of the valley alongside Mono Creek. We stomped through patches of golden-leaved aspen and wide, barren avalanche scars which tore across the northern wall.

From this particular avalanche scar we got a nice view into a small basin hanging above the valley on the south side in between the Second and Third Recesses, home to Frog Lake (4).

After a long, relatively chill hike, we reached the low point of 8800 ft. This was actually the lowest elevation of the entire trip. Both the starting and ending trailheads were higher, along with everything else in-between! We stopped for lunch and pumped some water from Laurel Creek, a tributary which tumbles down the north side of the valley to join Mono Creek. We would soon be following Laurel Creek up a precipitous climb to the hanging valley above. But first, lunch. I pulled out some preserved salmon and tuna with crackers, which was very tasty! After a short rest, we collected ourselves for the next challenge: scaling the northern wall of the valley. This particular segment of trail was ruthlessly disparaged in Sierra High Route, and it definitely lived up to its reputation. It was only about a 1000 ft climb, but at an extremely steep grade. There were basically no switchbacks at all. Rather, the trail lead straight up the valley wall through sparse pines and dense scrub. This was an incredibly tough section. We would climb a couple hundred feet and then stop and wait for our heart rates to drop back down to something reasonable. Rinse and repeat. Chris broke out some new tech here: he attached his phone to his shoulder strap and was playing The Silmarillion audiobook from his phone speaker to help distract from the trail. At least there were some stunning views of the Second Recess behind us (5)!

We finally reached the top where the trail flattened off into a wooded area. We took a nice long break here to regain some composure. Next up was a “quick” jaunt up the valley to Laurel Lake, where we’d spend the night. But this 2 mile segment felt more like 5 miles after what we’d been through. At least the woods opened up into rolling meadows with awesome views of Red and White Mountain (6). And it was flat. Flat was good.

On Day 3 we would be climbing cross-country up between Peak 11604 and Silver Divide Peak to Bighorn Pass, so it was cool to see those peaks from this perspective.

The trail was faint here. It was clearly not a highly-trafficked route. We had departed the JMT earlier when we started climbing up along Laurel Creek, and we would not rejoin it for the next 3 days. After picking our way through the valley, sometimes with a trail and sometimes without, we eventually ended up at Laurel Lake around 5:30 pm, exhausted and relieved (7). There was not a soul to be found here. In fact, we hadn’t seen a single person all day. We picked out a wonderful spot on the southern shore of Laurel Lake.

I set up the hammock and we chilled out for a bit before dinner. There were definitely trout in Laurel Lake. They were going absolutely hog-wild as dusk rolled around. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many jumping fish! For dinner, I had drunken noodles, but I screwed up and left a bunch of the seasoning stuck to the bottom of the bag so they ended up kind of bland. Chris had sweet and sour chicken: not good. Quite bad actually, but he finished it like a champ. We were pooped so we got in the tent at 7:30. That was a hard day!

Day 3

5.6 mi | +1804 ft | -1485 ft

I was very excited for Day 3 because we would be starting our off-trail backcountry adventure. Our goal was to cross the Silver Divide, an arm of the Sierra Nevada that thrusts unusually westward from the crest to divide the South and Middle Fork San Joaquin River watersheds. Mono Creek to the south eventually joins the South Fork, and Fish Creek to the north eventually joins the Middle Fork. We’d be making the journey via Bighorn Pass and Shout-of-Relief Pass before descending into more gentle lake-studded terrain on the north side.

I was blessed by the mountain gods and slept like a rock for more than 10 hours. An exhausted, undreaming rock. Hell yeah. We were up around 8 am to pump water, pack up, and eat breakfast. I had another pop tart and coffee. It was cold again, but the view of Red and White Mountain perfectly reflected in Laurel Lake was pretty freaking unreal.

Once the sun poked over the ridge to the east, it warmed up quickly again. I spent a little time in the hammock reading before we headed out around 10 am. First, we crossed to the northwest side of Laurel Lake, which afforded a nice view of the high peaks back at the Recesses behind us (1).

We could not yet see Bighorn Pass; it was occluded by the imposing ridge in front of us. I had photocopied a few pages of Sierra High Route to help with route-finding here, but we had to improvise the details. That’s part of the fun! We ended up scrambling around to the left to avoid the largest of the granite boulders and then hugging the base of the cliffs on the left side of the chute.

This was tough. The chute was fairly steep and choked with medium-sized talus. As we climbed we could see Laurel Lake and our previous campsite shrinking below.

About halfway up, the route flattened out onto a small shelf housing a nearly dry tarn (2).

Looking up, we plotted out our next route. Follow the grassy chute and keep right. I poked around on the left side of the chute, but ended up dead-ending and turning around.

After climbing about 900 ft, we finally reached Bighorn Pass (3). Chris took this opportunity to immediately become horizontal while I scurried around and took photos. To the southeast, we could see the Recesses and even all the way back to the Abbot/Mills/Dade group where we’d started on Day 1.

To the east: a peek at Grinnell Lake, a much larger chain of lakes nestled above Laurel Lake. We could also see the western ridge of Pioneer Basin, including Robber Baron Peak and Mount Hopkins. Cool!

To the west: deep blue Ross Finch Lake with Mount Izaak Walton on the right. The latter would be a significant landmark over the next few days.

We could even see a tiny arc of Lake Thomas A Edison some 6 miles distant.

After a nice long rest, we took a look at the next leg of our journey laid out before us. We needed to traverse the rough terrain above Ross Finch Lake to the northeast, with the ultimate goal of reaching Shout-of-Relief Pass. This did not look all that easy. The slope was covered in large boulders and talus, with slabs and ridges of solid granite cast annoyingly in our way. We decided to drop down about 150 ft rather than try to stay high and traverse. We picked our way slowly and carefully through the boulder field, the rough craggy shape of Silver Divide Peak looming overhead. We then climbed up about 250 ft along a grassy chute (which was actually easier to climb than it looked from afar) to top the main ridge bisecting the bowl between these two passes. Then down another 100 ft to a dry sandy tarn, where we saw some footsteps! Signs of other humans! We still hadn’t seen anyone since the end of Day 1. It was reassuring to see that other folks had chosen the same route.

We veered right to stay high and traversed a few smooth granite slabs before stopping for lunch. I had a Clif bar (I had dramatically reduced my lunches after some severe over-packing in 2023) and some extra tuna kindly donated by Chris. He was a bit uncomfortable with all this boulder scrambling. We often had to use our hands to brace ourselves, or get down on our butts so our feet could reach the next boulder below. All with our still-mostly-full packs on. I tried to be encouraging – we were almost there! And that wasn’t a lie. The only thing between us and the pass was a 100 ft climb up the final grassy chute. When we finally reached it, we both gave an obligatory “shout of relief” just as the first explorers had done some 100 years earlier, giving the pass its name (4). Looking back southeast, we could see all the familiar faces, as well as Mount Hooper nearly 17 miles to the south!

We could also see our scramble route, or at least the part of it after we topped the ridge halfway through.

To the northwest an entirely new landscape (and watershed) unfolded before us. Directly ahead was a gorgeous, gentle basin dotted with small alpine lakes, the rightmost and largest of which was named Tully Lake. Red Slate Mountain was not yet in view, but the Sierra Crest continued conspicuously northwest, including Inter-Red Peak and Mount Mendenhall. We could also see some of our route over the next few days, including a bit of the basins containing Lake Virginia and Purple Lake. We could even see Peak 11627, which we’d later admire from the opposite direction at our camp at Deer Lakes. Even Mount Ritter and Banner Peak, those titans of the Ritter Range and our good friends from 2023, were clearly visible 23 miles to the northwest!

We enjoyed the views for a while and plotted out our winding path through the many lakes below. We dropped down to a grassy shelf, and then down another gentle slope to the sandy shores of the first unnamed lake (5). Red Slate Mountain was now fully in view in all of its volcanic pyramidal glory.

We continued picking our way through the basin, thankful for the relatively easy, flat terrain after our boulder-filled day. This area reminded me of the gorgeous high alpine basin just below Donohue Pass from our 2023 trip. It was wild, serene, and absolutely deserted in the golden-hour sunlight. We stumbled upon a long, narrow pond with a nice accessible beach. It was most certainly time for a swim (6). I got all the way in (as usual) for a refreshing dip and Chris got in up to his legs. OK, that’s a win in my book.

We continued onwards. We got a little peek at Tully Lake, one of my camp sites in 2008. We also topped Red Slate Mountain from McGee Pass on that trip. It was cool to be in this area again after so many years.

We were forced to climb and contour over a few small ridges cutting across the gentle highlands. Our fatigue by this point meant that even these small obstacles punched above their weight. Finally, we reached Cotton Lake (7), where we planned to camp. We arrived on the northern shore, but it was quite rocky and steep and we were unable to find a great spot. Undeterred, I went on a scouting mission to a promising pine grove at the southwest corner of the lake, set back about a hundred yards or so from the shore. It turned out to be an awesome spot with a really nice view of Red Slate Mountain.

We set up camp, pumped water, etc. There wasn’t much soil here – just an inch or two of sand on a granite slab – so we had to be a little creative with our tent staking. Chris tied the rain fly to some tree branches with rope, and I used a few good-size rocks to anchor the other side. For dinner, I had cuban coconut rice and beans, which was solid. Chris had chicken risotto. We had hiked less than 6 miles, but the rugged terrain and lack of trail made it feel like double that in our legs. So, we decided it was time for a little treat. We broke out the salami and Chris’s pan and got to work cooking up some delicious patented Italiaie camp pepperoni (tm). We tried some new tech here. Chris first added some water to the pan to help slow down the cook and avoid burning the peppies. This worked OK, but not great, and it was slow going. Nobody has time for that! For the next batch he just cranked the flame down very low, almost low enough to blow out, and fried ’em up real low and slow. This was much better! These hot, greasy boys taste so freaking good out there it’s truly incredible. Huge morale booster.

Chris said that each day was harder than the last, and he wasn’t wrong. It had been a pretty brutal start to the trip. We were taking Day 4 off, so we had that to look forward to. It was also a lot warmer than the previous nights, so we were able to stay up and watch the sunset, more stars than we were used to, and several satellites. We got into the tent at 8 pm and drifted off.

Day 4 (Day of Leisure)

2.7 mi | +517 ft | -487 ft

The Day of Leisure was so critically acclaimed in 2023 that it had to make a return appearance this year. But we upgraded our strategy: we would not even be moving camp on Day 4! This was a very welcome break after 3 strenuous days in a row! Instead, we planned to take a lovely packless stroll around our local plateau nestled between Fish Creek, Tully Lake, and Izaak Walton Lake.

I got up at 7:45 and did some reading in the hammock until the sun creeped above the Sierra Crest to the east. I felt like I had slept OK, but not great, despite 9.5 hours in bed. Classic. Chris joined me for a breakfast of oatmeal and coffee. We took the rest of the morning off to chill – a rare and coveted opportunity! I spent some more time reading in the hammock.

Sitting around all morning was nice and all, but I started to feel the ants in my pants and we rallied for our day hike. First, we made our way to the western edge of our plateau where granite shelves speckled in yellow grass gave way to an expansive view of Mt Izaak Walton and its razor-sharp ridge. This was one of my favorite views of the entire trip. You just can’t beat a desolate glacial valley!

But we weren’t just here for the views. We also took the opportunity to plot out our Day 5 route, the first half of which would continue to be cross-country. We found a spot near a small pond where we were 80% confident we would be able to pick our way though these shelves without cliffing out. Nice. Onwards.

We continued north, climbing a gentle slope up to the highest point in this area, a gentle, shallow ridge along the northern edge of the plateau. From here we could see camp and the north face of the Silver Divide, which we had crossed the previous day. It was surprising just how different Red and White Mountain looked from this side: sooty grey scree rather than brilliant white granite cliffs.

Turning around to face north yielded another great view of our Day 5 route. We could see Fish Creek winding its way down its shallow valley, meandering between yellow meadows and evergreen groves. One of these meadows, known as Tulley Hole, marks the creek’s sudden leftward zag before it drifts down a much longer valley headed towards Mammoth and Devil’s Postpile. But we would not be following the creek. Instead, we planned to rejoin the JMT and head up the northwest face of Tulley Hole into a series of lake-filled secondary valleys situated far above Fish Creek. Gotta stay in that alpine biome! To the left, we could see all the way out to Triple Divide Peak et. al., situated behind the Ritter Range to the west. I really don’t know much about that area (yet).

We took a break to eat some lunch and soak in the views. We had planned to hike over to Tulley Lake, the largest lake in this area. But it was the Day of Leisure and we frankly just didn’t feel like it. So we settled for a smaller pond nearby where we dipped our battered toes. It was ice-cold!

We headed back to camp in the early afternoon. We wanted to take a swim, but Cotton Lake was frigid. There was a small lagoon along the western shore separated by a field of granite talus. We hoped that it would be a bit warmer, but no dice. It was just as frigid. Welp. The only thing left to do was to jump right in, albeit with a lot of hooting and hollering.

It was at this point that Chris realized he lost a sock somehow. Maybe at the pond where we dipped our toes on the hike? Who knows. We hung out by the shore for a while. I did some more reading and finished off my bag of sour gummy worms (those things and Nerds Clusters are the only reasons I survive these trips). We headed back up to camp where we chatted until dinner. Topics covered: work, Chris’ group of MBA friends, having kids, healthcare, real estate, Israel, history of the Middle East in the Cold War era. It sure was nice to have a day to laze around and shoot the shit.

For dinner, I had chicken pot pie, which was only OK. Chris had beef stroganoff, which was very good. We finished off the camp pepperoni for dessert, low-and-slow-style. It was markedly colder than the previous night, so we didn’t stick around for star watching. We were in the tent by 7, but not before Chris thought he lost his watch for 3 minutes. He found it (I don’t remember where – maybe on his wrist??)

For the third time in a row, we hadn’t encountered another human being all day.

Day 5

8.9 mi | +1436 ft | -2109 ft

I woke up in the middle of the night feeling strangely warm, so my anxious nighttime lizard brain decided that my hand (which I had burned pretty badly in an unfortunate coffee incident shortly before the trip) was infected. I lost a couple hours of sleep on that idea. My hand was fine. Cool.

Chris was up first. Breakfast, water, pack up. On the trail by 9.

We headed straight for the pond landmark we had located on our scouting mission the previous day. We worked our way down the western edge of our plateau, stepping down granite and sliding down steep dirt slopes. It was a bit tricky but we made it down to Izaak Walton Lake without incident.

We traversed around the western short of the lake. Unfortunately, the gentle grassy plains at the southern edge did not continue all the way around, and we had to double back and climb a few granite ridges to make it to the outlet at the north end. From here, an unnamed creek drained down through a surprisingly deep and narrow canyon, eventually joining Fish Creek below. We scrambled across large, flat granite slabs, keeping the creek nearby on our right. We cliffed out a few times, but it was quite fun to route-find our way though (especially since it was downhill). Eventually the slabs gave way to soil and pine trees, and we popped out into the flat-bottomed valley hosting Fish Creek. We crossed a few tributaries in a golden, waterlogged meadow before finally rejoining a trail! This was not yet the JMT, but it was a trail nonetheless, and we were thankful for that. We had been hiking cross-country since Day 3. It had been a blast, but it sure felt good to turn the autopilot back on.

Buoyed by the relative ease of trail hiking, we absolutely ripped it to Tulley Hole, where we took lunch, refilled on water from the creek, and prepared for our next big climb. We were looking at about 1000 ft up the valley wall to Lake Virgina, our next major landmark. Before the climb, we rejoined the JMT and ran into two other hikers within 10 minutes, ending our streak of seclusion. 3.5 days without seeing anyone else – that’s pretty awesome. The secret, not surprisingly, is to get off the most popular trails (and/or get off the trails entirely)!

The climb wasn’t too bad. The grade was easy, with nice wide switchbacks. The trail was mostly exposed once we cleared the woods at the valley floor, revealing panoramic views of the day’s hike. Tully Hole glittered like a fancy button far below.

A short segment of flat trail led us to Lake Virginia, which was quite large and laid out luxuriously in a wide basin. We ran into a few more hikers here and saw one camp already set up. The trail led us along the northeast shore to the inlet.

The next major section of our route was to lead us through three separate secondary valleys, each hosting its own lake and feeding down into Fish Creek to the south. Lake Virgina was the first; Purple Lake, where we planned to camp for the night, was next up. Thankfully, the pass between these lakes was very chill, involving a short and gradual climb. By this point Chris had activated his “done with the hard part” afterburners are we were screaming down the trail.

We had one more major obstacle to conquer: a sizable 600 ft descent to Purple Lake. The knees were not feeling great by this point. But we made it down, as we always do.

We crossed the outlet and peeled off the trail to search the northwest shore for a campsite, but our luck had run out here on Day 5. We cast about for what felt like an hour, with no real luck. Tired and defeated, we settled for a decent secluded clearing. The worst part was that we were a steep, trail-less hike from the shore. We made our way down there to pump water and investigate, but it was windy and cold, and this side of the lake was already shaded by the ridge above. Swim time was decidedly canceled. We maxed out our water capacity so we wouldn’t need to trek back down there in the morning.

There was at least a hammock spot, so I set that up and chilled until dinner. At least our dinner was tasty. I had tikka masala and Chris had a fiesta beef and vegetable bowl. Both were excellent. We were both still hungry and tragically all out of salami, so we also cooked up the extra dinner I had (which had been replaced by leftover musubi on Day 1). It was also a banger – creamy beef with noodles. Thank god freeze drying tech has gotten so good in the last decade. As if to make up for what was clearly the worst campsite of the entire trip, we were visited by a family of deer – a mother doe and two babies – before bedtime.

Day 6

8.4 mi | +2168 ft | -1454 ft

We were up early, ready to move on from the disappointment of the day before. Well, the real reason was that Chris scrambled out of the tent for an emergency meeting with Nature’s Call at 6 am. We had breakfast and hit the trail at 8 without pumping water, thanks to our planning ahead.

We climbed gradually up from Purple Lake, contouring widely around Peak 3464 (which we had spotted two days earlier from our day hike vantage point). From our high perch above Fish Creek, we had a great view of the westernmost extent of the Silver Divide. Dark stormclouds swirled above the peaks, and we could see the hazy grey smudge of rainfall sweeping through them. It looked like our luck with the weather had run out.

Propelled by the fear of a wet day of hiking, we picked up the pace and rocketed through the next couple miles of trail. Thankfully, we ended up dodging the bulk of the storm while still enjoying the cool and cloud cover. By the time we reached Duck Lake, nestled in the third and final valley, skies were blue once again.

Duck Lake was a feast for the eyes. It was by far the largest like we would encounter on the trip, easily more than three times the area of Lake Virginia. It was flanked by relatively gentle slopes, dotted with pine groves, and its shores were adorned with golden grass and shrubs. At the far (northeast) end, a gently curved valley rose lazily from the shore to meet the Sierra Crest. Smooth, multicolored peppbles glittered under the crystalline alpine water.

After soaking in the view, we began the climb to Duck Pass. The trail climbed up and across the long northwestern shore.

We reached Duck Pass, once again standing at the Sierra Crest, the highpoint of the range. But our route would only cross over to the eastern side briefly before doubling back along the Mammoth Crest. We saw a ton of day hikers at the pass, hiking up from the varous trailheads in the Mammoth area. We also had cell reception, which we used to check only the weather – no cheating!

We turned left off the main trail, keeping to the high side of the Mammoth Crest. The trail here was faint and came in fits and starts, but the terrain was mild – rolling grassy hills and bundles of low brush. Near the high point, just below Deer Pass, the view back towards Duck Lake was incredible.

We crested Deer Pass and tromped through one of my favorite little areas on this whole route – a curiously flat, grassy basin hoisted to over 11,000 ft. The trail cut through this strange space in a remarkable straight line for quarter mile or so.

Crossing this flat expanse yielded our first view of Deer Lakes, a set of 3 idyllic azure blobs laid out in a cozy, stepped valley. We descended along the faint trail, through a not-so-ergonomic slope of rough talus, to the valley bottom.

The first (easternmost) lake looked a bit exposed, so we passed it by and headed to the second, where we found an excellent spot after a bit of scouting. It was on the west side, set back 100 yards or so from the shore, shielded from the wind by a pine grove on one side and a large granite slab on the other.

We took lunch, pumped water, and went for a swim at our lovely sandy lakeshore. It was still damn cold, like all the others. That’s what you get for hiking in October!

The sky was looking nasty again, and we were glad to have camp already set up. We ended up dodging the rain again, but we were hit with some pretty brutal cold wind which forced us into the tent for some afternoon reading. At this point we were feeling pretty over it and ready to rejoin civiliation the next day. Thankfully, the sun came back out later in the afternoon and we took the opportunity to take a short hike to the third Deer Lake and around the local basin.

We headed back to camp and decided to take advantage of the scenery and golden hour with a photoshoot for Chris’ dating profile. If you want to see those pics, you’d best get your butt on Hinge.

For dinner, both our selections were solid but not amazing: adobo chicken for me and chicken fried rice for Chris. We broke out one of the freeze-dried desserts for our last night on the trail: banana pudding. Unfortunately, the suggested amount of water made it into more of a sauce than a pudding. Still tasted great, though.

It was a cold night, so we packed it in before sunset and read for a bit before drifting off to sleep.

Day 7

7.2 mi | +1080 ft | -2713 ft

As usual, we were highly motivated to get back to civilization on our final day. We speedran breakfast and got on the trail by 7:30 am.

Our final route followed along the Mammoth Crest Trail before dropping off the end of it back down to Mammoth Pass. We had a decent amount of distance and elevation to cover, but we were imbued with the legendary power of “burgers later today.”

As we rose up towards the crest, the west end of the Silver Divide came back into view. We had last seen these guys from Duck Lake.

A short ways into the trail I did a quick hike up to Peak 3480 on the crest. This involved a fairly steep (but mercifully short) scramble up the scree-covered slope. The peak, like the rest of Mammoth Crest, was easily approached from the southwest via a gentle slope but dropped into sheer cliffs on the other side. This made for some pretty incredible 360-degree views.

Eventually, the Mammoth Crest Trail departed to the right to descend a ridge to the valley floor, passing by Crystal Lake and Lake George. We parted ways here to continue nortwest along the crest.

Our trail slowly grew fainter until it was quite difficult to track at all. The terrain underfoot had changed from soil and granite to a fine sand, which did not help matters. Eventually, we lost the trail entirely and ended up traversing across a steep slope through boulders and scrub – not all that fun with packs on. We were awarded with panoramic views of the Ritter Range and a significant portion of our 2023 route, from Mammoth Pass to Donohue Pass.

At this point the trail took a hard right and shot down a steep, sandy slope for a few hundred feet. Giddy with anticipation (and impatient with the sandy terrain), we half-jogged half-skiied down the slope at an irresponsible pace. It was a blast, but I later discovered I was missing a Nalgene! It must have popped out of the side pouch on my pack. Oops.

After a quick (and heavily populated) downhill section, we were finally done!

The car was parked a few hundred feet from Horseshoe Lake and we were pretty grimy, so we decided to take one final dip before changing into the clean set of clothes waiting for us. It was cold, but not as cold as what we were used to. We did manage to get a few sideways looks from the day-use folks. Refreshed, we packed up and headed out to pick up my car from the starting point. I was grateful that we made the return trip easy by hiking north so that the starting point was on the way home. The drive home was long but uneventful, and it was terminated by a well-deserved shower and rest.