The Pacific Crest Trail: The Sierras (Part 2)
Mammoth to South Lake Tahoe
Thousand Islands Lake
Towns can have a strange effect on your trail motivation, it can go one of two ways. For me the initial excitement of rest, beer and other creature comforts soon wears off and that creature wants to get back to the woods.
By this stage in the journey I was sleeping better in my tent than I was in-between four walls. Leaving Mammoth Lakes the group had splintered and my new plan was to reach Kennedy Meadows North (yes theres two Kennedy Meadows) in 5-6 days. I was back on my own for the first time since my last episode in the San Jacinto mountains.
At the end of the day the light was drawing in at Thousand Island Lakes. No islands were visible as the lake was frozen almost to its edge, as I pitched up water lapped at the shore in gentle iterations. Sitting there I began to appreciate that one day I’d be back to see those islands and experience the Sierras in late summer.
In theory the most difficult passes were behind me and the snow was receding, in reality the snow was still causing hikers to grumble. As the sun set I waved to two hikers camping further above the lake, too tired to stray away from my little island of dry grass. As they climbed into their respective tents, I noticed a coyote snooping around the hillside below them.
It wasn’t until the next day that we formally introduced ourselves — Hello Kitty and Surf n Turf. I was still only going by Rory at this point, by now you’ll have realised people pick up ‘trail names’. These names vary in quality and memorability, though theres some that really stick with you, like my friend Bags. When first hearing the name I assumed it was linked to over packing her bag or something along those lines, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.
In a particularly apocalyptic section of the LA aqueduct they were setting up camp on the side of a dirt road. There were used needles, litter and broken glass everywhere. It wasn’t pretty. Clearing space for her tent she picked up a brown paper bag, feeling something heavy she looked inside. There were several pet bunnies, all of them dead. This led to the trail name, Bags Bunny (after Bugs Bunny) which over time was shortened to, Bags. It was one of my favourite things hearing her explain the backstory to unsuspecting people.
It was June and I was back alone on trail, the Sierra snowpack was rapidly retreating as summer solstice drew closer. The snow was becoming more manageable, apart from fields of ankle rolling sun cups, which slowed down even the most seasoned hikers. The main concern was that with each passing day the rivers were becoming more powerful — Sierra river crossings can be at their worst in June when the snowmelt reaches it’s peak.
Luckily I bumped into Kitty and Surf n Turf before Benson Pass and they took me under their wing for the upcoming river crossings. There was a microclimate in the valley after Benson Pass and that morning was one of the coldest in the Sierras. I woke to see a Marmot warming itself on the rocks outside my tent, un-phased by it’s new temporary neighbour. We met two other hikers, Shasta and Poppins at a quiet river crossing, Piute Creek; a tributary to Benson Lake.
Kerrick Crossing
The morning started slow as we climbed Seavey Pass, passing by a series of small lakes before traversing a north-facing slope alongside Rancheria Creek. The steep icy riverbank made for slow trail, one slip could land you in the river.
Arriving at Kerrick Crossing it was past midday, later than expected. With the sun reaching it’s peak, the river had a force that I’d only witnessed from the safety of a bridge. Testing the waters, we waded through. Following Nic’s advise (Surf n Turf) shakily, slowly I reach the other side.
Before long Kitty was stood across the river with Poppins who we had met at Piute Creek. We blurted out instructions on the best route across over the deafening sounds of the water. As Kitty stepped in, the current pushed against her, hiking poles visibly shaking as she made her way across. Slipping on the rocks she dropped into the water, though she was able to anchor herself, recover and make it across.
Poppin had been watching anxiously from the other side and we all watched with anticipation as she stepped into the river. The sound of the water was heavy and the atmosphere felt tense. Edging across, planting her poles into the riverbed between the myriad of stones below. Time froze and in an instant she was underwater, the river cascading her downstream and dropping over a short waterfall. Approaching an eddy, she was almost able to grab onto a rock by the shore. The current pulled her down again as she bashed against rocks, somehow managing to cushion the blows with her backpack.
Instinct finally kicked in, dropping everything I ran along the river, Poppins multicoloured flatcap washed up at my feet after failing to intercept her at the eddy. She was out of sight again as the water weaved through giant boulders that were scattered throughout the riverbed. My mind was racing as I ran back along the sandy banks of the river.
Seconds later there was a clearing and she was almost within arms-reach, instead a tree reached out to save her. I finally reached Poppins. Grappling to a fallen pine. Terrified but alive. The current was pulling her down with the weight of her pack, almost pulling her under. Seconds later Nick and Kitty were with me. Carefully removing the pack, whilst she held onto us. Finally we dragged her over the tree trunk and onto the riverbank, we all sat for a moment in a shared state of shock.
Somehow it looked as though Poppins didn’t pick up any serious injuries and after a few moments of sitting in silence she broke down. Fear and relief radiating from all of us, running on adrenaline with a new appreciation for life. We were no longer strangers in the woods. Drying our drenched gear in the midday heat, we sat, eating, discussing and laughing at what had just happened. Nick proposed the new trail name for Poppins, ‘The Little Mermaid’.
After the events of Kerrick Crossing the rest of the Yosemite Wilderness felt seemingly straight forward. Crossings came and went but none of them tested our wits quite as Kerrick did. Powering through 27 miles that day in the hopes of reaching Kennedy Meadows North we fell short, camping high on a ridgeline sculpted by the volcanic rocks of Emigrant Wilderness. The peaks were dotted with dark black and brown ground piercing through white snow, creating a scattered pattern across it’s glacial landscape.
The camp was quiet, finding two spaces between bushes on a slopey patch of bare rock. In my exhausted state I hadn’t noticed another tent tucked away. The zipper opened and out popped Yan’s head, he had walked 8 miles in the wrong direction that day which was the only reason I had ever caught up to him.
An agonising descent into Sonora Pass marked the end of the High Sierras. Followed by a short hitch to Kennedy Meadows North, where we rested in the presence of cowboys and packhorses. There is a pack station here that offers expeditions into the wilderness where horses carry all of your equipment, a nice thought. To my surprise my friend River was there waiting for me, she had skipped ahead to join for the leg to South Lake Tahoe.
Kennedy Meadows North to Tahoe
We set out on the final section to South Lake Tahoe, somehow ahead of schedule. For the first time allowing us to enjoy shorter miles on a relatively snow-free trail. River tolerated my daily complaints about my swollen foot as we made our way through quiet trails.
South Lake Tahoe was in reach and with that a welcome ten day rest for my foot - I had to get off trail and leave the States to attempt an ESTA re-entry, something that wasn’t guaranteed to work. This would allow another 90 days to finish the remaining 1500+ miles in NorthCalifornia, Oregon and Washington.
As we approached Tahoe signs of civilisation started to appear. RV’s, day walkers and generous souls sharing their food and drinks with hikers. Usually you are dreaming up what you might eat in town, but we were given pancakes, bacon, French press coffee and all kinds of fresh fruit as we approached Tahoe.
Other highlights from those final days of the Sierras include ‘Breakfast with The Hoovers’ (a trucker and nanny from Montana) a peak called ‘the Nipple’ and swimming in frog lake whilst watching locals snowboard into the water. Though despite those shorter days as I hobbled into South Lake Tahoe, the thought of staying off trail did enter my mind. It was the most exhausted I had been on trail, the Sierras had chewed me up a spat me out.
Thanks for continuing to read Beyond the Mountain Path as I grow into Substack. Apologies for the lack of captions with these images, I post this newsletter from my phone in Akaroa, Banks Peninsular, New Zealand.
Another stunning part of the story. The Sierras are some of my favourite mountain ranges in the country, really enjoyed getting up close and personal with the area through your words!