Over the holiday weekend, I backpacked from Green Lakes Trailhead, over Virginia Pass, and climbed Twin Peaks and Virginia Peak. Here’s a long version of the story. . .
DAY ONE, July 4th -- Driving to Trailhead
I drove from Oakland to the Green Lakes Trailhead. The highway was eerily empty, the kind of emptiness that stretches out when everyone is busy with picnics and parties. It was the perfect time for a road trip. I reached Sonora Pass faster than expected. At Sardine Creek---one of my favorite hangout spots---I boiled a pot of tea and watched the sunset bleed across the sky.
It was dark when I rolled into Bridgeport. The town was alive, exploding into a frenzy of fireworks. The energy was chaotic, but joyful. Driving down the main drag, I saw crowds gathered in parking lots, cheering at bottlerocket explosions and sparklers sizzling in the summer air. Just as I passed Sinclair Street, a roman candle burst on the sidewalk, mere feet from my car, and sparks ricocheted off my windshield. My heart leaped. I glanced at the young boy who had lit the firework; he seemed unbothered by the sparks shooting into traffic. I slowed to a crawl, taking side streets to avoid more madness. People were everywhere, carrying drinks, laughing with their families, a few clearly drunk. The air was thick with the acrid smell of sulfur and gunpowder. I suppose you could say it was a quintessentially American scene. Beyond the town limits, I slipped back into the darkness of the night highway.
I reached the Green Lakes Trailhead at 9:30. The thought of night-hiking a few miles and camping at Green Lake crossed my mind, but weariness had settled in. It was late. I climbed into the back of my Subaru, opened the moonroof, and drifted to sleep beneath a sky brilliant with stars.
DAY TWO -- Twin Peaks
My alarm rang at five o'clock. Today, I planned to hike over Virginia Pass, set up a basecamp in the high meadows, and climb Twin Peaks. But snug in my down quilt, warm and cozy, I felt no urge to move. . . Just a few more minutes of sleep...
Eventually, I was outside and hiking. As the sunrise crested Kavanaugh Ridge, the forest came alive with birdsong. I was glad to be walking this early, following the trail along Green Creek, enjoying the cool morning air. The constant roar of the river invited my mind to wander, and I settled into a rhythmic hiking pace.
A couple of miles in, I took a wrong turn. I followed a sign towards Green Lake, because that's where I wanted to go. But when I crossed the West Fork and arrived at switchbacks leading to East Lake, I knew something was off. I stopped, retraced my path, and realized that the trail marked "Green Lake" led to the lake's outlet. But to traverse around the north shore, I had to take the trail to West Lake. It is simpler than it sounds, and I felt like an idiot for not checking my map.
Then. . . I made another mistake. I missed the junction for the Virginia Pass use trail. I knew something was wrong when I found myself climbing switchbacks towards West Lake. Retracing my steps, I found the unmarked use trail. It's quite easy to see if I had been looking for it.
Back on track, I followed the Virginia Pass trail around Green Lake. There were a few bushwhack sections through cottonwoods and fallen pines, but it was mostly easy to follow. I continued above the treeline and through Glines Canyon, a fantastic spot with psychedelic swirls of metamorphic rock and granite. I spotted several nice-looking campsites away from the trail.
A small snowfield lingered below Virginia Pass. It was low angle, but still crunchy and hard in the morning. My trail running shoes couldn't gain traction, so I climbed around on solid talus.
At Virginia Pass, a familiar metal-cut sign welcomed me to Yosemite Wilderness. I love these signs—they’re so uniquely Yosemite. From the pass, a sweeping panorama of Virginia Canyon unfolded. I followed the trail downhill for a couple of hundred feet, then turned right to traverse along the 10,200-foot line toward the upper canyon. The landscape here is splendid: open park-like meadows, small tarns, and inviting juniper groves.
I found a campsite on a sandy flat at 10,400 feet, with a babbling branch of Virginia Creek nearby. To the south, an expansive view of the canyon. To the north, the jagged cliffs and gendarmes of Twin Peaks loomed above. This spot is awesome, and I want to return here with friends. I noticed, to my surprise and delight. . . no mosquitoes!
My next move was to climb Twin Peaks, but first, I needed to rest. I spread my Tyvek in the shade of a juniper and fell asleep. I awoke at 1 PM, ready to climb. I cached my spare gear beside the tree.
There are several routes to Twin Peaks. My plan was to ascend the east gully and descend the west gully. I'd read on Peakbagger that both gullies were similar—long talus slogs—but the east gully had a lower angle and is therefore easier. From my vantage point, my planned descent route down the west gully looked insane—a vertical wall of cliff bands—but I knew this was an illusion of foreshortening. I studied the descent for several minutes and noticed that thin talus chutes threaded between the cliffs. I had confidence it would work for my descent later in the day.
I started up the east gully and was surprised that the boulder talus was remarkably stable. It’s some of the most stable talus I've climbed in the Sierra. The boulders are big, ranging in size from basketballs to small furniture. At first it looked like a tedious slog, but I moved quickly across it all. I settled into my talus dance. Constantly moving from boulder to boulder, I always found another foot-sized step ahead of me. One step at a time, one breath at a time, I entered into a flow state. Jack Kerouac wrote a beautiful description of this sort of talus dance in "Dharma Bums", during his climb of Matterhorn Peak with Gary Snyder.
I made faster progress than expected. An hour later, I reached 11,800’ at the foot of the remnant glacier on the eastern twin peak. I walked up the low-angle glacier to the eastern summit. Not finding a register, I descended west and climbed 200 feet to reach the western twin peak.
The view from western Twin Peak was awesome. To the south, Mount Dana, Mount Lyell, and the Clark Range. To the north, Whorl, Matterhorn, Tower, Leavitt, and more. It felt rewarding to identify peaks I’d previously climbed over the years. I found the summit register in a metal canister, placed by Greg Vernon in 2014. The register includes lots of Sierra Club heavy-hitting climbers, especially in the first few pages.
After 45 minutes of lounging on the summit, it was time to return. I started down the west gully with some trepidation. I felt confident the route would go, but I didn't know how tedious it might be. Unlike the east gully, the west gully was steeper and more annoying. Overall, I was glad I ascended the east and descended the west.
Back in camp, I felt beat up. It had been a long day of backpacking, and then talus hopping. I stripped off my dusty hiking clothes, climbed into the shallow creek, and immersed myself in frigid water. It felt fantastic, not only to get clean but to reduce the inflammation. Back at my campsite, I ate a quick dinner and soon drifted to sleep.
DAY THREE -- Virginia Peak
I slept until 8 AM. Why not? I was on holiday, and today’s plans were light compared to yesterday. I would have slept longer, but the morning sun heated my translucent tent into a greenhouse. I boiled a pot of coffee, packed my gear, and lazily enjoyed the morning vibes in Virginia Canyon. What a beautiful place to be!? I cached non-essential gear under a nearby juniper and set out with a daypack for Virginia Peak.
Climbing Virginia Peak via the North Ridge involves three phases. First, reach the unnamed lake at 11,075 feet. Second, ascend the scree to reach Twin Lakes Pass. Third, scramble up Virginia Peak’s north ridge (class 3) or west face (class 2).
The first phase—to the lake—might be the crux of the entire route. I had several tracks downloaded into my GPS. The obvious route was to climb alongside the waterfall flowing from the lake. On Peakbagger, I’d seen some climbers take an alternate route along terraced slopes in a gully about 0.2 miles south of the watercourse. However, from my vantage I couldn’t see that alternate route because it was hidden around the shoulder. I could see the waterfall route, and it looked passable. . . so I went for it.
I followed the south side of the creek, climbing ledges and ramps, trying to keep it class 2 or low class 3. There were plenty of route options here, and also many dead-end cliffs. It's a fun puzzle.
As I worked through the maze of ledges, I found a wide class 3 crack that bypassed nearly all the steepest ledges. It felt like a major shortcut. It's about 70 feet to the left (south) of the waterfall. Starting at 10,630' and climbing directly to 10,760', the crack looked like a bad idea from below, leading nowhere. Any sane person would stick to the obvious ledges and ramps. . . but something about it called to me. Over the years, I’ve learned to trust my intuition with off-trail navigation, so I took a chance. The crack was 2-3 feet wide, just big enough for my body, with a snowmelt trickle through its bottom. Inside, I found abundant handholds. Ascending was easy, like climbing a ladder, with virtually zero exposure. At the top of the crack, I emerged on a terrace with easy walking ahead. Looking back down, it seems that I truly skipped the worst part of the ledge maze.
At the outlet of the lake, I rested and filtered water. The lake was mostly frozen, with patterns of light and shadow dancing on the bottom between ice patches. The water tasted cold and fresh. Virginia Peak’s jagged north face loomed above it all, a beautiful monument of craggy, broken, rusty spires.
I studied my options for the next phase, the climb to Twin Lakes Pass. The shortest path was a direct ascent, but that line looked like a garbage pile of loose red talus. Further north, I noticed a faint chain of grassy ramps mixed with talus. This line looked more stable, though a bit longer. I took it and found it to be relatively easy walking. Fifteen minutes later, I was on the pass, looking down its steep western slopes into Spiller Canyon.
From the pass, the route up Virginia Peak is obvious. Multiple use trails lead to choices. . . a class 3 scramble directly on the ridge, or several steep class 2 routes on the west face. I took a line that moved between the options. Sometimes I was climbing up solid class 3 moves, other times grinding up loose talus. Overall, Virginia’s west face is steep and it looks wildly dangerous when standing at its base. However, once I got into the rock, I found solid foot placement and the path seemed clear. Climbing Virginia Peak was not fundamentally different than, say, the final ascent of Mount Dana.
Thirty minutes later, I emerged on the summit. There’s a flat spot with space for a small group. I looked all around for the summit register. . . but found none. Shrug.
The views from Virginia Peak are fantastic. To the southeast, I could see Dana, Lyell, and Hoffman. To the west, an outstanding view of Spiller Canyon. I spent several minutes studying Whorl Mountain’s eastern slopes, trying to identify its three infamous gullies. I took lots of photographs and sent an InReach message—"all is well"—to my safety contact at home.
The rest of the day was a blur. I descended the same route down Virginia’s west face, and shoe-skied down scree to reach the lake. Back at the waterfall, I found my secret class 3 crack and bypassed most of the ledges. I returned to camp at 2 PM and napped briefly in the shade. Still no mosquitoes! As the afternoon light turned golden, I packed my gear, returned to Virginia Pass, and followed the trail back to the trailhead.
I decided to drive home over Tioga Pass that night. It was dark when I reached the pass. I parked in a pullout along Dana Meadows at 9,900 feet. With a new moon, the sky was perfect for stargazing. I don't care how late it was. I turned my headlamp to red mode, played with my RX100 camera, and captured long exposures of the Milky Way rising over the Kuna Crest. I boiled a pot of noodles and lounged on a pile of old Z-rest pads. I slurped my hot soup, stargazed, and soaked in the silence. It was past midnight when I eventually started my car. My eyes had adjusted to darkness, and I was momentarily blinded by the brightness of the dashboard. I drove through the night back to Oakland. . . very tired, but feeling like everything had been worthwhile.
- Overview of routes on Twin Peaks and Virginia Peak. I climbed Twin via East Gully and descended West Gully. I climbed Virginia Peak using its famous north ridge route. There is a class 3 ridge connecting Twin to Virginia, but I didn't have time to explore that route on this trip.
More photos are in the comments. . .
