High Sierra Topix

Shangri-La of the Sierra

In our 2014 journey in the Sierra, Brad took us in search of the famously beautiful lake on Picket Creek viewtopic.php?f=1&t=14371. “Yogi,” a man who knew every corner of Sequoia-Kings Canyon whispered his secret: this is the most beautiful place on earth. We had seen pictures, including one on flickr that made it look magical. If there is a place where elves and fairies live, this is it.

The fact that we had not reached this Shangri-La of the Sierra in 2014 had only increased Brad’s desire and determination to make it in 2015. We would take a different overall route though; instead of traveling west to east (Crescent Meadows to Whitney Portal), we would go south to north (Mineral King to Road’s End). This route would give us a very small amount of overlap with last year’s hike in Nine Lakes Basin, a place I wouldn’t mind returning to several more times. In fact, the man who recommended the lake on Picket Creek had also mentioned a spot in Nine Lakes Basin as another of his favorite spots to camp. We had gone close to it in 2014, but hadn’t sought it out specifically. This time we would.

Day 1 – Broken Transmission, Forgotten Socks, and Two Butts Officially Kicked

My wife was to drive with us to Mineral King, join us for the first short mile or two of the hike, then drive our car back down to the Central Valley. As I drove our van up the long, steep, windy road to Mineral King, I noticed it wasn’t accelerating properly when I pressed the gas. And did I smell something burning? Something with the transmission, I guessed. That was confirmed when the transmission indicator lights on the dash started lighting up at random. We stopped for a few minutes, but after sniffing burnt transmission fluid for a few minutes decided we would be even more stuck on this stretch of road than at the ranger station a few miles further. The van limped its way to the parking lot.

Most cars in the lot at Mineral King had their underbellies wrapped with tarps to protect them from the voracious chewing of marmots. It must work or people wouldn’t do it, but I wondered why a marmot wouldn’t just chew through a tarp to get at those precious hoses underneath. The most experienced marmot-proofers had tucked their tarp tightly into the doors, and secured it partway up the hood with bungee cords. It looked like a professional job. Maybe the point is that if your vehicle is more difficult to access the marmots leave it alone for the low-hanging fruit of non-tarped cars.

I wasn’t worried about marmots, though. I was worried about my wife driving our van back down the isolated Mineral King road with a transmission that might completely quit at any moment. This had, in fact, happened before. We had to pay a lot of money for a new (actually rebuilt) transmission a couple years before. So at the ranger station I asked if I could use the phone. “You can try, but it hasn’t worked in three weeks,” I was told. I dialed the roadside assistance number on my insurance card and the ranger was schocked when he heard me say hello to a kind woman on the other end of the line. She told me over the static that it would be no problem to send someone out to tow the vehicle to the nearest mechanic. It was covered by my policy. Wonderful. Then she left me on hold for a few minutes. When she came back, she informed me that the tow company would charge $150/hour, as it was in the mountains. And that wouldn’t be covered by my policy. Yes, I knew we were in the mountains. I told her I was calling from a ranger station in the middle of the park. I knew how many hours it would take for a tow truck to get our car, and I wasn’t pleased with the idea of spending over $500 just to get the car towed. While I debated what to do, my wife said, “You go hike. I’m an adult. I’ll figure things out.” What would she do if she got stuck on the way down? Walk for help? There was no mobile phone reception. Reluctantly, I agreed.
My wife was quickly taken by the scenery of Mineral King, declaring it to be the most beautiful place she had seen in the Sierra. I think she mentioned something about the Alps and the Sound of Music. It was indeed beautiful, but I must take her more places! That’s not even the start of the beauty.

About a quarter mile climb into the hike, I suddenly realized that I had left my thicker pair of socks in the car. I was wearing a thin little pair of no show athletic socks. I could see the car looking small down there in the parking lot. I hated to turn back just for a pair of socks. Brad kindly said I could use his second pair of nice hiking socks. The biblical book of Ruth says that men would seal a deal at that time by exchanging a sandal. I believe exchanging socks is also a sign of friendship. Or maybe it’s a sign of not wanting to wait for your friend to retrieve his socks from the car when you’re already getting a late start on a six-day trip.
After a short bit Brad and I were angling off the regular Sawtooth Pass trail to follow an old path that headed up the mountain more directly, along Monarch Creek I believe. My wife left us here. For the next six days I would have this niggling doubt at the back of my mind, “I wonder what happened with her and the car?” I would have no way of knowing.

At some point in our ascent we looked back down to see a tiny fire starting to burn just yards from the maintained trail. Where did that come from? It was too far for us to do anything about and there was no one to report it to.

The trail was rather brushy as we started, and proved a bit hard to follow higher up. We ended up back on the Sawtooth trail later on, and I’m not sure if we saved any time or energy. Our plan was to take some combination of Glacier Pass/Hands And Knees Pass/Cyclamen Lake Pass, I don’t remember exactly. While slogging up the steep, sandy Sawtooth trail two guys came hollering down the trail literally jumping and landing in the soft sand below. Going down sand is easy. Going up sand is not. We asked for advice on cross country routes into Big Five Lakes or Little Five Lakes (where we really wanted to get was into the Big Arroyo). They looked at my running shoes and no-show socks and made a comment about how we looked like we could manage cross country travel except for my “interesting” footwear. We busted out the map and the guys told us the best route in was just to take the Sawtooth trail to Columbine Lake and then traverse around to Cyclamen Lake Pass. They said it would look impossible to make it around from Columbine to Cyclamen, but an obvious ramp would appear, making it possible to reach the slopes below the pass. That sounded good to us.

What wasn’t good to us was Sawtooth Pass. Going from approximately 100ft elevation at the start of the day to 11,700ft or so at the pass (with about 4000 feet of climbing from trailhead to pass) provided us with an official butt-kicking. By the time we had slogged up to the top of the pass with frequent stops to give our lungs and legs a break, we were whipped.

We learned some valuable lessons this day. 1) If you’re going to use the Sawtooth trail, hike down it, not up it. Everyone else seemed to be finishing a loop hiking down Sawtooth. These were the wise ones. We were the foolish. Our previous year’s trip had started with a 14 or 15 mile day, but on a fairly flat stretch that didn’t test our lung and leg power like Sawtooth. I’ll keep a mental note of that for the future. 2) I will not read trip reports of superhikers like Bob Burd and think that I can do even a quarter of what he does in a day. I read about his outrageous day hike of Picket Guard Peak starting and ending at Mineral King and thought if he could get all the way there and back in 24 hours, then surely we could make it halfway to the peak in one day of hiking. That’s only one quarter of the distance he traveled. We may have failed to consider that although Mr. Burd is at least several years older than us, he is certainly in much better shape, and may or not be more insane. Plus, he carries only a small day pack and hikes often enough to be always acclimated to the altitude. We were carrying packs with gear and food for six days, and do not get much above sea level with any regularity.
We took a break at Columbine Lake and then investigated the cross-country route ahead of us. It was already fairly late and we were feeling surprisingly beat, as I mentioned. So already on day one we changed much of our itinerary. We would take the trail down Lost Canyon as far as we could that day, then hang a left and take the trail by Big and Little Five Lakes into the Big Arroyo and Nine Lakes Basin. That would put us behind schedule, which we would make up for in the later days of the trip by heading west to Road’s End via Colby Pass instead of the eastern route through the upper Kern River drainage.
Who cares about detours when everywhere is beautiful? Lost Canyon was delightful. Our rice and bean and cotija cheese tacos tasted delicious at our campsite under the trees.


Day 2 – Reconfigured Itinerary to Nine Lakes Basin

We felt like we were hiking at a decent pace the next morning, but according to the mileage on the map we were crawling.
We passed a young woman jamming to some tunes on her mp3 player. She pulled out her earbuds to talk fishing for a minute, but I didn’t have anything to tell her because I hadn’t even thought about casting yet. She had enjoyed catching little fish all up and down the Big Arroyo. I enjoyed catching a number of little fish in the Big Arroyo a little later myself.
The ranger had been quite specific about what I could and could not keep and at what elevations. I found it a little confusing, as I had never done any fishing in Sequoia – Kings Canyon before. What I heard him clearly say was that I couldn’t keep any fish at all below 9000 feet, and above that elevation I could keep no golden trout. I had never seen a golden trout, but on this trip everything I saw in Sequoia above 9000 feet had a belly of golden-orange, so being unsure of their species I regretfully tossed every one back. In Kings Canyon I caught brook and brown trout.

In the Nine Lakes Basin we worked our way up to a nice little bench under the Kaweah peaks. This was Yogi’s campsite. The dinner and the view were both delicious.
We could see down the Big Arroyo and up to Lion Rock at the head of the Nine Lakes Basin. Our route would take us over Pants Pass the next day.

Day 3 –Shangri-La
In the morning chill we broke camp and headed towards Pants Pass, the real Pants Pass, unlike last year’s unintentional exploration of Piss Your Pants Pass. From below I never would have guessed that the notch in the ridgeline was the pass we were aiming for. The climb up was, like last year, enough to make me nervous. I felt it more in my body than in my mind. The ascent was loose and steep. Climbing along the edge of the chute gave me some solid rock to cling to. At the top we followed the instructions and made our way north a ways, where the descent was more solid, though no less steep. What takes a minute to describe in writing took who knows how long in hiking, but we made it down to the bottom.
At the bottom we revisited the shelter providentially provided for us during the rainstorm that trapped us for three hours last year.
We passed on by on the east side of the lake and headed towards the unknown – the pass above. Interestingly, now that we were down my nervousness was completely gone, but Brad’s kicked in, sparked by the fact that we literally knew nothing about the pass ahead of us. For some reason, this unknown did not bother me at all. I figured we would either find it passable or not, and if not we were sure to find somewhere else beautiful to stay for the night. Still, I was eager to reach the famed lake. We took to calling the pass in front of us Yogi Pass, in honor of the man who was the source of the inside information. Once we began the climb, however, we decided it was inappropriate to name such a pain in the ass pass after him. I learned from a member of High Sierra Topix that the pass is known to some at least as Lawson Pass (unless we are misunderstanding each other). Boulders of various size sat in the crease in the mountains that we followed steeply upward. We made our way over and around rocks the size of toasters, microwaves, and the occasional refrigerator. Would there be a way down the other side? That was the question. The ascent looked doable enough. Near the top we zigzagged back and forth a bit, following various ramps and ledges until we reached the crest and could see down the other side.
The sight at the top, well it was beautiful in its way. But what is beautiful to the eye may not be beautiful to the foot. Uninterrupted miles of talus and boulders stretched out before us. I think the sense of beauty came primarily from the clouds hanging in the blue above the valley, which was entirely gray with rock.
Yes, there was a way down. It just required hiking through talus. Where the mountainside met the valley, the rocks continued, but in different forms. Now it was just refrigerator doors: huge, thin slabs of rock looked as if they had been sliced with a knife. When those slabs happened to be laid horizontally it was like walking on a section of sidewalk. But those were rare. Mostly the slices were set in the ground vertically, requiring us to choose our steps carefully, as if walking on top of a giant loaf of bread with every other slice removed. After the slabs, more rocks. You get the idea. On and on it went.

Eventually we saw trees. Then a small lake. Then mosquitoes (it was that time of day). And then, finally, we saw the lake, the Shangri-La of the Sierra. And I tell you, friends, it was all worth it. The endless trek over shifting talus, obstacle courses of boulders, the unknown pass, the outrageously sliced slabs of rock; all the hours of lifting high our knees, sucking air into our lungs, balancing on outstretched poles and shaking knees; all the miles covered and the feet of elevation gained and lost and gained again in previous days to put us within striking distance today – all of it was worth it. It was incredibly worth it.

Do I have any pictures to show you? Well, kind of. Brad was the one with a camera, and we got a few shots, but we’re not professional enough to capture its beauty. And I’m not sure any instrument can measure its magic. So here is the setting: you come in through the trees along the stream. The lake lies ahead. Where the stream nears the lake it forms a few deep-water bends and bathtub like pools. They are all full of fish. The inlet to the lake is a little waterfall. When you approach the lake heading east, the inlet waterfall is at 6:00, the outlet stream is to your right at 3:00, the campsite is on your left at 8:00, and from 11:00-2:00 is the defining feature of the lake, its rim. The lake is rimmed by a perfect wall of rock fifteen to thirty feet high, dotted with trees that somehow find a way to put down their roots. You circle the lake to the right, crossing the outlet stream and climbing up onto the rim. On the other side the land drops away steeply, all the way down to the wildly dancing Kern-Kaweah River in its gorge, and below that to the Kern River. Across the Kern you see the high plateau, and beyond that the great eastern wall of the Sierra. You recognize Mt. Whitney by its slanting top. Here on a flat spot on the rim is another campsite. Looking back across the lake you see Picket Guard Peak towering above.
I read one description that says it seems like the trees have been hand-placed, they are so perfect. Indeed it seems like the whole place was designed just for the peaceful delight of those who journey there. This is the Shangri-La of the Sierra, the mythical kingdom of harmony, peace, and beauty. Only this lake is for real. It’s good for the soul just to know that there are places like this in the world, untouched places of perfect beauty.

Its rewards are only for the few determined souls who will make the journey. It is like the joys we find in the heart of God, which are only revealed to the determined and persistent, to those who persevere in the journey, always through great suffering. Then, like St. John of the Cross, one discovers in the dark night of the soul the dawning of the love of God.

Day 4 – Shangri-La to Colby Lake

We reluctantly left our haven with the sun in our faces. After our last look back, we plunged down over the rim of rock on the lake’s east side. Our zigzagging descent angled us always to our left, where we would rendezvous with the Kern-Kaweah. I was just as entranced by this stream as I was the year before.
We struck the Colby Pass trail and passed a couple parties on their way down. I don’t remember too many details of that part of the trail, only that we seemed to be ascending for a long time. Then we came out above the trees into a mix of meadow, boulder, and many trickling streams. We stopped for lunch in the lee of a boulder.
To keep off the drizzle I deployed my new high tech piece of rain gear. It cost $2.56 and weighs 1 ounce. It is obviously a brilliant choice for any backpacker who does not care about fashionable looks or durability in their equipment. I wore it for less than 40 minutes the whole trip.
The many ribbons of water circling and bubbling around the boulders made me think how much my kids would enjoy this alpine playground. Colby Pass was still a ways above. The high altitude climb made us stop and breathe hard every so often, but nothing like Sawtooth a few days before.
We snapped a couple photos at the top and made our way down the rocky switchbacks to Colby Lake in the intermittent drizzle. I realized that my newly upgraded hat worked well for keeping the rain off my head. It was hard to even imagine there was a trail there from below, it looks so rugged.
We set up camp near the lake and admired the view of the narrow lake and tall mountains under a cloudy sky. I caught plenty of fish, and continued to toss them back. At dusk a man and woman arrived and quickly set up their tarp in the rain. I was feeling unusually cold so I shoved a hot water bottle into a sock (one of Brad’s, of course) and tossed it in the foot of my sleeping bag. For that extra warmth I was grateful.


Day 5 – Colby Lake to Avalanche Pass

The couple that came into camp at dusk made an early start, each in full rain gear. I can’t imagine hauling up Colby Pass in full rain gear. No matter what the weather you would be dripping with sweat inside. And this morning was damp, but not rainy.
Every piece of vegetation held drops of water that morning, each eager to shower our lower extremities. Our socks and shoes were soon soaked as we made our way around the outlet of Colby Lake, down around the ridge known as the Whaleback, and into Colby Canyon. We stopped for a rest at one of the meadows, then kept on trekking.
We passed through more varied terrain on our way to the Roaring River ranger station. When aspens and pines took over it felt like we were in a different mountain range. During our lunch stop in the pines along the Roaring River I took off my shoes and placed them in the sun. 20 minutes later they were dry. With a new pair of socks I felt like a new person.

We stopped at the Roaring River ranger station primarily to ask about camping at Avalanche Pass. She told us it was a nice spot, but you have to carry in your water. We chatted with the friendly ranger about fishing, her experiences with horses getting killed out on the trails, etc. In regards to fishing, what she said was completely different than the ranger at Mineral King: “You can keep whatever you want.”

So I went and caught us three fish for dinner. While I fished I thought I heard a rumbling above the noise of the river. I ignored it, although I knew it was thunder and that we might get caught in the rain on our way to Avalanche Pass.

We followed the trail around Moraine Ridge and ran into a man and woman traveling the opposite direction near Moraine Meadows. The woman was telling us some story when the man suddenly interrupted with an intense, “Excuse me!” We were all puzzled. “Look,” he said, and pointed at my feet. “His shoes.” She was wearing tall leather hiking boots. When he showed up with running shoes she had told him, “You’ll never make it in that.” He was glad to find someone in similar footwear.

We hustled along after that, as the storm we had heard at the Roaring River seemed to still rumble close by. Where the trail was turns away from a clear little stream I asked if we should fill up our water. “Nah. We’ll find something closer,” Brad said. “It shows a creek farther up on the map.” As we continued climbing, the creek on the map didn’t seem to materialize. We broke from the trail to check out the likely creek bed on our left. There were some small, nearly stagnant, algae-choked pools. “Let’s check it out farther up. Maybe it will at least be flowing.” It wasn’t. So we came back down and filled up here. Our drinking water was a battle to the death, a royal rumble of algae, bacteria, parasites(?) and iodine. Hopefully it wouldn't be our intestines that took the big hits.

And Avalanche Pass is not marked with a sign, but just a few sticks on either side of the trail. To get to the viewpoint, which is magnificent, one must walk north from that point out to the end of the table. There the views open up over Kings Canyon, which was beautiful in the sunset despite the smoky haze.
Our spot in the rocks made the best kitchen of the trip. The fish were delicious. The lentil barley stew was less impressive.


Day 6 – To Road’s End/Beginning
On our last day my brother-in-law was planning to drive in to Road’s End with my two older kids and hike in to meet us along the trail. We had a lot of descending to do before that point, though. It’s roughly 5000 feet difference between Avalanche Pass (~10,040) and Road’s End (~5020). The ascent/descent is made possible by the engineering of the Sphinx Creek trail. The water from the night before did execute a pile driver on my intestines, but only once, thankfully. High steps built of rock dominate the trail. By this time our quads were prepared.

We made it down in good time, waiting for a bit at our different rendezvous times and places. We didn’t end up meeting my boys and my brother-in-law until we were nearly to the trailhead. They had started later than planned. One of my first questions after the hugs was, “What happened with the car?” She made it back fine, he told me, and dropped the car off with him. A mechanic found nothing wrong. (A week later the transmission was replaced again. Thankfully it was still under warranty).

We bought tri-tip from the guys outside at the grill. As I was loading up my plate I accidentally spilled my beer on the cutting board full of meat. I apologized profusely. They said no problem. A minute later they brought out the beer-soaked tri-tip slices and slid them onto our plates. I will make a point of spilling my beer more often.


Conclusion

I waxed poetic about the lake on Picket Creek. I claimed that it is the Shangri-La of the Sierra. The truth is, I'm rather inexperienced, and there are other people who have been to other places. Beautiful places. Another John, John of the Mountains, not John of the Cross, had difficulty making up his mind which places were the best.

All the wild world is beautiful, and it matters but little where we go, to highlands or lowlands, woods or plains, on the sea or land or down among the crystals of waves or high in a balloon in the sky; through all the climates, hot or cold, storms and calms, everywhere and always we are in God's eternal beauty and love. So universally true is this, the spot where we chance to be always seems the best.

- John of the Mountains: The Unpublished Journals of John Muir, (1938) page 299.

May the spot where you chance to be seem the best. And if it’s in the Sierra, it probably will.

Excellent report and pictures!! Thank for posting.

Thanks for the report. It is a special place and I'm happy that I have visited it several times.

Great report! Really opened my eyes to some new places I want to go.

Yes, it is one of the true gems of the Sierra, fortunately, its location is remote enough to discourage crowds. Columbine Lake to my eyes is the true "Guitar Lake", perfectly guitar shaped.

Thank you!

"Toasters, microwaves, and the occasional refrigerator" --- Ha

I enjoyed the rain suit. Nice TR!