High Sierra Topix

I was originally going to report on several hikes during the last couple of weeks we got to spend living in Mammoth, but it was becoming a novel so I'm limiting it to the more memorable days. Just goes to show you that good hikes are a dime a dozen in the Sierra. One of the best things about living in Mammoth was being able to hike after work. Just finish the phone meetings, shut down the laptop, and hike until the light starts getting flat. But the more memorable days tended to be the long excursions when we had all day (e.g., weekends). So with that in mind...

After looking at forecasts for smoke, Horse Creek Canyon seemed to be a good bet for relatively clean skies in a place I had wanted to visit for a while. It was also a relatively short hike to get to the good views, which we needed because the forecast said 40% chance of thunderstorms, which really means 100%. If the weather held up (ha!), we'd go as far as we could for the day. So there we were at Twin Lakes getting ready to find the infamously-difficult-to-locate trailhead when a guy running the campground was nice enough to give us directions. As he told us the way I kept thinking "No wonder people have trouble finding it". Off we went turning here and turning there until we knew were headed in the right direction. The sky was totally clear and blue so the smoke hadn't reached this place yet, but we knew that a blue sky in the morning meant little in terms of afternoon smoke as well as in terms of thunderstorms developing. When the views opened up and we could see Matterhorn and Dragtooth we were happy that we could at least see something good (really good) before having to turn back, but the skies were still blue so on we went. I'd consider the day a success if we could just get a glimpse of one more peak before the weather rolled in.


A really long time ago (like 2006 or something like that) I was watching a ski movie with a segment filmed in this canyon. In the segment's intro, the camera pointed towards a jagged, majestic, very alpine-looking peak. A second later, the words "Horse Creek Peak" came onto the screen. It had been on my list ever since. Given how dominant it looked in the movie and some pictures I'd seen online, I was surprised one day when I saw a photo taken from far away showing that this massive-looking peak is really just a minor little bump on a much larger ridgeline and dwarfed by surrounding peaks. It was still on my list, though. As we pressed on, lo and behold, the clouds started building up. Surprise. We got our first glimpse of the peak through a stand of trees and gradually got to see more and more as the trail very gradually climbed up to more open space. I still couldn't believe that this peak was just an insignificant afterthought on a ridgeline. The time up there didn't last, though, as the clouds starting building up rapidly and getting darker and darker by the minute, as is typical. We kept debating whether or not we should continue. "It doesn't look THAT threatening, does it?" "Hmmm...looks borderline to me. Flip a coin?" "Sure". We didn't have a coin.


We stood there for a few minutes biting our nails as to what decision to make. In the end we decided not to push our luck because of some past experiences when Mother Nature threw us a curve ball and almost killed us. Way back during a trip to Rocky Mountain NP, we thought we were being diligent by waiting out the thunderstorms and not starting to hike until after the lightning/rain stopped and the skies were completely clear around 5 or 6 PM. Totally clear skies built up to a second set of thunderstorms, though, and we found ourselves in an open space with no delay between flash and thunder. None. So after considering that, my wife unintentionally used the poorest word choice imaginable and suggested we "bolt" back to the car. So down we went with that half-regret wondering how far we could've gone but knowing we made the safe choice. We couldn't believe how many people were headed up, though. Did they know something we didn't? We took a couple of stops here and there on the way down and stood by the creek for a few minutes to see the wildflowers and hear the sounds of static and gurgling on the stream's shore. We were treated to a deadly symbol, though, so maybe we really made the right choice. There near the stream bank, still submerged, was a leg. Just bone and a hoof. Interesting. "Should we just go to the car now?" "Um...yeah".


We didn't want the day to be over yet so we thought of places to go that wouldn't be at risk (or at least as much). As a lightning bolt flashed above Bridgeport, we settled on Mono Lake. To the land of tufa we went, amused at all the alkali flies that rise like a buzzing curtain whenever you walk by. She laughed like a child every time that happened. Another highlight was seeing nesting birds, particularly an osprey. It was just hanging out on top of a tufa tower and occasionally spreading its wings and revealing a couple of chicks. That was a nice consolation prize for not being able to make it all the way up to Matterhorn.

The next day was the one I had been really waiting for. In the mid-90s, Powder Magazine had published a story of a transplant to the Mammoth area who described the terrain, snow, and vibe of spring skiing in the Eastern Sierra. One of the pictures was of a peak with a perfect pyramid shape bisected right down the middle by a couloir. That picture in particular struck me. I thought for sure it must be Pyramid Peak since that name was mentioned in the article. The article also mentioned a few other names, though, like Dana, Bloody, and Red Slate. Red Slate was the last name I would've thought of for that peak, but that turned out to be its name (doesn't look very red on its northern side). The next summer I made it up to Lake Mildred and thought it was even better in real life.

I had only been up Convict Canyon 3 times before this trip and was waiting to come back (last time was 2009) as that peak is definitely my favorite, but only from the north (looks kind of boring from the east, south, and west). So with a couple of uncertainties, we settled on Convict Canyon as time was running out for being able to take long hikes before our short time living in Mammoth was up. I also wanted her to see it more than any other area as she had never been up the canyon and it was just the most unique option we had. The uncertainties that made us hesitant to choose Convict Canyon were the 30% chance of thunderstorms and the creek crossing. Convict isn't the shortest hike in the world and we might not make it to the lakes before being forced to turn back. While the geology is fascinating and beautiful in the lower reaches of the canyon, it wouldn't be the same if we didn't see the upper parts of the canyon. Furthermore, this would be the earliest time of year for me going up that canyon (always August or September on previous trips) so the current might be too strong despite the low snowfall last winter. To make matters worse, our hiking poles were another state away (Oregon) so any creek crossing would be unsupported. That last part made us a bit nervous and we regretted not buying new poles for the month that we lived here. We tried to adopt the mindset of "just try it out" and prepared ourselves for disappointment. We left Mammoth early in the morning to maximize the time we had to be up high and beat the heat of the lower canyon. We were still nervous about the creek, though, and had a last minute decision to see if the Resort at Convict Lake was open and had any supplies like hiking poles. Luckily they were open at this early hour so our hopes went up just a tiny bit. In I went crossing my fingers for hiking poles. Alas, all I saw were the giant wooden hiking sticks that you could practically use to paddleboard. I hung my head in defeat and started to walk out discouraged. Just then the cashier asked if I needed help finding anything. I almost just said no thanks but for whatever reason thought it didn't hurt to ask. THEY HAD HIKING POLES!!!!! The day just got more hopeful.

Sunrise on Laurel Mountain was unsurprisingly gorgeous. I've never had an early morning at Convict when Laurel Mountain wasn't a warm orange-ish/reddish glowing peak. The trail was in disarray, though, with giant sections just ripped apart/buried/washed out. I'm guessing a lot of avalanches occur here in the winter/spring. All of that was fine, though, because I knew of the reward we'd get up high.


Looming in the distance was my favorite peak, just barely revealing enough of itself to make you want to get up faster as if to taunt you. We made it into the gut of the canyon before the sun ever hit it so the temperatures were nice and allowed us to move quickly without getting exhausted or dehydrated. For much of it, we just followed cairns because the trail was gone but it worked out fine. Those were some crazy landslides/avalanches though. Even though Laurel had been in the sun for some time now, other peaks were just starting to get lit up when we were close to halfway up the canyon so the temperatures remained nice.

What wasn't nice was one section where the ground supporting the trail had basically collapsed into the river, leaving nothing but a wall of dirt with the trail's remnants right on the edge. It wasn't scary or anything; it just made you think "What pissed Mother Nature off so much?". A little while later and finally, there it was...the crossing. This was the moment of truth. I wasn't comfortable at all but not quite at the point of saying "No way" (but very close). My wife had more experience with stream crossings, though, so I volunteered her to go first. She actually didn't mind, though. So she guinea pigged it and was like "This is it?". I followed once she passed the Lake Genevieve outlet and was also really surprised at how easy it was. Is that all you got, Mother Nature? The worst was ahead, though, as we had to figure out how to cross the Convict Creek portion. Nothing looked particularly inviting and it was definitely stronger than Genevieve. Each rock looked just a bit too far or too wet to take the risk. Finally, we decided we had to get wet. So she went first again, eventually getting almost knee deep and I followed. The water was much stronger but still manageable. Inch by inch we crept using poles to probe for any underwater surprises and as support. At one point the water was strong enough that we knew we wouldn't have made it across without poles, but that section didn't last long. Still, the water barreling into my legs trying to overpower me was a little unnerving (but honestly just a little). After that one strong point, everything else was minor in comparison but still moving briskly. About 40 minutes (yes, you read that right) after starting across Genevieve, we made it to the other side of Convict Creek. That was exciting, but not nearly as bad as I expected. Just then another hiker came from behind. We tried to guide him by gesturing hands and pointing to where we were able to cross because there's no way he'd hear us over the roar of the creeks. We pointed to our eyes then at him to say we'd watch him to make sure he made it across alright, especially since he didn't have poles. Surprisingly, he managed to jump from one rock to another to cross Genevieve before getting to the hard part. We pointed him to where we went, but he had an unfair advantage it seemed. His long legs made it so he just hopped across without getting wet. In a total of 10 minutes he did what took us 40. Oh well. On we go!!

After the crossing we felt super-energized for a couple of minutes before the trail started taking all of that away. So on we trudged as it started getting warmer and the trail got steeper. After what seemed longer than I remembered, it finally showed itself. The king of the landscape sitting on its throne, The Great Slate as I have seen it referred to. I am not worthy oh great mountain. Shortly after, a small pond still in the shade gave us a mirror image of The Great Slate. Even though Lake Mildred was just a few steps away, I spent a lot of time at the small pond.


The clouds had just started forming by the time we reached Mildred but weren't at a state where they would worry us to the point of turning around. We had made it to the upper canyon. It was at least somewhat of a success now. There it was, my dream ski descent staring at me. Some day I'll come here in the winter and if conditions are right ski from the summit into the couloir. If conditions are right, I might summon the courage/stupidity to try the death traverse. If not, I'd take the family man entrance as a consolation prize. Some day. Some day. Turns out some guys tried to ski it previous day but got turned back by thunder and hail right as they got to the narrowest part of the couloir. But as one of them described it, you could tell that he too had a special affinity for this mountain. There's something about it.

We had a lot of time left in the day so on up to Lake Dorothy we went. It was pretty uneventful all the way. Unfortunately the sun was getting blocked by increasing clouds so we didn't get to see as vibrant of colors as we had hoped. The first time I came to this lake it was practically fluorescent blue on its south shore. Instead, we had relatively dull color mixed in with pollen. This pollen was not to be outdone by the surrounding geology with its swirly convoluted rock patterns and thus made its own yellowish swirls as a rebuttal.


The wife was satisfied at this point and wouldn't have minded if we just turned back. I, however, wanted to see something new. The farthest I had been in the past was Bighorn Lake, so I still needed to cross Wit-so-nah-pah and Constance off my list. This would have to be done alone so I ventured out trying to find my way. I didn't see any use trails going very far so I just picked a point and head straight there. Turns out it led me to Bighorn Lake which I had completely to myself. Not bad. Time was starting to run out before I'd have to turn around, though, so I went cross-country looking for Wit-so-nah-pah. I found myself on the wrong little mound so I had to correct my course and head further south a bit. On the plus side, I had a 50-yard line view of "Rad" Slate staring me down. A few minutes later I made it to the shoreline with its swarms of mosquitoes. I basically had 5 or 10 minutes to sit there before having to run back down because of time and because of weather, as clouds were starting become semi-threatening. I was happy I went there because the view was awesome and I had it completely to myself, but Constance would have to wait for another trip.

I was starting to get a bit tired but nothing too bad, so I considered taking a different way down as a shortcut. I'd potentially drop down to the south end of the big meadow that extends to Lake Mildred. It looked like a pretty steep dropoff, though, and given my lack of familiarity with this part of the canyon I sucked it up and went back to the area I already knew. It was a boring, mindless trudge back down from Dorothy to Mildred except for the expansive views of Convict Canyon's geology. A green meadow mixed with Lake Mildred and rocks of several colors warped into weird patterns was cool. I guess I took way too long, though, because when I got back to Lake Mildred somebody had gotten very worried. She was probably happy to see me alive, but probably wanted to kill me at the same time.



So down we trudged trying to get to the car before it was dark, but no longer worried about the weather as it was improving. This time around we made quick work of the creek crossing and went into autopilot mode for the rest of the hike, though the flowers were nice enough to stop for pictures. We got back to the car a little bit before sundown for a total hike time of 12.5 hours and let out a big exhalation. Best day all month for sure.


There were other memorable hikes, but I think I've used up the entire internet with this report. I will say that a quick after-work hike turned into something memorable but for the wrong reasons. I was curious about Way Lake up in the Mammoth Lakes Basin as it's not one you hear about very often but seems situated in a nice place. When I got there the rain started pounding everything hard with drops large enough to knock you out (if you're easily knocked out). This quickly turned into hail that hurt like crazy. It stung like a thousand bees. At the lower elevations, the trails/roads were rivers and some campsites had flooded. And almost as quickly as it arrived, it disappeared. Ok, enough with the reporting. If you have made it this far, you have quite the attention span.

Beautiful photos, I particularly enjoyed your account of the Convict Canyon hike. I've always bypassed Convict Lake and so you have shown me a glimpse of another destination that needs to go on my list. Red Slate looks quite different from the Big McGee side, where I have been--much more of a classic view from Convict Canyon.

Gorgeous photography! Thanks. One of my favorite areas but I never got images that good.