High Sierra Topix

McGee Pass to Cotton Lake

August 7-10

Introduction

While I had been as far as Little McGee Lake before, I had never been over McGee Pass. In preparing a more ambitious trip over the pass I had the help of numerous HST folk, including CGunderson, LMBSGV, Ska-T, maverick, SSSdave, windknot, robertseeburger, Harlen, wildhiker, freestone, Rockyroad, giantbrookie viewable in this excellent thread:

viewtopic.php?f=1&t=20824

I had originally planned to tour the eastern end of the granite plateau north of the Silver Divide centered on the Cotton Lake area—an area only slightly off trail and reputed to be beautiful, and then move on further west as far as Peter Pande Lake. I accomplished the first half but not the second half of my plans, but left nonetheless greatly pleased with the beauty and the isolation that I was able to find in one of the more beautiful spots I have found in the Sierra.

Conditions

There are certainly pros and cons to early vs. late season backpacking. This was a dry year, and as a result most of the flowers were over, very few of the smaller streams were running, and the levels of lakes and tarns was low. As much as I admired the scenery, it would have been more spectacular earlier in the year with more water, snow, and flowers. However, I was also pleased that there were virtually no mosquitoes anywhere on this trip, and getting over McGee Pass involved nothing harder than stepping on miles of crushed red rock trail.

I also should note that this trip was taken in the midst of the COVID epidemic. My experience has been that COVID has driven many people from other activities to camping and hiking and backpacking, since it seems to be one of the safer activities available in which outdoor social distancing can be practiced. Most people I met along the trail were respectful and pulled off the trail or masked up on approach, but others did not. The philosophy of the wilderness is that folk who go there need to be responsible for their own safety from any number of problems, and this year COVID became another concern. In the end, it was my own anxiety about COVID that contributed to my shortening the trip (read on.)

Day 1

After driving up and spending the night near Mammoth, I drove to the trailhead in the dark and began hiking at dawn. I knew from the past that it is best to get through the sagebrush and up to the aspen zone before it gets hot. The McGee Creek trailhead is at appx 7800 feet, and the trail (take your pick of three parallel options) climbs about 400 feet as the trail moves west, then the trail follows the canyon south and eventually enters an aspen zone before reaching forest at the second crossing of McGee Creek at 9200. The first crossing of McGee Creek always used to have a giant, leveled tree across it for hikers, but this bridge has collapsed into the creek, although it was still barely usable during low water. After crossing on the old tree-bridge, however, you face a steep far bank 15’ high that the creek has recently excavated, making it difficult to scramble up to the old trail. Instead, a new trail beginning at the old horse crossing has been rerouted—a route that goes excessively high and long. Most people cross at the old horse crossing now—and in fact you would miss the turnoff to the foot crossing if you did not where to look for it. At this time of year it hardly matters what route you use, although the old foot crossing doesn’t save much time over wading. But there are serious implications for earlier in the year when water is high and wading is not an option—water would certainly be running over the old foot bridge, so early season in McGee country has now been shortened. The trail continues on the east bank now, passing a series of beaver ponds. I was disappointed to see that the lower ponds had drained, although evidence of beaver was everywhere. The trail takes a bend across a slope of large talus before crossing back over McGee Creek at the upper end of the ponds. The crossing here has a still functional rickety plank across it, which along with a nearby log made it possible to avoid the wade. However, the plank was more rickety than 2 years ago and won’t last much longer.

I should comment that much of the trail up to and a little beyond this second crossing appears to have been a very old mining road (I am guessing for the Schelore Mine, closed in 1954), long since reverted to single track. The grades were easy but there were numerous places—such as the stretch across the talus—that were too wide and well-engineered to have been intended for a single track trail. I am impressed that 65 years can heal as much as it did.

A well-engineered single track trail soon departs from the Schelore road and climbs alongside McGee Creek. Passing the turnoff for Steelhead Lake (about 9500’) the trail climbs up through a highly engineered notch in the cliffs to emerge in a level area with a pond, meadow, and creek—and a huge and easily bypassed camping area (more on this at the end of the trip}, all about 10,000’. From here the trail climbs again—cleverly using a long granite ledge—to switchback up to the meadows below Big McGee Lake. Those meadows are lovely with expansive views of Mt. Crocker and Red and White Mountain. The trail approaches Big McGee Lake from above. To reach the campsites along the NE shore you need to take a use trail down. Having camped here before, I decided to pass them by. The campsites are always crowded and access to water is not easy. Instead, I stayed on the main trail which climbs high to go above the cliffs on the northern side of the lake. As this trail enters a small meadow, look left and there is a use trail that descends to the western side of the lake, where there is more camping. Camping is also possible along the inlet stream in places. As I descended the use trail I was pleased to be away from the crowds, though little did I know that the western camps are now almost as popular as the northern ones. I got in early and picked a nice site with a good view of the lake and a fair bit of clean granite to spread out on and had the side of the lake to myself. Unfortunately, before the day was over two other groups moved in and one large one set up not 50 feet away. Camping was limited so I helped them find sites, but they were up late shouting and hollering as they attempted to hoist their counterbalanced food. They were on the way to Hopkins Pass, and a few of them did not seem very experienced. I hope they found their way safely over. After the girl’s choir on the other side of the lake stopped singing—it was actually quite lovely singing—I fell asleep a couple of hours after my usual bedtime.

Day 2

I got up before dawn and really did try not to make too much racket as I packed up, and was on the trail by first light. I moved up the trail to Little McGee Lake, and this brought back many memories of my trip with my daughter there two years ago. Beyond the outlet of Little McGee it was all new territory for me. From Little McGee over the pass and down to 11000 on the other side, the trail is mainly a walk on clinky red shale—and there was no water near the trail. The trail was well graded and the walk interesting—one could imagine oneself on Mars as the terrain becomes increasingly red and devoid of plant life. I reached the 11,900 pass by 9am and it was chilly, as the sun only barely caught up with me as I emerged up out of the deep North/South valley that leads to the pass.

Coming down to the west from the pass was lovely, with expansive views of Red Slate Mountain, emerald meadows, and the granite plateau with shimmering lakes ahead. There were three large sets of switchbacks, all graded well. At the bottom of the third set—which comes down the side of a red hill to meet with the stream and a waterfall at the bottom—there is the first/last water source. A small copse of trees sit just above the waterfall and it was a delightful place for a snack and collecting water.

After this point I began to look for Ska-T’s turnoff. It was easy to leave the trail and saunter downhill through some pines to the meadow near his camp at the confluence of streams. From here the cross country route began in earnest. I cut south over one small ridge and was surprised not to see Tully Lake. Over a second similar ridge and there it was below. My hope had been to go high beyond the inlet to Tully Lake and work my way through those high ponds to the west and eventually Cotton Lake. But I rapidly cliffed out and realized I would have to descend to Tully Lake.

I spent a fair bit of time debating whether to go around Tully on the inlet end or the outlet end. Then I descended and headed for the outlet end. There is a bluff coming into the lake, but a use trail (beginning in the main camp in the north-central gap) leads high up and over and down to the outlet stream, where the use trail to Tully runs. From here I walked briefly up the south side of the lakeshore and then followed the first inlet stream up out of the lake basin. As I scrambled (easily) to the first small flattish meadow surrounded with a low cirque, I turned right and climbed up about another 8 feet to emerge on the plateau, from which it was an easy stroll to the longish pond that feeds the stream. This route, I later discovered from my own experience and from talking to another experienced hiker on the way out, is by FAR the easiest route to the “Cotton Plateau.”

From this point the walking was easy. I enjoyed discovering several ponds as I meandered in the direction of Cotton, and then, almost before I knew it, there was Cotton Lake. Here I had to make a choice. LMBSGV and WIldhiker recommended camping on the north side, SSSDave suggested the whitebarks to the west. I could see the advantages of both. From the north side there was a sweeping view across the water of the Silver Divide. From the west there was a sweeping view across the water of Red Slate Mountain. I opted for the whitebarks, but hiked back and forth constantly to see the different angles in the changing light. I also think that the time of the season made a difference. With no snow, no small streams, and few flowers I was drawn to the grander views and the less intimate shots.

The camp in the whitebarks did have, as SSSDave suggested, fabulous views in all directions. It was also just a short stroll over to a ridge where I could look down on Isaac Walton Lake. Again, I cliffed out on finding an easy route around its inlet end and realized, like Tully, that I would have to descend to the lake. There was only one way down that I could find—it was very steep, and I was undecided if I wanted to do that with a heavy pack, not knowing if I could get all the way to the bottom without running into another cliff. The way was forested and I could not see through to the bottom. Later I talked to a woman who had done it and reported that it does go through to the inlet stream, is very steep, and was the only way down she found. Really it would be a one-way trip. No way would you want to come up that forested chute with a full pack. After getting to the bottom I would have to circle Isaac Walton clockwise, as there were prominent bluffs coming into the lake along its NE shore.
That evening I was treated to a spectacular sunset. My trip was on schedule and off to a fabulous start.

Day Three

During the night I woke up shivering, despite the fact that it was not especially cold and I was very warmly covered. I also developed coughing, sneezing, watery eyes, and a runny nose. My whole attitude about the trip changed, given the COVID scare. I also felt weak and depleted, with trembling hands and legs.

There were plausible explanations for these symptoms other than COVID that I later discovered were responsible. I had not eaten enough on day 2, which was a day of great exertion, and this led to not having enough energy to keep my body warm that night. Eating a couple of thousand calories on a day you burn 5000 is not a good thing, and this has happened to me a couple of other times—it is hard for me to eat enough when I am out there. When I ate more food those symptoms eventually went away. As for the other symptoms, I was probably having an allergic reaction to being under the pollinating whitebarks. On my way out all those symptoms disappeared, not to reappear. But that night and early that morning I could not be sure, and the seed of doubt was planted. Should I do a layover day and see how it goes? But if I needed help wouldn’t it be better to be over the pass? Given how weak I felt, I thought it might take me several days to work my way out. And so the decision was made to start back. The first order of business was getting off the plateau and back to the main trail. My legs were still trembling. I opted to try the direct route “A” that goes down a small outlet stream immediately west of the Tully Lake outlet stream. At first it went easily, since the two ponds that feed the stream were easy to locate and the drainage obvious and simple to follow. But the stream went over two small cliff bands. The first band was broken and it was possible to scramble down over large boulders. I had to lower my pack over one. Unfortunately, this only led to a second cliff band. There were two ways down from this—one cutting across some exposure back toward the Tully outlet. This probably would have been the smarter choice. Instead I thrashed my way through nearly impenetrable willows and descended while hugging a wall. Nothing was really unsafe, but it convinced me that my way UP to the plateau the prior day was by far the best route—not involving hand holds, willows, cliffs or anything particularly challenging.

I soon rejoined the Tully boot path and followed it to the confluence where it meets the main trail, a full 500’ in elevation below where I left the main trail on day 2. From here it would be all uphill to the pass. As I trudged I enjoyed the proximity to the creek, and as breakfast and snacks took hold I began to feel better and better. My allergy symptoms and weakness both departed. I half expected to not get very far, but as my strength returned I just kept going. I was in the pass by early afternoon and started down the other side. Now I felt foolish for turning back, but I was not going to reverse course.

As I descended two considerations came to mind. First, I did not want to stay around McGee Lakes again—I wanted some solitude, not a motel. And second, I wanted to split my descent to the trailhead to avoid putting 4000 feet of downhill on my knees in a single day. Where could I camp? As it turned out, I found a pleasant, serviceable location. The large camping area near the pond at 9944 was in the perfect spot. (Take the spur trail—don’t camp at the pond!) I think most backpackers pass it by because it comes too soon and they are destined for McGee Lake, but on the way out it was a good stopping point for me. The camp is big enough for an entire scout troop, and is flanked by a pleasant stretch of McGee Creek running down one side and a green meadow on the other. Above the expansive packed earth camping area is a granite platform with a view of the area and a well trodden boot bath to the top. Across the meadow I could watch hikers going up and down the trail along the granite ledge, and if you know what you are looking for you can easily spot the camp from the trail. Day Four

Again, I got up at dawn, having had a good night. At this point I probably should have headed up to Steelhead Lake, which was not too far and I had never been there. My health concerns were mostly allayed and I had 4 more days of food left. But for some reason Steelhead did not appeal to me, and I had reached that point that we probably all reach when “the switch is flipped” and the mindset was on getting home. It happened too early, but it happened. So I gently walked down the trail, speculating on what happened to the beaver ponds, and found my way back to the car, to civilization, and to home.

In this time of Covid-19, feeling ill would make a person feel vulnerable and afraid, especially if traveling solo on a backpack. It sounds like you made the best decision for yourself. Your photos are beautiful. Thanks for your trip report. I've stayed at that camp site under the foxtails. That is a great site. Since you know the route, you can always go back again. And, you did make it to Cotton Lake and to see country you hadn't seen before. Those are all good things.

I remember we considered that route you took on the way back to the McGee Pass trail from Cotton but heard it was a little tricky so we didn't do it. It sounds from your description that was the case. It seems as though it's common this year to camp near people yelling or talking loudly close by. Our group had the same experience in Emigrant. A woman who literally screamed and screeched (she had a high voice) and talked so loudly it was as if she was in an auditorium on a loudspeaker. This went on for several hours in a group camped only about 30 feet from us. It was like animal house We passed around the ear plugs.

Neat report and photos. I can certainly appreciate how you must have felt when you started feeling like you were coming down with something. In TRs for my last two trips I remarked that everything in the backcountry was like in a time capsule as if it was any other year, but I hadn't thought about how I would feel if I started exhibiting some sort of symptoms---then it would be certainly be connected with a 2020-specific anxiety. Your post makes me ponder about what I might have done. Over the years I've actually come down with some pretty bad colds during backpacking trips. Three times it was on the way out and it didn't change plans (ie hasten early departure) but it made the retreat more miserable. But then there were some long trips where I got sick in the middle or even early. On day 2 of an 8-day Tablelands-Glacier Ridge-Cloud Cyn-Colby-Triple Divide-Lion-etc. I got hit pretty hard including running a pretty high fever. I was in pretty bad shape but recovered by day 6. Had that been 2020 I may have aborted the trip and headed out (from Deadman Cyn/Glacier Ridge) starting on day 2. And then there was Blackchuck 2007 when I hiked in after getting very sick the day before (fever just below 103); that trip would have never happened if it had been 2020.

I'm glad to hear you had a good trip otherwise, though.

Thanks for the great report and photos! Glad you were able to make it out to the Fish Creek area and explore there. The "Cotton Plateau" looks like a wonderful place to wander around -- this is good motivation for me to eventually push farther than I did last month.

Your description of your concern over your temporary change in health really resonated with me -- this same thing happened to my wife and me on our first backpack of the year, a planned 7-day trip over Piute Pass that we ended up truncating to 4 days due to flu-like symptoms that bore a striking resemblance to both AMS and COVID-19. It turned out to be the former, but at the time we were worried about the latter and so decided to play it safe and head out early. This is definitely an X-factor for this season (and beyond) that casts a potential shadow over every once-innocuous cough or sneeze.

I love your photos, particularly the one of the sunset at Big McGee Lake. It's such a peaceful composition that it makes it hard to imagine the accompanying soundtrack. I just returned from a nine-day trip with my family and we experienced similar doubts about symptoms that were more minor than what you describe. It's a weird year to be backpacking - we were quite happy to be distanced socially but the medical distance was always nagging.

Great report and photos for a neat trip. Thanks for posting.

I'm glad the illness was temporary and not serious. One's body seems to respond differently in the backcountry. I have to force myself to finish dinner that first night since I never feel like eating much at that point. That's great you were able to enjoy the "Cotton Plateau." I really enjoyed the photos. It's always interesting how much change occurs in the micro details of an area in the span of a year or two while the bigger picture remains. In 1996, my wife, son (who was 12 at the time), and I camped our first night in the same place below Big McGee. It's a wonderful alternative to the crowds at Big McGee. Thanks for sharing.

Thanks for the great report and photos. You covered a lot of beautiful terrain in 4 days. Glad it was nothing serious. Because covid is so prevalent on my mind these days, I was also on heightened awareness during my last trip, wondering after every ache or sneeze whether I was ok.