Into the Sierras - At Last

A week ago, I stood with a backpack at 11,800 feet on Kearsarge Pass, looking out into the Sierras. Ever since I moved to California, this is where I’ve wanted to be. Now that I’m teaching again, I’m still enjoying the afterglow. I wasn’t sure I could carry a pack that high.

It wasn’t the first time we’d tried this trip. About three years ago, Rhiannon and I had planned a September hike over Kearsarge Pass. I’d done part of the trail that summer, and it seemed a good route – a high starting point (9,100 feet), a nicely graded trail, a relatively short hike. But we awoke that morning to fog, rain, snow, and hail. We loaded our backpacks, stared up at the snowy rocks disappearing into the mist – and drove east to Death Valley.

This time we had sunshine. The trail went up and up from Onion Valley, past five lakes, but even the last switchbacks weren’t as bad as I’d expected. All those high country hikes have paid off. The slopes looked barren, but flowers hid between the rocks, including such new ones as the Sierra primrose. I kept stopping for pictures. Rhiannon waited. Other hikers stopped to chat – the high country is a friendly place. One hiker said he was a geologist in Antarctica.

And finally – the pass. Layers and layers of ridges and valleys, disappearing into a smoky haze from fires to the south. (The next two days were clear.) We rested for a long time, eating sausage and crackers, taking pictures, comparing notes with others. Eventually we hiked down to Kearsarge Lakes, with soup and freeze-dried chicken and rice for dinner. For morning, we planned an easy day of exploration.

After a slow meander past Bullfrog Lake, we headed up toward Glen Pass. I wasn’t sure I’d make it – at 11,900+ feet, it was even higher than Kearsarge – but it wouldn’t matter. By the time we reached the first little lake below the pass, it was three o’clock. I sent Rhiannon ahead with the camera – maybe I’d explore the upper lake and head slowly down while she took pictures from the top.

But soon I had second thoughts. When else would I be near Glen Pass? When else would I be fit enough to climb it? On the map, the second lake looked significantly closer to the pass. And beyond the lake were the final switchbacks.

With a sudden renewal of energy, I started up the trail. The second lake, like the first, was surrounded by barren rocks, but shooting stars and rosy sedum grew tall along the stream. Above the lake was the ridge. Through binoculars, I could just see a tiny Rhiannon silhouetted on top, taking pictures. I gave the family shout – “Aaah-oo-waaah!” She looked around, saw my whole body waving, and waved back. “I – might – come – up!” I shouted. She waved again.

Despite the switchbacks, the grade was gentle. My legs and lungs held out. I yawned, just a little, but wasn’t tempted to sleep – no snores this time. And up near the top, almost hidden under a boulder, was a blue flower I’d seen only in pictures – sky pilot, in the phlox family, said to grow at higher elevations than any other plant in the Sierras.

As I reached the ridge, Rhiannon and a young man from Montana cheered. The Rae Lakes lay scattered across a valley far below us. Rhiannon said the skinny one should be for lap-swimming.

Eventually we started down the switchbacks, trading the camera back and forth so we’d both be in the pictures. By the time we reached our camp, it was nearly dark, and a tiny crescent moon glowed in the west. I was exhausted – it had been a ten-mile day.


Friday morning, the trail up the west side of Kearsarge Pass was a lot steeper than the eastern one. I found more sky pilot, a bit faded, just below the ridge. Strangers congratulated us as we reached the top.

We hated to leave. On the way down toward Onion Valley, we stopped for rests, stopped for flowers, stopped for photographs – no hurry for the real world.

The hiking books describe this trail as “easy” and “short,” at least by Sierra standards. Well, yes – that’s why I chose it. But for me? As I said when I started this Blog, I’m short and round and out of shape – though less unfit now than earlier. In four months, I’ll be sixty. Maybe this is an easy hike for some people, but for me, it was a big deal.

I’m still studying the guidebooks. They make more sense now; I know those places. I’ve been there – into the Sierras. And even though it’s time for other things, I’m already thinking about the next trip.