Steve Roper's Sierra High Route, Chapter 1

Steve Roper's Sierra High Route starts with an 8 mile climb up the Copper Creek Trail in Kings Canyon, rising over 5,000'.

Note: This blog starts directly with a description of each day of the trip. If you'd like to learn more about the Sierra High Route, an excellent overview can be found at this link.

Day 1

Our Father/Son Sierra High Route hike doesn't start off on the right foot. After my son Daniel is delayed due to work obligations, we start hiking Friday morning rather than the planned Thursday afternoon. Two miles into the arduous 8 mile, 5,000' uphill hike on the Copper Creek trail in King's Canyon, we run into Ranger Bob. Bob is a 31 year vet as a Kings Canyon backcountry Ranger, and it would be safe to say that he is opinionated, and experienced.

"Where 'ya headed?" he asks, not asking to see our Permit. "Sierra High Route to Bishop Pass, hiking with my son," I reply. "How many days?" Bob queries. "Five," I answer. Without missing a beat, Bob quips, "Way too aggressive. You'll need 8 or 9 days for that trip!" Daniel strolls up, lagging behind, as he's off the couch on this one, having spent way too much time behind a desk. Bob goes on, "You guys are in for a tough adventure. That country back there is remote, and travel is slow and tedious." He looks me in the eye, and continues, "And I'll tell you something else, and I'm going to say this right in front of your son. You're older now, if you push too hard, you'll be exhausted, and you'll risk getting injured or lost, or perhaps worse. Don't push it today. Make it to Grouse Lake, and camp. You're going to need to acclimate and be ready for some hard days ahead."

This isn't what I want to hear. We're starting a day late, Daniel is lagging due to lack of fitness, and I realize Bob is right. I am older now, and Daniel has not had time to train, so maybe we don't have any business trying something this difficult. Two miles into our adventure, I am questioning the concept.

After the 8 mile climb, we have lunch and I get the bad news that Daniel's knee is bothering him. We set off on the 1 mile cross country hike to Grouse Lake.

We forge ahead, and arrive at Grouse Lake before 3 PM. Bob's words are ringing in my ears as I want to continue over Grouse Lake Pass to the next lake basin. But Daniel is tired and has had enough. We set up camp at Grouse Lake. We swim, rinse our clothes, study maps, and act like we have all the time in the world. This seems cavalier, and irresponsible to me. Swimming, sitting around camp, enjoying the afternoon at the lake, while we fall perilously behind.

We arrive at Grouse Lake, and it's stunning gorgeous. Hard to imagine NOT camping here. We jump in the lake for a dip. Daniel shows how it's done, going out for an extended swim in the icy cold lake

Looks to me like this plant, desperate for moisture, finds it rolling off the rock, and beneath the rock. Clever survival strategy.

Walking to the outlet of the lake, we find nice views toward Grouse Lake Pass, our goal for the morning, middle left of the photo.

Lovely Fall red vegetation around the lake.

Underwater grasses growing in Grouse Lake

Daniel, exhausted from the day's effort, takes a late afternoon nap at our incredible camp ground.

Then, Back Country Ranger Chris strolls into our camp. At first I'm nervous. We have no bear canister. Is it required here? Is our tent 100 feet from the water? Chris asks for our Permit, and he looks it over. Hmmm. "Looks like you guys have a big trip planned." I tell Chris that Ranger Bob thought our plan was too aggressive, what did he think?

Me and Ranger Chris. Chris offers advice on our trip and reinforces the fact that we are in for a very difficult adventure.

Chris says, "Ah yes, Ranger Bob. Quite a character. You guys will need an Alpine Start tomorrow, and will need to push hard for Lake Marion to have any chance of pulling this off." We look at the map, and I realize we have little chance of making it that far. Daniel has already blown out his knee on the first day, and is hobbling. I suddenly realize we may be in over our heads. I peruse the map with Chris and we consider bail out options, of which there are none practical, other than turning around. But he offers advice on where we need to be each day to stay on task.

I will keep Chris' suggestions in mind as we forge head, and unfortunately, a level of stress has been introduced, that will stay with me for the duration of the trip. This stress is starkly juxtaposed against the extraordinary beauty, and the fine and challenging adventure in the High Sierra, with my son, who is one of the select individuals on this earth who appreciates the High Sierra as much as I.

I ask Chris where he is camped, and he says, "Away from the lake, on that rib over there," pointing South. "No water," I note. "Nope," Chris says, "I've got a few liters packed, and that will get me through breakfast. The views to the south are spectacular at sunset. If you guys come over to enjoy the sunset, I'll see you there." 

We join Chris as evening falls, and observe, left to right Mt. Clarence King, Mt. Cotter, and Mt. Gardiner. As we ponder the gorgeous distant peaks in the evening light, I am aware that a long, difficult, adventure lies ahead.

As evening falls, we join Ranger Chris at his campsite, and see (l to r) on the horizon, Mt. Clarence King, Mt. Cotter, and Mt. Gardiner.

Day 2

I wake before 6 AM, grab a hiking pole, and my headlamp, and fetch our food, counterbalanced on a nearby tree. It's still dark. Next, I whip up a couple of Mountain Mochas for Daniel and me. These consist of one packet Starbucks freeze dried/micro-ground coffee, and two heaping teaspoons of Swiss Piss, err... I mean Swiss Miss Hot Chocolate. Just add hot water. This may not sound too appealing as you sit in your kitchen, next to your Italian espresso machine, but trust me, at 11,000' in the mountains, the Mountain Mocha is truly wonderful.

Morning routine. Food bags are fetched from a nearby tree, stove is going, and Mountain Mochas and breakfast are being prepared.

We're out of camp at 7:30 AM, in what I'd call a "soft" Alpine Start. First objective is up and over Grouse Lake Pass, an easy 500' elevation stroll from Grouse Lake. At about the time we crest, the sun is on Ranger Chris' camp, and he is likely enjoying his preferred morning beverage. He will be glad to see our camp vacated and that we are over the pass, when he makes his morning rounds, also heading for Grouse Lake Pass. Descending the pass is a bit trickier, with ribs and cliffs forcing us a bit West when we are headed East.

Daniel climbing up to Grouse Lake Pass in the early morning, from our camp at the lake. The ridge at the far end of the lake, overlooking the canyon, is where Ranger Chris is camped.

At the bottom we need to figure out which valley to head up. Looking at the topo map, nothing makes sense. We're losing time as I stare at the map, but I stubbornly refuse to take another step, until I've satisfied myself that our route is correct. "I think this is the right way" isn't going to cut it on this adventure. A feeling of anxiety comes over me. This is the first real navigation challenge on the trip, and I've failed.

Looking down from Grouse Lake Pass, navigation challenges are presented.

There will be many more navigation challenges that are harder than this one, so there is concern. Daniel, a competent map reader, looks at the map as well, and we're both stumped. After a bit, I figure out the problem. We are not where I think we are on the map, due to our deviation on the descent of the pass. Once I have our location right, the map makes sense and we proceed to Goat Crest Saddle, another easy Class 1 hike, with gorgeous vistas of the Goat Crest area, 12,000' peaks towering above us in the open landscape.

Goat Crest Saddle is an easy, Class 1 hike.

Looking Down at Glacier Lake from Goat Crest Pass

Daniel's knee is still bothering him, but he's managing it. Dr. MacPaulster has determined it's Patellofemoral Pain Syndrome, a condition caused by vigorous exercise with inadequate training. The quad muscles tighten up and pull the patella out of alignment, causing painful inflammation. Best treatment, next to rest, will be a course of Ibuprofen, and frequent stretching of the quad. Between us, Daniel and I have enough "Vitamin I", for two 600 mg doses per day, for 8 hours of hiking, and we'll stick with this regimen for the remainder of the trip.

Next is a long descent off the Goat Crest, to Glacier Lakes, and descents are the most troublesome for Daniel. We lose a bit more time, but we are still moving along reasonably well. I advise Daniel that next up is 3 miles of relatively easy trail hiking, to Horseshoe Lakes, where we will break for lunch. I look to him for a smile of relief, but all I see is a grimace of pain with each step.

Looking back at Goat Crest Saddle from Upper Glacier Lake.

A tricky descent down granite slabs to Glacier Valley. In July this area is one big waterfall. With three years of relative drout, it's bone dry in September. This made it a lot easier for us, but sad to see no water.

Crossing miles of meadows in Glacier Valley (10,000') after descending from the high peaks in the background.

We enjoy a splendid lunch at Horseshoe Lakes, but unfortunately, the aprés déjeuner terrain will become more technical. We've got a long hike through trees where correct navigation will be crucial, before making a big ascent up to Gray Pass. Following that, we've got two more passes, White Pass and Red Pass, before the steep 1200' descent to Marion Lake, our goal for the day. The task is daunting.

We navigate through the trees perfectly, I pass the test this time around, and find ourselves climbing up to Gray Pass, 10,760', so named for the color of the rock. Curiously, we're so high on Windy Ridge at this point, that we actually descend *down* to Gray Pass. We are treated to absolutely stunning views, Windy Canyon below us, and across to Ragged Spur and Black Divide.

Views to the North, Windy Canyon, Ragged Spur, Black Divide.

A 500' descent is next, crossing the South Fork of Cartridge Creek, then a huge 1500' climb up to White Pass, 11,680'. The day is slipping away from us, and I fear the best we'll do is climb up near White Pass, before we need to camp.

Descending to Cartridge Creek, late in the day.

As we work our way up toward White Pass, a West facing slope, the sun is dipping low, and the shadow is chasing us up the hill, and, of course, will catch us soon. We are climbing hard, lugging the packs up the steep mountain, sweating, thrashing through willows, and up steep rock. We head off course to the lakes at 11,200', and as we arrive at a quickly selected camp spot, we realize we've got maybe 10 minutes until sundown. We dash to the shore of the lake, remove clothes, and quickly jump in the frigid water to freshen up before the sun dips below the horizon, and the temperature plummets.

Daniel climbs up toward White Pass, late afternoon shadows chasing us.

I'm a little bummed we are not able to make it farther, but here's the glass half full interpretation: We traveled 13 miles over difficult cross country terrain, and ascended 4,300' over three Passes, the weather is great, the scenery stunning, and I'm spending precious time with my son in the High Sierra. Although we do not make it to Lake Marion, and there are two Passes to go to get there, we're nearly all the way up White Pass, and it's a short traverse from White Pass to Red Pass, before descending to the Lake Marion. Once we arrive there tomorrow, we'll know how far behind we are on Ranger Chris' suggested schedule.

Making it to camp just before sunset.

We enjoy the sunset while making camp, and by the time we are cooking dinner, the stars are out in force. We are fortunate that there is currently a heat wave in California. 100 degree temperatures in the valleys, means that nighttime temps in the high mountains will stay near or above freezing.

Sunset at camp near the small lake.

Being in the mountains reminds the traveler how incredible star gazing can be, when far away from city lights. Earlier in life, when I was spending more time camping out, I'd taken some time to learn the stars. I've forgotten most of them now, but one thing has stuck with me. When I get up in the wee hours of the morning, and crawl out of the tent in the frigid air to drain the 'ol lizard, I sure as hell will see Orion in the night sky, and tonight is no exception. I smile, think of all the past adventures in the High Sierra, take an extra moment to gaze around, and then crawl back into my sleeping bag. The next day will surely bring more adventure, with the legendary, and feared, Frozen Lake Pass to cross... if we make it that far.

Our camp at the Lakes at 11,200' near White Pass. The star gazing is incredible, and nighttime temperatures mild enough to stay outside and enjoy. A slight glow, from twilight, and the city lights in Fresno, is visible on the horizon.

The night sky is inspiring.

Day 3

We pack up camp and head for two Passes, White Pass, and Red Pass. White Pass is named for its white granite, while Red Pass is named for its Red shale. After descending from Red Pass, we will arrive at Marion Lake, our goal for the previous day. Once there, we can evaluate how far behind we are, and assess our chances of making it over Frozen Lake Pass today, absolutely essential for our well being.

Early morning at camp. Time to get a move on, long day ahead!

Daniel climbs up toward White Pass, our first objective on Day 3.

We climb the 500' from our camp, a lake at 11,200', to White Pass, 11,680'. It's modestly technical, but we're up there pretty fast. Fabulous views from the top, and we take a few moments to enjoy. At the top, the hiker must traverse some ledges before dropping off the pass. For the second time on this trip, we will descend to a pass, as Red Pass, 11,560', is lower than White Pass.

From the ledges off of White Pass, we can see Red Pass below us. In the far distance at the big peak to the left of the photo on the horizon, looms Frozen Lake Pass.

Daniel negotiates the rocky terrain near Red' Pass.

Daniel descends near Red Pass toward Lake Marion. This terrain is really tough on Daniels sore knee.

Red Pass does not present any particular technical problems, and we find ourselves on the long, steep, 1200' descent to Lake Marion. Daniel falls way behind, and I wait several times. At the bottom there is a final technical chute that brings the hiker down to the gorgeous Lake Marion, named after Helen Marion LeConte, one of the early female explorers of the Sierra Nevada High Country. Helen's husband, Joseph LeConte, was a superb climber and adventure seeker, before hiking in the Sierra was fashionable. Helen was his equal in her taste for adventure, and her endurance and competence in the mountains. I execute this final chute quickly and am waiting for Daniel at the lake... and waiting... and waiting.

View of Lake Marion from Red Pass.

Daniel is dwarfed by the terrain descending to Lake Marion.

Lake Marion from the top of the final technical chute down to the Lake.

As I stand at Lake Marion, next to the plaque commemorating Ms. LeConte, our average pace on my Garmin is dropping. I'm going into panic mode. We cannot make Frozen Lake Pass at this rate. There is no way we can execute that technical pass if night is falling. Too dangerous. Daniel finally arrives and I decide it's time for a strategy session. I explain to Daniel that our pace so far today is 0.8 mph. We need to average nearly double that to make our destination today. It's taken two and a half hours to get here, and that is how far behind we are. I ask if he needs to call it, and rest his knee. I could set up a camp for him at this lovely lake, one of the nicest in the Sierra, and go ahead for more supplies, return, and hopefully he would be recovered by then, if not, we'd need to execute a rescue.

This plaque at Lake Marion reads, "Helen Marion Le Conte, 1865-1924. The LeContes camped here many times on their adventures in the High Sierra. They would cover incredible distances, with the crude and heavy equipment available at the time.

Looking back at the final chutes down to Lake Marion as I wait for Daniel. The correct chute is the right hand one. We descended the second chute in the middle, much steeper and more difficult. It isn't obvious from above which chute you are in.

Daniel explains to me that the particular descent we just did, is the absolute worst for his knee, and he had to really slow down to make it safely. He explained he can move more briskly on flat ground or climbing, and that's all there is between here and Frozen Lake Pass. I say OK, and we forge ahead. Daniel is able to keep up as we start the long, and arduous climb toward Frozen Lake Pass, 12,320'. His efforts so far have been heroic, and he will continue to demonstrate incredible fortitude, and tenacity, as this trip continues.

Looking South toward some nice lakes as we climb toward Frozen Lake Pass. No time to explore.

As we make our way toward the pass, slowly climbing on gradually rising terrain, it's time to determine exactly where the pass is. Unfortunately, we're stumped again with the navigation. Try as I may, I'm just not sure which ridge the pass is on. Further study of the maps reveals that the pass isn't visible to us now, so we need to climb higher. I take a compass reading and we continue on course, hoping we'll arrive at the correct location, navigating blindly.

Our first good view of Frozen Lake Pass, the lowest asymmetrical notch in the middle of the photo. The ascent looks daunting, and the descent of the other side is reported to be a lot worse!

Finally, we arrive at the lake below Frozen Lake Pass. I've been terrified about this pass since I began planning this trip. Most hikers say it's impossible to descend without instigating significant rock and scree slides, and hikers should descend carefully, one at a time. It's a dangerous descent. One SHR hiker reported doing the steep, technical, climb up the South side, and when he arrived at the top, he looked down the North side, and said, "No way." He did the technical down climb back down the South side and traveled a 16 mile detour to avoid descending the North side of Frozen Lake Pass. Am I up to the task of leading this route? Can we do this thing? If we get up there and it looks too scary, then what? And I sure as hell don't want to start up this thing if there is any danger of night falling before we descend.

Daniel starts up to Frozen Lake Pass just a bit ahead of me. It's the little notch just left of center. Very tough going up this steep rocky Pass.

Daniel does amazingly well on the climb up toward the pass. We're at the lake below the pass a bit after 2 PM. We notice a hiker up at the top of the pass, hanging around in the notch, the first person we have seen on the SHR. Is he enjoying the splendid view, or is he too terrified to descend? We decide to water up, fuel up, at the base of the pass before tackling this beast that has got my knickers in a twist. I figure it'll be an hour and a half to climb, and another hour and a half to descend. We can be up and over before nightfall!

Daniel and I divide and conquer, starting up the climb at 2:40 PM, taking different routes to avoid sending scree or rock down on one another. The lower part is big talus, and as we climb higher, the talus gets smaller, the grade steeper, and there is much more scree. From far below, I've memorized land marks on the ridge, so that I can easily find the correct chute that leads to the correct notch at the top.

As I get near the pass, I take a moment to look back and take a photo of the lake below Frozen Lake Pass on the South side.

The climb goes surprisingly well, and I arrive at the top at about 3:30 PM, taking just 50 minutes for the climb. Daniel is 5 minutes behind. We're in good shape. I take a peek down the North side, butterflies in my stomach. But you know what? It looks hella steep, super loose, but I'm pretty sure I can do this thing!

My first glimpse over the North side of Frozen Lake Pass and down to Frozen Lake below. We'll camp at the larger lake partially visible in the distance on the left. The John Muir Trail travels up the valley ahead before ascending Mather Pass, our objective for tomorrow.

I ask Daniel if he'd like to go first, or if he'd like me to. He prefers I go first, as he'd like to rest a bit before descending. I tell him that when I feel I've cleared the crux part of the descent, and am out of danger of rock falls from above, I'll give him a loud call, which should echo off the steep cliffs adjacent to the pass. The code call is, "Heeeeyyyy Oooooooh!!!

I remove one of my stowed hiking poles from my pack, useless on the steep climb, shorten it, and use it like an ice axe while descending the loose scree. I cautiously plant the pole below me, crouched down, weight it, and then carefully side step down, very light footed, pretending I'm an angel. I do understand the tomfoolery of a derelict like me pretending I am an angel, but work with me. I don't quite understand how this is happening, but I don't release a single rock, or even a grain of sand for that matter, for the entire descent. I'd been told it's impossible to descend without causing scree slides. My technique is working to perfection. I'm not scared at all, totally in control, totally zen, at peace with myself. I am respecting the mountain, and the mountain is allowing me to be safe. All the stress was before the climb up and over the pass, not during. All my fear of this thing is released and tamed by my focus and my approach to the problem.

Once I am safely below the crux section of loose rock, I give Daniel the signal to descend from Frozen Lake Pass.

Looking back up the North side of Frozen Lake Pass.

In short order, I am to safety, and give Daniel the call. I decide to continue down, and I notice I am very quickly catching the hiker we saw at the top. I catch him at Frozen Lake, which, due to drought and global warming, isn't frozen at all, and the hiker ahead realizes that I've gone up and over the pass in the time he's taken to descend. I introduce myself to Matt. Matt is 40-ish, and is doing the SHR in sections. He seems to be competent in his backcountry skills, if a bit slow and methodical. He asks, "How long did it take you to climb the pass?" "50 minutes," I say, "Snapping a few photos along the way." "Crap," Matt replies, "It took me two hours to get up that thing!"

It's a long wait while Daniel descends, and I tell Matt about Daniel's knee problems, noting that he can hike rings around me if he is healthy. Matt asks if he'd like us to have him call for a rescue on his SPOT device. I say no, I don't think that will be necessary.

I'm so relieved to have made it over Frozen Lake Pass. It's getting late now, and we still have an arduous talus grind before we can camp. I wait for Daniel, and we share a huge sigh of relief. He also felt that Frozen Lake Pass was no big deal.

We arrive at camp after sunset, a lovely lake in Upper Basin at 11,600', with one pair of ducks swimming around feeding. The John Muir Trail is an easy 1 mile cross country hike from here. It's looking like we just might get out of this one alive after all! We'll study the maps, and ponder our options in the morning, but for now, time for a well deserved late dinner.

Master chef working the kitchen at camp.

From our camp, after sunset, we look across at Split Mountain, one of many14,000' peaks in the Sierra.

Day 4

An early sunrise at our camp on Day 4 gives some warmth for our preparation for another long day.

At our morning camp, we have a lovely view across a huge valley to the East, of Split Mountain. This also means early sun. I consider waiting for the sun to hit the tent before rising, but in the end I decide we'd better get moving. We do "sleep in" until 6:00 AM, and once we are up and having our Mountain Mochas, the sun hits us quickly as a pair of ducks make their morning rounds on the lake. The warmth is welcome, and it seems maybe a good omen. Things are looking up.

Two ducks forage on the calm morning water at our camp lake between Frozen Lake Pass and Mather Pass.

Daniel works on his breakfast in morning sun, with the huge saddle below Split Mountain in the far distance. Down jackets off, hats on, the sun is upon us now. Sore knee, blistered feet, he soldiers on. I wonder if I could be so determined if faced with the same challenges. I am so proud of him, and so grateful to have him as a companion in the High Sierra.

Today is a pivotal day on our trip. We DID make it over Frozen Lake Pass yesterday, meaning we probably won't perish out here. But what next? We have the option of catching the John Muir Trail all the way to Bishop Pass Trail. This would mean we could get Daniel back to civilization with only trail hiking involved. But wait... The trail will be over 30 miles, and plummets down to hot country at 8,000', and following that, it's a 4,000' grind up and over Bishop Pass. The prescribed High Route stays above 10,000', and is much shorter in mileage, but travels over 3 high passes, with extreme technical cross country travel.

As we travel cross country toward the John Muir Trail, we look back at a last glimpse of Frozen Lake Pass.

It will be up to Daniel, and how he feels about his knee, whether we decide to bail on the John Muir Trail, or stick with our plan for the more technical High Route.

We travel cross country from our camp, only a mile or so, to get to the John Muir trail. At this point, the High Route follows the John Muir Trail, so our decision to diverge will be made later. I take the low route and Daniel takes the higher, more technical route, on our way to the John Miur Trail, as he doesn't want to descend. We meet at the JMT. Now it's up and over Mather Pass, an incredible feat of engineering, as far as trail building is concerned. This trail was planned in the 1920's, but was not completed until 1938. While Daniel and I aren't big fans of trail travel, we welcome the fact that we don't have to negotiate this pass on cross country terms!

Daniel climbing the incredible Mather Pass Trail, looking back down on Upper Basin.

Over the Pass we head for the gorgeous Palisade Lakes, an upper and lower lake in an incredibly beautiful valley. At the drainage of the lower lake, the JMT plummets 2,000' to hot, sweaty, Bear country. The Sierra High Route instead leaves the John Muir Trail, and climbs up to Cirque Pass, 12,000', high above Palisade Lakes, 10,613'.

Cresting Mather Pass, we look down on Palisade Lakes, in the far distance, our next destination.

Looking back at Upper Palisade Lake, we can see Mather Pass, from where we came, the soft U shaped saddle in the sunlight in the middle of the photo.

Which route shall we choose? Daniel matches my pace up to Mather Pass, and descending the 4 miles or so to Palisade Lakes, he's only lost about 10 minutes. We arrive at Palisade Lakes after 3 hours of hiking, and this was Ranger Chris' suggestion for our destination on Day 3. So we lost 2.5 hours on day two, but only 30 minutes more on Day 3.

We stop for lunch at Lower Palisade Lake, where we find a nice, hooded down jacket, women's model. In the pocket is a pair of prescription eyeglasses, an iPhone charge cord, and an auxiliary battery. The owner is nowhere to be seen. Pro tip: When you are hiking the JMT, make sure you have all your shit lashed on your pack correctly, and each time you stop for a break, make sure you check and make sure you have everything with you. Boy, is she going to be bummed when she arrives at camp and realizes what is missing. Unfortunately, there is nothing we can do to help. We leave the jacket behind.

Lower Palisade Lake.

We'll leave the lower end of Palisade Lake and head up to right in the jumble of rock, to Cirque Pass. Beautiful beach below.

I ask Daniel, "Low route or High Route." "High Route," he replies.
On our way now, we leave the JMT and head for Cirque Pass. We have no idea how hard this is going to be. It's a series of steps, technical all the way, and each time you think you are at the top, another, higher, technical piece is above. Daniel seems to be feeling better, and is now acclimated. He's climbing strong, and leading. He is selecting our route, and I am following. I trust him implicitly in the mountains for selecting a safe route. It feels good not to have to lead, and it is also inspiring to see him feeling stronger. He's still in pain, but like any person with a disability, he is starting to learn to manage it, and do incredible things despite the handicap.

We think Cirque Pass is the saddle middle left. It's not, that's only about 1/3 the way up!

We encounter a water snake on the way up the pass.

Daniel leads up one of the many obstacles on Cirque Pass.

Cirque Pass goes on forever, and the clock is ticking. We'd like to make it to Dusy Basin today, but that means three passes need to be crossed — Cirque, Potluck, and Knapsack. If we can bag all three, then it would just mean a 9 mile trail hike to make it out on Day 5. An unlikely goal...

Half way up Cirque Pass, we look back on Lower Palisade Lake. Upper Palisade lake is barely visible.

We're treated to stunning afternoon scenery on this traverse, but I realize we won't make it to Dusy Basin. But we MUST at least make it over Potluck Pass, the second of the three. We finally crest Cirque Pass, and execute a somewhat technical descent. We do pretty well on our route finding, only having one Class 3 move.

Next is Potluck Pass. I spent a lot of time worrying about Frozen Lake Pass, but my efforts would have been better spent dreading this pesky obstacle. The recommended route is to ascend very steep scree slopes on the left side of the pass, then gain a series of ledges heading back right to the pass.

We finally crest Cirque Pass. Potluck Pass is visible across the middle left side of the lake. Hmmm, looks kinda steep!

I don't know what happens, but I find myself too far to the left. I'm on a scree slope so steep I can't hang on. Terrified, I climb straight up, like a scared cat up a tree. There is no way I can down climb this thing. I'm breathing hard, near exhaustion, when I find a place I can stop safely. Daniel calls from below, to inform me he thinks I am getting too high and will be unable to negotiate the cliffs to the Pass. I look to my right and see that he is correct. I can't go down. I can't go up. The only move is to carefully proceed laterally on the scree. After about 200 feet of this careful lateral travel, I am on some sketchy ledges, that will bring me to the Pass. Daniel finds a better route and we meet at the Pass. I am so grateful that Daniel is aware of my mistake, and helps me correct it before it becomes much worse!

Emerald Green water and glowing rocks below Potluck Pass.

All of the calm, calculated Zen stuff I used on Frozen Lake Pass wasn't working here. I'm absolutely terrified, and so happy to be on Terra Firma. The North side of the Pass is easy, and we work our way down to Barrett Lakes, just as the sun sets. A quick rinse in the lake is followed by yet another dinner prepared after dark. We've found a gorgeous spot to camp, on a ledge just above the lake, with incredible views. Another long, hard day completed.

Daniel ponders Potluck Pass. He shares my joy that we made it over this obstacle safely.

Tomorrow, we need to make it over Knapsack Pass, travel cross country for several miles, then execute 8 or so miles of trail. We'll see if we can pull this off after all.

Finally up and over Potluck Pass, looking Northwest, in the late afternoon light. There is a fire somewhere. The new normal ;-(

Day 5

Daniel wakes up at Barrett Lake from our perch just above it. Daniel slept outside on the less windy nights in his REI Sub Kilo 20 degree bag. My old Marmot Hydrogen, rated at 32 degrees, with much lost loft over the years, would not allow for that unfortunately.

We wake again pre-dawn. I've hung our food off a cliff above camp, so I put on my headlamp to go fetch the food, in the dark, freezing cold, barely awake. It's quite a tough task in the early morning, but a necessary one in order that we make it to our final hiking destination today, South Lake, near Bishop CA.

So many Trout at Barrett Lake!

After yesterday's heroics, this is the first time I can confidently say, "We've got this." There will be no more stress about making it out of here on time. After the usual coffee and oatmeal breakfast, we head along Barrett Lake, on relatively easy cross country terrain. Today we have 3 tough miles of cross country hiking, including Knapsack Pass, then about 8 miles of trail hiking up and over Bishop Pass. Worst case we roll in at dusk, or perhaps a few ticks after with our headlamps.

Once again, we have lovely weather, and the views in the Palisade and Dusy Basins, with the Palisade Range looming East of us, are fabulous. This is very nice High Sierra Country. Getting to Knapsack Pass, without losing too much elevation, proves to be a little tricky, and we encounter some terrain that is actually more challenging than the Pass itself!

Looking back at our camp at the far end of the Barrett Lake, with the Palisade Range looming. Daniel hikes toward me on the windless morning with placid lake.

Barren, beautiful landscape looking to the West from the outlet of Barrett Lake.

Looking ahead to Knapsack Pass from Barrett Lake.

Knapsack Pass was easy, but getting there, not so much.

Daniel picks a better route than I to Knapsack Pass, and has plenty of time to snap a few Panos with the iPhone. Columbine Peak on right of photo.

Once through this terrain, up and over Knapsack Pass proves to be quite easy. After taking in the views from the summit, we decide to try to keep our elevation and make a bid for the Bishop Pass Trail, without dropping down too much. Daniel stays high in the talus, once again not wanting to descend to save his knee. I go lower, below the talus, but unfortunately, I'm skunked, again, and again, by cliffs. I descend way lower than I'd like, and in the process, Daniel and I are far more separated that we should be, without any ability to communicate.

The incredibly beautiful Dusy Basin from Knapsack Pass.

I continue on my path, with my destination being a lake near the Bishop Pass Trail at 11,400'. Daniel knows this so hopefully, we can reunite at the lake. As I approach the lake, I catch a glimpse of Daniel far in the distance, a speck on the talus, and give a holler. He acknowledges my location and we both proceed. But once again, we lose sight of one another in the complex terrain. As I arrive near the lake I scan the terrain, but do not see Daniel. I'm hoping he is able to locate the lake. I decide to proceed the final 1/4 mile or so to the lake, and as I walk through some vegetation, Daniel and I nearly trip over one another. Reunited.

We arrive at the Lake near Bishop Pass Trail, but discover there is still some time consuming cross country travel before we make it to the trail.

The final bit of cross country hiking proves to be tedious, but we finally arrive at the Bishop Pass Trail. It's just a little before noon and we've got about 8 miles to go.

After a long grind up to Bishop Pass, 11,972', we descend a short bit and take in the stunning views Bishop Lake and Saddlerock Lake. The Bishop Pass Trail on the East side is much like the Mather Pass Trail. Quite an amazing display of trail building genius up the very steep and rocky slope.

Once we crest Bishop Pass, we are treated to an amazing view looking down at Bishop Lake and Saddlerock Lake.

The views are stunning of this beautiful, and popular hiking destination. The remainder of the hike is uneventful, after a nice lunch at Bishop Lake. We arrive at South Lake after walking through a beautiful avenue of turning Aspens, a fitting parting shot to our adventure on the Sierra High Route.

Bishop Lake. Happy Campers with just 4 miles or so to go.

Not to break tradition, we have a swim in icy South Lake to freshen up before the long, 6 hour drive back to Kings Canyon to fetch my car.

We pulled it off! Unbelievably, despite all his pain and suffering on this trip, Daniel is already asking about the next Chapter in this adventure. And he promises to show up fit for the difficulty that the next Chapter will bring. With that said, Daniel's resolve to keep going on this trip was remarkable. When I compliment him for that, he replies, "I'm not a quitter." Gee, I wonder where that comes from...

Parting shot, walking through an avenue of turning Aspens, above South Lake at 9,800', the lowest we've been in 5 days.

Thanks for tuning in, and until next time, may your Trails or Off Trails, be happy.