The previous night had been calm, warm, and cloud free. We awoke and broke camp at our "usual" time (up at 5:00ish, out by 6:30ish). The previous day's decision for some of us to do the High Route segment was reconfirmed, and J, L, A, and I were soon on our way to Tully Hole, where we would leave the JMT. Virginia Lake remained calm as we circled it in the early morning light.
Tully Hole is aptly named; the trail seems to take forever descending down to its meadow via well-engineered switchbacks. Across the meadow we could see large areas where trees had been blown down--a concern since the map I was using didn't have the McGee Pass trail on it, suggesting it had reverted to unmaintained status.
Higher up, we could see the jagged peak of Mt. Izaak Walton, who had apparently written a book about fishing.
Once at Tully Hole, we crossed Fish Creek on a log bridge that didn't seem to have too many more years on it. Not far past this bridge, we saw signs of recent trail maintenance--never trust a map. In fact, other than the worst mosquitoes we had encountered so far, the walk from Tully Hole to Horse Heaven was quite nice. The creek cascaded through a narrow gorge in this stretch. At Horse Heaven, we decided to bypass the Izaak Walton Lake segment of the High Route, both to conserve time and to not be traveling slowly through intricate country with insistent mosquitoes.
The trail ascended from Horse Heaven with the same careful engineering as it had descended into Tully Hole, with occasional views of the creek's gorge and cascades.
Where the trail leveled out, we entered a wonderful open valley.
Towards the head of this valley, the trail turns to climb to McGee Pass, but we chose to follow a rough fisherman's route towards Tully Lake.
From this lake we climbed to the Cotton Lake bench. Across the way we could see Red Slate Peak, which seemed oddly out of place now that we were finally in true High Sierra country.
Cotton Lake was a bit out of our way, but the detour was worth it--it had that "hanging lake" appearance, and in the distance we could see some high peaks of the Ritter Range and southern Yosemite.
We probably would have stopped for a swim except for two things: we were saving that for Laurel Lake, and in the few moments we were there, the clouds made a very fast return. Apparently the previous day had been an aberration; the monsoonal moisture was still present.
We still had two passes--separated by an intricate routefinding section--and many miles of trail to go, so we spent both too little and too much time at Cotton Lake and were soon retracing our steps a bit before turning towards Shout-of-Relief Pass.
There were a few places where minor obstacles require a bit of backtracking, but the north side of Shout-of-Relief fit its northbound-inspired name; there was nothing harder than easy class 2.
As the clouds continued to build up, we made steady progress to the pass.
Once there, we stopped briefly for pictures and to examine our next routefinding challenge.
Shout of Relief
One can see why Shout-of-Relief was given its name--if traveling northbound. But for southbound travelers, a more apt name would be something like "Silence-of-Concern" pass. We could see Bighorn Pass, and an intermediate pass halfway between us and it. And, we could see a lot of rugged, intricate country with many potential unseen cliffs, chasms, and other obstacles. The Roper book suggests that an elevation-preserving traverse route is possible, but we chose to drop a bit to avoid the worst of the talus. Far below, we could see Rosy Finch Lake. And on the radio, we heard that the JKW/M/P party was on top of Silver Pass.
As with many similar cross-country routes, most of the unseen obstacles ended up being easier to navigate once we got to them--sheer cliffs revealed granite stair-steps to descend into them, and talus fields could be crossed via series of sturdy, mostly level boulders.
The dark clouds to the south kept us moving towards Bighorn Pass.
We chose to give up some of our hard-earned elevation to follow a straightforward route to the top of this pass.
From its summit, we heard that the JKW/M/P party was near Pocket Meadow and experiencing rain--something our view in that direction affirmed.
Below us we could see Laurel Lake. Our plans for a long stop and swim there were not looking good due to the threatening rain. Near the shore of the lake, we could make out a few hikers, who we'd later find out were doing the SHR northbound.
The descent down to Laurel Lake followed steep grassy ramps, and just as we reached the lake the rain picked up. We stopped only to put on rain gear.
Looking back, we could see the route we had just descended--a vertical wall from our perspective. Despite the weather, we felt that the worst was behind us--we'd just pick up the trail from the lake and follow it all the way to Mono Creek. Alas, the map was a bit optimistic about the state, if not existence, of this trail--all we could find was a faint track that proved hard to follow--and was rarely where the map claimed it was. On the other hand, the many small meadows along Laurel Creek were delightful to travel through.
Looking back, we could see Red and White Mountain. Everywhere, except perhaps directly over us, were dark clouds.
Perhaps a mile south of the lake, the rain stopped, and we almost were graced with direct sun; we stopped for a well-deserved and probably too-much-delayed lunch.
For awhile, it appeared as if the storm was over.. but only to the north.
The main difficulty for the next mile or so of travel was trying to follow the faint trail; in retrospect, we should have just picked any of the numerous easy routes and went for it.
We had been concerned that we would miss the map's switchbacking descent to Mono Creek, but just above the final drop, we encountered a well-used, potentially historic, packer camp.
Not far from this camp we saw recently cut logs--perhaps more blowdowns from 2010. From here to Mono Creek was a significant trail, but the switchbacks on the map were from someone's imagination--the trail basically dropped straight down to Mono Creek.
The clouds appeared to be lifting as we descended, and we were treated to nice views of the Mono Creek canyon, certainly a rival to other Sierra canyons such as Cascade Valley or the Kern "Trench".
The walk along the Mono Creek trail was long, but pleasant. We passed some truly large trees.
At one--the only--spot along the trail where there was convenient creek access with decent granite, we stopped for a rest and a quick bath.
On the radio, we heard that a bear was walking through the numerous campsites near the bridge. The remaining few miles to the campsite were long, but we arrived with ample daylight left--although the sun was still mostly obscured by clouds.
At camp, after dinner, we were treated to another wonderful sunset and a strange oddity--a rainbow with a reddish hue.
The sky had been mostly clear, and while the shelter was up, we were sleeping more under the stars than it. Not long after we were asleep, a warm, light rain started to fall, getting those of us who were not entirely under the shelter a bit damp. We quickly pitched the second shelter to put our gear under so we would fit better under the TrailStar and were soon back asleep.
I'd forgotten how impressive the bridge and the rock formation were down in Tully Hole and it was fun seeing it again and through the eyes of M, who was a newbie on the JMT. I really must say, I enjoyed being with her the entire time, because her enthusiasm never flagged and she saw beauty in everything.
