When things go right: Ansel Adams Wilderness

Sometimes nothing needs to go wrong to make a backcountry trip memorable; sometimes things just need to go right.

Increasingly disillusioned with the competitive savagery overlaid with a veneer of civility that is Silicon Valley, my family and I decamped and moved to Mammoth Lakes, a resort town in the heart of the Sierra Nevada, for two months over the summer. We had few plans - a rented house, a couple of trips aimed at dragging recalcitrant electronic-addicted teenagers into the wilderness by different means, and a permit for Girl Scout backpacking trip into the Ansel Adams Wilderness. The rest, we’d wing. This approach flew directly in the face of all my Type A organizational instincts, a major step outside my comfort zone. Nevertheless, I plotted and planned and researched and prepared for months in advance to ensure a smooth transition to our new mountain abode.

From the start of summer, what could go wrong, did go wrong. Plan A turned into Plan B, C, D, even E…. over and over and over. To start with, the previous winter had dumped record amounts of snow across the Sierra Nevada. They were living up to their name. Just getting to Mammoth was a challenge with uncertainty as to whether passes would open and whether our new electric car would have sufficient range to surmount the 10,000ft passes. Plans changed daily as the stress levels ratcheted up. A last-minute requirement to attend a US citizenship ceremony after our planned departure date threw a further wrench in the works. On eventual arrival came the discovery that Mammoth Lakes did not have mail delivery, so the carefully organized USPS mail forwarding was quite useless, initiating a continuing mail snafu. On the first night in our rented house, the teens cooking on an unfamiliar gas stove managed to flame out the control panel rendering the oven unusable. Shortly thereafter our ‘new’ SUV suffered transmission failure and was declared kaput. My older daughter turned 16 and  easily picked up a job, but the obtaining the required work permit proved a far greater challenge.  One headache followed another and our first weeks in Mammoth were fraught with tension.

Still, I had the Girl Scout backpacking trip to the Ansel Adams wilderness to look forward to. I had mapped out a route six months earlier suitable for all levels and had enthusiastically (‘We’ll exit lower than we enter!!”) rounded up a group of ten to share in the adventure. What could go wrong? One by one, group members dropped out for assorted reasons - a baby shower, housesitting obligations.  My younger daughter declared in no uncertain terms that SHE was NOT walking ANYWHERE. A week before the trip, we were down to four. The nail in the coffin was the fact that the road to the trailhead was still closed due to winter damage and our exit trail was closed until September due to dangerously high waters in the aptly named Rush Creek. Everyone else dropped out. It would be an unanticipated solo trip.

I was bedeviled by a slew of unanswered questions. How much snow was on the passes? Were crampons needed? Which lakes had thawed? Were the rivers safe to cross? Could I get to the trailhead on my road bike? It was four miles from Mammoth Mountain over Minaret Pass and down to Agnew Meadows which seemed doable on the way in, but could I ride back up the steep road at altitude carrying a pack? I scoured the Sierra hiking forums for news and pumped the rangers for information….which unsatisfactorily ambiguous results.

“Mum, they have opened the road to Minaret Pass!” This welcome fact, gleaned from Facebook by my younger daughter the day before departure, was a turning point. It cut the approach to the trailhead virtually in half.  Alistair dropped me off at the pass the next morning, to my great relief, sans bike. 

From Minaret Vista, the iconic view of Ansel Adams wilderness to the west featured a dominating backdrop of the jagged Minaret Range, a volcanic ridge in the mid-distance above Yosemite like granite cliffs, the San Joaquin River Valley, and finally the eastern San Joaquin Ridge. 

Dusk from the Minaret Overlook: two daughters and a row of minarets.

Trip route: Day 1 - Yellow, Day 2 - Purple, Day 3 - Red

The area was a cornucopia of hidden lakes, splendid views, towering spires, lush gardens….. and above all, the summer especially, water: rivers, streams, brooks, rivulets, waterfalls, cascades. The area was bathed in the music of water flowing. The tinkling drips of melting snow, the chattering of exuberant streams, the deep roaring waterfalls exploding through tight chasms, and the sibilant San Joaquin gliding inexorably down the valley. To drought parched ears, it was a welcome symphony, constantly changing depending on position, always delighting.

Water, water everywhere.

Granite faces above the San Joaquin Valley, looking south to Mammoth Mountain

And indeed, I moved through this veritable Shangri-La in the state of delight and wonder. Each turn brought new treasures. The cheerful company of a group of women from Sacramento headed toward the trailhead to walk a loop approximately opposite to my own, and our fortuitous reunion at the apex of the loop, the women extolling the virtues of the Pacific Crest Trail running high above the valley and causing me to change my plans for the better. Shadow Creek thundering down its narrow precipitous drop into the valley, topped by Shadow Lake, and further up Ediza Lake, still mostly frozen, nestled in a basin beneath the Minarets and Mount Banner and Mount Ritter. 

Shadow Lake

The approach to Lake Ediza had some tricky routefinding

Lake Ediza emerging from the lingering grip of winter, below the Minarets

On the trail beneath Mt Ritter (L) and Mt Banner (R), the local giants.

A campsite perched on a granite bench favoring sunset over the range with glorious alpenglow. The arrival of evening neighbors, young Stanford neuroscientists (mostly), unexpectedly a source of lively and stimulating conversation. 

My friendly neuroscientist neighbours. My campsite was on the ledge behind the centre pine tree.

The coincidental arrival of the same group just down from the second campsite atop cliffs of basalt columns with killer views across the San Joaquin River to the west, and an invitation to share a mosquito repelling fire. 

Warding off the mosquitoes looking west to the Minaret range from the Pacific Crest Trail. 

Starry, starry night

Garnet Lake and Thousand Island Lake, progressively and paradoxically both more thawed and at higher elevation. Passes, snowbound yet softening in the Sierra sun, yielding to careful footsteps.

Garnet Lake and Mt Banner

Thousand Island Lake and Mt Banner

 Bright, verdant meadows, embracing sparkling streams, cascading down the steep slopes.

Meadows along the PCT on the San Joaquin Ridge

Lilies

 The kind couple who provided a lift from Minaret Vista to my front door after the slog back up the road at the end of the trip.

The irony was that I was unable to record any of these marvels on film, having accidentally left my phone (camera) behind. Somehow, freed from the pervasive pressure to photograph, I was able to truly see, to perceive, to deeply imprint memories of sights, sounds and sensations. 

Yes, this was a trip on which everything went right.

Looking pretty happy at the end.

Note: the photographs were very kindly provided by Arnold and Aparna, my Stanford neighbors. We traveled almost identical trails about one hour apart!