Teetering on the brink: A journey along Mammoth Crest

I rounded a corner. The earth dropped away in sudden dizzying juxtaposition. In the words of Hec from "The Wilderpeople", it was 'majestical'. I dropped the pack and scampered out along a fin of rock jutting out from the escarpment. Maximum exposure, maximum delight. “Mind if I play my summit music?”. My new companion pulled out his phone.

We were kindred spirits in that moment, companions of the trail. When we parted ways shortly after, no names had been exchanged, yet we had been bonded by that fleeting hour spent dancing along the edge, flirting with the void, answering the siren song that called from over, below, tugging at us to venture closer, to lean out further. We had shared heaven.

The summer had not been one of my most adventurous. Years of climbing up and down mountains and assorted other abuses had finally caught up with me in the form of protesting knees. Accordingly, it had been a season of less ambitious outings - a family float trip down the Lower Owens River on a Walmart raft and couple of inflatable rings (another tale to tell), some easy climbing including our first ‘family’ multi-pitch in Tuolumne Meadows, a glorious amble in the high alpine of Little Lakes Valley with my father in peak wildflower season.  Enjoyable, memorable even, but never quite satisfying that lurking, deeper hunger. By September, I craved a stronger dose of backcountry magic, knees be damned. I scoured the maps, and settled on a jaunt along the Mammoth Crest, returning by the uber-popular Duck Pass Trail.

This long escarpment forms the southwestern rim of the Mammoth Lakes Basin in California’s Eastern Sierra. From the lakes below, it is an arresting feature that draws the gaze. What would it be like to be on top looking down? The hike could be completed in a day by an eager hiker, but, given the current creaky pins, I decided to spread the walk over two days to enjoy the opportunity.

The Mammoth Crest from Emerald Lake in hte Lakes Basin

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8:45 am. I shoulder my pack, open the front door and head off down the street to catch the 9am bus. This is the beauty of our new mountain home - almost instant accessibility to a vast alpine playground. I catch the jaunty-looking (and free!) Lakes Basin Trolley the few miles up to the trailhead. Tomorrow is the last day the shuttle will run; the driver tells me he is off to ride his Harley through the golden autumn colours in Nevada. A black bear saunters across the road. As we pass, it climbs up to a perch directly above a pedestrian tunnel. A morning jogger exits the tunnel, oblivious to his furry observer just a couple of meters above.

The trailhead at Lake George is quiet. The summer frenzy has passed, only a few morning fishermen about, and I have the trail - a conga-line of hikers only weeks ago - largely to myself. The weight of the pack is a comfort. Why is it that this burden relieves the load of life’s daily worries and makes me strong? I ponder this paradox and settle into a steady rhythm, relishing the symphony of lungs and muscles working in concert. The effort seems to ignite a firestorm of thoughts and ideas that explode into consciousness, a veritable Fourth of July of new connections and insights. The scientist in me attributes this to the activity of my brain’s default mode network, from which creativity is thought to spring in times of idle day-dreaming. Or perhaps it’s the magic of the mountains at work.

Crystal Crag

The trail zigzags up through lodgepole pines, skirting the cliffs leading to the soaring Crystal Crag from the back of Lake George. The lake sparkles and beckons, eliciting fantasies of a graceful swan dive right off the trail to plunge into the azure waters below. Past the junction to Crystal Lake,  Mammoth Mountain comes into view, it’s volcanic red slopes contrasting with the granite cliffs above McLeod Lake which in turn cede to scoria beneath my feet. There is a complex geology around here. I resolve to learn more.

Mixed geology: scoria of the Red Cone and granite cliffs of the Crest

A sharp breeze finds me as I reach the Red Cone, the heap of scoria that marks the intersection with the Mammoth Crest, after the final (inevitable, right?) steep slog. A travel-worn young couple arrive at the same moment from the other direction. They have been out for 10 days, following the High Sierra Route, a network of cross-country passes and little used trails that follows the spine of the Sierra Nevada roughly parallel to the John Muir Trail. I am envious of their abraded and patched clothes, their weary but wiry bodies, their beatific smiles and even their unwashed smell - it all speaks of stories to be told, memories to treasure. I wish them luck and set off again.

The open ridgeline of the Mammoth Crest offers easy hiking and expansive views from the delicate jagged spires of the Minarets and the twin hulks of Mt Banner and Mt Ritter to the north, to Mammoth Mountain to the lakes in the basin below. The breeze gusts and I shiver as the sun passes behind building clouds.

It is a stark environment atop this exposed, sandy ridge at nearly 11,000 ft. Lodgepole pine has given way to windblown and gnarled whitebark pine that grows hunkered in sparse clumps. A few hardy lupin are still in bloom, clinging to life flattened against the ground. The trail traverses away from the Crest to circumvent a high point. I pass a day hiker resting, then stop to rest and am passed by the same man. We continue a leapfrogging steady climb, exchanging a few pleasantries with each encounter. Finally, we round the corner almost in unison….and the ground drops away.

I linger in this aerie, spellbound and reluctant to leave. Lunch on a ledge, feet dangling. Rather than continuing on the trail which leads away from the abyss, down towards Deer Lakes, I meander up along the brink, exploring every vantage point.  Each is more spell-binding than the last, revealing new perspectives on the world below, a hidden lake, a soaring crack system. A large marmot scurries along a few meters in front of me, unfazed by my presence. We share the same predilection for high places; everywhere I pause to peer over the edge is marked by an abundance of droppings.

 

Eventually, I reach a low point in the Crest and reluctantly turn to the task of locating Deer Lakes, my destination for the night. A quick look at the map, and an easy descent leads me to the trail again and on to Middle Deer Lake, nestled beneath the forbidding peak of the Black Giant. I camp in solitude.

That evening Mother Nature puts on a sublime private light show as the sun pops out from behind gathering clouds in time to bathe the landscape in celestial glory before sinking below the horizon. I am awestruck again. People sometimes ask what church I attend, and I tell them, somewhat flippantly, that I worship in the Church of the Great Outdoors. This, then, is surely mighty cathedral.

Early the following morning, travelling cross country around the remainder of the Crest to meet the main trail at Duck Pass, my progress is again slow. I want to soak up the dawn light, drink in the views, remember these fleeting hours. Despite a restless night in my shelter, I am uplifted, energised and bursting with a sense of immense joy and freedom.

The high endures all the way back down the steep, rocky trail as it switchbacks into the Lakes Basin, then past a series of its lakes: Skelton, Barney…, along a streamside use trail that offers an alternative route to the trailhead, through the half-empty Coldwater campground, along the road to the shuttle stop at Lake Mary, back down the hill into town, and eventually to the front door. The hunger has been quenched.

Descending from Duck Pass into the Lakes Basin

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So what was it that my companion played that day top Mammoth Crest? An aptly majestical piece of music. Enjoy!