A prick of excitement, heart rate up, peering out the window as we swooped over Tioga Pass en route to Bishop, I identified Yosemite Valley, Tuolumne Meadows, Mount Conness, Mounts Banner and Ritter, the Minarets. Crossing Mono Lake, we turned south towards the Owen's Valley .....west...north...east...Three complete downward spirals around Mono Lake later, the plane had lost sufficient altitude to make the final descent. The hot prick of tears stung my eyes; crying in an N95 mask was a bad idea. But such was the emotion of finally returning to my beloved Sierra after almost 2 years of Covid refugee life in Aotearoa New Zealand. Feet on the sweltering tarmac, I gazed up at the peaks. Home.
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| Circling over Mono Lake, looking back at the Sierra and Tioga Pass |
That night, still jetlagged, I pored over available wilderness permits and snagged the sole one remaining for a popular route into the Ansel Adams Wilderness in a week's time. Fast forward a few frantic days of unpacking and I realised that most of the backpacking gear was yet to arrive - moving countries had been a logistical challenge this time. Not only that, a short hike up to a mere 9000ft or so had me nauseous and with a pounding headache. I had been breathing the thick, humid, sea-level air of sub-tropical Northland for too long. A late spring low swept over the area, bringing freezing temperatures and strong winds. It wasn't looking promising. Perhaps I had been a bit optimistic.
Then things clicked. The headaches disappeared, summer arrived and friends offered gear. Not wishing to return to my old school, heavy, traditional backpack, I dragged out the 25+ year old day pack, crammed a sleeping bag and bear canister in it, and adorned the outside with gear attached by straps and bungee cords. Good enough! Ticket for the shuttle bus into Red's Meadow in hand, I was off.
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| The pack that Jack built |
About seven miles in on the trail to Lake Ediza, the faintest use trail led off up a steep gully. I consulted the map and eyed up the terrain. It looked promising. Poring over maps, I had spotted the Nydiver Lakes Basin as a promising target for some cross-country exploration close to, yet far away from the beaten path. I'd done a quick search for basic information but had not sought out detailed instructions. Would I still have the knack for navigation? Sometime later, scrambling up a loose, steep dirt slope above a series of cascades, I did begin to wonder. There may have been some cursing. The drainage opened up at the treeline but seemed to end in an unpromising steep snowy gully. Closer inspection revealed that an open slot where the snow melted from a rock wall offered safe passage up.
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| Views of the Volcanic Ridge from higher up the gully |
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| Finally spied the exit gully - the one obvious route |
I crested the lip of the Basin and was treated to my first jaw-dropping glimpse of the impressive face of Mount Ritter. Nearly there! Just needed to traverse the basin a little and I'd hopefully find a killer campsite. Three hours later, I found it. The terrain in the Basin had presented a variety of obstacles - sun-cupped snow slopes softened in the afternoon light, talus fields, cliffs, slabs, and so forth. Typical high Sierra backcountry, really - I kicked myself for expecting anything less. However, the glorious freedom of open-ended exploration and kinaesthetic pleasure of movement across the outstanding landscape that I had so sorely missed more than compensated for creaky knees and an aching back.
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| First glimpse of the Nydiver Lakes Basin. This was not one of the named lakes, but a small tarn - the lakes lie ahead. |
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| Middle Nydiver Lake, looking to the Volcanic Ridge (centre left) and Minarets (centre right) |
At camp, I wrestled with unfamiliar gear, happy to pass the intelligence test of erecting the tent and assembling the Jetboil. Dinner company was a curious marmot. Other than that, I was alone. The Minarets, Ritter, and Banner dominated the western horizon, prematurely slicing off the sun. The breeze calmed; silence and cold descended.
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| A friendly dinner companion |
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| Dinner prep |
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| Last light over Upper Nydiver Lake |
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| Ritter and Banner, some 3000ft above. |
A sharp dawn. I left the refuge of my sleeping bag to snag some shots of the golden light on the peaks high above. The first shoots of grasses recently uncovered by thawing snow crunched underfoot. I returned to my cocoon to await the sun by the lake.
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| A chilly morning |
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| First light 5:20am |
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| First light |
Later, the jaunt down into the drainage below Ritter leading to Lake Ediza was utterly sublime. The cross-country challenges were behind me, it seemed, and I floated on down under skies so blue, so missed, letting the stresses and worries of the pandemic years flow out behind me, more effective than any therapy. Life had changed for sure, in this strange dog-leg of fate. New friends, a simpler way of life, a burgeoning appreciation for te ao maori and understanding of te reo, greater connections with whanau, a lack of patience for the absurdity and futility of US politics. The Kiwi me now butted up against the Sierra me. Why return? friends would ask, and sometimes I'd wonder. Now I had my answer.
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| Ice and snow-cupped snow |
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| Upper Nydiver Lake |
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| The start of wildflowers soon after snowmelt |
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| The delightful descent towards Lake Ediza under Ritter and Banner. |
