Plenty of water had flowed under the bridge in the near decade since that first attempt. I'd shepherded the kids through the hellish crucible of the puberty/high school double whammy bolstered by an alarmingly augmented wine rack, I'd suffered seemingly intractable injuries and chronic pain, I'd moved to the mountains only to be abruptly uprooted by a global pandemic, all while navigating my own journey through the "change of life". Which is all to say that when I set out from the Sawmill campground at 8 AM, I carried the accumulated burdens and scars of the inexorable march of time. I was sad-ass mama, not a bad-ass mama.
On returning to the Sierra, I had a deep yearning for a long, hard day of high-altitude cross-country travel, for navigational challenges, burning lungs, boulder hopping, deep blue skies, for the cold-sweat thrill of exposure, and for the sweet exhaustion after. Mount Conness called its siren song: "You have unfinished business". This time, I would make the attempt from the opposite eastern side by the standard climbing approach and descent route, largely cross-country.
Shortly past the campground, scarcely 20 minutes from the start and still on a good trail, a young woman looking rather confused greeted me: "Are you going to the summit?". I replied that I was. "Can I come with you? I'm not digging this solo stuff", she asked in a plaintive tone. She was clad in yoga pants, a black singlet, full makeup, sneakers, held a small plastic water bottle in her hand and had no backpack. "No", I replied, softening the blow by explaining that I was seeking a solo experience.
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| Diverging from the trail. The route climbs ledges that follow the line of vegetation up the cliff left of centre. |
I diverged from the path where I judged was approximately the right position and worked my way up the hillside, eventually following ledges that narrowed into climbing alongside or even in a stream cascading down from a lake above. This was particularly steep. One section with no alternative required some actual climbing – several moves in a row of tenuous foot and hand holds to surmount a vertical step. My climbing days seem to be in the distant past and I hesitated, plucking up courage. This felt much edgier solo than with a confident partner. As the alternative was an ignominious walk of shame back to the car, I sucked it up and went for it, the old ticker banging. At the top, however, I doubted my ability to get down it again. Ah, uncertainty! I used to tell my girls, it's not an adventure if you know how it's going to turn out. They were usually less than appreciative but I was happy to embrace it.
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| The ledges from directly below |
The rest of the route involved exactly what I'd been seeking. It wound around ridges and lakes, across patches of snow, through gardens of wildflowers, across the talus, along ledges, and up granite slabs and steep sandy switchbacks that caused dizziness from the exertion. In the delightful way of this region, if one direction looked sketchy, it was simply a matter of looking a little further in the other direction to find safe passage. On occasion, I'd spot a reassuring cairn or some boot prints in the gravel marking the passage of some other adventurers but I was alone.
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| Yup, headed up there... a cairn on the middle right points the way |
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| A delightful wildflower meadow on a ledge |
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| Almost at the ridgeline to the summit plateau. The route ascends steep sandy switchbacks near the top of the photo. |
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| View of Twenty Lakes Basin from the edge of the ridge. |
A final scramble deposited me on the summit plateau, a barren windswept place at 12,000 feet amazingly still dotted with hardy wildflowers.
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| Looking back down the ridge from the lip of the summit plateau. I had ascended from the right of the ridge |
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| Wildflowers at 12,000ft on the summit plateau. Mount Conness summit at rear |
The summit ridge provided an airy challenge. This time, however, the narrow exposed ledges were not slick with snow, and I traversed above the cliffs with deep breaths and slow movements across grippy granite. Once again, this felt entirely different without the support of a reliable partner. No time for grabbing the camera!
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| Part of the summit ridge - exposed ledges to the left and enormous drop offs on the right in spots. |
From the summit, the air over Yosemite was smoky from the Washburn fire near Wawona. After a while, my eyes and throat began to feel its effects; it was time to descend.
Retracing my steps back down the summit ridge was easier than I feared, but I was still concerned about descending the waterfall step. Looking at the map, I spied an alternative route that bypassed the section by skirting Lake Alpine and descending to the south. It looked doable, if a bit longer. When I arrived at the ridge overlooking the lake, it became apparent that the entire shore was a jumble of boulders and talus. Feeling quite fatigued, progress was agonizingly slow. I fervently hoped that the descent back down to the trail from the south side of the lake would be easier.
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| Lake Alpine after traversing the rocky shore. The ridge to the summit plateau is the right hand skyline |
Thankfully, a faint use trail led off down the slope, meandering through Whitebark pine, down steep corners and slabs, and mostly avoiding the dreaded thickets of willow that bordered the outlet stream.
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| Looked very doable. Much better than the downclimb on the approach route! |
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| A delightful triple waterfall in a wildflower meadow at the junction with the trail |
After a number of false starts and some bush-crashing, I made it back to the trail and trudged the last couple of miles back to the car; who designed that trail to be uphill at the end? By my stagger and the beginnings of the thousand yard stare, it was obvious that the goal of sweet exhaustion had been reached. I took solace in the brilliance of the wildflowers. A patch of irises in the campground provided the final impetus to reach the end of the trail.
What a brilliant day! Strava told me I'd covered almost 11 miles and gained 4500ft in elevation over 8 hours in finishing the ascent after eight years. The requisite pizza and beer were the crowning glory! Passage of time be damned, I'm still going after it.... just more slowly and creakily.
Incidentally, I still jump off the big rock at Rainbow pools.
