Day 0:
My partner and I both ended up getting stuck at work longer than intended, which pushed back our departure from LA. No matter - I whipped up a batch of chili, we loaded up the car, and we were on the road by 7 PM. A little traffic getting through Santa Clarita and Lancaster, but the ride through the desert was smooth, and the high desert was beautiful at night. We arrived at camp around 10:30 PM, and very quietly set up our tent. Took a few long exposures of the night sky - the Summer Milky Way was absolutely breathtaking, like nothing I had ever experienced. The air quality and clarity was just divine.
In bed by 11:45, asleep by midnight. Site number was 26 - absolutely incredible view, and a massive amount of space along the creekbed to set up. One of the larger, if not the largest, sites in the campground, as we would find later on.
Day 1:
Got up a bit late, at 7 AM. We were feeling the effects of the day before, but excited and determined to be in the Eastern Sierra once more. We made coffee and had a quick breakfast, packed up our bags with food, refilled our waters, and made our way out to Horseshoe Meadows Campground, to the Cottonwood Lakes Trailhead.
I had seen this hike offered as a recommendation for the wildlife, views, and the opportunity it afforded to acclimate to high altitude. Recent hikes at Mt. Pinos had been enjoyable, but the rapid loss and gain of altitude really tested my limits, and I wanted to get out and give it another try.
The Cottonwood Lakes Trailhead is right around 10,000 feet, and immediately upon getting out I knew it would take a moment to adjust. My partner is a more experienced hiker and camper than I, and she made sure that we stayed a moment to properly hydrate, take some aspirin with caffeine, stretch, and apply generous sunscreen to all exposed skin. The preparation paid off, big time. We set out at 9:45 AM, and immediately were struck by the surroundings. Blasted landscapes with barren pines and scraggly, sandy scrub flats flank on both sides as you pass through the first portion of the hike, before you hit any water. Eventually, you’ll begin to see the riparian micro-habitat forming along the creek as it flows to your right, growing into a lush meadow with tall sedge grasses and wildflowers.
This is Cottonwood Creek - it is absolutely filled with Golden Trout, a protected species that can only be targeted during select windows throughout the year on this stretch of water. The trout are small, hardy, and best if left alone as much as possible by avoiding going in the creek directly. The meadows along the creek are breathtaking, and provide great habitat for a host of species. In this area alone, we observed:
- Douglas Squirrel
- Yellow-bellied Marmot
- Alpine Chipmunk
- Williamson’s Sapsucker
- Cooper’s Hawk
- Dark-eyed Junco
- Hermit Thrush
- Mule Deer
- Red-breasted Nuthatch
- Pine Siskin
- Cassin’s Finch
- Purple Finch
- Mountain Chickadee
- Northern Flicker
- Steller’s Jay
- Golden Trout
- Common Raven
And many dragonflies, butterflies, and other insects. It was astonishing how many species can thrive at that altitude - seeing dark-eyed juncos titter about at 10,500 feet in the same manner that they do at 500 feet was really special. It makes everything feel so connected, and helps the sense of familiarity this wondrous place evokes find purchase in something embedded deep within you.
Past here, the hike begins to climb after crossing over the creek several times. You’ll have passed the fork for the Golden Trout Wilderness School and will soon be rising above one meadow to eventually be greeted by another, this time on your left. The terrain is rocky, with some larger steps on the trail, but by and large it is highly manageable. Impeccable views made this go by so much easier - we had never attempted this hike, so we were working with little expectation as to how long it ought to take us. Frequent water and snacks helped immensely.
While on your left you will see a new meadow, with an impressive bald peak behind it, to your right you can catch a glimpse of the waterfall that cascades down from the upper Cottonwood Lakes, down to form the creek below.
Several switchbacks eventually lead us up on top of the plateau to arrive at Cottonwood Lake #2, our destination. The distance out is approx. 5 miles, with some meandering and exploring on top. The scenery was breathtaking - and just as we arrived, a storm rolled in, bringing a light smattering of rain that brought a chill on the air and dusted us with a fine mist. It helped to cool off, but truth be told, I was skittish at the prospect of being on top of the mountain if the storm grew into something worse. We stayed a few minutes more, listening to the thunder rolling over the ridgeline, basking in the barren beauty of an alpine lake at 11,000 feet. This first plateau is really something to behold, and I plan on bringing my fishing gear back in the autumn to tackle this upper portion. We packed up, stretched, and set off back down the mountain. Time: 1:25 PM.
The hike back down was highly manageable, and brought its own amusements. The lighting had changed since we first set out, and the new perspective really helped to cement the natural wonder of these mountains. The water trickles and glistens with such delicacy at times, and roars and crashes unflinchingly at others. The meadows are teeming with activity, even in the middle of the day, and there are songbirds and woodpeckers flitting about the trees. Marmots and deer make their way through the meadows; chirps mingle with the rumble of thunder, the whistle of the wind, and the chatter of the occasional songbird. The weather improved as we descended, and the 5 miles back to the car were a fun, fast plod down. A female Williamson’s Sapsucker took a low position on a trunk abreast our right side and made its way up the tree methodically, giving us a great visual from only 15-20 feet away. Binoculars: Nikon M5 Monarch 8x42.
We arrived back at the trailhead around 3:45 PM, putting our total time for the hike at just about 6 hours, with a smidge over 10 miles and 1,000 feet of elevation gain covered. This was really something special, and an absolutely perfect way to adapt to the High Sierra.
We returned to camp around 4:45, and after re-affixing our stakes in the sandy soil at our campsite, spent the evening reclining and relaxing. We made dinner, drove up to Whitney Portal to check out the store (it was closed at the time, the falls and pond were quite nice though), and then headed down to Lone Pine to check out some of the hiking stores and outfitters. Found a nice bandana with a really cute design - it’s covered in different classic flies, i.e. Royal Wulff, Coachman, Adams, etc. - then headed back to camp, rehydrated, and passed out for the night. Pretty buggy, and there were a decent number of mice around camp, but they weren’t particularly intrusive - they were much more bold at Campo Alto on Cerro Noroeste.
Day 2:
Woke up to the sound of what turned out to be a group of Common Nighthawks roving over our camp, making quick work of the rampant flies, dragonflies, and mosquitos hovering around camp. The bugs weren’t bothersome at all, other than in the toilets - some campers really struggled with putting the seats down consistently, much to our chagrin. Flycatchers, ravens, California quail, and Spotted Towhee appeared around camp as we made coffee and got ready to head out, and the Common Nighthawks were seen departing to bed down for the day. Our first stop: Big Pine Creek, 1 hour north of our position in Lone Pine. The goal was to check out the trailhead and the trail network, see the conditions along the creek, find some new species, and possibly get some fishing in.
First thing to note - the toilets at the trailhead were the most rancid we have ever experienced, bar none. Truly unfortunate how poorly maintained these were, so be warned. Could have just been the result of a stretch of negligence.
The trail itself is gorgeous along the creek, with the water coursing and crashing fiercely over a rocky bed. It winds and twists as it descends into the canyon below - the trailhead is above 8,000 feet - and provides several pockets of riffles and cutbanks that slow the current enough to house trout throughout the year. I saw several wild trout in the river, in select small pockets where the water was slowed enough for them - however, these were few and far between. The trails along the South Fork of Big Pine Creek were beautiful, with a wide flood basin and meadow alongside the creek itself. We descended to the creek and began to explore, and I was soon rewarded with the sight of an American Dipper positioned in the course of the stream, bobbing up and down on a rock performing its titular ‘dipping’ motion. It was amazing - I had seen videos of this behavior, but witnessing it clearly from only 10 feet away for an extended period of time was so special. One of those moments where it feels almost too perfect, the way everything falls into place. We hiked down along the creek before heading back to the trailhead, where I got in some casts at the small pond adjacent the creek. The large, laconic rainbow trout that I landed on a #12 foam ant (my own tie) was still a lot of fun to handle, despite being a stocker. Made sure not to keep him suspended too long, handled him with wet hands, popped the hook, and he swam off just fine for some other camper to catch. It was fun getting the rust off and proving I’ve still got it after a year of being unable to fish the way I like to. Since I started fishing regularly in Michigan 6-7 years ago, I had targeted trout so many times, had seen them in rivers and creeks so many times, had dipped my feet in the water right beside them in the shallows - but had never landed one. So many bass, panfish, catfish, and chubs, but no trout - until now. It helped to have a chance to handle my first rainbow safely, in a relatively controlled environment. It paid off HUGE on day 3.
Next stop: Independence, CA, up the road to Onion Valley Campground and the Kearsarge Pass Trailhead. At an elevation of around 9,100 ft, this was a great follow-up to the high elevation hike from the day before. The drive up was spectacular, with innumerous switchbacks and views that will have you thinking that you’ve arrived on the surface of Mars. The course from the valley around Upper Gray Meadows Campground to Onion Valley winds for several miles and climbs thousands of feet, and the trailhead itself is a wonderful space. Just to the left of Onion Valley Campground, a waterfall tumbles down the cliff face, carving through the scrabbly pines and boulders. The rocky escarpment and promenade of peaks to the right forms a neat laurel that ensconces you directly at its center, and will afford phenomenal views as you ascend further up the trail to Gilbert Lake.
The beginning of the trail is really lovely. It mainly consists of long switchbacks for the first 1.5 miles, with some areas leveling out and providing beautiful vistas looking back down over the valley. Eventually you’ll pass through a meadow filled with wild onions, wildflowers, and a small creek that flows under your feet on the trail itself. It’s pure magic, and only takes around an hour or less to get to this point. Just above here is the first glance at the creek as it pours past, and you can wash your face in the waterfall in the slower pools that form along the rocks.
From here, we were at Little Pothole Lake, and it was mesmerizing hearing the sound of waterfalls roaring, watching brook trout rise to the surface to take flies, and feeling the soft touch of raindrops on our skin as clouds began to settle overhead. We rested for a few minutes and took in the sights, snapped some cute pictures together, and then loaded back up for a quick descent.
This was our first ‘true’ weekend of hiking, in comparison to what we had attempted previously. The air felt great, my legs felt great, my lower back was sore and my sciatica flared a few times but ultimately weren’t too bad. Stretching and aspirin helped immensely. Total time start to finish was almost exactly 2 hours, which felt about right with the time we took to take it all in and pause along the way. We loaded back into the car, rehydrated, then drove back down into Lone Pine before going back to camp for the evening. On the drive down, two things happened - the first was that a Gray Fox bounded across the road directly in front of us, clear as day. The second was that, along the west side of US-395, in the large fields with the sprinklers between Lone Pine and Independence, we saw a herd of elk that was at least 25 head. Frolicking, bleating, bellowing in their mournful and beautiful way - it was an incredible sight, and an unexpected one. We arrived back to camp in high spirits, made up our chili for dinner, had beers under the stars, and called it a night. Total distance: 5+ miles, 1,000 ft of elevation gain.
Day 3:
I woke up early this morning, feeling more sore than I had expected. Coffee, aspirin, and a stretch fixed that, and we planned to set off again for the Onion Valley Trailhead. This time, the goal was to make it up to Gilbert Lake and get in some fishing and painting in the afternoon. I was uncertain what gear to bring, but decided on a water bubble with split shot, 8 lb braid to 4 lb mono, and a handful of flies and spinners (I ended up only using the same foam black ant from the day before, at the recommendation of an old-timer we met on the hike up). We packed up camp, loaded the car, and headed back to the trailhead, our bags readed for the hike ahead.
We took extra care to ensure the trip up to the lake would be worth it, bringing along extra Powerades, lunch + snacks, and suckers for an emergency pick-me-up. I prepared my bag with my gear, bringing as minimalistic of a kit as I could manage, and I was thankful that much of my gear is intentionally compact. The hike up was remarkably fast - we made it up to Gilbert Lake in practically the same amount of time that it had taken us to get to Little Pothole Lake the day before, about an hour, maybe an hour and fifteen. The last section of the hike that we had missed out on the day before was incredibly rocky and craggy, which was really exciting - especially when it leveled out to reveal the serene, picturesque surroundings of Gilbert Lake.
Walking to the edge of the water, I could already see the brilliant flash of red from a brook trout circling in the shallows, its coloration striking in the crystal-clear alpine water. The sun glistened off the surface and bounced carelessly about the basin, and yellow-bellied marmots chirped from atop boulders. Northern flickers and Wilson's warblers could be heard and seen immediately upon arriving at the edge of the lake. I assembled my rod, tied on my fly, set up my water bubble, and maneuvered a bit to find an adequate casting position. I gave it a good cast, feathering the line slightly to slow its descent… And within seconds, I had my first bite, my first brook trout fighting hard on the line. I felt the line flip and tumble in my hands, delicately playing the fish in so as to avoid doing any damage. The brookie struck a decent way off shore, so I had to be careful to not lose him along the way - and just like that, I had landed my first wild trout, out of an alpine lake at 10,000+ feet.
The brook trout is the state fish of Michigan, and one that I have a special affinity for as a result. It’s not truly a trout of the Oncorhynchus sort, but it is a char and a member of the Salmonidae, and this proved to be entertaining fodder for a proof I wrote in college for a class on symbolic logic. Holding one in my hands, which I was extremely careful to submerge and get fully wet before handling for removing the fly, made my heart just about stop. The feeling of their delicate skin, so thin and translucent, the flare of their gills, the unparalleled dappling of the dots on their side and jagged squiggles on their back - such a rush, such a blessing.
I couldn’t believe that my first cast had already produced a fish, and it ended up being a highly entertaining afternoon of fishing afterwards. Constant bites and action the whole way through, with 3 caught and released successfully - I had two others within arms’ reach who threw the hook in the shallows, which I just took to be a testament to my ability to properly crimp my barbs! It was such an exhilarating experience, and one that I’ll be chasing again, and again, and again in my life. I feel so fortunate to have experienced it now, so lucky that I didn’t have to wait longer, and my only disappointment is that it hadn’t happened sooner.
We eventually had to begin making our way down to the trailhead, as I had a long drive ahead back to LA from Independence. My partner kindly manned the wheel as we descended from the trailhead and explored the Upper and Lower Gray Meadows Campgrounds, and when she got us back to Lone Pine I gassed up, took over, and began the drive back through the Mojave. Another evening under the stars would have been incredible, but I had to be up for work at 7 AM the next morning and didn’t want to delay any further. We arrived back at the apartment at 9:30 PM and had the car unloaded and put away by 10:30. It baffles me that I can be in a place like the Eastern Sierra with such ease - at times, it’s a bit hard to stomach. How can I spend my time in a place like LA, when I have places like that so close? Alas, there’s so many reasons that people vacation, camp, hike, daytrip, etc. there - it’s much harder to stick around. I’ve seen it my entire life in Aloha and Cheboygan, so it surprises me little, but the thought of making a life in these communities and finding quietude and happiness in the mountains, forests, lakes, and creeks is quaint.
Overall, we saw 15 new species, hiked just over 20 miles with over 3,400 feet of elevation gain all above 9,000 feet, saw the Summer Milky Way, and had a wonderful time connecting with John Muir’s Eastern Sierra. It is a place that feels outside of time, outside of itself, and I feel a spell cast upon me when I linger. It feels like home, like memory reaching out to brush my cheek with a reminder of where I was meant to walk. I’ll be home in Michigan next month, and the spirit of the Eastern Sierra has energized me to explore my home soil and waterways with fervor. I can hardly wait.
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