Into the Alpine Basins Below Donohue Pass
- 4 days ago
- 8 min read
Part 3 | Twenty days solo hiking in the Sierras on the John Muir Trail
Tonight, my tent is tucked in an amazing little campsite behind scraggly yet large pine trees above Lyell Creek. But it’s a stream that really wants to be a lake, with little hummocks of plants like islands and still water that fills the wide shallow basin in a reflective expanse that only returns to a stream when the slope of the small hanging valley steepens.
Earlier in the day I'd identified this area as a possible camping zone, and as soon as I arrived, I knew I would be staying. Once I plodded around the corner of the trail, and explored the basin to scope out campsites, I decided it was just too beautiful to leave, even though going up higher would make my next day easier. I found the perfect spot for my tent, within earshot of other camps but secluded. I only covered 6.3 miles, but with 1500 feet elevation gain it felt like plenty to my not-yet-acclimated body.
And this little post-glacial tiny valley is an incredible place with Lyell Peak and one of the last glaciers in the Sierras looming above a small waterfall in a talus field. And the meadows around the stream! Oh my goodness, I have never in my life seen so many red paintbrush flowers. They are blooming in such radical profusion that I could smell them (something I’ve never been able to do before, they have the most delicate, barely perceptible delightful smell). And they fringe one shore of the stream in a fuzzy red banner of color that catches and holds my eye. As I wander the basin I find many other flowers, from familiar species I see back home to new varieties I’ve never met before.
Arriving here I thought a lot about my Dad, who loves peaceful streams. He would have been amazed at the myriad little waterways here, each of them with a unique personality and different sounds and movement as they shift from mini rapids over rocks to placid flats in the trees. I’ll just have to come back with him next year – one of my goals for this trip is to scout out the best places for us to come back to!
This morning my aunt and I got up at the soon to be usual early time of 5am, and took our time eating breakfast with hot water and cocoa. Most mornings I would end up forgoing the hot water, opting to eat my protein bar on the go instead of losing time to the pot and stove to heat things up. So, looking back this was a rare treat of a leisurely morning as we enjoyed our last couple hours on trail together.
I am definitely sad to see her go, and when we parted ways on the trail, we waved a final goodbye before heading in opposite directions, and I got a little teary eyed.
She reminded me about one of her favorite trail practices – of stopping often to look back at the way we’ve come, to appreciate all of the amazing things seen, challenges worked through, and what we already accomplished each day. I think I’ll try to hold this reflection in daily life, too, once home. I know I don’t make enough time to look back at the past and appreciate how much I’ve grown and changed. The trail just makes this so clear, when a valley where I started is now many miles away, a little green swish in the greater landscape. And, over the next three weeks, every time I looked back, I would think of Aunt Muggie’s words, smiling.
Once we parted ways, I couldn’t stay sad for long, because the Lyell River valley continued to be absolutely stunningly beautiful, and I was simply too excited. Even with the heavy pack I felt like I was bouncing along the flat trail and was amazed all over again at the early morning light and how it transformed the valley. Creeping slowly down one of the forested slopes, the light took a long time to reach the river. Before it did, mist and fog slipped through the trees and rose from the water, coating all the plants in dew drops so small and delicate the frilly grass looked like fog itself, a wavering haze of water and tiny fronds. Looking closer, each head of grass, so tiny, was laden down and bent over in a little arch under the weight of all the drops.
And the magic of the small details didn’t stop there, with the tiniest lupine plants I’ve ever seen also coated in dew – and even some white lupine flowers! As the sun finally reached me, I gratefully took off my fleece hat and warmed my hands – it was a cold morning, at 37F to start. On the straight sections of trail through the meadow, the low angle light cast shadows from the taller and wider grasses that looked like a ridge of trees on the trail.
For five minutes I followed a little bird (maybe a chickadee), it’s two white tail feathers visible every time it fly-hopped down the trail. Even when I stopped to make sure it wasn’t scared, it stopped and watched me, then flitted farther to look back at me, and I followed. It was a fun little interaction that buoyed my spirit even more.
On these early mornings I see few other hikers, far fewer than expected. It feels like I have this whole spectacular valley to myself as the sun dissipates the fog and makes the whole valley glow brightly as the reflective droplets evaporate, backlighting trees and hiding the river one last time for the day in light too bright to look at.
As I neared the head of the valley I got my first view of the higher peaks. Mt. Lyell and McClure, shadowed a slight violet in the early morning by a passing cloud. I decided to stop here and take in the view, paint, and dry out my very wet tent so I wasn’t carrying extra weight in the rainwater and condensation. It ended up being an hourlong break, but it felt worth it spend the time here and make my favorite on-trail painting so far! The sun, now higher in the sky, made it almost too warm until the clouds built and cast intermittent shadows across the entire landscape.
Moving on, I loaded up with water at the prominent oxbow of the trail, as I wasn’t sure how easy it would be access the river once I started ascending (turns out there were other access points but none were quite as convenient). And it was a lovely spot, with the river approaching in one direction and making a crazy near 180 degree curve back the other way. Taller trees now line its banks and bedrock shows through the hillside as the meadow is now woods at the head of the valley.
After this point the trail finally got down to business and started climbing, something I’d been not exactly dreading, but anticipating with curiosity and maybe just a little nervousness. I wasn’t sure if I was acclimated yet, so I planned to take my time if needed. The weight of the pack was now much more noticeable going uphill, but there were lots of things to observe and keep me entertained.
A lot of the trail is rocky big steps, some made into stairs that look like something out of the lord of the rings set, others just big rocks that make for hard uphill progress. There were flowers, mostly pink and white heather, and interesting rock shapes, rock gardens with the flowers, and neat cliffy rocks above. Lots of rocks, basically, but all so different in shape and pattern from most of the rocks at home in WA that they were fun to look at. I wonder if I’ll get tired of all the rock in the next three weeks?
Once I got up a bit higher the views back into Lyell Canyon and Yosemite were awesome, little snippets through the trees. The trail felt easier than what Dad and I did heading to Colchuck lake a month or so ago, but I did only ascend 1600 something feet in one go. That felt like plenty! I put some inspiring instrumental music on in my headphones (they fit poorly so I can hear everything around me) which makes going uphill so much more pleasant and motivating.
I stopped for lunch by the Lyell Creek bridge and met my first ranger who checked my permit. He was out there to help evac a hiker with an injured knee, a humbling reminder to watch my step and travel carefully over these uneven trails. It was fun to share some of the paintings I made so far with him, too! A bit more climbing later and I arrived in the Upper Lyell basin, and decided that while I could ascend 400 feet higher to the next bench, this area was lovely, I was unsure about camps in the next zone, and for my first night alone I felt more comfortable camping where I was likely to have neighbors.
Getting in to camp in the afternoon meant I had time to lounge, relax, stretch, wander around the lake and explore. What a gift that time felt like in a beautiful area like this!! Circumnavigating the lake was only possible with waterproof boots unless you wanted to go for a wade, as I could just rock hop or wander through the inlet streams and have my boot tops be out of the water. It was worth it to see more of the basin and so many more flowers! All the while the clouds continued their overhead traverse, bringing dramatic shifts from shadow to light with increasing frequency.
I also made a sketch, focusing on the wildflowers and the scree slope above the stream. Scree still confounds me a bit on how best to paint it, but I think the painting works well enough, and I always feel that any painting is better than no painting, so I try not to judge them too harshly. And, what a place to paint! I feel so grateful for the time up here, it is just spectacular, and so peaceful.
For dinner I had one of my ramen dishes with an appetizer of Miso soup, which was tasty! I think I’ll have to make this a more permanent part of my backpacking food kit for some special days, as it was a nice pick-me-up of salt, seaweed and mushroom chunks. I also said hello to the kind group of five ladies nearby who had adopted a fellow much younger solo hiker for the night who was afriad. I wonder if I’ll find folks to camp near most nights?
Sitting here in my tent, now heading south solo, I remind myself that this really isn’t any different from my other backpacking trips where I had to camp a bit or a long way away from a group, except there is no group. I think folks back home are worried about me continuing on alone, but I realized this morning that I’ve been unknowingly preparing for a trip like this for a long time. During many of my backpacks in the last five years I would spend the entire day alone doing my own thing painting and wandering alpine terrain while my friends climbed the surrounding peaks. So far, it doesn’t really feel that different to be alone on this trail thanks to the friendly folks around. Plus, at night I just put in ear plugs and ignore any odd sounds I might hear, tired enough that I sleep soundly until I have to get up and go pee (an inconvenient consequence of being adequately hydrated).
It wasn’t too cold this evening, and the mosquitos only arrived at sundown (and even then, they weren't that bad, 6-10 flying around, much more manageable than some of what I've hiked in at home!). How lucky is that! The basin faced the wrong direction for any alpenglow in the evening, so I set an early alarm so I’ll have time to watch the light in the morning, pack up camp, and get ready for what would be my first longer 10 mile day on trail. I’m so glad I planned the trip with these two shorter ones to start! I reallt treasured the gift of having enough time in this basin to explore and enjoy it.
can you believe the profusion of flowers?? They were some of the best of the entire trip!
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