Donohue Pass to Thousand Island Lake
Part 4 | Twenty days solo hiking in the Sierras on the John Muir Trail
A long day today, but oh my goodness was it ever incredible. I was on trail at 6:30 am, and didn’t get to camp until 6:30 pm, and I am so glad I took my time through this section of the trail. I stopped to take so many photos, wander side trails, meander in alpine basins, appreciate every viewpoint, and just do my best to take everything in.
Sitting here in the cozy shelter of my tent by Thousand Island Lake, when I look back through the last twelve hours in my memory, I can’t quite believe I saw all of that in one day. There was just so much that was amazing and magical at all scales, from huge views to tiny flowers, and I am so happy I’m out here. My feet are sore, and I can tell this trip will be the hardest long hike I’ve done, but I’m doing it, and just did a 10+ mile day! As soon as I’m done journaling this evening, I do need to stretch my tired legs.
This morning my process to pack-up-camp, eat, and take care of all the morning business felt slow at 1.5 hours, but I know I’ll get into a routine quickly. My efficiency was most definitely hampered by the sunrise alpenglow just visible on Lyell peak above the talus slope and waterfall, and I paused the tasks to take photos of the shifting light.
Outlet stream in the first basin (R) and the trail/mini waterfall (L)
I left my lovely little campsite while the valley was still in shadow and headed up the rocky trail to the next basin 400 feet higher. The trail passed a small waterfall that also liked the trail, making me appreciate my newer and waterproof boots as my feet stayed dry. Soon I wandered into another basin. Long shadows reached across the meadow dotted with more red paintbrush flowers, the cliffy slopes above were just starting to be illuminated by the warm toned early light, and the snowfields below Lyell peak were covered in cobalt shadows. The shadows looked so rich and full of color it seemed like I should be able to reach out and grab the folds of light in my hands. I imagine it would feel like the softest velvet.
My pace slows to a crawl in this joyful stretch of trail as I bounce from one view to the next, bend to look at flowers, scurry over rocks to see around a corner, and leave the trail behind completely to follow my curiosity and the shadows that slide quickly up the mountainside. In moments like this I feel so full of presence – both in the sense of being fully present to this place, but also the presence of the immense landscape itself. The rest of the world falls away, and I forget about my watch and the miles ahead and the heavy pack and the rest of my breakfast protein bar I really should be eating. Time is now measured in the movement of shadows and the baby marmot that ran to hide and now cautiously wanders back out again to watch me from a boulder.
All that’s left is wonder.
Wildflowers, rocky steps leading into the basin, glcially carved granite, early light on the stream lined with more red paintbrush flowers. And momma marmot keeping a close eye on me and the curious baby that would run in and out of the rocks.
I spend an hour exploring this place of snow and shadow, of rock and heather flowers lining little stream outlets. Of marmots that called out to the whole basin at first to warn of my intrusion and who now wander ten feet away without fear. Of a place that feels so incredibly remote, with no human-made way trails or meadows beaten down, and I am a mere quarter mile from one of the most popular trails in the world. The voice in my mind that is worried about the big ascents and descents and miles ahead for the day is quickly quieted by how fun it is to just ramble around, looking at everything.
This is why I’m out here; I tell myself. To observe, to take it all in, to explore however much I want, even if the price is a long day. Over the coming weeks I will realize that I am on a very different trip than most folks who hike the JMT. Yes, I have to cover miles each day and reach a camp and segments of trail are limited by days of food. But unlike most hikers who have to finish in a specific timeframe, I have the gift of time and flexibily. The gift of goals that aren’t driven by a specific mileage objective. The gift to spend an hour in a basin few seem to visit.
Eventually my grumbling stomach refocuses me on the task at hand, which is to continue up the trail toward Donohue pass. I eat the rest of that power bar, along with peanut butter crackers and some sugary electrolyte drink. Making my way back to the trail I take one last look back at the basin, which will remain a favorite place for the entire trip. It looks different now, with the shadows smaller and the light harsher and yet also still glowing from the sun’s higher position in the sky.
The rest of the ascent up to Donohue pass (around 500 vertical feet) went by quickly, aided by the salt electrolyte pill I took. On the backpacking trips prior to this one I struggled with low grade nausea on ascents, especially when it was warmer outside. My sister had the idea that it may be low salt, and my Dad got me these SaltStick brand tablets. It made such a big difference, and would continue to have a big impact the rest of the trip.
The trail to Donohue was fascinating as it rose to treeline and above. The heather plants became sparse and the landscape harsh and expansive with the trees and Lyell valley visible below. At the early hour I was hiking, I saw a few PCT hikers going the opposite direction, but had the pass to myself for a long time. It was so cool to hike up and see a different perspective on the peaks I’d been hiking below mere hours before, and to walk by the high elevation tarn at the top. Marmots scurried over the rocks as I excitedly crossed my first high elevation pass of the trip over 11,000 feet. I was so happy to be feeling great!!
views looking back north from Donohue pass. Top image is from the pass, lower two are from below, and in the left image you can just see the Lyell river and meadows far below.
Once over the pass, I checked cellphone reception on the recommendation of the ranger, and sure enough, I had three bars (Verizon). I sent my family photos and even a few 4k videos, and then realized I could call! It was a fun gift to get to chat with my parents and sister before making my way down.
The next zone of the trail was beautiful in a completely different way! The rocks changed from the glaciated Lyell to pointy ridges and glacier-sculpted faces of light colored rock with fans of talus at the base. And the meadow! My pace slowed again as I took photos of the meandering streambed carved through the vibrant green meadow dotted with sparse trees and more red paintbrush flowers! It was amazing. I could have spent another who day here wandering around and following the stream through its twists and turns. Each bend in the trail brought a new combination of flowers, water, meadow, and rock that felt just as exciting to see as the last.
To soon, I hiked past the magical meadow, and then AHHHH there’s Banner peak in the distance! The dark ritter range stands out in the sea of lighter colored granite of most of the other peaks, and the tall mountains reach above the landscape and command the skyline. Seeing more peaks I’d read about and dreamed of seeing for years, was another hugely exciting moment.
The views of Banner and Ritter mountains persisted for a while through meadows, more barren woods of pine trees, and a lovely pond with views of much of the Ritter range just framed above the shallow water. All too soon, the trail left this wonderland behind and headed down into a dusty forest of bigger trees. In a way, the time in the woods was a needed break from the amazing scenery above, and I could focus on the rocky trail and make decent time when not distracted every hundred feet by an amazing view. And, my feet hurt, which would be an unfortunately common refrain for most of the trip. So far, this was the only “boring” bit of trail (boring in quotes because there’s always interesting details to notice, but just far far fewer here).
After how long the day bad been so far, I was ready for a break and stopped at the Rush Creek crossing for a later lunch. I stopped for nearly an hour, and talked with a kind thru hiker named Candace who had skipped a lot of the sierras due to altitude sickness. She wasn’t feeling well again, and I was able to share some ibuprofen and salt tablets in the hope of helping a bit. She was one of the nicest folks I talked with the whole three weeks, and I hope she is having a wonderful rest of her adventure!!
Photos of the Rush Creek Crossing. I was able to rock hop with my waterproof taller boots and kept my feet dry. The log was navigable with my poles extended for extra balance.
Oh, there were ants, “so many, too many ants” I wrote in my trail journal. Big carpenter ants very interested in food, salt, and skin, and one bit my ankle and it would take days to heal. So, I was quite ready to haul the pack back on and cross Rush Creek. With the low snow levels this year the creek was a rock hop, but feet only stay dry with waterproof shoes, as there was a few inches of water on a few key rocks to step on. My newer scarpa boots stayed fully dry- the folks behind me, not so much.
From there, another pass! But this one was smaller, only about 600 feet elevation gain, and I put in the headphones, cued up some good motivating classic rock, and headed up at a consistent pace that felt good. I’m really grateful to be feeling well on all the climbs so far! There was one moment where the pink heather flowers grew in such profusion that I could also smell them on the wind, and it was just magical.
The reward for the climb was Island Pass, where little tarns and ponds rimmed in yellow and purple flowers sat below the towering ritter range peaks.
This was one of the few locations that I’d identified before the trip as an ideal location to film an Adventure Art Academy class. When I arrived, I let go of that idea because it was windy – blow over my backpack when I put it down windy. So I meandered around taking photos, eating a candy bar and visiting with some hikers resting the shade, and generally taking a long break again.
But, as I walked away from the pass, I came across another pond, this one just sheltered enough to maybe, maybe make painting possible! I hurriedly got out all of my painting supplies and little filming kit, and hoped the wind muff on my tiny mic was up to the task of this wind. The result is one of my favorite paintings from the trip!! I can’t wait to share the whole painting process with my Adventure Art Academy students.
After Island pass the long day caught up with me and I was tired, but I still had another mile and a half to go to reach the lake. The views of Thousand Island Lake below kept my spirits high. Once over the pass the landscape also changed quite dramatically. The grey granite was gone, now a landscape of reddish or blackish rocks, bigger trees, and dry grasses that replaced the lush meadows above. At one point, at a lookout above the lake, a raven flew overhead, moving incredibly quickly on the wind. I watched it pivot and swerve, amazed at how it moved and made the invisible wind feel like a tangible force that buffeted my hat, flapped straps from my pack’s harness, and sent the raven zipping across the sky at an unbelievable speed. I watched it fly until it soared over the ridge behind me.
Once at the lake, the day wasn’t quite done. You have to hike past the camping prohibited zone (common around the outlets of most lakes in the area), but I was hiking in on a Friday evening, and the lake was crowded. Really crowded. I didn’t factor in the proximity of this area to a trailhead or the day of the week, and I had to walk a long way around the lake to find a site, adding more than a mile to an already long day. I found a great sheltered spot in the trees early on, but gave it to a 75 year old solo hiker who I’d met just a few minutes before. Her feet were badly blistered, and I knew I had a bit more hiking in me.
Thirty minutes later, if I am honest, I regretted the decision for a bit when I passed full site after full site. But, eventually I followed a bootpath and stumbled on a tiny little clearing in the grasses just big enough for my tent, far from other hikers, and with a stunning view of the lake. I immediately sat down, took my boots off, and ate a snack. I even made my special treat for the trip – some powdered miso soup – that tasted amazing! The little bits of seaweed and mushrooms felt so luxurious, and reinvigorated me for the evening.
While putting up the tent I was acutely grateful that my shelter does well in wind, as it was ripping windy at the lake. Don’t put anything loose on the ground or it will blow away windy. The Tarptent Moment excels in these conditions, and is so easy to set up. Anchor the end facing the wind with some heavy rocks, insert the single hoop pole, extend the other side and anchor again, and done. This ease of setup is one of my favorite things, and it only takes a few extra minutes to guy out the lines anchoring the bottom edges of the fly and the pole.
With camp squared away the little bit of evening slid by quickly, and I remember heading to the tent, doing my evening stretches, and falling asleep quickly. I knew the morning light would be great, so I had an early alarm set!! What an amazing and full day!
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