From PCT mile 997.6 to 1018.3 Total: 20.7 miles 8/10
On the 34th day of my PCT Sierra Section Hike I left Yosemite via Dorothy Lake Pass, then continued onward through two national forests, hiking past lakes and creeks, then climbed up to the exposed windy ridge near Leavitt Peak, and finally descended to Sonora Pass where I left my resupply cache, for a 21 mile day of hiking.
For some reason, I woke up at 4:30am instead of 4am like always. Maybe I just wanted to sleep in. It was nearly dawn by the time I finished packing all my gear. I was a bit sad to leave Yosemite, but I also knew that I was heading into previously unhiked regions, and that everything would be fresh and new for me. Hike on!
Dorothy Lake was pretty as sunrise lit up the clouds to the east. There were rings on the calm surface where trout were rising, but I had no time to fish right now. Later maybe, but now I wanted to warm up because the air was quite cool. Hiking always helps.
It was only a two hundred foot climb to reach Dorothy Lake Pass. This was the northernmost pass in Yosemite, and was also its border with the Hoover Wilderness and the Humboldt-Toiyabe National Forest. I took a few photos to commemorate this occasion, and hiked onward. There would be downhill hiking for a while.
The trail would be descending about a thousand feet over the next seven miles, so life was good. I would be climbing even more after that, but that was later. Meanwhile, I would enjoy the scenery and the easy hiking. At first there were a lot of glaciated granite slabs, very typical of the Sierra. There were also quite a few lakes up here, and they were pretty in the morning light. The sun rose as I hiked along, with fine views of Stella Lake, Bonnie Lake, and Lake Harriet.
The first few lakes and ponds were obviously fishless, but Bonnie and Harriet were supposed to contain trout. My list of Sierra trout opportunities, which was eventually published here as my PCT Sierra Trout Fishing Guide, indicated that Brookies and Rainbows were in these two lakes. I saw plenty of them rising in Lake Harriet as I approached, and I even got out my Tenkara fly rod near the lake’s outlet, but I never got a bite. I didn’t try for long, as I had a lot of miles ahead of me.
Cascade Creek drained these lakes, and the trail followed it. A short ways ahead I came upon a hiker-made 1000 Sign, which was actually at mile 1000.8 on the semi-official Far Out app, and then a ranger-made 1000 sign a short ways beyond that one. Apparently, somebody rerouted the trail down south and all the subsequent mileages were now off by one. This will probably happen to my writings here, eventually. If I’m still around, I’ll try my best to keep it current. No promises, as I try my best to remain busy with my hiking and writing. If anyone finds out that I’m wrong, please email me at the address on the “About” page and I’ll try to fix it.
After that, the trail was quite cruisey, which wasn’t surprising as it was mostly downhill. I passed ponds, granite slabs, and airy forests with the morning light shining through the trees. It was a fine day to be hiking.
The only real excitement on this stretch of trail was that the bridge over the West Fork of the West Walker River was supposedly closed due to damage. At least the forest service declared that it was closed. The reality on the ground was that the bridge was perfectly safe to cross. Maybe too many overladen horses crossing all at once would have been a problem, but for hikers? Easy. I also decided to try trout fishing, as nearby Long Lake supposedly had Rainbows, but I didn’t have any luck. Yet again. Maybe it wasn’t my day for trout. It happens.
The trail continued north past lovely Walker Meadows, and within an hour or so I arrived at Kennedy Canyon, where the trail headed due west. It also started to climb, as I was heading upstream at that point. Oh well. It couldn’t keep trending downhill forever. In fact, I had about 2300 feet to climb over the next seven miles, which wasn’t all that steep. When I do math like that, it’s usually in the hope that the result will make me feel better. It worked this time!
At mile 1007, I arrived at the last water source on the trail before reaching Sonora Pass at mile 1018. Eleven miles of no water was worth thinking about. So when I reached the Kennedy Canyon Creek crossing, I knew that it was time for a major break. Lunch included. There was a lovely field of yellow daisies blooming there, thanks to the waters of the creek, and my lunch spot was in the shade looking down at them. Every so often I had to get up to refill my water filtration apparatus, which was hanging in a tree, powered by gravity. The lazy way to do it.
It was noon. I had hiked almost ten miles already, but I still had six more to go. A lot of that was uphill, and most of the uphill was going to happen right now. So I picked up my food-light-yet-water-heavy backpack and slung it over my shoulders. I had redone the math, and this ascent was only a ten percent grade, just like the SoCal Desert Section typically was. It was nothing like the granite steps and steepness of the High Sierra. This made me feel better, and I settled myself into a steady altitude-eating pace. I was a Certified Hiking Machine, after all, and this slope was like grease on my bearings.
The trees soon faded out behind me. This crumbly volcanic(?) soil wasn’t conducive to lush growth, nor was the elevation, which was nearing the treeline anyway. However, without the trees, the prevailing wind arrived out of the west, and it was directly in my face. It wasn’t so strong that I was leaning into it, but it was very much there, a constant presence and pressure, and a never ending noise in the ears.
I kept on heading west until I arrived at a wooden post, where the trail met an old mining road that originated near Leavitt Lake, on the eastern side of the big ridge I was climbing. I was happy to see a roadbed, because that usually meant a steady grade with few big rocks or steps. And that’s precisely what I encountered. I had my work cut out for me, and I started in on it.
The views got better as I climbed. There was still quite a breeze coming over the top, but at least this part of the trail was on the lee side of the ridge. Most of the comments on the Far Out app mentioned how windy it was up there, and it looked like it was just my luck to encounter “typical” conditions. As I climbed, I also realized that there were two long switchbacks on the way up. The first one was extra-long, and the second one only so-so.
I saw a black dot in the far distance, up near the top. It must be another hiker, I thought, as it was moving. We still had the small switchback between us, but he beat me to it. We stopped and talked for a while. He was doing PCT Section I, from Sonora Pass to Tuolumne Meadows. I told him about the water sources in his future, and he tried to help me answer my questions about my proposed campsite at Mile 1014, which wasn’t really on the Far Out app but was mentioned in the comments at the Mile 1012 campsite. We wished each other well and hiked on.
When I reached the top of the ridge I also crested it, and now the wind was strong. Steady and strong, with an occasional roar as it built up to larger gust. There was a wooden pole where the Leavitt Lake Trail branched off to the right. I checked out the map and it went over to the lee side of the ridge. Sadly, the PCT stayed on the windward side. Still, I decided that this was my big chance to take a peek (and a photo) of Leavitt Lake, so I set down my backpack and walked over to the summit. Yep. Looked like a lake. With happy campers down below.
Back at my pack, I huddled down behind it and got out my phone. The app said that there was Verizon signal up there. And there was! I sat in the windfree zone behind my pack and dialed Vicki. She answered, and we yakked for a while. It had been five days since we last spoke at Tuolumne Meadows. I felt less lonely after that. It isn’t easy being a solo hiker sometimes. I told her that I would be meeting with Metal Tim and Little Engine tomorrow morning, and then they would be hiking with me for 35 miles to Ebbetts Pass. I was looking forward to it. In fact, I received an InReach text from Tim that they were heading up to the pass today, and would be spending the night.
I only had four more miles to go, which would take me two hours, but it was already 3pm, so I needed to get hiking. Up here, the wind was stronger, but it wasn’t precisely in my face. It was more like it was coming in at a ten o’clock angle, or maybe 10:30, so it wasn’t behind me by any means.
On this side of the ridge, the views were new. Kennedy Lake was down in the valley far below, and I knew that further down the canyon was the fabled Kennedy Meadows North, a store and grill where thru-hikers resupplied themselves. They even ran a shuttle service up to the pass twice a day to collect the hikers who couldn’t hitch a ride. Vicki and I ate there on our way back from dropping my car off at Donner Pass, and leaving my food cache directly on Sonora Pass. I wouldn’t have to worry about hitching a ride.
One of my feet developed a hot spot, and I finally found a place without wind to take a break and fix it. It was merely a brief S-turn on the trail, but it was just enough. Being out of the breeze really felt good. The wind pressure was getting to the point where I was feeling it as a malign force, wearing down my spirit and eroding my will to hike. The brim of my hat was slammed back on my forehead most of the time, and when it wasn’t it was flapping wildly and smacking me on the side of my face. Totally aggravating. It also didn’t seem to be lessening as the afternoon waned.
Soon enough, I came to yet another saddle where I got a view to the east, and this time I saw Koenig Lake down below. There were more happy, windless campers down there, I had no doubt.
After viewing what passed for a campsite up here, at mile 1012, I was not impressed. I knew from experience that low bushes were good at blocking the bulk of the blast, so that at least your tent wasn’t being forced over, lying flat on top of you during the bigger gusts, but it was still a noisy, flapping experience regardless. One of the earlier iterations of my trip planning was to stay in this exact spot, and now I was really hoping that the site two miles further, on the east side of the ridge, was better. I crossed my fingers for luck, and hiked on, forging my way forward despite the blast.
I knew that the trail was going to pop back over onto the lee side, and I even took a GoPro video to commemorate it. The terrain on the other side also had zero plants and was totally exposed to the elements, but at least it had less wind. This was when the trail finally made it to the eastern slopes of Leavitt Peak, the highpoint of this crazy ridgeline.
This area was also a spot where snow accumulated during Winter storms, and it took much longer to melt in the Spring. You could tell where the snow lingered by looking at all of the extra hiker paths that were present on this side of the mountain. In fact, there was still a large, slushy snowbank directly on the trail, even now, in mid-August. It didn’t look too scary, as it was afternoon. First thing in the morning and it might be icy, but not now. I chose a path across it, the lower path, which was not the True PCT. I was just as wimpy as all the others before me who chose the safe and easy way out of trouble.
I only had a mile or so to hike to reach mile 1014, but it took quite a while. I think that I was getting tired, and slow. Latopie Lake was down below me, and I could see colorful tents set up along the shore. It must be nice to be able to take a nap in a nice tent, I thought. And then I hiked on. I had one more saddle to cross, and my campsite would be on the other side.
Beyond that saddle, there were new views to the east. Sonora Pass Highway was visible, with tiny cars moving along. Down below me was that silly little tarn that I saw on the map. The comments in the app indicated that it was too small, and too far down in a deep pit, to make it worthwhile for drinking water, unless you were desperate. And that’s why I carried all this water up here. For good or bad, it was with me now.
I also found the spot where the campsite was located. It was behind a couple of low pines. The wind wasn’t too bad, but the sun was still high, and it was blasting down on the exposed spots. I put down my backpack and took a seat on the likeliest of the two sloping campsites. Not optimal for sleeping, I thought, but it would do in a pinch. What I really wanted to know about was the wind. I decided to sit there for a bit, and see if a big gust swept through. They do that, those sneaky gusts. The big ones are like bullies, that lurk and wait until you least expect them, then pounce!
It really was a fine view from the campsite. There were distant mountains with Lenticular clouds above them. These usually happen due to Mountain Waves, thanks to continuous winds flowing up and over them. Yes, I knew all about that wind.
Well, I thought, it’s 5pm. It’ll be shady soon enough. The real question in my mind was, did I want to camp here now and wake up early, in the dark, to go meet Tim? Or did I think I could hike four more miles to Sonora Pass? I looked at the Far Out app and the map. It was almost entirely downhill from here, with the exception of a short uphill run to get out of this bowl. Part of the time I’d be on the windy side of the ridge, but most of it looked like it might be fine. If I could get there, I would also see my friends even sooner.
That was the deciding argument. I texted Tim through the InReach that I was on my way, come Hell or High Water, and that I wasn’t going to quit even if it got dark. Sonora Pass or Bust!
And then I put on my backpack (not thinking to dump out a bunch of that heavy water weight, like a fool) and hiked on, up and out of the bowl with the tiny tarn of meltwater, and into the windy barren region north of Leavitt Peak. When I got up there, I was exposed to yet more amazing views, down to the northwest where the highway made its winding way to KM North. There were lakes and a creek down there, and it was really quite beautiful. Once again, I got out my phone and started taking pictures like crazy. And hiking fast.
I didn’t discover it until I looked at maps back home, while writing this account, that the long ridge I was on was the actual Pacific Crest itself. Water on the east drains into the Great Basin, and on the west to the Pacific Ocean. This is one of the longest stretches of PCT to actually run almost directly on the crest itself. Interestingly, I was in the Humboldt-Toiyabe National Forest and Hoover Wilderness on the east, and the Emigrant Wilderness and Stanislaus National Forest on the west. Since it’s also in California, where water is King, the county line is there, as well, between Mono and Tuolumne Counties. Fun facts that I didn’t care about at all while hiking that day.
What I did care about was crossing back to the east after a gradual, nearly two mile climb in the blasting wind. At that point I had a bit more than two miles to go, with about 1200 feet of descent. That seemed doable, and I hiked onward. This side of the ridge even sported a melting snow patch, with water flowing down across the trail. Did I remember to pour out my own excess water weight when I saw it? Of course not. Instead, I took pictures of the many wildflowers that appeared as I got down below treeline. Back at the top, I was up at 10,865 feet elevation, but soon I would be in the forest again. I strode on, trying to be nice to my poor feet. I knew what happens when feet go downhill too fast: Blisters. I still had 150 miles to go to reach my car, and blisters were not a part of my plan.
I was pretty whupped by the time I reached the highway crossing. There was even a can of soda left in a cooler by a Trail Angel. Thanks! I needed that. It was a bit before 7pm, and there was still an hour of light left. I had been hiking over thirteen hours, and for almost 21 miles, making this the longest day yet on my 2024 Trek. I was kinda proud of myself, to tell the truth. Younger PCT hikers whip out twenty mile days, day after day, and some do thirties! But I was a geezer with a heavy backpack, so I cut myself some slack. I wanted to take it easier and take more photos.
I took photos of the monument and road signs, then hiked onward. Mostly I wanted to say hello to Tim and his wife. So I after crossing the highway I made my way up one last hill to the trailhead parking area. Metal Tim and Little Engine were there, in their mini-van, and they already claimed a picnic table. We shook hands and Tim told me I should have let them know sooner and they would have brought me a burger from Bridgeport. But even I didn’t know that I was going to do the final four miles until it was too late. Tim rooted around in his cooler and found a sandwich he made for himself. He could tell that I really wanted it, oh-so-much more than yet another boring bowl of ramen noodles. When he insisted I take it, I only protested weakly. I really wanted it, no lie. And let me tell you: It was excellent. I hadn’t had a sandwich that tasted that good in years, it seemed.
After eating the sandwich, I was feeling happy, I didn’t have much energy for setting up my tent, even though I knew it needed to be done. Another couple arrived at the parking area and then headed up into the hillside to find a spot to camp. I decided to be a rule-breaker and camp right there. Technically this was more of a picnic/day-use area, but I could see that there were other van-lifers nearby. Tim was one of them, too. It was a regular party up there, but a very low-key one. After getting a sunset photo looking off to the east near those lenticular clouds I saw earlier, I decided it was time to get out the tent. I set it up right next to the picnic table, as it was the only truly flat spot. Then I readied my air mattress and spread the sleeping bag. Good enough.
The three of us yakked quite a bit that evening. They had enough cell signal to check and see about the breakfast hours at Kennedy Meadows North. They opened at 6am, which was perfect. I told them that I would buy them breakfast if they took me down there. I really wanted an omelet in the worst way. Since I already hiked an extra four miles today, we could take our time tomorrow and hike less than the fifteen miles I would have hiked. More time to eat breakfast, I figured. After that, we said good night, as it was nearing Hiker Midnight already. I let Vicki know that I made it to the pass, and updated my notes. After a day like that, I didn’t have much trouble falling asleep.
For a topographic map of the hike see my CalTopo Page
For LOTS more photos of the trek see my Flickr Page
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