I began a three day backpacking trek west of Devils Postpile, climbing up into the King Creek Basin, where I camped the first night at Fern Lake and dayhiked a bit further to visit Anona Lake.
When planning this trek at home, I discovered two twenty-plus mile loops that joined each other not far from Devils Postpile National Monument. I figured to spend a week checking out the beauty of the high lakes west of the Ritter Range. The longer loop went past Ediza Lake, and the shorter loop traveled around King Creek. After suffering for months from plantar fasciitis, which started during my early-season PCT hike, I wasn’t sure whether my feet were healed enough yet, so I decided to hike the shorter loop first. Plus, recent satellite photos showed that some of the lakes, including Iceberg Lake, were still frozen. In August! Yes, the Winter of 2023 was impressive for its record snowfall. Iceberg Lake was on the longer loop, so waiting a few extra days might help. Probably not, but maybe.
I woke up early that morning in my campsite down in the valley, and got my gear together. It was mostly packed, but it never hurts to double-check. Then I drove to the backpacker parking lot near the Devils Postpile. I parked the car and put on my backpack. Oof! It was heavy! I had my ice axe and hiking crampons with me, plus seven days of food. If weight were any gauge, then I was extremely prepared. Resigned to my fate, I hiked on down the hill to the Ranger Station, which was still closed as it was too early in the morning. This didn’t bother me, so I continued over to view the Postpile itself. It wasn’t exactly on my official main loop, but it’s always a cool thing to check out, like having lunch with an old friend as long as you’re in town. While there, I took a bunch of photos, as always.
Then it was time to move on. But not until I crossed the arched footbridge over the Middle Fork San Joaquin River. This bridge had great views looking over lush green meadows, with the river flowing strong beneath it. A photo-worthy spot if ever I saw one.
After that, it was time to head out on the loop, which I would be hiking clockwise. Step one was climbing up and over a wide ridge on the King Creek Trail. Along the way, I got good views back across the valley to the Postpile, after which I continued hiking, 500 feet uphill, crossing the PCT/JMT and onward into the Ansel Adams Wilderness.
The trail dropped back down into the King Creek Valley. At the bottom was King Creek itself, and I knew that I would have to cross it. I carried my croc-like water shoes for this eventuality. Thanks to melting snow from above, the water was flowing fast, and there was no possibility of crossing with dry feet. So I unzipped the lower part of my pantlegs and took off my socks and shoes. Then I dared to walk through the icy water. Yes, it was absolutely ice cold, and my feet were not amused. My legs were also not amused, because there were tons of mosquitos! I applied DEET as soon as possible, while on the near shore, but they still buzzed all around like crazy. Usually they are terrible in July in the High Sierra, but in 2023 everything was delayed by a month. I put my pants and shoes back on as fast as possible afterward.
The trail climbed steadily for the next two miles, for about 1000 feet or so. The views got better the higher I hiked, as always. I stopped for an early lunch, and simply enjoyed the sights. Mammoth Mountain was across the way to the east. This meant cell reception, so I called Vicki at home. We spoke for a while, then it was time to move on.
According to the map, the King Creek trail turned into the Summit Meadow Trail after the creek crossing. I hiked upward on that for an hour or so, then left the Summit Meadow Trail (which headed over a pass to the Granite Stairway) and ended up on the Summit Meadow — Holcomb Bypass Trail. But it all seemed like one continuous trail to me. Eventually, I turned left on the Anona Lake Trail, which passed by Fern Lake. These are official names, but the wooden signs simply pointed to “Fern Lake” and that’s where I hiked.
Along the way, I came across large, dripping snowbanks melting in the Summer sun. The ground was marshy and I had to take care not to let my boots get wet. It wasn’t too hard. I texted a photo of snow back home, so they would know full well that I was on a bona-fide Adventure, while they were sitting behind a decidedly non-adventurous desk, at work.
I arrived at Fern Lake and looked around for a prime campsite. I was the only one there, and I wanted a good view after climbing all this way. And I found one, too. It was a very pretty lake, and there was plenty of snow along the southern shore, still melting in the warm air, but not too fast as it was in the shade of a cliff. I didn’t test it but the water must’ve been icy cold. There would be no swimming for me today!
I set up the tent, put all my heavy gear inside, and blew up my air mattress. The cumulus clouds were building and thickening as they often do in the High Sierra, so I made sure that the tent was prepared in case it rained later on. I left my water filtration equipment inside the pack and got ready to do a quick dayhike to Anona Lake, the furthest lake in the chain, and the namesake of the Anona Lake Trail.
The trail deteriorated significantly beyond Fern Lake, as if it was rarely hiked. Maybe that’s why the wooden signs simply said Fern Lake. Anona was, effectively, an afterthought. I mainly kept track of the trail’s location using my phone’s GPS, hiking cross-country most of the time in the general direction of a saddle to the west. I joined the faint trail every so often, which made me feel better. But it was easy hiking, and I’m used to finding my own path with either a map or a GPS. Along the way I found a clear stream of water, and decided to fill up my gallon from it later on when I returned. Personally, I prefer stream water over lake water, but that’s just me.
I pretty much picked my own path on the way into the Anona Lake Basin. The so-called trail was long gone. Soon, I was standing along the shore. I took the obligatory photos and panorama video, then stared at the surface for a while. Were there trout in this lake? I didn’t see a single ripple. Of course, it had only thawed out a week or two ago, so maybe they weren’t biting this early, or the bugs hadn’t grown enough yet. But either way, I didn’t bother getting out my fly rod.
I didn’t stay long, as the clouds were building to the point where there was no long any blue sky above me. The remaining clear patches were all to the east. It looked and felt like Imminent Rain to me. So I turned around and headed back to the saddle, hiking fast. I had rain gear in my pack, but I also didn’t want my boots to get wet. So I hustled up the slope.
As I descended on the other side, I began to feel a bit of drizzling rain. Oh boy. It was downhill now, so I walked even faster. When I neared the stream, I didn’t have much choice but to stop, take off my pack, get out the collapsible jug, and collect a gallon of Sierra’s Finest. I plopped it into the backpack and really started putting on the speed, being careful of my footing on the rocky slope. No point in falling at a time like this! The rain increased in intensity. My goretex jacket was getting seriously wet, but I still didn’t feel it soaking through to my shirt. This would happen soon, I could tell. I broke into a run when I was within a hundred yards of my tent, where the ground was flat. I was expecting giant raindrops to begin any second now, the kind that soak you through in moments.
Ever the avid photographer, I documented this journey as best I could. I took one last photo of the wet tent, then unzipped the door and plopped my backpack under the flap in the vestibule. I was next. I spun around, sat down on my air mattress, then zipped up the doorway. I made it! I took off the wet jacket and draped it over my backpack. Wet things could stay out there, where they belonged.
Safe at last, I took a few photos and videos, and busied myself by getting ready for the evening while listening to the rain hitting the tent. It’s a good feeling, being dry and snug in your tent. I was only sorry that I hadn’t hiked a bit faster earlier, on my way up the hill to Anona Lake. But it was too late now, and all was well in any case.
I got dressed in my warmer night clothes and put on my down jacket. I was warm even though the air was cold during the rain. And, as is typical in the Sierra, it didn’t last long. The storm blew away to the east, or simply ran out of energy as the sun got lower in the west. Soon enough, the sky was mostly clear and the sun was shining down on my campsite and on the lake. My tent remained soggy, and probably would stay that way overnight, but that was life.
I got out and wandered around for a while, simply enjoying the beauty of the Fern Lake basin. This time, I deployed my fly rod and gave fishing a try. I walked along the shore of the lake, but I never saw a trout. Sad but true. So I put my gear away and went back to the tent.
I texted Vicki through my Garmin InReach, as I didn’t have enough cell signal here at the lake. I let her know that all was well, and told her of my change in plan. My heels were hurting more than I expected after a mere eight miles of hiking, and I couldn’t deny that my plantar fasciitis was acting up again. I decided to make tomorrow a shorter day, by hiking less than four miles to Holcomb Lake. That would have to do. And if I had to spend the afternoon relaxing in camp, well, so be it. I would find a way to endure it.
After that, I cooked up some of my usual ramen noodles and ate them. I followed that with some Gatorade, to rehydrate with electrolytes, and I ate some salty chips. I got out my kindle and read my book with my legs in the sleeping bag. Yes, life was good that evening at Fern Lake.
For a topographic map of the hike see my CalTopo Page
For LOTS more photos of the trek see my Flickr Page
Onward to Day 2 >> 
Up to “Mammoth Lakes August 2023”
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