Up Pine Creek | Pine Creek Pass | Feather Pass | Dancing Bear and Italy Passes | Full Circle
Feather Pass
From my planning, now comes the day I have been stressing most about. We will be route-finding and boulder-hopping to make our way up to and over Feather Pass. Our group gets up early. Over breakfast, I tell Lisa how excited I had been to see the red sky last night.
“I think it’s in Matthew—Jesus tells them a red evening sky means fair weather ahead,” I recall.
Lisa brings up some sailors’ rule as well, then chuckles at me, “You’re the holiest of our group.”
While putting things away, Brad notices a small frog. I quickly switch to my 90 mm macro lens, asking him to keep an eye on it. My camera captures the Sierran treefrog.
Leaving Merriam Lake, we deviate from Roper’s suggestion to ascend the waterfall. Instead, we take the low point to the east, avoiding the band of cliff rock. Lisa checks GPS waypoints on Gaia, while I do the same with map and compass. Further ahead, Feather Pass comes into view, and we keep to the right of the water and hike up meadows, tread over scree, hop through talus, and scramble up boulders to reach La Salle Lake.
We see a marmot basking in the ephemeral sunlight. I nudge Jonathan to get out his 100-400 mm lens. It’s buried in his pack, but he agrees. My 90 mm goes back on, and we both stalk closer. The marmot thinks about all the attention, jumps down a crevice, disappears momentarily, and reappears on the rock. By this time, I’m now lying prone on a granite slab, snapping photos.
“You’re so close like you’re shaking hands with the marmot,” Brad says.
The clamber up to Feather Pass goes easily. There is no obvious trail, but the low point south of Feather Peak is simple to spot. Soon, we’re standing on top. We talk about my tradition of taking a shirtless photo atop mountain passes. Jonathan is a professional photographer, and Brad expresses relief that he doesn’t have to take the picture.
“Well, let’s not break with tradition,” Jonathan laughs.
It’s chilly and windy, but Feather Peak and billowing white clouds make for a dramatic backdrop.
From here, the way down risks cliffing out. Roper says to carefully find the path between granite slabs, and that this agonizing section is short. He’s right, and before too long, we’re below this treacherous stretch. Suddenly, the anxiety of several months leading up to the Feather Pass traverse melts away.
We’re now in Bear Lakes Basin, the remote heart of the High Sierra! The lakes are like blue sapphire ringed in emerald and set into wrinkled moonscape. Bearpaw Lake and nearby Ursa Lake are surrounded by gentle meadows punctuated by rocky cliffs. Lisa, Jonathan, and Brad pick the cliff side while I round Ursa Lake’s southern shore. We climb the ridge next to the grassy meadow to check out the view.
It’s breathtaking! The small stream forms braids as it spills across the sand, feeding Big Bear Lake as it stretches across the basin. Across the valley cut by the East Fork of Bear Creek, the peaks of Seven Gables punch the sky. Rainless clouds float by, and Jonathan and I wait for sunny rays to hit the lake for photos.
We reach camp in half our budgeted eight hours. From my planning, I had chosen to camp on the north side of Big Bear Lake. It’s a high bluff, and upon scouting it, Jonathan finds an easy way down to the water. Lisa and Jonathan pick a spot protected by the winds, and I irritate Brad by wanting to camp on the broad higher plateau.
“Look, what say do I have?” Brad asks. “You’ve done all this research, and does my opinion even matter?”
I’ve touched off a nerve. He agrees to camp higher, though, and I instantly realize that I’ve been bossing him and probably the others a bit too much.
The bath today feels good. I wash away dirt and sweat from yesterday and today. We also have clean laundry.
Brad heads off to fish first while I nap. As he casts with Jonathan, I slip away on my own to the western shore to take advantage of the light breeze and deep water. The fish are hungry. Meanwhile, Brad returns to the tent to tell me it’s time to fish, doesn’t find me, and tracks me down.
“Come over here,” I yell. “The fish are biting!”
By now, we’re fishing together. Neither of us mentions the high plateau campsite. We catch four pan-sized trout, and Brad wants to eat them first, as appetizer. He prepares the garlic cloves and fresh thyme while I clean the fish down by the lake. It was former resident Mark who taught me to gut fresh mountain trout while we were on the High Sierra Trail. Soon, garlic and thyme bloom in browning butter. The trout sizzle on the titanium plate and infuse the whole camp. Before long, only bones are left.
After dinner of spicy ramen and strawberry cheesecake over mini Oreos, we linger by the lake.
“The light is getting good,” Jonathan announces.
I look over and see dramatic purple and yellow hues embrace Seven Gables. With camera in hand, I race back to the meadow and tiptoe around the inlet stream braids. Gold mixes into amber then peach, alpenglow combined with uplit clouds. After about fifteen minutes, the show gives way to the evening blue hour. It’s time to crawl into the tent. Just a few minutes later, I notice condensation on the inside.
“Brad, it’s going to be cold tonight. You’ll want to get your water filter and bring it inside in case it dips below freezing. You don’t want a ruined filter.” I feel like I’m bossing him again.
I peer outside once dark night begins and see a white plume coming from the direction of Gemini. Shooting straight up from it is the Milky Way. To the right are the distinct ridgelines of Seven Gables and Peak 12640. Zooming in, I set up my camera and tripod for an hour of star trails, with Seven Gables anchoring the scene. It’s going to be a clear spectacular night.
