Kearsarge Pass | Center Basin | Forester Pass | Shepherd Pass | Shepherd Creek
Part 1
At last, Brad and I are standing at the Onion Valley trailhead on this very overdue trip. Way overdue. We had talked about doing such a trip off and on over the years—for nine years, to be exact. Only now has it materialized.
Dates were nailed down six months ago when I reserved permits, although for a different trailhead. Then, after grabbing reservations for this trailhead two weeks ago when they became available, a computer glitch in the reservation system caused us to lose our spots. Only from last-minute cancellations were we able to get new ones.
It’s 9:47, and the morning sun is shining bright, blazing through a sky that seems too clear, a giant blue expanse that offers little protection. Sunscreen was slathered back at the Shepherd Pass Trailhead parking lot, where Symmes Creek breaks its downward plunge and fans out toward the plains. We had gotten up early this morning and both ordered the Iron Man Scramble with breakfast potatoes (not hash browns, as they were out) at the Alabama Hills Café and Bakery. As we waited for breakfast, first light kissed Mt. Whitney and the Needles. After cleaning up and packing and bypassing hitchhikers and bumping along the rutty dirt road, I backed the Toyota Tundra into a spot at the exit trailhead. Nearly on time, Lone Pine Kurt picked us up and shuttled us to Onion Valley, and now, here we are.
Buckled up and checking all our gear, we hit the trail. Turning back isn’t an option—our car is waiting at the other end. Soon, we pass by the junction to Golden Trout Lake, triggering memories of those tough off-trail scrambles to get to our destination, especially with Daphney on my back and Yan six months pregnant with Jayden.
The climb had been steady, but we’re not used to this altitude. Before long, we skirt by serene Gilbert Lake where we stop for lunch and get some water. Then, we bypass the spur to Heart Lake and instead, peer down on it from a rocky bluff above. The approach to Kearsarge Pass is relentless, with little shelter from the dwarf conifers clinging near the tree line. A handful of trail mix and a gulp of water push us through the final stretch.
Kearsarge Pass! Cresting the rim and taking in the view on the other side is nothing short of breathtaking—meadows stretch out like a green tapestry, dotted with lakes that gleam like scattered gemstones. Peaks and pinnacles rise to meet the sky. Golden-mantled ground squirrels know this is a popular rest spot, and they scurry around looking for crumbs.
We cruise down the trail and meander through the lakes, and we pick out a site overlooking the second Kearsarge Lake. Lunch is finished off, and we set up camp.
Tent pitched, we take a moment to clean up and explore. I pull out my 3-weight fly rod and hit the water. The brook trout can’t resist the olive elk hair caddis fly. Nearby, a fellow camper chases away a curious black bear.
Dinner is a warm and hearty red curry over white rice. Brad preps the red bell pepper and Brussels sprouts (tiny cabbages, as we like to think of them). We top it all off with peach cobbler for dessert. In this setting—golden light reflecting off Kearsarge Pinnacles, the air crisp with that unmistakable Sierra freshness—it feels perfect.
The fish are jumping, and I show Brad how to cast. He quickly gets it, and we spend the evening in a rhythm of catch-and-release.
As the night deepens, the waxing gibbous moon rises above the opposite shore. The sky fades from blue to purple, and stars start to sparkle against the darkening canvas.
