Winuba (Mt. Tom)

Noe and Ellie picked me up in Pleasanton and we drove over Sonora Pass to Swall Meadows, their home for the winter. We shared a beautiful drive, got to catch up properly, and the excitement built as we wound our way up Sonora Pass at golden hour.

I didn’t have firm plans for the trip, but knew I would spend three or four weeks out in the range, staying with Noe and Ellie for the first few days, and then heading off on my own, using my thumb to travel and my tent to sleep.

We arrived late in Swall Meadows, and were welcomed by Noe and Ellie’s friendly housemates. The next morning, I read almost a full book, enjoyed the beautiful views, and let me body become accustomed to the thinner air. We went for a run in the afternoon, and then all went to Bishop to play ultimate frisbee. It felt good to sprint and dive on the field, in the shadow of the Bishop skyline once again.

On their way back home, Noe and Ellie graciously dropped me off right at the base of Winubu, and I set up camp for the night. I had originally planned an alpine start, as one should when attempting the 8,000 ft or so north ridge, but my lazyness got the best of me. In my defense, I had spent the last week staying up late, and sleeping inside and my legs were sore from the running and frisbee the day prior. The bottomline was I had gotten soft.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t until around 9am that I crossed Pine Creek on the wire bridge at the coordinates Noe had specified. My progress for the next few hours was similarly slow, as I took lots of breaks to take pictures and admire the views. It wasn’t even noon, and I already knew I was setting myself up for a late night, but I wanted to take my time and enjoy the mountain that I had stared up at for years.

Around noon, I was still thousands of feet below the summit, I took a break for lunch, my pace quickened but then slowed again as the thinner air slowed me down.

Those last few thousand feet felt like a dream, like I was in a painting I had stared up at for years. The views in all directions were incredible. Clouds threatened a little bit, but luckily stayed at bay. It felt amazing to stand atop Mt. Tom and look down at Bishop, almost 10,000 feet below. I knew I still had a long hike ahead of me, but in that moment, I was completely unconcerned.

An hour into the descent, I decided to take a sharp right and glissade down Elderberry Canyon. This would add some distance, but I figured I could at least get to a trail before dark. I glissaded 1,500 feet in a few minutes, and then boulder hopped for an hour before finding the trail. I spent golden hour making quick progress down the trail and taking in the beautiful views of Round Valley below.

Darkness set just as I was crossing a creek and I lost the trail. After about another half hour on the faint trail, I followed roads along the alluvial fan. I climbed about 1,000 feet on sore legs and then gazed out across Pine Creek. The bushwhack was a major challenge, and even though I had the exact coordinates of the wire bridge, it took over half an hour of bushwhacking to find it in the dark. Finally, I crossed along the wire bridge, and gratefully crawled into my quilt.

The next morning I walked down the road to 395, and met a friend from the PCT for lunch. I couldn’t help from staring back at Winuba behind me, I couldn’t believe just yesterday, just for a brief moment, I was up there.

In 2025 I had the fortune of going back to ski Elderberry Canyon. All winter I gazed up at this line on the bus to and from work. Finally in late March, my friend Trey and I planned to go ski the line. Unfortunately, Trey got hurt on his bike. His friend Andrew offered to come along anyway.

It was 5am when we met just outside Rovana. Neither of us have a 4wd car, so we walked from there. Meeting someone for the first time at 5am is a strange dynamic, but we got to know each other quickly. We made great progress, and got to the edge of the snow for the transition around sunrise.

Thus far this season, I had only done full snow tours starting later in the day. The heat drained from my body as we sat, and I got dangerously cold. I was trying to make a good impression with Andrew, so I didn’t stop to put on layers, but this was a bad mistake. I began to shiver uncontrollably. I had to stop to relayer, and got way behind Andrew. I knew I should stop to put on ski crampons, but I also knew I just needed to keep going to warm back up.

Andrew was understandably very concerned at this point. I had made a total fool of myself. At last, after 1,000 vert or so I was starting to warm up. I got the screaming barfies. Pain shot through my hands. We continued on in silence for a while. Andrew, I’m sure, was questioning why he came along on this tour with someone he didn’t know.

The terror and tension of the transition made pass time quickly. Suddenly, we were only 2,000 feet from the ridge. The sun finally hit the snow, and it was hot. We sat out on a big rock and debriefed. The tour returned to normal. Andrew mentioned potentially stopping below the ridge. We discussed this, but the snow was quite hard, so we decided to go up for the ridge.

Up there in that magical canyon, the descent came easily. We climbed up the canyon out the bus window, and all of a sudden were high in the sky. Even not reaching the summit, the views on that ridge are incredible. The canyon looks steep from the road, but we never needed to take off our skis. A few final switchbacks of our skin track and we made it. We took a nice long hour sit up there, until we were too cold to wait any longer.

The skiing down was incredible. Descending down towards the sand and sagebrush, so close that it felt as if I could reach out and touch it. Bur in reality, a vertical mile below. It was surreal to be on the other side of the bus window, and in the mountains. The bus not even a speck in the infinite desert below. The first 1500 feet of skiing were incredible. Hard but edgeable snow. I rocketed down the mountain, relishing each turn.

Soon we were back in the protected canyon though and the snow hardened. We continued down, the skiing became less enjoyable, but we were both just happy to be out there. Soon we were walking back amongst the sagebrush, and the cold snow above felt like just a distant dream.

I still gawk at that canyon everytime I pass by on 395. What a beautiful line on a beautiful mountain.