Across the Southern Sierra Peakbagging

After various other trips and peak bagging adventures, Matt and I had one final trip planned before my departure for the CDT. I would hike across the range from the east and meet him in the southern part of the range for some peak bagging, and we would drive back together from Mineral King.

Upon seeing our disjointed plan, filled with out and backs and obscure peaks, Matt’s partner Lexi asked “how do you two even come up with these trips?” My plan however, was a bit more aesthetic, I always look forward to a good trans-sierra trip every summer. There is something incredible about setting off from one side of the range, and then seemingly appearing on the other side of the range, trading a ten hour drive for a stroll through the mountains.

I started hitchhiking south of Bishop and said goodbye to the Owens Valley. Part of me wanted to stay all summer, but I had made my decision. I waited just south of Lone Pine for a while, and then got a ride from some packers all the way up to Cottonwood Meadows. It was nice to escape the hot air and walk off into the open forests of the Southern Sierra. I hiked Muah Mountain that first night, and summited right at sunset. The colors, the Inyos, Owens Lake and the whole scene were overwhelmingly beautiful and I felt I was exactly where I needed to be.

The next day I hiked up Cartago peak and then veered sharply west, cutting across a very remote part of the range, not seeing another soul all day. The Southern Sierra is truly a hidden Gem. On the second full day, I climbed up Kern Peak and then descended down towards the Kern River. The climb up the other side was hot, but I was excited by the prospect of seeing Matt that afternoon. I felt strong and powered up the climb.

Near the top of the climb, I saw Matt a few hundred feet behind me. We had a reunion in slow motion as Matt gasped for air up the final steep switchbacks. Energized from the reunion we decided to hike up Coyote Peak that evening. As we returned to our packs, Matt began to feel ill. The quick ascent from sea level and the huge day no doubt had taken a toll on him. I went down to the lake to fetch water, and he gratefully slurped it down.

The next morning he was feeling mostly better, and we left the bulk of our possessions to go and tag Angora Mountain. We made quick work of the hike back and got almost to farewell gap before night fall. The following day we climbed up Florence Peak. On the way down, overconfidence lead me to make a very dangerous decision to glissade down a steep slope. I had been doing a lot of glissading that summer, and overestimated how much melt had occurred so early in the day. I tried to half arrest a few times, and then finally fully commited to the maneuver, just before arriving at some rocks. Not having gloves on (another mistake), I sliced my hand open pretty good on the sharp snow.

My hands were bloodied at six or seven knuckles, and my ego was bruised, but luckily I had avoided worse injuries by stopping just before the rocks. I learned a lesson to take glissading much more seriously. I slowed down considerably and was in a bit of a bad mood for the next few hours. At Farewell gap, Matt gave me some Swiss Cheese which lifted my spirits considerably. I thought I was out of shape, but it turns out I was just hungry after four big days across the Southern Sierra. I powered up the 1400 foot climb up Vandever in just under 30 minutes, I felt the power I had built up over the last few months of training coarse through my veins as I reached the top. Usually I slow Matt down a bit, but not on this peak, he arrived at the summit out of breath a minute behind me. We both remarked on how good the full exertion felt, but did not dawdle on the summit long as a storm was coming in.

The long downhill felt good, as we watched the storm build in the mountains behind us. We met a father and daughter heading up directly into the storm and wished them well. Finally, after four days, I touched pavement again on the westside. We feasted and enjoyed a relaxing afternoon at Matt’s van, and by this point I was already pretty much convinced that I should give the vanlife another try.

The next morning we got up bright and early to try for Sawtooth and Needham. It was a long but beautiful day, filled with lots of snow and scree. By the end of the day I was completely worn down, with blisters and numerous other minor injuries. We had one more day scheduled and we decided to hike up Homer’s Nose, which would be my 90th SPS peak.

Homer’s nose is notorious on the SPS list for being an all day slog through thick brush and poison oak. We had a big meal at Matt’s car and discussed our game plan. A local hooligan came by and talked our ears off for at least half an hour. He told us about his illegal motorbiking into the wilderness during Covid, and numerous other tall tales involving sex, drugs and peaks he likely never climbed. Finally I was able to get a word in, and asked him if he had ever been up Homer’s Nose. Homer’s Nose, he gestured wildly mimicing snorting cocaine, better bring some blow! We turned down numerous offers for what sounded like all night benders in his nearby cabin and bravely drove out of Mineral King towards Homer’s Nose.

I was barely staying awake in the passenger seat as we pulled into three rivers. After five days in the backcountry and almost a month in the Sierra, I was overwhelmed even by the few stores in the small hamlet. Matt bought us some supplies for dinner and we quickly downloaded beta and drove up the windy road to the trailhead for Homer’s Nose on the South Fork of the Kaweah. I had a lot of doubts given my blisters, open wounds on my hand and general exhaustion but we set our alarms for 4am and tried to get some sleep in the scorching heat.

The next morning was a comedy of both of us trying to muster the strength for a hike our hearts weren’t in. We hiked for about thirty minutes until the bushes got thick and both agreed to turn around, and save this peak for another time. It sucks to quit, and it felt even worse as we drove through the apocalyptic central valley, littered with drugs and drug addicts going crazy in the triple digit heat. I think it was the right call though, to save Homer’s Nose for when the stoke is high, to let the hunger build up. I worried that we were getting soft, but we have quit so few trips together, and after the bitter taste of failure, I don’t think we will make habit out of it.