I had a few free days between trips and wanted to do a hike with my new friend Caleb. Caleb and I had attempted Merriam and Royce peaks together in Fall 2023. He is a very strong hiker and I was even slowing him down at the start of the day, but unfortunately he made it just short of both summits before stopping due to the effects of altitude. However, he was a great hiking partner and a nice guy so I figured I’d give him another shot. I have wanted to climb Birch Mountain for a while, partially due to being able to see it from parts of Bishop. Since it is removed from the crest, I figured it would be a good early season peak to climb.
When doing research on Birch Mountain, I read Bob Burd’s trip report where he attempted to climb Birch and Tinemaha in a day. In his attempt, he wanted to traverse directly between the two peaks, but when confronted with the geographic realities of the area, he ended up having to climb Bolton Brown and Prater. I had never climbed more then two SPS peaks in a day, so the prospect of four intrigued me. It took Bob Burd 18 hours, so I knew it would be a big day. I felt well acclimated and strong, I’d been hiking for the better part of the past six weeks, including some time in Death Valley, the Southern Sierra and the Glass Range, as well as ascents of Mt. Tom and Mt. Dade. In the days leading up to the trip, I laid off the gas pedal and did shorter day hikes of Independence and Kearsarge Peaks, as well as an aborted attempt on University Peak due to weather. I camped out in the sagebrush near Bishop Monday night, and relaxed and fueled most of the day Tuesday in the shade of cottonwood trees near the pond in the Bishop City Park.
Around sunset, Caleb picked me up and we drove to McMurry Meadows. The last eight miles are on a dirt road, but it is of sound quality. We had lots to catch up on since our last outing and before we knew it we were at the trail head, carbo-loading on pasta that Caleb brought. The four peaks we planned to climb all loomed large over our heads as we packed for the next day. We set our alarms for 3:15 am with a planned start time of 3:30 am to keep our schedule aligned with Bob Burd. Even being just a few thousand feet above the valley floor, the air was much cooler and I slept well.
We left Caleb’s car at 3:37 am and quickly found ourselves in a marshy meadow. Luckily this meadow subsided and we began to climb through scattered sagebrush, slowly at first and then steeply. The hour in the dark passed quickly and light began to seep over the Inyos. The hike begins with a 7,000 foot climb up Birch Mountain. When faced with a similar climb on Mt. Tom two weeks prior I felt sluggish and took lots of breaks, but now I felt great. My body ready to go after a relatively chill week and my mind stoked on the challenge of a four peak day. Both body and mind working in unison propelling me up into the darkness.
I set a fast but steady pace up the talus and three hours in we had climbed 5,000 feet. I checked in with Caleb to see how he was doing. Given how our last outing together went, altitude was our biggest concern for him. I had been sleeping high in the mountains on and off for the last few weeks so I had a bit of a leg up on that front. Caleb had been sleeping down in Bishop all winter, working late shifts at the nursing home. He said he was starting to feel the effects of altitude but it was manageable, which concerned me greatly. I suggested slowing the pace down a bit since we were ahead of schedule and he gratefully agreed.
As we approached the summit, Caleb began to slow down and take longer breaks. This was very not a good sign, given the long day ahead of us. Eventually we made the summit, five hours after setting out, right on Bob Burd’s pace. We took in the views and enjoyed sharing our first summit together. Unfortunately, Caleb announced that he would probably not be up for the full four peak day. He planned to potentially return to his car via the Birch Lakes trail, but we agreed to reevaluate and talk further at the next saddle since we would both be going there anyways.
I let Caleb get ahead a bit and considered my options. Of course, I would offer to accompany Caleb down the mountain, but it seemed like he was in good enough shape and likely decline my offer. I definitely felt a little less sure about the linkup knowing I would be alone on the trickiest section. Then there was the matter of my overnight gear and bear can, which was in his car. We would work out logistics at the saddle.
Caleb was traveling a lot faster now over the flat/downhill boulders. Perhaps he would be up for the traverse after all. While I sat and took pictures on the summit, he had gotten pretty far ahead. The ridge connecting Birch Mountain to the next saddle was mostly slow going class two boulders. In my haste to catch up, I sliced my leg open on a rock. I had lifted my shin just an inch short of clearing the rock, and cut a deep gash. I looked down in suprise to see a one inch flap of skin hanging down off of my shin, I could see something white underneath, maybe the bone, but I tried not to think about it and pushed the flap of skin firmly back into place. By this point blood was gushing down onto my socks. Yet another thing to consider at the saddle I suppose.
I eventually caught up to Caleb just before the saddle and he announced he was going down. The blood flow had slowed from my shin, but it was definitely still a concern. I decided I would push on at least to Bolton Brown and reevaluate there. I offered that he could return home to Bishop and leave my stuff in the bushes somewhere in McMurry Meadows, but he graciously agreed to wait at the trailhead despite the heat.
It was a very hot day down below in the Owens Valley, pushing into the low triple digits, and it was even quite hot up in the alpine. I drank two of my three liters of water on the ascent, but luckily we found a pool of snowmelt to fill from near the saddle. As we sat to filter water, Caleb announced he was feeling a bit better and would join me until Lane Pass. We made quick progress on the wide open scree slopes and soon were greeted with an intimidating view of Bolton Brown.
Here again, I strongly considered turning around. Steep snowy slopes separated me from my next summit. I had microspikes and an ice axe, but the north facing snow would probably still be fairly firm. I was unsure if it would be wise to continue, especially alone. After waffling for a bit and talking it through with Caleb, I resolved to continue until I felt unsafe and said goodbye to Caleb.
Between Lane Pass and Bolton Brown, the crest sharpens to intimidating looking fifth class terrain. Just as Bob Burd did I dropped down a few hundred feet down a chute and then contoured to the base of the snow chutes. I slowly kicked steps up and across the snow chutes. The snow varied in firmness, in some areas I made quick progress and other areas I had wail at the snow with my spiked foot 10-15 times before trusting the small indent enough to continue onwards. I felt more light headed then expected given my acclimatization. Perhaps it was due to all the blood I lost when I cut my leg. After baking in the snowy couloir for a while, I was finally on the summit ridge and back on solid rock.
I reached the summit shortly thereafter, just before noon. Suprisingly, I was now an hour ahead of Bob Burd’s pace. It seems like he spent a lot of time on navigational decisions, deciding whether to head directly for Tinemaha or to climb Bolton Brown and Prater. Nonetheless I was encouraged to be ahead of schedule, given the litany of snafus earlier in the day. I hadn’t been eating much with everything going on, so I took 10 or so minutes to get down a bagel with peanut butter and a few fig bars.
The path to the next summit looked tricky. Bob Burd wrote that he stayed to the west of the ridge to avoid the class four, but I wasn’t sure how far west to stay. I descended a few hundred feet and then continued contouring north for a while, ascending and descending, but slowly making my way through trial and error. I was feeling a lot better after fueling on the summit, and the views into the range to the west were fantastic. I could see PCT hikers moving like ants on Mather Pass below.
The going was slow but the views were good and spirits were high. A mere mile separates Bolton Brown from Prater. The first half mile is slow going, but then the ridge widens into a plateu. I continued contouring across chutes until I found one that looked like it connected to the plateu. It was a mere guess, and I feared I might have to reverse course if it didn’t connect. I climbed 400 feet or so to regain the ridge, the last bit of which was steep but solid class three. It is possible that this section could be traversed staying closer to the crest, but my route worked, and I was happy to be back on straightforward looking class two terrain for the rest of the day.
It felt good to be walking again, and after another half mile on the summit plateu alternating between talus and snowfields I was on the summit.
It was 1:45 by the time I reached the summit, and I was now over an hour ahead of Bob Burd’s pace. He did his hike with more snow in April, so the times are not that comparable, but it felt good to know that it might not be an 18 hour day after all. After a short and trivial “knifeedge” I proceeded on the broad slopes to the saddle with Split Mountain
After another hour or so I was reached Red Lakes Pass, about 400 feet up Split Mountain. I briefly considered tagging Split, and I felt up for it physically, but I opted to play it safe, knowing I still had a lot of hiking left.
It was almost 3pm now and I put everything back in my backpack to get ready for the glissade down Red Lakes Pass. The chute was very steep but also very soft so I was not worried about being able to slow myself down on the glissade.
After glissading down a few hundred feet, I stopped and contoured towards the center of the chute in order to stay above the snow and not over the rocks. As I sat down to glissade again, I triggered a small avalanche, sending a river of snow slowly down the slope below. Alarm bells rang in my head, but I also knew I really had no option but to keep descending. This process repeated a few more times each time I had to traverse to stay in the chute. Each time I triggered a small avalanche, I dug my ice axe in and waited until it subsided. By the time I had completed my glissade I had knocked loose quite a bit of the chute. I definitely learned to try to avoid glissading so late in the day, especially during the peak melt, and will be more careful about this in the future.
At the bottom of the glissade, I composed myself for a few minutes after the harrowing experience with the avalanches and then started to contour and slowly gain elevation towards the 12,500 foot peak on the west ridge of Tinemaha. The going was slow at times, but I felt strong and was happy to be on rock and not rivers of snow. The views back towards Split Mountain were incredible. Much like Mt. Whitney, it has a much more impressive face on its east side then its west. I marveled at the intimidating Split Couloir, which has somehow been skied by a few brave skiers. I can see why the peak used to be called South Palisade, its steep eastern face looms high over the terrain in a way that only the other Palisades do.
I was happy to be able to see Tinemaha again after the “false” summit, and the final halfmile traverse along the ridge to Tinemaha went smoothly. I bounded up the last few hundred feet to the summit and climbed atop my fourth peak of the day, Tinemaha. I let out a scream in celebration, which surely no one but the mountains heard.
It was now 5:00pm, I was still 45 minutes ahead of Bob Burd’s time, but I was weary of his route down the northeast ridge. It looked very intimidating from the summit, and I wanted a more straightforward route after the long day. Bob Burd also described a nasty bushwhack and creek crossing in the middle of the night. This seemed eeriely reminiscent of my late night battle with Pine Creek two weeks prior, which I wanted to avoid repeating. I decided to head down to Red Lake and take the trail from there. This would add a considerable amount of distance, but that way I would certainly be on a trail as the sun set, and would have a good shot at being on a road. How luxurious after a day completely off trail!
I slowly made my way down the loose talus towards the lake, and salivated at the thought of the trail and oxygen rich air below. Eventually after an hour I was at the beautiful lake and began to make my way down the trail, walking through groves of beautiful whitebark and foxtail pines. A little slice of wooded paradise high above the desert valley floor below.
I made steady progress down the trail. At places it was a bit washed out, but still quite easy to follow. I began to see faint hallucinations, thinking I was seeing tents that were actually just rocks, and thinking I was seeing animals on the trail. To the best of my knowledge I was all alone in the valley though. As the sun set and I neared the bottom of the trail, I saw an older white man dressed in all black lurking in the bushes far below. This time I was sure that my eyes were not playing tricks on me and my mind began to drift towards strange scenarios of him running a grow-op and potentially threatening me.
Luckily I snapped out of it, I was just tired and not thinking straight, I waved at the man, the first person I had seen aside from Caleb all day, whom I had left almost 12 hours prior now. I was the first person to summit Bolton Brown and Prater this year. Such a beautiful chunk of the Sierra and I had it all to myself that day.
I jogged down the last few switchbacks and then down the dirt road, flying through the sagebrush and covering miles at five times the speed I had been moving in the alpine above. The rich oxygen of the Owens Valley filled my lungs and I felt good. Satisfied that I had risen to the challenge of the big day, and had no physical aches and pains aside from the now mostly clotted gash on my shin. I suppose eighteen hours at one mile an hour takes much less of a toll on the body then eighteen hours at 3.0mph, but I also think all of my hiking in Death Valley and the Sierra in the months prior had paid off.
I ran the three mile downhill road. At the last light I reached the left turn towards Tinemaha Creek and put on my headlamp. Two miles of uphill dirt road, and 1000′ vertical feet of climbing I and I made it back to the car at 9:54pm, 18h 17m after starting out. Caleb woke up and congratulated me on the big day. I ate some food and quickly fell asleep, dreaming of more big days in the Sierra.
Anthony Ottati 