I drove up to Reno to take a test for my teaching credential. I finished the test an hour early. After some quick math, I realized I could make it to the trailhead and get some miles in if I didn’t dawdle. I stopped at Trader Joe’s and Walmart, rare delicacies when living in the Eastern Sierra. I made one final stop in Bridgeport to check the weather. The weather did not look good. Forecaster Noe texted me on our direct line, to warm me specifically. The weather groupchat was full of discussion about some sort of monsoonal moisture sneaking in from the south. “Keep your eye on the sky” the forecaster told me, “and make smart choices”.
I arrived at the end of the road near Twin Lakes about an hour before the campground closed. I paid the mandatory $15 fee and feasted on a variety of food from Trader Joe’s and Walmart. I set off into the long summer evening, and hiked 6 miles of so before setting up camp. I looked over the map and studied the beta for my six target peaks this weekend.
The forecaster’s wise words rang like thunder through my head that whole weekend. I had four days set aside, but I knew only the first few hours of each day might be usable for hiking peaks. I woke up early on that first day, determined to hike Paiute before things got too crazy weatherwise. For some reason I balked at the beta and I decided I wanted to forge my own route to the summit. I do not recall why such hubris overcame me. Meanwhile, a helicopter seemed to be conducting a search nearby. I climbed steadily, eventually finding myself above the helicopter.
Luckily my route, heading more south and approaching the mountain from a different angle mostly worked. Near the top, I had to make a few 4th class moves, but soon I was on the summit plateau. I sat for a few minutes pleased with my more sporting route, and watched the storm start to build to my east on the Sierra Crest.
I descended quickly and soon was back on the PCT. I toiled up the ensuing climb in the hot afternoon sun. It appeared to be storming on the Sierra Crest, but no clouds brought relief down here. Nonetheless, the trip was going exactly as planned. If I pushed a bit harder, I may even be able to get a peak in tonight. That would give me a day to travel to the Whorl/Virginia/Twin area, and two whole days to attempt the three peaks over there.
I got to the base of Volunteer around 6pm. I setup my tent and then scampered up the short 600 feet to the summit. The peak provided a perfect perch to peer back towards the crest. The storm developing over there was quite something indeed. Dark gray blanketed the sky as far as the eye could see. Eyes on the sky. Eyes on the sky. Back to camp I went, sleeping soundly after the long day.
I awoke at dawn the next morning, and found the sky already filling up with clouds. I was glad that I had pushed hard the day before, and only had one peak to do this morning. I headed up Petit, one of the more remote SPS peaks in the area. The peak has incredible views of the entire upper Tuolumne watershed. By the time I returned to camp, the storm continued to brew. I packed up quickly and returned to the PCT.
I was rushing now to get over Benson Pass before the storm. Benson pass is right around treeline, so I wasn’t overly concerned, but the storm was really forming quickly. I was scared straight from our a hair raising experience on Table Mountain the week prior. Eyes on the sky. Eyes on the sky. Not five minutes after cresting the pass rain began to pour and thunder began to echo around the high country. I put my head down and kept descending. I was grateful to see more and more trees by the minute.
I continued on in the rain for an hour or so. Finally the storm let up. A junction approached. I could either stay on the longer and more roundabout PCT, or I could head towards Burro Pass, and try to cut over the low ridge. Liking my chances I chose the latter. I walked a mile north, and then began to climb steeply towards the ridge. This was of course a risk, as I knew the otherside might cliff out. As I neared the ridge, the storm was coming back with a vengeance. Lightning and thunder quickened my pace. A couple hundred feet from the notch I stopped and reevaluated. My eyes, firmly on the sky, did not bring good news. The notch was covered by trees, but I know those only bring a false sense of security to an exposed hiker like myself in a lightning storm.
I sat under the tree and awaited a break in the storm. The storm’s intensity was only increasing. At last, I hadn’t heard thunder for five minutes, so I made a run for it. I hoped and hoped that my gamble would pay off. I was met with sheer cliffs on the far side of the pass. Thunder cracked in the distance. I began to descend the slippery rock, but quickly thought better of it and turned around. Upon second inspection, a better route presented itself, I contoured left, and was pleased to see rocks fade to forest beneath me. I continued to contour as the storm picked back up. Now I was in Virginia Canyon, relieved to have lots of higher peaks to serve as my lightning rods.
The storms had certainly served to keep me on pace. I now had 2.5 days to hike the last three peaks and for the short exit trail down Horse Creek. Now all I needed was to wait for some weather windows. Perhaps I could even hike Whorl tonight!
I continued up Virginia Canyon, planning to establish a basecamp around the treeline. The rain began to fall harder and harder. My feet plopped through the wet grass. It felt like I was in a Patagonian or Alaskan tundra. All of my clothes were drenched through my tattered froggs toggs. I was sopping wet when I set up my tent in one of the last stands of trees. Luckily most of my belongings were dry, and I settled in for a long wait. Every few minutes I peered out of my tent to main eyes on the sky. The storm did not seem to be relenting. Rain came in waves, and wind rocked my tent. Thankfully I had my tent. The tarp surely would not have fared well in these conditions. Maybe if the storm stops by 6:30, I can try Whorl. 7pm at the latest. The times all came and went, and I drifted off to sleep at last light. I was awoken multiple times throughout the night by bright flashes of lightning and by the violent force of the storms. A tent high in the mountains during the storm. Not a great place to be at all.
By the time my alarm went off at 4:30am there was still soft drizzle going on outside. I drifted back to sleep, resigned to not climbing any more peaks. Somehow by 6am after 21 hours, the rain had mostly stopped. I figured I’d have a short window before the storms began again. I almost ran up whorl, sucking in air as I climbed up the steep slope. I had studied the beta repeatedly the night prior, so I knew it by heart. Up the third chute, find the ledge. Over to the second chute. 50 feet past the thumb, cross to the third chute. Crawl through the dark under a pile of chockstones. An unlikely ledge leads to the summit.
It all went off without a hitch. The route is one of the most unlikely in the range, but it all goes at class three. I enjoyed the ledges and chockstones, and soon I was on the summit, treated to panoramic views of the area.
I didn’t linger long though. Clouds were already massing. Another storm was surely soon to come. I considered staying another day couped up in my tent. I had the food, but I didn’t have the motivation. I feared another long night nervously waiting in my tent while lightning rained down. Eyes on the sky told me I could not hike Virginia and Twin this morning, and I would have to come back later. I hastily packed my bag and headed up and over Horse Creek Pass.
As I descended down, the clouds continued to darken the sky. I met two dayhikers some 3,000 feet below Matterhorn, and all but told them to turn around. Their eyes seemed to be playing tricks on them, and they told me the clouds were clearing. I bid them well, and told them to keep their eyes on the sky.
Sure enough, half a mile from my car at the end of the loop, rain began to fall. It started slowly at first, but the tempo quickly grew to a downpour. I ran for the shelter of my van and drove away. Down in Bridgeport as I ravenously noshed on my Burrito at Burger Barn, I watched in awe with the tourists as thunder lit up the eastern horizon, putting on a show as stike after strike lit up the mountains. I felt vindicated, happy to save those last two peaks for another drier day.
Anthony Ottati 