This recent trip to California may have closed out the decade but it jump started a new decade of maximum enthusiasm for adventures big and small, planned or impromptu, epic or epic failures, solo or with a pack. They’ll all have two things in common: largely human powered and the stoke will be high. Cheers to 2020 and beyond!
“In 2020, I urge you to notice when something is awesome, as it often is, and exclaim or murmur or just make a mental note of it.” - Semi-Rad
DECEMBER 26TH
The day after Christmas and all through central and southern California a winter storm is creating such a fright. The CalTrans road conditions website resembled the Beltway anytime a flurry floats from the sky. Translation: mountain passes in the Sierras were shutting down as snow levels drop below 4,000 feet, including Highway 58, which is where we’re heading en route to Lone Pine and Alabama Hills. Our plan is to spend Friday and Saturday morning at the base of Mount Whitney before scooting over to Death Valley to climb Telescope Peak at 11,000 feet but the storm is quickly throwing our plan into doubt.
Kyle and I search for alternative routes but nothing looks promising. After a few minutes we decide the best option is to take Highway 99 to Bakersfield from the Bay Area before turning east to Lake Isabella and Highway 178. We figure if we can get this far we can either find a cheap motel or an open campground for the night, and wait for the mountain passes to reopen in the morning.
Pulling into Lake Isabella around dusk, we stop for some firewood and head straight to the KOA since most Forest Service campgrounds appeared closed for the winter. Not wanting to drive aimlessly from campground to campground in the damp, frigid night, we determined our best bet would be the KOA. This was Kyle and my first night spent at a KOA. It was a curious place but it did the job, namely a place to legally park the car, build a campfire, sleep through the night, and poop in a toilet in the morning.
DECEMBER 27TH
Kyle: I think it’s raining.
That’s impossible but he was half correct. The forecast was supposed to be clear the remainder of the weekend after the storm cleared out Thursday night but as we climbed out of the tent, it wasn’t rain pelting the rainfly but snow. At 2,500 feet! Fortunately, the sun poking through the clouds around us confirmed this was just a rogue snow shower. The snow eased up as we pulled out of the KAO and continued up Highway 178 under clearing skies and snow blanketing the mountains. As we rounded a corner in the valley we came along a line of stopped cars. The pass was closed. Without cell service and limited radio we decided to ride it out—agreeing there were worse places to be stranded. We chatted with our fellow stranded motorists and learned this was probably the only pass close to being reopened but as highway patrol was driving the pass to reopen the road, the officer ran out of gas. The pass had been plowed but now we were waiting for a gas can to be delivered to the stranded CHP officer. I hope his colleagues never let that down.
After a short delay the pass was reopened and we were on our way to Lone Pine where we would be greeted with additional troublesome news. We stopped at the visitor center and saw disappointing news on the road closure board. The winter storm hammered Death Valley and shut the road down to Telescope Peak too far from the trailhead to make a day summit impossible. We decided to enjoy our time in Alabama Hills and would return in the morning in the hopes the road would be cleared in the morning.
As the storm blew out of the region it left behind wickedly frigid winds. After setting up camp and exploring nearby rock formations, we endured the bitter wind chills long enough to drink a beer while enjoying the alpenglow, cook dinner and dodge flying sparks from our campfire, praying we wouldn’t suffer a direct hit and puncture our puffy. Sadly we suffered a casualty when Kyle walked away from his chair and the wind blew it over into the campfire. The chair survived with some missing mesh webbing but little worse for the wear. Credit to REI for making a sturdy camp chair.
DECEMBER 28TH
As dawn broke over the vast eastern Sierra range, we popped awake and poked our heads from the warmth of our mummy bags (which were in full “mummy-mode”) out into the frigid desert. The soft light striking Mount Whitney right outside our tent doors was the only motivation we required to fully emerge from our cocoons. We dragged our sleeping bags out of the tent, climbed back in and watched in awe from our chairs as the sun’s rays moved across the range.
Later in the morning we made our way back to the visitor center, hopeful road conditions in Death Valley improved enough to put Telescope Peak back in play. The road to Telescope was still impassable. Dejected, we studied the map for alternative trails and peaks in the park. The ranger behind the counter tipped us off to a 5,800-ish foot peak called Corkscrew. We thanked her and agreed to discuss our options over a hearty breakfast at a local cafe.
After a brief discussion over hot coffee we decided to spend another day at Alabama Hills soaking in this vast landscape. The gravitational pull of Mount Whitney appearing steps from our tent door was too strong to leave so suddenly.
DECEMBER 29TH
The alarm went off at 4am. With the car and our day packs ready to go, we quickly broke down the tent and climbed into the car. Death Valley was a two hour drive across a dark desert highway, then another forty minutes or so to find the trailhead to Corkscrew Peak.
First light came as we entered the park and the sight was more stunning than we could have imagined. Several inches of snow in Death Valley is a striking contrast, though it is not uncommon at the higher elevations of the Panamint Range, snow on an alien landscape provides an otherworldly beauty.
We parked the car at the trailhead and began our ascent of Corkscrew Peak a quarter before 8. The weather was chilly but the climb quickly warmed us as we exited the wash. It was a four mile hike with over 3,000 vertical climb to the summit. Across the valley we could see Telescope Peak in all her glory. We could only dream of the experience climbing that mountain on this trip but we verbally committed to returning in the future to experience it firsthand.
Crampons were required for a 150-foot section near the summit and when we topped out, the 360-degree views of snow-capped mountains and the lowest point on the continent were magical. Alone on the summit, we signed the register and soaked in the views, certain the experience is rarely replicated.
We left the summit as a thin layer of clouds rolled in, eager to return the summit beers we left in the car. Our quads burned on the descent and we named our horses (if we were ever to own one), returning to the car a little more than an hour after leaving the summit. We unfolded the chairs (one a little more crispy than the other) and admired the little mountain we never knew existed 72 hours prior.
It wasn’t the trip we had planned but a horse named Whiskey Tango and a horse named Creme Burlee won’t complain.
