Left Clover Meadow at dawn and started hiking hard as I wanted to make 20 miles today and had 4000 feet of climbing to make it over Fernandez Pass.
Came to Fernandez Trailhead and was shocked to see 20 cars there. I’ve gotten accustomed to hiking in remote areas that might see only a few hikers per year. And even fewer trail crews. I felt like I was practically back in civilization.
The trail up to Vanderberg Lake was in fine condition and I made good time, passing several groups. The lake itself was a full on campground scene, complete with smoky fires and little yappy dogs.
Vandeburg Lake
But hey, everyone was having a good time by a beautiful lake in a pleasant forest. Most people are sensible enough to realize that you don’t have climb giant steep passes or crash through miles of untrailed forest to enjoy the wilderness. Most people.
Still, the crowds (plus the dense, fly-snagging forest lining the lake) convinced me to walk on rather than stay and fish a while.
The climb to Fernandez Pass was astonishingly beautiful. The range it sits in, which separates the Merced from the San Joaquin drainages, juts out to the west and yields an uninterrupted view of the west flank of the Sierra Crest, all the way from Mt Ritter and the Minarets down to the Kaweah Divide. The whole bowl of the San Joaquin drainage lies below, receiving the snowmelt of the crest and channeling it into mighty canyons of granite.
The crest skyline began emerging on the climb up to Fernandez Pass
The San Joaquin basin and a hundred miles of peaks
A big country
Nearing Fernandez Pass
It is as fine a view as exists anywhere in the Sierra. It put the hike into perspective and gave me a chance to be grateful to be here and to be able to do this whole hard crazy hike.
Taking a look
I found a scrap of shade for lunch, then pulled out my uke to commemorate the last big climb of the hike with a song (the slacker national anthem “King of the Road”). The older of the two dayhikers also at the pass ambled over. “That’s a 12-bar blues, you know” (it’s not, but each 8-bar phrase ends on a V7 chord, which makes it sound bluesy).
His name was Joe, he was 74 years old and battling cancer. But he was out on a 10-day backpacking trip, camped at Chain Lakes a few miles away over a ridge. Age and disease had slowed him, but he was getting along. We talked for a while about the local geography and the best views in the Sierra, about pack weights and about the challenges of hiking as you get older. I was feeling strong again, having shed whatever ailment was bothering me at the beginning of the hike. We tend to think of our strongest moments as being normal, as being our “real” selves. But the truth is that every one of those moments is a gift. Talking with Joe reminded me that I need to cherish these gifts. There’s no guarantee that I will be hiking when I’m 74. Or that I will ever be 74.
The trail north from Fernandez Pass was a steep downhill with few views into a lush but unremarkable forest. Unremarkable except for the plenitude of mosquitoes which encouraged a brisk pace. I made it up over the low saddle of Merced Pass and thought to camp at Lower Merced Lake. The clouds of mosquitoes already camped there thought this would be an excellent idea, and were looking forward to dining with me, but I declined their buzzy invitation. I found a dry, breezy bench above Illilouette Creek instead, and enjoyed a pleasant sunset before turning in.