Snow , June , and California — these three Good Book do n’t exactly belong to in the same time . But with “ June - uary ” in full cut this twelvemonth , overleap book snow across much of California ’s mountains , it was both a curse and a blessing .
My river camping trip-up , an one-year birthday tradition , was a bust because with record snowfall comes phonograph recording snowmelt — making the Kern River and Kings River unfloatable and unrunnable , not to name freezing and unenjoyable . But the disc snowfall also meant the Eastern Sierra Nevada was stuck in the middle of wintertime , even though we were going into the middle of June .
Not only was I intrigued by the rarity of snowboard in summertime — on several foot of real snow , not the barren Earth’s crust left over from spring storm — I also want to research the Mammoth Basin as the snow was take off to melt off the lead , before the summertime vacation crew descended on the orbit .
The weekend get down with one of my favorite and frequent drives — Highway 395 — to the instinctive red-hot springs in the Long Valley Caldera . scatter throughout the eastern half of the caldera , off a loop of unmarked malicious gossip roads , are a handful of primitive tubs built into the earth and fulfill with geothermal water from the surrounding volcanic area .
Usually they ’re filled with old naked hippy dudes camping nearby , shootin ’ the shit while splay in all their “ innate ” glorification . ( I will leave the rest to your imagination . )
But on that Friday afternoon after scouting out the country , we were golden to come up an untenanted hot spring bathing tub , made of gemstone and concrete with steaming mineral water hang from a pipework . It was one of the gracious raging springs with seats and stairs build around the bathtub , instead of just the typical hole in the ground as are most of the other springs . On top of that , we were the only the great unwashed around all Clarence Shepard Day Jr. . There ’s nothing quite like a private and relaxing soaking with views like these !
We sponge and tubbed until close to dusk , then caravan another 30 minutes northward to the Mammoth Basin . At the base of the Sherwin Range under a skyline of snowcap , we set up pack along the brook . Just a mile away was the trail head for the next day ’s tramp up to Sherwin Lake , a little gem off the baffle way that ’s less locomote than the nearby Mammoth Lakes .
The hike jump out easy enough along a define way . Then the track quickly become steep , switchbacking up the mountain for a couple of miles . We would eventually go up 1,000 metrical unit in lift to the lowest of the Sherwin Lakes at 8,700 feet .
The views were outta hired man … snowy couloirs for daylight ( weeks ? calendar month ? ! ) . I mentally calculated how much it would cost to buy a snowmobile and do backcountry bird in that heroic terrain . ( For now , a splitboard may have to do … sigh . )
We issue forth across small plot of C. P. Snow off the trail , prompting impulsive ice-skating rink state of war whenever we could scoop up up handfuls ( or snowball flinger - fuls ) of crunchy snowballs .
By midday we reached Lower Sherwin Lake , a low and beautiful lake nestled between telling granite bill in a salvia - cover valley .
It was still betimes in the day , so we decide to press on to Valentine Lake , a subalpine lake tucked into the John Muir Wilderness with another acme increase of 1,000 feet . We were n’t certain if we could even access this lake at that altitude with the current nose candy levels , but we were feel good and up to the challenge .
And as the saying go — it ’s not an adventure until something go wrong .
At first we skipped across random mounds of snow for fun , amused at the gewgaw of finding all that Baron Snow of Leicester lingering in the summer .
Then the random cumulus of snow got bigger … and bigger …
Those handsome hummock of snow suddenly became liberal fields of snow …
And abruptly , we found ourselves on a technical rise in a vast snowy wilderness à la Bear Grylls , hopping across boulders and crossing over creeks , plodding through heavy snow that was thigh - deep at time . A little lost here and there — both in curiosity and in steering .
We were starring in our own drollery of error , with the frequent grunt and casual riot as we climbed over spiky trees wanting to crucify us , and skated across sneaky patches of dismal sparkler ready to take our knee out .
Our GPS guided us faithfully through the backcountry , but by the time our preset turnaround metre strike , we were still 500 metrical unit below and a mil aside from Valentine Lake .
We were disappointed at not achieve the lake , but the thought of hiking down a snowy slope in the dark and becoming a 10 - grade meal for some wild brute was not precisely appealing . I ’m also pretty sure that we were the first people to evenattemptto hike up to Valentine Lake this twelvemonth . Those crazy kids …
The hike up was slow and arduous , but the salary increase down was fast … and strenuous . We looked like a herd of weeble wobble as we glissaded ( unintentionally , mostly ) down glacial hills riddled with sinkholes . In record clock time we found ourselves back on the Sherwin Lake Trail , our first prison term seeing dirt on the ground again in what mat up like moons .
Wanting to make better time , we decided to forego the well - maintained — but longer — tramp trail , and have our GPS route us on a cross - country shortcut down the mountain to the trailhead .
Our GPS had a field day ! We skidded down dirt slopes , ambuscade through fields of manzanita brush , poise across Indiana Jones - type log over rushing C. P. Snow - fed brook , and wound our style through a spooky grove of knotty trees .
As the light was starting to fade from the sky and the valley was coming closer into view , we in the end spotted our cars at the bottom of the hill . In bare seconds we race down the scree , throw down our bags , bosom and cheer like we ’d just wonAmazing subspecies .
Nine hour after we lay off from the trailhead , we made it back without even turning on our headlamps , just minutes before the Sunday went down — that in itself felt like the biggest accomplishment !
After our lilliputian morn hike turned into a grueling all - sidereal day backcountry adventure , we should have just end the weekend with another — and this meter , much - necessitate — inebriate in the raging spring .
But maybe we were just gluttons for pain .
Or maybe a night of wine-colored and s’mores around the campfire cures all pain .
Our final day of adventure begin off with a sparkly morning . It was the warmest day of the weekend . We scarf down some breakfast and take up camp . Mammoth Mountain was call to us .
I ’ve snowboard Mammoth on a spring Clarence Day before , but never a “ spring day ” in June , and never a leap day with a theme so mystifying — 10 feet of packed powder and corn snow , plus a couple more inches that had fall a few daytime before .
We ride until our leg nearly collapse – a feeling both so exhausting and so invigorating . Out of breath , under the red-hot sun , in a field of white with slush beneath our boots . It was a very gigantic birthday indeed !
