We've all had those instances where we've gone into an everyday store like Target or CVS, made a simple purchase for less than twenty dollars, and later reflected on the experience and thought "that was the best ten dollar purchase I've ever made" or "that was the best fifteen dollars I've ever spent". As I drove down the 205 freeway with Motley Crue playing on my stereo, I shared that sentiment regarding the headphone jack I had purchased earlier that day at Target for twelve dollars. The device plugged into my iPod on one end and into the stereo of my newly purchased Rav4 on the other. I considered this a fantastic purchase because due to the outdated technology in my 2003 Camry that I was driving before, I've always had to use my headphones while listening to music during road trips. Since I had a long road trip to the Eastern Sierras ahead of me, being able to listen to tunes on a car stereo rather than headphones was a soothing experience. Between the pandemic and being busy with work and life in general, I had been very much looking forward to this adventure for some time. It was shortly after 7:00 PM on Friday evening and because I was stuck in Labor Day traffic in the San Francisco Bay Area, I wouldn't be arriving in the mountains until later on that night. My destination was the Big Pine Creek Trailhead just outside of the town of Big Pine, California, where three of my friends who were driving up from Southern California would be rendezvousing with me to hike Big Pine Lakes. After what seemed like hours of sitting in stop and go traffic, I finally exited the 5 freeway, arriving in the town of Manteca, and eventually Oakdale, where I merged onto highway 108, a road with which I was quite familiar. After driving past Pinecrest and the Dodge Ridge Ski Area, the road began a steep, twisting ascent up Sonora Pass. The long ascent was inevitably followed by an equally menacing downhill, and as it leveled out, the lights of a peculiar outpost came into view. I couldn't make out what the establishment was at the time, but I found out later it was the Mountain Warfare Training Center, a training facility operated by the United States Marine Corps which is used for training in high altitude and in mountainous and snowy conditions during the winter.
The quiet, dark road eventually dumped me out at the eastern terminus onto the 395 freeway, which I would take southbound past Mono Lake and Mammoth Mountain all the way to Big Pine. Upon arrival, I watched the lights of Owens Valley disappear beneath me as I followed the desolate winding road up into the mountains towards the trailhead, which sits at around 7,800 feet of elevation. This was my first visit to Big Pine Lakes, so I wasn't one-hundred percent sure where I was going, but after driving along the road deep into the midnight wilderness, I arrived at my destination. I had read online that the parking lot was small, which may have been an understatement. The area was barely big enough to allow parking for ten vehicles, however there were plenty of open spaces. I chose a spot right in front of the restroom for convenience. The words "no overnight parking" were faintly painted on the curb. Technically, I was off the hook since it was now 1:00 AM and very early in the morning. It had taken me eight hours to get to the trailhead from my home in the San Francisco Bay Area. As I opened my car door, the cool and crisp mountain air came pouring in, and the sound of Big Pine Creek flowing nearby filled the silence of a quiet night in the mountains with the full moon shining brightly overhead. The parking lot was located in a clearing near a campground with several pine trees towering around the area. After spending a few minutes taking in the beauty of the mountains, I brushed my teeth in the restroom, folded the back seats in my car down, and rolled out my sleeping bag and pad. We were planning to begin hiking around 5:00 AM, so I quickly laid down to get some sleep before our epic journey. I had just shut my eyes when I heard another car pull up outside. I looked out the window to see the headlights of a white Rubicon shining towards my car. I immediately recognized that it was my friends Tony, Scott, and Edith. They said they would be arriving shortly after me, and they had also safely found their way to the trailhead. I got out to greet them, and after some brief chit chat, we all finally went to bed around 2:00 AM.
Two and a half hours later, after what was really just a long nap, my alarm went off. I had been waken up a few times by the sound of people talking outside and the headlights of cars who had either parked, or driven away after a few seconds of their headlights shining through my windows. As I sat up and looked outside, the parking lot now had several more cars than when we arrived a few hours ago. I stepped outside and stretched. Although I hadn't slept much, I discovered, much to my delight, that the Rav4 was great for car camping. There was easily room for two people, and I was able to stretch all the way out while lying down inside. I'm six feet tall, so it was much more comfortable than having to crunch into the backseat of the Camry. As I turned, I spotted Tony and Scott lying down in their sleeping bags and pads on the parking lot pavement in between our cars. They soon began waking up, and a few moments later, Edith emerged from the back of the Rubicon, which she had all to herself. "Edith, did you kick them out?" I asked jokingly as the beam of my headlamp captured their drowsy laughter. The time was shortly after 5:45 AM by the time we made our final preparations and hit the trail, which began just on the other side of a gate at the parking area. The temperature was chilly, around forty-five degrees Fahrenheit as we hiked along Big Pine Creek, but thanks to my sleeping bag, I had stayed warm throughout the night in my car. As we crossed a bridge and made our way up a small series of switchbacks, the soft, orange glow of the rising sun emerged behind us. I love sunrises in the mountains and our energy levels ramped up as the day began to slowly fill with vivid color. As the sound of the flowing creek dissipated, we continued to climb the switchbacks of the North Fork Trail in a single file line, Edith in the front, Tony, Scott, then myself at the end. We exchanged few words among each other during this climb, and I reveled in how cool it was to be hiking with some of my friends from Southern California. We had all met through the local hiking and running community a while back when I was living in Los Angeles and we had shared several adventures together. I hadn't seen Edith or Tony since the LA Marathon in March and the last time I had seen Scott was our failed attempt at climbing to the summit of Mount Shasta a year and three months prior. Before long, we arrived at the first of several lakes along the trail. The hike was an out and back route that climbed a little over 4,000 feet, and would take us past seven lakes, the turnaround point being at lake number seven. Lakes one and two were only a short distance apart. Both were breathtaking, however lake number two was widely considered to be the scenic highlight of hiking Big Pine Lakes. And I could see why! Mountain terrain towered around us in every direction and the jagged peaks of Temple Crag rested majestically directly in front of us across the lake. Patches of snow coated the base of Temple Crag in certain areas that receive very limited sun exposure, and the lake gave off a beautifully surreal turquoise color.
After spending several minutes taking photos and having food at the second lake, we continued onward towards lakes three, four, and five. Lakes three and four were equally as serene, and when we arrived at lake number five, I was happy to discover that the trail took us right to the shore. All of the other lakes thus far had great views, but were difficult to access due to the trail being at higher elevation than the shore. Here, we took another break and by this time, exhaustion was beginning to set in. As I stood on the shore admiring the lake, I dipped my hands in to test the temperature of the water. It didn't exactly feel like a hot tub, but I thought that it would be a nice way to cool off and restore my energy. I dropped my pack, took off my shirt, and slowly waddled into the lake, wearing my shoes and shorts. My friends cheered from the shore as I slid into the frigid water, up to my neck. The water was freezing, but it felt incredibly exhilarating. I admired the beautiful mountain scenery around me as I continued to tread water. I could clearly see the bottom, but similar to the other lakes, the water radiated a turquoise tone. During the spring and early summer, the snow from the surrounding mountains melts and water flows into the lake, bringing with it a substance called glacial flour, which is essentially finely ground rock. When this finely ground rock reflects in the sunlight at high altitude, the result is the water taking on a bright turquoise color that gives mountain alpine lakes a very unique tone. The rejuvenating swim lasted only about thirty seconds before the water became too cold to handle, and I climbed out shivering. As I dried off in the sun, Tony tossed me a fun sized Snickers. "Here you go, this is your prize for going into the cold lake".
After a long haul up several switchbacks and along some hilly terrain, we arrived at the sixth lake. We had hiked to a little over 11,200 feet in elevation, and we decided to take a quick power nap. I sat up against a rock in the shade of some massive pine trees, and closed my eyes for about ten minutes. Although I nodded off occasionally, but I was ultimately unable to slip completely out of consciousness. There was one lake left to visit, however we found out that the route was blocked by thick bushes, so we decided to turn around at the sixth lake and make our way back to the trailhead. Seeing all of the lakes and beautiful scenery a second time during the return trip was really cool, however it was after 2:00 PM and we focused on keeping moving so we wouldn't finish too late. Although I had hiked in the Eastern Sierras several times, this was my first time visiting Big Pine Lakes and I loved taking it all in. The Eastern Sierras are a truly astounding place. I was thoroughly convinced that people could spend their whole lives hiking here and there would always be new trails and new peaks to discover.
When we finally arrived back at the trailhead shortly after 4:30 PM, we were exhausted and mildly overheated. We snacked on chips and leftover Chinese food before leaving the parking lot, and heading down the grade into the town of Bishop to have dinner. Despite the temperature being over one-hundred degrees Fahrenheit and the lack of air movement, our food from the Mountain Rambler Brewery was hitting the spot as we chowed down and sipped our cold beers at an outdoor table in front of the restaurant. It was around 7:30 PM when I finally bid my friends farewell. We promised each other that we'd go on another hiking adventure soon just before getting into our cars to head back to our respective homes. As I drove north on the 395 freeway, I felt exhausted and considered pulling over to take a nap, but the temperature was still around ninety degrees, even as the sun began to go down. Trying to nap in a car with that kind of heat would be unbearable. Fire season had started early this year in California, and as I drove through the village of Lee Vining near Mono Lake, the air quality was so bad that the headlights of oncoming cars appeared yellow, and I could see the smoke in the air underneath the overhead lights that lit up the desolate highway. Just when I considered putting on a mask to shield the smoky air, even inside my car, the air became cleaner as I drove through Bridgeport and eventually turned left onto highway 108, which I would follow over Sonora Pass once again. The route would lead me through the Stanislaus National Forest to the Central Valley, where I would get on the 205 freeway towards the Bay Area. Before long, I began the long drive up the twisting mountain road to the summit of Sonora Pass. Only this time it was different. Twenty hours earlier I was more awake and alert, but when you throw an eight hour drive, two-and-a-half hours of sleep, and hiking fifteen miles at high elevation into the equation, things get much more complicated. My hunger was satisfied, perhaps even overly satisfied, my hydration levels were great (I had peed a few times during the hike and afterwards), but my exhaustion level was getting higher by the moment and the sleep deprivation was setting in. The drowsiness, the darkness, and the steep road, which climbed at a 26% grade in some areas, began messing with my head and pulling me into a foggy, dreamlike state. This drive was getting sketchier with every passing mile. Even with my brights on, the surrounding terrain was pitch black. I wondered if I would see any other cars out here making their way along this winding road that seemed to never end. Rounding a particularly steep curve at ten miles per hour, the headlights of an oncoming vehicle that looked to be going way too fast shined directly in my face. I stared in shock for a split second, knowing that I was about to be in a head-on collision, but the car veered from it's course at the last nano-second, barreled down the sharp curve, and disappeared around the bend just as quickly as it appeared. "Whoa, shit" I said out loud as my heart raced.
Somehow, I managed to make it over the summit of Sonora Pass at 9,600 feet. The road crossed from Mono County into Tuolumne County at the peak, and began a decent towards the towns of Strawberry and Pinecrest. The drive downhill wasn't any better. I remained calm, but the the sharp curves and twisting road compounded with the pitch black night were playing games with my mind. The surrounding wilderness was beautiful, though I could barely see anything even in the beams of my headlights, and occasionally I would come across parked cars on a turnout and the entrance to a campground off the side of the narrow highway. Out of nowhere, a pair of headlights appeared behind me. Looking in my rear view mirror, I could see that the vehicle was very close, although after a few moments the driver backed off. Perhaps they came quickly around a corner and mistakenly pulled up close behind me. I had been going at a pretty reserved speed, so I decided to accelerate a little, and soon the headlights of the vehicle disappeared behind me. I continued to drive for several miles at a slightly faster speed, rounding the downhill curves of the mountain road, when the headlights from the vehicle abruptly appeared closely behind me again. This drive was started to become not fun anymore really fast. What was this person doing? Were they just screwing with me? Or did they have bad intentions? Were they trying to hurt me? I again accelerated to attempt to get away from the vehicle and before long, a turnout emerged. The car passed by at a modest speed as I pulled into the turnout to let them by. As the car disappeared into the darkness in front of me, I realized that they were not doing any of those things to me at all. The driver was probably just a normal person who was much less exhausted than I was, had a smaller car that could get around these curves faster, and was just traveling at a swifter rate than I was. This is what sleep deprivation does to people's minds. Not enough sleep, especially during vigorous physical activity, can trigger paranoia and hallucinations. I wasn't at the hallucination stage that I had reached in the middle of the night during the Tahoe Rim Trail 100-miler, but my mind was certainly messing with me. Now that I was alone on the road again, I breathed a sigh of relief. I put some music on, and felt more at ease now that I was free to drive safely at my own speed.
When I finally arrived in the village of Jamestown in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, I felt the need to pull over into a parking lot near a gas station and rest. Having been through the ordeal on Sonora Pass, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Twenty minutes later I was back on the road with just under two hours of driving left until I reached home. My energy had been partially restored from the short nap, but I still remained exhausted. "Let's just get home safely, and I can laugh about all of this tomorrow morning". I kept saying to myself. Time passed, miles were covered, music played on my car stereo, I sang out loud, I thought about how fun the journey had been, and I finally arrived home shortly after 2:00 AM. When I finally laid down in bed, I was out within seconds. As mentioned above, I knew I would laugh about this whole experience the following morning, and indeed I did. As I sat in my living room and sipped my coffee I wondered how in the hell I had gotten myself home the night before. I thought about how beautiful Big Pine Lakes were and how awesome it was to see my friends. The part that made me laugh the most was although the hike was beautiful, the drive home was more eventful in some ways than the actual hike. The truth was I felt relieved that I had allowed that car to pass me so I could safely drive down the mountain road, and I was glad that I had decided to take a power nap in Jamestown. Even though participating in these activities is risky, I have always tried to act as responsibly as I possibly could, and I was happy that I had done that very thing this time around, especially during the trip home. This experience, along with so many others I've had, reiterated one thing to me; during endurance events, no matter how awful I'm feeling in that particular moment, I can guarantee there will be a time in the future where I look back and laugh and reminisce about how crazy and awesome the experience was at the time.
