Mono Lake Loop Run

Mark Twain once visited this place, and lied about it.

In Chapter 38 of his book Roughing It, he details a visit to Mono Lake in the 1860s that includes such observations, assertions and conclusions as “It is…about a hundred miles in circumference,” “an unpretending expanse of grayish water,” and “little graced with the picturesque.”  These are opinions, sure, but I doubt few modern-day visitors would agree.  And the lake is only 40 miles in circumference, not one hundred.  He further describes this salty, alkaline inland sea as “solemn, silent, sail-less…the loneliest spot on earth.” 

Okay, I’ll give him that last part.

And perhaps that was exactly what I was searching for.  A place purely lonely, where nothing comes between human and earth, feet and vulcan dust, sun and skin.  A place to feel vulnerable.  To prove that one can support oneself.  To carry only what is needed.  To be friends only with sage and the sporadic juniper, beacon of shelter and shade.  A place to make a choice and live with that choice.  To have no other option.

You will be spared the elaboration, the gritty detail of each turn, the nuances of running as writing.  As is only appropriate when experiencing a place such as the Eastern Sierra’s Mono Lake (remember, the loneliest spot on earth), you will be provided with a stark literary landscape of fragmented details and the rest will be, well, sand and stone.

• On September 21st, 2015, I made a circumnavigating journey around Mono Lake in 9 hours and 3 minutes.  I completed the effort in an unsupported fashion, carrying all essentials for the entire journey.  I carried 4.5 liters of water, drank it all, and then drank straight from a fresh water source five miles from the finish of the loop.

• I followed a route pioneered by local fat bike enthusiasts (called the Mono Lake Fatty 40).  I used their cue sheet along with Tom Harrison’s Mono Lake map to navigate the route.

• The total distance of the loop was 41.7 miles.

• There are approximately ten miles of very sandy running.  This makes up for the general lack of elevation gain and loss (3800 feet overall).

• Shade is minimal.  Sunscreen and a hat are essential.  I forgot the latter and only applied the former once.

• The intoxicating scent of sage will linger with you many days after this journey.

 

 

-- Robert Rives, 10/2/2015

Buena Vista Loop

Bundles of crumpled toilet paper scattered like confetti.  Camera accessories lost or discarded, lying on boulders at popular lookouts.  Spring break-ers getting drunk and shooting at trees with pellet guns - in popular picnic areas.  Visitors asking me, with tears in their eyes, how to get back to Mirror Lake because their partner left them behind on the trail and they haven't even seen a map.

I felt a significant weight on my soul.  The sudden increase in visitation to Yosemite National Park (my office and backyard) that signifies Spring Break for the general public had seemed to put a lot of acute pressure on park resources, and the resulting flood of carelessness and ignorance was staggering.  Time to leave.  Time to take to heart the immortal words of James Brown and "get on up!"

In elevation, specifically.  With the March 28th opening of the Glacier Point road, a whole avenue of high-country adventure opportunities had suddenly become available.  In the dawn light of that very day, I fell into ranks with a few early-rising visitors on the Glacier Point road and drove up to just over 7000 ft, to the Mono Meadow trailhead.  There were sure to be dozens of cars buzzing up and down this road very shortly to admire the easily-won views from Glacier Point, but it was with a relieved smile that I set out on a long backcountry run that was certain to leave me with a renewed love of this place and why I am here.  The weight began to noticeably lift from my chest...

Half Dome, the Illilouette domes and Mt. Hoffman in the distance. Taken from near Buena Vista pass.

The day's chosen route: the Buena Vista Loop, or at least one version of it.  Upon searching the internet for information regarding this route, I came upon at least three different loops that all went through the vicinity of Buena Vista ridge, in the southern reaches of Yosemite.  The loop I chose is a relatively popular 3-5 day backpacking trip that starts from Mono Meadow, heads south through the Buena Vista creek drainage and climbs over the route's high point at Buena Vista pass (~9300 ft) before turning west to pass several gorgeous alpine lakes.  The loop finishes by turning north, eventually dropping into the Bridalveil Creek drainage and ending on the Ostrander Lake trail.  The loop distance is around 30.5 miles.

The running was...scrappy.  Attention-grabbing.  Anti-rhythmic.  Raw.  Real.  Natural.  Unadulterated.

Running this route in late March would be unthinkable after a "normal" Sierra winter (although that standard is changing annually).  It might make for an epic end-of-winter ski tour, but only in this most horrifyingly dry of winters was it manageable in running shoes at this time of year.  I still encountered snow fields and patches above 8500 ft; some of them were waist deep and required crawling over so as to not fall through.  Normal amounts of post-winter deadfall were encountered consistently across the entire route, which required a fair amount of extra energy to climb over.  Many meadow areas were waterlogged with snowmelt, and my feet stayed wet for the majority of the run.

It felt like a good, rough-edged late spring run in New Hampshire, where you're not sure what you'll find but you are pretty sure that you'll have the reserves to deal with whatever is there.  Where you become a living, breathing part of a transitioning landscape - the world is thawing from what winter was there, as you yourself thaw and warm to the potentials of a renewed and blossoming world.

Buena Vista Ridge

Buena Vista Lake

Buena Vista pass! 

Gravity is an impossible force to fight, and I eventually had to come down from my wilderness high into the populated valleys below.  But putting myself where the air is thin gave me a new reservoir of soul strength to draw from: the high country is still out there, 95% of this park is still lightly-trodden wilderness, and I am still one of the lucky humans that gets to live here and be a part of it.

Royal Arch Lake

Johnson Lake

Crescent Lake

-- Robert Rives, 3/29/2015