[Written Sun July 25th, 9:30PM.  Complete photoset here.]

Upon awakening to the rays of dawn crowning Mounts Ritter and Banner, I took a stroll and found our little oasis for the night surrounded in all directions by forbidding snow and rock – again our nightly resting places seem “prepared” for us.  It didn’t take too long to skirt the ridge and reach Whitebark Pass, separating the Banner and Ritter valleys.

Near the top were some amazingly gnarled and ancient Whitebark Pines for which the pass was named – and a steep snowfield dropping off to large and shapely Garnet lake.  Before steeling ourselves for the descent, we had our traditional “pass-repast” – a Sierra snow cone.  Two cups of ice from the ubiquitous snowfield, poured over with a tangy syrup made from a single-serving lemonade packet – a refreshing snack to reward our efforts.

The snowfield proved too steep to descend safely, and we began clambering on all fours down a rocky side chute, taking turns descending to minimize the danger of slipping chunks of talus, and gradually worked our way down through more modest snowfields to a flat boggy area above the west end of Garnet Lake.  We crossed this speedily and began our second, more gradual pass of the day, a saddle separating Garnet and Thousand Island Lakes.

The Thousand Island descent was stunning and gave us a great view of the expanse of the many islands of the famous Thousand Island Lake and of the face of Mount Banner immediately to the west.  Clouds that had been billowing larger all morning let loose with a handful of hail and a some minor rainstorms, and drove us to seek refuge under our tent fly for the lunch hour.

As we wandered among the magical ponds and islands at the headwaters of Thousand Island Lake, still rippling with drizzle, it became apparent to me that our pace would have to increase substantially if we were to finish the High Route in time.  With the deteriorating weather and the difficult Whitebark Pass descent still fresh in mind, Sanjiva was already expressing doubts about the next obstacle – 11,000+ foot North Glacier Pass – a north facing ascent to the shoulders of Mount Banner sure to be covered with a major snowfield.And with the volume of ice-cold water we’d encountered along our route the fording of the Merced River sounded none too enjoyable.

As we worked our way up the approach it was clear our fears were realized and although I was confident we could pass, Sanjiva’s concern over snowfields remained and we reset our goal.  Although I was disappointed there are other opportunities to complete the route and plenty of other beautiful country to see.  We decided instead to continue our own High Route on the east side of the range and work our way northward cross-country to a windy pass giving us access to the basin containing the Davis Lakes.

As we ascended north a strange and biblical sight appeared – a tree burning on the hillside.  We approached and saw a stand that had apparently been the victim of a recent lightning strike.  Even stranger, although we were well off the beaten track, a camp was set up next to the fire – a group that had summitted Mount Banner that morning and were trying to escape the mosquitoes further down.  Apparently they were taking advantage of the natural fire (no man-made fires allowed at this elevation) to dispel the mosquitoes.

We gained the pass fairly easily, and as we traversed our way through the moderate talus, we entered a wide long bench descending towards the lake at the head of the valley – a valley headed by Mount Davis and no less dramatic then the others we had encountered.

The bench became grassier and developed into a golf-course like series of magical vales, with bubbling alpine brooks winding their way through the lush vegetation.  We stopped for the night at one particularly appealing spot with a view of the surrounding mountains and a bellowing waterfall across the lower Davis Lake.  I should say here that at few points is the high country silent at this time of year – the roar of waterfalls is ever-present as water overflows each existing course and carves new ones.

Next day we continued our cross-country traverse along a bench on the west side of the valley until we reached modest Rogers Lakes.  Striking out north again, keeping cliffs on the left, we ascended another ridge and descended gently into a meadow with a broad stream emitting from the unseen Marie Lakes.  This meadow was the most beautifully “landscaped” garden we’d yet seen and we explored the shores and waterfalls, abundant wild flowers, and waded in the achingly cold water for an extended time.  Eventually leaving this eden, we traversed a level bench and joined at last the John Muir Trail as it rose gradually through a chaotic landscape of boulders and streams, home to a multitude of marmots.  We’d often round a boulder and startle one.  A long and tedious ascent through this strange unfinished area brought us at last to Donohue Pass, our highest point yet at 11,100 feet.

The traffic on the trail gradually increased, with the combined aspirants to the John Muir Trail, the Pacific Crest Trail, weekend warriors descending the pass at a rate of one group every five minutes or so.   The descent quickly switchbacks down the side of the steep Lyell Canyon to a green swath of meadow with a wide, clear river meandering widely through it.  As we entered the meadow, a herd of horses and pack mules approached and surrounded us, looking for the best sandy pit to roll their pack-sweat away.  As evening was fast approaching, we continued down the valley at a brisk pace, stopping briefly under sheltering trees, when a thunderstorm spit at us.  Finally we spied a more significant squall racing down the valley and we dashed for some more thick trees as hailstones began to fall.  Through the squall lasted a short while, it dampened the landscape and cooled the gathering mosquitoes away.  The meadow turned boggy and we had to continue down the meadow farther than our tired bodies wanted to, but found at last a dry patch for out tent under a tree, with a nearby fire pit and a re-energized river flow.  A cheery fire helped warm and dry our spirits, and prepare them for the grueling 1800 feet climb out of the valley and back to high country tomorrow.