Unfinished Business on Mt. Irvine

I had climbed Mt. Irvine ten years ago, reaching a point 200ft from the top. We had to turn around due to time constraints, something that was quite frustrating given that we were so close to reaching the summit. We nearly made it. Oh so tantalizingly close! But lo, we had to turn around, climbing down the mountain in defeat. And so, for ten years, that failure has been stewing in the back of my mind. I had to put an end to it. Had to seal the deal. Had to climb the whole thing. Had to reach the summit. Otherwise, it would just keep there stewing and brewing in my mind until I went crazy. 

I left on Tuesday, the 27th, bound for the Meysan Lake Trailhead. It's located about half a mile from the famous Mt. Whitney Trail. I drove all the way to the Portal for a quick bathroom stop, arriving just before 2pm. The place was packed. Folks were walking around everywhere, some wearing big packs, some wearing no packs. The Whitney Store was stuffed with people and every spot in the parking lot was occupied. The same can not be said for the Meysan Lake Trail. For whatever reason, this trail is wayyy less popular, despite it being only half a mile from one of the most highly trafficked trails in the country. I parked on the side of the road, grabbed my overnight stuff, and set off for the trail.

I had to walk through the Whitney Campground for a bit to get to the actual trail. This place was full as well. Every spot was occupied with camper vans, flatbed trucks, tents of all shapes and colors. I found the trailhead and immediately began gaining elevation, walking next to what I believe are summer chalet rentals. Soon, I rounded a corner, entered the main canyon, and left all that hullabaloo behind. 

The trail to Meysan Lake is a steep little thing. There's hardly any relief. It's just up, up, up. I went up switchbacks to the border of the John Muir Wilderness. And after that, more switchbacks. If there were no switchbacks, it was just a steady uphill. Various pines lined the trail, offering much needed shade. But soon I was trekking through the higher altitudes and the shade mostly disappeared. 

The canyon was surrounded by high granite cliffs, Lone Pine Peak to the south, Candlelight Peak to the north. A rushing stream could be heard at the base of the canyon, the only other sound being the occasional screech of some crazy bird or the breeze rustling through pine needles. I met just four people on my way up, all of them day hikers, all of them coming back down after a long day in the sun. I was the only one hikin' up. I trudged along, my calves burning from the steep grade and excess weight from my overnight gear. 

Looking back towards Lone Pine

Lone Pine Peak

Most of the trail was in decent shape, but there were a few sections that were washed out. In these sections little rock cairns marked the way, likely placed there by good samaritans. I stopped a few times, admiring the view and resting my burning calves. I hadn't done an overnighter in quite some time, and my legs were not prepared for the extra weight.

I eventually made it to a fork where the trail splits to Grass Lake or Meysan Lake. I made a right and continued to Meysan Lake. Mt. Irvine could be seen to the west, looming tall and foreboding. It looked as intimidating and magnificent as I remembered it ten years ago. High, sheer granite cliffs mark its east face, rising to a jagged point in the sky. I passed by Camp Lake, a small, trout filled body of water surrounded by wild grasses and bristlecone pines. From there it was a steep climb up a small hill to the overlook of Meysan Lake. Here the trail pretty much disappeared, but I found a well cairned route that took me to the overlook without much difficulty. 

As I was hiking up the hill, staring at Irvine, a thought swam through my mind telling me that I shouldn't climb it in the morning. Was it fear? Doubt? Laziness? A combination of all three? Most likely. But I put those thoughts away and continued the short but steep climb up the hill, wondering if Meysan Lake still looked as beautiful as it did ten years ago.

Mt. Irvine

Meysan Lake

When I made it to the overlook all fear, doubt, and laziness left my mind as I gazed upon the magnificent lake that lay before me. It rests in a bowl, surrounded by high peaks and blue skies. A glorious blue jewel of varying hues. Dark, cold, deep blue in the shade, turquoise and teal in the sunlight. Not a sound met my ears as I gazed in wonder. No breeze, no birds, no nothing. I felt an extreme sensation of tranquility and calm, and I forgot all my worries for a while.  It looked exactly as I remembered it, and for a moment I was transported back in time to when I first saw it. It was a strange feeling. 

I descended to the lake, noticing that there was one other group camped there. They were Boy Scouts, just two of them, camped on the cliffs above the lake's northern shore. They were taking turns with the fishin' rod. They weren't having much luck. Asked them if they'd be climbin' any mountains in the morning. They said no, stating that they were plenty satisfied moseying around the lake looking for fish. I found a spot on the eastern shore, protected from the wind, with an excellent view of Mt. Irvine and the surrounding peaks to the west and south. I had hiked a little over six miles with about 3,800ft of elevation gain. Time for a long rest.

Mt. Irvine's east face from Meysan Lake

Mt. LeConte from Meysan Lake

I hung around the lake for a bit, filtering water and psyching myself up for the climb tomorrow. I was planning on taking the east slopes, hitting Mt. Leconte and Mt. Mallory first and then traversing to Irvine, but the way was obstructed with snow. I had not brought crampons or an ice axe, so that plan was kaput. My other plan was to go up the same way I went ten years ago, but why do something I've already done before? So that left me with the east chute, something that was a mystery to me. I'd read that it was steep class 2 with a short class 3 section, but I've learned that those ratings are entirely relative. I'd have to scout it out myself to see what it was all about.

I spent many a long minute staring at that chute from the lake, planning my route, wondering what it looked like up there. The more I thought about it, the more I didn't want to do it. The lake was so peaceful and calm. I could spend a whole day just sittin' there on the shore and relaxing. Why bust my butt up a mountain? I knew it would suck. I knew it would be hard. Why do it? I didn't even have to do it...the lake would be so much better...

I read for a while, watched the sun set, and then went to bed, dressing in all of my layers as the temperatures plunged to the upper 30's. It was one of the worst sleeps of my life, if you could even call it sleep. No matter how comfy I got, I just couldn't fall asleep. My heart was thumping in my skull, the high altitude starting to get to me. I'd toss and turn, never finding any relief. At around 3:30am, I erased my alarm, deciding there and then that I wouldn't climb Irvine later on in the morning. I'd be wayyy too tired. I continued to toss and turn, occasionally opening my eyes to see the moonlight bleached granite cliffs and dazzling stars. The night drew long, the stars moved along, and then the sun made its presence. I was still awake. It was just before 6:00am. I let out a groan. With sheer willpower, I lurched out of my sleeping bag, said something like "screw it," and gathered my gear for the climb up Irvine. I was out of my tent and topping off my water by 6:10am. The climb was on.

I wasn't thinkin' much. I just new I had to climb this mountain. I'd come all this way, I'd spent the night, by golly I was gonna climb it! I had unfinished business with this mountain. It was time to settle it once and for all. 

I made good time across the southern edge of Meysan Lake. I took the path of least resistance to the boulder field at the base of the east chute. I crossed a small snow field. And then I was climbing. And climbing. And climbing. Man, there ain't nothin' like climbing up steep class 2 terrain right after getting up out of bed from a sleepless night on an empty stomach and no caffeine. Yup, I didn't even make breakfast. I just went for it. 

The boulders were a bit tedious to get through, and beyond that it was a steep climb up loose rocks and scree. I had to double check every step I took, because it would most likely give way under my weight. I made it to a narrow section of the chute, observing the class 3 obstacle. It didn't look bad at all. Solid holds, maybe fifteen feet of climbing at the most. I scrambled up it without issue and pushed on, stopping every now and again to enjoy the cool morning air and the rising sun. 

Goin' up the chute

Rosco Peak in the distance

There was some running water in the chute, dripping off the remnants of hard packed, frozen snow. The granite glowed a brilliant gold in the early morning sun, bright, shiny, spectacular. I was actually enjoying myself for a moment, just scrambling up that chute. If it stayed like this for a while, it wouldn't be too bad. 

The chute widened out to a large bowl that separates Mt. Mallory and Mt. Irvine. I hung right, heading towards Irvine. I climbed up the remaining steep portions of the widening chute to a point where I could make out the summit. It stood a ways off. A huge, steep, boring slog up boulders and scree would be required to reach it.

Mt Irvine summit, center left

I almost gave up in the bowl. It was long and tedious walking, my feet sinking in the fine, sandy granite. I was pretty tired. Pretty beat.  And then I remembered that I hadn't eaten anything and I pulled out a Cliff bar and wolfed it down like Popeye with spinach. A wave of energy rushed through me, and I chugged out the remaining chunk of the slog to the summit in no time. 

Mt. Irvine Summit

I saw where we had to turn around ten years ago. My oh man were we close. Just another five minutes of walking and we would've made it. But no matter. A lot of the view was exactly the same as I remembered: Mt. Mallory, Mt. LeConte, and Mt. Langley to the south, Lone Pine Peak and the Owen's Valley to the east, and Mt. Whitney and company to the north. The only thing new was the view to the west. I could see Mt. McAdie up close, Arc Pass beneath it, Consultation Lake a dark blue orb in a sea of granite. Distant peaks of which I am unfamiliar dotted the western horizon, far, remote, mysterious. I sat up there for a good ten minutes, soakin' up the view, feelin' satisfied for finally settling the business of summiting. Was it worth it? Hell yeah it was worth it. Mt. Irvine is a pretty dang cool mountain with pretty dang good views. 

View southeast(ish)

Mt. Whitney and Co. 

Mt. McAdie

View northeast

The register was placed in 2007. The last person up there summited on the 20th. The pen was almost out of ink. Pro tip: if you ever plan on hiking up a mountain, bring a writing utensil. I hung around for a few more moments, ate another Cliff Bar, and then began the fun descent off the mountain. I wasn't entirely at ease. Sure I was stoked that I'd made it to the top after all these years. But the climb was only halfway through. The descent is just as important. I'd feel relaxed once I made it back to the lake. Until then, I was locked in. 

View east

What caused me so much pain and anguish on the way up now provided me with sweet, sweet relief. I flew down the scree and sandy granite, digging my heels in the ground as I zoomed down the mountain. I made it to the top of the chute in what seemed like no time and then it got serious. As it turned out, it was actually a lot easier climbing up the chute than climbing down it. Everything was steep and super loose, and I fell on my butt a few times, scraping my hands and fingers on the sharp granite. Three points of contact at all times became the name of the game. I had to test every boulder and rock. Very tedious. Man, even the big ones moved. I'd see a boulder, one weighing damn near 300lbs, lodged in the earth, sitting still and stoic, and I'd step on it and then it would roll out from under me. I couldn't trust nothing. Consequently, it took a good long time to get down that chute. A full body workout ensued. Scooting, sliding, squatting, slipping, hopping, gliding. It was a grand ol' time. 

Looking back down the east chute

The class 3 obstacle, viewed from above

I scrambled up a ledge in the chute to get a view of the lake. I could also see the class 3 problem beneath me. What was easy on the way up was sketchy as ever on the way down. The rocks above the problem were loose as can be, and the idea of slipping and then falling 15ft didn't sound too good to me. So I took my time, scooted on down that jazz, and then I was home free. I hopped down the rest of that chute and was back at the lake in two shakes of a lamb's tail. The whole climb up and down took about three hours, but it felt much longer. I rested in the shade of a large boulder and took a long break, watching the sunlight glimmer on the lake's surface. 

It was a little after 9:00am. I could see the Boy Scouts on the other side of the lake, fishing. I had some time to kill so I walked back to camp, took down the tent, and then read for a few hours. I'd take a break from reading every now and then and walk down to the water's edge, watching the fish catch flies on the surface. I counted 12 good sized trout. Healthy, shiny, strong. As the day grew long the water turned from a navy blue to a blueish green. Eventually it would be turquoise, but I didn't stay long enough to see this transition. I had a bit of a walk ahead of me, and a long, long drive back home. I left the lake a little after 11:30am, saying my goodbyes and thanking the mountain for a safe and successful journey. 

The trail passed underneath my feet in a blur. I just trucked on out of there, gliding down the switchbacks, not paying attention to much. Only met two people on the way down. They were heading up to Meysan Lake. Asked how the water looked. I told them about the fish. One of them said, "Oh don't tell me that, I didn't bring my pole!" We went our separate ways. 

I made it back to the trailhead, my knees were dead from the downhill. But I didn't care. I'd settled the business with Mt. Irvine and I could now rest easy. It was a pretty good outing. As a matter of fact, 'twas my first time doing a solo overnighter. Kinda spooky. Kinda uneasy. Kinda liked it. I foresee more of these types of adventures in the future. But for now—rest.