TLDR:
 30 miles, ~2-3 miles of ridgeline class 2/3 with some gratuitous 5th class, and more miles of cross-country
 10,600 feet gain and 10,600 feet loss
 2 long days but no extreme endurance-fest
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I can see how solo trips are a habit forming need for more and more: so nice to have complete freedom in route-finding and decision-making; no feelings of guilt for holding up someone faster; no feelings of frustration or extra tiredness going slower than my natural pace to wait for someone else; and lots of time to be present with myself, to become more attuned to my body, to have insights about my breathing and movement that I never had in the last 45 years of my life.


I left Onion Valley toward Kearsarge Pass @ 5:10am. In a classic bit of irony, I was preoccupied with enabling a brand new bit of technology designed to save me (InReach Mini), and then I discovered I was lost in the weeds. I scrambled straight up until I hit the trail, remorseful about erosion, and still not sure if that cost me or avoided bunch of zig-zags. Some time later:
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I found a fancy camera on the trail... and a moment of indecision: leave it for someone down in the parking lot to come back? Or save someone up above a painful back-track? I reasoned that it was lost during a stop, and anybody heading down would be hustling with parking lot fever. So I brought it.

Steven(?) was heading for Mt Gould & Dragon Peak and left a few minutes before me. He was faster, and disappeared until much higher on the trail, where he was very relieved and thankful to have his camera back from me. It's nice to start off the day with some good karma points!

Public service announcement: if you have precious pics on your camera, back them puppies up before going on your trip!

Here's Steven and I enjoying sunrise:
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First rays coming past Independence Peak:
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From 9200ft to 11,760ft and 4-5 miles in a little less than 2.5 hours:
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Steven(?) and I go our separate ways at the pass, from which you can see Mt Brewer dominating the center left distant skyline, with Northgard and Mt Farquhar to the right. That east ridgeline for Northgard looks huge and spectacular. I want to explore that area during my next trip over Kearsarge. In the foreground below those is Mt Bago:
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Looking south off the trail down from the pass:
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Looking south across Bullfrog Lake, toward Farquhar, Northguard, Brewer, Southgard... that would be an epic traverse! And it looks like it can keep going to Thunder Mountain, Table Mountain, Midway Mountain.... how much free time can I stitch together for these adventures? How much time can I dream in google maps 3D satellite view?
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Good morning!
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Glorious lines everywhere you look:
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8:47am, about 3.5 hours to this point:
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I follow the Pacific Crest Trail for a bit toward Glen Pass, and spy Charlotte Dome down canyon:
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She's a beauty:
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I split from the PCT well below Glen Pass and basin on it's southern side; this is where I scramble up dirt and talus, aiming for the saddle below the ridge here. I under-estimated the scale and how hard this part would be:
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I stopped a lot while reaching the local high point near the saddle, but still made pretty good time. I think I got the first word of encouragement from Batrock at this point on the inReach, and it was a very effective and welcome rejuvination. It also made me realize that big brother was watching me, and for the sake of my personal and family reputation for posterity, I had to keep it moving at a respectable pace.

Here's looking down from the local prominence above the saddle... I despaired of scrambling directly to the low point of the saddle, because it required traveling farther up the talus canyon. So I took the "easier" way out of going straight up to gain the plateau. It was steep enough that you can't actually see the path I came up-- just the distant talus below. Not too technical, but the 2-steps-forward-1-step-back deal with some exposure, trying to link larger more stable pieces of stone:
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From that local highpoint, here's the panorama generally facing south. On the upper left is the canyon by which I arrived (Bullfrog Lake is visible), Mt Brewer is the high peak in center, with North Guard to its right), over to Charlotte Dome down low in the middle left, and the ridgeline on the right where I spent most of my day :
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This section was hell... at least half a mile of this stuff, bear crawling hands and feet, sliding sand and small talus, steep enough that I would often lose my balance and tip over backward when I tried to stand up and rest:
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But eventually, I made it to Charlotte Col, a little gap that gives access to the very head of 60 Lakes Basin and views along the spine of Mt Cotter (with Mt Clarence King blocked by Cotter from this perspective).
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My original plan was to drop in there at Charlotte Col. But I had been nursing a plan to do miles of unknown and undocumented ridge traversing all the way over to Mt Gardiner. On the one hand, I rationalized that I would be saving my altitude, but it's no joke to commit to miles of unknown ridge terrain at 11,000-12,000 feet. Those pleasant rounded humps on Google Earth tend to be dramatically sharper and more challenging in real life. What happens if I spend the day getting strung out on that and reach a point with some deep notch that shuts me down? Weather was great, and I had a sleeping bag with me, and I could always backtrack, so I decided to go for it. Looking back at Charlotte Col from near the top of the first gendarme:

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Cool terrain, and the first glimpse of Gardiner Lake in the distance, with a variety of sub-peaks along my journey ahead:
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Looking back in a bit:
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Looking north down 60 Lakes Basin:
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Cool points to tag along the way toward Mt Gardiner:
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Snow on the shadowy north faces, and see if you can find Fin Dome in this pic:
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It towers over Rae Lakes area, and it's lost in grandeur of the surrounding peaks when seen from up high... just a little blob. So much of life is like this- things that seem to loom large and dominate turn out to be not so big if you can just get the right perspective. And sometimes we don't appreciate or can't even see what are the bigger things:
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That rubble tower just screams climb me!
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This is the fuel that will get me up:
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Speaking of energy and ingestion... I know some folks take Diamox to avoid probs even in the Sierra, and when reading about that I found some published research showing that 600mg Ibuprofen at 6 hour intervals had a measurably positive impact (for the first day transition). I tried this and it worked wonders. No issues at all with headaches or malaise.

Getting closer to the rubble tower with some foreshortening. You can see my pack strategy... a little bigger than a BD Bullet type pack, but minimalist from a traditional backpacking perspective. I had a small sleeping bag, ground pad, rain pants and jacket, climbing shoes, mosquito net, water filter, 2 gatorade bottles to refill, and a bunch of powdered Pedialyte. My first time with the Pedialyte and I will keep that as a religion. Food: I made my version of carbonara (pasta, bacon, egg, peas), stuck it in a blender with some butter and olive oil, and froze it into a ziplock bag. Perfect heavy meal for ongoing energy, and the raisins and chocolate gave me the energy bursts.

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Munchin' some chocolate and raisins, feet pointing at Charlotte Dome, summits of Farquhar and North Guard and Brewer clipped off the frame:
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Some really nice stretches of ridge walking:
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Looking back:
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Stick my head over the edge selfie:
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Magnificent panorama in the middle of nowhere selfie:
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The path ahead on the left toward Mt Gardiner, the prominent east ridge I planned to descend dropping down to the right. Mt Cotter forms the right side of Gardiner Basin, and Mt Clarence King is visible beyond. Good spot for a break to take it all in:
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The going gets more interesting:
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I hadn't replenished my bottles at Bullfrog Lake or Charlotte Lake because I took the high road that bypassed their shores.... The water calculation had been a key argument in favor of dropping down to 60 Lakes Basin from Charlotte Col, but for some reason I didn't worry about it when I committed to the ridge. At this point, I was thankful to scoop fistfuls of snow into my mouth and stock up in my bottles:
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Chasing a rainbow... I keep moving along the ridge but Mt Gardiner still seems pretty far:
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Gratuitous shoe shot:
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Another sweet tower:
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Just a glorious spot, pretty far off the beaten path. I can almost see enough of the ridge between Mt Clarence King and Mt Cotter to figure out if I can link up that ridgeline too:
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This tower requires a little chimney-action to get past a spot. There was another place I did a few gratuitous 5.6 moves 20-30 feet above the ridge, with sizeable exposure on one side. I didn't need to, but it made the tower more fun:
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Some warm moist afternoon air moving up valley, starting to get hazy/misty around Charlotte Dome:
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The jumble scramble continues:
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Hazelnut chocolate, nectar of the gods:
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Blue ridges undulating to the horizon:
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Solar radiation makes a big difference in micro-climates. Looking back:
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This ridge is finally starting to look pretty ridgy:
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"Cheese":
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I wussed out and crawled along one knife-edge part where there would be no coming back from a moment of lost balance:
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Back to scrambling, and careful not to drop the phone:
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Somewhere a little farther on?
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Another gratuitous shoe shot... I'm very happy with these La Sportiva TX3 approach shoes- probably my favorite adventure shoe ever. Super light, super supportive, accommodating for the balls of my feet that jut inward and render many shoes uncomfortable for me. And, I tested a bunch of different shoes and these hold an edge way better than any other comparably light shoe:
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The mist coalesces:
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And my path just keeps going and going. Our brains don't really process what it means to go for miles across scrambling terrain. At least mine didn't! I logically knew, but that's not the same as KNOWING.
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For those comtemplating a King-Cotter traverse, note carefully that the North summit of Mt Cotter (on left) is no joke for a solo jaunt. I suspect many a peak bagger for Mt Cotter (higher south summit) has abandoned the north summit for lack of an obvious feasible way to do it. This looks like it would be a GREAT thing to do with a partner and a rope and some gear just in case.
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Ahh, we're reaching that stage of a lazy day where the evening sun casts an amiable splash of copper shimmer across all features:
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My goal is nigh and bathed in molten white light and warmth:
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The rays envelope me, soaking into my bones, where I store it for the long cold night ahead:
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Google Earth and topo maps don't make it readily apparent, but the north summit (right) I think is the higher. There is also a center summit on the main ridgeline behind me.
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A wiser man than I would contemplate the sun-bathed slope, the lengthening shadows, and the steeper walls of snow, and formulate a hasty exit strategy. I chose to linger on the tip of the summit and then wander around, taking in the dying day.
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Ok, time to blow this popsicle stand, get down to that basin for the night:
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The on-site headlamp descent of the ridge proved to be exciting if not overly technical. Several times I came to a dead stop, with my headlamp diffusing into a black abyss in all directions. Cliffed out! But each time it happened, a studious examination of my surroundings would find some steep scramble-down. By this point, I was getting ready for the day to be done. The worst was when I got down the ridge proper, and found myself in a sea of monster talus. It's like from the bottom of the ridge to Gardiner Lake was doing the talus approach to Zodiac or East Buttress of El Cap. The scale of things is befuddling. I accept. I adapt. And I eventually find myself filtering water from the shores of Gardiner Lake. I backtrack a hundred meters to a nice sandy flat spot, the only such spot in an infinite sea of talus. It's as if medusa cast her gaze on the storming seas around Cape Horn and rendered the scene petrified.

Ground insulation matters... that's what makes those unplanned summer bivies on Yosemite granite so chilly. Here, I was wearing a Patagonia R layer, two puffies, 2 pairs of synthetic fleece tights, a balaclava, gloves, and in an old small dirty down sleeping bag, with a breathable "emergency sack" over that. I was laying on top of a half-body thermarest with a slow leak. It was one of the coldest nights in my memory. I lay awake all night, sometimes shivering, sometimes not.... I had been too tired to eat dinner, and I skipped my last does of Ibuprofen. Perhaps these factors made the altitude affect me more. Who knows- at any rate, I did manage to nod off a few times after pre-dawn, and when I awoke I was far more exausted than when I went to bed. The day before I had been excited about figuring out a King-Cotter traverse, and today I just wanted to be a sloth. And at some point I would need to make my up and down and up to Kearsarge Pass and down to Onion Valley.

So I abandoned Mt Clarence King, and even abandoned the easy talus slog up the south peak of Mt Cotter, and committed to just getting out. But, there was one more adventurous tug that I did listen to. As a child, my dad had taken me on a hike to Mist Falls out of Road's End. That whole area was the most beautiful place I had ever seen, and I longed to do the Rae Lake's Loop and see what was up ahead. In the 30 or so years after that, I still haven't managed to do it. So in a nod to that unfulfilled desire, I opted to take the long way to explore more of Rae Lakes area.

First hurdle is getting out of Gardiner Basin. My morning view to the south, showing a small bit of the ridge I traversed the day before:
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The eastern flank is guarded by 60 Lakes Col, which I expected would be a gentle pass. But it's pretty much a broken granite wall. I look up and down and don't see any obvious walk-over point except farther to the south, but I do spy a few weaknesses with a few easy 5th class cruxes. In my exaustion, it's laughable that I don't want to go the extra few hundred meters across talus considering how much I'll be moving this day. But as I get closer and commit, I realize it's actually pretty tame. Hands required here and there, but not more than 3rd class.
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One thing I really appreciated about Gardiner Basin is the rugged, austere solitude and silence. No burbling water. No buzz of insects. The only sounds are the sussurating wind flapping my hood, and at rare intervals a plaintive call of a talus-dwelling bird. In most places, the cacophony of life creates competition to be heard, and a challenge for unique identification. Bird calls are complex, melodic, and probably take a fair amount of energy. In this fortified basin over 11,000 feet, the birds don't need to be fancy to be heard. A brief plaintive cheep is enough to announce their presence to any of their kind, any who might care.
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I can see clearly in my mind the view over 60 Lakes Basin from the top of the col. Glorious streaked stretches of bare granite, like fingernails of a giant beast scratching at the flesh of the land. Layered granite steps connect me from high on the col to that scarred landscape below. And here is interspersed verdant life and running water, a novelty to my senses.
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I did want to see more of Rae Lakes area, but prudence would dictate that I take the most efficient way out, and that would be up to Charlotte Col where I started my ridge traverse. Seen from below, that way looked pretty bleak at the moment. It was pretty darn steep, but more importantly, it was glazed in ice and snow, and I had no crampons or ice axe. So, down 60 Lakes Basin until I reach Rae Lakes Basin.

I dare not risk taking many photos... my phone is at 1% battery, shutdown is imminent. This is more significant because I have never been in this area, I do not have a topo map, and the terrain to reach Rae Lakes is way more complex than I had imagined. In my homework I had not paid attention to the details of getting out this way. Riddled with lakes, large granite outcroppings, and layers of low but significant ridgelines... it is a challenge. I knew clearly where I was in the big picture, but at this moment the details mattered a lot. It could make the difference of a full day of hiking. Worst case scenario I would follow 60 Lakes Basin to it's bottom where it must eventually run into the Rae Lakes Loop, at the far northern end and as far from civilization as you can get on that trail. So I wasn't really lost....