To the west of Bridgeport, south of Sonora Pass and north of Tioga, the Sierras cut the jagged Sawtooth Ridge.
From Twin Lakes at the base of this complex, there are trails back into the Yosemite High Country.
Twin Lakes is nestled in a low basin behind those foothills. The Virginia Lakes are to the left out of sight, at about 6,000 feet. The Matterhorn is the highest among these peaks.
One year in late winter I had travelled South through the Nevada mountains, and descending a remote high pass, nearly fell Earthward downmountain into the canyon of the East Fork of the Walker, whence I arose, up, up, through tight tight turns, to reach the headwall of the dam face of Bridgeport Reservoir, whereupon I burst forth unto this high open meadow, and was struck by the site of black stormclouds lifting from this ridgeline enough for sunset light to flood in from the West.
Orange shafts of Heavenly light shone through the gaps between these peaks, striking the storm mists, then dispersing into a generalized haze of orange, suffusing the snow with a reflected tint.
All the peaks and basins were covered with a powdered sugar, fresh for the tasting.
I imagined being up on that high ridge, pushing off and down, into that fresh powder basin, throwing roostertails backlit by sunset light.
For more amazing stories, of action on high, see SummitPost.org, esp. "The Doodad," "Matternhorn," and on Backcountry.net, by "Steeleman."
Twin Lakes is nestled in a low basin behind those foothills. The Virginia Lakes are to the left out of sight, at about 6,000 feet. The Matterhorn is the highest among these peaks.
One year in late winter I had travelled South through the Nevada mountains, and descending a remote high pass, nearly fell Earthward downmountain into the canyon of the East Fork of the Walker, whence I arose, up, up, through tight tight turns, to reach the headwall of the dam face of Bridgeport Reservoir, whereupon I burst forth unto this high open meadow, and was struck by the site of black stormclouds lifting from this ridgeline enough for sunset light to flood in from the West.
Orange shafts of Heavenly light shone through the gaps between these peaks, striking the storm mists, then dispersing into a generalized haze of orange, suffusing the snow with a reflected tint.
All the peaks and basins were covered with a powdered sugar, fresh for the tasting.
I imagined being up on that high ridge, pushing off and down, into that fresh powder basin, throwing roostertails backlit by sunset light.
For more amazing stories, of action on high, see SummitPost.org, esp. "The Doodad," "Matternhorn," and on Backcountry.net, by "Steeleman."
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