Kavanaugh Ridge

It was a last minute plan, this trip. It was a get-off-work-an-hour-early-just-to-be-bad-at-time-managment-and-leave-late-anyways kind of trip. But, we made it to the first night in one piece even if it was past midnight and below 30 degrees outside. I was told that Kavanaugh Ridge was just past Lee Vining, CA and then west from highway 395, just north of Yosemite National Park. I was shown photos of narrow, aspen-lined trails and snow touched peaks and glittering ponds. And I was definitely told to pack warm—which I did this time. We did work a full day (or just an hour short of one), loaded everything up in the Jeep, ran around town like maniacs to get missing necessities, and then…finally…after way too much time between needing a propane tank, to fixing an air leaking 35in tire which included too many trips between O’reilly and AutoZone, we headed north on Highway 395. The desert stretched on for the first half of the should have been 7 hour drive but turned into a 9 hour drive (as usually expected). It was still decently warm out as the setting sun casted its heat onto the now not overheating Jeep. We stopped at our usual McDonalds along the Cajon Pass and got coffees just to wear off that full day of work feeling, which only worked for half a second because those coffees were not the best McDonalds coffees in the world. But, nonetheless, the chicken nuggets sufficed and made me happy anyways.

Every time I’ve driven up the 395 it has usually been in the early mornings, where the sun is still rising and awakening a new day of travel. This time, though, seeing as though we left late, the day closed with us driving through Ridgecrest in the dark. We hit the usual milestones of mini cities and finally made it to Bishop. I’ve personally never seen Bishop at night, and it was far more active than I’ve ever given it credit for. There were little lit up movie theaters and restaurants and saloons with lines out the door and security, along with backpackers loaded with fishing gear. It was lively compared to the usual mid-day slowdown I have always been used to. And then it was back into the darkness of the highway and a new destination. By the time we reached the incline out of Bishop was when I grabbed a pillow from the backseat and folded over the center console (I asked my boyfriend multiple times if it was ok if I slept or if he needed me to help keep him awake, to which he responded with some forehead kisses and a ‘goodnight’) and I quickly fell asleep to my boyfriend humming to Downfall of Us All by A Day to Remember, and before I knew it we hit dirt!

We met up with the same group of boys who went with us to Coyote Flat, and they sent us coordinates with where they set up camp for the first night. It was maybe a mile off the 395 along a fire road that was fairly easy to navigate. We pulled up to the site just past midnight and the other boys were already asleep so I gathered all the blankets and pillows while my boyfriend set up our small propane firepit and got the rooftop tent all set up. The wind was low for the night but the temperature sat in the high twenties. We grabbed one beer each, sat on a toolbox by the fire for just a short time before I plugged the heated blanket in and crawled up into the penthouse suite that was the rooftop tent, my boyfriend not far behind me, and slept until the sun heated up the frosted cover of the tent the next morning. Coffee was made along with our usual egg breakfast.

The beginning of the trail presented itself as a very Southern California start. Low grasses and brown, rolling hills that blocked much of the colors and peaks to come. I guess it was safe to say that my expectations were on the lower side just by the way the trail was starting.

I was very wrong.

The moment we curved around the corner of one of the dusty brown hills we were met with the most intense yellow aspen trees I’ve ever seen in California. It felt like I stepped into the small mountainous town of a Thanksgiving Hallmark movie; chimneys should have had small smokestacks rolling out of their brick tops and people on horseback or driving old Chevy trucks that would have been missing a catalytic converter so you could smell them as they passed. Instead, it was quiet. No one lived back there but the wild animals that called those mountains, pines, and aspens home.

Water crossings followed from streams that originated from still melting snow from the year previous. We slowly climbed up and up out of the aspens and entered the pines, to which I immediately rolled the windows down to take in the cedar scent, an absolute favorite smell of mine. Getting into high elevations, the aspens turned a blazing red, making the mountain sides look as if they were on fire. I’ve never seen trees this color, let alone in a contrast to the cooler bluey-greens of the low grasses and towering pines. They lit everything up.

The further we climbed, the more the aspens disappeared and the pine trees fully took over. We spent a good amount of time exploring the area; weaving in and out of tight trails and steep climbs, even passing what looked like a hunting cabin for whoever could gain access to it (from what I could tell). The higher we climbed, we rolled right up to a small lake tucked against the side of a mountain. This turned into lunchtime! While the boys ate lunchmeat and cheese wrapped in a tortilla, I wandered around the muddy, rocky edges of the lake, spotting little fishes and these strange, bug-like isopods? If anyone knows what these little aquatic species are, please let me know!

Once lunch was wrapped up, we continued our climb. The terrain became much rockier, and the trees shrunk into small, high alpine shrubs. This is where we sat at just above 10,000ft in elevation. Snow peaked out from large crevices still hidden from the sun, dripping down into the streams below. And when the ground became flat, we parked. The view wasn’t much to look at from a distance as bouldering rocks rose up and blocked the sentencing cliffside that dropped thousands of feet below. The wind blew gently, casting distant howls that whipped between the peaks and hummed through the forests below. It was a slight inclined hike of a hundred yards to the blocking boulders, but beyond them made me feel as small as I have ever felt. Miles of lakes and forests and treacherous mountains and snow. Untouched. Miles and miles and miles that made the distance stretch on and on into what felt like oblivion. It seemed like I could touch the mountain tops, like I could run down to the lakes below, but my voice couldn’t even reach the ground from the top of the cliff we stood on. And it was a straight down drop. Daggered and jagged and impaling rocks, sharp and ruling. One misstep, and it was all over.

Miles and miles and miles.

Untouched.

For the first time, I felt small and I loved it. I felt insignificant, and tiny, and like nothing important mattered. It was mindfully nice. It made all my worries and stresses and overthinking felt even smaller than I felt. It made me question why they even existed. Why we even existed. The quietness of the wild forest made me feel like I could do everything and nothing at the same time. Like I was all-powerful and easily mortal. It made me question everything. I felt small, but so loved. Everything and Nothing.

That was Kavanaugh Ridge. Everything and nothing.

We spent a good amount of the rest of the day at the top just sitting and reflecting; I was reflecting—the boys were peeing off the top and throwing rocks off the cliff. But, after about an hour and a half, a second lunch to which one of the boys made spicy sausages, and one last glance at the distant unknown, we made our way back down the mountain to find a spot to camp for the night. As we made it back down into the pine trees, we headed south toward Lee Vining and onto a main trail that lead down to Virginia Lakes, even catching a glimpse of Mono Lake in Lee Vining. We went left off the main trail and drove down to a camp spot that was flat enough and tucked into the trees.

The night was simple. We made Campbell’s soups, set up the propane fire pit and the tent, and strung up all the market lights to give us light when the sun went down. The temperatures dropped with the sun, and soon layers were added as we huddled tightly on our toolbox chairs and stayed warm by the fire. Bedtime came just as quickly as the next morning. Coffee was made, and so was the beginning of the long trip home. Before we left the campsite, we aired up all the tires and followed the main trail down to Virginia Lake Road as it was kind of nice to be back on pavement. We only stopped and parked for a few minutes, captured a few photos and videos of kayakers fishing and kids skipping rocks before we headed into Lee Vining to Nicely’s restaurant for a big pancake and omelette breakfast, and it was back to the high desert of Southern California.

Trips like these, these weekend warrior trips that get me out of my comfort zone and into what life of adventure has to offer, holds a value to me that very little can compare to.

If you’d like to see more of my adventures and learn more about wine, go check out my Instagram @campingandcabernet and feel free to reach out with stories or questions through my contact page!

Cheers,

Sara