“I Love to Breath So Much. Breathing Is Underrated.” – Nicole McNamera
Some backpacking trips are measured by miles. Others are measured by how hard you have to work to get somewhere that few people ever see.
Nelson Lake was definitely the second kind.
The adventure actually started the night before the hike. But the buildup actually began a week earlier when I took my girlfriend to the east side to show off one of my favorite places in the world. Now she was off to Canada on a girls trip and I got to come back to my playground for some type A fun. Instead of rushing to the trailhead before sunrise, I left the bay area in the afternoon and arrived in Lee Vining around 11pm, at the Whoa Nellie Deli and spent the night in the back of my Bronco. It’s one of my favorite ways to begin a Sierra trip—wake up in the mountains. Once I park, I can be setup and resting comfortably in about 10 minutes. And when I wake up in the morning, I’ve got a bathroom steps away, and at 6am, a bagel with lox, pesto cream cheese, tomato, capers and red onion and a large coffee. And the best part? You’re only 30 minutes from the Yosemite eastern entrance and it’s FREE!
Unfortunately, things didn’t start perfectly.
I arrived at the Tuolumne Meadows ranger station and pulled my permit right at 8am. Excited about the early start, I quickly arrived at the Elizabeth Lake Trailhead, clipped into my backpack and started to walk when I realized I had forgotten to sync my new phone with my Garmin Messenger. With no cell service, I couldn’t fix it there. That mistake led to an unexpected drive back down Tioga Pass until I could find enough reception to get everything working. Not exactly the start I had pictured for a three-day solo trip.
Finally back at the trailhead, I hid a Pliny The Elder in the forest away from my car, shouldered my pack and headed toward Elizabeth Lake.
The first two miles were about as perfect as trail gets. The path is beautifully maintained, easy to follow, and winds through classic Yosemite scenery. It’s honestly one of the nicest sections of trail I’ve ever walked. The last ½ mile to Elizabeth Lake was a carpet of wildflowers.
After a quick break to have a snack, I left Elizabeth Lake, and quickly the maintained trail disappears and the real work began.
The next five miles to Nelson Lake are entirely cross-country, climbing nearly 2,300 feet over Nelson Pass. Navigation demands constant attention, and every step slows as granite slabs, talus, brush, and steep terrain replace smooth tread. At times there were use trails, but every time you looked for an easy way around an obstacle the trail strategically disappeared. It quickly turned into a slogfest.
The reward comes at the top of Nelson Pass. The 360 degree view made a worthy destination on hts own. I scrambled up a surrounding peak above the pass and ate lunch, surrounded by one of those views that makes you forget how hard the climb was. To the north stretches the rugged high country of northern Yosemite, with Mt. Conness framing the backdrop. Turn around and the peaks of the southern Sierra fill the horizon. And the mighty Sunrise Wall is something every backpacker should see once in their life. It feels like standing on the dividing line between two different worlds. And in the very far distance, visible with the zoom on my camera, was the top half of Half Dome.
When I finally reached camp, I found exactly what I’d been hoping for—a site just off the lake with a view of large granite walls overlooking the lake. I was completely alone. In Yosemite. Let me repeat that. I was completely alone. This was my own private Idaho!
As evening settled in, two distant voices echoed across the water as another pair of backpackers arrived on the far side. Otherwise, the basin stayed quiet—the kind of silence that’s becoming harder and harder to find. Dinner was the usual first night meal, Pepperoni Quesadilla’s. The temperature dropped quickly after sunset. My thermometer said 28 degrees. By 6:30 p.m., I was already in my tent, wrapped up in my quilt, watching a documentary about Kurt Cobain.
The next morning delivered one of those scenes you can’t quite capture in a photograph. As the sun warmed the basin, steam rose off Nelson Lake in long ribbons, drifting upward as if the lake itself was alive. It was one of those quiet Sierra moments that reminds you why sleeping on the ground is worth it.
My original plan for Day 2 was to leave Nelson Lake and spend the night at nearby Reymann Lake, about two miles away and roughly 500 feet higher. Like much of this route, there’s no trail—just route-finding through granite, brush, and whatever else the Sierra decides to throw at you.
At one point I committed to the wrong side of a creek. It looked promising at first, until it didn’t. After some time trying to force it, I cliffed out with a 200’ drop into the creek below. Admitting defeat, I backed out, found a better crossing, and started climbing again.
It was a good reminder that off-trail travel has a way of humbling you. Sometimes the smartest move is simply turning around and trying again. But damn, I am so competitive that admitting defeat is tough to do. However, the effort paid off.
The route passed countless waterfalls spilling down polished granite, and rock stairs, and then you gain a ridege and Reymann Lake finally came into view, it was every bit as beautiful as I’d hoped—remote, quiet, and surrounded by classic Yosemite granite. I stopped for lunch—salami and cheese, and spent some time exploring the shoreline.
But unfortunately, beauty doesn’t always equal a good campsite. After circling the basin, I couldn’t find a spot that felt right for camping. Rather than force it, I made the decision to head back down to Nelson Lake and spend a second night at the site I already knew.
Around 5:00 that afternoon, dark clouds began spilling into the basin from every direction. Granite peaks that had felt calm and open just hours earlier disappeared behind a curtain of gray.
I checked my Garmin Messenger, and the forecast confirmed what was already obvious thunderstorms were moving in fast.
I secured camp, climbed into my tent, and settled in for what became two and a half hours of steady rain and rolling thunder. There isn’t much to do in those moments except wait and trust your tent.
Eventually, the storm passed. And then the entire basin lit up.
A brilliant rainbow stretched across Nelson Lake, framed by glowing granite walls and the last light of the day. It was one of those moments that makes the discomfort feel earned. Every minute spent waiting out the storm was suddenly worth it. The anger and voice inside me swearing repeatedly as the wind tossed my tent all now made sense. Sometimes the Sierra makes you earn its best views.
Day 3 unfolded with a quiet start. I woke up feeling a strong sense of gratitude. I sipped my coffee slowly while watching the sunrise spill over the basin, and for a few moments just sat with it all. I was excited to start my hike out, and knew I had a brutal climb back up Nelson Pass.
I broke camp early, had nothing more than a cup of coffee and a GU, and began making my way back toward the trail out via Nelson Pass.
As I headed toward where the route leaves Nelson Lake, a section near the outlet had been taken over by inconsiderate campers, which obscured the proper exit. I missed the turn and immediately found myself slightly off course. It wasn’t anything dramatic, but enough to require a quick reset. Getting lost, 10 minutes into my hike was not what I desired to do.
I knew my general direction needed to be down toward the valley floor, so I paused, checked my compass, and corrected back onto route. Even so, I was running lower on energy than I should have been that early in the day.
The terrain was forgiving at first—flat, easy walking—but after about a mile and a half I started to feel it. The lack of real breakfast was catching up with me. Realizing I needed fuel, I pulled out some oatmeal, cold-soaked it on the move for a bit, then eventually stepped off trail to actually sit down and eat it properly. After finishing the oatmeal and drinking some water, I could feel my body start to wake up. It’s crazy how much food dictates your energy output.
From there I settled into a steady rhythm and made decent time until the final climb back up to Nelson Pass.
The climb itself is an absolute slog. It’s a rough use trail, and straight up the spine of a ridge. I was moving in short bursts—50 to 60 steps at a time before needing to stop and breathe. It took me over an hour to cover just one mile. It’s the kind of section that strips everything down to simple effort: step, pause, repeat. I promised myself every five sets of 60 steps and I could consult my map to see my progress. It was painstrakingly slow…
But once I reached the top of the pass, everything changed again.
The descent on the north side went quickly, and I dropped back into familiar terrain, moving efficiently for the first time all morning. I even ran into a couple of hikers starting the climb and helped them find a better route than the one they were on.
Eventually I reached the meadow below, where I took my pack off, got my feet wet, refilled my water, and lay down for a moment in the sun. The hardest part of the day was behind me, and I still had about two and a half miles back to the car.
I put in my AirPods and turned on my backpacking playlist—songs that go back years and carry a lot of history with them. I was also thinking about a celebration of life I had attended for a friend’s father the Saturday before I left town. The combination of the music, the solitude, and the physical effort brought up reflections on loss—his, and also my mother’s last year.
For the first time while hiking with music on, I found myself overwhelmed in the moment and ended up shedding a few tears as I walked. It wasn’t something I expected, but it felt honest, and it passed as naturally as it came. And soon after, my trekking poles became my drumsticks as I walked to the Grateful Dead, Hank Williams Jr, Queen, Stillwater, Yes, and Primus. Ironically, a song that forever will remind me of pitching batting practice to my high school team, Boys ‘Round Here, came on right as my Bronco came into view. Those practices were some of the happiest times of my adult life, and stepping of trail to that song made complete and perfect sense.
One tradition I’ve kept is stashing a beer for the end of a trip. I don’t leave it in the car—I don’t want to risk bears getting into it or tearing anything up—so I always hide it a short walk away in the brush. It makes the finish feel like a small reward you have to go find and hope is stil there! So after changing into clean clothes, I walked a few steps off into the bushes, checked the spot, and there it was—like clockwork, my Pliny the Elder still waiting where I left it a few days earlier.
Cold, intact, and exactly how it should be after a trip like that.
Take aways:
- I played with my newly purchased Insta360 camera. The jury is still out. It’s cool. I’m just not sure how much I will use it on trail. I’m not ready to give up on it yet.
- Pesto Paste, 5 minute rice, and Silva’s Chicken sausage was a damn good dinner.
- REI’s Swiftland Hybrid Running Pants are amazing! Comfortable, light, and stretchy. Buy them!
- Do not forget tent stakes on a trekking pole tent. Yes, I forgot them. I quickly learned to pitch my tent with dried sticks and rocks. It worked until the thunderstorm, and then I sat in my tent holding up my poles for over two hours.
- Sunblock every day! I did not apply enough sunscreen on my legs and now they are torched.
- 11 people, countless Marmots, Squirrels, and 4 deer.
- The Durston X Mid Pro 2 has now weathered snow, rain, and gusts of wind and has held up flawlessly (except that tent stake thing)…