Roadtrip!
Eastern Sierra
📍 Route 395, CA
🥾 885 miles
📈 Elevation Gain: 7,000 ft
Favorite moment: There wasn’t just one
There’s something about a long weekend solo road trip that feels equal parts excitement and necessity.
This one took me east, over the mountains and into the wide-open quiet of the Eastern Sierra. My first stop: the iconic granite playground of the Buttermilk Boulders just outside of Bishop.
A Cold Night in the Buttermilks
The Buttermilks are otherworldly — massive, rounded boulders scattered across high desert terrain, with the Sierra crest rising sharply behind them. Even without a rope or crash pad, just walking among those formations feels humbling. The scale of the landscape makes you feel small in the best possible way.
I camped there overnight, and the cold settled in quickly once the sun dipped behind the peaks. It was the kind of cold that seeps through layers and makes you burrow deep into your sleeping bag. The air was perfectly still. No campground chatter. No highway noise. Just silence stretching across the desert and up into the dark outline of the mountains.
The sunset tried — but the light never quite broke through the haze. The peaks stayed muted, the sky pale. I packed up my camera feeling a little disappointed, but not defeated, because mornings in the mountains have a way of redeeming everything.
Sunrise Redemption
The next morning, the world caught fire. Alpenglow spilled across the Sierra, igniting the granite in soft pinks and golds. The same peaks that had looked flat and distant the night before suddenly glowed with dimension and warmth. The boulders reflected the changing light like they were made for that exact moment.
Cold fingers, frozen breath, and all — it was worth it.
Looping Around June Lake
From Bishop, I drove north. I didn’t really have a destination, just a thirst for the views of deepening snow on both sides of the highway. Once I got to Mono Lake and couldn’t really enjoy it, I started south again, winding toward the shimmering blues of June Lake Loop. Even without dramatic weather, that drive feels cinematic. Snow still clung to shaded slopes, and the lakes mirrored the sky in quiet, glassy stretches.
I stopped often. Short walks. Little pullouts. Just enough hiking to stretch my legs and explore without committing to anything major. Sometimes the best part of a solo trip is the freedom to wander without a strict plan.
Plans Change (As They Do)
I had planned a longer hike deeper into the mountains. I’d researched the trail, packed for it, built part of the weekend around it. I drove about seven miles into the mountains, but before long, I found the road to the trailhead was closed — blocked by lingering snow.
It felt like the mountains gently saying, not this time.
Convict Lake Calm
Going south, Convict Lake was impossibly still. The steep, dramatic mountains that cradle the lake were dusted with snow, their reflections nearly symmetrical in the cold water.
I took a small hike along the shoreline — nothing long, just enough to feel immersed in it. Boots crunching on frozen ground. The crisp smell of winter in the air. A few other visitors scattered along the trail, everyone speaking in hushed tones as if the landscape demanded reverence.
Cutting It Short, Not Coming Up Short
Then the forecast shifted. A winter storm was brewing, rolling in sooner than expected. The air had that heavy, metallic feeling that comes before weather moves through. Rather than push it, I listened. I packed up and started heading home earlier than planned.
The trip was shorter than I imagined. The hikes were smaller. The sunset didn’t cooperate. The road closure rerouted my plans.
But that sunrise.
That cold desert silence.
Those bright alpine lakes tucked beneath snow-dusted peaks.
Sometimes a solo road trip isn’t about conquering miles or summiting something big. Sometimes it’s about showing up, adapting, and letting the landscape decide what you get to experience.
And even a shortened weekend in the Eastern Sierra still feels expansive.
Thanks for journeying with me!
~ Bridget
