A Lazy Afternoon Cliff Jumping and Freezing at Arrowhead Lake, Mammoth California

Blurry through the pollen, our goldenrod-smeared view featured wooden cabins and front lawns strewn with dirt bikes, mountain bikes, and hints of feral childhoods. We were in Mammoth for the weekend, and our morning had been spent lollygagging and enjoying a hearty breakfast. 

I’m not usually one to sleep in, but pollen wasn’t the only thing blurring my vision that morning. The evening before had consisted of a brewery, wine cocktails, and a foosball-fueled closeout of the local bar (at 11pm). That was enough of an excuse for me to let the day roll out slowly. 

Still, the entire group was set on going for a hike. We had high aspirations of completing an eight-mile hike (Duck Pass and Pika Lake Trail) and we weren’t about to let a bit of debauchery stop us from making the most of our Saturday. 

Packing two cars with day packs and our cooler bag, we drove up and through a campsite to arrive at the Duck Pass Trailhead.

Hangovers vs Duck Pass and Pika Lake Trail

Our spirits remained high, but we were only a mile up the trail when it became clear that last night’s choices, not to mention the altitude, were not going to make things easy. 

Nothing like a hangover and decreased oxygen to humble you. It took little convincing for us all to agree that spending the day by Arrowhead Lake was more amenable than hiking another three miles. 

So we forked down from the main trail until we reached the edge of the lake. We skirted our way around the shore, searching for a place to lay down our towels and relax. The cooler bag was heavy with drinks and had been a challenge as we ascended toward the top of the first hill. 

Some groups were already gathered at various spots near the beginning of the lake, many with long fishing poles set up and shirts tied around their heads. 

We walked past, moving along the tree-lined lake until we found a patch of open space, shaded by trees, and on a hill gradient that felt doable. 

Not far from where we sat, the lake was fed by snowmelt that rushed down from the Sierras, wooshing constantly in our ears. The area around this fall was lined with streams and tall grasses. 

Freezing My Tits Off in Arrowhead Lake Snowmelt

There are only a handful of times I’ve been able to resist a swim when faced with clear water like the fresh batch in front of me now. The flow from the mountains kept it from becoming stagnant, and we could see fish swimming in its transparent viscosity. 

My boyfriend and I walked a few feet down from our friend group, where the trees cleared, and there was an opening in the trees that was large enough for us to wade into the water. 

I went first, slowly, gasping as the bite of the water touched my skin. I should have known the water would be freezing. The lake was fed directly from snowfall. 

Following me, my boyfriend was caught off guard as well, shouting as he moved into the lake. We swam as quickly as our limbs would allow. We swam like frogs, legs kicking out and arms circulating; freestyle felt like too much effort when our limbs were that numb. In front of us, a rock rose from the water like a troll’s fist. 

We were not prepared for the temperature drop at the center of the lake. My heart pounded in my ears when my boyfriend said the cold was making him feel like he might pass out. The combination of altitude, hangover, and icy water was not looking well on him. 

When we reached the rock, we climbed up to the first section and found a flat area, wide enough for us to lie down and try to warm ourselves in the sun. 

We’d hoped the sun would have baked the bleached rock and would, in turn, reignite our skin with feeling, but it was not nearly as warm as we hoped. We flattened ourselves against the stone. It took longer than anticipated, hiding from the wind, to feel warm again. 

Despite our inability to alleviate the chill from our bones, the view made the swim worthwhile. Snow-tipped and tree-studded, warm gray mountaintops peeked from behind the forest in the distance.

Cliff Jumping in Arrowhead Lake, Mammoth

On top of the rock, a man and woman had been sunbathing, and two fishermen were exchanging anecdotes and beers. Soon, both groups left, and we watched as they walked down from the rock, through the tall grasses, and across the streams, crossing paths with our friends on the shore. 

Their voices traveled, faint echoes to us. Through the bits and bobs that reached us, we pieced together their tales of jumping off the top of the rock in their youth. They didn’t do that anymore, but it was possible. 

I would not be jumping off the top of the rock. My days of jumping off anything higher than fifteen feet were over. I’d already located the place where the rock jutted out over the lake. It seemed like the lowest, safest place for me to propel from. 

The only thing stopping both my boyfriend and me from jumping was the thought of resubmerging ourselves in the cold depths. But, at last, we were hungry enough to want to swim back to the sandwiches packed in the cooler bag. Besides, we knew that if we delayed it any longer, we would be stuck on the rock forever. 

Girding our loins, we launched from the rock. I chose to jump feet first while my boyfriend completed his signature backflip. 

The swim back toward shore was more vigorous than our swim to the rock, and we raced through the stretch of water that was freezing from its icy mountain origins.

Picnicking on Rocks in Arrowhead Lake

Back on shore, we walked over to the group, and we all collectively decided to head back to that same rock—this time walking the way we’d seen the couple and the fishermen come. 

We tread over roots and rocks, past remaining snow, until we reached the place where the grass grew tall and strange, cabbage-like plants sprouted from the ground. They had thick stalks and wide leaves that came to a sharp point with vertical ribbing along the leaves. These, I discovered, were Corn Husk Lily plants or Veratrum californicum. They would eventually sprout flowers and grow up to eight feet in height, but I’d be long gone by then. Despite their laymen’s name, these are not edible plants and are highly poisonous, so we decided to stick to our sandwiches. 

Maneuvering over streams that ran down from the mountain’s falls, I grabbed the hand of my boyfriend for balance as I followed our group across a narrow log. From there, it was only a short walk up through trees and a few quick rock scrambling steps until we were on the top of the large boulder. It was the same rock we’d lay on moments before, only this time we were much higher up and could find a spot to lay our towels on for a picnic lunch. 

I find it fascinating that trees can grow on rocks. How is it that something that seems so solid and unbreakable can, in fact, be hospitable to one of its natural neighbors? We took a seat beneath a bent tree and unpacked sandwiches we had made that morning. 

Mine and my boyfriend’s had vegetarian sausages, thick cuts of cheese, lettuce, tomato, and mustard. This was housed between two slices of toasted sourdough. It was a messy eat, mouthfuls of everything giving way as we bit down, but it was delicious and exactly what I needed.

After lunch, I moved to find some sun, my skin still cold from the swim and because my swimsuit was still wet beneath my shirt and the towel I’d wrapped around my waist as a skirt. 

It was a lazy afternoon. We all moved about leisurely, exploring the rock. Some went to skip rocks down where the rock became mountain, and mountain became lakeshore. I climbed to the top of the rock to get a view of the lake as it narrowed where the Sierras merged together. 

At around four in the afternoon, it was time to pack up. We had a game night to prepare for, and one last evening to enjoy in Mammoth. 

This was one of my favorite short hikes. Though the way up to the lake felt steeper than I originally thought it would (I was still adjusting to the altitude), it’s a good hike for anyone who wants something short and rewarding. Other easy hikes can be found here.