The Trail to Tustin’s Relic

October 12, 2025
Gaylor and Granite Lakes, Yosemite National Park
Total distance walked: 4 miles

Though hesitant to face another climb after last month’s excursion, my sister agreed to join me on a trek to Gaylor Lakes and beyond. The trailhead sits near Yosemite’s eastern entrance at an elevation of 9,950 feet. After the long drive to the east side, we stepped out of the car, eager to stretch our legs. The morning air was cold—nearly freezing—but we were prepared.

The climb up the tree-covered ridge warmed us quickly. The trail to the lake was short—just a mile—but it was steep, gaining 600 feet in half that distance.

It took us about an hour to reach the pass. From the divide, we looked down at Dana Meadows and across to Mt. Dana.

As we headed northwest, Middle Gaylor Lake came into view, shimmering below us. Beyond it, the Cathedral Range rose in quiet grandeur.

The descent was much quicker than the climb. Once we reached the lake, we wouldn’t have to do much more climbing—unless, of course, we wanted to see the mining area and Tustin’s relic.

The trail, now level and easy underfoot, led us to the inlet. We hopped across the trickling stream and turned right, following the creek on a gentle climb through the basin toward Upper Gaylor Lake.

An osprey glided above us.

“An osPRAY,” my sister said. “Oh yes, an osPREE,” I replied, suddenly unsure. Had I been saying it wrong all these years? Potato/potahto, tomato/tomahto. She wasn’t wrong; the British pronunciation is “ospray.” Either way, the bird didn’t seem to mind. We stopped and watched as he landed in a tree on Gaylor Peak.

Thirty minutes later we reached the pretty little Upper Gaylor Lake.

From there, we picked our way across rocks and boulders, watching each step to avoid twisting an ankle or sinking into mud. The trail undulated along the shoreline, leading us toward the Great Sierra Mine and Tustin’s relic.

Soon, it veered inland. I’ve walked these same steps before: in 2012 with my son, 2013 with a friend, 2018 alone, and 2020 with my husband. If our last hike taught me anything, it was to expect change.

The path was overgrown—brush taller than both of us blocked the way. Too thick to push through, we detoured until we spotted the main trail again.

Yes, another steep climb—but not a hard one. The terrain was smooth, just a steady ascent.

At one point, my sister paused and said, “I can’t look down.” She felt dizzy. Her altimeter read just over 10,700 feet.

Every time I hike this trail and mention it to my dad, he brings up the time he flew my brothers to Iowa in a small plane. When they reached 10,000 feet, he used oxygen. Maybe that would’ve helped my sister, too.

The reward for the climb was the view through the window of the stone cabin perched at the top—lakes below and peaks beyond.

We shed our packs and settled in for lunch, the beauty of the mountains all around us.

From there, we explored the area and stumbled upon a few surprises: curious rock formations, a pair of katydids, open mine shafts, and finally, what I’ve come to call Tustin’s relic. The weathered piece of equipment was a remnant of the Great Sierra Consolidated Silver Mining Company, active in the 1880s.

Stamped into the iron: “W.I. Tustin, Pioneer Manufacturer of Windmills, Horse Powers, Pumps and Tanks, S.F. Cal. — Tustin’s Economy Horse Power.”

I found this reference in the Report of the Ninth Industrial Exhibition of the Mechanic’s Institute, dated October 3, 1874. Here it’s describing several machines:

“W. I. Tustin, ‘Economy’ Horse-Power, ‘Eclipse’ Horse-Power, and ‘Monitor’ Horse-Power. These horse-powers, manufactured by Mr. Tustin for years past, have earned a high reputation among machinists. The ‘Economy’ is intended for all purposes, such as pumping water for irrigation, chopping feed, sawing wood, turning machinery for manufacturing or other purposes.”

After thirty minutes of exploring, we left Tustin’s relic behind and headed up and over one last small hill. At the top, Upper Granite Lake came into view tucked into the granite landscape like a hidden gem. We made our way toward it.

The upper lake was in the wrong direction, so we turned and slowly made our way down the gentle slope, forging our own trail through open granite and scattered brush. From our angle, Lower Granite Lake came into view. 

We continued traveling cross-country through the glacier moraine—which I might add was strewn with all kinds of animal scat: bear, deer, coyote, and more.

Eventually, we rejoined the trail where our journey had begun. 

Looking up the colorful hillside near the lake I spotted a marmot. I couldn’t see him in the viewfinder of my camera, but I knew he was there, still and watchful among the rocks.

With one final climb ahead, we pressed on—slowly ascending and descending the peak, until at last, we returned to the car.

We shed our hiking shoes and sank into the car seats. We had climbed, wandered, laughed, and found our way through brush and granite. And like the marmot in the rocks, some things don’t need to be seen to be known. 

My heart was full. I love this part of Yosemite—it’s probably my favorite. I have a feeling that someday I’ll be back. And if I do return, it will be by grace—led again by the quiet hand of God who meets us in the stillness and the stone.