Day 23 (7/21/2017)

Packed up, fed, and ready to finish, I started down.  I hit sunset camp around dawn, when the hikers were still snoring, well one was up watching the sunrise.    My thoughts were filled with finishing, how to get home, and I was 1 day ahead of what I told my wife.  How was I going to surprise her?  How was I going to surprise my kids?  I fantasized about homecoming as I proceeded.  I needed to refill my canteen and wash my socks so they could dry.  There was a small stream just after sunset camp.  It was cold, in the shade, so the mosquitoes were not bad at all.  I set my pack down and stepped across the stream which couldn’t have been more than a foot wide.  I walked upstream a little looking for a place to take a knee where I could wash things easily.  I spotted one on the other side of the stream and crossed again.  Stepping on some wet grass, my right leg went out from under me and I fell on my back twisting my knee.  STOP.  Body check: was I wet, could I move my feet, my legs was I bleeding?  I stood up.  Could I place weight on my knees.  Holy crap that was close.  One momentary lapse of concentration was all it took to create a situation that could have been disastrous.

It was time to regain focus.  I thought that since I was skipping cloud’s rest, maybe I could hit half dome instead.  It had been at least 20 years since I’d summitted the iconic Yosemite peak.  I passed a few meadows and entered into a sparse forested area, where I just had to set my pack down again.  In order to escape the mosquitoes, I set my pack down on a log and walked about 20 yards from it.  It was my only respite from those little goons.

Back to the trail and series of steep switchbacks down.  I passed quite a few people on the way up who were absolutely miserable with the up.  Keep going I told them.

I crossed a stream and entered into the remains of a great fire — The meadow fire. At first there were some lightly burned trees and shrubs, but after clearing a ridge, it was absolute desolation.  Very few ferns and shrubs.  Blackened spires were everywhere.  Despite the fire happening three years ago, in the three mile area I did not see one living tree, not even saplings.  But I did see Half Dome through the haze.

Closer and closer, and before I knew it I was at the junction.  I decided to go for it.  I sped up the gentle incline to the base of the ascent where a ranger checked my permit again to make sure I was cleared to ascend.  I stayed for a while and watched some hikers get turned away and listened to stories about the growing Mariposa fire.

I started up.  It had been a long time but I remember the steep switchbacks where one slip meant a long trip down the smooth granite.  What I didn’t remember was the switchbacks ending, and having to just scale up the rest.  I made it to the cables and was stunned to see how few people were there.  My last journey here was with my brother when there were easily 200 people trying to go up/down the cables simultaneously.  Now, maybe 25 people were making a go of it.

With a full pack, I grabbed some gloves from the pile, and huffed up the cables.   Sheer adrenaline got me up.  I wanted to take some triumphant pictures of me on Half Dome.

Instead, all I could think about was my wife and kids. Why was I even up here? What time was it? Could I make it to the bus by 6pm? I decided to go for it. I hustled down the cables, and scurried down the sheer face to find the switchbacks.

Down through the forested areas to the JMT junction. The rain and snow had clearly eroded much of the trail from my last visit. Instead of dirt path, it was mostly rocks that I had to navigate.  I sped past people, leaping from rock to rock, using my poles to keep me balanced.  The sand in little Yosemite slowed me down, but took the Mist Trail shortcut to get down farther.   To be clear there was no hurrying here.  The trail was steep, and for whatever reason, I got disoriented.  I found my self at the Vernal Falls headwaters.  I had been moving a solid clip and needed a rest.  I dunked my head in the waters and had a bar.  I couldn’t make sense of the map I had, but I continued down and captured on of the most amazing shots of my trip:

Stunned, I paused here. How amazing is this place? Just a few hours from the city, people could come here and witness such raw beauty. How lucky was I?
Back to business. Down.

As I hustled by people the sweat dripped off my brow and into my eyes. I became aware of my stink. My shirt was drenched, and I could tell as I passed people they were talking about how bad I smelled. I didn’t really care. Although their lotions, perfumes, colognes, and suncreens filled my nostrils. I hadn’t smelled anything like that for weeks. I was starting to reenter civilization.

The sun was getting low and knew I wasn’t going to make the bus. I slowed a little and tried to have some significant reflections on the trip as I sauntered down. No good. I smelled. I missed my family. How was I going to get home?

And then I was at the bottom. It was evening and no one was there.

I did a little silly dance, and with tears streaming down my face I kept telling myself I did it. I stared at the sign for a little and I thought about what exactly I had accomplished. With little experience I had hiked 280 miles, through some of the roughest trail conditions in a decade. Sure people were doing far more than me, but I did this. This could never be taken away from me. I needed a shower. I sauntered across the paved bridge to Curry Village Half Dome village. I passed a bus stop full of pleasantry dressed people smelling wonderfully. One of them had seen me on Half Dome and asked:

“Where are you hiking from?”

“I just hiked 280 miles from south of Mount Whitney.”

“Holy Shit! Can I buy you a beer?”

“No thank you, I need a shower, and I want to get home to my kids!”

He and everyone in the bus stop clapped and congratulated me. It was a small gesture, but it was the first time, that I felt someone acknowledged how much I had actually done. I don’t think they actually knew how much and how hard it was but I appreciated the gesture. I stumbled through the tented cabins turning heads. Children steered clear moving closer to the parents, people gave me wide berth as I stormed down the tented allies.

I came to the showers under the pool:
“Closed at 6pm, opens tomorrow at 7am”

I saw then and was broken. No way. I missed the bus and I don’t even get a shower. While staring at the sign a worker said, as if sensing my dilemma:

“The doors are not locked, no will stop you.”

I raced in to the empty wash room, found a stall and striped down. MMMMMMM warm water. MMMMMMM apricot shampoo.
For 15 minutes I watched the grime and dirt from three weeks of being on the trail go down the drain. I washed my hair three times and scrubbed my body twice.

I put on my pajama tops a pair of swim trunks I never wore. The rest of my stuff stank too much. I shoved my hiking clothes into a plastic bag and tied it into a knot and headed up to the lodge for food.

I walked in and perused the buffet a few times. I ordered three vegan entrees and picked up some orange juice and some fruit and two salads. I sat down to eat. I wasn’t hungry. I nibbled at my food as people around stared at their devices and computers. Then to my surprise Nosebleed walked up and gave me a hug: “I knew you could do it!” We talked for a while and caught up.

“Have you seen Strawberry? No one’s seen her and she’s over due.”

I had seen her, and told him where. He said that he would tell Ramses as Ramses was updating people via his social media posts.

I couldn’t finish my meal.  I had no appetite.  I went to lounge and found an open chair in a back corner.  Everyone was on a device.  Kids fought over chargers.  A group of nuns was showing an older woman on how to use some apps.  The light were blaring and I realized how far from nature I was….even though it was right out the window.

I tallied my trip accomplishments:

• 19 miles on the day.  2100 feet of up and 7420 feed of down (what  a day!)
• 43612 feet of gain.
• 48677 feed of decline.
• 2 failed ascents (Whitney and New Army)
• 11 successful passes
• 22 days straight of hiking.

Around 1opm (The latest I’ve stayed up in 3 weeks),  I saw nosebleed head off to the campsite.  I asked him to show me where the backpacker site was.  I setup my tent in the dark and went to sleep amidst all the backpacker noises.  Snoring, people shuffling about organizing their bags for the start of the hikes, conversations about food, and navigation.  I heard all the questions I had, and now had answers to, but I let them figure it out for themselves.  That’s part of the journey.

Day 22 (7/20/2017)

My excitement about getting home got me up early.  I had finished all the major passes.  It was all down hill.  No more ups.  I had already decided to bypass Cloud’s rest and that would save me time.   My predawn start looked like this.  Morning mist with a mild smokey smell surrounding by birds chipping everywhere, no doubt heralding my triumphant finish.

Signs dotted the path instructing me to take an alternate path to help with restoration efforts.  I thought I was close, but in reality, I was about 6-7 miles out from Tuolome Meadows.    It wasn’t strenuous, but it long due to my heightened sense of almost being done.

At the Rafferty Creek Bridge I a ranger stopped me and asked for my permit papers. Wow.  The first time.  They also wanted to check my bear canister model.   I was getting close.

At the Lyell Canyon trail head I met two hikers hiking with kayaks on their backs.  Wow.

I stopped the Tuolomne Wilderness station to throw away some trash I had been picking up.  About 40 people were in line for walk up permits.  I walked around with a rather unbecoming smugness of: “Hey I already did it.”  It was there I found out about the Mariposa fire and that roads were closed.  The Lodges were closed which contributed to the low numbers of people.  7/20 and the Tuolome lodge was still closed due to snow damage.   I took the long walk through Tuolome Meadow looking in awe at Cathedral Peak

Due to it’s pointy nature, geologists reckon it was above the glaciers in the last glacier period, whereas most of the other peaks were under  the glaciers.  I came upon two bucks eating spring time buds along the river. Careless about my presences, they carried on with their business. Just 100 meters down stream a large family frolicked in the river. Throwing rocks, splashing each other, yelling, and completely oblivious to what was just upstream from them.

I crossed the meadow and then the street to start down to Little Yosemite, my planned stop for the night.  But something was wrong.  I was walking up.  Up?  It was supposed to be all down hill after Donahue.  I continued for about an hour and then stopped, exhausted.  More up?  I pulled out my map, and found that I had one more pass: “Cathedral”  What the heck?!   No one ever talked about this and it slipped my calculations.  I had to go over what I took a picture of in Tuolome meadows.  Oh the irony!  Arggggg.    I stopped every hundred meters.  Clearly my lack of nutrition and fatigue was catching up me.  Family after family of day hikers surged past me.  After every turn there was more up and switchbacks.   Finally after making past the cathedral lakes cut off, it leveled out.  I dunked my head in a stream, which felt incredible.  I felt so rejuvenated!   Up through the pass, I went forward to Finger point.  I passed a few senior hikers who were headed for upper Cathedral Lakes.  I gave them as much positive energy as I could muster.  The smoke became more intense as I descended down from Finger point.  The air became hazy and sun turned wondrous colors through the smoke.  The up put a serious damper in my stride and I was too far from Little Yosemite.  I started to look for a campsite and found one in Long Valley, not too far from creek side.  The site was sloped but I didn’t care.  My legs hurt from the incline.

I cooked dinner and tallied my daily progress:

14 miles on the day with 1170 feet of up and 670 feet of down.  I only had about 20 miles to go to the valley floor.  I couldn’t believe it.  I was almost done!

Day 21 (7/19/2017)

In the morning the wind had dissipated.  Aside from the mountain chill, the fantastic beauty of thousand island lake shone forth in the morning sunrise.

Two passes to do today.  I fueled up and was off.   Island Pass came up much quicker than I thought, I just couldn’t find it.  No trail, boot marks everywhere.  Lakes were frozen and the signs were unclear.  I went up and high to get a vantage point.   In the distance I could make out an ice traverse around the mountain.  I shot for that.

That led me down to Rush Creek where I met Southbound Traveler.  We exchanged information and I started the ascent to Donahue Pass.   Open with few trees, marmots, squirrels, and chipmunks made their morning meals ignoring me completely.   Up alongside Rush creek I continued until the creek became submerged under ice.   It was time to cross some snow, then some rock outcroppings, then some snow, then some more rock outcroppings.   After rounding a bend I saw some people coming down from the summit.  They went in a much different direction, but by now, I knew that was the nature of things.  After a short ascent I was on Donahue pass.  My second pass in one day, and all of a sudden I was in Yosemite.  Euphoric and blubbering to complete strangers about how excited I was to see my girls and wife.  One hugged me and shared in my elation of almost being done.   There were quite a few people starting out their hike.  “I do this hike every year, I call it fat camp.”  “I’m a vagabond, just out wandering.”

I snapped this image of the promised land: Lylle Canyon

I could barely contain my excitement.  A few minor crossings and a lot of down.  At upper Lylle Fork bridge I came across a hiker with just a day pack.  I asked how much farther to the summit.  He said he was out of Tuoloume Meadows.  I told him it was a lot more up and was surprised how far from the day camp sites he was.   I left him and continued down and eventually hit the valley floor.  The path was well defined here and the mosquitoes were not too bad.  The first few sites were taken, but I kept going.  My goal was to get as close to Tuolomne as possible.  As evening crept in, I noticed the air becoming smoky.  It was a lot, and I figured it was due to the Happy Isle and Tuolomne campground folks and their evening campfires.
A deer in the trail signified my new campsite.  One of the small pleasures on the trail was how much of the wildlife just didn’t seem to care that I was there.  They’d look and then go back to what they were doing.  I hiked up the ridge a a ways following deer tracks through the mud to a flat area.  I pitched the tent, washed my socks, filled up my water bottle, and made dinner.  Sitting on boulder overlooking a creek, I panned right to find a giant turd wrapped in reams of toilet paper half covered by a rock.  How pleasant.   It was a gentle reminder that I was returning to civilization.  Returning to people who cared, but whose caring had obvious limitations. Limitations that were visible just near where I sat.

In the last light, I saw the day hiker from earlier.  Heading back towards where he came from.  This set my mind at ease as now I didn’t feel obligated to describe a missing person or look for one.

I did my nightly talley: 13.5 miles on the day, with 1641 feet of gain and 2781 feet of decline.  Trip mileage 250.  Every time I did this the overall mileage surprised me.

I started moving into reflection mode.  I had three mantras I would tell myself as I climbed and pushed forward:

1. Each step is one more step closer to my girls.
2. Each step up is one less foot of elevation of elevation I have to climb.
3. I don’t get anywhere by stopping.

Basking in the light

7/18/2017 (day 20)

I started out this morning just north of Johnston Lake outside of the Devil’s postpile.  Many of the night sounds (bear cubs, cats, owls, critters, etc), as I slept in off trail deep in a wooded area, kept me from a restful slumber.  My goal for the day was to get to Ruby Lake. A long gradual mosquito filled grind up started my day.  Up up up to Rosalie lake.  It was beautiful, but I didn’t stop as I was in a rush to get home to see my girls.  After Rosalie Lake there was a long and steep downhill full of switch backs to Shadow Lake.  Exhausted at the bottom I collapsed for 15 minute rest letting the mosquitos have their way with me. I started the climb out of the Shadow Lake basin up towards Garnett lake.  I had no energy going up these switch backs.  After every stop and turn, there was more up.  It was here that I knew I couldn’t handle much more of this long steep up.  I decided I would not attempt cloud’s rest, and focused my spirit on finishing.  I asked every person I passed how much farther and each said, quite a bit.  I reached the Garnett Lake pass at 10,000 feet, and descended a 500 foot ice sheet to a frozen Garnet Lake. After an ice traverse crossing an ice sheet that extended over the lake, I had more up.  I had to stop and rest four times in the short 600 foot ascent.  I consoled myself that Ruby Lake was near.  I descended down some switchbacks to Ruby Lake to find the sole camping space occupied.  I pushed on.  I traversed an ice sheet above Emerald lake where I saw that someone’s gear slid down to a rock outcropping.  It looked like a sleeping bag or a ditty bag.  I contemplated going down to retrieve it, but then wondered what if someone came back for it, which way were they going.  I opted to leave it there.  I ran into another hiker that I had been passing a few times.  We stopped and talked on an overlook to both Emerald Lake and Thousand Island Lake.  He complained how the shrapnel lodged in his shoulder made him ache. He shared with me how much hiking had changed his life and helped him when he came back to civilian life.  The day was getting late, and I still had no campsite.  He had to wait for a friend who was hiking slowly, so he wished me luck and I was on my way.  The campsites around Emerald Lake were closed and I pushed towards Thousand Island Lake.  The wind whipped off the lake blowing into my face.  The stinging wind in conjunction with the sun low in the sky made my face burn and lips crack.  I didn’t want to go along the lakeside path to find a campsite.  I wanted to stay closer to the path as the next day I was going to try two summits in one day and I knew I needed an early start.  Key to success in summiting a pass is camping as close to pass ascent as possible.   I started to ascend out of Thousand Island Lake basin towards Island Pass.  My legs were getting tired, I felt fatigued.  I hiked farther than expected, and there was a few thousand feet of elevation changes that were just too much for me that day.  At the first switch back, I decided this was it.  Rocky, sloped, windy, cold, no water….I didn’t care I needed to make camp.  I found a semi-clear area and decided this would be good enough.  I remembered my lesson from Star Camp (“Just walk a little farther off path…”) and sure enough there was a beautiful site.  I made came, started dinner.  The wind’s bluster nearly whooshed my tent off the mountain, so I piled some more rocks in my tent.  I looked out over Mount Davis and Banner Peak.  The vast expanse mesmerized me.  Words cannot capture how big the Earth felt in that moment.   Even though it was only three miles as the crow files to Banner Peak, I felt so small in this large basin.  Even though I saw people during the day, I felt alone and at one with where I was at.  I had climbed back up to 10,000 feet and the fresh air blew away all the mosquitoes.   I had so few pictures that captured the majesty of what I experienced everyday.  I rushed to take this picture before the sun went down.   The white haze in the picture is not an effect, it was visible.  This was the first realization that I would accomplish my task.  I would make it.  My body was weak, but I felt strong. Marmot poop be dammed!

Looking North from Seldon Pass

Looking South From Silver Pass

Mid day 7/13/2017 – Mid Morning 7/15/2017

I had over 20 miles to go to get from one pass to the other.  I had 4900 feet of downs, and 4000 feet of ups.  Eight major river crossings lay ahead of me (West Fork Bear Creek, Upper Bear Creek, Bear Creek, Hilgard Fork, Mono Creek, North Fork Mono Creek, Silver Creek, Silver Creek Cascade).  Seldon Pass (10,800 feet) to Silver Pass (10,800).  Get to work, or go hungry.

After the best nap ever atop of Seldon Pass I look onward to my up coming task. Down a step descent to frozen lakes below, I saw the headwaters of upper Bear Creek.  This was the point of no return (not quite, I could walk down to bear creek, turn around and walk back, but who wants to descent two thousand feet, turn around and ascend right back).  Along bear creek, I would descend again bear creek ridge, then up to pass in the distance.  The mountain in the far left in the picture on the left.   A glissade down, and navigating through the wild and trackless wilderness, down again until the snow melts disappeared.  I then found the trail and walked along upper bear creak.  I came to upper bear creek crossing and walked up and down stream.  Down stream was steeper and more dangerous, up stream was deeper and wider.  Decisions decision.   I crossed, waist deep, and continued down.  At lower bear creek, the river was wide and fast.  I had heard there was a down tree people were using.  I walked downstream, crossed an inlet to an island in the middle of the river.  At the end of the island was a down tree that was three feet short of the island.  Travelers placed a hodgepodge of sticks and branches to make up the difference, but I was not going to put my weight on that.  I leaped to the top of the down tree and hugged the branches and trunk when I got there.  I made it across and walked along the north side of bear creeks gentle down ward slope.  The air was thick with mosquitoes, so I trudged on.  The water in Hilgard Fork was fast, and the slippery rocks almost caused a wipe out.  Just before the Bear Creek Junction ascent, I stopped for the evening and camped by the now raging bear creek.

The next day I awoke before sun up, packed my gear, skipped breakfast and was on the trail.  A slow trudge up to bear creak junction where I rested for a while reading notes carved in the dirt for fellow travelers.  Around the bear creek ridge, through quiet and open pine forest to the bear creek ridge descent into Edison Lake and Mono Creek valley.  The switchbacks on the descent were amazingly steep.  Some of the steepest I’d seen.  I paused by a waterfall to replenish my water.  I crossed the mono creek bridge, and then had to cross mono creek later by log.  More up.  It was hot and dry.  I stopped many times trying to catch my breath.  Thankfully there were less mosquitoes, so stops involved less swats.   I came to silver pass creek and pondered continuing, or jumping in.  I waded in allowing my feet to ease into the soft mud.  I sank up to my stomach in cold mountain water.  I ran my fingers through my hair.  Dirt and gritty greasy grime prevented my fingers from going through it.  I dunked my head once, then again, and again. Refreshed, I exited the river and started up the path again.  I got lost in the snot drifts.  The ice bridges over Silver creek were gone and I looked for a safe crossing point.  I found a log down stream and and a rock scramble on the other side.  A few zig zags and I confronted the Silver Creek cascade.  This was a challenge.  A narrow mountain path with a raging waterfall washing over it.  The path lie thigh deep under water.  If the water pushed me off, I would plummet a few hundred feet down.  I zipped up my camera, took my hiking boots off, and put on my river crossing booties.  I got wet, but I crossed it!  Can you see my ebullience?

Soaked, I climbed more switchbacks to the plateau before the silverpass lakes.  Back in snow, I was lost again. I followed silver pass creek looking for tracks and a cross point.  The sun was low and the temperature was dropping.  I found a site, setup the tent, and cooked some dinner.  I started early, and wanted again through the snow towards silver pass.  I found tracks, then lost them,  I couldn’t find the trail anywhere.  The tracks I did find let away from where the location of the trail on my map.  I kept falling in the sun cups.  At last I saw people descending down Silver Pass, and made a B line for that point.   I scurried up the mountaineering path and after an ice ascent and traverse I snapped this picture looking back.  In the distance I could see Seldon Pass.

From here to there: 20 hard miles. 8 hard river crossings.  Thousands of feet of up and down.  Lost in the wild more than once.  Thigh deep in snow and stomach deep in ice water.   Just another 2 days on the JMT…from here to there.

Day 14,15 ( 7/12 – 7/13)

I was cold all night.  Luckily the wind wasn’t bad.   Going out to see the lake told me how cold it was.  The lake froze over in the night, and I saw a tent at the far campsite.  Someone else caught up with me, or finished Muir pass.    I wasn’t social.  I hurriedly packed up and started up.  It was up right away.  My crampons were own, and I slogged forth.   I was starting to not like hiking in the snow.  Quickly, my feet became wet, but not chilled, as I worked them.

The snow was deep and the rock outcroppings were few and far between.  I came to a lake and stopped to determine if I was at Helen lake yet.  Nope.  Not even close.  I kept going.  I hit a small rock outcropping with a space cleared away for a tent.  That would have been hard, I had made the right call camping where I did.  Down into a gully.  The sun cups here were huge.  I feel a few times scraping my hand on the jagged ice.  I was in a bowl, and disoriented.  I could not make sense of the map and where the pass was.  The map had the trail going on the other side of the lake, and I was no where near that.  I kept following the boot tracks ahead of me.

The air was crisp and blue, everything was bright, and I was exhausted.  I stopped frequently checking the map to see if I was there yet.  Then this:

High altitude euphoria is real.  At 12,000 feet I was overcome with elation and joy at reaching the summit and intense longing for my family.  Out of the Muir hut climbed nosebleed.  He had passed me a day ago, and I can’t believe I caught up with him.  He told me there were nine people inside including the 18 year old woman who I had met a few days ago.  Also inside a couple that passed me yesterday.  It was early morning, probably eight-ish.  I took a peek inside and some were still sleeping.   Nosebleed left a note and put it under a rock for the two Canadians on their next meeting point, we had a conversation about getting emotional on the trail, and then he soldiered on.  I took a few more minutes, and then followed.  Going down through the snow is different then up.  Seeing a destination and getting there is different than not knowing how much farther to go.   Consequently, my spirits and my gait were up.  Down the side, over frozen tributaries, a frozen lake McDermond, past a frozen Wanda lake and down by a frozen Sapphire lake.   All through snow with only three rock outcroppings.

I slipped down into the Evolution basin.  The creek was swollen by the time I got there.  The water level was over the boulders that marked the path.  My feet were already soaked from trudging through snow, so I crossed the inlet.  It was only knee deep but the water’s chill bit.  The evolution basin was stunning, and I regret not taking more pictures.  By now I was pretty tired, but knew I had to press onward if I wanted to hit McClure meadow before nightfall.  I couldn’t find the path.  Tracks let into different directions, to a campsite, lakeside, and up along the high point of the valley.  I decided to go high.  In and out of snow, there was mostly mud.  My favorite vision was rounding the bend and seeing the edge of the lake with nothing beyond.  It looked surreal.  A lake on the edge of nowhere.  I encountered quite a few SOBO hikers and we exchanged information.    I neared the end of evolution lake and looked back at the pass.  The water was serene.  My body ached.  I walked up to a sand spot and started to unload my pack to take a dip.  My chaffing was starting to hurt again and the dip might help.  I then changed my mind.  A dip meant about an hour, which would keep me from hitting McClure Meadow.  I was already two days behind.    I forged ahead.

From here I started to run into people more regularly.

First two older men in tie shirts and beards.  “We’ve both got hammocks.  Are there were any good trees by Sapphire lake”

Me: “Well, there’s a lotta snow and no trees, if I were you, I’d camp at the end of Evolution Lake.”

Just a bit later I saw a Japanese man carrying the largest pack I’d ever seen.  The man right after him, said that he’s been hiking like a champ since the MTR, and the pack weighed in a t 80 pounds.

As I started the zig zags down it turned into spring again.  Lucius green, purples, and yellows everywhere.

As I finished the descent, there were more mosquitoes.  Stopping to rest was more problematic.  My chaffing was hurting pretty bad by now and I wanted to rest.  But there were not spots.  I came across an Asian couple.  The wife was sitting down pouring over the map, clearly tired and seemed not be be enjoying her outing.  In jest I said: “Are you ready for the snow?”  They appeared in shorts only, with smaller packs. No ice axe, no crampons.  They did not look ready for what was about to become.  The husband kind of shook his head at me as if to say: “Don’t say that…”, she looked up:”snow?!!!!”  I then quickly retorted: “Well at least there will be no mosquitoes.”  And continued on.  I felt like the hardest part of the trip was done.  Muir pass was the last pass above 12000.  Glen and Mather were behind me as well.  I felt light in the foot.  I’d hit my food drop tomorrow.  I kept at my map.  Where could I camp.  It was all too marshy, to hilly, I saw nothing.  The sun was getting low in the sky, and finally, I decided to walk off the path towards the creek.  I found a spot.  I pitched my tent, and took a dip in the creek.  I washed everything, and skipped dinner as the mosquitoes were everywhere.  I didn’t close my tent well earlier, so had to spend about 10 minutes killing the evening assassins.  I swabbed my chaffing with alcohol, bandaged up, and drifted off to sleep with the raging evolution creek by me.

Not bad 12 miles for the day: 1200 of gain, and 2350 feet of decline.

The next morning I awoke thinking about Evolution Creek.  I had to cross it today.  I knew I had to rush to get there before it became to swollen.  My experience with South Fork Kings was still fresh in my mind.  I hit the trail, and realized I had actually made it to McClure meadow, the tip end, but I made it there.  Cool!  I meandered through evolution valley.  Through wooded marshes and creeklets towards the creek crossing.  I really felt like I’d see a bear here.  I looked as much as I dared keep my eyes off the trail.  I saw deer, squirrels, birds, but no bears.  This disappointed me slightly, but not for long as I came up tot he creek crossing.  I changed to my river shoes and took off my pants this time.  The first part was only thigh deep.  No problem.  Then an island, then I saw the rest of the creek.  There were people on the other side drying out.  I surveyed and just did it.  Slowly, inched across by side step.  Facing up stream with my poles providing the tripod for my crossing stance.  The water crept up my thigh, past my waist, and was soon just over my gut.  The current was gentle, and I wasn’t afraid.  The cool water felt good, and before I knew it, I was easing up to the other side.  I sat in the sun, dried off with my bandanna, put my pants on, and then my shoes.    The other couple was still there.  They had a hard time crossing.  She apparently fell in and went under.  She threw up and was brushing her teeth.   As I readied to go, a group of 6 young men approached, they proceed to take their pants and shirts off, put their bags over their head, and marched straight through.  I warned them about south fork kings and made my way North.

The area after the meadow was marshy, and as my feet were dry I spent a lot of time taking care not to step in muck and puddles.  I pass the the normal trail crossing and told myself: “I could have crossed there.” Maybe.

I could see the drop into another valley.  The outflow of evolution creek was spectacular

Down down down into Goddard Canyon.  My shoulders and neck hurt so much from the pack.  I readjusted everything and tried again.  It would last for about 15 minutes and then would hurt again.  I resorted to bending at a right angle resting my head on my poles.  I did this often, and it seemed to be the only thing to alleviate the strain on my neck and shoulders.   I could hear the South Fork of the San Joaquin river below.  It mixed with the Evolution creek, and a myriad of waterfalls into the valley from across the way.  I hoped there would be a bridge.

I crossed the first. It was large and sturdy enough for a vehicle.  Clearly someone drove livestock over this before.   I followed along the valley and the terrain changed. It went from spring time alpine, to chapperel. Lots of Manzanita and dry hillsides were all around.  The trail was mostly gravel and rocks.  There were fewer streams coming down the mountain on the trail side.  My thoughts changes to the MTR.  Could I make it there this day? By my estimates I had hiked about 3-4 miles and had about 8 to go to the ranch.  It was mid morning, almost noon.  I had no major ups ahead of me and believed I could make it.   I passed quite a few hikers, and found myself asking each one…am I there yet?  How lame was I.  This section of the trail was my least favorite.  Perhaps it paled in comparison to evolution valley and what I had seen before.  Perhaps I was tired and anxious about my food drop.  But at long last I made it to Muir Trail Ranch.

I descended into the compound.  It wasn’t bustling with activity, but there were some people there.  I rang the bell and the woman came over and asked my name.  I gave her my paper work and took off my pack.  Several people were packing their canisters and eating.  Various labeled buckets offered the opportunity to trade food: Mixed foods, soups, meats, prepacked meals, batteries, gear, drinks, etc.    My bucket came out, and asked about sending an email:

I’m alive.

I’m sore, exhausted, but alive.  I have passed the most difficult and dangerous parts of the trip.  The scenery is as expected…spectacular.

I battle my packpack daily adjusting straps, but still my shoulders are killing me.  I battle my sleeping bag nightly, I like to toss and turn and mummy bags say NO.

My $20 tent is falling apart and I have little plastic pieces everywhere…in my food, my clothes, my hair……

Regardless, it is turning out to be a much more difficult trip then I could have imagined.  I am pushing myself beyond what I thought I could do.  I have had to ice ascend and descend ice chutes, traverse snow covered mountains with a 200-300 drop.  I have hiked through 10 miles of sun cups up and over Muir Pass.  I have had to rock scramble up scree and freehand rock climb.  South Fork of the Kings River almost got me….but I LIVE!

I’ve had some falls, and some scraps, and bruises, but I’ve been able to fix them myself.  I’ve had to!

I miss Sharleen and my Girls so much.  I think about them every day.  I love you!

And I love everyone else too, but them more.

Can someone let Dad know I’m ok.

About 10 more days and I’ll be home cuddling with my three favorite girls!

Love you all,

Dan

This email plus some bandages I purchased cost me $15.  It felt good to get word to people that I was OK.

I dragged my feet around MTR.  Going through the buckets multiple times.  Re-fried Beans =BIG WIN. Some Ramen= Big win.   Some sugar additive to make grape drink = Big Win.  Dried cranberries = Big Win.   I saw salami, salmon, meats, all sorts of trail mix.  Energy Bars, candy bars, granola bars.  Some PCT hikers came in without their packs and raided the food, stuffing all their pockets with bards and edibles and left.  I thought that classless, but then, they were doing much more of a hike than I was and maybe they were more in need.

I exchanged stories with some of the hikers.  5 Gallon buckets worth of food do not fit into an average bear canister.  There were lots of left overs.

I packed it up and weighed my pack: 50lbs.  What the heck.  Greyhound said 40lbs.  I weighed it again and looked for a weight offset.  How did my pack get so heavy?   Dismayed I headed out.  The climb out of the MTR junction was steep, and I was tired.  Every step I thought about my 50 pounds.  I dragged my feet and pulled my self up.  I really thought I’d make the climb back out of the manzanita land, but my body said no.  I started looking for a place. I settled for one (or what looked like one) just off the trail.   Was it 100 feet? Not really.  But I didn’t care.  I needed rest.  After my nightly routine I was was excited to Talley everything up and mark my progress:

Today’s Millage: 14.3 miles, 600 of elevation gain and 1850 of elevation decline.

Trip Mileage: 160 miles so far.  More than half way!  Only 1 more food drop about 60 miles away.

I fell asleep telling myself to eat more, it will make my pack lighter.

The next morning (7/14) Day 16 start:

A steep climb up switch backs towards Seldon Pass.  The two Canadians passed me.  I had seen them first at Wright Creek before Crabtree meadows.  I asked them what happened to their third, and they said he settled down with a girl somewhere.   They were haberdashers and avid hikers.  They asked me if I had seen Nosebleed, and I told them where I saw them.  I struggled up the hill.  My shoulders ached.  As I reached the top of the incline, I had a river crossing.  It was small and I found a good spot.  It was such a nice area, wooded, lush, and very few bugs.  It felt good being back at altitude.  Around me were signs of time gone by.  Old spikes and fences from a time when cattle roamed the area.  Old signs, driven in to fallen trees, so faded and old they bore no more information.

This next section was beautiful.  Meadow after meadow.  Trout filled streams.  Trees full of birds.  Warm weather.  Clean air.

Just past Sallie Keyes lakes, I hit snow again.  Arggg. By the time I hit Heart Lake, I was trudging through sun cups and a more worn path, but up an ice chute to Seldon Pass.

Seldon pass was glorious.  There was no snow on the pass itself, and being close to noon I decided to take a nap.

It didn’t last long, but I was certainly comfy.  No mosquitoes, and the air was wonderful.

Day 13 (7/11/2017)

Muir pass here I come.  I ate a bar and was off.   Mosquitoes did not move as fast in the morning, so taking advantage of the morning chill was essential!  It turned out I was only 0.5 mile from the middle fork junction.  At the junction the river was deafening.    I was so glad I didn’t have to cross it.  I checked my map again to be sure.

It’s silly, but I believe, that if I’ve been good, then karma will reward me.  As I hiked up the Leconte valley the path was flooded on and off.  In one section I stopped dead in my tracks to watch a hummingbird give itself a bath in the morning light.  Thank you.

Up and up some more.  It wasn’t steep, but it persisted.  I watched two deer cross the trail and eat the new leaves off the trees.  Their slobber glistened in the sun.

I ran into the ranger around the Dusty Fork Bridge.  Now I knew why the only sticks that were cleared from the trail were arm girth and below.  The ranger went out daily to clear avalanche damage with a bow saw.  Consequently, only small branches would be cleared.  What a job.  I was also struck by the fact that the bridge over dusty forks was in the middle of nowhere.  Who the heck built this thing?  Who carried in the cement and steel?  Absolutely nuts, but hey, thank you.

More up.  It wasn’t bad, but gradual.  Eventually the turn towards Muir pass.   But it kept going.  It hit snow drifts again, and fianlly the ROCK MONSTER.   “Come a little closer and look in side so I can eat you up.”

At every time I was certain I was on the final approach to Muir Pass, there was more up.  After an exhausting zig zag, I stopped by a waterfall.  The ground was soft, I had been at it all day, nap time called.  I awoke with a woman eating lunch beside me.  She was talkative.  She told me South Fork Kings had swept her down a few hundred yards.  Her legs were all beat up and she lost some of her gear.  She had to walk out over Bishop pass to order more gear and was to receive it at Mammoth.  This PCT trip was her present to  herself for finishing high school.  Her goal was to get to the Muir hut that night to sleep because she had no tent.  Rugged!

At the top there was a river crossing.  My feet were dry and warm, and it was getting close to the end of the day.  I evaluated what to do.  I went up river.  It grew steep and I didn’t want to keep going.  There was an ice bridge  across.  I could hear middle fork roar under it.  The ice bridges were getting sketchy and in the words of Ramses: “Yeah, well they are all sketchy, so what….”   For one, I didn’t want to fall in a river and be pull under ice.  I decided to cross.  Crunch, crunch, CRACK.  I fell 3 feet into the water.  A four by four section of the bridge went with me.  Like a cat I hoped up and clung to the ledge of the river bank and pulled my self up.  My heart was pounding in my throat.  I went upstream more and found a section of ice bridge that was more solid and crossed.  I came across a little lake.  I looked onward and there was more up. Sun cups and snow traverses.  Shoot.  I hiker on their way down said it was about three miles of intense snow hiking to the pass, and another six miles of snow after that.  I would not make 6 miles and 1,200 feet to the pass and beyond before night fall.  They said there was kind of a campsite up farther, but this was the last decent one.    I pitched my tent. and made myself some Ramen and tomato soup with vegetables.  I still had enough food, and I had about two days to my food drop at MTR.  The campsite reeked of urine, but I didn’t care.  It was beautiful

It was one of my favorite sites of the trip.  If I had looked just 20 yards to the east, there was something better.  Lesson learned.  Walk around more before settling on a site.    I was behind schedule.  Day 11 should have been the Leconte Ranger station, and here I was Day 13 and just a few miles beyond the ranger station.  Moments like these I thanked my lucky stars I brought stove to heat up soup and Ramen.

Miles today: 9.3 (pathetic).   Elevation gain: 2760 Elevation decline 435.

I had hiked about 135 miles thus far.  I was at the half way point (give or take).  I had a food drop coming up in 20-30 miles.  This excited me.