The John Muir Trail is well traveled. Where there is soil, there is a well worn path. Frequently, there are logs or boulders on either side to help delineate where to go. Also to help travelers, there are giant carved marks in the trees along the trail. There is not reason to get lost.
Except in a year where the snow was 185% of average, and travelers are foolish enough to forge ahead without waiting for that snow to melt.
True enough, there are tracks in the snow. However, these can be mountaineering routes created by seasoned snow trekkers out-rigged with snow spikes and a set of ice axes. Also, there were large snowfields full of suncups.
courtesy of aspin Matis
I don’t see a path through this; frequently there wasn’t! You make the road by walking.
In the tree line snow falls can covers the trail. Aside from these snow drifts, the trees obstruct clear viewing of landmarks.
Given this….I got lost a lot. The trail was totally obscured and I could not find foot paths or tracks. Sometimes I lost tracks on rock outcroppings. After Silver Pass I glissaded down which put me on the wrong side of warrior lake. I was lost. Was the trail higher up on the valley wall or lower. Every time I paused to look at the map, I was swarmed by mosquitoes. I trudged through swampy muck and snow drifts….down and eventually found something that looked trail like.
On the way to Silver Pass, tracks took me east of the trail and I eventually lost the tracks, I wandered from rock outcrop to rock outcrop falling and sweating until I finally gave up on finding evidence of human passage and focused instead on the mountain ahead of me and going over that. Eventually, I saw someone coming down, and aimed for that.
After Pinochet, there were a series of frozen lakes and elevated rock outcroppings. I lost the trail and the tracks and zig-zaged back and forth. Until I was exhausted. I collapsed on a flat rock out crop and laid down, thinking this is it. This is where I end. I laid there for a half our, than decided no, I don’t end here and kept walking North until I fund some tracks and a trail.
Coming down off of Glenn Pass, I headed into Rae lakes. I crossed ice bridge after ice bridge and found myself in a campsite, but not where I wanted to be. I followed some tracks that took me to an ice cliff. I had to turn around and go back. I headed towards the lake and the path led me to a lake crossing. I was not expecting a crossing. And being late in the day, the water level was high. If I went all the way in, it would have been chest deep. I saw a boulder in the water. If I walked along the top of that boulder I would only be waist deep, and then I could make a two foot jump from the boulder to land. I did this, but I could see no trail on the other side. There were tracks everywhere, but none that seemed like a trail. I wandered on the island for 30-40 minutes trying to find a way across. I then found the trail on the other side of the island, partially submerged in water lake side. I quickly got through after that.
Shaken from my Mather ascent, I was trying to make up time. Into Palisades canyon, I could not find a trail. I knew I needed to get to the end of the canyon, but I didn’t know whether to go high, or low. Ramses and Nosebleed passed me here. I decided on a high road. I found a pine bed not covered by snow. I set my pack down and rested. A buck walked a across the snowfield next to me. Inspired, I kept going. The high road was the wrong call, as it let to an ice sheet. I climbed down the ice sheet to the trail below, and then to the golden stair case.
It seems that whenever I got lost, I found my way. Don’t panic. Look at the big picture. See the mountain through the trees and snow. It was ok to not be on a trail, but see and follow the topology.
I figured about 10-12 miles a day would it. 240/11 ~ 21 days. I could do that. I had been practicing. I hiked about 900 miles in a year training. This worked about to be about 30-40 miles a week (3-4 ten miles days). No problem. It took me about 4-5 hours to hike 10 miles. Heck, I would have time to sit on a rock at the end of the day, meditate, swim in a lake, take in the air, and recover for tomorrow.
Rika (a.k.a. “Strawberry”) first passed me as I ascended Kearsarge Pass for the first time. I was putting on my spikes and huffing and puffing on a rest stop. She checked in with me and then walked off. Step-step-step-step no pauses for sure footing, no crampons or micro spikes – just boots. Step step step. I was impressed. I finished my ascent and looked down and she was just disappearing into the tree line on the East side of the pass. She was fast.
I saw her again as I descended out of Rae Lakes. I had just finished crossing Baxter creek and was putting my boots back on: “Hi I’m Rika and I from Japan, I walk 20 miles a day.” Bold and fearless, she made me look like a rank armature grade A backpacking wimp.
I crossed the wood creek bridge, started up and she passed me again. We said hi, but that was it.
When Nosebleed told me that no one had seen her I was surprised and worried. She seemed so with it. When I returned home I looked up her case immediately and saw the post by the National Park: “Any one with any information please contact the 800 hotline. Within minutes of leaving a descriptive message I received a call from a detective. “She was found dead 400 yards south of the trail crossing of South Fork Kings river.”
Holy crap, that’s near where I crossed. And that river almost got me.
“I’ve been in search and rescue for nearly 10 years, and before that I was a navy seal. Can you help me get into her head? All of her texts home seemed preoccupied with the dangers out her and she didn’t know how to cross certain rivers. I’ve gotta tell you, if that was me, I would have stopped until I got an answer. Why did she continue forward?”
That is the question isn’t. Why do any of us move forward? Some of us stay paralyzed in fear of the world. Afraid to travel, afraid to talk with different people, afraid to face the unknown. When does foolhardy and begin and courage end?
I didn’t have a great answer for him, but I told him:
“On the trail, after a few accomplishments, people become more courageous and overestimate what they can do. That was the case with me. I underestimated the trial and overestimated my abilities. I guess I was just more lucky.”
After packing my gear, I headed to the Lodge for some breakfast. Perhaps my appetite had returned…..nope.
The bus was at 9am and fiddled around for a bit. I found some souvenirs and hung around the village. I sat at the bus stop watching the comings and goings of people. It was my first time being to Yosemite and not seeing a bear….ironically doing something more in nature than I had ever before. I watched tourists line up for a valley rafting tour. Giving their information, getting on a scale, then paying money. I flashed back to a brief discussion I had with a fellow hiker near Garnett lake. “If you aren’t eating, you are definitely loosing weight”. I looked at the scale again. I hadn’t thought about it at all. I thought about my pack weight but not mine. I set my pack down and walked over to the scale and stepped on: 175. That can’t be right. I stepped on again and it read 175. I asked the people if their scale was accurate, and they said it was just calibrated for the season. I started my hike at 240, which means in three weeks I lost 65 pounds. I went back to the bench and waited for the bus.
As the bus drove out of the valley I saw the parades of people and cars swish by. Grand views, fierce streams, and glorious scenery. The bus drove up and south through Wawona and towards Fresno. I kept straining to peer through the canopy at the distant mountain range: “I hiked through that.”
The bus stopped for a lunch break. I got a burrito. It was incredibly awesome. There was a lot of for sale signs around. No doubt people who fell in love with the mountains, moved out here, and then found mountain living hard and are now trying to sell.
In Fresno I waited for train and took my last photo the of trip.
Before and After
Reflecting on my trip proved fruitless. Instead I just stared out the window as the train passed by abandoned houses, junkyards, piles of garbage, burnt-out-cars, homeless encampments, dumped washers and driers and refrigerators and other large appliances. We use far more than we need and at what cost. What is the cost of gluttony and sloth?
The train rumbled into the last stop. I walked to the bus line and caught a bus that took me close to my house and walked home and knocked on the door. My wife cried. With tears down her check, she hit me and said: “why didn’t you call so I could come get you.” She hates surprises and likes to plan everything out. This surprise felt good. She said: “look at how skinny you are, we are going out to an all you can eat buffet right now.”
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.
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!
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:
Each step is one more step closer to my girls.
Each step up is one less foot of elevation of elevation I have to climb.
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!
I reveled in my accomplishments thusfar. Looking back, I really felt like I had done something amazing. What could possible stop me now?
On the way down, the boot tracks split. For reasons I cannot discern, it appeared to me that right was the way to go. I saw people coming from the left, but right seemed more direct. And there was a bonus: A glissade. At the bottom, the trail split again. One went to a very steep glissade that was old and rocks poked through everywhere. I started to walk around towards the upper side of Warrior lake. There was no trail, just boulders and rock. Climb down or go back to the glissade? I thought to myslef, it seems like there were many more glissades NOBO than SOBO. After every pass I encountered them. Probably because there were so many NOBO PCT hikers who were crazy enough to make them. I was in no mood to climb anymore, so I went back to the glissade and went down the ice chute with my ice axe. The bottom opened out into the middle of an alluvial fan with an ice bridge breaking apart over it. The river was on my left and I clearly had to make my way through the woods on the right. I saw no trail, no spike marks from trekking poles, no boot prints….nothing….And the mosquitoes were legendary in this marshy area. Every time I stopped to read the map, the little vampires swarmed all around, so thick, I couldn’t see the map. Keep moving. Down and towards water.
I sank up to my knee in muck jumping down off some rocks to one area, and got several scrapes going through brambled brush. From what I could tell I was at least a 1/2 mile from the trail and on the wrong side of the water. However, the other side of the water was a steep mountain with no path. I kept going and eventually found what looked like a campsite below squaw lake…which was where I had wanted to be for last night. The trail came and with it some relief. One more small crossing and I sped down hill. I passed quite a few hikers huffing and puffing. Again the feeling like NOBO had softer up hills and longer down hills, I sped past them, only chatting up one or two. At the bottom I refreshed by a creek.
In short order I encountered another huge bridge at Fish Creek. Who makes these things? How on earth do they get this stuff here? This was a remote area and certainly no land based vehicle could get here. All that steel would suck for a donkey or a mule.
The trail split by a fantastic meadow. I still had hopes of seeing a bear, but I settled for some wonderful birds and some deer. I started a steep set of switchbacks (I was in Tulley’s Hole, but I didn’t know it at the time.) My energy was good, but about three quarters of the way I conked out. The internal complaining started…probably just karma rebate for thinking how lucky was was for having better down hills and shorter uphills earlier.
As I reached the top the terrain changed again. Trees and rocks. No grassy meadows. No dense bushes with flower beds. Just trees and rocks. It was an alpine forest that opened to a fantastic Lake Virginia. Large and sprawling the trail took me around the perimeter to the outlet. I crossed after switching to my river shoes and after a short up, I paused for lunch. I pulled out my prized possession: One pound of re fried beans. Everyone on the package was in Spanish, and I had never seen beans packaged in a plastic one pound bag. I didn’t care I pulled out my spoon, huddled over the bag and feasted.
A hiker passed me, who had passed me before before Seldon pass. A pct hiker. They all had stopovers on Florence Lake resorts. I skipped that to gain some time. They were catching up to me now. I packed up my garbage, and kept going.
In coming up on Purple lake, I had to decide if I was going to detour to Iva Bell Hot Springs. My body was pretty achy and some hot springs would feel incredible. However it would add time to my trip, and I was homesick. As I was pondering this at the Purple Lake outlet refilling my water, one of the Canadians appeared behind me, scaring the bejesus out of me. Sneaky and fast….damn Canadians. It’s a good thing they’re on our side! We had a good chuckle and he stated he was meeting Nosebleed, Ramses, and the other Canadian at Mammoth. That’s right I was close to my other food drop already. He said they were camping at Purple Lake for the night. Feeling competitive, I said I was going farther. I pushed forward.
The forest around the mountain was pleasant and relatively level. It looked out over the silver mountain range across the valley. Judging by the sun, it was evening. I had about an hour before sundown. Hurrying along, stopping periodically to rest my shoulders and back, I wondered how on earth horses went through here. It was a trail, but rocky, with places I had to use both hands to climb up, down, and over. I saw horse apples, so I knew they went through, but heck. As I rounded the mountain I ran into a group of hikers. The last was not in good shape. Huffing and puffing. I told him he was almost there and that it was flat going from here one out.
Positive energy got me so far on this trail. Every little atta boy, and you can do it reverberated in my bones and got me to where I was. It was the least I could to pay it forward.
At Duck Lake Junction there were campers. Would I find a site. The sun was at the mountain tops, meaning I had at best 40 minutes of light. First and second campsite: Taken. Second Site Taken. I saw a group in the third site as well. Oh well, time to make a campsite on nice concrete slab. I erected my tent, and marched up to the creek to wash my socks and shirt (my nightly routine). I hung them out to dry and cooked some Ramen. The wind kicked up and it was COLD.
BRRRRR Cold hands. I lost my gloves; what a loser!
Camp at last light: Duck Lake Junction
I curled up in my bag for the evening Talley:
15 miles on the day 2625 feet of up and 2245 feet of down
208 miles on the trip so far: Holy Moly progress.
Day 19: 7/17/2017
I awoke excited knowing I would hit Red’s Meadow today. I wasn’t short on food, but I was looking forward to calling my family. The wind had stopped and I ate some bars and was off. The trail was much like the last part of yesterday. Going around the mountain. Trees. Rocks.
My tummy rumbled and it was time for a trip to the nature outhouse. The requirement was 100 feet from the trail and 100 feet from water. I walked up and up trying to find a suitable place. (I swear I’ll never make fun of a dog again sniffing around for the right place to poop). Surprisingly (or maybe not), instead of poop smell, re fried bean aroma filled the air. I opted to take toilet paper on the trip. This meant however, that I had to pack it out. Thank you zip lock bags for seal tight freshness.
Mostly down through a mature forest. Tress were spread out like Bear Creek Ridge, rocks and needles covered the ground. Clark’s Nutcrackers dominated the forest sounds. Although I was struck at how quiet this forest was. There were few insects making sounds, and a few birds. A stark contrast to the jungles of central America.
The Canadian crept up on me and scared me again. “We meeting at Mammoth….maybe we’ll see you there.” Fast and sneaky. An hour later the second Canadian passed me.
The trail weaved down and around and dropped into a more lush area. There were lots of down trees and the meadows picked up again. I saw more day hikers out of Mammoth. And just after Redcones – the cinder cones formed from a volcanic eruption 5000 years ago.
After a steep decent on the red cone viewed here I dropped into the valley ravaged by the Rainbow Falls Fire. This area was scorched in 1992. And although it seemed to be making a comeback, it was hard to believe how little had grown since 1992.
Although plenty lush, I later learned the growing season in the Sierra is extremely short which stunts growth. Nearby my homestead there was a giant fire in 1995, and by 2017, most trees were already 40-50 tall. The wood ferns through here were neck high, that was impressive. At this point I was getting excited. I was so close to Red’s Meadow, which was not only my last food drop but would be my first opportunity to call my family in 3 weeks.
I slid into Red’s Meadow only to find it almost abandoned. I was there about 5 years back and it was packed with tourists. Here now, in mid July, it was almost empty. Apparently the road was damaged and only essential personnel were in the Monument area. Lucky for me essential personnel included the general store operator and the restaurant staff!
I walked into the general area and had so much to do. I walked right into the restaurant and ordered the BEST GARDEN BURGER in the world with FRUIT salad, and a regular side salad.
While this cooked. I started charging my camera. I saw in the restaurant one of the Canadians and we chatted. He said he got lost on the trail to Mammoth and headed back to here. I saw several other PCT hikers who had passed me. All were thoroughly enjoying their meal. I chatted with the waitress who said the backpackers who come through are always so appreciative of the food. Deservingly so, that burger was phenomenal. I had not really been hungry on the trail, but this burger really hit the spot. I wolfed it down and ordered another.
Calling my wife and hearing her voice was wonderful. So elated to speak with her, almost all I could get out was how happy I was to hear her voice. She was surprised as well. We talked for 5-10 minutes. It had been so long since I spoke with her, it was such a release of stress to hear her voice. I relayed some of my adventures and told her I was about six days away from Yosemite. I called my mom as well, who was very grateful I was alive. I went back into the restaurant and wolfed down my second burger. I retrieved my last food bucket from the general store and started sorting through it. I donated most of the food to the hiker bucket to keep my bag light. I fiddled around Red’s for almost two hours waiting for my devices to recharge, and headed out. My goal was Johnson’s meadow. I had another goal. I though talking to my family would stave off some of my homesickness; but it didn’t – it made it worse. So now instead of 6 days to Yosemite, I wanted to be knocking on the door in 6 days. This meant I’d have to huff it to make it to Happy Isles by 6pm in 5 days, as that was the last bus to the Merced Amtrak.
Energized by my new plan and two Garden burgers I set off with a good pace. I raced by the Postpile, and started back up out of the valley towards the lakes. I got confused around Mineret falls. The JMT and the PCT trails split. Also several JMT SOBO hikers were coming down from the PCT trail saying that the JMT through Garnet lake was closed, was too dangerous, impassable, blah blah blah. I chose to follow the JMT irrespective of what the other hikers said. It couldn’t possibly be more dangerous than what I had faced earlier.
Mosquitoes infested Mineret creek, and when I came to the crossing, I didn’t want to dawdle. The crossing was deep with a medium current. I walked upstream until I found a suitable place. The day was late, and I didn’t want to get my boots wet, so I changed to my river booties. I crossed it like a champ and forged ahead. There was not campsite nearby. The air was thick with Mosquitoes and I kept trying to convince myself that just a little farther up away from the creek would be better. (The things we tell ourselves….).
I was loosing light, so I bit the bullet and found a campsite off trails in a wooded area. I skipped dinner and washing my socks and headed straight for the tent. My wife had told me that the kids would be home later in the day, so around 7pm with the sun almost down, I peeked at my phone to see if I still had reception. Hurray! I called my girls and spoke with them.
Reeling from a wonderful day of connecting with my family I tallied my stats for the day:
15 miles on the day (yay!), 2380 feet of decline and 600 feet of gain. And what excited me even more was 223 trip miles (149 miles of which was the JMT). I tried to think out my next few days: Perhaps I could make it to the ascent to Island Pass tomorrow. Do two passes the following day, and then be in Yosemite! I could taste the finish. I didn’t know if I’d have enough umph to get to Happy Isles, but I’d definitely make it to Tuolome Meadows.
The night was filled with new sounds. I hear bears and cats. I heard coyotees and deer barking. This forest was very active.
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.
