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.

Day 10 (7/8/2017)

Each night my routine was to record my altitude (according to my data book – Elizabeth Wenk), talley up my distance coverage, talley up my altitude changes.  I went to be the night before with a tally of 95 miles complete.  I was to lazy to do the math, but I my mind I knew the end was about 250 miles from where I started.  I was about a third of the way done.  Could I do it?  I didn’t know.

I awoke the frogs; still going strong.  I packed up, had a bar for breakfast and headed out.  This area was beautiful (as if other areas were not).  Mornings were special.  They were brisk, the birds were out, and the wind was low so I was frequently treated to views like the one I captured of Fin Dome.  Perfect reflections.

I approached Arrowhead lake as the sun crept into the valley.  The sun illuminated the rainbow trout in the stream.  It looked beautiful, and then I noticed that this was the trail crossing.  I wrestled with the decision on what to do: Look for a different crossing point, Just cross and start my day out wet and soggy and cold, change into my river booties and then cross. Complicating matters, the crossing point looked to be about waist deep, meaning my underwear and shirt would get cold.    I stripped down naked and put my river booties on and crossed.  Sure enough the water was stomach deep.  I got to the other side.  The sun warmed my body and set my pack down on the rock outcropping.  No one was around, I went back in for a dip and scrub.   I went back to the rock and laid in the sun.  In a few minutes I was dry.  I suited up and continued on.

https://youtu.be/VJudHjDQ9xc

A long down hill was before me.  Down down down.  Terrain was rocky, and occasionally a tributary feeding South Fork Woods Creek had to be dealt with.  At Baxter creek, I had just finished putting on hiking boots back on, when I ran into Rika.  I had seen her once before at Kersarge.  “Hi I’m Rika, I hike 20 miles a day.”  I thought to myself: “I’m Dan, and I’m lucky if I hit 10 miles.”; however I kept it cordial.  I remember distinctively when she passed my on a Kersarge Ice traverse.  She just stamp stamp stamped her way forward.  I would cautiously weigh each stepping place, but she was fearless.  I tried to emulate that fearlessness when crossing the Glenn Pass ice fields. Walk like that small asian lady did.  We exchanged pleasantries and she zoomed on past me.

At woods creek, the bottom of a very long downhill, I crossed the famed suspension bridge.  It was rikity and the water rushing below.  This was the first bridge I encountered.  How on earth did they get the materials here?

I crossed the bridge and saw a big 800 in the sand.   Another number jumped into my head 802.  I remember Radagast and Tenison talking about White Fork at 802 as a problematic river crossing.  This stuck in my mind, because that was another crossing that was not on my radar.    At two miles up, I hit White fork, a tributary that fed Woods Creek.  The trail was on a steep hill that was rock and chaparral.   There was a campsite by the creek indicating clearly people had camped and tried crossing in the morning when flows were lower.  A mis step here would result in a tumble down a steep hill into Woods Creek, which was massive.  I walked up stream.  At times there were falls or cliffs that prevented me from staying stream-side.  I picked spot A, B, and C and went back and forth trying to get up the courage to cross.  The water was not deep, but it was fast, much faster than any creek I crossed previously.  I mulled this over for about 30 minutes.  I punted, I went back to the trail crossing, took off my pants, put on my river booties, and crossed slowly and deliberately.  It was easier than I thought and that gave me courage.

Up up up and away.  Again Rika passed me.  She must have stopped for lunch off trail somewhere. We waived and she marched on.  This was a long trudge, and after awhile I was in snow drifts again.  Par for course, I chose the wrong boot tracks AGAIN.  This time I ended up about 300 feet below the trail and cornered by woods creek.  I rock scrambled up to the trail and zig zaged up towards Mt Cedric.  My daylight was running out and I really wanted to hit twin lakes.  I needed to get closer to the next pass.

After the junction, I was in a marshy area and snow drifts were starting. In looking at the map, it was clear I would have to go down to get to Twin Lakes, and that meant I’d have to go back up later.  I had enough up/down for one day (2400 down and 2200 feet up) The sun was almost down.  I pitched a tent and decided to hit the trail early in the AM.  In looking at the map I was almost exactly where I had planned to spend night 8 (on night 10).  Two days behind. 105 miles in and in my journal I wrote: “I spend most of the day missing my family and thinking about homecoming. #@!! and I’m not even half way there yet.”

7/7/2017: Day 9

I woke up above flower lake to a sooty grouse calling.  About the size of a guinea hen or a chicken they open yellow air sacks and emanate a whooping sound that can be heard over great distances.  This particular grouse was just outside my tent.

A big day.  Hopeful and rejuvenated, with this good omen and good conversation yesterday, I would need to summit Kersarge pass and Glenn pass – A double summit day.  Up to Kersarge in the early AM. At the top a deer crossed the summit with me. On the way down I first ran into Mike, who said his daughter called it quits.  I ran into Drippy and his girlfriend.  Their words: “You got this!”

I took the high path back to the JMT, and then towards Glenn Pass. As I increased in elevation on the lateral side of the mountain above Charlotte Lake,  the snow drifts started and I lost the trail.  I followed various boot tracks…the wrong ones. I ended up 200 feet above the trail and had to climb down using my axe and crampons.   Thunder started as did the rain and lightning.  I sheltered in the open, with my pack 20 yards away, and just sat in the rain.  It passed quickly, and the storm clouds looked to be moving to the East.  I started out again.  I crossed an ice chute that dropped into a glacial pool.  The blue hue from the snow and ice matched that of the glaciers I saw in Alaska.  A pure blue unlike anything we have at lower altitudes.

Around the corner all dirt and rock just about disappeared.  I ran into two Chinese hikers southbound.  In broken English they asked me to get word to their group on the other side by the lake: “The climb is very strenuous, there are two 70 year-old people, ask them to call helicopter.”  This was not the pep talk I was looking for.   I climbed up through snow for about an hour.  I reached the ascent.  Instead of a zig-zag switchback to the summit, there was a mountaineering route straight up an ice chute.    The intensity of focus I needed to avoid slipping and falling wore me out.

I made it up, to the summit.  I could see 20 miles in every direction at least.  I heard more thunder, saw clouds, and decided: “Enough with the viewing, down I go.”

An ice traverse with 300-400 foot drop into a glacier required my upmost attention.  Then it turned down.  A steep decent until I saw some trail, then more snow and ice.  I lost the trail at an out cropping and followed what I thought was the direction.  It took me to a soggy campsite across an ice bridge.  I rested and admired the view of Rae Lakes with the ice breaking apart.  Waterfalls from all sides poured into it.  I got a little lost in the wild again.  I followed some mountaineering tracks that put me towards the Mount Gardiner junction.  I doubled back and headed down and eventually made it to the island that joined the Rae lakes.  The crossing here wasn’t on my radar and I wasn’t keen on getting wet this late in the day.  It was afternoon and with the day’s melt, the flow was heavy and deep.  I stayed on the biggest rocks there; even so it was still waist deep.  If I slipped off the rocks, I would have gone up to my neck for sure.  I took my time and went slow.  I felt obligated to get word to the group of the Chinese travelers.   On the other side of the waterway, I saw tracks everywhere but no path.  I wandered to the high point to get my bearings.  I saw the path submerged by water on the East end of the peninsula, and went to the other side.  I saw the family and gave them the message and hoped they understood.  I recalled meeting the ranger who was stationed at the ranger outpost on Rae Lakes on the Kersarge pass.  I double timed it to the station to pass notification to him about the family as well.  There was a sign on the door saying: “Cross at Arrowhead lake inlet, not outlet”.  I didn’t know exactly what that meant.  I settled in at middle Rae Lake, by a pond of choral frogs.  How beautiful they sounded….at first.  At 1am, 2am, 3am, and 4am the rib-biting frogs lost their charm.

As I settled into my tent, I reflected again on my choice for the day.  Could I possibly make it? I barely made it today.  The trail was much tougher than the earlier 7 days, and the mountaineering scared me quite a bit.  Unaccustomed to being lost, getting lost in the wilds made me uneasy.  Yet, my legs were better, and this was some darn beautiful country.

7/4/2017 – 7/6/2017 (Days 6, 7, and 8)

After a slumber at edge of Sandy meadows I felt better.  My infection wasn’t bothering me as much, but I thought I see how it would go.  I still felt pretty discouraged.  I forced down some beans and rice and started my hike.  As I went up the gentle grade I could not figure out why there were so many mosquitoes.  There had a lot in crabtree meadows, but this was a higher elevation and there was not swampy meadow here, just sand.  Yet, every time I stopped they were all over me.  Wallace creek was simple but Wright creek would a little worse than crabtree creek.  I changed to my river crossing shoes, and forded the river.  Getting dressed, I encountered the Canadians the first time. At the time there were three of them all PCT hikers.  They were fast and driven.  We exchanged pleasantries and they continued on.  This was the start of the ascent to Big Horn Plataeu.   Deer and marmots lined the trail.  At the top the air was crisp.  A fire plume in the distance bellowed upwards to the heavens.  Ultimately peaceful, I saw no one else until Tyndall Creek.  The comments of the dangers of Tyndall Creek played back in my head as I approached.  I heard Tyndall creek miles before I saw it.  At the trail crossing the river was about 15 meters wide, steep, and fast moving.  Brush on both sides of the river would make for a difficult entry and exit.  Downstream looked to get steeper, and I saw some falls, so I headed upstream.  In about a mile I scoped a potential crossing.   I saw three travelers southbound through the woods I hailed them and they walked towards me.   I asked them if this was a good spot.  They ripped off their shoes and all crossed barefoot, threw on the shoes and continued.  They were nonplussed, focused, and wasted no time.  I took my cue, I changed my shoes and started to cross.  It looked worse than it was.  The stone bed was slippery, but I went slow.  The water only went up to my thigh, splashing my stomach occasionally.  I made it across, waived and started to change back into my hiking boots.  I was almost complete when I saw Nosebleed, Ramses, and California Gold.  I waived at them and showed them where I had crossed.  Here they are crossing the mighty Tyndall Creek.

The trail after Tyndall turned into a creek bed from the snow melt.  Half the time I waded through muck or stepped on rocks.  Shortly after the creek I hit a snowfield.  My first major one.   I put on my crampons and went to work.  I saw no trail.  I went from rock out cropping to rock out cropping.  I found an ice traverse path and took it.  I looked back and saw not only Nosebleed’s group, but another group of six.  That was Emma’s San Diego group.  I pushed forward.  My feet were soaked from going through the snow.  I ran into two more southbound hikers.  They wanted to know how much snow until it was done, they were tired of the snow and wanted it to be over.  They let me know there was a lot of snow ahead.  I pushed forward into the mountainous cul-de-sac.  Determined not to fail a Forrester ascent, I wanted to get as close as I could to the base.  I stopped at the second to last out cropping to the base at 12,000 feet.  I setup my tend next to a rock wall, and cooked some Top Roman with dried vegetables.   It was cold.  I finished my dinner right as the sun dropped behind the mountain.  The temperature dropped instantly and I became very cold.  I got into my sleeping bag and did what I could to stay warm.  It was a very cold night.  The cold air went right through my tend, sleeping back, jacket, and socks.  I shivered most of the night.

I wanted to be the first up the mountain, so I hustled out before sunrise. I was up anyway from the cold so I jumped to it.   I crossed two snowfield and hit the base as the San Diego group caught up with me.  We had to to an ice scramble ascent.  There was no trail, just some random boot tracks here and there.  After a 200 foot ascent of an ice sheet we hit trail, which we followed for a bit, and then a large ice traverse, then more switchbacks.  I was going to make it.  When we go to the dreaded ice chute, it looked like nothing.  I had already done ice traverses that were more difficult than that.  One of the folks from the San Diego dropped his ice axe and had to climb down the ice chute to get it.  Oops.

I was elated making it to the top.  The view was amazing.  But I was just as amazed to see flowers, birds, and insects up there.  I rested a bit, then started down, which consisted of a long ice traverse.  The San Diego group opted to glissade down (400 foot glissade), I decided not to.  Down snow switchback and some glissaded, I descended into the valley below, crossing the Bubbs creek ice bridge.  I lost sight of the San Diego group and Cucumber.  Once the snow drifts disappeared, I found a nice spot pine needle bed campsite to take a nap.  I washed my shirt hung it out to dry, and laid down for for a power nap. I awoke refreshed.  I walked along Bubbs creek; heavy on my mind was the thought as to whether I should continue or quit.  My food was not working out well.  I wasn’t hungry, but I also wasn’t eating much.  My chaffing was better and not hurting anymore, but this was much more difficult than I had thought it would be.  Just before the Bubbs Creek Trail Junction, Radagast and Tennison caught up with me.  We exchanged pleasantries and forged ahead.  I tired, and I had hoped to get to Bull Frog lake, but a traveler told me campsites were closed.    I turned up the trail towards bull frog lake thinking I would go as far as my legs would carry me.   Half way up, I saw Cucumber as his site, I asked if I could share the space, he agreed….I looked a little farther and found another campsite between two streams.  I moved over there.  As I at dinner, it started to rain.  I hoped in my tent.  The next morning, I asked Cucumber if he could text my wife and kids to let them know I was OK.

The next morning I started off and went up by bull frog lake and headed towards Kesarge Pass.  My first food drop.  I had eaten very little of my food and was still contemplating quitting.  In reaching the top of Kesarge I marveled at the view.  I stopped to watch the clouds pass.  How do things get so beautiful?

A few glissades and a lot of switchbacks down I headed towards my food drop.  The campsite was abandoned and closed due to storm damage.  I headed off through the gate to Danica’s.  I walked up, feet dragging, and encountered a man with a lip full of chew and a pistol tucked into his belt.  He invited me to sit on the porch.  It was the first real conversation of my trip that didn’t consist of trail updates.  We talked about the mountains, hunting, the Army, young people, and the history of the area.  It was a rich discussion and an much needed distraction.  After an hour or so, I told him of my trouble with my nutrition plan and how I was thinking about quitting.   He walked inside the cabin, and came out with a can of french cut green beans and a hand full of crystal lite mix: “Someone left these behind.  I’m pretty sure you can do the hike, give yourself more credit.”  I took the beans, the crytal light and his advice to heart.  I started back up the mountain.  I couldn’t reach the top, so I stopped just above flower lake for the night just before a thunder, lightning, and hail storm.