TIME FOR A HOT BATH

DAY 19 - August 26, 2010: This is the end, my friend

Today enjoyed the lazy luxury of sleeping in . . . meaning didn’t get out of the tent till about 7:30 AM, later than ever! However, this was the most inhospitable place I had camped on the entire trip. Worse than Helen Lake. It was so freezing and windy that I stayed out just long enough to see other folks shivering while they broke camp in preparation for their own assaults on Whitney, then went back in the tent and waited another half-hour for the sun. I was done with all of that assaulting mountains stuff.

I suppose it felt good to be finished, but it was still freezing. And I wasn’t really finished, quite.

Didn’t have anything remotely appetizing in the food stash, no coffee or miso left, either, so I forwent boiling water and feasted on the remaining half of yesterday’s peanut butter sandwich, now nearly two days old. It was gonna be all downhill, only about five miles, figured I wouldn’t need all that much energy. And there would be hot food at the other end this time, whoopee.

The day felt oddly like any other, just throw on the pack and start slogging. I’d expected to feel a sense of completion, satisfaction, anticipation, you name it. Probably it was just that I was exhausted and fairly burnt-out. Tearing down the tent was hard, because the wind was gusting wildly. The day had started bright and clear, but was quickly clouding up. For nineteen days and nights I’d had great weather, no rain, only occasional cloudy skies, and heavy winds just the once, at Glen Pass. But yesterday I’d heard thunder when coming down from the summit, and by the time I’d walked a few hundred yards today, I was already hearing it today, early in the morning. Thunderstorms are no joke up there: every year people die in lightning strikes on Mt. Whitney. Signs everywhere warn you to avoid the summit if there is thunder. I wondered if the climbers today would make it up all the way.

The trail was rocky again, for the most part, so it wasn’t really fast going. After a bit I passed a couple of women going down and we talked for a bit. Turned out they were expecting a ride to be waiting at Whitney Portal to take them to Mammoth Lakes, 70 miles north. I couldn’t help but ask if they’d have room for me, since my car was at Mammoth and I still had not firm plans on how to get back there and had been hoping for a break like this. Amazingly, they said that would probably work. At that point I did indeed experience a sense of completion, relief, satisfaction, however tentative and mild. I’d thought I might need to camp another night, hitch out, and catch a bus up the next day. Hot bath! Warm bed! Oooooh! What nice peopleses, gollum gollum. Nancy and Mary.

The sky continued to cloud over. Right after passing the last really scenic section, a beautiful little lake, it actually began to rain. felt the cold rain on my arms for a while, it was pleasant. Then it began to come down hard, and I pulled on the poncho for the first time in the trip. It seemed the Great Spirit, having kept me comfortable in the sun for three weeks, was giving me a farewell cleansing, and closing the curtain on this wilderness journey. I sent back a big good-bye, full of gratitude. Thanks for the lessons, Big Guy. Or whatever you are. I’ll keep them in my heart for good and ever, promise. I mean that.

My new friends and I leapfrogged each other all the way to the parking lot, which came into view maddeningly long before we reached it. I happened to get there first, and saw a lone woman, looking rather lost, protected from the rain only by the scant eave of the public restroom. Needing shelter myself, I asked if there was room for two, and she said to come on in. Turned out she was Robie, the person waiting for Nancy and Mary, perfect! A few minutes later they turned up, and we all went to grab something to eat at the little café which the Park Service had had the foresight to put up there.

All this reminded me of coming home to the U.S. from the Peace Corps when I was 23, unimaginable conveniences. But eating this new food was strange. Had a burger and fries, and it was tasting something I’d never had before, almost not at all familiar. And my stomach had shrunk and couldn’t handle the whole thing. Mary had a beer, but I wasn’t ready for that. Had just a little sip of hers, but just really didn’t want a whole one. And I’m a beer drinker.

It turned out plans had changed, and they were only going as far as Bishop today, but Robie was willing to take me that far. This was fine with me: I could get a motel room and get to Mammoth the next morning on the bus. So we hopped in, headed north, and enjoyed each other’s company for the next couple of hours. But as we were coming into Bishop, Robie said she’d decided to drop the other ladies off and take me up the next 35 miles to Mammoth, that she had some business up there she could do. I wanted to refuse, half-heartedly tried, but couldn’t completely, the offer was just too honest and too nice. She must have seen how utterly wiped out I was and taken pity on me. Human nature certainly has its good sides. Thank you again, Robie!

So that’s the story of my John Muir Trail walkabout. I suppose I should add that I got to the car OK, and got two nights in a very comfortable but inexpensive motel which had wireless internet, and had a long hot bath and shower before catching up on e-mail and starting this blog . . . note the first entry is August 27, the day after we came down to Whitney Portal. Food was still tasting strange.

There is much more I could write. The lessons I learned up there were many and powerful, and I’ve only shared a few. There are a lot more stories in there, too, but I think this is enough for now. Probably too much, actually. I doubt that many folks will even read more than an entry or two of this blog, anyway. Thanks to those of you that have actually followed along with me for the journey, it makes it every so slightly less lonely and gives a shade more meaning to it, as well. It has actually taken me more days to chronicle the trip than to actually walk it, and in fact it feels as though I am just now finishing up, that it’s been going on for 2½ months now, ever since I first arrived in Tuolumne Meadows July 7 to get ready for the Big One until this moment, writing these words. It’s been a great adventure, and it will stay with me till the end of my days, but it’s time to move on now, and that’s a good thing. Can’t wait to see what’s around the next corner.


Note: Anniell and friends made it out OK a day later, I was relieved--see her comment below under "amill1."

WATERSHED

DAY 18 - August 25, 2010: As far as it goes

Today there was no hurry in getting out. Everyone else would be leaving early, the trail would be a freeway for awhile. If I just waited for an hour, I’d get the solitude, just me and the Great Spirit, and you could bet no one would be coming up behind me. The three youngsters I’d played leapfrog with since Evolution Valley had said they were leaving before the sun was up, and would hike all the way out today, giving them a 15-mile day. Not for me. All that really concerned me, I thought, was getting up to the Trail Crest Pass, then making it downhill to Trail Camp on the other side, leaving a quick hike out tomorrow. 8 miles tops, 12 if I left my pack at Trail Crest and bounced up to the peak and back, but plenty of time no matter how late I started.

So I took plenty time getting up, cooking and eating, breaking camp, didn’t get started till well after nine, waved at the other groups as they left (still no Anniell!) and then dawdled going up the trail myself. Lots of breaks, looks back, reflections. Didn’t feel like straining myself on the last tough hike of the trip. Also, I guess I wasn’t in the greatest frame of mind. Why?

Chalk it up to learning. It’s OK, really, the trip has just been too long for me in my present state. I was itching to be out at least three days ago, not because I had a short attention span, but because I’d overdone everything. I should have had more and better food, so I have low energy, pretty sure it’s the food. Actually I’m trying to tell myself I’m not exhausted, but I am. Have to climb 3500 feet, but don’t really feel much like walking today. My right knee has been hurting for the last three days, nothing intolerable, but a little troubling. Using the right leg to support me on a steep step up or down is jarring, so I’m constantly watching my step. The trail is rocky and uneven here, which means I have to watch my feet even more, leaving not a lot of space for enjoyment. I haven’t had a shower since Vermillion Resort, more than two weeks ago, and—except for the socks—haven’t washed my few clothes in that long, either.

All that said, this time the plan did work. Am about to make it out, and on schedule, too. If I can’t be more enthusiastic about it, that’s just part of the experience, something to remember and learn from. Doesn’t take away from the value of the trip.

And it really is beautiful here. Even now I’m awestruck every time I look around. There must be something to this “highest in the lower 48” thing, because the peaks and valleys do seem grander than anywhere else I’ve seen, and that’s saying something.

So I make my way up the tortuous switchbacks. There are a whole lot of them, and they get very steep. Have to be careful, because the drop-offs are often sheer and deep, and the track is slippery sometimes. I start counting: every 20 switchbacks I take a break. Then every ten. Then every . . . well, whenever it feels right. I turn around and look often, and it’s never disappointing. There’s no one behind me, but a number of hikers come down the other way. We almost always chat a little. Up here there’s great camaraderie. It’s not your average Joe who feels the urge to come up here: most I’ve met have been pretty interesting folks.

No need to dwell on the two or three hours or so it took to get up to the summit trail junction: they happened, that’s all, and when they were over I felt a huge sense of relief. Not elation. Maybe some satisfaction that I’d actually pulled it off, but mostly just relief. Here, if I wanted to go up to the summit, I could just leave my pack beside all the others that were lined up against the cliff, and do those next two miles (two up and two back) as unencumbered as a day hiker. And the rest of the trip, all of it, would be downhill! Relief. I still had plenty of water, which was good. Sat down, sprawled out, pulled out the bottle and drank deep. I always maintain that the water in the high Sierras is the most delicious in the world.

I had gotten up there by a little after noon. Even with a 45-minute break that left plenty of time to go to the top, come down, strap the pack back on, and hike the three miles down to Trail Camp on the other side. But such was my frame of mind that I said to myself, self . . . what’s the big deal about summiting? It’s only two miles, anyone can do it, and what for? Just to say I’ve been there? Just for a photo op? And the rationalizations flooded in: maybe it’s more principled to not go up, it would be letting the destination appear more important than the path. Or, it’s like the whipped cream on a sundae, who needs to eat that? Of course, the fact was, I was tired of hiking and didn’t want to go the extra four miles. Simple.

Fortunately, there was a guy also hanging out there at the trail junction, so I had someone to talk to. Good fella. Young, maybe a bit overweight, unhappy that he’d gotten about halfway up and had to turn back because his knee was giving out. That alone had me counting my blessings, at my age still no serious joint problems. He was waiting for a friend to come back down. He said, hey, you’re here, when are you gonna be here again? If I were you I’d do it.

Of course. There really was no way I could not go up to the top after walking 160 miles, 240 km, across 8 passes, having wanted to do this for more than a half century. Duhhhh. You knew this. Why didn’t I?

Hiking without a pack on my back was quite a novelty, and, also duhhhh, made hiking a lot easier. Didn’t feel the need to rest at all. Did, however, have to watch the feet, and definitely did not want to go too fast. The Whitney summit trail is not an exemplary model of safety engineering. It isn’t especially steep in most places, but there are long stretches where it’s narrow with a deadly drop on one side, and in a few cases on both sides. Sometimes the trail angles sideways towards the drop, and many times there’s sand or loose gravel to slip on. At two places I saw boulders or other detritus that fallen onto the trail and had to be clambered over or around. It was slow going because I was constantly looking down to avoid a foot fault with more serious consequences than losing my serve. How they avoid having more fatalities up there is beyond me.

Made it up, glad I did. Great view, great photo to remember. And it really is awe-inspiring to look out and see so many mountains covering such vast spaces. Great Spirit, you are aptly named. After 45 minutes or so hanging out and chatting with other hikers up there, it was time to head back, so again I carefully picked my way down the rocky path, taking way longer than I’d thought it would.

Back at the junction heaved the pack back on and trudged up, just one more short hop, two hundred feet and about a quarter mile to where the trail actually goes down.

A long down it was, about 3.5 miles and a hundred stretched-out, mean switchbacks, and I could see the Trail Camp, with little colored dots marking tents, long before getting there.

The sun was on the other side of the hills and it was freezing cold when I finally approached Trail camp. The first people I saw were some college-age kids getting dinner together in front of their tents. Some distance away, I stopped and shouted at the top of my lungs,

“Behold! I come from afar, seeking a place among you!” (I really did this)

They turned and just stared at me. No imagination. Oh well.

“This one will do!” I let forth, and put my pack down. I hadn’t chosen a great place, but it would work. No matter that this wasn’t a friendly place, I was just there for the night. My last night. I later caught those dweebs with iPods stuck in their ears, and talking about swapping dvds later. Basically day-trippers out here with tents by accident somehow.

It was so windy that I had a devil of a time getting the tent up. But up it eventually went. Dinner? It was freezing. I got some water from the lake, but didn’t feel like cooking. Why? All I had left was the freeze-dried teriyaki chicken I’d gotten from the supplies Jim had sent to Muir Trail Ranch. I’d tried one of those early on, and it had nearly made me throw up. I wasn’t hungry anyway. But I knew I should eat, so . . . the peanut butter sandwich! The dude ranch folks were good for something, anyhow. Dinner: one half of one peanut butter sandwich. Save the other half for breakfast.

No matter the cold and wind, I sleep soundly this last night. Next Entry: out and about

CATCHING UP TO THE JONESES

DAY 17 - August 24, 2010: To base camp

Woke appropriately early, as usual. Always to bed at or before last light, up with the earliest hint of dawn. Haven’t mentioned much about the moon, but it’s been mostly full or near full for a good part of the trip, a strong and glorious night light.

Have only really seen the moon here at that absurdly mundane moment, when leaving the tent in the middle of the night to pee: the paradox again, discomfort and great beauty, the sublime and the silly. But even then, the sight is uplifting, especially when you’re up high and have a view of lakes and peaks in moonlight and soft shadow.

A couple of nights ago one zipper on the bug screen broke. There are two, but I knew that if the other one went, I wouldn’t be able to shut the screen, and just saying “no” wouldn’t be enough: those female mosquitoes would have their way with me. Well, this morning, the second one broke. But only two nights to go, it could be worse. And, remember, there have hardly been any mosquitoes or flies since Muir pass, maybe the Great Spirit’s reward for my commitment to finish what I started. So the worst thing about this, really, is that it looks embarrassing. If there are other tents around tonight, I’m gonna face it the other way.

Instead of coffee I’ve been cooking up miso soup in the morning, a habit that may—if I ever make it back to that other world—perhaps continue, it’s great. This is my last packet of miso, however. What next, hot water? The trip teaches one to be endlessly creative, so I’ll probably think of something. I think back to a few days ago, when a hiker coming up behind me cheerily observed, “wow, great idea! Duct tape, 1001 uses, never saw that one before! He was referring to my carefully repaired shorts. I’d brought two pair, but they’re each made of cotton, and I’ve sat down on granite so often in the last weeks that both have developed serious holes in the seat. Actually the one was already developing them, that’s why I’d picked up the second one. Anyhow the older one had reached a crisis point, so I’d tried a new solution and learned that, as the American Duct Tape Council says, it’s “more than a miracle adhesive; it's a balm for the soul of the unprepared and inept.”


Got on the trail early this morning, before 8. Started up the first 400-foot climb wondering how Anniell and friends were doing. I’d expected to see them pull in around here last night, but I was the only camper in sight. They were planning on making Guitar Lake tonight, as well, so I assumed we’d see each other there.

The ascent to Bighorn Plateau was pleasant, I was hiking well in the morning, and the scenery was a cut above the norm, even for here. Tall trees, widely spaced, a comfortable trail with a decent grade, with views through the trees of ranges I hadn’t seen. Wondering if or when Whitney would pop into view, it seemed unbelievable that it was this close, the summit only 15 miles away or so.
Was hoping to see a bighorn sheep up here, but didn’t. Bighorns are an endangered species, but due to restoration efforts there are about 400 in the Sierra Nevada now, and supposedly two herds are ranging somewhere near here. Bighorn plateau looks to my untrained eye like a perfect grazing spot, you’d expect to see scores of them. Up near 11,000 feet, a huge wide open grassy space with a lake at the edge, and not far to the east are cliffs and crags where they’d feel right at home. But Aha! Whitney! You can just see the summit, the peak way over to the left on this wide picture below. Tomorrow.

Still, the only wildlife I see here consists of a few birds . . . and a bezillion grasshoppers! As I followed the trail through a long grassy section, they came to life, hopping right along beside me. Not sure why. Were my footsteps kicking up things they liked to eat? Doesn’t seem likely. As the trail moved into a barren area, fewer followed, until there were only a few, then only one, and then that one gave up, too. Too bad, I was enjoying all the attention. Told you I was getting punchy.

I did appreciate the surroundings—it was impossible not to—but each day it was harder to enjoy myself, and I thought more and more about getting out of the wilderness . . . now only two days away, but feeling endlessly distant. My old body was holding up pretty well, all things considered, though I still didn’t feel as strong as I thought I should, and my right knee had been hurting a bit for a couple of days. The Great Spirit was still there, and I realized that this journey was very important in my life, but I was weakening. No matter, this is just one of the facts I have to deal with, it doesn’t diminish the value of it all. Just keep after it. No choice in that, actually, I really have to keep after it. It feels as though it will never end, but of course that is just a trick my mind is playing on me. In a bit over two days I’ll actually be soaking in a hot bath and drinking a pale ale, it’s true, why can’t I believe that?

I’m reading maps better. Realizing how clueless I was before at estimating the difficulty of a given hike. Now I can see pretty clearly from the contour lines what’s ahead, it will make planning a lot easier if I ever do a long backpacking trip again. Somehow I think there won’t be another as long as this one, though. So, from Bighorn it was down to Wallace Creek, then up again, over a rise, and down again to Crabtree Meadow, then the last three miles up to Guitar Lake.

Nobody else was on the trail, or at least there was no one near me. This has been the first day in quite a while that that has been true. Did exchange pleasantries with the leader of a packtrain coming up the other way, but after that saw no one until after my final long break, at Crabtree. After that I did some leapfrogging up to Guitar with these two twenty-something Iranian guys who were doing a much shorter Whitney loop than mine. I was gratified that I made it up to the lake before they did, not because they were Iranian, but because they were young! Actually talked to one of them on a break, seemed like a really good guy. He was having trouble with the altitude, and that was also mildly gratifying, only because misery loves company. But while I was tired enough to not be overjoyed on finally reaching the lake, I really wasn’t miserable.

Passed beautiful Timberline Lake on the way up, and took a picture. No camping allowed. Would be a great place for it, though.
Another packtrain passed, going our direction. I stuck out my thumb, and they laughed. This one was some kind of dude ranch packtrain: some folks actually ride up and have their supplies packed in to Guitar Lake, then do Whitney as a day hike, no pack. Wimps! Ah, but maybe next time we’ll try that, no?

Keeping up with the Joneses. I’d been passed by a lot of folks in past days and even weeks who’d told me they’d be staging at Guitar Lake today, and sure enough, a bunch of them were here, and some greeted me when I pulled in. I asked one, “so this is the famous Guitar Lake?” and he laughed, “No, Peter, it’s the next one up, just keep on going!” A gal named Ros pointed me to a campsite down by the lake that hadn’t been taken. This was definitely the most crowded I’d seen anywhere on the trail, except maybe McClure Meadow. Strange how these people felt like old friends, though we’d only exchanged a few words here and there at different points. It felt good that I’d stayed with the program and caught up with them. But . . . so far, no Anniell!

I was running low on food, but still had enough for tonight and tomorrow, with a very skimpy breakfast on the last morning, anyhow. Tonight I’d get a bit more than usual, since tomorrow was a big day in a lot of ways: climb, altitude, and distance to the next camp. Had two of those freeze-dried dinners left, only one of which could be seen as halfway decent, had that one. Tomorrow’s breakfast? Endless creativity again: mashed potatoes mixed with corn, and mushroom gravy. Yum! Oh, and a dude lady from the horse camp just above me came down and gave me an extra bag lunch they had: a fresh plum, wow!!!! Can't tell ya how good that went down. Saved the Butterfinger for a snack tomorrow, and haven't decided yet just what to do with the peanut butter sandwich.


Next Entry: a dream no longer deferred

LAST GASP PASS

DAY 16 - August 23, 2010: The mother of all foresters

I knew when I crossed Muir Pass that there was no turning back. The road home lay through the passes Mather, Pinchot, Glen, and Forester . . . plus Whitney, as just a smidgeon of afterthought. That’s one way to get yourself to do something, hey? Put yourself in a position with just one way out.

I suppose it’s odd that after all these days and all these passes I’d think Forester Pass was tough. It’s no more than a foothill compared to Everest, or even Denali, that’s true. Be proud then, you lucky youngsters with great lungs and legs. Actually, looking back, I think that by the last few days I must have been not getting enough food, that was part of it. Keeping my energy up seemed an increasing problem. Figure out there you burn 5000 calories a day, and take in only about 1000 with the food you can carry. Lost a bunch of weight, which taken alone was good, but wow, I sure did tire fast! And if I was building muscle, where was the protein coming from? I remembered Bob saying he and Brad stopped every hour to eat. I didn’t have any snacks . . . too much to carry in the canister. If I were to do something like this again, I’d figure out a way of carrying more food.
It was OK, though. Most of my blue funk from yesterday was gone, I’d slept maybe 15 hours since that afternoon, and the old body was creaking along purty good, all things considered. The guy yesterday had been right about one thing: the trail was easy to walk on. What he apparently didn’t notice was that up where it started zigzagging back and forth it got a whole lot steeper. I said, OK, just take your time, took it at a pace I could handle, and got up in good time, maybe around 10AM, just before another group came up from the other side. And the scenery was spectacular.

I got passed by a couple of parties, and by a whole string of young folks wearing what looked to be Explorer uniforms, some of whom were just tearing along the trail, some trailing far behind. Some were carrying tools, and I asked if they were doing trail maintenance. The answer was yes, they were with the California Conservation Corps. Aha, no wonder there were kids of mixed ethnicities there, some Hispanics and three or four blacks. It struck me suddenly that I hadn’t seen any black folks at all on the entire JMT up to this point. Now why the heck is that? I did see just a few up around Tuolumne, and again a few Latinos, but it seems the huge majority of hikers are us honkey-types. There are some Asians, but it seems to me that most of those are visiting from Japan or Korea, not a whole lot native-born from here. I hope that changes. Everyone who can should see this world, it’s a crown jewel of this part of the world. More, it’s a jewel in the crown of the world.

Passed the CCC folks at work, looked tough, prying up boulders, clearing rock falls. Thought about the descent at the top of LeConte Canyon, it would be good to send a crew like this up there for six or seven months! Ah, but yes, California is in a fiscal mess. But leave the politics alone for now, the trip isn’t about that.

Could definitely feel the altitude, now that I was a thousand feet higher than ever before on the trip. If I hyperventilated, it really helped with the energy, but I found myself getting pretty dizzy, which never used to happen. I remember marching up 14,000-foot Mauna Kea with my Peace Corps group on the 4th of July, 1965, hardly breathing hard, and sure not dizzy. Wonder what the physiology of that one is?

(don't forget to click on the pictures that look too small)


The dizziness wasn’t a problem on the way up, because the trail, while steep, was gentle. But going down! Rocky, steep, often with a precipitous drop. I was feeling pretty shaky, and at one point I started feeling much as I had going up to Evolution Valley now well over a week ago: my pupils dilated, things started looking too light, and I felt way too close to blacking out. I did not look down, but sat down on a flat granite rock, and gave myself a little lecture: no matter what, I had to get to the bottom of this descent. No falling over the edge allowed. Composed myself, started on down, always watching the feet, kept a steady pace, and was rewarded with a nice resting-spot at the bottom right by a gorgeous pond and ice-cold stream running down from it. That water had as sweet a taste as I’d ever known. Took a nice long break, almost napped.

One of the problems with doing something as long as the John Muir Trail is that you have to keep going: you’re on a schedule. Food will run out in a certain number of days. You may have to be somewhere on a certain date (last time I’d had to get back to work). So you can’t really step outside the box and have serious play time. I really felt like jumping in the water here, getting clean, doing a little swim, but then I’d have to take the time out to do that, dry off, get organized and go again. At this point I was getting pretty antsy to get out of the wilderness, and focusing more on that, no matter how much I was trying to live in the moment.

The scenery there in the upper basin of the Kern River was also exotic and starkly beautiful, in a different way than the peaks above. I was taking it in, but it is a measure of my impatience to move on that without knowing it, I almost completely stopped taking pictures, something I now regret. It was much like the Kings River Basin after Mather Pass, or the basin after Pinchot, with the source lakes for Woods Creek: high desert, dotted with lakes. The lakes along here were numerous, and mostly small, lined with big rocks. Jumbles of reddish boulders Some were just ponds, stagnant but clear, and shallow to the point where by late afternoon the water would have warmed from the sun to a comfortably warm temperature. I hadn’t had a shower or bath since Vermillion, two weeks ago, and really felt like going in . . . but didn’t. Keep on slogging, gotta get as far as we can tonight, my mind said.

Also just as with the other two basins, it was a long march before getting down into the trees again. My strides and breathing fell into a rhythm which had become standard for these long stretches of flat or uneventful downhill, I breathed in with one step and out with the next, and my throat and palate would form a note or series of notes with each breath, making for the repetition of a simple melody of no more than four bars duration. I’d hear these melodic phrases in my head and—without thinking about it—while not actually voicing them, breathe them in and out in a singsong way. I was thinking that maybe this is the way work songs started, as a natural response to repetitive motion and breathing.

The phrases were usually very simple-minded, hardly ever anything interesting, and most weren’t original in the least, I’d picked them up somewhere or other, but I thought I’d try to remember them and write them down when I got back. Here are a few. There were maybe 10 of them that just kept coming back, no point in writing them all down. Actually, this just shows how punchy I am, to even think about this. You’re laughing. A little respect, please.

When the trail, amazingly after only7.5 miles, crossed Tyndall Creek, it was already late afternoon, and I was wiped out. I’d planned on going up the next rise, another mile and about 400 feet to the Bighorn Plateau, but I’d been hiking for over 8 hours and decided that was enough. Tyndall had been my goal for the day anyway. Tomorrow was just a staging day, no passes, but had several steep climbs and drops. It was a question of either a ten-miler or an eleven-miler tomorrow, so I figured what the heck, bed down early and get an early start.

This staging is going to be the final one: I’ll camp at Guitar Lake, and day after tomorrow tackle Whitney. Finally. OK, to sleep, to gather strength. To sleep, perchance to dream . . . oh, no! “Call me Denti.” Let it be dreamless.
Next Entry: The end in sight.