IT'S ALL UPHILL FROM HERE

DAY 10 - August 17, 2010: Looking around for Gollum

Woke up early, the sky was just getting light. There was a bright moon last night, I saw it when I got up to pee. Quite a lonesome landscape by moonlight. In fact, quite a lonesome landscape by dawn, too. Windy and inhospitable, much more so than anyplace so far. Not that windy and inhospitable is bad, really, just another aspect of the Sierras. Uncomfortable for me and my creaky, freezing body, but still starkly beautiful in a pure and angular way.

Still had some powdered cappuccino brought along from the start, one of the items somehow left out of the resupply bucket. Only a few days left of it, though. That was OK, it tasted too sweet anyhow, even though it did provide some comfort on these freezing mornings. I would be wanting something hot to drink, though. This was definitely the coldest morning I’d encountered. What did I expect, with snow fields all around? But soon I’d be moving down again, the repeated and inevitable huge loss of altitude after climbing so high to these passes, and it would warm again. Great luck so far with the weather, no rain at all. For hiking it had been good: the sun was hot, the air cool and dry. Sweat evaporated immediately, as if it had never come out, but right now I was still just c-o-l-d!

So, get out quickly . . . and down the narrow canyon. Started off on the rocky path, got about fifteen minutes down, and . . . what’s not on my head? The hat!

How much did I care about the adventure hat? Well, enough to not have to think very much before going back. I do like the sun on my face, but not that much. I have almost never worn hats, but this one had clearly been left by the Great Spirit just for me. I hadta go back and get it, even if it was uphill, what the heck, so I did, stepping carefully back over one of rockiest, most poorly maintained—did I mention that?—sections of the JMT, taking a half-hour of precious morning time.

This section was the worst downhill of the trip so far. The rocks were hurting my feet through the soles of the trail runners. Maybe the soles were wearing thin? Remembering three years ago, I’d brought a second pair, with thick soles, so I could change if they wore out. But they hadn’t hurt like that yesterday. But the trail! So poorly marked you’re hard-pressed to pick it out among the scattered rocks. Hopping across streams at awkward places, crawling along the sides of cliffs with scary drops off to the right. There was one section 5-7 meters long where the snow was still several feet deep across the trail and angled sideways toward a scary fall. There were deep footprints in it, I could just follow in those, but how could I know how solid they were? Could the whole thing collapse? There was no way to know but to try it. Fortunately the snow was packed solid, and it wasn’t really hard to traverse. But even after that, I was constantly having to watch my feet to avoid missteps. I still had in my mind the expansive approach to Muir Pass from Evolution. In contrast, this seemed like something out of the hobbits’ trek through the mountains of Mordor. It took me five hours to go six miles through this cramped, dangerous section of the JMT.

From misreading maps and guides, I’d expected LeConte Canyon to be wider and more forested. Of course, the timberline through here was below 11,000 feet, so there wouldn’t be trees for awhile. And they did eventually show up, but the canyon never really opened out a lot. Eventually, though, it did start showing some natural beauty, water streaking down great slabs of granite, and coming around a bend, a swath of thick forest down off in the distance.

Descending further (and this was, however painful on the feet, going to be another all-downhill day), I finally entered that forested section, and found some beautiful meadows, too. And whaddaya know? Almost no bugs!

I was starting to get some confidence back. Maybe going downhill had something to do with it, who knows. Maybe it was the relief of getting past the cramped, windy, rocky section of trail above. And I was past the halfway point, only a week and a couple more days to go, and the trek would be complete. Anyhow, now I was committed. The only real way to finish the trip was to march on, follow the John Muir Trail to its storied end. And ahead lay those places with the magical names, places I’d long wanted to see: Palisade Lakes, Rae Lakes, Forester Pass, and even right here in LeConte Canyon, Big Pete and Little Pete Meadows.
Very few people on the trail today, and everyone I saw was going the other way, up to Muir. I was enjoying the solitude: it was starting to be just me and the Great Spirit. I was hoping the Great Spirit liked this, too, I definitely didn’t want to get on the wrong side of the GS. Trail rumor has it that the haze I see in the air is from a forest fire twenty or thirty miles away, no danger to us, but it takes just a little away from the visibility.

Except for my thoughts and the scenery, which were intense, nothing much of note happened on the rest of the way down. Decided to camp at the junction to the Road’s End trail, 9.5 miles, and back at the bottom again. Tomorrow it's all uphill from here, 2000 feet to Palisade Lakes, to set up Mather Pass. I hear it’s a rough one. Have to go up something I think was named with a touch of irony: “the golden staircase.” Hmmm. Hope the weather stays good and we don't get any golden showers.

Meanwhile, this is a nice campsite. It’s warm. No bugs. And the air is thick and very breathable. Will I dream?

Next Entry: the meaning of golden