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

COMMITTED

DAY 9 - August 16, 2010: Over the hump again
Once again dawn broke clear and bright. Didn’t get up early, wanted to feel as rested as possible. I was ready to go on. Whatever had happened yesterday, it couldn’t have been that serious. My heart was beating at an easy rate, I was breathing fine, and I was definitely strong. Whatever weight the new supplies had added, it must be less than the amount I’d lost since the beginning of the trip! After all, I was taking in not much more than a thousand calories a day, and burning what must have been five thousand, I could feel the fat shrinking off. Hey, I needed that!
Fixed a big breakfast, big as I could anyhow—I was getting creative with these—of mashed potatoes and corn, with mushroom gravy mixed in. Actually one of the tastiest meals I had the whole trip, and I planned to repeat it as often as I could. I did theoretically have 12 days of food in the bear canister, but it was going to be tight.

Started up the grade, comfortably and slowly. Again, I’d been over this terrain before, so I knew what was coming. I was planning to make nearly ten miles, 2000 feet up and over Muir Pass. Hard going, but it would be some of the most beautiful country on the entire trail, all the way to the top. And so I went up the easy grade of the valley, passing more beautiful meadows, with peaks and domes in the background. Took a planned stop at a confluence of streams below the ridge I’d have to climb to reach Evolution Lake. Filled my bottles with water again.
At this point, I’m going to repeat something I wrote in the account of my abortive attempt three years ago: I’ve been drinking water straight from these streams and lakes since I was 11 years old, using no filters, no little purification tablets, no radiation wands, nada. There has been far too much made of the possibilities of Sierra water being unsafe. There is an article you should read, if you are really wondering about this: Giardia In The Sierra. It speaks for itself.
While I was parked at this little rest stop, a regular cavalcade of people and animals pulled in, looked to be a couple of families with . . . llamas! Or some sort of miniature llama, I guess . . . several animals carrying packs, with child seats on them. Never seen anything like it! The adults were carrying full packs, but the kids certainly seemed to have it easy!
I let them move on, then started up the switchbacks. Today I seemed to be having a lot easier time, only stopped a few times on the way up, and kept up a reasonable pace. Maybe yesterday’s weakness was just a minor aberration. Still not at full strength, but not suffering too much. And the stops I made were comfortable, and made for great photo-taking.

From here on it was just a question of plodding steadily forward. The grades weren’t impossibly steep, and while the trail at some points was annoyingly rock-strewn, it wasn’t too hard to negotiate.

Evolution Lake and, just above it, Sapphire Lake, were spectacular, just as I'd remembered. If I come this way again, it will be to come here and spend some serious relaxing time. Maybe the hike up will be easier if I'm not thinking all the time that I have twelve more days to go!
After another nice long break I just took it easy and moved on up, finding my own pace. Before long I’d reached the Wanda Lake, the last significant body of water before Muir Pass, and stopped awhile to enjoy it.
I’d taken about seven hours to get to this point, though, and was starting to feel really fatigued again. From Wanda Lake I could actually see the top of Muir Pass—there’s a stone hut up there, built in the 1930’s by the Sierra Club—but it got closer very, very slowly.
Suddenly I was, again, feeling more tired than I thought I should. Oh, well, just a
question of a couple of miles. Was I just babying myself, psyching myself out, or was something else going on? No matter, onward and upward. Made it up to the top a lot later than I’d wanted, but with plenty of time to get down and set up camp at Helen Lake on the other side. Once over, I’d be really committed to completing the trail: the easiest way out would be just to run the course, go over all those passes—three down now, four to go before Whitney, each higher than the last, still over a hundred miles to go, but there would be no quick way back to a road, and even if I could get to a road, no easy way to get from the trailhead back to my car, back at Mammoth Lakes.
Going over the pass, it was a steep drop into Lyell Canyon. Quite a contrast from the Evolution side, too. The canyon still had lots of snow, and was quickly darkening with the late afternoon shadows, curving down narrow and forbidding. But I found a flat space near the lake to set up the tent, and climbed inside to get a rest before dinner. For the first time in quite some time, there were no bugs. Did nothing live here? Aha, something must . . . just heard a frog.

Life is so simple. Days are walking. Nights are sleeping. For brief moments I eat, never very much. I drink lots of water. Life is so simple.Next Entry: through the canyons of Mordor

CROSSROADS

DAY 8 - August 15, 2010: Beam me outa here

Chalk it up to age? Inflated expectations? Eating badly? Psyched myself out? Last night ate one of those “Mountain House” freeze-dried dinners. Teriyaki chicken sounded good to a guiltily confirmed carnivore like me, but this stuff tasted terrible. I was losing my appetite, nothing much from the bear canister tasted good, and I was wondering how much nutrition I was actually getting. Anyhow I went to bed early and set the alarm for 4:45, planning to get out before the sun. This would be my first day of solo hiking, and the trek up to Evolution Valley marked the point where 3 years ago my first attempt at the JMT fell apart. Didn’t actually sleep that much this night, spent much of it talking to myself, saying today would be different from the last time. Woke up feeling a little shaky, a little nervous.

Whatever it was, today was one of those damn days when not much goes the way you’d had in mind, even though getting off reasonably early, 6:45 AM, and I guess the first couple of hours were pretty routine. Felt good to be out on the trail as the sun was rising. It was quiet. Saw a doe with two very cute fawns, but couldn’t get a picture because they were just too skittish. Making a good pace, but then, it was a very gradual uphill, and mornings are always easier. Took a planned break after 3.3 miles, at the Piute Pass turnoff, where the JMT entered Kings Canyon, where it would stay for many a day. Took a nice long break and filled up with some of that delicious Sierra water cascading down Piute Creek.

It wasn’t till after the break that my pack seemed heavier than it had before. Well, of course it was, since it had just been filled with twelve days of food. But it shouldn’t have felt that much heavier, should it? Up from Piute Creek the trail was getting steeper, too, and rougher. Constantly having to look at the feet, and some tricky places where the angled rocky surfaces were dusted with sand. Not really steep, but a steady grind upwards, and I started the pattern of short breaks again. Pretty solitary at this point, hardly anyone on the trail.

Having been here before, I knew the trail bridged the San Joaquin river and then back again at the Goddard Canyon cutoff before switching back and forth in earnest in switchbacks up the steep climb to Evolution. Scenery in this section, compared to what’s up over the ridge, is a bit monotonous. Took a nice long break after the second bridge, felt pretty sure I’d get my second wind.

Putting on the pack again at the bottom of the switchbacks, I felt a wave of fatigue. Where did that come from? I started counting switchbacks as I went up, taking short breaks after ten, then after five more, then five more. When I’d done this stretch three years ago I hadn’t needed to stop at all, but suddenly I was dog-tired. The food couldn’t be weighing that much. I sat down for my third or fourth break, and suddenly, wow! My pupils must have dilated, everything turned white, I felt tremendously dizzy, and had to fight to keep consciousness. What was this? Couldn’t remember feeling anything like this. Altitude? Only about 9200 feet, I’d crossed two 11,000 foot passes with no problem. Should be used to this by now. I sat there long enough that couple of groups of hikers passed. I put on a normal face, acting as if everything was fine.

But whatever the reason, I was more than a little freaked out. I was thinking that maybe I wasn’t cut out for all this after all. Was I physically in serious trouble? Was that a mild heart attack or something? Had I just had a little stroke? Shouldn’t take a chance on that, right? And on and on. In the end, decided, hell, I was almost all the way up to Evolution Valley, it was still early in the day, I’d just plod on slowly and carefully, watch myself, get up to my goal of McClure Meadow, one of the most beautiful spots in the universe, set up camp, take stock of myself, get a good dinner and a good rest, and see how I felt the next day. Fair enough.

After reaching the valley, there was a deep stream to ford. This had been the place, three years ago, where water had come pouring in through the soles and I’d realized my boots were ruined. This time I just marched through, I was wearing trail runners. They got soaked, but I had another pair of shoes, and not that far to go this afternoon. Actually the cool water felt good.

McClure Meadow was not much more than a mile away by this time, but it felt like several miles, I had to keep stopping. When I finally got there I felt physically beaten down. Reminded me of how I’d felt during my bout with dengue fever last January.
Had my choice of a lot of beautiful spots to camp, picked the nicest I saw, and, with some difficulty, set up camp. Tired, yes, but not too tired to take a few shots of this amazing scenery. Cooked up a big, big dinner, wolfed it down, got to bed even earlier than usual, falling asleep musing on just what the hell had happened that afternoon. But already I was leaning towards pushing up and over Muir Pass tomorrow.

Next Entry: To be or not to be . . .

MUIR TRAIL RANCH REVISITED

DAY 7 - August 14, 2010: Big Changes

What a great dawn! Up there I was used to going to bed before dark and waking up not much after 5, as the sky was just beginning to lighten. This morning we were in a spectacular location for catching the sunrise, and seeing the shadows change as we crossed nearby Selden Pass.

Love hiking, even the uphill is OK, when I’m fresh. And getting the hard part over early. Actually up to the top of Selden was no sweat. Are all the passes going to be like that? Not likely. Silver and Selden are under 11,000 feet. Everything after is 12 or 13. Anyway it was up, up, and before we knew it, over.

Surprise! Up at the top are Rick and Diane, our friends from Silver Pass Lake and the Vermillion adventure. They’d taken the ferry back to the JMT that day we’d done the Bear Creek slog. I figured they’d have been at Muir Trail Ranch the day before, but no, they were in no hurry. Great to see them, great folks, not youngsters any more either, but as committed to a life of adventure, to just plain living, as . . . well, I guess, as I am. Anyhow they were as surprised to see us as I was them. They’d looked down from above at the steepness of the Bear Creek trail the day before figured we’d be a long time coming up that one.

It was gonna be an all-downhill day after that, the last part a long super-steep set of switchbacks down into the San Joaquin River canyon, but a lot of it would be very beautiful.

On the way down to the beautiful Sallie Keyes lakes there were a bunch of creek crossings and smaller lakes, as well, little gems set in the ancient and bright Sierra stone. I kept wishing I had time to stop and jump in. That’s one of the problems with a trip like this: you’re on a schedule, you have marching orders, and you have to march, march, march, even if you’re only doing nine miles a day. I couldn’t help thinking back to my aborted plans three years ago, to make twelve miles a day, so I could fit the whole trail into my vacation time from Kaiser.

Anniell seemed to be doing better with the rock-hopping, or maybe the crossings weren’t as challenging. I was going great guns on the downhills, but she was finding them a little tough, because one knee was a little stiff. Somehow I’d managed to get this old without having chronic pain in the joints, even though I’d fractured a hip and torn a meniscus in bike accidents years back. Luck of the draw, I guess.

We took a break at Sallie Keyes Lakes. These lakes had great natural campsites, in deep, magical woods where big trees dominated without a lot of brush and clutter on the forest floor. Anniell was hanging out and talking with Rick and Diane, who were going to spend the night there. She was sure her friends would be catching up with her soon, and told me to just go on ahead, she’d see me down at our resupply point at Muir Trail Ranch.

I was looking forward to getting in early, setting up camp and taking care of all the resupply business. Weeks ago I (and Jim and Dustin, no longer in the mix) had sent buckets of food to Muir Trail Ranch, which (for a small fee) is kind and together enough to organize and keep them for JMT through-hikers. As planned, I was low on food at this point. There would be WAY more than I could use, as we’d sent enough for 12 days for 3 people. But I was limited in what I could take, because it would all have to fit into a 7-liter bear canister.

So after taking the obligatory pictures, I threw my pack on and hit the trail again.

After Sallie Keyes the trail descends into a deeper forest.


I haven’t mentioned bugs much yet in this blog. That’s because the bugs that seriously bug are mostly mosquitoes, and while other hikers had been complaining about them, obviously they had not experienced anything like what I had on my practice hikes above Tuolumne in July. Then they were so thick that it was hard to avoid breathing them in. So thick that once you set up a tent, the sensible thing to do was to get inside it and not come out. Swarms, and not all that put off by DEET. The bugs in August, while annoying, have not ever come close to that level. However, at this point in the trail, another flying insect became a major pest: the deer fly, the horse fly, whatever you call it. Anyhow, nasty biting flies. I slapped on the DEET but was still killing dozens (does that count as killing wildlife?) that landed on me each hour on this leg of the trip. Death came to many, yes, but not before many had taken their price from me in blood.

The rest of the hike down was maybe a hint of what would come in the 12 days after this. I was really by myself for the first time. I found myself noticing my surroundings more, and generally thinking much more about my life, the trip itself, and the meaning of it all. Soon I’d be on my own, hiking solo for the first time on this trip. Now that will be different. But, I think, anyhow hope, good.

It was good to get to the campsites by the river before 2PM, had a chance to get a good site, be all set up, and take care of resupply with lots of time left. Paid the exorbitant fee to briefly use the internet and send e-mails to my kids, and to Jim, to let them know I’d gotten this far OK.

I had to leave a lot of food . . . this other backpackers would be able to come in and pick up free. Had to pack food for 12 days in this small canister. Had to leave all that great trail mix behind, sure it would have come in handy . . . but on the bright side, I have every morning and evening meal covered, somehow. With freeze-dried food, though. I am beginning to recognize the limitations of freeze-dried camping food. My appetite is going away, for one thing.


Anniell and her two friends, Cindy and Jennifer, pulled in about two hours after I did. It was good to see that come together as planned. She and I had had a good run together and had become friends, but she was glad to be with people from her club, and I was looking forward to finding my own pace. I was sure we’d be seeing each other again, anyhow.

So, onward and upward! Tomorrow it would be to one of the most beautiful sections of the trail, one I’d already visited: Evolution Valley in King’s Canyon National Park.
Next Installment: Crisis in Confidence