TO THE DREAMY PALISADES

DAY 11 - August 18, 2010: Up the stairs

Did I dream, last night, now? Indeed. Most interesting dreams they were, too. Nothing you might expect on a long hiking trip, such as being caught on an endless treadmill, talking to coyotes, or falling off a cliff. No, these dreams took me completely out of the wilderness and into highly improbable dilemmas in at least one big city. Two connecting dreams, or one dream with tenuous connections to another, anyhow very colorful. First, I’d somehow become part of a convention of real estate developers. Most of the attendees were yuppie women, and for some reason they’d decided that I would star in the convention’s evening entertainment as an Elvis impersonator. I tried to beg off, but they were insistent. However, it never actually happened, they found someone else. This was, I believe, because I couldn’t make the rehearsal, as one of the women had asked me to pick up a fancy dress for her which was for some reason at a Greek Orthodox church. I drove to the church, and for some reason my 23-year-old son Mike was along, in a stretch Citroen deux-chevaux, vintage circa 1963, white with two red racing stripes around the body. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a stretch deux-chevaux outside of this dream, but that was what it was, stretched-out and with a hatchback trunk. Anyhow we picked up the dress from the priest, it was stylish but a conservative grey, with a big red ruby-like stone set in the belt. On the way back we were stopped, ticketed for some minor traffic violation and harassed by a portly, late middle-aged Chinese cop. Had to leave the car while he took us into the station. When we came out again, the car was missing. Everyone was Chinese, and the area looked like some neighborhood in Hong Kong. Someone directed us around the corner, and we saw the deux-chevaux in an open garage, engine running and hatchback (!?) open, with two long racks of barbecued pork fitted into it where the rear seats had been. There were Chinese caterers in white scurrying all around. The new CCC: Carjacking Chinese caterers? I got really pissed off, found their boss, and was reading him the riot act, asking where the hell they got off thinking they could just grab someone’s car and use it for their business. He was very defensive, saying that the car was just perfect for their needs . . . I was still ranting when I woke up to the pre-dawn grey of the 5AM sky.

“What is that dream doing in this blog?” you may well ask. Well, it happened outthere. Go figure. The Great Spirit playing one of his/her funny impractical jokes. And maybe my mind was looking for some entertaining relief from the daily grind. And today was a grind. As probably most people who’ve climbed the “golden staircase” will tell you, it’s one of the steepest and roughest stretches of the trail. In retrospect, it wasn’t all that bad, mostly because the trail itself was generally well-maintained and the really steep part wasn’t all that long, but it was a toughie. When you get close to it, though, you find yourself looking straight up at a cliff, over the right side of which tumbles a powerful waterfall. I could only think, “now how can a trail possibly get up that?” And again, after an all-downhill day, this was all uphill. About 2300 feet (750+ m) elevation gain. Again, most of it was a relatively comfortable grade. The problem for me, I am realizing, is endurance. Generally I’ve been hiking eight hours a day with a 45-pound pack. Just a couple of hours of that, especially uphill, takes a toll on this old body. I’d like to pretend the body isn’t at all old, but this experience is definitely letting me know otherwise. Hangin in there, but as me sez, after two or three hours, can feel it for sure.

But then, there’s good support from other hikers. I remember meeting a young couple going up to Silver Pass. When I mentioned my age the gal said, “That is really great. I’m 29 and this is kicking my butt!” I need to hear stuff like that. Of course, most of the time I’m by myself, or rather on subjects like these my only companion, the Great Spirit, is conspicuously silent. Today the scenery is back on the spectacular side, especially going up the staircase. The rest stops I take provide me with plenty of visual treats.

At the top, it really gets nice. Palisade Lakes are worth the visit, even if the ways in aren’t all that easy. Just as I pulled out my camera to take pictures, Mark and Julia, the St. Louis musicians, came up and passed me. Good to see familiar faces. This section, like the other more beautiful sections of the trail, attracts a lot more people than some of the other places. Most are up here just for a loop of a few days, then out again; At this point I’m only occasionally running into the JMT through-hikers.

At the same place I saw my friends were seated a bunch of young guys who’d just come down over Mather Pass. It was early enough in the day that I thought I might still go over it today. “It’s right over there,” they said. I thought they were pointing at a fairly low ridge behind the lakes. “Wow, doesn’t look that high,” I said. “Naw, not bad,” they said. “But it is another 1600 feet up.” Didn’t look that high to me. But I decided to camp at this beautiful spot and go up rested, in the morning. Wiser, no?

There was no easy way to get down to camp near the upper lake: the trail ran high above. But I found a place with a beautiful stream nearby, rushing parallel to the cliff before twisting off to cascade down below. Near the trail on the lake side, but hidden by some scrub pines, was a sweet little sandy spot just big enough to pitch the tent and have room to cook. Set up, relaxed, and enjoyed the view. Feeling pretty good, all things considered. You generally have to be pretty rich to fall asleep looking out at views like this.
















Next Entry: Mather, schmather

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