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