7/12 The Sierras Part 3: Mammoth Lakes to Tuolumne Meadows, and Finishing The John Muir Trail

I was exhausted in Mammoth Lakes. I couldn't get enough rest, I wasn't very hungry, and I just felt listless in general. I had walked over 900 miles, just barely over a third of the trail completed. Looking ahead at the two thirds left to come, I felt so incredibly burnt out, physically, mentally, emotionally. To make things even more complicated, it was Fourth of July weekend, and the vacationers were swarming. Mammoth was becoming more crowded by the minute. Mountain bikers, lake-goers, and outdoor tourists of all kinds were taking over the town, and I began to feel like I was suffocating in all the hubbub. I had to get out of this place.

As I rode the crowded tour bus up to the trailhead, I felt shaky at best. I hadn't had enough rest in town. I'd definitely lost more weight, and not gained it back in the slightest. I looked over the maps, and thankfully the next stretch wasn't a long one, and didn't look to be terribly difficult in terms of terrain. Still, I just wasn't quite ready to get back out there. But I couldn't bear to stay in town another day.

On the bus, York, a section hiker from Oregon, came over to sit with me. He and I chatted and compared our gear and quietly made fun of the tourists on the bus. I didn't say much, since I wasn't feeling quite like myself, but York was lively and animated and asked lots of questions and was very kind to me. When we finally got up to Reds Meadow general store and campground where the trailhead was, he offered to buy me a milkshake as a pick-me-up. I'm not one to turn down free ice cream, so we went inside to find a table and order. Just then, Corey walked in, the JMT hiker who caught trout for our hiker fish fry at Guitar Lake weeks ago. It was his birthday. York bought him and his friend Ryan a shake as well, and we all caught up and enjoyed the air conditioning for a while.

After milkshakes, York decided to hike out ahead to get some miles in before sundown, but Corey, Ryan and I stayed behind and laid out on the lawn to enjoy sunset from the front of the the cafe. The boys had gotten their resupply packages, and were making a rather amusing attempt to fit all their food into their bear canisters. I watched and did yoga while I waited to scavenge among the food they would undoubtedly discard.

The day hikers visiting the campground for the weekend were all lined up by the store, waiting for the trolley to come. They stared at us in curious bewilderment, the strange, dirty, animal-like hikers sprawled on the grass with smelly packs and tattered gear strewn about. We stared back at them, just as bewildered by their clean, fashionable hiking clothes, obnoxiously fragrant perfumes, and electronic gadgets. It was a very odd juxtaposition of worlds. I imagined this is how animals in a zoo feel.

The sunset was nice until it became obstructed by storm clouds rolling in from the east. The guys and I realized we should probably hike a little that day, if only to avoid paying for a campsite at the resort. We started out, but Corey didn't want to walk very far. Since it was his birthday, we obliged, and only walked about 2 miles. We got to the junction where the PCT and the JMT split for a 15 mile stretch. The PCT climbed up to skirt along a ridge overlooking the many scattered lakes below, while the JMT descended down to explore each one individually. The mileage was the same for both routes, but the rumor was the JMT detour was harder but more scenic. The boys, JMT hikers, would obviously take the JMT route, but I had a choice, since the detour would eventually link back up with the PCT at Tuolumne Meadows. I stood at the junction for a minute, not sure where to go. Then Ryan, who'd done the JMT once before, said

"Trust me Happy Feet. You're going to want to see this."

I didn't think about it. I just turned and followed them up the hill. Best decision of the trail yet.

I spent the weekend of the 4th of July with the guys, averaging a nice and easy 12 miles per day. We hung out at each lake we passed, jumping off rocks into the freezing water, catching fish and cooking them up for lunch, camping as far away from the weekenders and southbounders as we could, just for the solitude. We sang songs by the band America while hiking on the Fourth, and weird bluegrass songs the rest of the time (Yes sir!). We came up with funny trail names for the guys. Corey got Barista (he carried a backcountry espresso maker), and then later Dr.Slick, for the brand of fishing lures he carried. Ryan was Horse With No Name, until we started calling him Dad because he stopped all the time to take tons of pictures and was always nagging Corey and me to hike faster.

When we reached Tuolumne Meadows, two days later, we already felt like family. But the trail was about to diverge and send us our separate ways. The JMT dove down to its northern terminus in Yosemite Valley, while the PCT headed north towards Lake Tahoe area. Sometimes PCT hikers could get a permit to finish the JMT, just to see the incredible domes and waterfalls, but it was a holiday weekend and it was really unlikely there would be any permits left. The guys pressed me to at least ask the ranger at the visitor's center. We weren't quite ready to break up our little gang. So I went to ask the ranger, fingers crossed, but with little hope.

There's a saying out here that the trail provides. It gives you what you need right when you most need it. That weekend, I needed to stay in the company of my new trail family and take a little vacation from the monotony of making miles. There were two permits left to go down into the valley when I stepped up to the info desk. The ranger asked if I wanted one, and I said yes. She then asked, "Do you want to climb Half Dome?"

"Absolutely."

And that's how I finished the John Muir Trail, with two new friends who became more like brothers to me in just 5 short days. That's how I got to hike into a storm and watch it overtake and light up Cathedral Peak, how I got to spend a morning at the lake below cooking eggs and bacon while the guys had a fishing contest, how I got to climb Half Dome and watch the sun go down from the top in complete magnificent solitude, how I got to walk into Yosemite Valley and meander through the throngs of tourists, and how I got to say goodbye to Corey and Ryan as they completed their 200+ mile journeys before I continued on with mine.

One of many amazing lakes on the John Muir Trail. This was the view from our campsite one night. On a boulder. In the middle of the lake.

Dr.Slick catches a fish! Celebrating 4th of July, hiker style.

Entering Yosemite

Swimming hole near Tuolumne Meadows

Cathedral Peak after a storm

Meadows near Cathedral Lake

My last day before arriving in Yosemite Valley to finish the John Muir Trail

Watching light leave the valley on top of Half Dome

Morning sunshine on the domes

Corey, Ryan, I know you both will read this, and I just want you both to know how thankful I am for those five days. Goofing around with you two knuckleheads on the JMT was exactly what I needed to remind me how fun the trail can be, how beautifully simple. You guys are awesome, and I hope the trail provides another opportunity for us to hike together again one day.

Family photo!

(Left to right, Corey, Ryan, and myself)

6/30 The Sierras Part 2: Bishop to Mammoth Lakes

Bishop was a nice town. Even though I didn't stay very long, I felt really rested after staying the night there. The hostel was wonderful and I got to see a lot of hikers there who I hadn't seen since Kennedy Meadows.

Now, in Independence, I'd had a package mailed from home with maps for the next section in it and some cards from friends and family back in Virginia. It was supposed to be waiting at the post office there, but when I stopped in to ask for it the day before, it wasn't there. Crap. I needed those maps and I really wanted those letters. I decided to go back to the post office and check again before heading back up to the trail the next day. It meant I'd get a later start than I'd wanted, but whatever. I wanted to get to the post office right when it opened at 9, but the shuttle wasn't leaving until 11. I would have to hitch. The highway that runs right through Bishop is the same one that runs through Independence though, so I didn't think it'd be too hard. I stood on a street corner on the southern edge of downtown with my thumb out and a sign saying I was a PCT hiker needing a ride. 

It wasn't easy. There was a lot of traffic and I got a lot of funny looks. After about 30 minutes, a car drove by with the windows down and a woman yelled out "Where ya going?"

I quickly shouted back as they passed me by, "Independence!"

Her response was a thumbs up out the window. They slowed down near the stoplight up ahead, and I thought I'd gotten a ride, but then they turned the corner and were gone. Oh well, back to the grind. I turned back to face traffic and put my thumb back out. Two minutes later I hear a whistle behind me. I turn around to see the woman and her husband parked in the lot behind me. The woman gets out, and the first thing she says to me is: "Does your mother know you're hitchhiking alone??" 

She spends the 40 minute drive to Independence lecturing me, in a very motherly way, that I am very irresponsible and I shouldn't take risks like that, and what if some loony picked me up, you know, that's the only reason they pulled over for me in the first place, and I should call my mother the minute they drop me off and apologize to her for being so reckless and giving her a heart attack. It was one of my favorite hitches yet. Joelle, if you read this, I did call my mother, and I promise I only take rides from nice people like you and Jeff :)

I get to the post office and hug Jeff and Joelle goodbye and thank them. The post office finds my package and I have enough time to read my letters and enjoy a Subway sandwich before the shuttle appears, and I hop in and ride up to the trailhead.

The hike out over Kearsarge Pass back to the PCT junction is steep and long and not much fun at all. I take my time, I'm in no rush. It's pretty anyway, there's all these beautiful lakes along the way. 

When I arrive at the junction, finally back on the actual PCT after 7.5 miles, it's already pretty far into the afternoon. But I still have energy, so I decide to tackle Glen Pass. 

Awesome snowmelt lake below the southern side of the pass 

Passes are common in the Sierras, and they usually mean pain. It's the lowest point at which the trail can cross over a ridgeline, but "low" in the Sierras is anywhere between 9,000 and 13,000 feet. It means a big climb. Typically, hikers do one pass a day. I was about to take down two in an afternoon. 

Surprisingly though, I managed the feat with relative ease. I was tired of course, but I knew I would be able to camp at an awesome spot as my reward for a job well done. Rae Lakes was on the other side of Glen, some of the most scenic lakes on the trail. I descended down into the area as the sun was setting, reflecting the gorgeous pink and purple clouds against the golden and white cliffs of the pass in the lakes' glassy mirroring surface. I cowboy camped by the water and enjoyed an evening of stars and a gorgeous sunrise.

Rae Lakes at sunset

Rae Lakes at dusk from my campsite

Leaving Rae Lakes after the sunrise

After Rae Lakes came more passes, more people, and more mosquitoes. This part of the PCT is also technically the John Muir Trail, so there were a lot of south-bounders (SoBos) and weekenders out on the trail. It was a little crowded, but they usually over-pack on food, so they fed us desperate starving thru hikers pretty frequently with their excess granola bars and freeze-dried meals they didn't want to carry anymore. The passes didn't bother me much. I really like climbing up steep ascents so long as there's a view, and in the Sierras there's always a view. The mosquitoes, on the other hand, were intolerably ruthless. I had to abandon cowboy camping for a while, hiding in my tent to escape the incessant whine of the legions of bloodsuckers that would swarm and divebomb, kamikaze-style, the minute you stopped moving. For the record, mosquito-evasion walking speed = approximately 3.8 mph.

This section was a long one. I tried to pack a week's worth of food, but it proved to be far too little. I was down to one day of food left when I reached the junction to Muir Trail Ranch, still a few days out from my next resupply in Mammoth Lakes. I had heard the hiker box, a donation bin system for hikers to take and leave excess supplies that is commonplace on the trail, was typically well-stocked down at MTR, so I decided to hike the extra 2 miles down to check it out. And success! I found more than enough food to get me the rest of the way! Thank goodness for weekenders and JMTers. They fed me so much this week.

Regardless of the extra food though, by the time I got to Mammoth, I was running on fumes. Two weeks in the Sierras now, and it was really taking a lot out of me. I looked at myself in the mirror and was starting to be shocked at how thin I am. That "thigh gap" thing that's really "in" right now? Yeah, I have that. It's not all it's cracked up to be. I resolved to take a few days in Mammoth to rest up and try to regain some weight before getting back out there. Maybe I'd even stay for the Fourth of July!

Here's some other cool things I saw!

Suspension bridge!

Awesome waterslide before Pinchot Pass

Hiker babes cooling off, being crazy

Palisades Lakes, an oasis. Several hikers jumped in nude. The weekenders were shocked and appalled. We've been in the woods too long.

Glassy lakes below Muir Pass

Muir Pass lakes again. Can't tell where the rock ends and the water begins.

The famed Muir Hut, on top of the pass named for the man himself!

Storm clouds over Evolution Lakes, always cooler with an awesome filter

I LOVE THE WILDERNESS YEAH

Sunrise summit of Silver Pass, pretty sure this is Heart Lake.

RAIN STORMS

Swimming in Virginia Lake, the lake of my home state

Wait....what....

So yes, I have completed a third of this trail. 2/3rds to go!

6/23 The Sierras Part 1: Kennedy Meadows to Bishop

Ok so let's recap:

I had walked, no, staggered, through the last fifty miles of the desert, growing more ill with each step. I definitely had a fever, and my throat was so painfully swollen that even hydrating was becoming difficult. When I finally made it to Kennedy Meadows, I crashed hard. Every part of my body stiffened as I sat down, as if somehow by becoming rigid it could prevent all future movement. After a fitful night's sleep, I knew for certain that I needed to get to a doctor. But the nearest medical center was more than 2 hours away, all the way down to the desert and north on the highway, in a tiny town called Lone Pine. There was no cell phone service where I was, and no Wi-Fi. The pay phone didn't even work. I had to get a ride, but how I would acquire it was evading me. I spoke to the store manager and asked his advice. As fate would have it, his parents, who were currently cooking a pancake breakfast for the hikers, were heading "down the hill" and could get me as far as the highway. Close enough right?

I waited for the manager's parents to finish up in the kitchen, then loaded my pack in their truck and we started down the mountain. It was long and winding, but it was cool to see just how far we were from civilization, way up there in the high country. They dropped me off on the side of the highway and wished me luck. I could tell they felt bad they couldn't do more for me, but I was so extremely grateful for their help.

The desert heat hit hard. The car thermometer had changed from 75 degrees up at the store to a whopping 110 degrees on the desert floor blacktop. The land was barren, and the sun was glaring down at me. I did not want to be standing there with my thumb out for long. I made a quick sign with a simple message: "PCT HIKER TO HOSPITAL." I tried to look pitiful. It worked. In less than 5 minutes, a clean white Subaru SUV pulled up and a middle aged couple got out to ask if I was ok. I told them my situation and that I needed to get to Lone Pine, and they gladly gave me a ride. It was a long ride, but they had lots of questions for me about my hike, so before I knew it they were hugging me goodbye and wishing me well outside the front of the emergency room.

I walked inside, smelly hiker clothes, pack and all, and asked to see a doctor. After reviewing my symptoms, the doc told me what I wanted to hear: just a case of step throat, nothing worse. He put me on penicillin, told me to rest, and gave me a steroid to reduce the swelling in my throat for the night so I could eat.

I felt 100% better less than an hour later. I ate a few big meals and checked into the hotel with an old friend. Color Wheel was in town! I was ecstatic to be reunited with my oldest friend on the trail. Her first words to me, after 300 miles of separation, were: "Wow, you look like s***." Good old Color Wheel.

The next few days, I spent my time eating, sleeping in the hotel, hanging out with Color Wheel and her new hiking crew, and enjoying a little taste of Virginia lovin', with a visit from my friend from "Schmarrisonburg", Ducky! Ducky had flown out with the intention of hiking with me for a week, but had unfortunately busted her foot up two days before the flight. We spent a few days being busted up together, driving around, shuttling hikers, doing a little sight-seeing, and just being goofy in general.

Exploring the Alabama Hills outside of Lone Pine

After four days of rest, I started getting antsy for the trail again. Ducky's foot was feeling a little better, so we decided that we would hike out of Cottonwood Pass together, camp overnight, and in the morning she would hike back to the parking area while I hiked on. I was so excited to be back in the mountains!

SO EXCITED.

So finally. FINALLY. I am in the High Sierras.

The next week was indescribably beautiful, and so unbelievably challenging. After four zero-mile days, I was raring to go. My illness had vanished without a trace. I could have run down the trail, I had so much energy, +10,000 ft  elevation and all. I acclimated to altitude beautifully, and had no adverse effects there whatsoever. 

I hiked the side trail up Mt.Whitney for the sunrise, and you can read about that experience here. 

I camped at Guitar Lake (which is, indeed, shaped like a guitar) and pan-fried freshly caught California Golden Trout, caught and donated to us by John Muir Trail north-bounder (NoBo) Corey, otherwise known as Black Wolf Run. 

Something smells....FISHY

I stood on top of the highest point of the PCT, Forrester Pass, at 13,000+ feet, buck naked for International Hike Naked Day on June 21st. 

I saw marmots frequently enough that I began to fantasize about catching and eating them. Seriously, those things need to have a natural predator. They are way too cocky. I nominate thru-hikers for the position. Marmot population reduction and attitude adjustment, hiker calorie supplementation and preservation of food bag security, it's a win-win all across the board!

Look how fat he is....there's probably so many calories in there...

The Sierras are HARD. It is a lot of tough climbing and a lot of tricky descending. Fortunately, we had almost no snow to contend with, whatsoever. It had all melted away ages ago. It's bad news for the rest of California, which depends on the snowmelt for water, but it's great for us hikers, who don't want to have to carry ice axes or crampons! 

The view from the top of Forrester Pass, looking out into Sequoia Nat'l Park

But even without the snow, and with a week of absolutely perfect weather, the walking was wearing us down and food supplies began to wane. Bear canisters are required throughout the Sierras to keep the highly habituated bears away from humans and their food. It's great for peace of mind and bear safety (the ones that get used to people have to be put down), but trust me when I say that it can NOT fit more than five days worth of food. Not by thru hiker standards anyway.

Needless to say, I ran low on rations and had to get down off the mountain. I hiked out over Kearsarge Pass to get down to a town called Independence. I was exhausted when I got down from the hill. All I wanted was a place to sleep for cheap for one night, and food. Lots of it. I was depressed to find that Independence had very little to offer on both accounts. I heard a rumor of a hostel in a town called Bishop just north where a lot of hikers were gathered, that it was cheap, clean, fun, and offered a hiker shuttle service. Bingo. I got a ride with a few other hikers, and spent a very enjoyable and restful night in Bishop at Hostel California. Week one of the Sierras was complete, and though I'd loved every second of them, these mountains were beginning to take their toll.

P.S. I apologize for the lack of and poor quality of pictures. My camera died halfway through this stretch of trail and I couldn't capture a whole lot of what I saw (not that it fit in the frame too well anyway...the Sierras are kind of big). More pictures from here on out!

6/20 Summit of Mt. Whitney

Sorry for the delay! It's been about a month since my last post. I am still on trail, and feeling great, albeit a little weary. The Sierra Nevada mountains pack quite a punch! The Sierras are over for me, but I will be posting with full updates about my time there shortly. Here's a little taster to start you off! This is my account of my summit of Mt.Whitney, one of my biggest goals of this entire trip. My camera died halfway through, so I didn't get many pictures, but I hope the super cheesy, overly dramatic description helps you see it through my eyes! Enjoy!

It's too dark to see when my watch beeps. I light it up, and the iridescent blue screen reads the hour: 2 AM. Ugh. I turn over in my sleeping bag, and a draft of ice cold air snakes its way in with me. Holy crap that's cold. Why did I set my alarm so early? Then I remember. Whitney.

The 3,000 foot climb to watch the sun rise from the top of the tallest peak in the lower 48 states SOUNDED like a good idea 6 hours ago. Not so much now that's it's dark and cold and the middle of the night. I try to muster the courage to leave the tent, a small safe haven of relative warmth.

After some mental effort, I reluctantly extracate myself from my warm down bag, unzip the door to the tent, and crawl out into the black. At first I can't see a thing. Then I look up and I see them. Stars. All of them. More than I've ever seen. There's no moon to distract from them, and more and more appear as my eyes adjust. I now see the sky isn't really dark at all, but speckled with fragmented light, thousands of light years away. It's spectacular. A few shooting stars streak across the sky. I can make out the curve of the lake below my campsite, and I notice the reflection of each celestial pin-prick in the glassy black surface. The sharp jagged cliffs that line the opposite side of the lake are distinguishable now against the starry night sky. I can see a few tiny quivering dots of light, hovering their way up the pitch black slab, which I assume are the headlamps of hikers who started their way up an hour or two ago. No hints of the coming day can be seen, no trace of the warming rays of morning on the horizon. I feel like I'm on another planet.

I leave the gear I don't need for the ascent in the tent and take only a little food, water, and some warm layers with me in my pack. Then I begin the climb. I round the lake and start up the switchbacks. I go very slow, taking breaks often. I'm starting out at more than 11,000 feet, and altitude sickness is no joke, as I remember it from Baden-Powell. But as I round the steep turns, I notice I'm having no trouble breathing, no nausea, no headaches. I feel fine. Every once in a while I look down. It's a steep dropoff below me. One wrong footing could send me careening downwards, and it's hard to judge how long I would fall through the dark, but I don't really want to know. As I approach the final switchback, I notice the sky is changing, becoming more of a deep, deep blue now than black. The black smattering of alpine lakes below are beginning to stand out from the lighter granite at the base of the cliff I'm standing on.

I reach the top of the ridgeline, still a mile or so from the summit, another 1,000 vertical feet up. I feel better than fine. This is going great. I feel strong. I pick my way carefully along the loose rock and scree. I'm grateful I have my trekking poles for balance. There's some ice, but not much. The valley behind me is brighter now, more visible. The contours of the mountains are severe and sharp, and contrast beautifully with the soft, heavy blues that color them. The sun is rising, and the tallest tips of the mountains to the west are tipped with pink and red now. The reds bloom and blossom as I follow the ridge, fading to orange and gold as they spread. I come around the western face of a rock spire, and suddenly I see her. Mt. Whitney's golden head arches forward like a watchful eagle, surveying the desert floor far below. Behind her, the sun's rays are casting her shadow onto the hazy clouds above the lower peaks, and I swear it looks like the spreading of great wings. I'm not sure if it was the altitude affecting my perceptions, or if it was just truly that dramatically awesome. Probably a little of both.

I arrive at the final climb. I've been dreaming of this moment for so many months, envisioning myself walking up this path into the sunlight. The tallest peak in the contiguous states. 14,500 feet. I had to walk almost 800 miles to get here. When I finally make it, when I'm standing there, higher than any other person in the contiguous states, I can hardly believe it. I'm the strongest I've ever been in my life, physically, mentally, emotionally. I feel so full of life at this moment. The sun lights up my eyes but doesn't blind me. The cold wind whips around me but doesn't chill me. I stay for a short while, take it all in. After a while, I start back down the mountain. I still have a long way to go from here.