Long 8 mile day. I know, it sounds pleasant. We took long breaks, discussed how the situation might be improved by decreasing the injured woman's pack weight, then commiserated about how none of us would want to give up any pack weight. We enjoyed the slowly diversifying evergreen forest and got to know each other better. But it was excruciating to get so little done.
7/10 Caught Ya
All day, I was chasing Any Minute and Far Out's tracks. They were clearly travelling together. Roughly 15 miles from my campsite, I met Dr Fierce reading by the riverbank. He said they'd all been fishing until an hour before, so I continued ahead to find the rest of the group.
On the other side of a large river crossing, I could see two hobbit-sized women sitting on a boulder. One called out, "It's Hustler! Don't cross on the left side!" On the left, there was a typical stream-crossing row of exposed rocks; it didn't look bad, but I figured they knew something I couldn't see. To the right was a large fallen log extending most of the way across, bolstered by a couple of smaller logs, one of which extended to the opposite bank. I always prefer rocks to logs, but I trusted Any Minute and Shazaam. Made it across with no issues, and approached the smiling duo.
Evidently, Any Minute had fallen in a few minutes before, drenching her phone. Trip photos, contacts, trail apps all gone. She was livid, but hid it fairly well. Nobody had rice, but we put the phone in oatmeal, hoping it might have a similar effect.
Maybe I wouldn't have caught up under normal circumstances, but things had grown complicated. Shazaam was injured and moving slowly, food was running short for her, Fierce and Church Lady, and Any Minute and Far Out had decided to help. Fishing had become a necessity, since food waa running out because of the slower pace. I chipped in some of my hiker box finds and immediately joined up. The boys seemed happy to have another confidante, Any Minute seemed happy to have a little comic relief.
We camped together near a stream and caught more fish for dinner. I boiled mine, pulled the bones, then mixed the fish and water with mashed potatoes. Far Out, the trekking pole fishing novice, caught 4 fish total, one of which was in the 14" range. Damned beginner's luck.
Though I ended up with a 23 mile day, their little group did far fewer and were not quite as exhausted as I was.
7/9 Tracking My Friends
Left Tuolumne campground early, walked to the store and drank a couple cups of coffee. A 72 year old woman in a denim dress with long white hair was sitting with her ultralight pack. I recognized her from the day before; she'd paid close attention to all of our discussion about trail conditions and the JMT in general, but never spoke to any of us. I'd suspected that she was a backpacker. Today, I walked over and sat down at her picnic bench with a smile. "Knew you were hiking," I said. She was pleased to converse with me, and hadn't approached us before because she didn't want to bother us. After some JMT talk (she was starting a southbound hike on that trail), she told me a story about falling in a creek a few years ago on the Appalachian Trail. Near the end of her AT hike in large sections over a few years, this creek crossing hadn't seemed intimidating. Complacency nearly killed her, she said. and advised me to unbuckle all of my pack straps before dangerous crossings. She'd been very lucky to stand up with her wet pack on while fighting the current. When she stood to leave, looking like a high school librarian out for a stroll with an ultralight pack, I hugged her and wished her the best of times.
My turn came after coffee and a last look at the hiker box. For some reason, I really wanted to catch up with my little group. Usually, the desire to ditch the others is great, but I had connected with Church Lady and Dr Fierce, already knew Far Out well, and had just spent enough time with Any Minute Now to know that we shared a sense of humor and walked at the same pace. Also, the challenge of catching them with a day's head start was appealing.
I walked 18.5 miles and up about 4500' on that sweltering day, crashing on a sloped, dry campsite after gathering water from the dregs of a seasonal stream. And I slept with no trouble.
Glen Aulin Labyrinth
7/6 to 7/8 Tuolumne Meadows and Yosemite
Seahawk and Bee left early, determined to blow through Tuolumne and make it a 20 mile day. I promised to have lunch with Any Minute and Kapiko in Tuolumne Meadows, a nice 8 mile walk from camp. We all had boxes coming there and wanted burgers and beer. After a couple miles, I ran into Terrence and Philip having coffee. We caught up, shot the shit, and I introduced them to Any Minute and Kapiko when they appeared around the corner.
After we started walking again, an animal crossed the trail; we decided by concensus that it must have been an otter. T, P and I pulled ahead and saw another critter across a swampy meadow. Badger. They wanted a photo, so I plunged across the dry areas toward the badger, camera in hand. I only got a blur by a tree in the picture, but it was a nice diversion.
A mile from our cheeseburgers, a young park service employee stopped us for a permit and bear can check. After passing the test, Terrence wondered aloud if she knew she was keeping us from food. We weaved through the Yosemite side trails, used phone apps and maps, and finally reached the store and grill. There were burgers and beer(s), the plural of which is still contested between myself and the Canadians. People started receiving packages. Mine, mailed from Mammoth right before July 4, was missing.
7/7, I decided to go down to Yosemite Valley on the inconvenient shuttle. One ride out at 9 or so, one ride back at 4 or so. There was no phone or internet service in Tuolumne due to a landslide, and I hoped to check my email for tracking info on my package and order a few items online for future delivery. Tink #1 was also on the bus, on her way home due to injury, and we talked about the significance of our journey on the way. Sad to see such a thoughtful and strong hiker leave.
My day was spent trying to use internet at the little library, standing in line for food, chatting with a moron from Ohio while charging my phone, and writing postcards. I'd said my goodbyes to all the folks at Tuolumne, but when I returned, they'd all stayed the day as well. And multiplied. I had plenty of time to talk with my new friends over a campfire. Joining the party were Church Lady, Dr Fierce, Shazaam, Chris and Sarah.
Next morning, Any Minute, Far Out, Kapiko and a few others headed out. I waited for the 10am mail delivery. Still no package. I filled out a forwarding form and decided to resupply instead from the hiker box. Luckily, Space Age, Tink#2 and Screagle walked in and helped me scout the box all day. I got a full resupply for less than $30 by just waiting for overloaded JMT hikers to dump their stuff.
deer looking to steal a bike in front of Yosemite library
amazing meadows
Last words from Kapiko...
7/5 Island and Donahue Passes
I woke up, used the last of my water on breakfast shart, and wandered up the rest of the climb to Island Pass. There were loads of day walkers ogling us proud, stinky few distance folks-I was even a little self conscious filling my water bottle with so many people staring at me. The pass was hardly a pass at all when the initial climb ended. Several pools and streams surrounded the base of a mountain all thickly vegetated with manzanita and hemlock. Island is an excellent name for it; it is gentle, calm and lush.
There was a brief space between the two passes with a small group of hikers filling it, looking absolutely exhausted. They recognized my hat and called me over. Seahawk, Bumblebee and Any Minute Now all welcomed me immediately into their little group. They'd had an ordeal involving searching for the trail for hours, then deciding to take the John Muir low trail alternate. When I saw them, they had just rejoined the PCT, having left well before me on the equidistant but much more difficult trail.
We walked to Donahue Pass, Sea and Bee in front, me chatting with Any Minute in back. My neuroma had flared up, and I was in more pain than usual. It was nice to have a distraction from the stabbing. And she walked at my pace. Though I didn't want to bother her too much on the climb, I learned a few fascinating things and decided that we had quite a bit in common. I camped with the little group that night, meeting another friend of theirs, a fabulous Hawaiian named Kapiko.
Two girls camped next to me cautiously approached my tent around dusk. One was holding her fuel cannister like a live grenade. "What's up," I called, trying to break through their little wall of anxiety. "Um, well, when I screw my fuel can to my stove, it hisses and pushes fuel out everywhere. " It had never occurred to her that not having a working stove would not be the end of the world; there were tears standing in the corners of her eyes. Her girlfriend put her hand on the speaker's back. "No worries," I said quickly, hoping to diffuse this unnecessarily heavy moment, "it's just altitude. We're at 10,000 feet. Just screw it on faster so you don't lose a bunch of fuel. I promise it won't blow up." Relief spread over their faces. I saw them laughing and cooking soon after.
Up towards Donahue
Top of Donahue
7/4 Alone for a Moment
Again I passed Devil's Postpile as I meandered through heavy dust and copious horseshit. Why do I have to dig a 6" cathole while the equestrians leave piles in the middle of the trail, spreading invasive plants all over the damned place? At any rate, I followed a small train of very sluggish city folks on tired geldings for around a mile before they decided, grudgingly, to let me pass. Never thought I'd be passing horses on a trail.
Near dusk, I was approaching Agnew Meadows when I came across a day hiker, mid 60s, coming up a side trail. We started chatting and I slowed down to keep pace with him. The discussion started with our agreement that speeding through the Sierras was a terrible idea, but veered off quickly into an entire history of his life. He began asking me personal questions with great interest. I gave him short, polite answers and sped up. When we got to the campground, I tried to take off with a quick goodbye, but the dude reached over and kissed me on the lips before I could move out of the way. I am proud to say that I did not punch him. Turned toward the trail and just walked away without even rsising a trekking pole
A couple of teenagers barreling down the hill informed me that I had 14 switchbacks coming up. Didn't really want thar information, but I dutifully vounted them as I wheezed up them in the twilight. The trail flattened near the end, and I passed out in a quiet, somewhat flat space a bit before a water source. Dry camping is nice sometimes...almost guarantees a little solitude.
one of the few signs in this area
postpile from above
7/2 to 7/4 Red's Meadow and Mammoth
We entered Red's around 11am, ate burgers and promptly caught the shuttle into Mammoth. Ran into Terence and Philip on the shuttle and ate bbq for dinner. It was time to hike our separate ways, again, now that Far Out was a Sierra mountain pass master, so I spent 7/3 wandering Mammoth by myself, acquiring a tent, a new, much smaller, pair of pants, and resupply both for the stretch to Tuolumne Meadows.and from it, sending myself a priority mail package. On the shuttle back to Red's, I met two sisters, Sunshine and Trailbird, who were hiking parts of the JMT. They'd lost the trail somehow, and had been very relieved to have come off a side trail right at the Agnew Meadows shuttle stop. We were friends right away, sat talking and eating at the Red's store, then decided to share a backpacker space at the campground. Next to us were Seahawk, Bumblebee and Any Minute Now, whom I'd been running into for months and had never conversed with
Next morning, Seahawk, Bee and Any Minute headed to the store for coffee before the trail, and I walked to nearby Devil's Postpile with the sisters. This crazy rock formation, caused by temperature-specific joint fracturing, is composed of hexagonal "posts." At the top of the pile, they're smoothed by glacial movement, giving them the appearance of a tiled floor.
Around noon, after a nice breakfast to the waiter's surprising choice of a Shane McGowan and the Popes album, I departed my new friends and made an effort to find the damned northbound trail. Like many other annoyed hikers, I only succeeded after over an hour of frustrated searching in the heat. A side trail at an extreme angle, the PCT from Red's is marked only by a subtle rock cairn.
into Red's
Top of Devil's Postpile
Pile of "posts"
7/1 Silver Pass
No shortage of 18-24" tall irregularly spaced stone stairs here! Finally feeling a bit better, I could still barely take the pounding of this one last pass before Red's Meadow. Another pile of emerald-green lakes, distant pinnacle peaks, sparse trees and mosquitos. The High Sierra are majestic and all of that, but I just miss a good, dense forest, some fairly flat walks punctuated by occasional mountsins. Give me Oregon and Washington and keep your scree and stairs. I am JMT'd out.
AM waterfall
Hey look, stairs
"high point above the pass," in case the first several thousand feet weren't enough
6/30 Bear Ridge
I wouldn't say I was feeling better, but that Far Out was now feeling sick as well, making me feel better by comparison. After Selden came a day with no actual passes, but no lack of blasted long, poorly graded switchbacks up Bear Ridge. We both sweated buckets up to the top of the ridge. Another biologist hiker, friendly young girl from the Bishop Hostel, passed us and asked how we were. "Hot," I replied. She turned a little and called from above, "it's fucking hot as balls." "Well put," was all I could say, impressed with her candor and eloquence on a goddamned freakishly humid day.
When we'd finally completed the godawful downhill to match the uphill, we started a bit up Silver Pass, another 3000' plus climb over 8 miles or so. We only bit into a few hundred feet of it, exhausted and sick, but came across a campsite next to an ideal fishing hole. I caught a couple of small trout for dinner with my trekking pole method in just 20 minutes or so, and Far Out and I enjoyed them far from our sleeping area in that bear heavy place.
Evidently, the best photo I have from this day is a blurry camp photo
6/29 Selden Pass
My cold was terrible on Selden Pass. I vaguely remember more giant stone stairs, huge, blue lakes, coughing up small banana slugs. Here are a couple photos...
6/28 Free Pass / Pass-free
Once I discovered that I was just sick with a cold, my worries about suffering potential altitude sickness and weird allergies were put to rest. Now I could focus on expectoration and not getting walking pneumonia. Luckily, there was no real pass to worry about. Just a setup for Selden, the next on the list. I chugged through the day in a daze, coughing more often, head throbbing. Mid day, we reached the famously difficult Evolution Creek crossing. The water was low enough for me to race one of the Canadians to the other side. We all sat eating lunch on the opposite bank when a long-haired, fairly spaced-out looking JMT hiker attempted to cross barefoot. He had no stick or pole for balance and carried his shoes in his right hand. Of course, he lost his balance, soaking his shoes, stumbling into the trees nearby. Ultralight hikers make me laugh sometimes. Not even a pair of damned crocs or sandals to cross rivers? And if not, why not suck it up and wear your damned shoes across the river? Increase your odds with a branch?
A long river canyon led us to the Paiute Creek bridge, where we camped just past Terence and Philip. We planned to get part way up steep Selden, but discovered that we only had a mile or so in us after the bridge.
6/27 Muir Pass, Night of the Bear, Bishop Flu
Grouse Meadow, my camping spot, had had plenty of deer tracks in its deep, silty mud. I inspected them on the night of 6/26 on my way to the nearby creek for water. Just deer tracks.
Because I'd been hot in my big sleeping bag for the previous few nights, I decided to cowboy camp, leaving the bivy open with my head and arms exposed. I watched Meadow TV until I was tired enough to remove my glasses, then passed out after rolling around for some time. Some incomprensible, yet vivid, dream was modified to include the sound of a pig snuffling around. It woke me, and I must have twitched as I opened my eyes. The black bear blur that had been standing over my prone body took off in a hurry. I yelled to Far Out, who listened to it crashing off into the trees near our bear cans. Not much more sleep that night. Truly an awesome experience.
And then, first thing, as I was assembling my crap, Terence and Philip. Like me, they wanted to find a clear pawprint, but there were only big impressions in the duff. Not much to be done for it, but I really wanted an idea of the bear's size. They took off; I decided to catch them later as a goal for the day. So we set off for Muir Pass a little late, shaken up.
Muir has so many false summits. Somewhere after the second, climbing huge stone stairs for many uphill miles, I heard myself wheezing. It took a few more miles for me to decide that the allergy symptoms hidden behind a wall of Claritin D for the past few days wete actually head cold symptoms. Now it was in my chest on mountain passes over 10000'. The feeling of overheating from the day before, still with me, must be a lingering fever. Damn you, Bishop Hostel!
Miserable day past beautiful lakes on the way up. I just wanted to continue breathing. Lack of oxygen from my low-functioning lungs was giving me some altitude-sickness type symptoms. After the last lake on the south side, the final ascent came into view. Switchbacks up talus in the distance. Somehow, coughing and wheezing, I made it to the little stone hut on top, dedicated to Muir and placed there as an emergency shelter. I looked at it, took a couple pictures, and headed immediately downslope. The need for more air was too pressing. Wanda Lake, still above 10000, but lower than the damned pass, was as far as I could get.
Rocks had been used to buttress small boulder campsites on the north end of the lake. Eerily, there were no plants, just boulders, smaller rocks, and a lake with lots of fish rising. Wind was whipping through the campsites, so Far Out and I used our packs to make a third wind-blocking wall. I went to sleep hacking loudly in the crisp air.
JMT has snazzy signs
Looking up at one of many false summits
Muir hut, shelter at the top of the pass
Nice damned view
6/26 Mather Pass with Terrence and Philip
Sleepless, as usual, I got up early and saw my first grey Sierra sky. The clouds immediately invigorated me. I sang the Rolling Stones' "No Expectations" loudly as I left my camp, nearly running up the trail. Darker clouds appeared in a mile or two. Three deer refused to move out of the trail until I was nearly close enough to pet them. A young buck followed me for a half mile before losing interest. I stopped to put on my rain jacket and pack cover, and a couple of guys walked past as I did so, complimenting my choice in jacket manufacturers. They sounded suspiciously Canadian. I caught up to them again, over a few miles, slowly gaining an inch or two at a time and passed them reluctantly. Really, we were walking at the same pace, and now I felt compelled to attack Mather's final steep switchbacks at an increased speed. Halfway up, I insisted they pass me. We started a long, joking series of half-breathless conversations and introductions. Eric and Bill. Calgary. Brothers and sensitive rednecks. We were immediate competitive buddies. Secretly, I began referring to them as South Park's Terrence and Philip in my mental log.
I had unknowingly passed Far Out and Blue Butterfly that morning, and only realized it midday when I noted the lack of Far Out's footprints. To give him a chance to catch up, I decided to set up my trekking pole fishing rig near the substantial creek running alongside the trail. Roughly six feet of line with a clear bobber in the middle and a fly on the end managed to attract the attention of a few trout in a pool. My hopes were raised. Far Out appeared. Together, we finished an 18 mile day, camping next to a huge meadow which seemed to be a popular place, judging by the bare spaces and human debris.
Damned attack deer
Up to Pinchot
Man, I love the rain
Best view on the trail
6/25 Pinchot Pass
I play a guessing game at passes. It works like this: since there are X miles until the pass, I wonder which saddle/outcropping/rockslide will count as Y pass. Pinchot got me good. Seven miles of twisting ever upwards, following rocky waterfalls and purple hemlock flowers confounded me. When the final climb appeared, I had failed to identify it for a couple hours, so winding was the trail. From a trail crew clearing a patch of snow, I'd heard that a pack train of mules and horses was headed for the pass, and, as I was sitting in a funk of exhaustion chatting with String Cheese and Far Out at the summit, the lead horse appeared. Great photos of the packers dipping over Pinchot.
Far Out and I plodded down the slushy slope. I postholed down to my right hip and heard a snowmelt stream rushing under me. He made a cautious move to help me, and I told him to keep back. It took me a minute to heft myself, pack-laden in a messy push-up, out of the freezing hole. I'm sure it was an excellent, clumsy spectacle. So much for ME showing Far Out how not to posthole. Further along, picking my way down another slush slope, I looked behind me to see Blue Butterfly queuing up behind Far Out to follow the snowy path. At the end of the slush, I stood and watched her fly lightly over the terrain, 67 years old, lithe with an ultralight pack, beaming smile, never slipping or even indenting the snowpack. Shaking my head and smiling, I insisted she pass me over this difficult piece.
Later in the day, after I'd fallen twice in creeks, I saw her again as I was cooking dinner. I had her pass the message on to Far Out that my wet shoes and I would not be moving any further along that day. She probably thinks I'm the biggest clutz ever.
The pass is up there somewhere
Packers at the pass
And a view
6/24 Glen Pass
After days in town, getting moving is difficult. Especially when a pass reported to be difficult to climb and navigate is the first order of business. Far Out and I decided to hike the first few passes together, since he was new to slushy snow and navigating through giant, pointy and snow-covered fields of treacherous doom. From our starting point, there was a thousand foot climb up to the top, then a boulder pile of a trail down. Several paths had been picked out by previous hikers through the snow patches. Some aligned with the original trail; many meandered down steep snow-free zones. I chose some of each, wishing I'd gotten up earlier to avoid postholing in the slush. It took quite some searching for a way to meet back up with the PCT, but I did avoid the rock pile which dead-ended in a cliff; evidently, many other hikers had had to backtrack from there to a workaround.
Then down thousands of feet to catch the base of Pinchot Pass. Mosquitos swarmed. I was grateful to First Class for leaving me with her head net. And I was dead tired. Still, lakes, emerald and deep blue, kept popping up over each boulder pile with tiny, tight groups of fir and spruce. A distant waterfall, watched for miles, turned out to be our ultimate destination. We walked out to the smooth rock to see the origination point of the falls, gaping down at the valley we'd just ascended. On the bare rock, some stealthy PCT hiker had placed a marker for mile 800, setting up a stunning picture.
Emerald Lakes and all that
The last few hundred feet is up that
...and down that
View from the top
800
6/23 Kearsarge Redux
Up early, Far Out and I waited through the coolest, best part of the morning for Jim, Bristlecone and Uberbitch's neighbor, to get his shit together. He had wanted hiking companions up Kearsarge; in my sleepy haze the night before, I'd agreed to hike up with him. Civilians have a different idea of early than PCT hikers. Though the ascent was hot and greuling due to my long town stay at low elevation, I enjoyed Jim's company greatly. Smart and witty, a great storyteller, I quickly forgave him for the late start. Even trail named the former journalist and adventurer: Gonzo. He loved it.
It seemed crazy to me to try to get over both Kearsarge and Glen Passes in the same day, so I walked a short way past the Onion Valley Trail on the PCT and crashed.
6/18 to 6 / 22 Independence, Bishop, Contagion, and Escape
From Lower Vidette campground, we three groggily began our trek toward Kearsarge. Luckily, Charlie was awake enough to hear the manzanitas above the trail crunching with feet heavier than the average deer. He stopped short and I nearly plowed drowsily into him before I realized he'd said, "bear." It had begun running, but I got an excellent view of it, just 50 feet or so away, heading into a stand of ponderosa and tall brush. It made me smile broadly all the way to the Bullfrog Lake trail. I'd been waiting to see these reportedly common Sierra black bears, since my bear can seemed like such an annoying burden.
At Bullfrog, we stopped for clear lake water; I counted eight large brook trout idly teasing me from my perch on a boulder overhanging the lake. Across the shore, another backpacker with a fly fishing rig was pulling out small golden trout every five minutes. Fishing was now an obsessive priority for me. During my walk down Kearsarge's switchbacks, I enumerated the items I'd need to acquire and tried to justify the added weight of cooking apparatus.
At the top of the pass, we'd heard rumors of trail magic. Grilled cheese, rides to Independence, soda and beer. Our pace increased considerably. Pit Stop and I fell behind Navigator, who was hell-bent on sandwich magic. Still, we all reached Bristlecone and Uberbitch's camp faster than I could imagine. I drank a nearly frozen Bud Light and ate some magnificent tortilla soup with fresh avocado. Perfect. Hitching to Independence would have been a long and messy affair without the trail angels. Bristlecone even gave us a brief history of the Owens Valley and pointed out flora and fauna during the ride.
Plans to get out of Independence quickly disintegrated. Terrible and Horrible, my old massage saviors, had been put in charge of the Bishop Hostel. I had to go. Met up with Far Out, who needed to receive a package in Independence, and Pit Stop, Navigator, Far Out and I all got a ride to Bishop from RockOcean (who magically appears when you need him most).
Briefly, I met up with many hikers that I hadn't seen in weeks or months, picked up some very rudimentary fishing gear and used cooking equipment, and caught a stomach bug unrivaled in its ferocity except maybe by the awfulness I picked up from doing rare mussel surveys in agricultural ditches in Missouri. Pit Stop, Navigator, and Half and Half all made the decision to, at least temporarily, get off-trail. Two hikers at the hostel contracted serious infections-Ice Cave with an abdominal wound, another girl with flesh-eating bacteria infesting her little toe. Several other hikers had allergies. Or so we all thought. After thoroughly evacuating my digestive system, I contacted Jessie Rainier, my former sister-in-law, who was kind enough to drive me and Far Out back to Onion Valley. We camped with Bristlecone and Uberbitch and chatted with their neighbor, a former journalist, late into the night. That is, until about 9:30, when we all passed out like drugged toddlers.
Halfway down Kearsarge.
Bullfrog Lake
On the way up. Too purdy to gripe about the climb.
Cubist rock pile atop Kearsarge Pass
7-21 Update from S Lake Tahoe
Though I intend to submit a full tale of the High Sierra complete with bear-in-the-face encounters and replete with details of giant John Muir Trail stairs and successfully fishing with trekking poles, I have been without either charged phone or internet/phone service. Tuolumne had a rock slide, Red's and Kennedy Meadows were stingy with service, and the power was even knocked out here until late last night.
In short, my feet are still firmly on the trail, bending me forward to Sierra City and beyond. I've found excellent new friends and, strangely, people with whom I am willing to hike! More to follow.
PCT fabulous at mile 1000. From left: Church Lady, Far Out, Any Minute Now, Dr Fierce and Shazaam
6-18 Kearsarge Pass
All of the Sierra days caught up to me. To us. We all inched up from Upper Vidette to the Bullfrog Lake trail, a steep thousand or so feet of elevation gain. Navigator spotted a black bear about 80 feet away, and we watched it disappear up a thickly vegetsted slope above us. After the lake trail, a long break. Nobody wanted to start up the next stretch, Kearsarge Pass, which had switchbacks visible from several miles down. Bullfrog Lake and Kearsarge trails are the best option to get to Independence, where most hikers have resupply boxes or hitch to Bishop for food through to Mammoth. Imagine that you've just done 80 miles of trail, then you have to hike 9 miles of steep craziness up to 11,200' just to get out to town. Frustrating. Kearsarge Trail was brutal; at the top, we were informed of trail magic involving grilled cheese at the bottom. Our spirits were elevated somewhat, and we hauled ass down the other side, past lakes and waterfalls chasing the rumor of crunchy calories. Instead, there was very tasty tortilla soup, soda, gatorade and beer, and a small crowd of familiar faces in Uberbitch's trail magic campsite. We took some rest time, ate, then got a ride into Independence. I got a room at the Independence Inn next to Pit Stop and Navigator, and ate tacos de lengua and an asada burrito from the town taco truck. So good. Made it through Sierras Part 1!
view behind me coming up Bullfrog Lake trail
Bullfrog Lake with backpack
Kearsarge switchbacks
cubist mountaintop
Pit Stop at the Pass
inevitable scenic waterfall
6-17 Conquerors
Forester Pass is hard to discern from a distance. We spent miles trying to figure out where the trail was taking us. Through boulders and sand and snow, we distracted ourselves wondering which spot on the horizon, which was quickly enclosing us in an earthwnware bowl of jagged grey cliffs, would allow an escape to the snowy north side of the mountain. Everyone was breathing well as we topped 12,000, 12,500, 13,000. Finally, a little steep set of well-designed switchbacks built on salvaged slabs of rock appeared next to a chute of snow which had distracted our eyes from it. End of the line. Everyone survived that final ascent. Hugs all around. Even lunch at 13,200.
Then down. Snow patches, boulder fields, disappearing trail. I fell for the first time on the trail, twice. Luckily, the postholing was minimal; we planned well for snow softness. Snow dissipated eventually, jagged rocks replacing it. We all had aching knees and feet when we reached Middle Vidette campground.
A huge shark tooth of a peak pokes out through the trees above my bivy. I ate my last dinner, thoroughly unsatisfied with it. Hugs and Pockets just appeared, letting us know that a helicopter had been searching for Charlie. Dammit. All we wanted was oxygen and a health assessment. He will sort it out tomorrow, I'm sure.
