Only in the roar of storms do these mighty solitudes find voice at all commensurate with their grandeur. . . . The pines at the approach of storms show eager expectancy, bowing, swishing, tossing their branches with eager gestures, roaring like lions about to be fed, standing bent and round-shouldered like sentinels exposed
25 July 2010
A full moon was setting as I got up at 5:15am. This was the moon I was hoping to photograph in its prime, but the storm had nixed that idea. The morning sky still had hues of storm colors: rippling high cirrus clouds swept across the horizon. Clouds to the south looked darker. Rain was not something I feared today. My priority was getting over Mather Pass.
I was up and out early as no one bothered me. Sure, it was cold in the morning at the high elevation, but so peaceful. The lake's surface sparkled like smooth glass, there was no motion. My tranquil thoughts were only interrupted by what I knew was ahead of me today: Mather Pass and more snowbanks. The pass was visible from the Upper Palisade Lake, and there were still a few miles to the peak.
I ran into Tom and the boys at the upper Palisades Lake. It was 7:30am by then and surprisingly both sons were already up. I stopped and chatted with them while Ross was still packing his pack, and then took off with them.
But the camaraderie didn't last: as soon as the sons were up, the threesome was gone. And I was in no mood to keep up with them. Although I saw them a few more times from a distance, this was the last I was to see of them. There was no good-bye, no promises of keeping in touch...nothing. They were just another set of people I met in the wilderness. It was better this way, as I sensed Grant was annoyed with me and wanted to lose me.
It turned out to be a not-so-pleasant day for me. I saw the threesome bag the pass at 9am. I followed 50 minutes later, slowly climbing up a steep and precarious and snow-covered switchback that was starting to soften in parts. Fear of falling through the snow, of sliding down the ice or of getting trapped in a rock slide tormented my mind. Had something happened to me I would have been on my own. I stopped a lot to catch my breath, enjoyed the vista and prepared for the next climb.
The pass was a long pass to ascent. When I got to the top I saw the three guys in the valley, getting further away from another group of three on the same trail. Who were the other three? I sat at this pass, relieved in a sense that I would most likely not see the boys again, and prepared for the long descent. Dark storm clouds moved in from the south and lighting struck distant peaks. I had no doubt I would get caught in that storm and I didn't want to be up high when it struck.
The views weren't all that spectacular from the pass as the valley below was another lunar landscape of glacial erratics, moraines and winding creeks. A long and narrow timberline was further away. Could I make it that far before the storm?
No. I was still a mile away when I stopped to put on my Marmot Precip gear at 11am. I barely had my pants on when it not only began to rain, but hail as well! This time I didn't have time to get out my tent fly, and huddled low. This time the storm only lasted 20 minutes and when I was sure the worse was behind me, continued my hike in the rain. My rain gear kept me warm and dry!
It drizzled for the most part for the rest of the afternoon. I still stopped along the way to rest, not minding the cool refreshment. Everyone was out in rain gear, including a work team of young college students out taking samples of soil and water. Parts of this timber forest reminded me of a rain forest, it was lush green and damp.
I wanted to get as far as I could during daylight before pitching my tent and calling it a day. I had perhaps made at least six miles, though, when I crossed the swollen creek before the ranger station. The creek was wide but not too deep and heavily snagged. I crossed the first fork effortlessly but during the second fork, with one foot away from terra firma, I slipped and was pulled back into the water. Oh no! I quickly tried to pull myself back up but the current pulled me down. I was now almost completely submerged with only my head and left shoulder free and dry. I didn't scream for help although there was a small crew just ahead of me that had crossed at this spot; they had no idea I was just behind them a few steps.
My baptism couldn't have lasted but a few seconds, but that is all that it took for me to get wet and be heavily weighed down. I managed to grab on to a snag and pull myself, then drag myself out of the creek. The sky had opened up with a small patch of blue, and I just stood there, dripping wet and standing in disbelief. My worst fear had come true: I had fallen into a creek.
But what was even worse was that my Canon S90 which was in my jacket pocket but not safely in the plastic bag, had gotten submerged. The lens had extended out. The battery case seemed dry and there was no obvious damage to the camera, but the extended lens bode badly.
When I wiped the inside of the battery compartment down and put in the battery, the camera still refused to work. My camera had been ruined.
Now all joy was lost. I was wet, heavily weighed down, my camera ruined and the day wasn't done raining. My only goal now was to find a place to pitch my tent.
I found a small sandy patch not to far from the creek. Although it was close to the trail and I was able to hear passersby, I didn't mind. If a ranger was going to force me to move, hopefully he would have the compassion to understand my predicament. Surely the rangers in Kings Canyon weren't the assholes they could be in Yosemite?
It was 1:30pm when I found a site, got in, took off all my clothes and put on the last two remaining clean and dry articles of clothing: two long-sleeved therma tops meant for cooler nights. My nylon pants were damp but not wet; they became my jammers for the night. I cooked a meal inside the tent and never showed myself for the rest of the day. It stormed the rest of the day, sometimes fiercely, and it would have been a rest day anyway had I not fallen into the creek.
I huddled in my sleeping bag feeling totally despondent. Just yesterday I had dreams of getting to Whitney, today I just wanted to call for a helicopter to gt me out of this hellhole. What made this especially frightening is that no one knew, no one say my predicament. Had I died I would not have been missed (right away) and had I died in my sleep no one would have noticed it right away.
I heard two more groups of people hike past my tent. My clothes didn't have a chance to dry. Next to me was my camera and the sight of it depressed me. My $346 camera was ruined and I had no way of recording the rest of the journey. A severe feeling of helplessness overcame me. I am glad I was alone as I would not have been happy company.
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