Day 12: Little Pete Meadow to Lower Palisades Lake

It is not long, geologically speaking, since the first raindrop fell on the present landscapes of the Sierra; and in the few tens of thousands of years of stormy cultivation they have been blest with, how beautiful they have become! The first rains fell on raw, crumbling moraines and rocks without a plant. Now scarcely a drop can fail to find a beautiful mark: on the tops of the peaks, on the smooth glacier pavements, on the curves of the domes, on moraines full of crystals

None of Nature's landscapes are ugly so long as they are wild


24 July 2010

I didn't want to get up. Yesterday's long hike had drained me, and today was no different. I found I was hiking just to keep up with Tom and the boys, when in fact what I preferred was hiking completely at my own pace. I couldn't keep up with the pace for the rest of this hike, but I decided to use this opportunity to challenge me physically. Tom kept telling me how he and his sons are impressed with my pace; I felt, however, that they overestimated my abilities. Or did they?

I left camp at 7:08am. I waved at Tom who was already up and continued on the downhill hike to the next intersection into Mather Pass. It took longer to reach this intersection, which means we didn't get as far south yesterday as we had thought. More deer spooked me along the trail, and more wet trail passages detoured me off the path. I hadn't seen so many deer as I had this morning, browsing right off the trail.

Part of the lower trail were very muddy or flooded with water. At one point I slipped on a pointed rock and bruised my tailbone on the right butt cheek. Ouch! That made stepping up rather painful, and I was using my left leg to compensate for the injury.

There were several older couples coming from the opposite direction, warning me of the snow conditions up Mather Pass.

I just didn't feel my MoJo today. Despite my many rest breaks, I felt exhausted. It was also a hot day. The lower valley up Mathers Pass was an exposed valley, having experienced a brutal fire here that took out most of the mature trees. Many of the dead trees still littered the trail, which at times was no wider than a foot long and overgrown with meadow grass. (The grass reminded me of a bad hair transplant). If I had to pick the least scenic stretch along the JMT, it would be this burned section in the valley.

The one opportunity I had to take a break from hiking and jump into cold water was quickly ruined when, out of nowhere, a grandfather-father-two grandsons group came up from behind and took over my rest spot. One of the young boys got completely naked in the water. The group didn't seem to care that I was nearby and waiting to get into the water, too, if only to get some water for my bottle. I was not in a good mood as my brief privat moment had been interrupted.

My bad vibes must have been felt by the group and they quickly left, never to be seen again. It turns out this family was out hiking the entire JMT and would pass up Tom later.

Tom and the boys passed me up shortly after noon, where we had lunch together off the trail. Once they were on the path again, I lost them. They were simply too fast for me and I let them go; I didn't want to be the "fourth wheel" interrupting their family time. Grant was especially restless to get the JMT over with. He wanted to get back to Indiana and see his new Ford Fiesta Dad got for him.

Oddly enough, what started out as a hot and humid hike quickly turned into a wet late afternoon. I trudged along the trail as it slowly moved uphill. The grade wasn't bad, it's just that the trail was exposed for most of the way. To top things off, I still had to conquer "The Golden Staircase" leading up to Mather Pass, a long 1500' high staircase made of natural rock.

Somewhere in the lower stairs I was hit by a rain and thunderstorm. What could I do besides get into my rain gear and use my tent fly as additional rain gear? I huddled low off the trail while pea-size hail pounded my back. A lone hiker dressed in African safari gear (rather odd-looking attire!) came down the stairs, disappeared briefly off the trail to put his rain gear on, and continued his trek downhill with "Have a nice day!" That comment seemed superfluous considering the storm I was in; it made for anything but a nice day.

The storm lasted only 30 minutes, but it brought with it a swath of mosquitoes I hadn't seen yet on this hike. These bugs were relentless! I climbed slowly up the staircase, passed the appropriately-named "Deer Meadow" where a wet doe stared me down, and arrived at the first of two Palisade Lakes. Storm clouds still lingered, but now the fading sun painted the sky with soft pastel colors as sundown soon lingered.

I took the first campsite I found near this lake. I was again surrounded by solitude. Mather Pass was still at least two long miles away. All I could see was the sub-alpine lakes and flora around me. No one else was around.

Day 11: Upper McClure Meadow over Muir Pass to Little Pete Meadow

Who publishes the sheet-music of the winds or the music of water written in river-lines?

23 July 2010

Today's hike started out with a long and steep switchback uphill through pines to Evolution Lake. It was a slow and painful climb. But once at this lake the sheer alpine beauty opened around me: aqualine blue lakes surrounded by snow-capped peaks in all directions. There was plenty of snow and rushing water all around. There was hardly another soul for the first two hours while the sun slowly moved up over the peaks to light up the ground. Hiking in the shadows was cold but refreshing and I wanted to take advantage of the early solitude.

I was now at a high-elevation lake, the last big one before ascenting Muir Pass. I had heard so much about Muir Pass and this year's snow pack, that Darlene had gotten me nervous about this area two weeks ago. We heard horror stories about there being "four miles of snow pack" or to be "extremely careful not to fall through the melting snow." Now I was approaching the pack and regardless of the snowpack, I was not turning back. I was going to climb the pass and get down the other side.

Water here was fast but clear. The first people I met was an English endurance couple who had started at the same time as I did this morning, but were lower in McClure Canyon. They hopped across the rushing creek with ease. Both were slender folk dressed in running gear. I lost sight of them a mile up the road.

Once the sun came up over Evolution Lake, people came out as well. A mother-daughter PCT team passed me the other way. They had been on the trail since April, but had to take several weeks off at a time because the 13-year-old daughter was still finishing her school work. A peruvian father and his adult daughter were behind me. Two other young men were going southbound. There was a lot of traffic near Muir Pass.

I also got to meet Ranger Dave Gordon. A tall, slender older man wearing his ranger hat and backpack, this was his turf, and apparently this is also his favorite park of Kings Canyon. He was out checking wilderness permits and asking how we were storing our food. He's been patroling the area for 18 years. I told him my story about losing Al and Then Darlene. I wanted to know if I could get my permit's exit changed from Kearsage in Onion Valley to Whiteney Portal. With a troke of his pen, he did just that. He signed and dated my permit. It was that easy! Now I could continue with ease with Tom and the boys all the way to the southern terminus. Or I could continue on alone and meet other people along the way. A big headache was lifted from my shoulders as I considered getting off the trail, hitching back to the permit office, and returning at Kearsage to finish the southern end of the JMT.

Getting over Muir Pass, though, was more difficult than I thought. The lower trail was hard to follow as it meandered around large boulders that obscured the view. I did a lot of rock hopping off the trail before I saw other people below me along the lakes. I was so worried about getting lost here, but even that fear was unfounded.

I met an older Pakistani hiker off the trail. A friendly chap, he was more of a philosopher. I told him I was afraid of losing the trail. "Don't worry, just use common sense!" he said. He was right. I was going to meet up with him again at the Muir Hut. His name was Abid.

It wasn't so much that the snow was long and hard, it's that there was nothing else along the way to keep me occupied. Snow was all around me and it slowed everyone down. The snow didn't slow several birds, ladybugs or spiders though.

I made it to Muir Hut right at noon. Several other hikers were already there enjoying their lunch. Two couples were getting ready to leave and several more were about to arrive. Two marmots, just as mentione in the Elizabeth Wenk book, stood guard at this hut that was built by the Sierra Club in 1932 to provide emergency shelter for hikers caught here in a storm.

Abid came up an hour later but didn't stay long. He looked around and quickly descended.

"Aren't you going to stay for a while?" I asked him.
"What for?" and with that he was gone, descending the other side.

His answer made sense. Why bother hanging out at the cabin? There was only so much to see, although I found the long swath of white snow in either direction rather hypnotizing. But Abid had another goal, as I learned later, and that was to hike for as long as he could every day, taking breaks only to smoke or drink tea. He was the only smoker I met on the entire trail.

Muir Pass on the south side proved to be a dangerous but beautiful area. Icy snow was still piled up high here, and sections of snow were melting and precariously hanging over rushing water. It wouldn't take long for someone to fall through this snow pack, perhaps in two weeks. The canyon coming off Muir Pass was a narrow canyon, and several lakes formed as the elevation descended. The snow and rocks slowed me down. I caught up with Abid a few times and chatted with him, yet when he took another tea break I lose him for the evening.

Despite the dangers around the melting ice, I found this canyon south of Muir Pass quite beautiful. Wanda Lake, the first large lake south of the pass, still had ice sheets on its surface. It was the last lake in the High Sierras along the JMT to thaw. Wanda was one of Muir's daughters. This area is an area I would have liked to have seen without the snow and ice. There was much life here, including a hardy species of frog that hopped across the still-snow trail. I didn't expect to see amphibians this high up in elevation, but the frogs surely weren't expecting a late and cold spring this year. They were reproducing on schedule as they had been for millenium.

"The frogs have to adapt, just like we do" said Abid. I stopped to photograph the frogs while he thought I was being silly stopping to watch the critters hop around. No where else along the trail had I seen frogs.

I lost Abid here once I got ahead of him while he took another smoke/tea break. The lower in elevation I got, the more lush my surroundings became. I liked this stretch, in fact, the entire section today was beautiful. My only complaint was that both of my feet were badly rashed from the duct tape I had put on both feet at Muir Ranch to prevent blisters. The wet boots today irritated the feet which rubbed against the tape.

The descent from Muir Pass continued on for many miles and I never made it down to the level ground. Tom and the boys caught up with me at 4:30pm and an hour later we were camped along the creek with a huge boulder that resembled a dinosaur's head. The boys had gotten the little level ground there was. To preserve their privacy, I pitched my tent on a small slant closer to the trail. I washed my hair, washed my blue blouse, had my Mountain House meal, and called it a night at 8pm when the boys were still out doing their father-son talks.

Day Ten: Muir Trail Ranch to Upper McClure Meadow

Walk away quietly in any direction and taste the freedom of the mountaineer. Camp out among the grasses and gentians of glacial meadows, in craggy garden nooks full of nature's darlings. Climb the mountains and get their good tidings, Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves. As age comes on, one source of enjoyment after another is closed, but nature's sources never fail.

22 July 2010

Although I was up early (5:15am), I stood around and chatted with Tom (who was camped nearby) before taking off. I shared the only coffee pod I had with him. He, in turn, had given me a scoop of M&Ms. His sons were still asleep as I left. They weren't going to go anywhere until they knew if a new stove was on their way.

I left by 7:30am, rather late for me, but where was the hurry now? I knew that the hike would be a slow uphill, especially the first three miles before entering Kings Canyon National Park by 9am. I met a lot of north bounders hiking in large groups along this section that carved its way along the San Joaquin River as the water cascaded down waterfall after waterfall. For the first time along the JMT I crossed real bridges (rather odd, being in the "wilderness"), and three of them were in the first three miles of Kings Canyon.

There was plenty of wildlife here, from racing chipmunks to does and other critters. I was approaching Evolution Valley, which everyone said was beautiful. And indeed this area was, if only I hd taken time out to enjoy it! By the time I had gotten there, though, it was more strenuous than beautiful as we had been hiking uphill all day. I was exhausted and couldn't enjoy the sheer energy of the waterfalls cutting through the rock as the water gushed downhill.

My backpack was noticeably heavy with nine days of food in my bearvault. I had no room to spare.

I made it to Evolution Creek by 12:15pm. This was a wide creek and rushing well, but I didn't heed the advice of one couple to walk further upstream and ford closer to a meadow. Although wide, Evolution Creek was not deep in parts, and I was able to ford the creek with the water not even reaching my knees.

I stopped a lot all day to allow Tom and his sons to catch up with me. Or at least I used them as an excuse to gain up. I used the creek as a break, eating a fig bar here and relaxing near the water. Two other men saw me and asked if I was alone. "No, I'm sitting here waiting on three men who are behind me."

"Good, as it's not safe to be out here on your own. We met another woman who was hiking by herself." I would never admit to strangers that I was hiking alone. Having Tom and the boys nearby was a good ruse.

Tom and the boys finally caught up with me at the McClure Ranger station. I was standing in the front of the closed station making my dinner, my first real meal of the day. The guys stopped for a little bit, but Grant was in a hurry to get more mileage in. "It's only 3:30pm" he protested, "we could get another hour in."

So we agreed to hike another hour or so and camp at a decent site where we could all stretch out. We had already hiked further than I thought. What I thought was eight miles was already 12, and when I finally caught up to Tom and the boys, according to Grant, we had hiked 14 miles today.

This was a strenuous day for me, but it is what I wanted: hiking at a slower pace but going longer. The campsite that the boys chose was near a rocky clearing off the river. I got to the site after they had already dipped into the rushing water and cooled off.

And even though we were together at the campsite, I gave them their Lebensraum. Tom and the boys made their dinner and they sat astride along the river, perhaps talking father-son stuff that I didn't want to interfere with. It was touching to see them together, and a pang of envy overcame me: I don't have this kind of closeness with my own kids and nature.

A near full moon rose over dark crags above me. It kept a lighted spot over my tent in the early evening hours, and it was still visible early in the morning when I got up to continue my journey. I am so looking forward to the full moon over the mountains in a few days.

Day Nine: Magie Lake to Muir Trail Ranch

More and more, in a place like this, we feel ourselves a part of wild Nature, kin to everything.




21 July 2010

It was a quiet night all night, yet birds chirped at sunrise. As usual, Darlene was up with the first rays.

"Both my eyes are swollen, I can't see!" she said. As she had done for the past week, she was up and gone long before I could get ready. I had the feeling she would tell me at the Muir Ranch that she would not be going any further.

Darlene was up and over the pass quickly. I followed an hour later, taking my time, posing for a few photographs (I never did get as many of myself as I had of her) and enjoying the view. I wanted to watch the various hues of colors slowly move over the peaks. The hike today would not be long nor tedious as the Ranch is seven miles downhill and we had a half day planned of rest. Why worry?

There was no need to rush.

After summiting Selden Pass (10,800') and walking by a few alpine lakes the terrain became more "lunar" before entering the sub-alpine elevations of pines, ferns and meadows. At one point the trail even leveled out as it skirted along a sparkling lake with jumping trout and gnarly trees that invited me to sit on some branches.

The trail leveled out for a few miles, passing through a very flooded meadow where I had no choice but to wander in the water. Here is also where I saw a type of quail here, camouflaged with the brown trees around.

A family hiked northbound but didn't say much, and I didn't see any more people until the final ascent into Muir Ranch. One such couple was a couple from New Zealand, both wearing blue tops and grey shorts and complaining about the high rates of the Ranch.

"They were charging $160 a night" said the woman. "In New Zealand we only pay around NZD40, which would be around $30 here."
"This is California" I assured the couple, "and everything is expensive here." The Muir Ranch advertises itself as a Guest Ranch, with wooden cabins nestled between pine trees. There are two natural hot springs there for exclusive guest use.

Muir Ranch is located at 7800' which means we were descending three thousand feet in these seven miles. What isn't obvious from the Thomas Harrison maps is that the Ranch is nestled in a shaded valley along the San Joaquin River. You can't see it until you come right up to it. To reach it requires four miles of exposed downhill. I didn't like this stretch as I reached it late in the morning and temperatures were already hot. Perhaps the slope of the mountain had been burned at one point as the trail was covered by fragrant herbs of mints and sage and little else.

I arrived around 11am. Darlene was already there and so were several other hikers going through their food stuffs and getting rid of items they didn't want. (The Ranch provides "hikers buckets" for anything hikers want to donate to other hikers).

I was relieved to finally get to this place; I was tired of hiking for the day. But Darlene looked serious.

"We need to talk," she said in a business-like nanner. The last time I heard that phrase uttered in that manner was when I dated and the man wanted to break up with me. In Darlene's case I knew what she wanted to say.

"I am getting off the trail" she told me matter-of-factly.
"I figured you were going to" I replied, which seemed to surprise and both relieve her. "But I'm going to stay on."

And that was that. Darlene had her resupply bucket sent back to her home in Napa, I continued to sort through my own stuff, and began getting used to the idea of hiking alone. This news both saddened and elated me. I didn't set out on this journey to hike alone, but with the pace both Darlene and I have, I had been hiking alone these last few days anyway. Darlene starts out at the crack of dawn and powerhikes until early in the afternoon. Then she likes to relax for a few hours while listening to her iPod. I, on the other hand, would rather start early in the morning after breakfast and hike until an hour or two before sunset, which is around 6pm in July in California. I was looking forward to hiking at my own pace without stressing over keeping someone else waiting, but I also knew of the dangers of hiking alone.

But really, what dangers are there, seriously, along the JMT? Bears aren't as common in the backcountry as the National Parks Service want people to think, rapists and murderers would have to hike out some serious high-elevation passes to get to another human being, so what real dangers are there? The only dangers are weather or terrain-related: one inujures oneself slipping down a rocky trail, or one falls into a swollen creek, or one gets carried away by an avalanche. It always helps to have a partner there to render aid or to call for help.

Or to at least be able to locate your body.

Darlene seemed relieved, too to be off the trail. Her eyes needed medical attention and were still very swollen. Nothing she took helped. I did not envy her having to walk down to Florence Lake, catch a ferry to the western slopes of the Sierras, and hitch-hike there to Fresno for a bus to her town. Fresno is perhaps California's ghetto. She was up and gone by noon to catch her ferry. We hugged quickly and she was on her way.

"You are the strongest woman I have ever met" she told me. That was a compliment. And here I thought I was slowing her down because I often stopped to photograph the scenery, watch wildlife, or to simply catch my breath. It was sad to see her go but now I had to focus on adjusting to a solo journey. It took me most of the early afternoon to repack the dry foods and readjust my backpack. In hindsight I should have repacked my dry foods in Arizona, just like Darlene had suggested. That would have saved weight and cut down on any trash to carry out.

I used the remaining duct tape from my resupply bucket to wrap around the hot spots of both feet. My ant bite hadn't gotten any better and I didn't want it to rub against my boot. Stellar jays continued to fly around me as I rested at the weathered picnic table.

The late-morning rush dispersed when Darlene left. It was just me and a father-son trio who were sitting at another gazebo going over their resupplies of packed tuna, dried noodles and other edibles. The father-son trio had driven all the way from Indiana to hike the JMT. For the father Tom and the older son Ross, this was their second hike. Younger son Grant, a junior at Purdue University studying chemical enigeering, was the novice.

Naturally the discussion now was about all things Indiana. Tom and the sons were from Warsaw, a small town on USHwy 30 not too far from my old stomping grounds. They were a friendly family that I felt comfortable around, so it was no surprise that we all ended up camping outside the Ranch at the back packer's camp for the night to start our hike early the next morning. I needed that half-day break from the trail, whereas Tom's reason to break was a logistical one.

Tom's gas stove somehow was defective and they needed a new stove. Betsy, the caretaker at the Ranch, a helpful older woman with tossled grey hair, arranged for a new stove to be delivered from the other side of Edision Lake. If they could find someone who could bring a new stove on the last available ferry of the day, Tom and the boys could resume their hike. Tom was determined to wait for their new stove.

I had heard negative things about the Muir Trail Ranch but I was pleasantly surprised. Yes, the ranch caters to its paying guests and backpackers are only allowed in one section of this ranch. But it provides a basic need of food and water. There is even a small store backpackers can use. What else does one need? Betsy went out of her way to accomodate us and take care of her guests; she seldom had a moment's rest for the half day I was around her. I wanted to chat with her about the ranch and was only able to get a few sentences out of her at a time before she had guests to attend to. She seemed to enjoy the few moments rest as well, telling me that the ranch opened later than usual this year because of late and heavy snow fall (15 June instead of 1 June), the horses winter over in the Mohave desert after they are ridden to the eastern slopes and then trucked down the valley, and she's originally from San Diego and enjoys the mountains of the Sierras in the summer. Like Tom said later on, "Muir Ranch didn't have want I wanted, but it provided what I needed." If people have a bad experience here, it's surely because they came with either a bad attitude or were rude to the caretakers. I left a nice note in the "Hiker's Notebook."

The Muir Ranch backpackers section wasn't as busy as Betsy had expected. I stayed on the property until 3:30pm before moving to the camping area. Normally she gets a second volley of thru-hikers by then. Today she didn't get that until the Ranch was officially closed for thru-hikers (5pm). She was busy tending to us and her high-paying guests and I didn't want to be in her way.

This loud group arrived at 7:30pm. By then I was camped out with a rather large group of other hikers near the rushing San Joaquin River. An attempt to find the Blarney Hot Springs proved futile; the river was too high and I was not about to search for the hot springs that no one seemed to know was located anyway. One hiker said it was nothing more than a mud puddle anyway.

I slept the night under the stars with my tent fly off. I wanted to see the bright celestial lights. And although I did see the Milky Way, I slept considerably colder than normal without the fly on. Tomorrow would be a new chapter of this hike as I venture alone, with no one to wait on. That couldn't be too bad in the long run.