Duck Lake to Red’s Meadow to Mammoth

We wake early, with pizza on the brain. The climb out of Duck Lake is pleasant, but we are changing out of our jackets before we reach the pass. From there we travel along the Sierra Crest for the first time on the High Route. Views to our right are of the eastern Sierra, to the left the western. The ridge is relatively open, with mostly brush and loose slate to navigate.

Deer Lakes

We hump it up a small pass and drop down on Deer Lakes. We were warned that this is our last water until Red’s Meadow, so we camel up, and carry a liter each.

From the lake we follow a steep pack trail back up to the crest. Cruising along the top of our pumice filled world, we can see down into Mono County. Eventually we can see Mammoth Lakes. I quickly check for cell coverage, and have it for the first time on the trip. I call Terri, and she reports that Eric did call with news about the SPOT and our actual well being. Nice going Eric!

Mammoth Lakes

Huge cliffs to the north require that we traverse left to a steep sand slide, down a wide chute. Each step involves placing your foot forward a few feet, then sliding a few feet more. It gives that sensation you get when walking on an airport moving sidewalk, each step propelling you further and faster than it should. We have no idea how someone could walk back up it.

We eventually rejoin an actual trail at Mammoth Pass. We practically fly down, gliding through the massive tree blow down I referenced in my PCT blog. Kevin had never seen it, and it really is quite startling. The shortcut to Red’s Meadow was anything but, but we get there just the same. I am shocked to see the Eastern Sierra bus. It turns out that today is the last day it is running. We quickly grab our mailed package, and purchase our $7 round trip ticket. We will not get to use the return portion, and are warned the one-way cab fare back will be $75. Ugh. Oh well, Mammoth here we come.

We catch the local bus and trolley to the same Motel 6 Dish Cloth and I stayed in during my PCT thru-hike. We order a pizza delivery, because while washing our clothes, we have nothing to wear.

I call around to all the sporting goods stores, but no one has a replacement SPOT. Without one, I am not sure how Terri will know when to pick us up in Twin Lakes. We also need a replacement Sawyer Squeeze bag, but strike out there as well. We finally hike to a Ben & Jerry’s for shakes, only to discover they are closed on Wednesdays.

We fall asleep knowing that tomorrow will be a relaxing zero.

Laurel Lake to Duck Lake

Because of mosquitoes, I had closed up my tent flaps tight, and now wake up paying the price in condensation. I pack up everything wet.

Bighorn Sheep Pass from Shout-of-Relief Pass

We finally agree on what Roper means by “Leave this body of water near the two massive granite blocks adorning its northwest shore and ascend precipitous, grassy slopes,” so we climb with some level of confidence. It is the ultimate grassy stair stepper, but we reach the top of Bighorn Pass in less than an hour. Our next pass, Shout-Of- Relief, is at a similar elevation, but way around an “S” shaped contour. Traversing to keep elevation is tricky, and a few times we get cliffed out and have to scramble hand and foot up ridiculous terrain I doubt Roper intended. Nonetheless, in about another hour we are standing at the pass, but Kevin refuses to shout, either in relief or agony.

On Shout-of-Relief Pass

We then scramble down, keeping to the left of several lakes. The drops involve a mix of granite slabs and steep thick forest. You quickly realize there is no perfect route, and you measure success by movement. Don’t admit your routing mistakes, just keep going quickly.

We eventually crash our way into Horse Heaven and an actual trail. We now race down to Tully Hole, where we filter water and enjoy snacks. We rejoin the John Muir Trail for about six miles. The first, of course, is straight up exposed switchbacks.

Because of the whole SPOT situation, and the fact we have neither showered nor done laundry in 10 days, we decide to zero in Mammoth. The bus from Red Meadows is no longer running, so we will have to figure out transportation when we get there late tomorrow. In the mean time, Kevin keeps listing toppings he wants on his pizza.

Virginia Lake

We push by Lake Virginia and Purple Lake, on our way to Duck Lake. Camping is not permitted within 300 yards of the lake inlet. In Roper talus field measurements, that would be something like 3 miles. There are lots of people here, and flat spots are at a premium.

Duck Lake

Tomorrow we again leave the trail and will reach the actual Sierra Crest for the first time, at Mammoth Pass. Kevin, however, will be more interested in a Sierra crust at a Mammoth pizzeria.

Lake Italy to Laurel Lake

Last night I read to Kevin that Roper considers the Lake Country as the easiest of the five sections. For example, “The hiker will experience occasional talus, but only for a few hundred yards at a time.” We can use a little easy, as we attempt to get to Reds Meadow early, make some calls and start the Obama-like “we lost our SPOT” apology tour.

I wake later than normal, but given I have no SPOT to remember to turn on, we can make up some of the time.

Gabbot Pass

We round the north side of Italy Lake, past the toe, and press up what should be gentle granite slabs. Gentle is not exactly how I would describe it, but we eventually reach the top of Gabbot Pass. As promised by Roper, the view is not much, as the pass is boxed in. We do see, however, a small plane flying along our route, lower than anything we have previously seen. We assume it is my dad, sitting in the seat next to the head of Search and Rescue. Oh, why did that SPOT fall off?

Lower Mills Creek Lake

On our way down from the pass, we question Roper’s measurement skills. Clearly these jumbled talus fields are way longer than advertised. We pass Upper and Lower Mills Creek Lakes. The steep trip down to the Second Recess is a complete disaster. We crash through impossibly thick brush, willows, and Quaking Aspens, though we are clearly doing most of the quaking. We cannot even see our feet, but if we don’t push on hard enough, the brush throws us back up the hill. We can see from broken branches and occasional footprints that others have gone this way, but they were clearly not the top of their class, and likely rode to school in the short bus.

We eventually reach a light use trail that improves with time. We reach the bottom at Mono Creek, then work our way up the Laurel Lake trail. I am not sure what it is about switchbacks, but some trail builders have clearly never heard of them. The first mile or so is straight up, through exposed manzanita. Kevin is patient, but I am bonking. It takes a Snickers and liter of water to drag me up.

Laurel Lake

After the trail eventually levels out, we pick up steam and make it to Laurel Lake, which is boiling with fish. Kevin is sure catching and adding them to our bean burrito diner, would give new meaning to their lives.

We pray Eric and Jorge have kept their promise and called Terri and my Dad with the good news – that we are alive and doing fine. Otherwise, I may get killed.

Elba Lake to Lake Italy

For some strange reason, Kevin and I had been discussing a theory that one reason we have become an obese society is that we no longer allow ourselves to be cold. Well last night we did our best to bring down the weight average, because we froze all night.

We wake as if in little snow globes. When we touch the side of our tents, flakes of frozen dew and condensation fall onto our sleeping bags. We pack up frozen, knowing as we hike it will melt into a wet mess. We wear most of the clothes we have, including useless and freezing gloves. Alas, we press on down through a thick forest, towards the sound of a cascading falls. By the time we reach it, we are overheating and have to strip. It is amazing what a difference a half hour makes.

We work down to a little used trail going up to Merriam Lake, which both Roper and Andrew Skurka describe as a steep trail. They are right about steep, but I think fall line is more accurate than trail. We are rewarded for our effort with three bucks. After smelling us, however, they wander off.

Feather Pass

We work our way by a few lakes, including La Salle, before facing our primary task: Feather Pass. Roper’s descriptions often frustrate me. “Ascend a headwall via an obvious cleft” causes a fair amount of discussion, but little agreement on exactly what it means. We stare at a jumble of rocks and cliffs. We push on, unclear.

Looking down from Feather Pass

After reaching the top, we are further enlightened with “Careful routefinding in this short section pays off; otherwise you may encounter a few class 3 dropoffs.” I am pretty sure that sentence can be randomly inserted into any paragraph in his book, to the same effect.

The boulder fields seem to go on forever. We eventually work our way through Bear Paw and Ursa lakes.

At a rest, I realize my SPOT tracking device is no longer attached to my pack. I had double strapped the SPOTs carabiner to different parts of my pack in case one ripped. The carabiner is still securely attached, but not the SPOT. We of course have no idea when it came off, nor where it is now. Ironically, my wife and parents know exactly where it is, and probably assume I am still attached to it. I hope they realize since we did not press the emergency button, we are fine, but we have no way to tell them.

We come upon two hikers, Eric and Jorge, who will be back in civilization (cell phone range) by tomorrow night. I give them Terri’s cell number and my Dad’s home number with instructions to tell them the SPOT fell off, but Kevin and Rick are fine.

Looking back at Whitebear Pass

We press on, full of guilt, but with no ability to do anything about it. After White Bear Pass, we push on to Lake Italy, a lake Roper describes as ugly. Kevin and I think it is just fine. If Roper wants to see real ugly, he should join me when I try to explain to my wife how I lost the SPOT.

Frances (“11092”) Lake to Elba Lake

Looking back at Snow Tongue Pass

We wake early to start our climb of the dreaded Snow-Tongue Pass, always described in the top three most difficult. The south facing side is deceptively easy, at least relatively. We trudge up rather quickly. At the top of the pass, the straight down chute can only be described as: “Shoot no!” Higher to the right is a slightly less insane chute, which can be described as: “Well shoot, we came this far.”

Because of the loose rock, only one hiker should go at a time, and I guess my time has come. I begin down what can only be described as a series of slightly controlled avalanches. Hand holds, trekking poles, foot holds, everything is tried, and occasionally some work. I move left into another chute, out of the direct fall line, giving Kevin a chance to try his luck in the first.

Things seem to be going fine, until I hear a huge crashing rock slide, and massive boulders scream by on their free fall journey to the bottom. I yell for Kevin, but he cannot hear me. I yell several times, and eventually the sound of the careening boulders dissipates, and I can hear Kevin. His attention is heightened, but he is fine. At the bottom we stare back, wondering how anyone climbs up this side.

Boulder Field Below Snow Tongue Pass

The avalanches are now over, but the seemingly endless miles of talus boulder hopping has just begun. We get into a rhythm, bouncing slightly under control from boulder top to boulder top, hoping not to slip between, twist an ankle or crush a femur.

We continue to drop down towards Wahoo Lakes. Will this ever end?

We eventually break through and make a descent into, and a climb out of, Humphrey’s Basin. As open as it seems, we cannot see the lakes we are instructed to go between, because they are above us. Roper’s tip is not quite as helpful as it might have been. Once past Mesa Lake, Roper instructs us to climb a wedge to the northeast. Although the views are spectacular, it leaves us hanging, trying to figure out how high we have to climb to find a safe ledge back west to Puppet Pass. Having to come down in elevation to get to the pass is a little frustrating, but we make it alive, which is a clear plus.

Puppet Lake from Puppet Pass

The north side of Puppet Pass looks just a little too much like Snow-Tongue Pass. It is steep! There are black clouds all around us, so we are motivated to move on. As we descend, however, we realize what a difference stable talus can make. We do not experience the rock slides and avalanche rides from the previous pass.

We scramble down past Puppet Lake, and drop further to our targeted camp at Elba Lake. We are early, but if it is going to rain, we want our tents set up first.

Camp near Elba Lake

While filtering water Kevin drops his bottle lid, which magically travels into a deep rock crevice. When he shows me the problem I say, “Well we aren’t getting that out.” Kevin replies, “Your dad would not give up so easily.” He is right. I go get his tent poles from camp, and after some prodding, manage to free the cap. Thanks Dad, for the motivation.

The clouds are blowing in and out, unsure of what they are going to do. But we know what we will do… sleep soundly.

Le Conte to Lake “11092” Frances

We wake and return to our trail Stairmaster. Muir Pass is our first target. Roper describes it as the only place on the entire High Route where you cannot see any trees or plants. This of course means every time we walk by a tree or plant, we know we are not anywhere near the pass, nor can we even see it from here.

There are hordes of people enjoying the landscape, so it is clear we are on a major scenic trail. Mindless “How are you doing?”s are responded to with equally mindless “Great, isn’t it beautiful?”s.

We pass beautiful Helen Lake, named after one of John Muir’s daughters. Later we will pass not nearly as beautiful Wanda Lakes, named after another of John’s daughters. She must have been the one with personality.

Muir Hut

At the pass, we knock on the Muir Hut door, but John isn’t there. We were secretly hoping it had been converted to a Pizza Hut, as we are now starving most of the time.

We push on down the trail, with down being the key word. We stop at Evolution Lake for a rest and snack. We are about to leave the trail to traverse 3 miles to the lake known by its elevation”11092″, or as Roper refers to it, Frances. What Roper describes casually as a traverse across various ramps, turns into a thick forested obstacle course jungle of guesses and second guesses.

Lake Frances below Snow Tongue Pass

We eventually reach the lake, though the scramble is much more physically and mentally exhausting than anticipated. We have dinner to the sounds of howling coyotes at the base of Snow-Tongue Pass. Snow-Tongue is one of the scariest on the trip, and the coyotes are just setting the mood.

Long Lake to Le Conte Canyon

Dropping Into Le Conte

It is surprisingly windy and cold below Bishop Pass. We hit the trail by 6:30am, wearing more clothes than usual when walking. We push hard through the granite Stairmaster, reaching the top by 8:00am. The views are awesome, but we now face an elevation drop from about 12,000 feet down to 8,700. The steep decline is easy on the lungs, but devastating to the knees and ankles. A huge inviting water slide parallels us down the incline, but ends in a giant log jam, which puts a sudden end to our fantasy ride.

At the bottom, we turn right on the John Muir Trail, and head back up. Our time in lower elevation is quickly ended. We enjoy plenty of mule deer and cascading water. We stop for an hour to soak our feet, and rinse out our salty sweat coated shirts. It is a silly venture, because we have plenty more up today, but it feels awesome, if only for a while.

We find an early camp, set up, pump water, and cook. Tomorrow we will tackle Muir Pass.

Dusy Basin to Parchers Resort to Long Lake

Yesterday, hiking along Dusy Basin on a mishmash of social tails, we expected to cross Bishop Pass Trail, but never did. Confused, this morning we push on thinking we have got to cross soon or we have gone too far. Well, we have, and we have to double back. Not a great way to start an otherwise beautiful morning.

Bishop Pass

We hump it over Bishop Pass (which is a resupply side trip, and not one of the 33 SHR passes). We then make the long journey down towards Parchers Resort and our waiting package. The trail feels longer and steeper than expected, but it is probably just my feeling of dread that we will be hiking back up this tomorrow.

We pass beautiful lakes, then make a miserably hot road walk to Parchers. They have our package. From the looks of it, they either wrestled it away from a bear, or backed over it with their truck. It has our next 8 days of food, so we take it with a smile.

We are too late for the breakfast buffet, but the guy says we can still have it if we want, because he hasn’t put it away yet. Kevin is not convinced that being left on the counter way past its time should be the leading selling point. As we check out the spread, the ratio of food to salmonella is not in our favor. Instead we examine the store/refrigerator. Clearly the fish here are better fed than the people, as there is a wider variety of bait worms than anything else. We choose a soda and ice cream bar, plug in our electronics for a sip of energy, and sort our food.

With no reason to stay at Parchers, we push back toward the pass. Every step is one we will not have to make tomorrow. We meet a woman carrying a handful of leashes and walking two loose dogs. She tells us she is looking for a third dog, who has wondered off. She keeps yelling at the other dogs to stay close. I am not sure what she thinks the dog-less leashes in her hand are for. She then mumbles, “Well I guess I would have heard her squeal if she had been…” her voice trails off. On that note, we also trail off, beginning to understand why the missing dog made a break for it.

We stop early at Long Lake, leaving the rest of Bishop Pass for tomorrow.

Palisade Lake to Dusy Basin

We wake, have breakfast, and enjoy a little more actual trail. We move above and along the trout filled Palisade Lake, looking for our trail exit and climb up Cirque Pass. We follow a social trail for a bit, then lose it completely. Our scramble up is massive. We keep looking back at the Palisades Lakes, impressed with our progress. We pass one tarn, then finally reach another. Surely we should be near the top, but we are in fact only half way.

Potluck Pass viewed from Cirque Pass

From the top of Cirque Pass we stare across to Potluck Pass. Every sentence starts and ends with, “You have got to be kidding.” We read Roper’s notes over and over, yet nothing makes sense. What is he talking about?! We can see how to get down from this pass to the lake, but after that, the up looks like impassable scree with impenetrable cliffs at the top. We press on, totally unsure.

While at the bottom, we see southbound hikers on a cliff. They zig zag down seemingly impossible ledges. We watch to learn and reverse their magic tricks, but then they get stuck. Seemingly cliffed out, they are now stalled. We decide to get higher up the scree on the left than where they are stalled, before moving on to the invisible ledges. The scramble up the slippery and loose sand-rock is frustrating and heart pounding. Unsure what is above, or how far we need to go, we toss our poles up and keep climbing. Between the hand holds and foot holds, we need at least one of them to be working at all times. We finally scramble on the ledges to the right and zig zag to the top. Perhaps because of our route, or inability to comprehend Roper’s instructions, we agree this was far scarier for us than Frozen Lake Pass.

From Potluck Pass we traverse and try to maintain as much elevation as we can to reach and go over what is described as an inconspicuous pass. We then drop way down to the largest Barrett Lake. We are told to go around the east and north sides of the Lake, which we dutifully do, but continue wondering why we should not go around the closer south side. The social trail around the far side of lake more than makes up for the extra distance, but the cliffs guarding the outlet are the real reason for the recommendation.

Kevin’s ankle has been bothering him. We rest at the smaller Bartlett Lake, soaking our feet and enjoying snacks.

Looking at Knapsack Pass

Looking up at Knapsack Pass, we can see obvious and relatively easy ramps way off to the left. But to reach them, we would have to descend, and frankly we are not in the mood. Instead we scramble hand and foot over boulders, as though we are climbing a crazy cubists stone ladder. Our trekking poles are completely useless, and frankly in the way. I am not sure anyone else has ever taken this particular route, but we were to the top much faster than expected.

Looking down on Dusy Basin

Our drop down to Dusy Basin is relatively easy. At every turn another ramp magically appears, right when we need it. Instructed to stay high to avoid the boulders and willows, we make the long and tedious walk passed the chain of Dusy Lakes. We target the final one, which is closest to the Bishop Pass trail, our resupply exit tomorrow.

Marion Lake to Palisades Lake

We wake a half hour earlier than yesterday, but the other father and son team beat us out. Which, based on their 12-day schedule, they needed to do.

After a quick Pop-Tart, we work our way into Lake Basin. We are targeting an “L” shaped Lake, but the way seems ridiculously steep. We hold left and hump it up a non-Roper route, which ends up on a passable ridge. Our unauthorized maneuver, however, probably changes our angle for Roper’s next instruction. We make towards the lower right of the pyramid peak, which should put us in line with a talus lake, but we do not see it. We can go way right to a chute we think is below the unnamed lakes, or we can hold our line up what appears an easier approach from below Frozen Lake. We take the easy route. Once around the ridge we realize it is not so easy, and we are cliffed out. Rather than admit our mistake we push right and up a steep ridge, requiring hand holds, and cursing. What could be a disaster ends up great, as we slip back into our easier route just above the cliffs.

Frozen Lake Pass

We are higher than the unnamed lakes, but crest nicely right near Frozen Lake, which is clearly a lake, but far from frozen. Frozen Lake Pass looks absolutely ridiculous. From our vantage point it is clear no human should attempt it. We hear, and eventually spot about half way up, the 12-day father and son team. Realizing we now have no excuse, we finish our snack and push on. We zig zag over loose talus blocks, sending several on adventures of their own.

I had read a previous article about someone who reached the top of Frozen Lake Pass, and was so frozen with fear, he refused to pass over and down the more difficult side. As we watch the father and son team enter the final chute, we wonder if they too will return shaken.

Looking Down From Frozen Lake Pass

When we do finally reach the chute ourselves, I see the top of a hat moving at the pass crest. Oh my goodness, they are either taking a longer rest at the pass than we expected, or the pass really is un-passable. At the top we are greeted by a completely different south bound hiker. The father and son had passed on, and since we do not see them piled in the nasty talus below, we assume they did so rather successfully. The way down from this pass is awkward, unstable, and avalanche prone; but none the less doable. Doable is becoming a key phrase for us. Enjoyable, not so much.

At the bottom of the pass, I err and keep us too far left, pushing us to a wall of cliffs, rather than the flat Greater Basin we should be crossing to the John Muir Trail (JMT). We backtrack and find a ramp down, but it is too late. Kevin has more learning fodder for me, and uses it subtlety, yet effectively.

Mather Pass

The JMT up and over Mather Pass is like walking on gentle carpet. We shoot to the top without stopping. It makes me embarrassed to have ever thought these were difficult on my PCT hike. Until doing High Sierra trail-less passes like Frozen Lake, I did not really know the meaning of difficult.

Rick and Kevin on Mather Pass

Palisades Lake Camp and Laundry

At Palisades Lakes we find a reasonable campsite by a stream. We clean our clothes and selves by swimming in a swirling pool, make an early Pad Thai dinner and retire.

Glacier Lake to Marion Lake

Upper Glacier Lake

We wake at upper Glacier Lake, then work our way down by the lower lake. From there we drop dramatically down to Glacier Valley. Roper advises us to stay left to avoid a cliff, which we heed, if only to be polite. We follow various ramps in the lodgepole pines. I think a ramp just means angled ground not quite as nasty as a cliff. It seems everything takes longer than it should.

We make our way to States Lake, where we see plenty of mule deer and delicious looking trout. There is a social trail to Horseshoe Lakes, which makes the travel and route finding quite easy.

At Gray Pass, I mess up. Gaining elevation is so difficult that I am very reluctant to give it up, which it turns out is not always a great idea. After walking high around a massive cliff, I cannot imagine that the pass we are aiming for is now below us. Luckily I have brought my son, who is more than willing to remind me of my mistakes. How else will I learn? Even with my blundering, we make it down to the top by noon.

North from Grey Pass to White Pass

From Gray Pass to White Pass requires a long steep down, and an even longer steep up. Exhausted, we make it to the top by 3:00pm.

To get from White Pass to Red Pass, Roper advises we climb even higher, then traverse across and down towards Red Pass. It is a long tedious down through miserable talus. We then climb up the last bit, arriving by 3:30pm.

Red Pass to Marion Lake

From Red Pass we can see our evening’s goal, Marion Lake. Again, we plod down through loose talus. On the way we encounter extremely tame (borderline annoying) grouse, obviously on the wrong pass. Kevin and I both slip several times during our descent. Kevin rips his pants. We follow Roper’s advice and descend the left chute, which is surprisingly steep but doable as long as you’re willing to be part of a rock slide. I played the part of a rolling stone. The end of the chute looks like it drops you directly into the water, which Kevin proclaims less than ideal. It turns out there is a tiny ledge trail around the lake. We arrive at Marion Lake by 5:00pm. We pitch tents, filter water, and make mashed potato and tuna wraps.

Another father and son team arrive behind us and setup camp. They are also attempting the SHR, but have only allocated 12 days. We feel pushed trying it in 20. We wish them well, and doubt we will see them again.

Tomorrow is Frozen Lake Pass, one of the more difficult of the trip.

Roads End to Glacier Lake

We wake in Clovis at 4:00am, load up the car and head for Kings Canyon. Even in the dark we can feel the bark beetles destroying the forest. Logging trucks and wood chippers are parked along the road. Free anniversary day or not, there is no one at the gate as we enter the park. We arrive at Roads End, use a seated toilet one last time, and say goodbye to Terri. A little before 7:00am, we head up the monstrous climb to Copper Creek pass.

In his guide book, Roper describes the various trees and ecosystems passed on this steep climb. We pretend to care, but focus on moving rather than being moved. We rest occasionally, but manage to keep up a reasonable pace.

We only encounter a few descending hikers, including a condescending ranger. She asks to see our permit. If you have ever made a purchase at Costco, Walmart, or Fry’s Electronics, you know the feeling. It’s that awkward moment when the security employee asks for and stares at your receipt. What exactly is the employee looking for? The true test is that you can actually produce a receipt at all, and after that the terse stare and head nod is simply for show. In the ranger’s review of our permit, she stares politely for the appropriate amount of time, but does not notice that Kevin’s red ULA circuit, described on the permit, is now a much larger black Mountain Hardware.  I am pretty sure she is thinking about what she is going to have for dinner.

I ask the ranger about any stretches with limited water, but she is not familiar with the route, so instead recommends we simply carry a lot. She then asks if she can answer any more questions. I politely fail to point out that to answer more she needed to have answered a previous, which she had not. We smile and wish her well.

Grouse Lake and Grouse Lake Pass

By noon we reach the summit and turn off trail for the first time. We scramble up a semi-social trail to Grouse Lake. We see a lake, but not a single grouse. We rest for about an hour before tackling Grouse Lake Pass. Roper describes it as easy, which says more about his skills than ours. At the pass, we try to follow his instructions to traverse and stay high. We are not sure he would be proud of our route, but we manage to make it up to Goat Crest Saddle.

The route down towards Glacier Lake is steep and we are tired. We followed Roper’s advice to stay left, but with so little snow on the pass this year, there may have been an easier way. At Glacier Lake we are spent. We have completed about 11 miles, and probably 8,000 feet of climbing. We pitch our tents, have Indian curries and rice, and collapse in bed. Tomorrow, like every day on this trek, will be a big day.

Zero Trail Miles

Sierra High Route

Tomorrow my son Kevin and I begin our trek on the Sierra High Route. We hope to complete it in 20-ish days, in time for Kevin to return to college. This mostly off trail route, parallel to and higher than the John Muir Trail, was designed by Steve Roper. You can read all about it on Wikipedia, or better yet in Roper’s guide book, not surprisingly called: Sierra High Route. The significant details are:

• Start at Kings Canyon, Roads End
• Hike north about 200 miles
• Climb over 33 major Sierra passes
• Exit at Twin Lakes, above Bridgeport

Unlike previous adventures, this one is not about the trail. It is about the passes. Attempting the route is a bit like participating in the American Ninja Warrior. Each pass presents a different physical or mental challenge, and you cannot move on to the next challenge, until you pass the current one.

The challenge passes, in order of appearance from south to north, are: Copper Creek (1), Grouse Lake (2), Goat Crest (3), Gray (4), White (5), Red (6), Frozen Lake (7), Mather (8), Cirque (9), Potluck (10), Knapsack (11), Muir (12), Snow-Tongue (13), Puppet (14), Feather (15), White Bear (16), Gabbot (17), Bighorn (18), Shout-of-Relief (19), Mammoth (20), Nancy (21), Inconspicuous (22), Whitebark (23), Overlook (24), Glacier Lake (25), Blue Lake (26), Vogelsang (27), Tuolumne (28), Mine Shaft (29), Spuller-Maul (30), Sky Pilot Col (31), Stanton (32), and Horse Creek (33)

We are staging in Clovis California. I have just finished guiding a Fitpacking trip that included the Rae Lakes Loop in King’s Canyon National Park. I came out at Roads End, the exact same trailhead where the Sierra High Route (SHR) starts. I spoke to a ranger on the way out and begged for our SHR permit. They normally only give it out between 1:00 and 4:30 the day before, or after 7:00am the day of. I reminded him that the climb out of the canyon is over 6,000 feet, and we will want to start as early as possible. Luckily, he is scheduled to hike up Copper Creek trail on the same morning. He smiled, said “You’re right,” and issued the permit.

Sierra High Route Permit

Before the Rae Lakes trip, I tried my best for some “pay it forward from my PCT trip” karma by picking up two hitch hiking backpackers. They were a father and son team completing the Sierra High Route in the southern direction, opposite of our northern plan. The father was wearing a green ULA Circuit pack, exactly like mine. The son had a red ULA Circuit, exactly like Kevin’s. They were very healthy looking Canadians who said the trail had beaten them. They were making only about 5 miles a day in the talus and boulder fields, and had to jump off the High Route and on to the John Muir Trail several times. They said they would have needed 30 days or more to complete it. I was not very happy hearing their stories, and almost sorry I picked them up.

After Rae Lakes Loop, I do not have time to go home. My wife Terri rents a one-way drop Enterprise rental car and drives Kevin to Clovis. I do laundry, then pack gear and food for the first five days.

If there is one thing important to bring on a backpacking trip, it is probably a backpack. Kevin appears to be doing everything he can to break the Canadian bad karma by leaving his new red ULA Circuit at home. Too far to go get, Kevin decides to simply carry my “too large for this kind of trip” guiding backpack. To reduce some of the weight, I remove the top part of the pack, known as the brain. Kevin apparently has already reduced his own brain weight.

Tomorrow, Terri will drive us to the Copper Creek trailhead in our car, which I had driven here for the Rae Lakes trip. In celebration of the National Park Service 100 year anniversary, we are hoping they waive the $30 park entrance fee.

This 20 minute video shows highlights of my entire 2015 PCT Thru-Hike.

It turns out that sometimes pictures are worth a thousand words.. especially pictures that move. I hope they move you too.

Mile 2646 to 2660

In the middle of the night there is a crashing sound like a log being rolled over. Are you kidding me? That sounds way too much like a bear grubbing, and we are both sleeping with our food bags. I fumble for my headlamp, but I need a flashlight to help find my headlamp. It’s a bit like needing scissors to open a new package of scissors. It is my last day. Everything I do is for the last time: sleeping in a tent, digging a 6 inch cat hole, checking the map for water sources, looking at profile elevations, drinking Muscle Milk for breakfast and a ton of other tasks previously chronicled. The one last I don’t want this to be, is my last day of living. I eventually find and shine my light into the darkness. “We are more trouble than we are worth,” I say to the unknown noise maker.

Our tents, sleeping bags and gear are soaking wet. But we don’t care. Today is the last day we pack up. We will not be sleeping in the wild wild wet tonight. I don’t even rinse my dirty old Gatorade now Muscle Milk bottle. It is going straight in the recycle bin. The clothes I am wearing will be going in the trash.

As we hike down a long steep side slope toward the border, we come upon a tent smack dab in the middle of the trail. It reminds us that we miss Ixnay. We excuse ourselves and squeeze by. A female voice from within says “Sorry”. She was clearly too exhausted to continue, and dropped where she was in the night.

Border Cut

There is a strange cut of trees in the horizon. “It’s the border,” declares Kevin. It is kind of odd how the border is exactly the opposite of a fence. The forest is a thick wall of wood, difficult to pass, but for one brief moment the trees are clear cut and the border is like a city park: smooth, green, and full of sunlight.

We switchback down to Northern Terminus and Monument 78. We have it all to ourselves. We take the obligatory goofy pictures and remove the heavy metal monument cap. In it is the final log book, though it should have also contained instructions on how to put the monument cap back on. It is surprisingly heavy and no longer fits, regardless how many times we rotate it and try again.

Selfie at Terminus

On April 3rd I signed the Southern Terminus log book. There are a variety of log books in-between, some on the actual trail in podium like stands and some at resupply locations such as general stores or post offices. There are not as many log books as on the AT where there is one at every shelter, but there are quite a few. From that first day, I told myself the only other one I was signing was the one at the Northern Terminus. My theory was that signing any other interim book was an admission I might not make it to the final one. I never said it was a good theory, just that it was mine.  I did sign two other books, but they are not official PCT books. I signed the book on Mount Baden Powell in honor of my father who took me there as a boy scout, and I signed the one on Mount Whitney because, well it’s Mount Whitney.

Today I sign the Northern Terminus Monument 78 log book. It is done.

Monument 78

We now have only to walk another 8 miles to Manning Park and get picked up by Terri. You can only hike into Canada if you have a border crossing permit from the Canadian government. Having a felony is the primary reason to be denied. We do our best not to judge the hikers returning 30 miles to Harts Pass rather than entering Canada. It’s probably just where they left their cars parked.

We hike into Canada and over a 1,000 foot climb. On the final long gentle slope we meet several more strangers who congratulate and cheer us. It is still as strange to me as the time way back in the dessert when the Sierra Club group made us walk through a tunnel of raised hiking sticks. As if to keep my head from swelling, a yellow jacket flies into my shirt and bites me on the neck. The pain is searing, but Kevin points out that crying from a bug bite would be worse than crying at the monument. I did neither. But as the pain flows through my body, I realize something is telling me it is time to leave the wilderness.

Terri and Daniel have come part way up the trail to meet us. They tell us getting out of Canada may be harder than getting in, because Daniel forgot his US Passport on the kitchen counter in Seattle. After driving way too fast for me, and sitting way too long at the crossing, Daniel begs his way back into the United States. He is given a formal warning that he is in violation of the US border crossing documentation requirements. We are pretty sure that just means he is now on a path to citizenship and can apply for a wide variety of social services.

On the US side of the border we find our US dollars good again, so we duck into Bob’s Burger and Brew and spend them.  We drive back to Peg and Lane McNitt’s in Seattle, where we are spoiled with ribs, fruit, biscuits and desserts.  Tomorrow we will fly back to Oakland, erasing in an hour what took months to walk.

Mile 2623 to 2646

I am visited in the night by Mighty Mouse. I know he is Mighty Mouse because I see him fly. He is perched on my head when I grab his tail and fling him out of the tent door with an amazing arc into the darkness. Fly Mighty, fly!

We wake at 5:00am and feel like a set of all weather tires. Today we will be road tested with snow, rain, drizzle, overcast and partly cloudy. The snow as we leave camp is beautiful. It is not like the pelting bean bag chair stuffing, but rather like being inside a well shaken snow globe. We feel just about as wet too. Everything we have is now soaked. We are praying for a brief break to dry things just enough that we can climb into them without squealing in agony.

We come upon a gaggle of grouse. The male grouse is splaying his tail feathers in a ritual dance. Freezing frigid females seem sadly less than interested. Perhaps in this extremely cold weather the goods he is selling are less impressive than usual.

It is clear that today is a day for making passes. We do our best by making it over Windy Pass, Foggy Pass, Jim Pass, Holman Pass, Rock Pass, Woody Pass and Hopkins Pass.

Drying Gear

Before reaching camp we attempt to dry our gear on a ridge. The sun only makes very brief appearances, and we keep telling ourselves we just have to make it one more night. Even if we have to put on everything we own, we can surely do that.

We eventually stop and camp at the Boundary Trail split. We are now 4 miles from the Canadian border, and another 8 miles to Manning Park, where we hope to be picked up by Terri in a warm comfortable car.

Mile 2598 to 2623

I wake at 2am with a frozen tent. It is so cold I actually wish I had an Ixnay night time bottle. Well perhaps not, but I really do not want to go outside to go outside.

At 5am we get up for good. As I pack up my tent the frost on the outside of the tent combines with the frozen condensation on the inside and creates a giant snowball. I pull the tent back out of the stuff sack, shake it as best I can, leaving a huge pile on the ground. As I pack it back up it seems to have as much or more snow than before. Feeling like Elsa from Frozen – I just need to let it go.

Drying Gear

In the cold we hump it up Methow Pass then have a long down. The long down is followed by a long up. It begins to feel a little like the Oregon green tunnels, but with elevation. There is a brief break in the trees and a hint of sun, so we stop and create a yard sale of drying gear. Being able to setup a dry tent tonight will make all the difference.

We continue on over Glacier Pass and Grasshopper Pass on our way towards Harts Pass. We are now running into a lot of day hikers who enthusiastically cheer us on. Kevin continues to find it ridiculous that total strangers congratulate us or tell us how courageous we are. We are just walking after all, not exploring Mars.

Very Cold Camp

We are however running low on water. The last seasonal creeks were dry, so the southbounder who told us he never went more than 7 miles between water in Washington State must have skipped this section. A young couple running their dogs tells us they have a jug of water in their truck at the trailhead parking lot. We trade trail life stories for water, so clearly we get the better of that deal.

At the Harts Pass campground there is a campsite set up for trail magic: US and Canadian flags, tables, chairs, stoves, and offers to cook us hot food. Kevin is more interested in the pit toilet. Our goal is to push on another 3.5 miles while there is still daylight and it is not pouring. If he handed us a hamburger we would take it, but we are not going to wait around while he uncovers the gear and figures out how to start up the stove. We thank him for the offer and move on up the steep grade. Besides, we are already looking forward to our bean burritos.

We finally set up camp, cook as quickly as we can, then retreat to our tents. I struggle to blog with my frozen finger. If I peck the keyboard too hard it feels as though my finger will shatter into a million pieces.

Mile 2574 to 2598

We luck out and wake to a dry camp. We pack up quickly after consuming massive cinnamon rolls and making a pit stop at the pit toilet. Even after all these miles a good seat is difficult to leave behind.

Black Bear

We hike along a wide cliff ledge that drops down to Bridge Creek. A brown flash startles us from the cliff side. It is a brown colored black bear not willing to go over the edge, so he jogs forward and takes the trail about 30 feet ahead of us. Once on the trail he seems to lose all fear and slows to a stop, as do we. I pull out my video camera and begin taping. He turns back and faces us, then eventually leaves the trail to our left, apparently now bored with the whole thing.

Quick Break in Weather

As we hike on, the gentle rain becomes a bit aggressive and we stop to pull on our rain pants. The pants block the cold wind and rain, but just as importantly keep us from feeling the wet carwash bushes or getting a chafing rash from being in wet garments all day.

Someone ahead of us is leaving messages written in the wet trail. It is a bit like reading the old Berma-Shave advertisement signs along the highway, except since we are walking the time between words is significantly longer. The pouring rain may be washing away some of the words or at least the context, because in about a half hour of walking we have “Your Feet And Mom Put A Fork”. Try as we might we cannot make sense of it.

Storm Coming

I suppose it should go without saying that it rains on Rainy Pass, but there I said it, and yes it did. When we stop to enjoy cheese, salami and bagel sandwiches, the rain turns to snow and fills Kevin’s now open pack. It is the pelty little not quite as icy hard as hail white balls. I am sure the Eskimos have a precise term or two for it. We just call it: What The Heck.

We make our way up to and across Cutthroat Pass, where steep jagged peaks and crazy dark clouds loom waiting. The snow starts gentle but then quickly attacks, pounding in all directions. The trail looks as though giants are having a massive beanbag chair fight and the stuffing is pouring over everything.

The sun teases us, but never really comes out. We setup camp during a break in the weather. As we cook some Pad Thai to warm our cold bellies other tired hikers arrive and squeeze in with their tent. The pika continue to make warning cries but we settle into our tents unwilling to leave. We fall asleep hoping for fairer weather tomorrow.

Exposed Camp

Miles 2462 to 2569 – Bus/Ferry/Bus fire reroute

Miles 2569 to 2574

We stop at the front desk at 6:00am hoping to grab a quick breakfast on our way to the bus stop. Unfortunately breakfast is not put out until 6:30, the same time our bus departs for Chelan. I plead for at least a muffin and learn that words do matter. I assume he will begrudgingly provide a muffin for each of us, but no I said a muffin and he begrudgingly provides a muffin. We laugh and split it as we walk toward the bus station.

The bus ride to the Lady of Our Lake dock is 1 hour long and costs a whopping $2.50. Kevin is pretty sure that does not cover the actual operating expense. We are joined by a blind man with a white cane. Although not politically correct I find myself chuckling when we drop him off at the security guard shack where he works. What a country.

At the ferry we are joined by several other thru-hikers making their way to the final leg of our journey. It is a strange feeling. This will be the last time we leave a resupply for the wilderness. For most of us it will be 4 more days of walking and it’s all over. I imagine it will end with the same fanfare Forest Gump ends the jogging craze: “I am pretty tired… I think I’ll go home now.”

Our Lady of the Lake

On the ferry we feel strangely like normal tourists. It is a 4 hour ride with occasional commentary on the history and environment of the third deepest lake in the country. On the boat we can see smoke from the still burning fire, which is not expected to be out until significant winter snow falls. We selfishly hope that does not happen in the next 4 days.

Stehekin Red Bus

We stop for a brief visit at the Stehekin visitor center to get our Northern Cascade National Park Complex Backcountry Permit, which appears to live up to its complex name. In this next 17 mile section we can only camp in designated sites and we must decide now. Not sure when we will reach the trail or if it will be raining we select Bridge Creek, a site 5 miles out. That will at least knock our remaining 4 day average to Manning Park down to a reasonable 21.25 miles.

We ride the red bus towards the PCT, but have one mandatory stop, the Stehekin Pastry shop. We purchase massive cinnamon rolls and sticky buns to carry on the trail. I am not exactly sure, but I think they are close to a million calories each.

Stehekin Bakery

Back on the trail we find our legs a little lethargic, probably from the double zero. We warm them up by dodging the crazy number of tiny tree frogs on the trail and the one huge seriously rattling rattlesnake now striking a striking pose.

At camp we set up our tents and consume sticky buns, hoping the calories will stick to ours. We are soon joined by 2 other thru-hikers. Tomorrow we will climb over 6,000 feet in about 20 miles. It won’t be the steepest climb, but it will just seem to keep going all day long and get colder with every step.

Zero Miles

We wake for a repeat of the make your own waffles and cereal breakfast. With our chores completed yesterday, today really is a lazy day. We watch television, catch up on the internet and nap. We research all the things you can do in Wenatchee and it turns out we really don’t want to do either of them. We review on Rotten Tomatoes the 8 current movies and find they have perfect scores: 100% rotten, at least by our assessment.

Indian Buffet

We head to an Indian buffet where they do not have an “if you don’t eat it you pay more” business model. Theirs is much simpler: make good food and people will eat it. Which they did, and we did.

After tiring of the basic television channels we flip to HBO and watch the free to us movie Transcendence. As the movie ends we debate if we actually got good value. It did kill some time, just not as humanely as we had hoped.

We are still full from the lunch buffet so Kevin runs out to get us milkshakes, which fortunately go into a completely different stomach compartment. We complete final packing by over-stuffing our packs, then make one more attempt at over-stuffing ourselves with a club sandwich and chips from Jimmy John’s.

We fall asleep in a warm bed for the last time on this thru-hike, hoping at least one of us will wake up in time to catch the bus at 6:30am.