Mile 1482 to 1498

I wake at 4:00am and notice Senior Whiskers is on the move. He grabs water from the creek and heads up towards the trail, before I have even figured out where my VIA coffee and stove are. We have 17 miles of trail, including a long straight up climb towards Interstate 5 and it is going to be hot.

Now thinking logically, if a 17 mile trail goes straight up it must end on what, the moon? In which case shouldn’t it be Intergalactic 5, or Outerstate 5? An unexpected cloud cover makes the climb more tolerable than expected. In the distance I keep seeing Mount Shasta.

I am not exactly clear on the physics, but I assume it involves rolling logs, elephants and a team of immigrant laborers. Regardless of the rate I hike towards it, Mount Shasta moves away from me at the exact same rate. Now before you start in about optical illusions, let me say I have become quite an expert on walking. I have walked almost 1,500 miles on this trip. I have successfully walked to and passed all kind of rocks, trees, creeks, hills and yes, mountains. For example, I can no longer even see Mt Baden Powell, or Lyle Peak. But this Mount Shasta has me trapped in some crazy orbit where I can see it from a variety of angles, but I never get any closer.

Sacramento River

Crossing the Sacramento River and Interstate 5, I head towards Castle Crag’s campground. The park is a confusing jumble of trails and roads, but I eventually find the gas station/store. Other thru-hikers are here and we take turns trying to out calorie each other. I consume a roast beef sandwich, Fritos, a quart of chocolate milk, a root beer, an orange juice, Pringles and two pints of Hagan daz Ice cream. It is still not enough calories to make the opposite of a dent in my body.

I pay $3 to stay at the hiker campsite.  On the way I also pay for and take a quick shower which seams silly given I have no clean clothes, but it feels great. Tomorrow I will hike on alone. Senior Whiskers is taking a zero, but I need to make it to Highway 3 in 3 days where I hope to be picked up by Terri. Lauren’s wedding is coming up and it is the last logical place for her to get me in time.

Mount Shasta Again?!

Mile 1455 to 1482

I wake at 4:00am and start making coffee. In the distance I can see a headlamp. Senior Whiskers is up and packing. Since he is hiking stove-less he will beat me on the trail by at least a half hour, but I am guessing he will be groggy without the hot caffeine.

Green Tunnel

The first part of the hike is beautiful on an exposed rim, but even before the sun is up it is radiating significant heat. This could be a nasty one. Once over the rim and back in the trees the temperature drops but so does the quality of the views. For the first part of the day there are lots of seasonal streams. It is getting very hot, but we have plenty of water and reasonable shade.

At the McCloud River we setup on opposite ends of the bridge in the shade. We snack, rinse clothes, soak body parts and wonder how long we can afford to stay. Tomorrow we should reach Interstate 5, but at what time depends on how many miles we do today.

After the McCloud River, water sources become fewer and farther between. We target Trough Creek and have to bushwhack our way through the overgrown and under maintained trail. I make dinner and rest by the pretty but tiny cascade. NoTent, who I hadn’t seen since Kennedy Meadows North, shows up. He asked me to thank Terri for posting some message on his blog.

Trying to get a few more miles we push on to Squaw Valley Creek. The water is great but there really is nowhere to camp. It doesn’t matter. We are done. We throw down tarps and bags and squeeze ourselves into a couple of small ledges.

River

Mile 1430 to 1455

I wake at 4:30, make coffee and eat a giant smashed cinnamon bun. I catch and filter water right before it trickles into a disgusting pool. Timing is everything.

Mount Shasta in the Morning

We hike about 4 miles to Clark Spring where we catch BLT, Klutz and Mountain Goat. They slept here last night and are now heading out. Senior Whiskers and I filter water and rest before pushing on to Moosehead Creek which is 11 miles ahead. It is too far to get to and avoid the mid day heat, but it is the next place with water. At Moosehead we try to sleep in the constantly moving shade, but the ants, flies and other critters have different ideas. Other than having water, it is a pretty miserable place.

We hike earlier than planned, from boredom as much as anything. Once out of the trees the wide open views remind me of the Blue Mountains. In the trees, however, it is the long green tunnel. We hike another 10 miles to get to Gold Creek, the next reliable water. It is after 10pm when I arrive. I drop my tarp and bag in the dark on what appears to be a combination gravel road, turn around and junk heap. I go to sleep hoping no one wants to do any of those three things on me tonight. The snorting sounds of deer trying to get by me to the water wakes me several times. Perhaps they are just miffed that I am sleeping next to the “No Trespassing” sign. I check again. It says nothing about sleeping, so I nod off well within my legal rights.

Similar to the Blue Mountains

Mile 1408 to 1430

Wild Bird Cache

I wake completely covered in ants. They are everywhere and in everything. There is even a raft of them clinging together and floating in my cooking pot. I try to find an ant-less area so I can brush them off and sort my gear. It is futile. No matter how I pack up, it is clear they are coming with me.

Within a couple of miles I encounter the Wild Bird Cafe trail magic. There is water, food, soda, tables, showers and a USB charging station run off a car battery. It is truly magical. It would be nicer to run into this during the heat of the day. But that is coming – too quickly and with too much force.

Burney Falls

I hike about 7 more miles to Burney Falls State Park for resupply and to enjoy the waterfall. It is getting hotter by the minute, and weather predictions are not good. 105 today, and as high as 117 by Thursday. Some push on in the heat, but others are switching to a nocturnal strategy. Those of us that do, hide in the shade close enough to the general store to keep purchasing soda and ice cream, and wait for the angry yellow ball in the sky to calm down.

Senior Whiskers and I head out at about 6:00 pm. It is still hot, but it should be slowly cooling down. We hike 5 miles to a creek where I soak my feet, filter water and snack. We hike another 4 miles under headlamp to a supposed creek, but we never find it. We push on until just after midnight and crash by a dirt road and the trickling seasonal creek Peavine. We will wake early to filter water and get a jump on the next days heat. Trying to get in 20 miles a day, avoid the killer heat and find a way to get enough sleep is my new challenge.

Hiking when slightly cooler

Mile 1379 to 1408

Although it seems like a continuation of yesterday, when the clock rolls past midnight it is officially a new day. After a couple of hours of sleep, I pack up, put on my headlamp and iPod Nano, and I start jamming. I have serious miles to do on this 30 mile waterless rim walk. I only have two litres of water and 25 miles left. Since it is going to be close, I figure my best chance is a night hike when it is cooler and I will drink far less.

Hat Creek Rim Cache

When hiking at night I have a very different animal experience. I did not know this but some birds sleep standing on the trail. As I am about to step on one it explodes into flight, but with slightly less force than my heart flying out of my chest.  As I round a corner on a Hat Creek Rim cliff face, I find myself face to face with what is no longer a sleeping cow. I fear one of us is being startled off the edge, but based on each of our incontrollable moos, I score it a tie. A small but brave skunk makes three false charges. He lunges straight at me from the trail, shaking his tail and stops. Unsuccessful at moving the beast from his trail, he lunges again closer displaying his tail more prominently and stops. Same results. His last effort is truly voracious, but he suddenly bolts off the trail in retreat. I am pretty sure at that point he was close enough to smell me and realized he had met his match.

After night hiking from midnight to 4am I drop my pack, pull out my sleeping bag and fall instantly asleep by the trail. Whatever revenge is inflicted on me by the bird, the cow and the skunk I do not remember, though as the 5:00-ish sunrise wakes me there is what appears to be marker scribbling on my face.

PG&E Power

I continue hiking in the morning light. The time between breaks is getting shorter and the duration longer. I am pretty sure I fall asleep on a couple of them. I have not seen another soul through the entire ordeal. I eventually make it to a Pacific Gas & Electric power station by a river. I filter water, swim and watch fishermen catch rainbow trout. No camping is allowed here, so I hike on another 3 miles and crash on a ridge.

Mile 1350 to 1379

Blowdowns

When I was in the Devil’s Post Pile area a bus driver told me that a couple years ago a freak storm knocked down thousands of trees. It took an actual act of congress to approve an exception to use power tools to clear the trail. Apparently this area has a pathetic congressperson, because the number of downed trees is crazy, and they do not appear to be doing anything, powered or otherwise.

I am not sure what caused these tree blow downs, but I am pretty sure the mosquitoes had something to do with it. Every time I am stopped by a jumbled pile of logs and branches where the trail should be, I hear a buzzing which can only be translated as “well while you’re figuring out that puzzle, let me quickly test your blood pressure.”

Obstacle Course

The good thing about mosquitoes is they keep you moving. The terrain is not nearly as tough as the Sierra and although the trees are nice, there is nothing particularly spectacular requiring me to stop. I just keep walking. At the Lassen Lava Tube parking lot I get water and make an early dinner. I am entering a 30 mile waterless stretch. I push up to a camp on a dry ridge, making it a long 29 mile day.

I am fascinated by the idea of a falcon perched on my arm. On command he would soar then swoop, knocking a pigeon from the sky. He would return victorious to re-perch on my arm. But what I really want is a bat hanging under my arm. On command he would soar then swoop, consuming a million mosquitoes near my camp. He would return victorious to cling painfully under my arm. To all you animal trainers looking for new markets, you’re welcome.

Mile 1329 to 1350

Northbound Again

After downing a couple of hotel breakfasts and packing up, Terri drives me to the same trailhead we hitched to so long ago. But this time, I get to head north.

It is a shock to jump from freezing on Whitney to baking in the nineties in Chester. Where water in the Sierra was everywhere, now I have to be more careful, consulting the northern California water report.

Even with a late 8:00am trail start, I manage to get in 21 miles. I am not sure if BLT, Klutz and Mountain Goat are ahead or behind. I do not catch them at any rate.

I camp by a stream and enjoy the white noise of the running water. I miss Terri, but it is good to be back on the trail.

Mount Lassen

Mile 755 to 750

The Trail Back

I wake thinking of Terri and finally ending this flip-flop. I feel very fortunate to have had such awesome Sierra weather, views and water, but I am frankly tired of explaining how I am heading to Canada by hiking south.

I believe it is technically the Sierra Mountains. It is not the Sierras. It is not the Sierra’s. It is the Sierra. After hiking from one end to the other, up and over all the PCT passes, it is difficult not to think of it as plural. Also, after falling in love with it all over again you might excuse me for being a bit possessive. It is hard to describe the jagged granite escarpments, frosted with snow and sprinkled with enough majestic trees to provide contrast and perspective, but not so many as to block the incredible vistas. In fact, just locate your electronic thesaurus and press and hold the superlative generator button. Whatever it spits out will most likely apply.

Today, however, the air is filled with smoke. There is clearly (or the opposite of clearly) a fire somewhere north of Crab Tree Meadow. But this is a northbounder’s problem and for this one last day I am a southbounder. I must look like a fireman rather than a thru-hiker, because every question I get is about the fire, as if I just walked out of the flames carrying a baby. I don’t have information to provide and I am trying to get to my own flame/baby.

Flip-Flop Over!

I can hear coyotes saying goodbye, at least that’s what the howling sounds like to me. As I reach the Cottonwood Pass trail split I realize I am officially more than half way done with the PCT. I take a quick selfie at the signpost, and begin my race towards Terri. It is the longest 7 miles of my life.

The last time I went down this trail it was snowing, hailing, sleeting and raining, depending on my elevation. Water was seeping out of every rock and running down the trail. This time it is totally dry. Desert dry. Not even the seasonal streams are running. When I finally see Terri coming part way up the trail I hug her and steal her water bottle at the same time. My bottles have been empty for quite some time. In the car she asks if I would like another water bottle. Oh, please. I drink a chocolate milk, an iced coffee, a mango smoothy and later a Dr. Pepper.

Terri had stayed at a hotel in Lone Pine and arranged for a late check-out. That meant I can shower before the long drive. She also brought clean clothes for me which is great given the hotel only has one washing machine, which is broken. Funny because they aren’t usually broken until after I do a load.

On the drive to Chester we manage to eat several times and resupply food and stove fuel. Terri tries to turn on the radio, but I won’t let her. Maybe she does not want to hear my voice, but I want to hear hers.

Finally we arrive in Chester for a late check-in.  I do laundry and trash the place sorting my gear and food. Terri wonders how thru-hikers ever share a room given I have taken over the entire place with just my stuff, which frankly should be very compact and light.

Mile 767 to 755

View from Whitney

I had set an alarm, but no bother. The four girls camped next door wake me with their headlamps, clanging and loud whispers. Their goal is to leave soon after midnight. I had warned them that would be too early, to which two agreed and two did not. Apparently tie goes to the early climber. Surprisingly there is another group of three already climbing. At least I can see three headlamps zigzagging up into the darkness. After the girls leave I start watching seven headlamps, in my own version of dot watching. Totally awake, I wonder if they all know something about how long this will take. I reluctantly get up and gather my gear. My headlamp is a pathetic little thing which barely lights up my feet. I look over at the half moon which is now setting over the ridge. This may be more exciting than I thought.

Whitney Plaque

As long as the trail directly at my feet looks like a trail I am fine. But of course occasionally it does not. I lose the trail several times and have to backtrack to find it. A few times this requires my smartphone GPS and Guthook’s PCT map application. It is now so dark that there is no horizon or ridge. The seven dots above me are indistinguishable from the stars. It is very disorienting. There are several scrambles and ledges that Brian would probably describe as “sketchy”, but I simply cry out to myself “You have got to be kidding”. I end up passing the girls, but never catch the first group.

At the top I feel totally vindicated. It is way too early for sunrise, and we are all now freezing in our sleeping bags, in a top of Mount Whitney slumber party. A woman in the shelter comes out saying her friend has altitude sickness and is throwing up all over the place. She asks if we have any anti-altitude sickness medicine. I offer the same advice as on Forester Pass, go down in elevation.

Whitney Hut

After watching the sunrise, eating snacks and taking pictures, I go back down. On the way I see Loran coming up. He is happy and carefree, but surprised to see me. He has been taking his sweet time in the Sierra range of light – swimming, relaxing and figuring we are all long gone.

Whitney conquered, my only goal now is to get into a good position to see Terri tomorrow. I am exhausted from lack of sleep, but I keep pushing. Several times I stop at streams to soak my feet or have a snack, only to fall asleep. I think of them as power naps, but in reality they are lack of power naps. I finally stop and camp about five miles from the Cottonwood Pass trail split.

Sunrise On Top of the World

Mile 774 to 767

A shadow of myself

Today is an awkward day. I am only 16 miles from the top of Whitney, but I don’t really want to summit at the end of the day. Besides, I will have to come back down and the most logical camp is Guitar Lake which would make a 21 mile day. Loosely paraphrasing Churchill – today that is something up with which I will not put. I decide to shoot for a sunrise summit, which means staging at Guitar Lake and starting my climb under headlamp at around 2:00am. It’s a fine plan, but leaves me with only an 11 mile day today.

I decide to take it easy. Moving fast you sometimes miss things. Today I will really look around, check out the animals, and what the heck, look for a bear. I stop to watch a baby marmot. He lets me get too close, so his mom whistles so loud the little guy almost jumps out of his fur. When I stop moving, the deer come much closer. One seems almost irritated at my still presence, but instead of running she looks at me and defecates. This may be a typical deer reaction or just a more general female reaction to my thru-hiker smell.

Defecating Deer

I am not sure what the natural selection advantage is for the log to look like a bear, but there clearly must be one. Looking for a bear I see hundreds of these log-bears. The resemblance in shape and color is uncanny. I suppose it is also possible that bears have evolved to look like these logs.

Even at my slow pace I eventually reach Guitar Lake. There are others here staging for a sunrise summit. It may be an early stream of commuter headlamps up the five mile hump. The only debate seems to be what time to start to see a spectacular sunrise, but not be at 14,505 feet too early and freeze to death in the dark. The JMTers are ending their trip, so will be carrying their full packs. I have to return to the PCT, so I can leave back at my Guitar Lake camp the things I do not need, such as tent, bear can, most of my food, etc. The only tricky part is that my tent uses my trekking poles, so if I take them up Whitney I will be leaving a staked pile rather than an apparent tent.

Base Camp at Guitar Lake

Mile 789 To 774

Bull Frog Lake

I wake way too early for the 7:00 am breakfast promised by Strider. The 5:00 am habit is surprisingly hard to break. I take another shower even though after yesterday’s I am cleaner than I have been for a week. Taking another one at least helps bring the weekly average up. At 7:00 all the guests gather for a breakfast of coffee, eggs, bacon and English muffins. I pile on as many blobs of butter as I can balance on a muffin. I won’t say exactly how many, just know that Cirque Du Soleil got nothing on me. My circus pants are falling off so I need all the butter fat I can get. It would be politically incorrect and wrong to compare my body to someone from a concentration camp. Let me just point out that I am camping and I have been thinking really really hard about my shrinking weight.

Toward Forester Pass

Strider then drove the three of us going back to the trail today up the 13 windy miles. She told us about the Sierra Big Horn sheep rescue program she is active with. She raises money by helping hikers with resupply packages and helps the science teams to capture, tag, radio collar and relocate.

When I reach the first lake I am surprised and happy to see the family that gave me a hitch to Independence. The girls wave enthusiastically, which is awesome. I hike back over Kearsarge Pass. It is not quite as bad as I had feared, but is still a lot of up. Once over the pass I take the alternate lower trail that goes along the shore of Bull Frog Lake.

From Forester Pass

Once back on the PCT I aim for Forester Pass. It feels a teensy bit like a nemesis, since this is the blizzardy whited-out pass that sent us on our flip-flop to Chester. On the way up this 13,098 foot pass I meet a group struggling. Several are showing early signs of altitude sickness. One dropped back to lower elevation (smart), but some were still going up (not smart). Their non-affected buddies are now carrying two packs. I advise going down, but they insist they are fine as long as they go slow.

I finally get over the top of this final Sierra pass. All I have left is the Whitney side trip and to exit at Cottonwood. I push on to a decent tent sight with water which makes this a 22 mile day, only 15 of which count as PCT miles.

Standing on Forester Pass

Looking Back to Forester Pass

Mile 793 to 789

Glen Pass

DC has mentioned several times how absolutely beautiful Kearsarge Pass is. He also claims it is not a difficult pass because you are already starting at such high elevation. I probably could skip it and push on to Forester Pass, the highest point in the entire PCT, but my food is getting thin and I really want to summit Whitney. Whitney is a side trip which requires an extra day of food.

I get an early start and climb Glen Pass while it is still cool. The top of Glen Pass is like a razor’s edge, and I am so grateful not to be doing it in a whiteout blizzard. Kearsarge Pass is pretty easy from the west and the view of Bull Frog Lake backdropped by jagged peaks is as DC promised, quite stunning. Once over Kearsarge the drop to Onion Valley is a bit concerning, only because I know I have to go right back up it tomorrow. At the campground I have to hitch the rest of the way down to highway 395 and the grocery-less town of Independence.

Kearsarge Pass

One of the reasons I love backpacking is I feel so independent. Everything I need I am carrying myself. Those that know me well, know that I prefer not to have to depend on others. I usually want to do it my way and pay my own way. That is not to say that I have not benefited from the gracious giving of others. I have and I am truly grateful. It is just that usually those moments are part of an ongoing and at least somewhat reciprocal relationship.

On the trail I am having to learn to live in dependence of others. Acts of kindness, such as my 15 mile ride with a southern California family to Independence, are not reciprocal. I have nothing to offer other than my smell, my self-centered stories of trail life and my humble thanks. I understand the concept of pay it forward and hope I will honor that spirit. But for now I have to get comfortable living in dependence, something still way, way outside my comfort zone.

In town I find a gas station and binge on chocolate milk and Fritos, which I pay for thank you very much. I check out the local accommodation options. I pass on the hostel like bunkhouse and spring for a small private bungalow at the Mount Williamson Motel, run by a woman whose trail name is Strider. There is no laundry in town, so I hand wash the worst of my things in the stink, I mean sink. A taco truck provides me a long lost from my menu carnitas burrito.

Tomorrow will be a long day just to get back to where I was yesterday.

Bull Frog Lake

Mile 813 to 793

On Way to Pinchot Pass

When I wake the mosquitoes are gone so I can finally do my duty. Perhaps they are attending a union safety meeting – “Remember, the hands and face are the most dangerous. Target the ankles or the back of the neck.” Or perhaps they are preparing for hike naked day, which has got to be better than Christmas.

As I pass streams of hikers on my way towards Pinchot Pass, at 12,104 feet of elevation, hike naked day is a complete bust. And by that I do not mean bare breasted. It is possible that my fantasy switch is flipped the wrong way and I am passing naked hikers that I imagine are fully clothed. But I doubt it.

From Pinchot Pass

On the way down the other side I finally encounter a couple in the buff. They are laughing and giggling awkwardly enough that I imagine they are real. Later in the day I encountered another naked male hiker. Although my sample size is small, it seems the men willing to hike naked are particularly well endowed.

After a very long down, I begin the long up towards Glen Pass. Just shy is Rae Lakes, which I had been told I should try to camp at if possible. When I arrive acrobatic trout are jumping out of the water to catch bugs in the air. It is quite fun to watch, so I stay.

Rae Lakes

Mile 835 to 813

Rock Face

In order to bag another pass I face a long Sierra day. At least 21 miles to get to a campsite on the other side. It is a long yet beautiful slug up the 12,047 foot Mather Pass. The marmots at high elevation are like big fat house cats. They chase each other, but not too fast. When startled they hide behind a rock and peek out like a cat hides behind a piece of furniture when someone new shows up. You just want to scoop them up, cuddle them and scratch them under their chins.

Bay to Breakers is a semi-serious race/parade/party in San Francisco. People dress up in wild costumes. Some appear in nothing more than running shoes and green hats. One group I love dresses up as salmon and runs the race upstream, against the normal flow of traffic. The last few days I have been feeling like those salmon.

On way to Mather Pass

I have officially found the PCT herd. I am heading south against the flow. When flowing with the traffic you only see an occasional PCTer. But now I am knocked off the trail by one every few minutes. I also realize I have become a PCTest. They all look alike to me. They sport trail runners, dirty girl gaiters, shorts, quick dry shirts, floppy hats, bright colored sun glasses, tiny packs with Zrest pads strapped on and oh yes they are rocking a ZZ Top beard. The only difference with the ladies is they are more likely to wear a skirt and their beards are not as full. Watching them one after another, they no longer seem real. They seem like criminal artist renditions of what a thru-hiker is purported to look like.

In this section of trail the PCT and John Muir Trail (JMT) overlap. PCTers tend to go north. Most JMTers go south. Heading south I am often mistaken for a JMTer. You can sense an arrogance and pecking order from the PCTers. Day hikers are the lowest. Section hikers are slightly more respected. JMTers are more legit than section hikers, but really just PCT wannabes. Occasionally someone picks up some kind of vibe, or smell and says “Are you a PCTer? But you’re going south?” At times I am embarrassed to be associated with the snobs, so I pretend to be a JMTer.

The campsite I had targeted is packed with tents. I decide to go further, but the stream crossing is blocked by a naked woman. I return awkwardly to some other women to wait out the bathing. One woman mentions tomorrow is hike naked day, so she guesses this is just an early freebie. For those that don’t know, there is a thru-hiker tradition to hike naked on the Summer Solstice. When my sister first heard of it she offered to be a trail angel providing sun screen, but only the spray on kind. Luckily for everyone I am not one for this type of tradition. Other freer spirits however may make for an interesting tomorrow.

I eventually find a private site. Settled into my tent, I really need to go to the bathroom, but the cloud of mosquitoes convinces me to hold on until morning.

From Mather Pass

Looking Back At Mather Pass

Mile 862 to 835

Kings Canyon

I wake to realize I still have no new subjects in my land. I also however have no mosquitoes, which allows me to squat on my throne for the morning constitution without being eaten alive. It is possible they are tired of left overs. Given the ravaging their relatives have given me, there is not a spot on my body which could be called fresh meat. Where they have gone I am not sure, but I can imagine.

OK, what did you get?
A+.
Me too, A+.
Same here, everywhere I drill, it is A+.
This is terrible.
Isn’t A+ good?
This is not your inflated elementary school English grade. A+ is terrible. We want O-, the universal donor.
So positive is bad and negative is good?
Of course, we are mosquitoes.

McClure Ranger Station

After a long hike down, I pass the Muir Rock, and enter the Evolution Valley. The Evolution Creek crossing is famous for its treacherousness. I realize I never have pictures of the wild ones, because I put all my electronics is plastic bags and dry sacks in case I fall.

I stop at the McClure backcountry Ranger Station. The ranger seems less than happy because a bunch of dignitaries are riding in on horses tomorrow, then the next day riding up to Muir Hut for some anniversary celebration. He tells me the snow on the pass is pretty much gone.

Muir Hut

Unless I push extra hard today I will not bag a single pass, which doesn’t seem right. I set my sights on the first campsite after Muir Pass, which makes for an over 27 mile day. I believe that is a marathon carrying a pack over a 11,978 foot pass. On the way I pass beautiful lakes on both sides of the pass and take a few quick pictures of Muir hut.

Down at the campsite I discover where all the mosquitoes have gone. The drilling begins again as I filter water. I dive into my tent to hide.

From Muir Pass

Mile 887 to 862

Up Silver Pass

The mosquitoes are particularly bad. I packed up quickly, then confirm plans with BLT. There is a campsite at Marie Lake in about 21 miles, just shy of Selden Pass. He points out that if we push we can go over the pass and camp on the other side. When BLT mentions two distances, he almost always does the furthest. He is still eating. I am usually slower than the youngster, so I start out confident he will eventually catch me.

I first have to get over Silver Pass, at 10,781 feet. On the way I enjoy views of Chief Lake and Warrior Lake. Just beyond the saddle is aptly named Silver Pass Lake. The lakes and streams are plump with plump trout, made so by the clouds of protein filled mosquitoes, who make stopping to admire the plump trout impossible.

Silver Pass

I reach Marie Lake and there is still no sign of BLT. If I stop for any length of time, I will have to setup my tent to hide from the mosquitoes. I imagine the second I do, BLT will round the corner and want to push over Selden Pass. So I keep walking, up and over Selden Pass at 10,877. I pass Hart Lake and Sallie Keyes Lakes, all boiling with trout.

I eventually set my sights on a campsite advertised as big enough for 10 tents. I figure I will at least camp with someone, if not BLT. When I arrive the site is huge, but no one is here. I setup, eat and lord over my new found land, just not my people.

From Selden Pass

Mile 906 to 887

Back in the Wilderness

I wake at the normal 5:00am, which is a little early given the bus will not pick us up until 7:30-ish. At least that is the story I got yesterday from one of the trolley drivers. The normal busses do not start until 9:00, but an out-of-service bus heading up to Mammoth Resort will pickup anyone who looks like a backpacker. I am pretty sure I can pull that part off. At least so far I have not been mistaken for a clean room scientist or a runway model.

For breakfast I eat leftover pizza, minus the ants, with orange juice and a banana. At 7:00 BLT arrives. He did not make it back to the trail yesterday and is willing to test the out-of-service magic bus theory. We wish DC a quick recovery and trail rejoin.

A bus does pass at about 7:30, but the driver goes way out of his way not to make eye contact. I am more aggressive with the next one, stepping into the street waving my trekking pole. This driver stops and takes us to the resort where we immediately jump on the other bus to Reds Meadows. BLT hangs around Reds to eat and drink some more. I get on the trail by 9:00. Today is pretty much up hill all day towards Silver Pass.

This section is 120 miles (more if you count the long exit at Kearsarge Pass) with no cell service, no road crossing and no resupply. It is again like being on the far side of the moon.

Marmot

Every day I miss Terri. I miss her when I wake and she is not here. I miss her when I have a meal alone. I miss her when I see a marmot, a pika, or a fawn and I can’t share it with her. But I really miss her on long service-less sections like this where I can’t text or call her. I remember when we said our vows: “I do.” Then I remember when she came to the trail with Advil. When she hugged me, I said “I smell” and she said “Yes, you do.” I am hoping there is similar love in the “You do” as in the “I do”, because it’s all I got.  [Terri’s editor’s note to self: more unspoken thoughts]

BLT catches me at about 2:00. We target a camp just short of our daily 20 mile goal. It seems reasonable given our late start. After setting up, out of nowhere Loran appears. Well actually he just walked south on the trail and into our camp, but it seemed like from nowhere. Unfortunately the mosquitoes are so bad that we hide in our tents and there is very little visiting.

Lake

Mile 920 to 906

Morning View from Camp

I wake in my ridge top shelter overlooking the valley and jagged peaks. I am a little over 13 miles from the Reds Meadow Resort and the $7 shuttle to Mammoth started running a few days ago. I get an early start and push hard. The elevations are relatively easy.

Before I started this thru-hike, I wondered what thoughts would fill my head for hour after hour, and day after day. What would I discover about myself? What revelations would I have? I was prepared to have occasional petty and ridiculous thoughts, but the quantity and persistence of them is surprising.

Devils Post Pile

I understand there is a lot of research showing just how little our conscious mind controls our decisions. We apparently have a lot less free will than we think. Setting that aside, even my conscious thoughts are at war over decisions. The X part of my mind is constantly saying no. It is the control freak of my freaky mind. The Y part of my mind lacks any sense of self control and is constantly asking “why?” followed usually by “not.”

Y: Hey, I’m hungry, why don’t we eat the Snickers.
X: It’s not time. We have only 6 snacks to eat today. We have to spread them out.
Y: Great. Let’s spread the Snickers now.
X: We started hiking at 6:00am. We will eat the Snickers at 8:00am.
Y: It’s 7:53. Close enough.
X: We need to wait.
Y: Why?
X: If you had your way, we would eat everything before 11:00. We need discipline.
Y: Remember yesterday? You forgot to look at the watch, and we didn’t eat the Snickers until 8:09am.
X: So?
Y: We have a credit. In fact, with the credit we are 2 minutes behind.
X: It doesn’t work that way.
Y: What if we open the peanut M&Ms, and just eat the red ones now? We could eat the rest later. Our average would be 8:00 am.

A mind is a terrible thing to waste on my waist.

Reds Meadow

At Reds Meadow I buy a root beer and hop on the bus to Mammoth Resort, then a trolley to the town of Mammoth. BLT, Klutz and Mountain Goat are scrambling in Mammoth to resupply and get back to the trail. Given the time I arrive, the things I need to do and the bus schedule, that clearly does not work for me. I check into Motel 6 and figure when DC arrives he may want to share a room. Besides, it will allow me to watch the Warriors in game 6 of the NBA finals. I do laundry and plan for the 120 mile leg from Reds Meadow to Kearsarge Pass. Yes, that will take at lot more food then I usually carry.

DC arrives, agrees to share the room and we go out for a quick burger. I resupply at Von’s while DC dials for a dentist and does laundry. I think his laundry is more successful. The dentist search will have to continue tomorrow. By then, I expect to be on a bus back to the trailhead. I may see BLT, who is still in Mammoth, perhaps stealth camping.

Mile 942 to 920

Up Lyle Canyon

At 4:45 am I hear the bear box open and close and the normal zipping, crunching and snapping of someone packing. I guess BLT really is going for big miles. I hear footsteps walking away. I rise to go to the bathroom and notice BLT’s tent is still there. Packing in the dark he must have forgotten it. I race to catch him, but can’t find him. I can’t believe I am going to have to carry it. When I go back to our campsite I realize he is still in his tent. So much for his early start.

I pack and leave before DC and BLT, but I am at least a half day behind Klutz and Mountain Goat. The first 9 miles are a gentle slope up Lyle Canyon. It reminds me of the time we hiked Lyle Canyon with the boy scouts and came upon a group of about 20 naked Germans. They seemed quite natural in the a la natural.

Lake Below Pass

I climb two passes, Donohue and Island. The views are spectacular, but I earn them with sweat equity. Although I ask northbounders about Klutz and Mountain Goat, I never get consistent answers. Observations range from they are an hour ahead, to they are three hours ahead, to I did not see them at all. I never catch them and have no idea where they are. BLT finally catches me at about 5:00 pm, after I have set up camp. Though he agrees my site has an awesome view, he pushes on still trying to get his 30 miles. He wants to be a couple of miles from Reds Meadow Resort. I am happy being within 13 miles. DC is still somewhere behind, holding his aching tooth no doubt.

Snow Peaks

Mile 948 to 942

I wake early and pack up to go. The “Cheese Burger” bird is calling and we are only 6 miles from Tuolumne Meadows. Dish Cloth is slow to get around, and by slow I mean BLT and I have to wake him. He was up much of the night with a pounding tooth ache. He is close to overdosed on Ibuprofen. Finding a dentist is now on our todo list.

Into Tuolumne Meadows

We hike along spectacular cascades and by the Tuolumne Falls. We enjoy more marmots and the biggest jack rabbit I have ever seen. With the right saddle I could have ridden it to town. We also run into Cougar, a northbounder I have not seen since Big Bear. She says, “I remember you. You were hiking with Brian and Bri. You’re Rick, right?” Most hikers are way better than I am at remembering names, real and trail.

At Tuolumne I grab some high calorie snacks and talk the store manager into getting my resupply package from the post office, even though it is officially closed on Sunday. Thank goodness he has a key. BLT has never been to Yosemite Valley and Dish Cloth wants to get pain meds and antibiotics at the clinic, so we jump on the free backpackers bus for the two hour ride. We relax, celebrate not walking, enjoy the views and plug our electronics into the bus AC outlets. Life is indeed good.

Yosemite Falls

I remember a time when a friend of mine visited Yosemite and decided if you stood in the right place you could turn your head 360 degrees and see all the highlights. I don’t mention John’s name, in order to protect the Zahara family, but the story has become comic lore in our family. In fact so much so that my oldest son Daniel, obviously monitoring my SPOT location and realizing I am in the valley, texts “Doing the 360 spin tour?”

After a quicker than normal spin tour of the valley highlights, we return to Tuolumne Meadows with other thru-hikers on the $9 YART bus. On the message board is a note to us that Klutz and Mountain goat pushed on down the trail at 2:00. They were a half day behind, now they are a half day ahead.

You cannot trail camp within 4 miles of the trailhead and it is already 7:00 pm. We pay $6 each to stay at the backpacker’s campground, but our plans are clearly diverging. BLT wants to push big miles tomorrow, so he will have a short hike to Mammoth the next day. Big miles means 30 miles. I am not doing 30 mile days in the Sierra. DC has to wait until the store opens at 9:00, then will start hiking much later than I will start. When DC gets to Mammoth, he may have to zero a day or two to get his tooth fixed, or extracted.

So starting tomorrow all 5 of us will be hiking in the same direction, but not on the same schedule. We may meet again on the trail, or at a resupply town, but who knows. So it goes on the trail. You drift in and out of each others lives.