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JMT 2007 Page Five
"...pounds and pounds of un-eaten trailmix..."
I'd been a bit concerned that my clothes wouldn't get dry since the previous evening had been pretty humid but overnight the weather changed a bit, getting windier and drier, so everything had dried quite nicely. Mmmmm, "clean" clothes; well, cleaner, anyway, if certainly not absolutely clean. Just three days to go: is the hike almost over? I was glad that my pack was lighter but not glad that there were to be only a few more days of hiking up here; hey, I was just starting to get good at this stuff! Today was to be a "two-pass day", with both Pinchot and Glen Pass between me and my planned destination near Bubbs Creek about 25 miles away. Better get moving.
I saw another big buck deer ambling along, browsing, antlers in velvet, just above Lake Marjorie. It seemed pretty unconcerned with anything other than munching on vegetation. The wind was fairly brisk; I'd started off in shirt & pants but soon put on my rain shell and gloves. When the wind would pause, I'd zip open the jacket part-way, then open up its sleeve vents, then remove my gloves, then open the collar of my shirt, only to reverse the process 30 seconds later when another gust would come through. Even walking briskly, I was in no danger of getting sweaty when the wind was blowing but as soon as the breeze died I could feel the heat and moisture starting to build up.
There were some REALLY nice rock glaciers in the cirques near Pinchot Pass. I admired them in the morning light, exclaiming out loud at their ripples and snouts, for of course, there were no other hikers about to hear me talking to myself. I'd seen four or five of them staggering about looking cold and dazed back by Lake Marjorie, but none since.
Pinchot Pass was another "real pass", fairly sudden in its presentation of the opposite side. With the wind (notice my flapping pantlegs in the photo above) and the chill, I didn't spend too much time on top but went down the south side a ways before changing socks.
The basin to the south of the pass was like a miniature version of the basin to the south of Mather Pass I'd trekked through the previous day. Streams, flowers, butterflies, and interesting geology all around: pretty darned nice.
Met my first on-trail hiker of the day as I sat down to do another sock change. He decided to stop, sit, and chat. His accent placed him somewhere in the offshore Anglosphere; I guessed New Zealand, but it turned out he was from Merry Olde England. He'd hiked the AT a few years prior and was on his way to Canada via the PCT, though he didn't place a very high likelihood of getting all the way before the winter snows arrived as he was by his own admission not in very much of a hurry. He opinioned that the hiking to the south along the PCT had been dangerous this year due to the heat and lack of reliable water sources. Somewhat rotund, florid of face, receding hairline, and a bit slow of movement: he reminded me of somebody, or something. I noticed he had a small stuffed black-and-white toy on one of his pack straps. As we both got up to go on our opposite ways, he extended his hand and introduced himself: "I'm Panda." Of course!
Onward, along Woods Creek now. Met three more hikers, whom Panda had alluded to. They were all older, one of them probably in his late 70s, but were gamely journeying along, out on a multi-day loop trip. They were going fairly slowly but seemed to be enjoying themselves. I briefed the one who was bringing up the rear as to what the trail ahead of him held; he seemed glad that the majority of the climb was behind him.
Got to the lowest elevation of the day around 1 PM at the Woods Creek crossing. There's a nifty suspension bridge there for hikers; the horses get to wade, and since the creek was still fairly boisterous and deep I imagine pack-trains avoid this area until later in the season. The bridge had a prominent sign which said "Only one hiker at a time on bridge" and once I walked a few feet out on it I understood why: even with an effort towards smoothing the force of my footsteps, the bridge oscillated somewhat alarmingly. Hold on Gertie! When I first read that sign I entertained the idea of stopping mid-span and exciting the harmonics of the bridge but that idea quickly vanished. Cinch down your hat, hold on to the side cables, and step lightly was the only reasonable way to deal with this beast. Seemed like a bottom set of cables mirroring the top set could really help to stabilize the walkway, though probably the most cost-effective fix had already been done - put a sign on each end saying "Only one hiker..."
My wrist thermometer read 93 degrees at Woods Creek, making me glad I wasn't going to descend in altitude any further that day. I now had about 3500 feet of altitude to gain to top out at Glen Pass. The map indicated the trail was fairly level through the Rae Lakes Basin ahead, which I was counting on to be able to make enough miles. But the heat was taking its toll, slowing me down as I climbed toward the basin.
I got to the north end of RLB a bit before 4 PM. Uh, oh, still about five miles to the pass and only about four hours of sunlight left. Stride: longer! Cadence: faster! Even with boosting my pace, I reveled in the beauty of the area. Fin Dome to the west of the basin provides an appealing triangulation point and focus for the whole area. The lakes had luxurious grassy verges; I could see why the area is so popular a destination, or at least was reputed to be. I only saw one hiker, another Brit who was very interested to hear of Panda and wanted to know how far ahead he was as he'd been trying to catch up with him for several days.
After crossing between the basin's final two lakes, I met two woman who were chattering away in Spanish. They'd been to 60 Lakes Basin earlier and said they were trying to decide whether to go over Glen Pass that day. Since their pack contents were spread out over a wide area and it was about 5 PM, I imagined that they would probably be staying where they already were. Wishing them luck, I started up the pass myself. The trail was nicely graded but quite rocky, and the mountainside it ascended was quite steep. I found myself wondering how anyone could get through here if there was any significant snow pack, as towards the top the slope approached the precipitous.
I'd hoped to make the top by 6 PM; no such luck. Started to feel a bit discouraged but then glanced up in the sky: sundog! That cheered me up, since from my Gossamer days parhelia had always been associated with good fortune and good times.
Glen Pass was very interesting on top, since the trail topped out quite suddenly and then snaked along the crest of the ridge for at least a hundred yards, with steep drops on both sides. I could imagine having to crawl on hands and knees along there if the wind was strong.
From my journal: Convinced I'd see no one else, I got off the pass a bit, started a sock change, and along came the Rae Lakes ranger! We chatted, and he commented that there were to his estimation a lot fewer JMTers, so far, this year than last, though he commented the peak number is usually in August. Said the lakelet below was a good place to camp (it was now 6:30 PM) but then there was no water until Bubbs Creek much further down. I filled my water bladder to the top at said lakelet but kept going, knowing that that amount of water would allow me to camp. Found a REALLY nice campsite @ 11,000 feet, but not before meeting two other PCTers on their way up Glen Pass! They asked if I'd seen any other PCTers recently; I told them of the two today, then they asked if I'd seen "Happy"! Said I had, at Muir Pass; they seemed rather amazed I'd made him laugh. Said he was a "hiking machine" and could really put on the miles.
The campsite I chose was beautifully situated in a small clump of trees. By the time I set up my tent and started my evening meal, it was dark. My headlamp was certainly getting a workout on this trip. Journal entry: Long day today, another perhaps even-longer one tomorrow and the next day. This trip plan has been too ambitious, esp. w/ the heat..."
I hit the trail the next morning a bit after 6:30 AM, with my goal Crabtree, 27 miles away, on the other side of 13,180-foot Forester Pass, the highest point on the PCT. My pack weight and bulk were really diminishing now, though I had pounds and pounds of un-eaten trailmix. The ranger had been right about there being no water along this section of the trail, though I could see Charlotte Lake glimmering in the early-morning light below. I saw several other hikers still encamped in the Vidette Meadow area along Bubbs Creek, including one woman parading about in her cute little sports bra, seemingly unaware of me walking on the trail nearby.
Walking up the wide canyon of Bubbs Creek was fairly easy. At one break I collected stovewood, including some really nice charcoal from a charred snag, since Crabtree was above 10,000 feet where fires and firewood collecting, at least along the rest of the trail so far, were prohibited. Walking along, I started to reflect a bit on what might be happening in the world outside: I knew there had been some forest fires on the east side of the Sierra but was entirely ignorant of any other happenings. So what could have happened? I figured if something truly catastrophic had transpired I would have heard glimmerings of it, but there are so many more-personal catastrophes: spouse fallen sick, Sachi sick, spouse and/or Sachi in a car wreck, one or both of our mothers sick, one or both of our mothers dead, the spacecraft I work on (MRO) in safe-mode, MRO gone silent... the possibilities were vast. But wait a minute: good things happen too. Maybe Osama bin Laden is captured/dead, perhaps somebody took out that creep Robert Mugabe, the stock market could have broken 15,000, one of my friends might have won the lottery, a cure for senescence has been found... I realized the possibility of good things happening was also vast. I mused on this as I walked. Huh, I bet neither anything bad nor anything notably great happened. But wait and see; it was like anticipating the opening of a Christmas present.
I'd reset my watch's altitude alarm while journeying south over the prior days: from 10,000 feet, to 11,000 feet, and now today to 12,000 feet. Up and up, wondering on which ridge the pass was hiding. In the upper part of the basin, well above timberline, it became obvious where the pass was. I tanked up on water and continued up, measuring my rate of ascent to see if the altitude was slowing me. It seemed that my pack (and probably me) being lighter along with my better conditioning had nicely offset the altitude, as I was still going up at 20-25 FPM even above 12,000 feet.
Rocks, rocks, lots 'o rocks. The trail itself was, in most places, thankfully free of loose scree, so I was making fairly good time. Speaking of rocks, there were a few truly great rock glaciers nestled into the north-facing cirques. The snout of one had pushed aside a portion of a small lake; another one had a lot of snow and ice peeking through, with a fresh scattering of rocks on top.
The blue Sky Pilot and the "yellow sticky flower" which only seem to grow above 12,000 feet were quite numerous alongside the trail; I was sure by August they'd all be bloomed out. And even this high there were still critters, too, with the chatter of pikas echoing about. I even saw a small rosy finch hopping about on a residual snowbank as I'd read they often did, collecting bug corpses. Hop, hop, hop, yum, yum, yum. Well, it's a living...
The crest of the pass was the most sudden yet; one moment you're thinking "am I getting close?" and the next moment whoosh! there's what's on the other side. Wow!
One other person was at the summit: Back-Country Ranger Laura. From my journal: We chatted, I talked about the Yosemite permit process & volunteered to show her mine; she was grateful, and said she was a bit embarrassed to ask to see it. I suspect she doesn't enjoy having to cite people for non-possession. Told her about the burning TP "micro-toxins", she wondered ironically if the permitter drove an IC car. A biologist by training, she said the yellow high-altitude flowers are a variety of Ivecia. She also commented that not many JMT hikers so far this year.
The trail on the south side is quite a marvel of engineering, cutting into the cliff face and making what would be an extreme mountaineering challenge into an easy if somewhat airy stroll. I was grateful for the smoothness and the pleasant grade of the trail as it allowed me to keep up my pace. The map told me I had 13.6 more miles to go to Crabtree with about six hours to sunset. Ah, well, I always had planned for this to be a long day.
The Kaweah Peaks, with their black and red rocks accented by white snowfields and glaciers, beckoned to the west. I've spent a lot of my hiking years in their vicinity, so although I'd never hiked this trail before I felt like I was in a familiar neighborhood.
Once I got to the base of the pass, I marveled that anyone had ever decided to put a trail up there. Sure is steep!
It was a really nice afternoon for a stroll, mild breezes and perfect temperature. I met a few people on their way north, some hoping to cross the pass that day and some intending to camp at its base. I'd noticed quite a few campsites in the rocky and barren area just below where the final ascent begins, so that must be a fairly common plan. As I descended, rocks gave way to grassy meadows and then to gnarled trees.
The marmots were happily grazing, and seemingly more interested in the goings-on of their fellow marmots than the passing-by of the occasional hiker like myself.
The trees showed the ebb and flow of climate change, with old dead trees hundred of feet higher than their living descendants. The whorls of the trunks of some of the foxtail pines were quite intricate, chronicling what I'm sure were hundreds of years of slow growth and now even slower decay. Both dead and living trees showed that although today was not very breezy, there are definitely seasons of the year when the wind blows hard enough and steady enough to noticeably wind-prune them.
Crossing the Bighorn Plateau, the northwest face of Mount Whitney came into view. I couldn't make out the hut on top, but in the clear air the peak seemed pretty close, encouraging me that I just might be able to complete the day, and hike, as planned.
One last time, for this trip anyway, into the Land of The Long Shadows. Six PM, still walking; seven PM, still walking; 7:30 PM, not there yet. In the evening light I saw an outlandish creature, a rare white-footed rabbit Lepus townsendi in summer colors, grey fur with black ears. It looked fairly rabbit-like until it walked, or rather, shambled, its big clown-shoe-sized rear feet "ca-lump, ca-lump, ca-lump" as it moved.
8 PM and I was getting close. The west side of Mount Whitney was just reflecting the last little bit of alpenglow. Came to the junction of the short trail which leads to the Crabtree Ranger station about 8:15 PM and had my choice of campsites: no one else around. Oh, and it turned out having campfires and gathering firewood in the Crabtree area is OK, so I'd carried wood from Bubbs Creek without really needing to. From my journal: Good day, mostly excellent trails, two separate groups said I was "an animal" for doing the trail so fast & w/o resupply. Did see some interesting critters today, see photos. Must sleep now; the final long day is tomorrow.
July 14, Day 11, The Final Day: The balance is mostly from my journal; any editorial comments are in [brackets.]
Started hiking about 6:45 AM from Crabtree. Had woken at about 3:15 AM to turn over, checked time & temp (got down to about 46 F inside tent, though I saw tiny fringes of ice on plants in the meadow when filling up drink bladder @ stream in AM), and noticed lights flickering on the tent. Sleepily assumed it was some very late hikers, imagined I heard muffled voices, though now I wish I had peeked my head out of the tent to see. Was it distant lightning? Something else? A strange waking dream? A spectre? Won't ever know.
Packed tent, stove & pots, bearspray, and remaining food in bear-cans. Saw no other hikers until Guitar Lake; most were doing the typical early-morning stumbling about in stocking cap and parka, staring down into the bottom of a stuffsack or other inscrutable belonging. Most all people I met on the way up (don't remember seeing ANY on the way down, though not surprising as they would have had to have camped at the crest) were climbing Whitney as a finale, having entered @ Cottonwood Lakes/Horseshoe Meadow area. Most all were bulkily festooned w/ various rolled items; looked like backpacking while carrying a One-Man-Band.
Got to trail junction [at 13,484 feet]; clouds were thickening a bit, had been some lennies @ dawn. Dropped off both bearcans; ah, lightness! [Passed a bunch of people on their way up and coming down; most did not look very happy (exertion? headache?). No matter: with only about six pounds on my back I was just floating up to the summit.]
[A Rutan airplane came up from the south, about 1000 feet higher, and circled the peak a couple of times. Cool!]
Got to summit around 11:45 AM, took pictures of a Japanese tourist in return for him doing a couple for me; I think I was the better photog ( he mentioned of the photos I was about to take of him "this should be good photo, be sure to get lake in back, I paid lots of money for this" (especially flew to USA just to climb Whitney? Don't know.) [When he looked at the photos I took of him, he seemed very pleased, or perhaps even shocked, and effused over them. Hard to tell if he really liked them, was being oh-so-very-Japanese polite, or was just giddy from the altitude.]
My Moto Tracfone chirped, indicating coverage, four solid bars but I couldn't connect via either voice or text. Another person on top, a tattooed climber who was passing around a bottle of Schnapps w/ his buddies, had connected earlier and agreed to let me use his (Verizon provider) phone. No luck. Spent lots of time fiddling w/ his phone and mine, little time looking around. Finally put on my pack preparing to depart (had been on summit for an hour), made one last attempt, and connected! I have a ride home! Good thing the call went through, as my spouse seemed surprised I was expecting to be picked up that day and had not yet departed. Hmmm.
Clouds now darkening. Picked up bearcans (oof, heavy again), and continued down. Counted switchbacks: yep, 97. [Saw a really nice rockfall, quite noisy, which was raining down dust and boulders for several minutes onto a rock glacier just south of the trail.] Got to Basecamp area and was "treated" to the sight of a naked female backside taking a tinkle out in what appeared to be the middle of the 'camping' area immediately adjacent to the trail. Her female friend exclaimed, "Oh, look, now there's a hiker!" I turned my head away and walked on. Sheesh.That whole area had the atmosphere of a really bad outdoor concert. Yuck. The much nicer and more-protected campsites about 300 vertical feet below were uninhabited.
All I queried said they were coming in that day, overnighting, then doing the summit and out the next day. Trail below Consultation Lake was disagreeably rocky (therefore slow) for at least 1000 vertical feet. This slowed me down. Connected to spouse again at about the 9500-ft. level; they were approaching Lone Pine.
Got to trailhead, sat on rock, removed shoes and socks (hot feet!) and up drove my spouse in that good-looking car, our new gold CR-V. PERFECT timing!
Sachi had an evening engagement, so we did Carl's Jr. I asked them to get me the biggest burger they had and cloistered myself in the back seat to change clothes, trusting to tinted glass to preserve a semblance of decency. Ah, fresh clothes! Sandals! They got me this GARGANTUAN burger which in any other circumstance would have been off-putting; Sachi commented that it was gross. Wolfed it ALL down as Sachi drove, and finished off two packets of fries and a whipped-cream-topped chocolate shake too. Could have eaten even more, but my, that was satisfying! I swapped w/ Sachi on driving duties so she could eat her dinner; the drive was occasionally gusty but otherwise uneventful. Arrived home about 10:30 PM, in time for Sachi to get together w/ her friends. Wow. I actually made it! And, oh yeah, when I asked my spouse and Sachi what had happened in the world while I was gone, their summary was: ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.
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