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JMT 2007 Page Three
"Fleet feet and DEET..."
Day Five found me rising early, still determined to get back on my original schedule. The long days were resulting in certain things being neglected; most prominently: washing. My pants were caked with dust and dried sweat; my once-white shirt ( brand-new at trip's beginning) was becoming a blotchy grey; socks were grimy. Body surface: more dirt than epidermis showing. Yuck. All in all, this trip was turning out to be a bit more of a challenge than I had planned on. My expectations were based on various on-line trail journals I'd perused, but most prominently on an article by the president of the GoLite company from a couple of years back subtitled "218 Miles, 10 Days, Zero Blisters" in which he waxed enthusiastic about how easy it had been to do the Muir Trail North to South in ten days, unresupplied, at what he termed "...a very easy-going pace the whole trip..." with a starting pack-weight of 49 pounds. Huh. I was going just about as fast as I could given the heat and the trail conditions carrying my (originally) 40-pound pack, had already gotten two small blisters, and in no way could I characterize my trip as easy-going. Cognitive dissonance on the GoLite guy's part? I was starting to think so... it's so easy to put yourself through something difficult and afterwards say "Well, THAT wasn't so bad" as a conscious or unconscious justification for doing something Batty. My workplace, JPL, is a wonderful example of that, with flight project after flight project saying "Well, next time the schedule has to be easier and the budget bigger and the workload lighter; we'll never do THAT again" and then of course going right ahead and repeating the same schedule-crunched budget-squeezed over-worked mess all over again. Humans: what a bunch of stone-headed Apes.
Still, might as well keep walking. The scenery was lovely, descending along the cascades of Fish Creek and crossing another ingenious bridge, this one made of welded steel. Up now into a lake basin where the granite was burnished silver with glacial polish, appropriate as I was approaching Silver Pass. Somebody in the past had applied a theme to names of all the basin's lakes: Squaw Lake, Warrior Lake (couldn't help but notice that Warrior Lake lay above and drained into Squaw Lake, hmmf, sexual innuendos even in lake names), Chief Lake, Papoose Lake, and the poetic-sounding Lake of The Lone Indian. I grinned at what our more politically-correct times might rename these lakes: Oppressed Native American Woman Lake, Native American Male Lake, Native American Leader Lake, Small Dependent Native American Child Lake, and Lake of the Singular But Self-Actualized Native American. Sure would make the map more cluttered...
Looking back to the north I noticed the skies were very smoky; when I had woken that morning I'd wondered if some hikers had come in late and had then made a campfire upwind of me; nope, it was just smoke from the distant east. I got to the top of Silver Pass, which still had a remnant sign sans post. Thirty years ago all the passes had had prominent signs at their crest, but that bit of cultural imperialism seemed to have faded - or perhaps the funding to place and maintain signs at every pass simply has dwindled.
To this point I'd seen zero hikers since the start of the day, in what had established itself as a repeating pattern. I'd typically see my first north-bound hiker sometime between 10 AM and 1 PM, and see zero hikers after 4 PM or so. The trip was a surprisingly solitary experience thus far, to my complete surprise. Where was everybody? Had they all read the GoLite guy's article, started out, and given up in disgust? Were the fires somewhere off the horizon's edge restricting trail access or inhibiting people's plans? In any case, the flowers were at their best, the passes were snow-free, the meadows lush and green, and the streams perfect: not so full as to make crossings challenging or dangerous but not shrunken like they become in late-season. Had no one else noticed that this year August (the arguably-best month for hiking the Muir Trail) was, due to the anemic winter snows, in July this year?
I got to where my trip plan had specified I'd have camped yesterday evening by a bit after 10 AM; that put me about three hours behind "the plan." At least the deficit was not growing. Lot of flowers, lots of butterflies, and my first hiker of the morning, a German hiking the PCT, who related tales of a bear that "...made the ground shake" the previous evening, though he hadn't actually seen a bear. Given that there had been a moderate-sized earthquake in this part of the Sierra just a couple of weeks before, I wondered later if what he'd sensed was a temblor rather than something of Ursine origin. Walking on down the trail, I remembered that as I'd bedded down the previous evening I'd heard, I thought, what must have been an animal in the direction, I felt, of my bearcans, which had made me grab my glasses, headlamp, and bearspray, "RRRRip!" of velcro to take the pepper spray from its case, "ZZZip!" of tent screen to jump outside, and "CLICK!" of safety latch coming off the bear-spray trigger. With headlamp on high and spot-beamed, thumb ready to squeeze off a blast of OC, I 'd seen...nothing. Had I, too, mistaken an earthquake for a bear? "Things that go "BUMP!" in the night", indeed.
The butterflies weren't the only insect life around; the blackflies were starting to get annoying again. As I descended and the day warmed, the pesky little buggers seemed to become more and more numerous. Never mind, they didn't seem too hungry today. Crossed Mono Creek on another quite lovely bridge, this one a combination of wood and steel. The map now promised a good solid 2000 feet of uphill switchbacks to get to the top of Bear Ridge. And although it was pretty hot, the fact that the ascent was on a north-facing slope meant that the trail was mostly shaded, leading through aspen groves (some decorated with hikers' initials), incense cedars, and many patches of flowers, including quite a number of tiger lilies and still more butterflies.
A remarkable thing about doing 20+mile days in the mountains is that the far-distant mountains you gaze towards in the morning get closer until you walk right past them and notice more mountains in the far-distance which by the end of the day you've walked right past, too. The process really gave me a sense of Going Somewhere. On top of Bear Ridge I could see the valley of Bear Creek with the mountains around Selden Pass off on the horizon. Wait a minute, it's five o'clock and my trip plan calls for me to be on THE OTHER SIDE of that pass way over there before sundown! Ain't gonna happen. OK, once again it's "see how far I can get."
Descending to Bear Creek, I intercepted a few hikers. Those I talked to all seemed to be doing local hikes. A guy and his buddy were planning on climbing Seven Gables peak, but in the meantime were quite happy to be by Bear Creek. "This is the prettiest creek in the Sierra, in my opinion" said one of the guys. That comment made me pay more attention than usual to the watercourse, which the trail followed for three or four miles. I didn't want to rush to judgment, but by golly the creek was awfully darned nice. Large open pools, musical cascades, twists and turns, trout rising, flowers and trees artfully arranged... hard to imagine how you'd make a watercourse any nicer even if you had a billion-dollar budget. Oh, I know: put in a few discreet bug-zappers - that's about the only improvement I could envision.
As the shadows lengthened, the mosquitoes really came out in force. Wow, where'd all these things come from? I renewed my DEET and upped my pace, hoping to leave the majority behind, which seemed to work for a while. When I stopped to survey the rock-hop crossing of Bear Creek ("there, then there, over across there, jump to that big boulder, then there, and there: yep, that'll work"), I looked to my left, downwind, and saw a vaguely me-shaped outline of mosquitoes all trying to figure out how to feed. Yikes, there must have been several hundred of them. Please, please, I need a breeze! Fleet feet and DEET were now my main defense; I even resorted to making my pack lighter by squeezing my water-hose valve and ballasting off all my remaining drinking water. I got to a trail junction at 10,000 feet and decided I'd gone far enough. Out came the rain gear and gloves ("bite through THAT, ya little buggers!"), up went the tent, and at that point I decided it had been a mistake to leave my 3-ounce bug hat at home. Even when the mosquitoes were successfully repelled by the DEET, they hovered close enough that I was inhaling and spitting them out at regular intervals. My little wood-burning stove is remarkably smoke-free when I burn bark-free twigs or, even better, charcoal from a snag or an old campfire. This evening saw me seeking out sticks with lots of bark on them and then standing in the resulting plume of smoke. From my journal: 23.6 miles today. Am just below Rosemarie Mdw. north of Selden Pass. Mosquitoes this late afternoon and evening were bad; was dropping water ballast from bladder the last thirty minutes for more speed to outrun them. Glad I have a wood-burning stove and know how to make it smoke! Speaking of smoke, could definitely smell it this AM in Tully Hole and could notice that views to the north and west were obstructed. Don't notice any now that I'm a bit further south. Feet a bit better today, not as hot plus wearing only one pair of socks helps too. Back seemed worse this evening, was wishing for some morphine. Appetite slowly improving, esp. for supper. Walked from 6:50 AM until just before 8 PM; that makes my average speed today 1.8 MPH. Hmmm.
Frost on the meadow grass the next morning was welcome, as it seemed to inhibit the mosquitoes. It was now July 9th, Day Six of my hike, and my goal was Colby Meadow in Evolution Valley. A very pretty tarn, Marie Lake, was just up the trail to the north of Selden Pass. It looked like the sort of place it'd be nice to spend some time at. Perhaps on the next trip...
This section of the trail wasn't very well maintained, with lots of loose rocks. Though initially a bit outraged at how poorly some sections of the trail were cared for (after all, this was the John Muir Trail AND the Pacific Crest Trail, too, internationally renowned, federally established and funded), as the trip went on I became a bit more accepting of the sometimes run-down footpath. It's easy to build something in an initial flurry of enthusiasm, but a lot harder to maintain it as the decades roll on, whether the item in question is a trail, a house, or a web page. After a while it all seemed to be a natural part of the process, like the natural world on display all around the trail: some gains, some losses, with all parts trying to find equilibrium. I began to imagine what the trail might be like in 200 years and kept coming back to the realization that if it got too bad, the hikers themselves would, piecemeal, improve it. And if there weren't enough hikers, then the trail would slowly fade back into the obscurity it would merit.
The lakes to the south of Selden Pass were quite lovely and peaceful. Sure a lot of nice country along here. I met a couple of northbound hikers and then, when I was changing my socks while sitting on a boulder just off the trail, here came a whole dust-raising, stinking, noisy, trail-eroding bunch of horses and mules carrying their requisite human cargos, accompanied by the obligatory cloud of mosquitos and flies. Man, don't those folks know it's a lot nicer to walk than it is to ride on top of those lurching ruminants? This pack train had a couple of dogs, too, which both looked like Death Eating Soda Crackers, i.e., dusty, flea-bitten, and tick-infested. What a charming tableau; very 19th-century. Yee-haw, giddy-up...
The trail switchbacked on down towards the South Fork of the San Joaquin River, this time on a sunny south-facing slope, leaving behind the lakes and flowers. Gonna be another hot one, it felt like. Rocks and more rocks, warmer and warmer as I descended. I knew that in the meadows below was the Muir Trail Ranch, a destination for most JMT and PCT hikers, with reputedly great breakfasts and laundry facilities. But if I was going to make it to Whitney Portal by the 14th, I could scarce afford to indulge in such off-trail luxuries.
The human mind will seek out diversions, no matter how you might try to impose Pattern and Purpose on it. This particular day saw my mind wrapping itself fully into the Zone of Pundemonium, that peculiar space where everything seems to suggest a pun, play-on-words, or bad joke. It all started innocently enough: I noticed a prominent set of avalanche chutes on the opposite slope of the canyon:
From my journal, slightly edited: Amused myself in the heat while descending into Goddard Creek canyon and while ascending it by doing running puns; started by noticing a prominent avalanche chute on the far wall:
Aw, CHUTE! - the conversation's going downhill - can't take anything for GRANITE - plunging property values around here - etc.
Which morphed into meat puns: Hot out here, really BACON - Please, no meat puns, they're the WURST -think you're really a punning HOT-DOG - actually always thought of myself as more of a BRAT - don't tell meat puns in Romania, they'll drive a STEAK through your heart - those who pun about meat will be ROAST in hell - BUTCHERED that pun - at least I'm not too CHICKEN to make up puns.
Which led to egg puns: That pun laid an egg - you've scrambled your brains - well, yours are fried - you're always too hard-boiled - that was a bad YOLK - please, can't the punning be over (easy?)
And since chickens are birds, that led to bird puns: Really winging it here - someone's making a FLAP - I wouldn't CROW about that one - used that pun at the office and they're still RAVEN - you're not old enough for that type of pun; aren't you a MYNAH? - I'll get my friend to beat you up, he's Steven SEAGULL - what a birdbrain - aw, c'mon, don't be SOAR - I'm not discriminatory, I'm more of an EAGLE-atarian.
And there were also fish puns (in with the meat puns somewhere), and sandwich puns, which led to bread puns, too.
Since my watch has a quite accurate (as long as it's not on your wrist) thermometer, I decided to see just how hot it was down here in Goddard Canyon at 8000 feet ASL. Took it off and let it equilibrate for ten minutes or so. Yep, pretty hot:
The canyon was not as idyllic as Bear Creek from the previous day, but still was quite scenic, with rapids and cascades plunging into deep pools. Even saw a couple of fishermen along the way. I used to fish when on backpack trips 30+ years ago, but found that the time to practice the art and then, if you were lucky enough to catch anything, clean and cook the fish was better spent in taking photographs, lounging about or, in my case now, walking further.
I began the climb out of Goddard Canyon, ascending along Evolution Creek. For some reason, the National Park Service has never seen fit to build a bridge across Evolution Creek, which you have to cross just below Evolution Meadow. The crossing has acquired its own scary lore over the years, with tales of overwhelmed wading hikers tumbling head-over-heels in the current. I'd prepared for this crossing by fording several deep streams in earlier training hikes. Yet when I got to the crossing itself it was quite anticlimactic: socks off, insoles out, pant-legs up, shoes back on, and wade across. Piece of cake.
Evolution Valley has a series of meadows along its length, strung along the creek like emeralds on a necklace. I passed by them: Evolution Meadow, McClure Meadow, and finally came my goal, Colby Meadow. I saw one couple camped at McClure Meadow but otherwise saw zero hikers. I was astonished that there were so few people, but that made finding the perfect campsite a foregone conclusion. From my journal: 21.7 miles today and am camped @ Colby meadow in Evolution Valley which puts me on schedule for the first time! In celebration fixed the tortellini which was great; higher bulk but good and also easy to make: bring to boil, set aside, heat other small pot of water, make chocolate, put big pot of T back on, boil and set aside, adding some enchilada seasoning, let set, drink C, eat T. Perfect!
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