Glen, Pinchot, Mather, Muir, Seldon, and Silver (plus Kearsarge, again)
Pass. Pass. Pass. Pass. Pass. Pass. Pass. Not other people. Mountains. Each day, another mountain pass. It was the most physically demanding, most remote, and most beautiful week on trail. Seven days with no internet, seven days filled with thousands of feet of ascents and descents, and seven days of traversing mountains to be greeted with sparkling alpine lakes, snow-covered granite peaks, and chubby marmots. As I hiked this week, I had many profound thoughts, including that it’s probably not possible in one lifetime to witness too many of these views, but there is probably a limit to the number of photographs other people want to see of them. I’ll try to write with that thought in mind…
A visual representation of the last week. Each peak is a pass. My legs were tired.
The start of this last section seems like ages and many miles ago. We were supposed to leave Bishop and head back on trail on Friday, June 17. However, as we were leaving, a storm was rolling in, so we decided to stay a night in Lone Pine, California, as it is a little closer to the trail than Bishop. If you’re a fan of Westerns, your favorite was probably filmed in Lone Pine. Lone Pine was also the site of Manzanar, a WWII Japanese internment camp. Unfortunately, I had only about 12 hours in Lone Pine so I did not have time to visit the museum, which is supposed to be quite good and worth a visit. But, we did find time to eat dinner at the Chinese restaurant in town because when in Rome….
Now to the hiking. We left early the morning of June 18. We needed to make up miles because we were leaving a day later than planned. Plus, we had booked an Airbnb in Mammoth, CA, starting the next Saturday. To get back on trail, we had to climb Kearsarge Pass, again, and walk more than eight non-PCT miles that we had already done in the opposite direction. By early afternoon, we were back in business and needed to climb and descend Glen Pass. It was a long, but beautiful day. We reached our campsite at mile 799, at 8:45 that night, right as the sun had fully set. Glen Pass is nearly at 12,000 feet, and we had to descend to 8,500 feet for camp. It was a full day of hiking, I was exhausted, and I couldn’t believe I was going to do it again the next day, and the next, and the next, and the next, and the next, and the next. Climb, descend, climb, descend, climb, descend. While my legs and lungs were tired, this was an indescribably stunning stretch of trail, filled with the Rae Lakes. I wanted nothing more than to sit by these lakes and take it all in while not walking, but I was hungry and tired, needing to get to camp so I could climb and descend the next day.
I probably didn’t get to sleep until after 10pm that night, which is equivalent of about 2am in normal people time. It takes time to set up camp, cook, and get ready for bed. So, I got a bit of a later start on June 19. The big question was whether we were going to tackle both Pinchot and Mather Pass that day or save Mather for the next day. I would make the call when the time came. Pinchot seemed like the never-ending climb. Perhaps it was the altitude, but the pass just kicked my butt. We had to climb from about 8,500 feet, to over 12,000, in about seven miles. By the time we reached the bottom of Pinchot (down to 10,000 feet), I knew I didn’t have it in me to climb and descend Mather in that same day. If you decide to climb a pass of about 12,000 feet, you also must give yourself enough time to descend at least about 2,000 feet, (a) to find a suitable flat space, and (b) to try to get below 10,000 feet. We discussed what we’d do over a late lunch, and some of my tramily decided to try for both passes. I wasn’t one of them. Getting to the base of Mather seemed hard enough and I wasn’t even going to feign the ability to hike 20+ miles with two passes at this late hour. I was planning on trying to get to mile 815, two miles short of Mather. But, when I saw some of my friends camped at mile 814, also exhausted, I jumped for joy that I had implicit permission of sorts to settle in for the night and be in bed before the dark and cold set in. The campsite couldn’t have been prettier or colder. Well, I suppose it could have been colder, but that my water froze and frost formed on my tent seemed cold enough.
We got over Mather early the next morning, thanks to our new beverage of choice, the Mocha Pass. The Mocha Pass consists of instant coffee and hot chocolate and does wonders for fueling legs over mountains. Couple that with some ibuprofen for whatever body part is currently malfunctioning and you’re basically Superman. Hyped up on caffeine and my knee pain relieved by ibuprofen, I was back in hiking form. And I needed to be. The descent after Mather was about 10 miles long and nearly 4,000 feet back down. Muir Pass was next, another 10 miles back up to close to 12,000 feet. We needed to set ourselves up to tackle Muir the following day.
Mather Pass and its descent were beautiful, but perhaps the most challenging yet. This entire section of the trail overlaps with the John Muir Trail (JMT), a 220-mile trail from Yosemite, to Mount Whitney. The JMT is quite well-maintained and is characterized by large granite rocks that some well-meaning trail builder with super-human strength put on the trail to serve as steps for steep sections. Going down or up these steps feels like the equivalent of a toddler climbing normal steps with a giant backpack. The steps often are as high as my knee. Going down each step feels like I’m playing Russian Roulette with my knees. But, as I’ve said before, my brain has told my body it doesn’t get a say in what’s happening. And, each turn unfolds a new sight, perhaps more beautiful than the last, causing me to forget whatever pain it took to get there and making me feel like the luckiest person that I have the privilege and ability to pass through this magical place. On the trail, a fellow hiker introduced me to the poet Mary Oliver. Her poem, Morning Poem, aptly captures how I felt that day:
Every morning
the world
is created.
Under the orange
sticks of the sun
the heaped
ashes of the night
turn into leaves again
and fasten themselves to the high branches ---
and the ponds appear
like black cloth
on which are painted islands
of summer lilies.
If it is your nature
to be happy
you will swim away along the soft trails
for hours, your imagination
alighting everywhere.
And if your spirit
carries within it
the thorn
that is heavier than lead ---
if it's all you can do
to keep on trudging ---
there is still
somewhere deep within you
a beast shouting that the earth
is exactly what it wanted ---
each pond with its blazing lilies
is a prayer heard and answered
lavishly,
every morning,
whether or not
you have ever dared to be happy,
whether or not
you have ever dared to pray.
The next day was Muir Pass, known for its large snowfields and long ascent. Despite the climb, I felt strong and the best I’d felt all week. Perhaps it was the Mocha Pass or the epic feeling from the large traverses across snow, but I finally felt like my body was no longer fighting me. On the way down, the lakes glistened. The sun was warm. The wind was low. So, at our lunch break, I jumped in. I couldn’t leave the Sierra without getting in at least one lake and this was going to be the one. Given the lakes in the Sierra mostly consist of snow melt, the water temperature was likely a few degrees above freezing. But, the cold invigorated me. I walked the rest of that day, thinking, what a good day. We walked about 20 miles through one of the most beautiful places in the world, crossed a major pass, swam at lunch, and were at camp by 6:30. Aside from having fresh fruits and vegetables along airdropped to me and the mosquitos airlifted away, I couldn’t have imagined a better day.
On June 22, we had Seldon Pass, a pass that is often considered one of the easier passes, as it has a supposedly moderate ascent and tops out at only about 11,000 feet. But Seldon did not live up to its name. The climb was not easy or moderate, and about an hour into the day, it started to pour. We hiked through the rain for the first time on trail (this was only the third time it rained the entire trip — the other two being the night of my fourth night on trail and for about 15 minutes early in the Sierra). A few miles shy of the pass, we decided we needed to wait out the storm, as you don’t want to be on the top of an exposed pass with bad weather. No one wants to be electrocuted. So, we sat there huddled and shivering under a rock and our tyveks (yes, the construction paper for houses that doubles as a great groundsheet for hiking, as it is waterproof, lightweight, and durable). The temperature could not have been above 40*. At a certain point, the rain started to subside and it looked like the bad weather was passing. We made the call to do the pass, rather than get hypothermia or pack in for the day. We made the right call. The sun came out and we hiked almost 20 miles that day, to mile 871.8.
On June 23, we had our last pass of the week, Silver Pass, and we wanted to get to around mile 891, as we wanted to make it to the restaurant at Red’s Meadow the next day in time for dinner, right off mile 906. The restaurant’s operating hours: 4-6pm. If we left ourselves only 15 miles of an easy descent, we’d make it. But making dinner required climbing Silver Pass at almost 11,000 feet, descending to about 9,200 feet, and climbing another 1,200 feet, to camp at about 10,400 feet. The day started out fine enough, but then the clouds started turning dark grey. And by the second rumble, we were sure we had heard thunder. We had about three miles to the pass. So we set up our tents faster than we ever had before and got in right before the sky opened. As we sat in our tents, the rain turned to hail. I’ve never loved my tent more. We waited out the storm in our tents watching downloaded Netflix (highly recommend the Alpinist, but perhaps not while you’re sitting out a hail storm in the Sierra), packed up once the storm passed, and made it to camp around 8pm.
The next day was easy. 15 miles of gradual downhill with the promise of Mammoth ahead. It had been seven days in the wilderness with no service. We stepped back into the world, only to hear all of the devastating news that we have the privilege of escaping while on trail. We made it to dinner with plenty of time to spare. It was not worth the rush. Only over-priced frozen hamburgers and grilled cheese were on the menu, but we had our Airbnb the next morning for a couple of days of relaxation in Mammoth. My dear friend, Michelle, was also making the long drive up from LA for the night to see me. I couldn’t wait. It was an amazing reunion, and seeing her was a perfect way to end an unforgettable week.
That’s a wrap for miles 788-906. ‘Til next time, hopefully in Lake Tahoe… ❤️