My choice to join forces with a group of hikers to traverse the High Sierra is a sound one. This does not, however, alleviate all of the dangers of hiking the Pacific Crest Trail in 2017. The winter and spring months brought more snowfall to these mountains than any year in many decades, over 60 feet of snow in some places, and that has led to an extremely dangerous summer thaw. This hiking season has already proven to be the deadliest on record, and grim news spreads throughout the trail community of two separate drowning incidents at swollen stream crossings. Four people have now died while hiking the PCT this year, and others who survived mishaps share harrowing tales. Here is a story about the fatalities from the PCT website: Sadness abounds with the news of more deaths on the Pacific Crest Trail
July 24 - 28 Onion Valley Trail mile 789 to Biship Pass Trail mile 858
There are five primary mountain passes through the roughly 400 mile Sierra section that hikers worry about the most: Forester, Glen, Pinchot, Mather, and Muir. Having successfully climbed up and over Forester Pass, the highest point on the PCT, I'm only moderately concerned about the conditions for the rest of the way. For most of this section, we'll be sharing the tread with the John Muir Trail thru-hikers, and we'll be able to get good beta from those heading southbound toward Mount Whitney.
So, why did I choose this year?
The next obstacle is Glen Pass, and we've heard that it's going to be a bitch. We pack up all our things and bid farewell to Marathon, who has an eight-mile hike back to his car at the Onion Valley trail head. The rest of us, a newly formed trail family of six hikers collectively known as team Yah Yah Yah, continue on toward the pass. It's an unusually cloudy morning, a grim foreshadowing of what this day would throw at us. Each of us has packed out enough food to hike about 120 mountain miles to Mammoth Lakes in about eight more days, or at least that is our plan.
Break time on Glen Pass
But day one does not go as planned. It's slow progress up to icy slopes, but eventually we reach the pass unscathed. On the way down, a few rain drops fall. Once we get past the snow line, we're met with a web of streams of various widths and depths.
It's gonna be a wet day.
We stall out at one of the stream crossings when our Australian friend, Advisory, loses her footing while hopping over a deep stream. When I turn around, she is completely submerged in the frigid water with the weight of her backpack forcing her head under. Within a couple seconds, she is able to get her head out, and I am able to reach her arm and yank her out of the stream.
The team rushes to action, looking for dry clothing and setting up shelter. Pastruzzi and Coach try to build a fire, but it's raining hard now and there is no dry wood or kindling to be found. We get Advisory into dry clothing and clean up her bloody knee. We all take a long lunch break under a tarp strewn between some trees. We're all pretty rattled by what just happened, but fortunately, Advisory is going to be okay.
Regrouping after Advisory's adversity.
We march on, but within a mile, we reach a waist deep stream crossing. So after all of that, we all get wet anyway. Soon after, there is a nice established camp site overlooking the Rae Lakes. We've traveled only a little more than three miles today, but it looks like we're stopping. One of the downsides of hiking in a group is that there are a lot more breaks, more waiting, and less productivity. Still, there is safety in numbers, and that's never been more evident than today.
Drying out after a short but stressful day.
The three mile day proves to be a big setback because we're starting to understand that our progress through these mountains will be more slow and tedious than we had anticipated. Mostly, we're worried that we won't have enough food to get us to the next resupply. On a more positive note, the scenery leaves me awestruck almost constantly, and the budding friendships are the best part.
Morning buck
Favorite shot from Rae Lakes.
Rae Lakes runner-up shot.
Lunch with Pastruzzi, Anthony, and Trip.
On the way up to Pinchot Pass, we approach an especially rapid stream. It's not as deep as some, but it's slippery, and just below this crossing is the confluence with a larger stream that dumps over the side of the mountain. So it's the consequences of a missed step as opposed to the actual task at hand that stokes my level of fear.
Seriously?
Okay, let's do this.
In this video clip,Trip makes it look easy.
At our pace, we don't make it up Pinchot Pass in one day. I've heard of other hikers who are able to do two passes in a day, but I don't see how. The altitude zaps me of my energy. I have to practice what I call "active breathing" on the long ascents, focusing on a rhythmic pattern of "in-in, out-out." When things get really tough, it's "in-in-out, in-in-out." If I don't focus on this, I'll notice that I'm getting winded quickly, and my legs just don't want to power me as well and my productivity reduces to a snail's pace with frequent stops.
At night time, I'm exhausted, but again, the altitude makes sleep difficult. When camping at elevations over 10,000 feet, I'm noticing that I wake up frequently gasping for breath. There is just not enough O2 per normal breath to make everything function properly. It's a problem, but with each passing day, my systems are adapting to this strange new environment.
Some sketchy rock scrambles.
Trip gets an assist from Pastruzzi.
Anthony approaches Pinchot Pass.
Slowly descending Pinchot Pass.
One day after knocking out Pinchot Pass, we're set up to get up to Mather Pass before lunch time. But the intelligence we receive from southbounders is troublesome. The trail is difficult to find because of numerous snowfields interspersed with rock and boulder scrambles. Near the top, we are faced with a bad option of climbing up a steep snow bank or a worse option involving a steep field of loose rocks. We all make it to the pass, safe but exhausted.
Hi from Mather Pass!
The descent from Mather Pass is even more treacherous. Snow fields block the trail, and much of the traverse is by trial and error, with lots of butt sliding down boulders. We're rewarded later when we stop for a long swim break in the Palisades Lakes.
Things get real when we take a look at our food inventories. Everybody is running low on food because it's taking so long to get through these mountains. There is even talk of bailing out for an unplanned resupply in the town of Bishop. The opportunity for this side trip is tomorrow when we reach the Bishop Pass trail head. From there, it would be a twelve mile hike up and over Bishop Pass to a campground where there is a shuttle into town. While people mull over this option, Coach and I try to catch some trout in the creek; coach has a hook and line, while I'm using my bug net and some branches. Neither of us has any success, but here's a video clip of the efforts.
I've already decided I'm not going to Bishop. After my resupply trip to Independence and Lone Pine last week, it's just too much time off trail, and I'll figure out how to get by with what I have by managing my rations and increasing my productivity. Coach and Advisory concur with my plan. Anthony, Trip, and Pastruzzi decide they will all go to town. They will hike on to spend the night at the junction to Bishop Pass, a few miles further than where the three of us make camp.
So we say our goodbyes and make some lame plans about how and where we'll get back together, but in my experience, this rarely works. I believe there is a better chance we won't meet up again unless they skip forward to meet us up the way. But if they do this, they will miss out on Muir Pass, one of the most iconic places on the Pacific Crest Trail. If they hike out and back through Bishop Pass, they'll never catch us since they'll be a few days behind by then.
The next day, we reach the trail junction where there is a note from our friends wishing us luck. They've also left us some Skittles and other treats from their stash. The three of us proceed, but it's a different feeling with just half of our group. It feels like a Yah, or sometimes a Yah Yah, but nothing close to a Yah Yah Yah.
July 28 - August 3
Bishop Pass Trail mile 858
to Reds Meadow mile 907
We continue on with a goal to get right up to where the snow fields begin below Muir Pass. We're told that while Muir Pass is not a difficult climb, there is a snow field for more than five miles. So at the end of a long uphill day, we find the perfect spot to camp.
Beautiful spot for a lunch break.
A room with a view!
Most hikers try to climb over the snowy passes early in the morning before things get soft and slushy from the sun. We get an early start, but the late July sun is already doing its work when we reach the snow field. The so called snow bridges over the streams cause us some anxiety, as it's just a matter of time before they give way to gravity. Sun cups, caused by the uneven pattern of the thaw, make navigation difficult over and around divots up to three feet deep.
Snow bridges
and sun cups.
After a long ascent, we are once again rewarded with amazing scenery from Muir Pass and the stone hut there.
Fitty Shrimp (me!) with Advisory and Coach
Optical illusion?
Inside Muir Hut, elevation 11,955 feet
Just so vast!
For the next several miles, it's a slushy descent in to the Evolution Creek, which connects a bunch of cool looking lakes.
Sharing the meadow with two does.
Where Fitty at?
The three of us have hatched a new plan to make a side trip via ferry across Edison Lake in a couple days to spend a night at the Vermilion Valley Resort, better known as the VVR among hikers. There is a little store there where we can get a light resupply to get us to Mammoth Lakes. Also, we're learning that those who are thru-hiking the John Muir Trail always have too much food and are more than willing to share with us starving PCT'ers.
Over time, experienced thru-hikers master a skill known as "yogi-ing," and I'm teaching my new friends how to do it the right way. Basically, it's begging, but without actually asking for anything. It works like this: I try to strike up a conversation with everyone I meet along the trail, and I quickly work something into the discussion to the effect of, "Gosh, it's still a few days until I get to town. I sure hope my food stash lasts." There is also a look that goes into it, an expression of desperation. I know, it's pathetic, but it's very effective. Sometimes I'll find that I've scored from a yogi when I did not even realize I was yogi-ing. Coach quickly scored some Starbursts and other sweets from an old guy on a section hike. A Canadian guy gave us a huge bag of trail mix and a roll of badly needed toilet paper. The main reason this works, in my opinion, is that most folks on the trail are just awesome people.
Time for a break from the sun in this tiny house.
These two...
Among the giant Ponderosa pines
The last pass before our side trip is Selden. There's not much snow and the trail is not overly tough. The views, though, are fantastic!
Looking South from Selden Pass.
Looking North from Selden.
In the meantime, I receive word via satellite text messaging that our friends who went to Bishop have now hitched up the highway to Mammoth Lakes. They will either hike south to meet us or they will meet us when we arrive in town.
The morning ferry over to the VVR
The VVR trip is quick, a 24-hour run, but expensive. They offer free camping to hikers, and the first beer is free. Still, the restaurant and store are costly, not to mention the cost of the ferry. Upon arrival, I immediately had a double breakfast, and later I had a steak dinner. It's pretty amazing that everything is on the honor system. You start a tab when you arrive and you settle up before you leave, and that's that. Since I do not normally mail resupply packages ahead like some hikers do, I don't mind paying extra for the supplies I need from these little remote stores. I fully understand it's a chore for the storekeepers to get the stock they need.
Eat? Oh, I did!
Within 48 hours, we arrive at Reds Meadow and take the bus down into the ski resort where we hop onto a second bus down into the town of Mammoth Lakes. It's a bustling Saturday, and there is a big music festival going on in town, so finding accommodations is not easy. We quickly run into our friends in the heart of town. We find a big room that is expensive but not so bad when split between six people. It's a glorious reunion and turns into quite a party. We decide to re-up the room for another night because of the news from our friends. Trip and Pastruzzi are done with the trail. After evaluating finances, they are making plans to get home to England. Anthony has made the same proclamation, except he's going to L.A. It's sad, but that's how it goes. At least we got a couple days to have proper goodbyes, a rarity on the trail. Usually people just get ahead or fall behind, never to be seen again.
I'll never forget these goof balls.
A tearful goodbye in this clip...
While the snowiest of the passes are behind us, there are still a few mountains to conquer. Additionally, we're hearing about some dangerous stream crossings within the next week as we trek through Yosemite. Even more disturbing than that is the recent news of wildfires breaking out through parts of Oregon. A section of the PCT near Mount Jefferson has been closed for a couple weeks, and now we're hearing about new closures, some with detours, some without. These are things we'll have to sort through in the weeks ahead. We figure to be finished with the Sierra section at Sonora Pass within one week.
When I tell people I'm hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, I always feel the need to further explain that it's "no vacation." But I don't think it's possible to completely describe the physical and mental demands of this quest. Most people simply ask, "What's it like?" How can one even begin to answer this question? I usually just say, "Awesome."
The Sierra Nevada will test me like nothing ever has.
June 22 - July 10, 2017 Hiker Heaven, Alga Dulce mile 454 to Kennedy Meadows South mile 702
Following a side trip to Carpinteria Beach to wait out a record heat wave, I arrive back at the Hiker Heaven with the nine other hikers who accompanied me. It's now June 22nd, and I am on my sixth consecutive day without hiking any trail miles. It's clear now, after my late start and now a week's worth of zero days, that I will not be able to reach the Canada border this season. But I would not trade the beach experience. Here is a brief video recapping our fun times there...
Word travels along the trail about the difficult conditions in the Sierra section. 2017 has seen near record snowfall in the mountains. Experts warn that it's not a good idea to enter that section until the first or second week of July. At Kennedy Meadows, the gateway to the Sierra, it's said that as many as 300 hikers are holed up, some waiting for more thawing, some flipping or skipping to points north of the mountains, and some bailing out completely.
It's still 250 miles to Kennedy Meadows, so my plan is to simply continue on and evaluate once I get there. But it seems that our beach group will not march on as a large trail family; only Anthony, Rabbit, Squid and Casey join me for a night hike out of Hiker Heaven. B-Fly is skipping to Tehachapi to seek medical attention for a sore foot, while Payton and Pathfinder are also skipping forward out of the desert section to Northern California or Oregon. Spuds (formerly Potato Girl) and Jon are quitting after Spuds has a meltdown at the prospect of reentering the desert.
Within a few days, I become separated from the remaining members of the beach crew. I continue solo, but I become loosely connected to a group of four hikers, a married couple from England (Trip and Pastruzzi) and another couple who have been in a trailationship since the first couple weeks into the hike (Coach and Advisory). With early morning hiking, some night hiking, and the occasional midday nap beneath a cluster of Joshua trees, I arrive at Kennedy Meadows on July 10th.
Fourth of July, waiting out the midday heat in the tiniest bit of shade.
Advisory, Coach, Pastruzzi, and Trip, completely unaware of the approaching zombie.
I am clearly near the very end of the herd, the last of the true northbound thru hikers. It seems that with the proper gear, the Sierra section will be passable, so I plan to go through. There should be plenty of boot prints to follow through the snowy mountains by now, and the flooded stream crossings are said to have already crested, a benefit of the recent heat wave.
I retrieve two packages that my parents mailed to the store here, containing a bear canister required for food storage in this section, ice crampons that fit over my hiking shoes, and a whippet pole, sort of like a steak knife attached to a ski pole to catch myself if things go really badly on a slippery slope. I'll also have my little homemade beer can stove and some denatured alcohol; some warm meals and beverages will be nice in the mountains after being stoveless through the desert. The additional gear, along with a week's worth of food, will weigh me down on the long ascents ahead of me. The good news is that I won't have to carry so much water anymore!
My plan to get out of Kennedy Meadows in a day does not come to pass. They have great burgers here, outdoor movies in the evening up the road a bit, and great comradery with all of the hikers mulling about. I've reconnected with many folks and met a few cool new people. I end up taking a zero day.
GG, Tarzan, and Flip, kickin' it at Kennedy Meadows
Rosemary
Tarzan
Doc
Fish Hook
Fish Hook's sporkbrush... brilliant!
Anthony K.
Corona
GG (Ganja Grandpa)
Then on the next morning, before I can hike out, Coach and his crew show up in his dad's pickup truck. His parents drove down from Oregon in an RV and they are all camping near the river for a few days. The four of them are driving to Lone Pine to purchase some gear and then to Independence to drop off their resupply boxes. I'm invited to go along and yes, I take them up on this offer. It's a much longer trip than I expected, and the day is shot by the time we get back to KM. But the ice cream and McDonalds in Lone Pine is worth it!
Strange story: on the winding road back up to Kennedy Meadows, we see a group of five backpackers trying for a ride, and I recognize one of them as Adam, one of the original Highway Shrimp Gang from day one of my 2014 Appalachian Trail thru hike! They pile into the truck bed, and I spend some time back at the general store chatting with Adam and his partner Tanner, who I also met on the A.T. I knew they were somewhere on the PCT, skipping around a bit, but still pretty random, I think.
Shrimpers reunited after three years!
I'm invited to camp with Coach's group and have steak and potatoes, sponsored by his parents. One thing I've learned on these adventures is to never pass on the opportunity to meet great people, so I spend the night at their camp, enjoying the feast and getting to know everyone better. Coach's dad, a.k.a. "Pops," started the PCT with the group but bailed out after a few weeks due to a sore knee. The group adopted the name Team "Yah Yah Yah," based on an episode of South Park, their favorite show to stream while in town (mine too!).
Coach and his mom, Sharon
Pops with the crew
July 13-20, 2017 Kennedy Meadows South mile 702 to Onion Valley Trail mile 789
The Yah Yah Yahs plan to spend one more night at the river before pushing on. After an amazing breakfast of pretty much anything and everything one could order at a breakfast diner, it is time for me to say goodbye. A double zero has been good enough for me. I am not super comfortable with the decision to move on by myself, but I think this first part should be okay with no snow fields reported for the first 40 or 50 miles. In my time with the Yah Yah Yahs, I can conclude that they like to take zero days and they tend to take lots of trail side coffee breaks. In short, they are my kind of hikers! But still, I'm feeling the need to stay focused. There is this tiny nagging voice in the back of my head that tells me I can still make it to Canada. Or maybe that's just a gnat buzzing next to my ear.
The hike out of Kennedy Meadows, while almost all uphill, is very pleasant, with cooler temperatures and lots of forests and streams. My mind wanders as I walk alone through this beautiful new landscape. I think about how the two months of desert hiking has hardened me and prepared me for what lies ahead. I feel strong, nourished, and rested. I'm wary of the obstacles the trail will continue to put before me, but I am also comfortable in my ability to solve problems and make good decisions. The desert presented a multitude of new challenges for me and I was able to overcome all of them, like one giant puzzle comprised of dozens of smaller puzzles.
Goodbye desert, hello mountains!
By the end of my second day out, I am beginning to understand a bit more about the Sierra mosquitoes. I'm also getting my first glimpse of snow covered mountain peaks off in the distance. I meet a 79 year-old habitual section hiker, named "Tin Man" because of his two knee replacements in the past five years. Very interesting man and an amazing life... here's a link to his website, High Sierra Kiwi.
Tin Man, southbound on a solo section hike.
Camping in the mountains, so good!
After four days of mostly solitude, I arrive at Crabtree Meadow. GG is camping there, and also Tarzan. This is the point where PCT hikers must decide whether or not to make the side trip to Mount Whitney. It adds a full day to the hike, but it's the highest point in the continental U.S. and it's not likely I'll ever get another chance to climb it. I'm gonna go for it. Tarzan and GG each opt to skip it and continue along the PCT. The mosquitoes are horrible here next to the waterlogged meadow, so I get in my tent quickly for the night.
It's lovely, but the mosquitoes are hell.
From the side trail to Mount Whitney, it's eight miles to the peak and eight miles back. I don't have a permit to camp beyond the ranger station, so I decide to set up my camp first, and then do the hike. I feel like I'm getting a late start, but hey, it's not that far, right?
I pass by lots of amazing scenery along Whitney Creek, I mean just breathtakingly beautiful stuff. Just past Guitar Lake, I begin the series of switchbacks up the side of the mountain. I stop frequently because of the altitude and difficulty catching my breath. It's getting late in the day, and I'm beginning to doubt whether I can complete the climb and get back to my camp before dark. With only a small day pack, I would not be able to stop for the night if things go badly. Also, I didn't bring my ice crampons because I felt that snow would not be a problem. There have been a few minor snow fields, but then I come to a very sketchy ice chute. It's there where I decide to turn back because of (1) lack of daylight, (2) lack of ice gear, (3) lack of camping gear, and (4) being solo. This goes back to that thing about making good decisions. I've hiked to an elevation of around 13,000 feet, about 1,500 feet below the summit. With no regrets, I arrive back at my camp just as the sun sets.
Timberline Lake with Mount Whitney beyond.
Beside Whitney Creek, taking it all in!
View from not quite the top.
Here's a little video of my side hike to Mount Whitney...
From Mt. Whitney back to the PCT, I'm on the John Muir Trail, a 220 mile route connecting Whitney to Yosemite. The PCT and the JMT share the same tread for most of the next couple hundred miles, and since the JMT is very popular, I'm sure to meet lots of hikers along the way.
After a good night's sleep, I get moving with the goal of getting close to the base of Forester Pass by this evening. There will be several sketchy stream crossings today, and my anxiety level is pretty elevated. Wallace Creek is relatively uneventful, but when I reach Wright Creek, my jaw drops. I'm fortunate in that a young guy, a law student from Texas on the JMT, has just crossed to my side. He says it's not so bad, so I slowly enter. I'm facing away from the current and soon the water is above my waste. I'm in the middle and terror sets in, causing me to seize up. The other guy jumps to action and is able to talk me back to the point where I can return to where I started. Just then, another guy shows up across the creek, and he says that there is a fallen tree about five minutes downstream where I can cross safely. I decide to do that, and it works out fine. This is an important lessen for me. Be patient and look for the best way to cross. Ask hikers coming the other way for advice. And face the current, NOT away from it, very important. Small, deliberate steps, sideways, slowly. And try not to cross alone. Above all, BE PATIENT!
The swiftly moving Tyndall Creek.
The last crossing of the day was Tyndall Creek, said to be much scarier than the earlier crossings. But a couple miles upstream, it is said to split off into feeder creeks. I choose a place where another hiker has crossed and is getting situated across the creek. The current is quite strong along the far side, but I'm able to get out of the water safely.
It's late in the afternoon by the time I reconnect with the trail. I hop more streams and then reach a long snow field. I reach a place in a giant canyon where the terrain is relatively level with lots of small boulder fields and even some patches of green. It's too late to climb up and over Forester Pass, so I set up camp and go to sleep well before dark.
A very big sky below Forester Pass.
Deep into the night, I'm awakened by the need to pee, probably from the sound of all the rushing water coming off the cliffs. I climb out of the warm sleeping bag and out of the tent. I'm simply blown away by the moonless night sky here. It's more stars than I could ever imagine. I make the decision to break out my camera and tripod and try to get some of those night photos that I admire in the backpacking magazines. Even though the temperatures are at or below freezing, I'm up for a couple hours, just me and the stars out here. At one point, there is a brilliant flash of eerie blue light bright enough to cast my shadow before me. I turn around in time to watch the long tail of a streaking meteor as it burns through Earth's atmosphere. Truly amazing!
Obligatory "lit tent with wonder struck stargazer" shot.
Looking south toward the Milky Way.
Looking north toward Forester Pass.
I wasn't the only human to witness the fireball. Here is the official report of this event from American Meteor Society.
I don't get started super early in the morning, and a number of JMT hikers pass by my camp in either direction. I decide that my beard needs a trim before I climb up to the highest point on the entire Pacific Crest Trail. Also, I respond to a message on my satellite communicator from my friend Alex. He and his lady friend Sarah are on a van camping adventure this summer and want to meet up with me. We make a loose plan to meet at the Onion Valley campground tomorrow at 2:00. I hope I can get there in time because otherwise it might be difficult to get a ride into town for my resupply.
I begin the icy ascent, and at the first exposed boulder, I stop to strap on my ice crampons for the first time, not including a practice session back at Kennedy Meadows. I'm also wearing some sporty looking snow gaiters that wrap around my upper calf and clip to the shoe. They're doing a great job of keeping melted snow out of my shoes, but a luxury item, for sure.
Crampon time!
The climb is difficult, but not as bad as I had imagined. The biggest problem is that the trail is covered by snow, so I can't see where the switchbacks would be. I follow the lead of the hundreds who came before me and just plow straight up the path in the snow. Eventually, the switchbacks reappear, and the rest of the ascent is pretty basic. I'm greeted by beautiful patches of purple sky pilots at the pass, the only vegetation that survives here above 13,000 feet. Two southbounders arrive, and we share a photo session.
Top of the world!
Sky pilots!
The descent is a slog through a long slushy snow field, but eventually the snow is gone, and my pace picks up. There is a minor mishap when my foot rolls awkwardly on a stone and a sharp pain shoots through my lower back, perhaps a pinched nerve. I hope it's something that goes away quickly, but it doesn't feel like it.
The slushy descent.
I march on until early evening into Kings Canyon, and at Bubs Creek, I stop to fill my water bottles and have a quick break. There is a commotion across the creek, and I look for a deer. To my surprise, a large brown bear appears and starts to munch on the reeds growing by the stream. She obviously sees me but does not seem concerned. She goes about her business, and I'm on my guard, but calm. She finishes her feast and casually strolls along the creek and then crosses over to my side. My alert level increases, but she continues on away from me, stopping to shake off the water. Then I watch curiously as she climbs halfway up a tree, and then down again. One by one, three small cubs shimmy down the tree trunk. The four of them slowly cross the trail single file, and then disappear into the woods.
I camp nearby, and the next morning, I continue up a pretty steep climb for an hour or two. I need to get to Onion Valley campground, which is an eight mile side trip up and over Kearsarge Pass. My food stash is seriously dwindling, so the timing is right.
Here is a one minute video recap of this day, one of my most memorable without a doubt!
Through the Sierra section, resupply is not so simple. The towns are to the east of the ranges along Highway 395. Independence is the closest town to Onion Valley, but the resupply options there are not good, maybe just a gas station. I'm not making great time, partly due to the altitude, and partly due to the soreness in my back. It feels like I'm ready for a zero day. Also, I'm stopping to talk to many familiar hikers who are on their way back to the PCT from town, Fish Hook, Corona, Rosemary, Terry, Dreamcrusher, and others. I'm not going to reach my rendezvous point with Alex in time, but I think they'll wait for me. The views above the Kearsarge lakes are pretty awesome. It eases the pain of knowing these are just difficult bonus miles that aren't included in the PCT totals. After a lunch break at the pass, I begin the four mile hike down to the campground.
Good to bump into Dreamcrusher again!
An Irish guy took this shot of me above Bullfrog Lake.
Nice spot for lunch!
When I reach the campground, I'm close to two hours late. No worries. Alex and Sarah are there at a picnic table, and it's a wonderful scene. They brought some beers, and also some snacks, but they ate most of them while waiting for me. In her van, Sarah has room for me in the bed she built in the back; they sit up front. It's a good thing I am lying down and not watching, because at every hairpin turn on the winding road, it feels like we are riding on only two tires and that a fiery crash off a cliff is imminent.
There is another surprise. I learn that our friend Marathon is driving down to Independence from where he's spending the summer in Northern California. After his arrival, we all have burgers at the one restaurant in town, then I sponsor a dorm room at a run down motel, where the four of us can comfortably spread out our things, charge our devices, etc. Alex, Marathon, and I hiked together on the Pacific Northwest Trail two years ago. Alex is a film maker and made a really amazing documentary of our hike, which is available here.... A Sense of Direction - 1200 Miles on the Pacific Northwest Trail.
The next day, Alex and Sarah leave to continue their van travels, seeing the country. Marathon has no plans, so we decide to drive down the highway to Lone Pine, a bigger town with more eating options, grocery stores, and everything. But before we leave the motel, I have an idea, one that I hope will change the trajectory of my hike. The motel where we stayed is the one where my Yah Yah Yah friends left their resupply boxes when we drove down here last week from Kennedy Meadows. I open the unlocked door to the laundry room and there are dozens of boxes. I found one with Coach's name on it and leave a very simple note, "Fitty Shrimp," and my phone number. While I do enjoy my solitude, it's just not a good idea to hike the Sierra solo. Hopefully they will call me when they get to town. They can't be far behind.
Sarah, Alex (aka Money Shot), and Marathon... van life.
Alex made a book! www.fiveacesmedia.net.
In Lone Pine, we enjoy the pizza buffet and salad bar, and I get a room at the Dow Villa hotel, a nice place at a reasonable rate. It's very historic and has housed many people from the movie industry over the years. Marathon heads out to Alabama Hills, where many of the old westerns were filmed, to do some night photography. I opt to stay in to rest my aching back.
The next day, I take advantage of the jacuzzi and swimming pool, and I have a big breakfast at the diner next to the hotel. After checkout, I buy some new shoes and get my groceries for this next section, nine days of food which I hope will last until I get to Mammoth Lakes. I receive a text message from Coach, and they are staying at a campground just outside of Independence on the road back to Onion Valley. I purchase a large pizza for the group and we drive up to meet them. We camp with a large group, including the Yah Yah Yahs and Anthony, who has teamed up with them, Doc, and a few others. Everyone is enjoying the pizza; I knew the food options here were not good and that they would appreciate it. They had purchased supplies at the gas station to make chili dogs, which went well with our pizza.
After a restful night, It's time to work our way back to the PCT. I've talked Marathon into hiking out to the PCT junction with us for an overnight out and back. He drives some of us up the curvy road to the trail head and some of the others successfully get a hitch. We begin the long ascent up to Kearsarge, stopping at one of the beautiful lakes for a break. There are several breaks along the way, and the good news is that the pain in my back is essentially gone.
Break time!
Trip and Marathon
Marathon is loving it!
We finally reach the PCT and find a campground not far from the climb to Glen Pass, our next obstacle. I'm happy to be a part of this group, and I think we are in for some fun times. While I'm setting up my tent, a piece of the pole assembly splinters and breaks. Advisory, who is from Australia, has one of the field repair pieces that can be duct taped in place. We try it out and yes, it works well enough for now. I'm already seeing the benefit of having a trail family.
