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Our crew stayed over Friday night at Silver Pass Lake. We could see Selden Pass in the distance, which we'll climb in a few days.
Emily and Jim set a fast pace Saturday, opting to climb down 2,000 feet from Silver then up 2,000 feet over dusty, relentless Bear Ridge.
Instead, Eric and I headed across Edison Lake to Vermilion Valley Resort for the night with JMT and other weekend hikers. We'll tackle Bear Ridge in the morning.
As the John Muir trail climbs out of Red's Meadow along Blue Mountain Lake and over Silver Pass, the number of hikers dwindles.
We've been hiking roughly in sync with Tim LaFlame and Cheryl McCloskey. The Bay Area couple began hiking together before they got married more than 20 years ago. This is their second hike of the JMT.
They camped beside us Thursday night at Purple Lake and they woke us up as they yelled and banged pans to scare away a momma bear and her cubs.
LaFlame said they hike partly to disconnect from society. "You get the feeling that your possessions own you. This is a chance to put everything on your back."
Another pair of hikers we passed, Derek and Kenneth Brookman from Scotland, said hiking the JMT was a lifelong dream. The brothers flew to San Francisco, stayed over in Fresno, and took a $170 cab ride to Florence Lake to begin their northbound hike.
Our crew climbed down to Fish Creek on Friday morning then scrambled over a snowy stretch of trail to 10,900-foot Silver Pass.
Christina and Eric checked in this evening from Vermillion Valley Resort at Edison Lake, where they plan to stay tonight in the backpackers camp.
Friday night, they reached Silver Pass Lake, just over the pass and above 10,000 feet. They plan to rest up before they tackle Bear Ridge.
After a couple days of good satellite reception, our hikers were blocked Friday night in and around Silver Pass. They tried several times from several different locations, but no luck.
Tonight, they checked in via payphone. They'll try again Sunday to establish satellite connection from the trail.
Stay tuned; Christina will blog (audio and text) yet tonight.
In the morning Donohue Pass seemed far away; its red-striped snow a splash of color on a distant mountain.
But I've been climbing and climbing and now I'm beside that snow with the accordion reddish tinges. The red is supposedly some type of ice-loving algae. Weird.
Now it gets rockier and steeper.
A family of three passes me on their way down.
"You're only 15 minutes from the saddleback," they tell me.
"Great!" I say. Then shout back to them:
"Hey, what's a saddleback?"
Now I'm climbing over boulders. I'm not entirely sure I'm where I should be, but the trail has done one of those brief disappearing acts it does on the face of rocks. And I see footprints in the little bits of dirt around the rocks I'm trying to get over.
There's a couple of problems:
1. I've done very little bouldering, and none with a pack on my back.
2. I get vertigo. Not bad. It's not like I'm Jimmy Stewart or anything. It's just sometimes when I'm climbing something really high (like a mountan pass) or get the cheap seats at the Save Mart Center, and look down, the world starts to spin a little.
I'm crawling over a boulder like a turtle who took up rock climbing when I inadvertently look back.
Spin.
Slip.
Slip some more.
Hold on like crustacean to rock that is set on a spinning, dipping vertigo ride, until I fall off to the side. Off the trail. If it is the trail. I find myself wedged between two high rocks. I'm going to have to climb over one of them. I try to forget that I can't even walk without stumbling with a pack on my back. If I die, I think, I will ruin it for everyone. No reporter at The Fresno Bee, or the McClatchy newspapers, or the whole Unites States will ever get to do anything electively exciting again! These are the thoughts you have when you're admittedly in a pickle but don't really think you are going to die.
A couple of minutes later, I have the thoughts you have when doom does seem inevitable. I start up the bigger rock because it's not as pointy on top. But it's covered with tiny bits of gravel. My hands slip and then my feet slip. I can't get a toehold. With the pack on my back I don't feel like I'm going to fall down the rock; I feel like I'm going to fall out and down the mountain. I keep scrambling, mostly pulling myself up with my hands, but I'm getting tired. I think of people I interviewed who have hiked the John Muir Trail. They got over this. The 59-year-old man with a plastic bottle for showers strapped to his huge backpack got over this. And I'm going to die here? That family I just talked to got over this. But then the "buts" start in: but they had trekking poles. But they knew how to climb. But they weren't afraid of heights. But they weren't lame!
I try to tell myself I'm just being silly. I'm making a, ahem, mountain out of a boulder. But I'm about 12 feet off the ground on the steepest of inclines. If I fall off this rock, it's going to hurt. There's another, taller rock close by. I sort of roll over on my side so the backpack is balanced on the rock I'm on, then I reach my legs out to the other rock and go up sideways, like a rock climber in a crevice. At the top I have to stand up and make one final three-foot step. I crouch low and stand up slowly. Now, I can see that I am off trail. Those little piles of rocks that give you a clue where to go when the trail disappears beneath your feet are a few yards away over some big boulders.
Something strange has happened. Inside, I have the heaviest, darkest feeling. I've never felt so serious. It's like every bit of laughter has been sucked out. In place of whimsy I have these new arms and legs that suddenly know what to do. It's like there are magnets between my hands and the rocks and I somehow just lock on to the right places to grab hold. I climb up and over the top of the pass. Jim, Emily and Darrell are at the top snacking and looking out. I half wave and keep walking. I'm on top of the higheset mountain pass I will probably ever walk over and I don't give it one backward glance. It would only make me dizzy.
On the other side, I start gasping air the way you do when you jump in to water that's too cold and first come up. I can't stop. I think about the spirit of Tahquitz. I'm from Palm Springs and the Indian Canyons there are about my favorite place on earth. They are full of waterfalls and wild grapes and the legends of the Cahuilla Indians. One of the canyons, Tahquitz, is dangerous. People die there every single year. The story goes that it's because the evil spirit Tahquitz lives in the canyon. But I went hiking there with a Cahuilla Indian tribe member once and he said "evil spirit" is too simplified. Tahquitz isn't evil. He's just all powerful without compassion. When you go up against Tahquitz, there is no mercy, he's indifferent. You are completely on your own. The rest of nature can't love and protect you and your own negligible powers are meaningless. My friend said the scariest part of the legend of Tahquitz is that those who face him find out what "alone" really means.
I look out. It stretches on and on forever. Tall mountains covered with ice and snow. Steep red rock trails plunging down. This is a different world than Tuolumne or Sunrise with their meadows and wild flowers and happy daytrippers. The trail stops at a snowbank. There are footprints across the snow. I start putting my feet in those footprints. I fall. I get up and sit on a rock. Emily comes hiking down. She chooses another snowbank to cross. She shouts over that she sees the trail. I look at her face and see that she is crying. When I catch up I ask her if she found the pass hard to climb too. She says no. She's climbed much, much worse.
I think that the reason she is crying must have something to do with looking out and seeing forever and ever.
But I am too somber and alone within myself to ask.
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Christina wakes Thursday morning to find ice on the wool cap that she had worn overnight. The group camped at Upper Crater Meadow and will hike through Cascade Valley Thursday. Eric Paul Zamora / The Fresno Bee |
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Christina writes a blog entry at the the first opportunity for a satellite connection while overlooking Cascade Valley on Thursday. The hikers will move on to Purple Lake for the night. Eric Paul Zamora / The Fresno Bee |
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The group arrives at Upper Crater Meadow on Wednesday, where they camped for the night. Eric Paul Zamora / The Fresno Bee |
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Emily walks past aspens and burned trees south of the Devil's Postpile and Red's Meadow on Wednesday. The four hikers covered more than 13 grueling miles on Wednesday to reach Upper Crater Meadow from Rosalie Lake. Eric Paul Zamora / The Fresno Bee |
Emily tells me she thinks she should have been born in a different time.
There is something about her that brings to mind "Little House on the Prairie" and Caddie Woodlawn and every other spunky pioneer girl story.
She's all arms and legs, with bright blue eyes and a sunburned nose.
Her personality is quietly intense. On the outside she's ever-even. She doesn't seem to walk fast but her steady stride chews up distance.
She's 27 and just got a master's degree and quit a job and is going to have to start a career. A relationship with somone she loved seems to be over.
She says her parents are still in love. And that she could never marry someone who doesn't backpack.
She knows the names of flowers along the trail.
She says she likes to do things for herself and hates to accept help.
She has a lot on her shoulders besides a backpack.
Emily added Jim to this trip late in the game -- a last-minute additon to a 10-year-old JMT dream.
He's someone she knew in high school. There doesn't appear to be a romantic relationship.
She tells me that she doesn't know the trail, isn't sure what's ahead, doesn't know how to start a fire.
She's grateful to have someone with Jim's skills along, she says.
Jim -- I call him Dudley Doright, but not to his face -- is self-appointed rescuerer of all -- especially journalists who want to talk to people and write in notebooks and try to find a satellite signal instead of marching to where he's decided camp must be that night in order to keep everything right on schedule.
He's extremely capable. Tall and strong, a valley boy raised on outdoor adventure. He's been backpacking on his own since he was 13. The He's had the Tilley hat--with it's lifetime guarantee since he was 13. Also the green hiking shorts. They used to be too big, now they're too samll.
He can start campfires and read maps and walk through the pain of the blisters.
He apparently knows one line of one song and it's "Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate's life for me." He sings it a few times a day.
He likes to say, "We're in it to win it." He says that a few times a day, also.
In the evenings around the campfire he always laughs a loud laugh and says, "Oh-ho! Good clean fun!"
He just took the bar. He' s going to be a real estate lawyer. In "real" life he lives in a big city and works at a law firm. I realize that if I saw him in "real" life I probably wouldn't recognize him. We always wear hats and sunglasses out here. To me he's a guy with a wide grin in a Tilley hat. I only know what his teeth look like.
Maybe he's hiking so he won't think too much about whether he passed the bar.
But, I think mostly he's hiking because he's a young, strong guy. And young, strong guys like to do things other people can't.
Darrell asks me if I think they'll make the whole John Muir Trail. The question startles me, because it never occurred to me that they wouldn't.
Our crew walked about 13 miles Wednesday from Rosalie Lake to Upper Crater Meadow. We made camp in some trees near two pack llamas and an evil horde of mosquitoes.
It got cold last night. Cold enough to freeze our water filters, whiten our tents with frost and stiffen damp clothes into cardboard. This morning we all admitted that cuddling up to the llamas sounded like a good idea.
Despite the cold, we slept OK thanks in part to ear plugs and Tylenol PM. This powerful two-part nighttime ritual is especially popular with Emily. She calls it going to her happy place.
Right now we're about halfway to Purple Lake. That's where we hope to camp tonight.
Now that Diana's back from the trail, she's giving us the complete scoop of the trail travails. Although we're posting her entries in the order they took place on the hike, we want you to be able to find them quickly, so here's the latest:
When he went into this thing, Darrell had never seen a bear.
Indeed, he said, "I have never seen a bear" at a campsite near Kuna Creek while Dudley Doright was busy at the campfire fashioning himself a rope to hang a bear bag full of toiletries.
Bears in this part of the Sierra think of bear bags as piñatas. I figured Darrell was about to see a bear.
Little did I know that he would appear to pull them to him like some mystical bear charm, with four bear incidents in three days. He earned a nickname: Honey.
The first bear ambled through camp stopping only long enough to lick Darrell's backpack. I was already in my tent trying to go to sleep, but I heard Darrell say: "It's bear slobber!"
Later that night, I heard a telltale crack.
"Go away, go away," I singsonged in apparently dulcet tones that I would be teased about for the rest of the week.
Jim was shouting, running around in bare feet and his underwear in the glacier-tinged air, chasing the bear who had downed the bag and made off with his toothbrush. Darrell was chasing, too. He had to decide between picking up a rock or his camera. He took the camera.
The next night at Marie Lakes, yet another bear. Darrell saw it walk right by that backpack that he swears does not hold any Snickers bars. Still, no photo.
Our next campsite at Thousand Island Lakes didn't look quite as much like, "If I were a bear, I'd live here." It was more rocky than meadow. Darrell and Jim were sleeping outside -- it was too rocky for Darrell to stake his tent. We joked about the Bermuda Triangle of bear cannisters near the fire. Darrell had his camera ready, just in case.
Jim says he watched the bear come in. He tossed pebbles at Darrell to try to wake him up so he could get his photo. But Darrell snored away and the bear circled like a dog sniffing things as it went. The bear sniffed where Darrell's face was underneath a mummy sleeping bag.
"Hey, get outtta here," Jim said softly. He didn't want to startle the bear too much when it was in Darrell's face. The bear reared up a little and backed away.
I watched its shadow on the wall just a few inches away from me. Wow. Really big bear.
"I hope Darrell got his photo," I thought. And went back to sleep.
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| Christina Vance takes her coffee black. And she takes it backpacking. She says she can't go without the jolt she gets from an espresso in the morning. On the John Muir Trail, however, some items are luxuries that need to be left behind. But Christina's little espresso maker does not fall in that category. Watch this video to see Christina test out her trusty companion before her departure. |
We left Rosalie Lake early this morning and walked about 7 miles through the Devil's Postpile area.
I understand the Postpile is a jaw-dropping formation of volcanic rock, but none of that was visible from the trail. We did see a lot of burned trees and dust.
I killed 40 mosquitoes before lunchtime. It hasn't been purgatory, but I think we should get some credit for time served.
This post was filed from a payphone at Red's Meadow. Christina and Eric plan to push on a bit this afternoon before making camp.
And now for something completely different ...
No, not "Monty Python" reruns. I'm talking about the Sequoia High Sierra Camp located in the Giant Sequoia National Monument near Big Meadows.
This is no ordinary High Sierra camp. The owner, DNC Parks & Resorts, promises a luxurious experience that "combines the best of backcountry camping with pampered hospitality and distinctive cuisine."
As The Bee's outdoors writer, it's my (ahem) duty to check this out in person.
So while Christina and Eric, my colleagues on the John Muir Trail, lie cramped in tiny tents, I'll be stretched out in a "Tuscan-inspired bungalow" featuring concrete floors, padded armchairs, doors and screened windows.
While Christina and Eric toss and turn on hard ground, I'll be snoozing on "plush-top beds with Egyptian cotton sheets, feather pillows and Pendleton wool blankets."
While Christina and Eric choke down dehydrated beef stroganoff, I'll be dining from a menu that includes rack of Colorado lamb with lyonnaise potatoes, Alaskan halibut garnished with lime/avocado chutney and gorgonzola-stuffed filet mignon.
Yeah, that's what I call roughing it. Did I mention the hot showers and flushing toilets?
For my impressions of the Sequoia High Sierra Camp, be sure to check Sunday's Bee.
I just hope the place doesn't make me soft before my big hike.
I love my house.
I love my refrigerator. And my FLAT, smooth, wood floors. I love running water.
And reliable cell phones (as opposed to temperamental satellite phones).
And I love having a keyboard at my fingertips.
In other words, I am home and I can finally, finally put on this blog all the things I've been scribbling about over the past eight days.
Do I ever have stories to tell ...
Sorry for the delay. When they say wilderness, they really mean it. Things didn't go as planned.
But did I mention I'm home?!!
And I'm writing as fast as I can.
And I have stories to tell.
Between fits of sleep and moments of recovery, Diana is translating her journals from soggy notebooks to computer files. Check out her tales on her blog page.
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The JMT hikers enjoy a blissful, even walk as they pass the outlet of Shadow Creek from Shadow Lake. Eric Paul Zamora / The Fresno Bee |
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After arriving Monday afternoon in the Mammoth Mountain area, Christina and Eric got a good view of the Minarets range. Eric Paul Zamora / The Fresno Bee |
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Gnarled treetops outline mountains beyond the Mammoth overlook. Eric Paul Zamora / The Fresno Bee |
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Rosalie Lake is a welcome site to both teams of Bee hikers. Diana and Darrell spent their last night there before hiking out to Agnew Meadow; Christina and Eric, along with Emily and Jim made their first camp there Tuesday. It's 5.5 miles from the Agnew Meadow trailhead (where The Bee's JMT hikers handed off Tuesday afternoon) to Rosalie, which sits at 9,350 feet. Eric Paul Zamora / The Fresno Bee |
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Christina, Eric, Emily and Jim made camp Tuesday near this logjam on the northeast side of Rosalie Lake. Eric Paul Zamora / The Fresno Bee |
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Christina sets up camp as Emily writes an entry in her journal at Rosalie Lake. The lake offers some very nice, protected campsites. Eric Paul Zamora / The Fresno Bee |
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Readers took exception with Christina packing along her espresso maker, but she's happy she's got it in camp Tuesday at Rosalie Lake. (We'll see if she's cursing it at the end of her segment.) Eric Paul Zamora / The Fresno Bee |
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Eric takes a self-portrait on the trail. In his words: I've let the others move ahead yet still I must take breaks as I climb the switchbacks from Shadow Lake to Rosalie Lake. Forty-five pounds on my back. No blisters! Eric Paul Zamora / The Fresno Bee |
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Sunrises are generally spectacular in the High Sierra -- more so at aptly named Sunrise Camp above Tuolumne Meadows. It's a popular destination for hikers who want to partake in just a piece of the high country the JMT has to offer. Darrell captured this morning on Aug. 10. Darrell Wong / The Fresno Bee |
Eric and I successfully met Emily, Jim, Diana and Darrell this morning at Agnew Meadow.
The Bee hikers looked tired, satisfied and very happy to see the car that will take them home.
After Emily and Jim refilled their bear canisters with food that we brought, all four of us made the dusty, sunny climb up to Rosalie Lake.
It was during that climb that I noticed something. Almost every downhill hiker I passed smiled at me and said, "Wow, that pack sure looks heavy."
Usually I was panting and red-faced when they'd say that, and I didn't really know what to say. I usually ended up saying, "Yea."
So I talked to Jim about it later, and he said people told him the exact same thing the first day that they were climbing out of Yosemite Valley. So I'm thinking this might be a form of John Muir Trail hazing that I wasn't aware of.
Diana and Darrell made it off the trail in one piece, handing off to Segment Two hikers Christina Vance and Eric Zamora at Agnew Meadow.
Darrell says, "Everybody had pep because it was our last day on the trail."
Pep enough to nearly fly home. Diana and Darrell hopped in the car that Christina and Eric left behind, drove to Yosemite Valley where they picked up the car they left behind last week, and were coming through Oakhurst at 5 p.m. when they picked up a cell signal.
Alas, both reported that the satellite phone signal isn't as dependable as we had hoped. Darrell and Diana said they tried to stay in contact, but that reception was intermittent. Hopefully, Christina and Eric will have better luck as they hike at generally higher elevations.
Diana and Darrell were both happy to be coming home. "We're out. We're alive," Diana says.
She described herself as the weak link of the first leg, but Darrell was complimentary of her performance on the final day: "She crossed two streams by herself today. ... We did streams and rivers all the way, and her balance was always in question. Today, she was great."
The happy hikers came out from Rosalie Lake, which is where Christina and Eric planned to spend their first night on the JMT.
Christina and Eric had a reward for Diana and Darrell when they reached "civilization" -- Rocky Road candy bars and cold drinks.
Diana decided to give herself one more reward -- a dinner in Oakhurst of a cheeseburger, side salad, fried zucchini and Diet Coke. "Andy maybe a chocolate shake, but I'll see after I eat this!"
Diana and Darrell checked in from Thousand Island Lake, where they spent Sunday night. They report having trouble getting a satellite signal, so when they had a clear moment, Darrell dropped the photos to share with readers.
Diana says she's keeping journal entries to share as soon as possible.
In the meantime, she shared a funny story ... well, it was funny in hindsight.
Darrell had been lamenting that he hadn't seen any bears. Now, he's had four sightings in three days, including one that he couldn't miss: A bear got right in his nose last night. Jim apparently shooed it away.
Darrell's new nickname: Honey.
The first leg should end today with arrival at Shadow Lake, followed by a Tuesday hike out to Agnew Meadow campground and a handoff with Segment Two hikers Christina Vance and Eric Zamora.
Ever wonder exactly what backpackers take on the trail? Wonder no longer!
Here's a list of what I'm carrying into the wilderness tomorrow (in no particular order):
trekking poles
pack
sleeping bag
first aid kit
stuff sack
sun hat
watch
pants with zip-off legs
shorts
long-sleeved shirt
short-sleeved shirt
long underwear pants
camisole
boots
socks (two pairs)
sock liners (two pairs)
underwear (three pairs)
sport bra
bandana
warm hat
gloves
pack rain cover
poncho
warm jacket
toothbrush/paste/floss
packet of wet ones
toilet paper
trowel
sunscreen
camp soap
bug spray
vitamins
painkiller
lip balm
multitool (with scissors and knife)
hand cleaner
head lamp
small book (Thoughts on Solitude by Thomas Merton)
titanium spork (one of my favorite items)
titanium Sierra cup
plastic drinking bottle
two water bags
tent
ground cloth
sleeping pad
blister treatment/tape
camp stove
two cans of fuel
camp espresso maker (yeah, I brought it)
water treatment pills
titanium pot
pot scrubber
bear canister
garbage bags
a $20 bill
pencils and pen
notebooks
flip flops (for camp)
small voice recorder
prayers/scripture written on a sheet of paper
The menu:
instant oatmeal
breakfast bars
coffee
powdered energy drink
crackers
pre-made tuna lunches
beef jerky
trail mix
energy bars
dehydrated dinners
instant cocoa
chewing gum
hard candy
Mmmm. It makes me hungry just reading about it.
Communication with our JMT hikers is still spotty, but Darrell managed to crank up the satellite phone long enough to drop some photos. The first leg should be completed today with arrival at Agnew Meadow.
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Emily, left, and Diana rest in a meadow on their way through Lyell Canyon on Friday afternoon. The weather has been picture-perfect. Darrell Wong / The Fresno Bee |
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Emily and Jim have breakfast Saturday morning. Overnight, a bear climbed a tree to steal Jim's sack of scented items. Jim was able to follow the bear tracks and recover most of his belongings. Darrell Wong / The Fresno Bee |
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Jim and Emily enjoy the campfire Wednesday night at Sunrise Camp. Darrell Wong / The Fresno Bee |
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Whew! Our hikers look back at a long day hiking up Lyell Canyon on Saturday to reach 11,050-foot Donohue Pass. Darrell Wong / The Fresno Bee |
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A hike on the JMT is often a time for reflection -- in more ways than one. With so much water along the way, many of the spectacular peaks are framed in unique perspectives. Here, Darrell captures 11,050-foot Donohue Pass in the Lyell Fork of the Tuolumne River. Darrell Wong / The Fresno Bee |
I didn't see it coming, this first test. I was walking along marveling at where my feet could take me when I noticed Darrell, Emily and Jim stopped ahead. Darrell and Emily were on the other side of a shallow river.
Jim was waiting to instuct me.
"You see Diana , if you crossed here, you would get your boots wet," he says. (Isn't that why they're waterproof?) "We found a better place upstream."
Then I saw the log. I'd forgotten how much I dislike walking on top of things. It hasn't been a huge issue since I was a kid and there was this huge semi-tire in the playground. I wouldn't even walk on it unless I could hold my Grandmother's hand.
But here I am. I get up on the log. I don't like the combination of leaning on poles and having weight on my back pushing me forward, and I don't like looking down. But, I do.
And down I go. Face first, of course. It seems to be the only way I fall these days.
Once again I'm pinned beneath my backpack, this time in a stream. My face at least made it to the bank. I gingerly feel to see if either nose or prescription sunglasses are broken, in what's becoming something of a familiar ritual.They're not. I decide to just stay there a second and take a deep breath. The water smells so clean. I know Darrell has his camera out.
"Wow," I think. "This truly is a shining moment."
I walk into a nearby meadow. I breathe, stretch a second. Try to focus on how beautiful it is.
Darrell walks over.
"Quite the shot, huh?" I say.
"I only took a picture of you on the rock, not falling down," he says. "I wouldn't do that. This is hard enough on all of us."
Wow. Nice guy. I'm pretty sure everyone I know would have snapped the shutter.
This was written while out on the trail, but published after returning to Fresno.