« August 13, 2006 - August 19, 2006 | Home | Blog | August 27, 2006 - September 02, 2006 »
August 26, 2006
Trees above the treeline?
Aug. 26, camping at Upper Palisade Lake, 10,700 feet, temperatures in the upper 20s by morning
We're seeing gnarled and stunted lodgepole pine trees up here as well as the tenacious white bark pine -- at least, that's what they look like to me. The treeline actually moves higher as you go farther south in the Sierra. So, you might not see trees above 9,500 feet to the north of us, yet we're seeing some trees above 10,500 feet here.
On the other side of the jagged ridgeline above us, I'm told the Middle Palisade Glacier is the largest in the Sierra. You can't see it from where we are, but the chill of a glacial basin is all around.
The sound of streams and glacial melting is comforting to me. The water rushes and seeps down into the lakes below where the colors are emerald and cobalt. Now and then, you see a marmot or some other small, furry creature, but you probably don't see many bears or deer up here. Not enough food.
There is something so compelling about this place. Only nature has altered this place since the last Ice Age receded 10,000 years ago. I am sorry I can't spend another day enjoying this striking connection to the Earth's past.
This entry was written Aug. 26 on the trail but published after returning to Fresno.
August 25, 2006
Meet Felicia Greer, exercise physiologist
|
| We wanted to know what happens to the body out on the trail. So we went to Fresno State and caught up with Felicia Greer, who works in the kinesiology department. She compared what our hikers are going through with riders in the Tour de France. In this video, you'll also see Emily Franciskovich share more of what a hiker has to pack to survive the elements of nature. |
Slideshow: Wildlife on the second leg
Jim and Emily
It was somewhere beyond Muir Pass above 11,000 feet. Jim Hurley and I were ahead of our backpacking foursome. I was struggling through stubborn snowfields, and Jim was dancing across them as if he were performing on Broadway.
Then, suddenly, he dropped his backpack and raced halfway up a granite slope covered with snow. Using his poles as a downhill racer, he skied on his boots, whooping with delight. People 300 yards away were cheering.
That's Jim Hurley, a 27-year-old kid filled with daring, spunk and confidence. Showing off? Oh, yeah, and that rubs some people the wrong way. He can come across as brash if you don't know him. At 27, I did too. But, truth is, this guy is loving life and living it large. The more I learned about him, the more I liked him.
The Visalia native, an experienced backcountry traveler, is here to have fun yet he is quite serious about watching over Emily "Emma" Franciskovich to make sure she is safe. Emma, 27, another Visalia native who knows the backcountry, also is filled with life, compassion and charm. Her good times are just as good as Jim's, but they are lower wattage.
Just mention the words "sky pilot" to her, and she's ready to talk on and on about precious flowers that bloom above 10,000 feet for only several weeks a year. The sky pilot is such a flower.
I am 25 years older than they are. They became like my children on this trip. We were all raised in the San Joaquin Valley, and we share a rich upbringing of discipline and hard work. Jim builds the camp fires, Emma pumps water through the water filter. They both constantly offer assistance and courtesy. As the father of three children, I notice.
"We're having fun when everyone is having fun," Jim keeps saying. "If someone isn't enjoying this, we're not enjoying it." I never told him that his philosophy sounded perilously co-dependent, but that's because I was loving the luxury of sitting around nice camp fires that I didn't have to build.
They both went to Redwood High School in Visalia. They chatter all day about the past and the future. You would think this is love in bloom. I didn't really see that. After spending eight days and seven nights around them, I think it is a powerful Platonic affection.
Jim is going to San Francisco to become a real estate lawyer. Emma might become a schoolteacher. They've finished impressive education with graduate degrees. It may take them years to find their way in the world 10,000 feet below the alpine lakes of the High Sierra. But, up here, they don't need any more training or soul searching. They have arrived as human beings. Somebody did a good job raising these two Valley kids.
This entry was written Aug. 25 on the trail but published after returning to Fresno.
August 24, 2006
JMT vs. PCT
There's a big difference between 211 and 2,650 miles.
Pacific Crest Trail and John Muir Trail hikers often walk side-by-side, but they're different breeds.
Our fellow hiker Jim Hurley told a story that pretty well sums up the difference between PCT hikers (walking from Mexico to Canada) and JMT hikers (walking from Yosemite Valley to Mt. Whitney).
Jim ran into a PCT hiker, and they began comparing notes on pack weight. Jim admitted he was carrying some stuff he probably didn't need.
The PCT hiker told Jim he didn't think extra weight was a problem for a little "weekend trip" like the JMT. Ouch.
Some JMT hikers were weirded out by PCT hikers. Emily said some of them seemed kind of "kooky" after months in the wilderness.
Resupply stations near the trail like Muir Trail Ranch and Vermilion Valley Resort cater to all comers, including PCT and JMT hikers. They show up all hours at the ranch near Florence Lake, employee Patt Gray said.
"It's like an ER," she said.
Muir Trail Ranch isn't known for its creature comforts like Vermilion. Gray said hikers won't find bathrooms or beer at the ranch, but she makes it a personal mission to run an excellent resupply operation for her backpackers.
Gray treats her backpackers the same, carefully checking out their supplies and handing out lamb's wool for hurting feet. But, she expressed a particular admiration for PCT hikers who take on the whole long trail.
"Aren't they awesome?" she asked, beaming.
Vermilion owner Jim Clement said each group of hikers coming off the Edison Lake ferry has a different personality. Some PCT hikers take the trip so seriously that they don't seem to have fun.
"It's like a job. They've got to put in their 20 or 30 miles or they're not going to make it," he said.
Other groups have a jolly disposition and even join in the after-hours campfire hijinks at Vermilion (which consisted of rock music and loud laughter until after midnight the night we stayed at the resort). Clement said those groups have fun, but he admitted they might not make it through the whole PCT.
Compared to PCT hikers, Clement said JMT hikers have more of a vacation mentality. They might even be able to indulge in an occasional side trip.
There's one other variety of hiker I'll mention that's talked about on the trail: the international hiker. Several Americans on the JMT expressed admiration for the stamina of some hikers from overseas.
Note to international hikers: yes, that American was just staring at your legs. Please don't take it personally.
Our hiking group wondered what hikers from other countries say about Americans. We agreed we're a little afraid to ask.
Credit card fraud in the High Sierra
Eric suggested we try panhandling. Or washing dishes for food.
To recap: Eric and I were at Vermilion Valley Resort on Saturday, surrounded by a dizzying array of backpacker luxuries. A lack of money stood between us and barbecued beef, homemade pie with ice cream, showers and communication devices to put us in touch with the newsroom.
We had just enough money to get us across Florence Lake at the end of our backpacking trip. Cash isn't normally at the top of one's list when journeying into the mountains. It's outranked by, say, toilet paper.
Hear Eric and Christina discuss climbing Bear Ridge while eating breakfast at Vermilion Valley ResortDesperation drove us to do what any broke kid does when faced with a financial crisis. We called our parent (company) for money.
Reneé Fernandes in The Bee's Photo department answered the phone. She told me the conversation on her end went something like this: "What? Where are you? You're freakin' at a resort?"
Eric managed to convey that we needed money and asked for a company credit card number. As he talked, I nervously watched the timed phone call chew through the small amount of cash we had. If this gamble didn't work, we'd be eating rehydrated "chicken pot pie" and walking extra miles to the other side of the lake.
It was then that Renee did something beyond the call of duty. She gave us her personal credit card number. Eric jotted it down on a yellow pad and promised not to lose it.
Armed with the Power of Credit, Eric and I proceeded to eat, wash and transmit text and photos to The Bee. We took the ferry back across Edison Lake on Sunday and continued to tromp along the trail.
Here's what we didn't know.
After giving us her credit card Saturday night, Renee drove to Pismo Beach for the weekend. On Monday, she left her credit card at a restaurant and had to call the company to cancel it.
An unpleasant thought occurred to her as she drove home. Had the Vermilion charges gone through? Did Eric and I need money to cross Florence Lake? Had she just doomed us to committing credit card fraud in the Sierra?
The worries turned out to be unfounded. Eric and I weren't busted by a bunch of rangers doing a stakeout behind some boulders. Otherwise, who knows what kind of promotional campaign Smokey the Bear might have launched?
Only You Can Prevent Credit Card Fraud.
Reneé will be reimbursed. But it's up to her to keep track of her new credit card.
Slideshow: The hikers take on leg 2
Slideshow: Scenic views on the second leg
A lake named Wanda
We stayed in the Evolution Basin at 11,400 feet last night. There is ice on my sleeping bag, but my water bottle didn't freeze.
Many people camped up in this high-elevation spot last night. We saw a party of seven on the other side of Wanda Lake.
The lake is named for one of John Muir's daughters. It is surrounded by glaciers and 13,000-foot peaks. No wonder we couldn't find a place to send over the satellite phone.
We'll be moving down LeConte Canyon, probably dropping 4,000 feet in the next day and a half and then beginning another slow ascent of 12,080-foot Mather Pass.
August 23, 2006
Let's clarify what "resort" means
Some of my colleagues at The Bee have heckled me for stopping at Vermilion Valley Resort on Saturday.
Let's be clear about what "resort" means ... it's a resort for backpackers. There weren't any mints on my pillow. There was no pillow at all.
But homemade pie, mattresses and hot showers sure beat rehydrated "berry cobbler," cuddling up on the hard ground and skinny dipping in cold mountain lakes.
Vermilion is on the other side of Edison Lake, several miles south of Silver Pass. The trail drops steeply into the valley, and it's kind of terrible -- rocky and dusty. Once Eric and I arrived at the lake, it didn't take us long to dip our sore feet in the wind-blown water.
The ferry travels to the far side of the lake twice a day: at 9:45 a.m. and 4:45 p.m. Saturday's group waiting for the ferry slowly grew. It consisted of grungy John Muir Trail hikers, slightly less grungy multi-day loop hikers, and freshly scented people just out for the day.
Craig Rangell of Fresno said he took the trail to the far side of the lake with his fiancee, Renea Larson, and his 9-year-old son, Austin. The trail from Vermilion was longer than they'd expected, but Rangell said that wasn't a bad thing for his son.
"Get him nice and tuckered out for school," he said, smiling.
The boat arrived right on time, and the ferryman gruffly instructed new through hikers to check in at the store once we arrived at Vermilion. "They'll tell you what's going on," he said.
Our little group of JMT hikers crowded around the store checkout counter, and the owner of the place, Jim Clement, greeted us with a cheery showman's air. He gave us the complete rundown on the freebies like the bathrooms and night's stay in the backpacker "tent cabin" as well as the stuff that costs money like showers ($5 a pop with fluffy towel included) and phone service ($2 a minute).
The tent cabin turned out to be a freestanding structure with tent walls and a permanent floor. Inside were eight creaky metal bunk beds with mattresses of varying grossness. Ick factor aside, we were thrilled to have the beds. We tossed our sleeping bags on top of the mattresses and rejoiced that we didn't have to set up our tents for a night.
Eric and I had two pressing things to accomplish at Vermilion. For one, we needed to check in with the newsroom. Because of our temperamental satellite phone, no one had heard from us since Thursday.
The next order of business was food. Saturday night was barbecue night. Barbecue. Just the word can turn a hardened hiker's brain into gleeful mush.
But Eric and I had just one problem. We were broke.
Check out "Credit card fraud in the High Sierra" to read the rest...
The Godfather
It's good to be back from the John Muir Trail, even though I have one regret.
I didn't take out The Godfather.
"The Godfather" is the nickname Eric and I gave the satellite phone that we lugged over dozens of miles and thousands of vertical feet. The thing reminded me vaguely of an '80s video game console with a phone receiver attached to it.
The sat phone derived its nickname from the weird electronic noise it made each time we tried to get a signal from the satellite poised somewhere in the southeastern sky. Eric said the noise sounded a little like the theme song from "The Godfather." Besides that, the phone seemed moody and powerful, only working when it suited its purposes.
Once, I vowed to kiss The Godfather's ring if it would only send some photos and a blog entry. The Godfather granted my wish.
But by the latter half of our trip, as the blog will reflect, Eric and I fell out of favor with The Godfather. Each time we appeared to have a clear shot to the southeast, The Godfather would blink, beep and defiantly give us another crummy connection incapable of sending a sentence.
So, we'd wrap it back in garbage bags and stick it in our packs. It became a routine question each morning as we broke camp: "Do you want me to carry The Godfather today?"
On Tuesday morning, Eric and I had finished our hike. As we waited at the edge of Florence Lake for a boat to take us to our car, a wonderful thought occurred to me. I could take The Godfather out of my pack and chuck it into the blue waters. I shared this thought with Eric, and he offered to take a picture.
"Yeah, that could document the thing that would get me fired," I said.
"You'd probably only get 10 days' suspension," he replied.
Well, The Godfather prevailed. The gadget zipped across Florence Lake with us, safely strapped into my pack.
It was tempting to send the weighty device to sleep with the fishes forever, but I decided it wouldn't be responsible to do that to such an expensive piece of equipment.
Besides, I'm still on probation.
Alpenglow at Darwin and Mendel
Aug. 23, 6:16 a.m., 40 degrees
We saw alpenglow at Colby Meadow in the Evolution Valley. I'm told that true alpenglow is a stunning, pinkish light at sunset. It reflects off the mountain faces in the Sierra. On Tuesday night it appeared suddenly on Mt. Darwin and Mt. Mendel. We remember the World War II flyer whose body was found there last year.
The snow reflected an eery light as the sun went down. And in the opposite direction, the sunset was stunning over Colby Meadow. Probably one of the best views you'll get in the Sierra.
August 22, 2006
Already missing it
Photographer Eric Zamora dropped us a line after he got home tonight:
Ahhhh, it's good to be back, but conversely, I already miss the High Sierra. I wish we could have stayed longer at so many places.
Monday night, Christina and I camped just upstream from the Muir Trail Ranch, alongside the South Fork of the mighty San Joaquin. She slept in the open; I slept without my solo tent's rainfly, staring at the night sky through the netting, watching shooting stars until past midnight and listening to the rush of the river just a few yards away.
We woke just before 7 this morning and without breakfast broke camp and started the last leg of our trip through the lush meadows and over granite rock to the edge of Florence Lake where we phoned the far side for a ferry, pausing only to chat with Patt at the Muir Trail Ranch who showed us the food caches they hold for PCT and JMT through hikers.
At Shaver Lake, we stopped one more time for food. I indulged in a burger with extra cheddar cheese and fries and fried zucchini sticks and a large root beer. Mmmm.
Christina and I parted ways in The Bee's parking lot with a very smelly hug goodbye. Using her own words, Christina ROCKS. a great hiking partner.
Now I'm home. So many photos to edit but the air conditioning is on, and I'm ready for bed ... When can I go back????
eric
Halfway
Christina and Eric finished Segment Two this afternoon, meaning that The Bee's JMT hikers are halfway.
Segment Three hikers Mark Grossi and Mark Crosse are on the trail.
Christina reported that she and Eric were unable to make connections with the satellite phone the past few days. We surmise that the coverage area with the phone that's able to send data (i.e., photos) is limited, and aim to address that with our Segment Four hikers.
But, enough from the techno side. Christina has tales to tell! She promises to blog upon her return to Fresno, but reports that Eric and a hiker they met at Vermilion Valley Resort caught some golden trout while fly fishing and roasted them over a campfire. Yum!
Christina and Eric had a long day Sunday, hiking back to the trail and then over Bear Ridge to Upper Bear Creek Meadow. Monday, they topped 10,870-foot Selden Pass and hiked to Muir Trail Ranch, where they set up camp. They hiked out to Florence on Tuesday.
Walking in, walking out
Aug. 22, at the San Joaquin River, beyond Florence Lake
Mark Crosse and I just climbed off the Florence Lake ferry. There were just the two of us headed out. On the other side, there must have been 25 tired, bug-eaten people waiting to get on that ferry and go back to their lives.
Most were smudged with the mountains -- a little dirt here and there, an occasional spot of sap from some lodgepole pine tree. Salty sweat rings drooped all over their shirts.
Now, I'm remembering how tough this is physically. A kind of dread stirs.
I glanced around. I was astounded by the beauty of the hydroelectric lake, Florence Lake, and I was so pleased to be breathing clear, pine-scented air above 7,000 feet. But I reminded myself there are no bathrooms or Starbucks up here. There would be no air conditioning when I'm overheated, no heater when the chill runs through my body at sunset.
For just a moment, I thought, "What am I doing here? I have a comfortable life with an impossible mortgage at home."
Then Crosse taps me on the shoulder and points to the trail. Up and out we go. Sweating and breathing that pine-scented air, I was soon lost in this paradise. An hour later, I wondered why I had that moment of doubt.
This entry was written Aug. 22 on the trail but published after returning to Fresno.
Weight matters
|
| Mark Grossi has been backpacking before, and he knows the difference a few pounds can make at the end of the day. So he decided to take the contents of his pack to The Bee's postage scale to see which items could stand to shed an ounce or four. Watch this video to see Mark weigh his sleeping bag, trekking poles and bear canister, as well as the pack itself. |
August 21, 2006
Silver Pass and satellites
Suffering from a few more satellite phone problems. Eric and Christina logged in from the Vermilion Valley resort. Although he could just send in the following four photos, Eric promises many, many more.
 |
|
The hikers are greeted by wildflowers at Pocket Meadow as they make their way down to Mono Creek. Eric Paul Zamora / The Fresno Bee |
 |
|
Emily catches Eric trying to find a satellite signal at Silver Pass Lake in the morning. Too bad it didn't work. Eric Paul Zamora / The Fresno Bee |
 |
|
Christina gives a grin as she traverses Silver Pass. Eric Paul Zamora / The Fresno Bee |
 |
|
Eric takes a moment at the top of Silver Pass. Eric Paul Zamora / The Fresno Bee |
August 20, 2006
First leg photos: Before and After
 |
|
Darrell, Emily, Jim and Diana get ready to hit the John Muir Trail. Eric Paul Zamora / The Fresno Bee |
 |
|
Emily, left, Diana, Jim and Darrell after coming off the John Muir Trail at the Agnew Meadow trailhead on Tuesday, Aug. 15, 2006. Eric Paul Zamora / The Fresno Bee |
 |
|
Jim points out a few highlights of the first leg of his trip along the John Muir Trail from the backpacker's camp in Yosemite Valley on Monday, Aug. 7, 2006. Darrell Wong / The Fresno Bee |
 |
|
Marek helps Diana with her backpack before hitting the John Muir Trail on Tuesday, Aug. 8, 2006. Darrell Wong / The Fresno Bee |
 |
|
Yosemite National Park visitors enjoy the scenery from Nevada Falls on Tuesday, Aug. 8, 2006. Darrell Wong / The Fresno Bee |
First leg photos: Flowers and horses
 |
|
Jim, left, and Emily walk across the snow as they near the top of 11,050-foot Donohue Pass feet on their way into the Ansel Adams Wilderness on Saturday, Aug. 12, 2006. Darrell Wong / The Fresno Bee |
 |
|
A field blooms with the wildflower Indian Paintbrush near our campsite at Thousand Island Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness on Sunday, Aug. 13, 2006. Darrell Wong / The Fresno Bee |
 |
|
Horses run through Lyell Canyon near Kuna Creek on Friday, Aug. 11, 2006. Darrell Wong / The Fresno Bee |
 |
|
Eric, left, Emily, Jim and Christina pose for a picture before heading to the John Muir Trail from the Agnew Meadow trailhead on Tuesday, Aug. 15, 2006. Darrell Wong / The Fresno Bee |
First leg photos: Logs and maps
 |
|
Diana has fun under a fallen tree on the John Muir Trail en route to the Sunrise High Sierra Camp on Wednesday, Aug. 9, 2006. Darrell Wong / The Fresno Bee |
 |
|
It's Day 2 and Diana walks up the John Muir Trail with Greg and Bonnie on Wednesday, Aug. 9, 2006. Our JMT hikers shared a campsite with Greg and Bonnie, who are from Lancaster; then Greg and Bonnie caught up with Darrell and Diana the next day and shared the trail. Darrell Wong / The Fresno Bee |
 |
|
Bumpy boulders on the John Muir Trail on the way to the Sunrise High Sierra Camp on Wednesday, Aug. 9, 2006. Darrell Wong / The Fresno Bee |
 |
|
A stream sparkles in the sunlight along the John Muir Trail on Wednesday, Aug. 9, 2006. Diana and I filtered water from this stream before climbing to the Sunrise High Sierra Camp. Darrell Wong / The Fresno Bee |
 |
|
Jim removes the hook from a trout before releasing it back into the Lyell Fork of the Tuolumne River near Kuna Creek on Friday, Aug. 11, 2006. Darrell Wong / The Fresno Bee |
 |
|
Emily consults a map at the backpacker's campground in Tuolumne Meadows on Friday, Aug. 11, 2006. Darrell Wong / The Fresno Bee |
Isn't that the miracle of it?
Jim -- I suppose I shall have to call him Jim now, instead of my silent nickname of Dudley Doright -- looks like a superhero. He is wearing a long emerald cape. It is my slightly damp sleeping bag.
I have fallen so many times now that it would seem redundant and dull to go through the details. Let's just say that those Sierra streams are more powerful than they look. If you don't want to rock jump with a pack on your back and decide to just wade through, you should go slow even if there are impatient people waiting for you.
And if one of those impatient people is young and strong enough to carry your sleeping bag after you and your backpack get fished out, you have to be grateful, whether you want to or not. We're three days out and I think I could make it, if I had to, without my tent or maybe even without my bear canister of food. But not the sleeping bag. I don't want to think about a High Sierra night without dry down.
My gratitude to Jim is real, even if tinged with the resentment of one who feels she's been hijacked and marched past lakes she wanted to swim in, meadows she wanted to sit in, and days she meant to savor.
And there's another gratitude welling up inside me, one not made puny by ire: the gratitude that this High Sierra wilderness exists.
I've seen Ansel Adams photos, read John Muir, dozed off to the Discovery channel. But to be here gives new meaning to phrases such as breathtaking and stunning beauty. I've seen alpine glow and sparkling granite. I've watched horses run wild across a meadow, stared at a buck on the trail. I have looked out across valleys and peaks and really felt my breath leave, my feet step back in astonishment.
I'm grateful to Ansel Adams and John Muir and every other person who ever sounded the clarion call, whoever, in any way, helped protect this. After all, ain't no mountain high enough. Ain't no river wide enough, that there's not someway for us to muck it up and lose it forever.
I've fallen behind. Again. I don't care. I'll get there when I get there. Now, coming toward me hiking the John Muir Trail in the opposite direction is a woman, apparently trekking alone. For the last couple of days we've been where you don't see many other people. Any human form rounding a corner is a bit of a startle. But it's the women alone who most give me a thrill. It's not advised behavior. If I were to give Dudley -- um, I mean Jim -- and the others a big heave-ho and go it alone, my paper might dismember me upon return. Still, I envy and admire the solo hikers like the one walking toward me. She seems so free and brave. I can tell she's not going to stop because she has a good loping stride going and it's getting late and she must be trying to make it to a campsite. She looks to be about 50.
But she does call out a greeting.
"Hello, how's your day going?" she asks as she passes.
"One of the worst ever," I answer cheerfully. "But I'm still really thankful to be here."
"Yes," she calls back. "Isn't that the miracle of it?"