"Every day out here is Ground Hog's Day." - Patience
This week was wonderful and hard. The hiking was rigorous, the views were astounding, and we had a small group of friends to share it all with. Because each day was quite similar, I thought I'd give my overall impressions and a few highlights.
We walked over 100 miles through the high Sierra at a much slower pace than before, accomplishing between 10 and 15 miles per day, resulting in a 10 day trek in the remote wilderness with no bathing, no cell service, and lots of weight in granola.
Each day involved hiking over a "pass," or basically hiking over the saddle of a mountain range in order to enter the next valley. All of the passes were around 11 or 12 thousand feet, meaning they were covered with snow. It was recommended to hike over the passes as early in the day as possible when the snow still had some crunch to it. When the snow softens later in the day, it becomes dangerous due to post-holing. You never know what lies below a snow bridge: boulders, rushing water, empty space.
We became very familiar with the ecology of this section. As the snow melts on the passes, it rushes down the mountain side in little streams, resulting in the most delicious drinking water I've ever experienced. Often this week we didn't even filter water, and it was purer than anything coming out of a faucet. The streams create muddy trails and often overtake the trail altogether. At slightly lower elevations, the streams join forces into creeks, which are sometimes rock-hoppable and sometimes require removing shoes to tromp through, or if you're tired, walking right through in wet shoes.
At even lower elevations, the creeks turn into rushing rivers, and we had a few river crossings that are highly recommended to be done early in the day as well because they have a lower flow. The highest water we personally experienced came up to our thighs, but some hikers reported water up to the neck later in the day which is super dangerous. We know at least one guy who fell off a precarious log crossing and dunked his whole pack.
All this water makes for a fruitful breeding ground for mosquitoes. Yep, they're insanely bad out here - at times they cover our pants, shirts, and mosquito nets. And yes, they can bite through our pants. As I write this, there are dozens of them sitting on the netting outside our net and their buzzing chorus is audible at all times. Boom and I have started playing off of Little Spoon's "go crazy" warning from the desert: "How many mosquito bites can you get before you GO CRAZY?" "How many miles of snow do you walk through before you GO CRAZY?"
Right, the snow. So walking through this mess is shockingly hard. If it's crunchy, it's really hard to "cut steps." If it's slushy it can be so slippery. But we sure did have some fun glissading this week. Coming down our fourth of seven passes this week was one of the scarier bits of hiking we've done. Mather Pass had a steep cliff face, so we decided to make a new glissading path that was quite steep. One after another, we all flew down it. Will (55, has been hiking with us since Kennedy Meadows) especially dive bombed down, picking up great speed and missing his stopping point altogether. Worriedly, we all inquired if he was okay, and he replied with a hearty "yes" and a big grin. My butt was pretty sore by the end of the week.
We also had swimming opportunities daily, which we never passed up. Inevitably in each valley after clattering down the pass, we would come across a gorgeous, clear, sparking lake resting in the nooks of the valleys. These lakes are my favorite part of the Sierras (besides the marmots); they feel like these amazing secrets that almost feel guilty for enjoying. The water is so crisp that I feel guilty dunking my dirty feet and wringing out my clothes. The water was always so cold that it was all we could do to put our heads under, and inevitably we would come up breathless. Some of the lakes were still frozen over in places or had visible snow all around them.
Before heading out to California, my family kept warning me not to "fall in a hole." This became the running joke - that I'd return in a few weeks after falling in a hole. You may remember how I fell in a grate in Ghana, causing purple bruising to overtake my left leg (which is still sensitive)... Or perhaps you recall how in the one athletic thing I ever attempted, Pelotonia, I flipped over my handlebars at mile 11 and got stitches the next day. Well I've started falling. I fell at least a handful of times this week. The first time I simply missed my footing on the trail and ended up gently rolling onto my back and flailing helplessly like a turtle. One of the scarier moments was when I was scaling a boulder from a snow drift, and the snow gave way under me causing me to swing into the crevice, but luckily I had a good grip on the rock. And then there were plenty of other trips and falls on slippery rocks and roots.
Genie, Boom, and I enjoyed many conversations. We tried to get Boom's life story to distract us from the long daily climbs. We talked about her best friend's wedding and how stylish it will be, prompting a realization that we have no idea what each other actually looks like in real life, given that we wear the exact same "costume" every day like cartoons. She guessed that I dress "conservatively but stylishly"... I think my goofy hiking outfit is misleading. After some thought, I described my clothes as "second hand, gifted, thrifted, and old."
One night we camped in a valley that seriously looked like a puzzle - you know the type: 500 pieces, shades of sun setting on a treescape. The deer nonchalantly skirted around our camp, grazing at the river.
We were joined by Rona, a Scottish 20-something who had been traveling around the U.S. parks and happened to stay in the hostel in Bishop that was overrun by hikers. The hikers caught wind that she was planning to go to Mammoth, and they managed to convince her to walk there. She was able to borrow and rent most of the primary gear, and the rest she found in the hiker box. The first day we met her, she was doing her best to chase a couple of quick hikers all the way to the top of Muir Pass. We had been camped at a beautiful grassy area just below the snow with no mosquitoes and a peaceful stream for at least an hour when she walked by with two more hours of dangerous hiking to go to the top. We couldn't convince her to stop and camp with us then, but we were able to convince her to wait for us the next day and hike at a slower pace.
We were also delighted when Hardway showed up out of no where to join us at the campfire. He had left two days after us and had been running to catch us ever since. With him he carried two full packs of those little poppers that explode when you throw them that he intended to chuck at all the members of Slow Magic when he inevitably caught them. I have to say, it was awesome to see him.
Genie and I also feel that it is important to relate that the scales have suddenly tipped and many formerly single hikers are now deep in trail romances, which provides extra entertainment and food for thought. Personally, I spend time wondering what it would be like to start dating someone who smelled like mildewed socks and gym clothes. However, I admire the intimacy that the trail builds; you can't avoid being vulnerable out here. I guess people are people and after a while you can get tired of being alone with your thoughts out here, and there are dozens of hikers within reach who feel the same way and want to connect.
On our last night, we got caught in a storm, and after getting thoroughly soaked and chilled, we set up camp around 5:30. Adam and I shivered in our sleeping bags listening to a Radio Lab podcast about a 1970s murderer who killed a bunch of campers in New York. I quickly got way too creeped out and elected to join Genie in her tent, where Adam served us hot chocolate because he's the BEST HUSBAND EVER!
