After finishing my blog last evening, I rolled over and watched a spectacular sunset. The sky was stratified in blues and yellows, pink and orange. But what made it so beautiful were the clouds. There were huge banks of clouds crashing over the distant mountains like surf breaking over rocks. The sunset seemed to last hours, and as I watched suddenly fighter jets were criss-crossing the sky in formation. Their precision was fun to watch.
Now in case you weren't aware, sleeping on an exposed cliff face at 13,500 feet is a bit chilly. I huddled down in my sleeping bag trying to stay warm. I didn't sleep well, though that has been par for the course. Besides, I was eager to get up before the sunrise, and kept peeking out of my bag to look for any sign that the sky was growing lighter. Finally the moment arrived. The sky was an indigo blue rather than black, so I got up, stuffed everything into my pack, left the pack trailside, and headed out. I was wearing all my clothes, except my shell pants which were tied around my waist. I had my phone in one pocket, breakfast in another, and my ice axe in hand. I tried to hurry to the summit but at 14,000 feet hurrying is just putting one foot in front of another. I was sucking air but getting far too little oxygen. Those two and a half miles were killer! They were not without their rewards though. On the way up I watched distant peaks light up like fire beneath a rosy sky. The final approach to the summit passes several pinnacles, and between these pinnacles, like windows, are views out to the rising sun. There, framed against the golden sun, were row upon row of jagged peaks in silhouette. By the time I reached the summit I was full of awe and joy, exhaustion and pain. So when I finally reached the highest point and took in Whitney in all its rugged beauty, it was just too much. Tears were streaming down my face as I turned full circle, taking in a landscape that is beyond words.
I had the mountain to myself, so I sat with my back against the Smithsonian hut (built by the organization originally as an observatory) and had breakfast. This hut, by the way, houses the country's highest toilet. Highest and most expensive to maintain, since the waste has to be shipped out regularly by helicopter. After breakfast I headed back down to pick up my pack, but not before snapping off a few more pictures.
I swung by my food cache on the way back to the PCT and enjoyed an early lunch. On the way down the trail runs alongside a crystal clear stream, with a gravel bottom, grassy banks, and small fish in abundance. As I walked and watched the meandering stream I planned the rest of my day. Because of the exertions of the morning, and because I already had 11 miles under my belt, I planned on making only 10 trail miles. I would be joining the John Muir Trail for the first time, and ten miles would put me around John Muir Lakes, just before Forester Pass.
The hike started up 800 feet, making me groan and wonder if I would be able to make ten miles with my legs already spent. Worse, I felt like I had pulled something in my right quad. It seemed like this day had it on for me, because soon the trail descended to a river and began a 1000 foot climb to Bighorn Plateau. This large grassy plain rivals my other favorite section of trail, from Barrel Springs to Warner Springs. If that hike had been like a stroll through the English countryside, Bighorn was like a hike in the Swiss Alps (pictured). It had grassy slopes ringed by snow capped mountains, and here and there were small alpine ponds and tarns. I immediately felt revived by my surroundings, and even the sore muscle seemed to ease.
Soon I passed a hiker named "Backwoods," who was resting before the final climb of 800 feet to John Muir Lakes. I pressed on to find an icy and windy bowl, with the lakes mostly frozen. This was 12,400 feet up, and a night here would be a cold one. As I debated I thought I heard a voice behind me. "What?" I said. The mountain cleared its throat. "Ahem... I ah... erm, I said... YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" That decided it, nobody tells me what to do, especially not imaginary mountain voices. I grabbed my pack and headed up Forester Pass. The trail was narrow with a precipitous drop. However, aside from crossing an icy patch above a steep drop, while snow came hurtling down from higher on the slope, it passed without incident. I took pictures of the switchbacks that led to the top, as well as the view down to John Muir Lakes. I had reached the highest point on the PCT, about 13,200 feet! From here it is a net 9000 foot descent to Canada.
I began that descent on the treacherous north face of the pass. Actually, although covered in snow, it wasn't too difficult. There were many sections of snow free boulder fields to make the job easier. The only difficulty was a gusting and bone chillingly cold wind. I descended out of the snow and into the treeline, now in King's Canyon National Park (pictured). I found a nice campsite by a river at 10,400 feet and am enjoying a little time to unwind. As I was writing a snow hare ran into camp. I had never seen one before, and fortunately my phone was on and ready, so I managed to snap a picture before he ran off.
All in all I am quite pleased. I did Whitney and Forester in one day, hiked 21 trail miles, another 11 off trail, and probably tackled at least 4000 in elevation gain. Not bad for a day's work. Tomorrow I head over Kearsarge Pass to get to Onion Valley. From there my parents will meet me and help me with a resupply in Independence or Lone Pine. Can't wait!
