Total exhaustion let me sleep like the dead last night. I woke up once, when I mistook the bright moon for early morning light, but other than that I felt rested. Still, I woke with stiff muscles and sore joints. Sleeping on rock didn't do wonders for my lower back either. The view from the tent was nice though, and I turned on my phone to snap a picture. With my phone on I finally got to see what time I wake up. I always guessed 6:30, but at least this morning I was up before 6.
I decided to take the morning easy. I had muscles to stretch out and a water filter to fix. The filter, at least, turned out to be pretty easy. The reservoirs seal with a kind of ziploc at one end. Seems one of the seals just came open a bit and I couldn't see it in the dark. I re-sealed the bag and the whole thing worked just fine. I didn't have quite so much luck with my sore muscles and joints.
The hike started off with a cold stream crossing and then a tough 800 foot climb out of Stubblefield Canyon. One last joint degrading drop to 8000 feet brought me past several lakes. I was unable to stop and enjoy any of them, however, thanks to mosquitoes. Little did I know of the hell that was to come next.
From the lakes the trail follows a creek, let us call it Evil Satan Creek since the name is not on my map. For 10 miles this creek runs up a canyon, let us call it Holy Crap I Hate My Life Canyon, through meadows, gaining 1600 feet to end at Dorothy Lake Pass. Now this time of year there are no meadows, there are only swamps fed by snow melt. For the last 7 miles of this god-forsaken canyon I mucked along a trail that was 80% sludge. I lost a shoe in ankle deep mud several times. Now, had that been the worst of it I would have been fine. But you know what lives in swampy meadows? Mosquitoes. All the mosquitoes apparently. I hit the first swarm early on. When I say swarm I mean one hundred or more, by the way. From then on I hit a swarm approximately every 100 yards, and in-between I had a regular host of 15 to 20. When I hit a swarm there was no way to defend myself. I could feel at least five landing on each arm and leg, as well as on my neck and face. I could swat them on one body part but get bit everywhere else. And the second I swatted one area and moved on, the bastards would settle right back in. First I tried swatting, then running. No use, swatting didn't work and I couldn't run forever.
About two miles into this hell, my legs tired from running, I decided to try something I had read in a survival guide. Desperate, I threw off my pack, grabbed handfulls of mud, and covered myself with it from head to toe. I must have looked like I crawled out of the ooze, and it wasn't a perfect solution, but for two more miles it did help. See the cool mud masks your heat signature, and also provides a barrier that is hard for mosquitoes to penetrate. I was getting swarmed by fewer bugs, and feeling fewer bites. Soon, however, the mud began to dry and flake off, or run off with my sweat. Mosquitoes began finding chinks in my muddy armor, and once again I was going insane. Imagine being swarmed by hundreds of blood suckers, hour upon hour. Desperate again I dove into the creek, but even then found relief only when fully submerged in the icy water. I washed off and noted that, as the water lowered my body temperature there were fewer mosquitoes finding me. I used this brief respite to run back to my pack and put on pants and my rain jacket. With the drawstring on the hood pulled tight there was only a patch of my face showing. Even so I had to fan at my face constantly for the last three miles.
The heat in my pants and rain jacket was getting uncomfortable, and I was starting to lose the battle with exhaustion. Fortunately the trail began to climb away from the meadow and, by the time I was near the top the mosquitoes were gone. I stopped at the junction to Bond Pass, just before Dorothy Lake Pass, more out of exhaustion than hunger.
(Pictured: James - Bond Pass trail) Now my good friend, Doug, who is obsessed with Bond films, would probably make a bunch of obscure references and lame puns. Not me. I realized that I would be passing the thousand mile mark today. So I sat back in the warmth of the sun, which looked down from above like a giant golden eye, and contemplated the journey thus far. I popped open some M&Ms and ate them as my stomach rumbled, as if on Q. I thought about what an odd job it was hiking the trail, and how I had come so far. Knowing I had made it this far was like a little gift - I guess Christmas will come twice this year. I felt like I had won big at the Casino Royale, especially since I had come through healthy. A few cuts, bruises and blisters, sure, but so far I had avoided the need to see a Dr. No, it looked like I might just live to die another day. Sure, I still had a lot Moore to make it through, but soon I would be taking a revitalizing break in Sacramento. I looked forward to good food, a (dirty) martini - shaken, not stirred - and (if I'm lucky) pussy galore.
...
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Sean Connery.
Ok, sorry about that last paragraph. Back to the narrative. I don't remember much from my college geology courses, so I can't say if there is a defining geological zone separating central and northern California. If you told me Dorothy Lake Pass was it, though, I would believe you. Coming over the pass you have the sheer granite faces of the high Sierra behind you, but ahead you begin to see mostly the gray, red, and brown of volcanic formations. I headed down into territory that felt more like NorCal, which made me feel at home. I started to feel good. Reeally good. Ok, time out. I should back up a bit.
So after lunch I decided to take a pain killer for my muscles. My pharmacy is like a child's set of blocks, different shapes and colors. So, for example, aspirin is round and white, tylenol is oblong, vicodin is yellow, etc. Well I found a few pills I couldn't classify, and being a scientist in the fine tradition of Dr. Jekyll or Bruce Banner, I thought experimental science! The pill was rather large and had a cleft in the middle, like it was meant to be split in half. I did some quick math. If half a pill is good, then the whole pill is like three times as good, right? I tossed one down and started hiking.
Weeeeeeeeee!
Question: what hurts?
Answer: nothing when you're on a double dose of extra strength vicodin! (Wait, then what are the yellow pills for?)
So I'm flying down NorCal trails when I hit a meadow and see a mound of yellow fur behind some tall grass in the distance. I think it must be a mountain lion, so I drop my pack and grab my phone. I turn around and the thing is gone. So I do what any sane person would do - I step out into the meadow about 20 yards while my phone boots up. Just then an enormous blonde furred black bear comes strolling out of the woods. He's 100 yards away and hasn't seen me yet. I take a picture and watch as he heads my way. 75 yards. I start to back slowly out of the meadow, because I just remembered I have this thing about bears and personal space, and 75 yards is about the size of my bubble. He keeps coming, still oblivious to me. I reach my pack and try to decide what to do next. I can't hike onward because the bear is 20 yards from the trail now. So I decide to scare it off. I muster my scariest voice and say...
"Excuse me Mr. Bear!" He freezes and looks around, probably trying to find the source of his next meal.
"Look, it's been nice but now it's time for you to go." He still can't see me so I grab a large branch and wave it around to make myself look bigger. Nothing. I pound the ground and roar. Nada. He keeps staring in my direction. So I exchange my phone for the ice axe. I know what you're thinking , but there is a 400 pound eating machine 50 yards away. He can outrun me and isn't scared of loud noises and giant tree branches. You got any better ideas? I decide to hike on, making as much noise as possible. Ice axe in hand I close the gap by 10 yards. I turn around and show him my pack.
"See, look how big I am! And that's not a backpack either. I'm just really big and scary!" Nope.
"I punched a bear in the face last week. So, you know, watch out!" I am vaguely aware that I sound ridiculous, which may have had something to do with the vicodin. Yeah, like it matters what you say to a bear anyway.
I close another 15 yards. He's 25 yards away and I become distinctly aware that he can close that distance faster than I can shit my pants. He looks at me and I can tell he finally sees me. For a split second nothing happens and I'm just about to get a sporting head start on the pant shitting, when suddenly he lopes off across the field.
I moved on another 200 yards before putting my ice axe away. From there the trail was beautiful. Gentle grades and soft dirt made this section feel like walking on a moving sidewalk compared to Yosemite. I tend too see more too when I can log high miles. The trails are free of debris, see, so even though I move faster, I am free to look around more. I breezed by Walker Meadow, feeling nostalgic about all the familiar names. We used to fish the Walker River near here, and I passed the turnoff to Fremont Lake, where I've been backpacking before. Soon the trail turned up Kennedy Canyon, where I found a nice campsite. I debated logging more miles, since the sun was still up. By stopping early, though, I was able to enjoy a nice bath and write this monster entry. Besides, the next segment is a 1500 foot traverse up snow covered switchbacks to Sonora Pass. It will be better in the morning when I'm rested and gave eaten more weight off my back. Besides, I've already knocked out 27 miles and 2400 feet of elevation gain, and my body is crying for rest.
