It seems like ages since I have posted a blog, so please forgive me for leaving you all hanging. Last I posted, the plan was to return to Onion Valley, spend two or three days there to allow for snow melt, and then attempt Glenn Pass a second time. My parents dropped me at the trailhead, loaded with three days of extra food, my gloves, and ice axe. I climbed two miles and about 1000 feet to the second lake, where I set up camp. That evening, while I was preparing to write my blog, my phone went crazy. It gave me a bunch of error messages like "Sorry, Such&Such application failed unexpectedly," or "Sorry, you rely too much on technology, you smarmy twit, and now your piece of crap phone is going to decide not to work." Ok, I made the second one up. The point is that my phone froze up and the touch screen wouldn't work. There is a way to force a reboot, but at the time I couldn't figure out what it was, so I was stuck. The only thing I could think to do was to let the battery die out, then charge the phone with my spare battery and try to restart it. On airplane mode (which I couldn't switch out of) the phone kept chugging for 7 days. So essentially I had a fancy paperweight until I could get to town and fix it. The net result? I hiked one of the most beautiful sections of trail and I have no pictures, and only my memory to write a blog from. No pictures!? That's like reading Playboy for the articles, I know. I'll do my best though.
5/27
As I mentioned, I was back in Onion Valley and camped at the lake (forgot the name). My camp was under a giant overhanging boulder, about 20 feet above the level of the lake. The weather had done a complete 180. When my parents picked me up after my failed attempt at Glenn Pass, it was 27 degrees out. Now, a day later, it was already 20 degrees warmer. Still, a cool breeze kept me bundled up as I read by the laketo kill time. I finished "Electric Cool Aid Acid Test" and started watching the millions of Memorial Day Weekend Warriors. There were lots of anglers, looking to hook brown and golden trout. There were few success stories, and the trout that I saw were fairly small. In the afternoon I started reading "The Long Walk," which is an excellent book and had me hooked for the rest of the day. In the evening I set up my new tent, which I picked up in Bishop that morning. The tent is, in a word, awesome!
5/28
I took a Motrin PM last night and slept like a baby. I even slept in past 7! That will be a regular part of my kit from here on out. I sat around reading all morning, engrossed in my new book. Andy (Wolverine) and Neal (Wolfie) arrived around noon, fresh from Bishop. I let them go ahead, since I wanted to have lunch and finish my book before heading out. I had planned to head up to the next lake, or maybe the first lake after Kearsarge Pass, and let another day pass. I finished my book and decided to pass it off to some dayhikers. The book, by the way, makes me feel like a complete wuss compared to what the author endured. I was barefoot, since my feet are now basically leather, and was returning to camp after giving the book away. A sudden and sharp pain in my foot turned out to be a sliver of glass about 1/4 inch long. Enough of this crap, time to get away from "civilization." So my mom was right, I couldn't sit around more than a day. I headed up over Kearsarge and then tackled Glenn. In the light of day I could see just how dangerous Glenn would have been had I continued. The slopes were steep (45 degrees or more) and ended in sharp tangles of rock. With the icy conditions and without an ice axe, I would almost certainly have slipped and broken a leg. As it was, it was a difficult climb down, especially since I was loaded with an extra 10 pounds or so. I hiked down into Rae Lakes, a set of two main lakes separated by a palisade of granite that reminded me of the Great Wall of China. The lakes are overlooked by the Painted Lady, a mountain named for its beautiful rock striations. It starts out cream colored at the base and soars through greys and oranges as it rises to its summit. Another section of lake is dominated by a sharply rising mountain that looks like a duck's tail rising out of the lake. The day was short, about 15 miles, but with 3500 feet of elevation gain I was glad to be in a nice camp by the lake.
5/29
I woke up under a sheet of frost. The moisture of the lake and the high elevation conspired to make my morning as unconfortable as possible. I hiked down along a river for 6 easy miles, picking up a trekking pole I found in a stream crossing as I went. I figured it might belong to Wolverine or Wolfie, who I had yet to catch up to. At the bottom of the descent, at around 8000 feet, there was an amazing suspension bridge, hanging between two large timber A-frames. The treads, made of 2 foot wide pressure treated 2x4s, swayed from side to side wildly as I crossed. Next it was up along a different river, cascading along its solid rock channel. I climbed for 7.7 miles, up 3500 feet to Pinchot Pass. All along the way I admired the river, the likes of which were to become a common sight in the days to come, as well as the wild onions and corn lilies that lined the trail. From the pass I headed down 2000 feet only to climb another 2000 feet to Mather Pass. Just before Mather I caught up to Wolfie and Orange Ranger, and soon left them behind me. From Mather Pass you descend to Palisade Lakes, the lower of which is now my second favorite lake. The approach is along a granit shoulder, maybe 100 feet above the lake. More shoulders are arranged like a giant staircase with 50 foot risers. Snow melt waterfalls cascade down from above, cross the traill, and can be seen from above crashing along the rocks and into the lake. Eventually the shoulder descends to the lake shore, which is composed of rich green grass and sandy gravel. The outlet of the lake drops precipitously through a rocky gorge before becoming a series of waterfalls that lead to the valley floor far below. For a moment the trail follows this cascade, but the you reach a bench overlooking the valley and suddenly realize the river is 1000 feet below you. You descend an impossible stretch of switchbacks carved into the mountain before reaching a dense pine forest fringed by dwarfed aspens. Here I witnessed the first of the blow downs, which were slightly inconvenient, but not nearly as bad as what was to come. I caught Andy at mile 825, and we caught up briefly before calling it a nice alongside Deer Creek. I managed 31 miles and a gain of 5500 feet.
5/30
Our camp was at 8000 feet, so the morning was pleasantly warm (relatively speaking). Andy started out ahead, as he is a bit quicker on the uptake in the mornings. I hiked west along the valley for perhaps a mile before I saw deer on the trail ahead. I stopped still, knowing that deer have terrible eyesight. They continued on the trail toward me, finally stopping about 10 feet away. One of them must have smelled me (it's a wonder they didn't smell me a mile off). We stood that way, in a stalemate, for about a minute or two before the deer loped off. Later in the day I would have similar encounters with about 5 other deer. I caught up to Andy at around 11,000 feet, just before the final 1000 foot push up Muir Pass. We stopped for lunch and I decided it was time for a bath. I washed off in a stream of snow melt, screaming obscenities all the while. The last 2 miles up the pass were all snow, so Andy and I teamed up for the ascent. I took point, being handy with a map and lighter on the snow. After an hour we reached Muir Hut, built in 1930 by the Sierra Club to honor Muir's many accomplishments. The hut itself is amazing, built entirely of stacked stone, it stands about 12 feet in diameter with 2 foot thick walls. The other side of the pass proved to be another 2 miles of snow. Again I took point, flushing out some sort of snowy grouse as I went. The bird was perfectly camouflaged, and I would not have seen its white and brown speckled body had it not been preening at that moment. (Speaking of snow animals, I must correct that the "Snow Hare" I posted before turned out to be a jackrabbit in its winter coat). The view coming down the pass was, by now, familiar; a snowy bowl with frozen lakes and the occasional distant thunder of a rock slide in an adjacent canyon. So I was unprepared when, after passing the frozen sheets, I arrived at Evolution Lake. The lake is a fishhook curling around a granite dome. Similar rock fomations abound, and high snow-capped peaks reflect in its calm waters. I can't do the lake justice, and it is by far my new favorite lake. I had been looking forward to Evolution Valley since the start of the trip and, being a the top of the valley, this was a great start! I passed "Beaver Chief" in my enthusiastic descent into Evolution Valley. He was having trouble with a blister, but I didn't catch much because I was looking out at the green meadows and gently curving Evolution Creek. What a gorgeous sight! There were a few more blowdowns in the valley, the worst of which was a section of five trees that formed a wall 7 feet high. Another downed tree took out a section of trail 8 feet long, creating a 5 foot deep hole. Still not as bad as what was to come. Andy caught up as I was setting up camp, and decided to call it a day too. I washed my feet in the river, whereupon I noticed some 5" trout inspecting my feet. A toenail was loose so I pulled it off (still attached at the corner, OUCH). I dropped it in the water and watched as the trout gobbled it whole. Think of that next time you eat trout. I made 25 miles and gained 4000 feet that day.
5/31
The sun exposure reflected off the snow on Muir Pass had really taken it out of me. I was feeling feverish toward the end of the day, and woke up this morning already exhausted. Still, there was trail to hike, so I pushed on.The day started with a stream crossing, freezing cold and over my knees in depth, then a gradual descent to 8000 feet, followed by a torutrous climb up 2000 feet to Sally Keyes Lakes. I stopped for lunch and enjoyed watching the lakes' plentiful supply of 8" trout. Drained at midday, the 800 foot climb remaining to get up Selden Pass seemed like too much. Again I was feeling feverish, but managed to make the summit. Again the descent was through a bowl of snow and past frozen lakes. I began postholing and, totally drained, eventually just fell over when I couldn't push my way back up again. That was a low point for sure! Soon I was down out of snow, however, and making an easy descent along Bear Creek. I made my second freezing crossing of the day, this time up to mid thigh. I was ready to call it quits at mile 25, but I found myself at the base of Bear Ridge. I knew the plan for tomorrow was chock full of climbing, and to stop now would add another 800 feet onto my suffering. I decided to take on one last hill for the day. The views south from the ridge, as I climbed, were spectacular. Selden Pass stood out, as did a number of other snow capped mountains surrounding the Bear River valley. There was no water to be had at the top of the ridge, but my map showed Quail Meadows just down the hill. I made it there about dinner time and was just settling in when the mosquito hordes descended. I renamed the meadow "Swampy Hell Meadow" for the literal black clouds of insects. I literally killed 30 to 40 of the blood suckers before deciding to climb back out the other side of the meadow. And so, utterly spent, I dragged myself another mile and up 400 feet to a spot somewhat less infested. This brough my day to 32 miles and 4000 feet of climbing. In short, dangerously close to the end of my rope.
6/1
The morning was a blur of granite steps, each knee high, as I climbed Silver Pass and fought off the fatigue that had been growing for days. I'm still not sure how I made the 2400 foot climb, but maybe it was the knowledge that Reds Meadow was within reach, and thus Mammoth Lakes was only a day away. I don't even have to tell you what was on the other side of the pass, beautiful, for sure, but same old exhausting story of snow and frozen - well - everything. The trail descends from the pass along a river, then turns east and rises along another river to Tully's Hole. This is a bowl shaped meadow, set amonst the peaks, and lush with wild onion and all manner of other plant life. (Side note - wild onion is similar to store bought but much stronger. It starts with a slightly sweet taste, then comes the onion flavor followed by a surprising spicy finish. So mush for not eating the trailside vegetation). The second challenge of the day was climbing steeply out of Tully's Hole, 1200 feet in about a mile and a half. The trail levels out around 10,400 for a bit, passing Victoria Lake (I think) before descending into Purple Lake. One final push takes you up 800 feet from the lake to cruise a fairly level trail all the way to Reds Meadow. As the trail draws close to the Mammoth Lakes area the full extent of the wind damage from last year becomes clear. Whole stretches of trail, 40 or 50 yards long, are obliterated by trees. Hundreds of downed trees cover the ground with trunks, branches, and root balls. It's like walking in a maze - you leave the trail looking for a passable section and end up wandering between trees looking for an exit. It was here that I ran into a volunteer trail crew, who invited me to spend the night with them at their stock camp. I agreed to meet them later and moved on. Within a mile, though, I met Sallie, a retired psychologist, who was hiking rather than riding back to camp. I walked along with her and was amazed by her story. She spent her career doing disaster relief, leading teams of psychologists into places like Haiti to help the locals cope with disaster. She was the first western psychologist allowed into the Tibetan orphenages, and apparently received a humanitarian award and $15,000 for her life's work in the field. More amazing, she is 69 years old and clearing trail with people half her age. We chatted on the way back to camp, where she pointed me in the direction of the hot springs. Nestled back on a hillside, the hotsprings consists of a concrete tub that feeds a bathhouse during tourist season. In the off season the cover of the spring is left off for rangers and trail crews to enjoy. Reds Meadow is closed due to the blowdowns, so not only did I get to soak in the open spring, but I was the only one around. I luxuriated in 105 degree water, surrounded by sprigs of wild mint (which I scrubbed myself down with afterward). Refreshed, I headed back to camp, where the trail crew insisted on feeding me chicken, garlic bread, and salad. What a treat, and once again what a refreshing experience to meet such giving people! I bedded down after a long day - 26 miles and 4400 feet of elevation gain.
6/2
I watched the sunrise from the hot springs, again with the place to myself. Then, after a breakfast of bagels and scrambled eggs with the trail crew, I headed out. I hiked 7 miles upriver, marveling at blowdowns along the way. I was also treated to a distant view of Devil's Postpile, which I would like to come back to see closer some day. After a brief stint getting lost I forded the San Joaquin River and worked my way north to Agnew Meadow. From there it was a 5 mile road walk to Mammoth Mountain Inn, an impressive and elegant ski resort. With the ski season over and the park closed, I got a good deal on a room. In town I visited the Mammoth Lakes Brewery, which has some fantastic microbrews and free samples, and then picked up some groceries. I need to put some weight back on, so I bought myself a whole three layer chocolate cake for tonight and tomorrow. The post office is closed until Monday, so looks like a zero day here tomorrow. Now I am off to get some much needed rest!
Oh, FYI, I found a way to force my phone to reboot, so we should be in the clear from here on out. Miss you all!
