Mile 703 - 790 Type II

Type II fun is the kind that is difficult and challenging during the experience, but it feels fun in retrospect and reflection.

This week was a rebirth of the trail experience. The desert had worn on everyone. It had worked my mind and body, but stepping into Kennedy Meadows, we all knew something fresh was to come to fruition. The week was full of type II fun, with plenty of challenge and discomfort that we looked back on with joy. From surviving snow storms, hiking above 13,000 feet multiple times including the tallest mountain in the lower 48, to battling hunger, there was never a dull day. The week made the journey feel fresh.

Ranger getting a scolding for stealing food from Joe

An Easy Day

I take the day slow at The Kennedy Meadows General Store. I take it slow intentionally. This really feels like a proper transition from the desert to the mountains, not just in scenery, but in spirit. I talk with a lot of folks, and the past few hundred miles were emotionally difficult. Physically difficult, yes, but also a toll on the psyche, I’m happy it wasn’t just me. I do feel the urge to get on trail by the end of the day, kind of like how I did at Serenity’s Oasis in Aguadulce, to prevent getting stuck. But I quickly decide to stay the night, mainly to get the breakfast of a giant blueberry pancake, eggs, bacon, and hash browns. I enjoy cheering folks on as I come in, and the day goes by quietly.

Up We Go

I feel I’m getting fast at camp teardown which is good, not as much dilly dallying like I usually do. It will be my first time using my bear can, and I really didn’t put much thought into planning for this next section, which I would find was a foolish mistake. The beginning of the Sierras contains some of its greatest challenges: the initial rise, Mt Whitney, Forester Pass (the tallest of the passes on trail), and a potential snow storm. So I wanted a giant breakfast to start me off right. Joe expressed he’d like to hike with me in the Sierras, thinks it’s a safe idea. Despite my preference to just hike with different groups, I agree, I’m unsure of what to expect, so having a second mind of judgement doesn’t hurt. Half the day I still feel in the desert, but it quickly changes. I see a peak I’ve looked at for weeks, Olancha Peak, and now it’s in front of me. I see meadows and my heart beats with happiness. The day is easy, but I find I’m always especially sore after taking time off, like there’s a delay between performance and recovery. As Joe and I set up camp, his friend Brad, or Birdsong, shows up. We camp just around 17 miles in, we can feel the temperature change. We set up our first night with our bear cans. I use a hang bag for my other stuff. The evening routine now takes a little more time. I filter my water now because I know the temp is dropping. My hands get cold and stiff, I put them in my armpits to bring them back to life. I’m sleeping right next to Cow Creek, which I wash my feet in. I had prepped by getting in all my sleeping clothes and preparing my sleep socks, which was good as only 2 minutes in the cold, alpine water made for 20 minutes of getting them warmed back up. 

Olancha Peak

Oh, Here It Comes

There’s no summiting of Olancha peak, but circumnavigating it. I’ve been watching this mountain for what feels like weeks now, I remember seeing it from the Piute Range. I used Peak Finder to see what that far uprising in the earth was, and it would be one of the first mountains I’d come across in the Sierras. I see my first marmot, still with quite a winter coat, it looks like the size of a small dog.

The day is brisk but bright. Today bad weather is supposed to roll in, but how the morning is, you’d think otherwise. I feel strong and invigorated by the scenery. I feel like the storm that was maybe going to come through will not. We all  agree to meet up at lunch. I was the first to the lunch spot and immediately start putting on water proof gear. I can see the darkness coming through the mountain gap, a cold air bursts through, it is coming. We set off just as some flakes start to fall, as does the temperature. 

Ominous weather 

Snow is now falling all around us. It isn’t wet though, it looks like gropple, so it bounces right off our rain gear. We are to climb over 10,000 feet for the second time today. I realize most of the section is above 10,000, and that seems to be the exact elevation I can start to feel it in my body. It’s strong, very strong, but I feel a lack of response at the higher elevations, like, to be expected. I’m excited for my body to adapt. We push through as the temperature drops. We have 2 choices: camp up top now or go another mile and camp lower. Joe is pretty worn, but right as we’re approaching the first campsite, one of the military jets that have been flying above goes super sonic. BOOM! It sounds like a canon throughout the Four Canyons and Grouse Meadows. Joe is convinced it lightning and makes the decision to go further, and he leads the troop.

We get in finally. Water is off trail but less than half a mile, so I offer to take everyone’s water container and fill it up while I’m down there. I wash my socks and feet. I fear the coldness as it drives its way through my rain gear, but I manage my heat better than the day before when I washed my feet. I get back to camp as the snow is starting to pick back up and stick. I put all my wet gear into a large garbage bag and stick it into my sleeping bag liner in hopes that at the very least things won’t freeze. I let snow build up on my tent a little thinking it provides additional insulation. I feel a little nervous of the coming days. We’re at elevation but this storm is supposed to drop the temperature even more by the next day. I got really hot at one point during the day, stripping down to my desert gear, so I do believe that even though I’ve been living in the desert for the past 7 weeks, my body can manage the cold well, even with my body that lacks anything that can help insulate. We’re about 5 days out from getting off the range to supply, and tough hikes in between including a Mount Whitney summit. I get a little nervous about my total calories. It’s difficult to not eat complete garbage but also get enough calories while making the limited space of the bear can work. This is the second day I’ve controlled my eating. Not to a detriment, I do believe I get enough to recover, but I won’t know satiation until I come down the range.

Our Hubris Challenged

It must have snowed all night. It looks like it ran a few inches up my tent, covering the gaps below. It was a cold night, but that snow provided insulation, as nothing had froze. It looked a winter wonderland as I wake up. I take a while to get out of my tent, I’ve got to get prepared for all this snow. The sun is bright and reflective, but we know this is temporary, more snow was in the forecast and distant, grey clouds sit in waiting. The air is brisk, even with gloves I have to put my hands in my armpits every so often. Digging a cat hole isn’t as bad as it sounds, but then again, it’s not actively snowing yet. The others begin their packing process, there’s grumbling from all three of us. To be honest though, this is exactly what I wanted in my Sierra experience, to be challenged by snow and rock. The other two get out before me. Even though I was first one out of the tent, I lollygagged around, leaving a solid half hour after the others. I look like a bit of a clown. I have bright orange rain jacket, aqua blue rain pants, and gaiters. My food carry still makes me just a little nervous. Too light, but I also didn’t expect to spend seven days on the trail, it’ll be the longest yet, if we do Whitney.

Dutch Meadow

I had taken off all my snow gear as I had warmed up considerably and wanted to avoid sweating at all costs. I decide to have some caffeine, probably a new habit in the Sierras to keep me moving fast in these higher elevations. I run down to grab some water, as the day is getting more gray. As I head down to Dutch Meadow to grab water, the snow starts coming down. Big flakes this time, and fast. I arrive to the side of the stream feeding the meadow, and rush to get my snow gear back on. I start pushing elevation and I’m moving good. The caffeine helped a bit, but I am finding my strength yet in this elevation. 

Chicken Spring Lake

I finally catch up to Joe,  he seems solemn. I feel amazing. It’s cold but I’m layered enough that if I move fast, my temperature is perfect. Eventually we catch Birdsong and we all continue on. I knew I was taking forever in the morning so I established Chicken Spring Lake as our final meet spot, which is still a few miles away. We trudge through a nebulous path in the deep, fresh snow, with a few quick wrong turns. I’m thankfully wearing waterproof socks, as I’m stepping in 5 inches or more of snow at a time, with no let up. I wanted to do a few more miles, but as we approach Chicken Spring Lake, I realize I’m pretty exhausted. We set up near the lake, still being pelted by snow. I take a bit of time to set up my tent, making sure snow is off the ground mat. I stuff myself and my bag into the side vestibule and start carefully unpacking, taking notice of any snow that is falling into my tent, quick to dry it up with my microfiber towel. It takes me 20 minutes to feel settled, but I calm after sitting in my bag for a few minutes. In my bag feels warmer than any other time today. I sit and plan the next few days, watching the snow accumulate on the sides of my tent, beating the top to make the accumulated snow fall off. It’s still early in the day, but I’m happy to be warm and dry.

Thawed Out

I had to dig my tent out early in the night as the snow was about to crush my tent, with at least a foot of snow crawling up the walls of my tent, almost groaning from the weight. I once again take my time getting out of camp, waiting for the sun to come out. It had snowed off and on throughout the night. I felt joy then immense frustration when it stopped only temporarily, but it did eventually clear up. I’m last out of camp again. The trail is deep with snow, but I can see the world clearly now. I pop over Chicken Spring Lake to see Kaweah Mountain and Siberian Junction in front of it. My legs seem heavy until I get a lot more liquids in me. By 11am, at 10,000 feet, nearly all the snow has melted off, I’m amazed. Joe lives in Denver and said that would happen, I’m awestruck how right he was, the strength of the alpine sun is humbling.  

Mt Guyot

The world is now full of green sanctuaries and running streams, I feel like a gnome. I feel sad that I can’t capture the beauty of seemingly mundane scenes with my camera. I want to share it, but I just sit with it, letting my heart fill up. We make it to Crabtree Meadow, base camp for Mt Whitney. No one has summited since the storm, though some have tried. There was a little hesitation early on in the day from the group on hiking Mt Whitney, but I make it clear, I will summit the mountain.

Crabtree Meadow

Mt Whitney

We had a group of 4 including me to hike Whitney in the early morning. A lot of folks usually leave around midnight or 1am to catch sunrise. The snow storm from the past few days had prevented folks from climbing, and it sounded like no had yet since the storm. No one had carved the path yet, I propose a 2:30 am departure, which was agreed upon. We would miss sunrise, but I wanted to time it so another ambitious group would blaze the trail up the mountain. The morning was cold but a dry welcome from the past few days. We left without a hitch at 2:30. We moved fairly quickly in the dark with our headlamps and the nearly full moon guiding us. We all felt great, except we all had to poop, which when you’re that high up on mountain, that means you have to pack it out, which we weren’t ready to do, so we just complained.

View from about 12,000 feet toward the southwest

We began traversing the steeper slopes of Whitney. At first, it’s hard packed snow, easy gripping, but as we rise the newer snow is still yet to be packed, leaving us to drive through a mix of hard and soft snow. I stop everyone to ensure they know how to use their ice axes and know how to self arrest if they fall off the side. Brad’s hands get too cold as we’re about 13,000 feet up. I had used nitrile gloves today and yesterday as a vapor barrier, helping just a little bit. I stay with him and work with him to get his hands warmed up as he was beginning to have issues gripping his ice ax. Joe and Shoesty head in front of us while I stick with Brad. The wind is piercingly cold and we still have to post hole most of our way up, our feet driving through at least a foot of fresh snow at a time. This makes for tiring work. I see Joe headed down. We don’t wait to get a photo together. The wind is whipping over the mountain. “I’m getting the fuck out of here!”, he yells. I feel the same, but the summit is very close. I arrive and feel joy. I had no real issue with the mountain. My body strong. My mind clear.

Brad and I take a moment to warm ourselves in the hut at the top of the mountain, then head down. It takes quite a while to reach a comfortable elevation, but when we do, I decide it’s okay to part ways for now, and hike the remaining 5 miles by myself, enjoying the scenery I had travelled through in the dark earlier that morning. Coming into camp, I immediately grab clothes and head to Whitney Creek. This is snow melt right off the mountain, very brisk, but I hop in and wash off anyway. Joe and Brad watch in disbelief, but I feel invigorated by cool, wild water. I set my things out to dry and head to my tent to just rest my eyes quickly. I have my legs sitting out while I lay perpendicular to my air mattress. My feet had been wet for nearly 8 hours straight, I wanted the sun to dry them out, while getting some sun on my thighs. I passed out, hard. I woke about 45 minutes later. “Oh f$&@!”, I yell as, even in a post nap stupor, I knew I messed up. It was too late, the alpine sun had cooked my inner thighs. Oh well. I talk with Joe and Brad, I’d like to get a few more miles in so that we can hit Forester Pass in the morning before dealing with slushy snow, they agree and we head out for another 5 miles.

Run Forest, Run!

I have no service at all in the mountains, and I love it. I do have my Garmin Inreach, a satellite device that I can make emergency calls with, but I can also send simple texts, so I do let my parents know I made it through the snow and Whitney. In the morning I see beautiful mountains all around me, and potentially Forester Pass. It looks just to the west of Junction Peak. We cross the Bighorn Plateau before getting close to Forester, I enjoy seeing Whitney from the North as I sit over my cat hole. 

Mt Whitney from the North

On the Bighorn Plateau 

Looking toward Junction Peak

I was last again out of camp, but my body is burning. I move with a determined speed that I haven’t felt too often. It’s strange as I’ve underfed almost every day out here this week, and I can feel myself getting more thin, my muscles stringy, not supple. It’s as if there’s no more wood, but air being blown on hot white coals. The heat is intense, but close to extinguishment. I race up Forester Pass, I feel fueled and eager. I used my ice spikes to drive straight up the mountainside, ignoring any switchbacks, it feels like a madness. There’s one chute I look down and feel momentary vertigo “oof, oh boy”, I say to myself, but move through it. I wait at the top for the others, eager for the awaiting glissade, basically using the steep slopes as a slide. Joe and I go first. It’s fun but not as far or as fast as I’d like. Brad comes down and loses his bear can on the way, but its cylindrical shape ensures it follows closely behind. I move ahead along the ridge on the northern side of the pass. I find a steeper glissade, this one is a bit more fun. As I head down, I pick up a sort of skiing glissade, darting down the mountainside. I’m having an amazing time, free and laughing. I realize I’d never had an experience like this in the mountains, and I’m falling in love with it. I continue racing down the mountain to where I finally take a break and reorganize myself. 

Getting close to Forester approach

I decide to skip switchbacks

North view from Forester Pass

The Boys making their way down 

I see Brad and Joe after a while. I had been waiting for them to tell them I am going to try to make my way to Onion Valley, another 13 miles. It’s a stretch, but my food is critically low, and I believe I can make it, this is the trailhead to get into town from. I walk with a guy named Kyle for a good while until I go ahead for the final push. The path off forester goes over 4,000 feet down, then to get to the Kearsage Pass trail, it’s over 1,000 feet of elevation gain in 1.5 miles.

I decide I won’t be going in to Onion Valley. I had been racing as that is the closest trailhead and I figure my chances of getting a hitch to Bishop are better on a Sunday afternoon than a Monday morning. My body finally disagrees though, so I choose to hike and camp at the Kearsage Lakes, right below the pass. This is still about 800ft/mile to get to that trail, then 3 miles from that trail crossing. As I’m on my way up, I spot what I think is a tree, then I immediately suspect it’s strangeness. I’m wearing dark sunglasses so I take them off. A large black bear, with dark fur with a caramel aura caused by the falling sun, frozen as it watches me. I don’t know how I spotted it through the growth, my sunglasses, and my exhausted effort up this trail. I feel my senses and coordination have gotten better as I’ve gotten older. I put my trekking poles above my head and clang them together, “HU HU HU HU”, I yell as I clang my poles in unison. It immediately darts into the woods, and I continue my slow slog to the Kearsage Lakes for the night.

Bullfrog Lake

Northernmost Kearsarge Lake