Mile 790 - 875: Mountain Passes & Wet Asses

Temple of Muir

North side of Kearsarge Pass

The week started with relaxation in a what felt like a true hostel, like a commune, not some fancy place with a few beds. Recovered and restocked, the trio, myself, Joe (Nomad), and Brad (Birdsong) head back into the Sierras to take on a week of high mountains passes in a race against time before the snow melts completely off in one of the most testing weeks.

THC

It had frosted a little over night. I had spent the evening before drying off my gear, but I’m not upset, I know I’ll have time at the Kearsage Pass trailhead to dry my things. I enjoy not having to rush the morning. I have to hike about 5 1/2 miles with some steep ascent, but it’s primarily downhill from the pass. The lake is calmer in the morning, no longer bubbling with fish. On my way down the pass I eat the very last of my food, a large packet of tuna and an oatmeal bar. I’m still a little hungry, but I know I’ll be fine. I decide not to cover my face, thinking I’ll be able to get out of the sun fast enough. The sun hit me like a spotlight as soon as I hit the top of the pass, as it’s an east/west pass. My face got fried. I get down to the trailhead, exasperated by the multitude switchbacks. I hang out for a bit, waiting for the driver I had coordinated by proxy the night before. An older gentleman shows up, dropping off a hiker. We get to chatting and asks if I need a ride. I don’t want to leave my ride hanging, so we just sit around and talk story. He’s got food and drinks which I happily consume. My ride finally shows up. He’s dropping off a group of 6 women. He seems eager to get on with it and we scan the mountain for any additional hikers coming down. It’s been late enough that I think Brad and Joe could be close, and sure enough we spot them. 

We all feel the need to feed the driver. He’s been following the bubbles and has been giving free rides, so we stop at Coppertop BBQ and gorge ourselves. We are attempting to decide where to stay, I decide I’d like to be at The Hostel California (THC). Joe calls me a “social butterfly” and I really wouldn’t say he’s wrong. I do like socializing, especially off trail. I don’t feel that loneliness in the desert, I am ecstatic in these mountains. I arrive to the hostel a little early. I think the check in is at 2, it’s actually 3, but Matt, who running the front, says I can work for a few hours doing housekeeping, making beds and such, then stay for free. I quickly agree to the terms. Years of living and helping manage a retreat center in Hawaii, Ahu Lani, has prepared me for this. The hours go by quickly and I settle in for there evening. I see some familiar friends, I am very content.

I get some real solid sleep, a couple farts, some from me, some from others in the room, rouse me just briefly before I fall back asleep. Comet and Louie are headed out this morning. There’s a hiker box, those loot boxes, that inspire me to make a simple dish that I’ve been returning to for breakfast, chilaquiles. They say it’s the best Mexican food they’ve had on trail and they can’t get enough, I’m quite flattered. I have to share with other folks as I stuff myself. I then get to my two hours of housekeeping to get my second night, then take on my own errands of laundry and food resupply. I feel eager to get back on trail, though I think another day at this place wouldn’t hurt, it’s a proper hostel.

Familiar Steps

We coordinate a ride with trail angel, Debbie, and she’s to pick me around 8am. I stay up a bit late finishing up my blog. Blogger seems to be really temperamental lately, so it takes me longer than usual to format it, not the easiest with a phone. I scarf as much food as possible into my mouth in the morning knowing that I still will have to leave behind some small things to contribute to the hiker box. I cooked egg fried rice the night before and I have enough for breakfast, a snack, and lunch…I eat half a gallon of fried rice. Needless to say I had to drink a lot of water. Joe, Brad, and I all agree to make today easy. There’s about 2,500 feet and 10.5 miles to our intended camp, but we agree to stop at the Kearsarge Lakes, where I had camped a few days earlier, for a midday siesta. The initial climb back over Kearsarge Pass is the hardest, as the heat is turning up and we make the most elevation gain here. At the Kearsarge Lakes we completely sloth out, eat snacks, and nap in the sun. I enlarge my tanned/burned area on my legs. We continue on the path we just a few days ago walked on. We see lots of friends along the way going into Bishop. Braving the snow storm has put us ahead of a lot of folks we know, which actually bums me out. I have become a bit of a social butterfly and hope I can build in some on trail zeros for my friends to catch up. Camp is set among a few snow fed ponds, or at least what’s left of the snow, a mile below Glen Pass. It amazes me how much snow has disappeared just over the past few days, so many running streams dried up. The evening is cool, but easily managed.

View from camp before Glen Pass

Mudblood

I have a terrible night of sleep. I got too hot at times, which was something I didn’t expect. When I get too hot in my sleep, I have guaranteed nightmares. So I thought the fastener of my quilt that goes around my neck was choking me. I woke in a sweaty startle, coughing and trying to free myself from the cocoon I had made for myself. I had nightmares the rest of the night, but at least ones that didn’t wake me up. 

I am a slug today, I can’t get up and move very fast. I do some hip exercises and roll my feet out with a cork ball. I feel like I hiked 25 miles yesterday, I didn’t even do half of that. The other two get out before me, and I linger in camp. I feel horrible. I pack myself up and start to make my way to Glen Pass. I laboriously lift each leg to the next stone, my blood moves like mud. As I start my descent after clearing the pass, I find the snow is already slushy, it’s barely 8 am. I see folks below putting on spikes, I feel it’s pointless at this stage. So I take a few good breathes and focus on balancing my way down. My pack is incredibly top heavy with my better-loaded bear can. I’m heavy with food, a necessary peace of mind that makes keeping myself upright difficult. It’s fine on the snow, but I rock hop down a rock slide and I nearly go head over heels. I crash into some boulders, just some bumps.  A few glissades and I meet up with Joe and Brad again. I usually fire ahead but with my mud like body today, I slog behind.

Top of Glen Pass, north side 

Base of Glen Pass

Successful rock hopping

Just one of the Rae Lakes

Lunch is nice, at Dollar Lake. The real spectacle were the Rae Lakes. Lots of hikers coming in just for the lakes, I think I’d like to come back here someday. We watch a juvenile bear running around, too old for mom to be around, but still the size of a large dog. Just minutes after starting back on the trail after lunch, my right ankles twists and folds in on itself. “Ooooohh that’s a bad one”, is all I can think to say to myself. I take a moment and start gingerly walking.  Nothing torn, but definitely stretched. The perfect combo of loose rocks, downhill, and a heavy pack make ankle rolls a real risk, I take more conscious steps going forward. We find the river crossings to be getting more difficult, the snow melt is increasing and streams have become raging torrents. I think about the snow melt in heavier years, but the grand waterfalls keep my curiosity satiated. We make camp a few miles before Pinchot Pass and will attempt Mather Pass in the same day. We compete barely 14 miles today and we are wiped. Joe had some caffeine so he was cruising faster than usual. We’re hoping for better miles, but in reality, we’re in no rush.

Rising Tension

I sleep like a champ. I’m still the last one out of camp, but it’s because I slept in. Nighttime temperatures are rising just to the right spot. I feel human again. The day before was strange, it was a fatigue I hadn’t felt before. I kept calling myself a slug. Today we are trying to make two passes, Pinchot Pass and Mather Pass. Pinchot Pass has some snow leading up to it, but in the early morning it’s already getting slushy. So much for cheering on rising temperatures. I fall into rock wells, where the snow isn’t strong enough and your foot falls through. This is potentially dangerous, as the rock could be 3 feet in diameter or 12, so a foot in a rock well could have you up to your hip in snow, or worse, a broken leg.

“You piece of shit!” I yell at the trail after what feels like the hundredth time my foot breaks through the snow into a rock well. I finally make it to where it’s just rock and zoom my way up the pass. The other side is steep, but getting down is no different from the other passes, except this is slushier and wetter. There are a few glissades, and wearing shorts, I’m pretty close to getting a snow enema. Joe and I hear a yell and wait for Brad, we see him moving normally, and we later find out he fell waist deep post holing and had to vent his frustration…relatable. That frustration in the group is mounting, and becoming palpable. Never toward each other, but folks are getting mad at the trail. As we make our way down in elevation, the stream crossings get bigger and higher risk. We come across one where there were two options: 1. Make a risky jump onto a boulder 2. Get your feet wet. I pushed for everyone to just get their feet wet. Brad and I got across, but Joe wanted to try to make the jump. I yell at him to wait. I latch my fingers into a crevice on the boulder and reach for his bag. He could have tossed it, but the torrent below would have taken it to the ocean had he failed. He then bridged himself the rock in the stream and the boulder leading to shore, so I reach my hand out and yank him across. Success. Joe out his bag on, and we joke about his dry feet, and in some weird act of fate, his bear can falls out of his pack straight into the white water below. “Oh fuck”! I yell as I watch the container of Joe’s food fly down the waterway. Joe is chasing, but there’s not a safe place of entry, the water is frothing with energy. Brad is downstream and finds a widening where the power of the water is dispersed, and makes the catch. To be short, Joe is not happy. Our bear cans are bear proof, not water proof. He drains out some water and we continue hiking until lunch. He finds a good portion of his food is wet and his frustration hits a boiling point, which is understandable. Apologetic of the mistake he made, Brad and I are more than happy to keep him fed until we get to Vermillion Valley Resort, where we plan to resupply, but he’s set on getting out. 

Coming down Pinchot

The path to Mather 

Joe coming up to Mather Pass

The way up Mather Pass is hot and rocky. Quite a few folks camped near the base waiting to go over in the morning. I catch up to Brad and Joe, as I see them talking with some folks. Joe heads on, and I stay and talk. There’s two ladies, and one asks me my name. “Tanner, I’ve got a couple trail names but I usually just tell people my real name”, I say. She asks what my trail name is, and I tell her “Chef”. Apparently my mom had commented on some facebook deal just to keep a look out for a guy named “Chef”. We laugh over the odds. Even crazier she was born right near where I grew up. Brad and I chase Joe down and we begin taking on Mather Pass. We’ve already had a full day of hiking, and this pass has some of the steepest cliffs. I begin to see that people have ignored the switchbacks and went straight up. Great when the snow is hard, but it’s soft, like a snowcone in the summer heat. I decline ice spikes because I’m dumb, and start kicking in the previously made steps to give them a bit more purchase for the others. It’s a mix of snow and dirt, but we scramble our way up to reach the pass by 3:30pm. The way down looks just steep. I, still being dumb, decline to put ice spikes on. I continue to kick steps in the near vertical slopes with my heels, until the angle eases up and I can start gliding my way down. Remember those rock wells I spoke so fondly of? Multiple times as I was racing down the snow, I’d come to a sudden halt, my leg crashing through the snow. I get a few abrasions and contusions, but my lower legs are numbed by the snow. My butt is pretty wet too, but there’s plenty of sun to dry out. That’s why I was racing. Even though I had sunglasses on, the sun’s reflection off the snow was starting to affect my eyes, and I wanted down. We meet up after taking our own ways down the pass, and then quickly spread back out. Joe is solemn and frustrated, he will hike on without us and we won’t find his whereabouts for the remaining leg of the trip. I stop at a creek to get clean, as usual, and feel like a new man. Brad goes forward, I ensure I’ll catch up. I begin my descent along Palisade Creek as it tears its way down the valley. The hike down is rocky and there are waterfalls everywhere. The trail is often inundated with water from the snow melt. It’s one of the prettiest places I’ve ever seen, and I feel sad Joe feels so much frustration in a place like this. I find Brad and I decide enough hiking for the day.

Palisade Lake

The Hunt Begins

I get an early start and begin at 6am. It’s a long day and I have a desire to get over Muir Pass. To get to the closest camp after the pass would be a day of 21 miles. That’d be a piece of cake in the desert, but this stretch of the Sierras has worked my body hard.

We stop around three about three miles from the top of the pass. There’s a lot more snow than most of the other areas we’ve been around, it hasn’t melted as fast. Brad and I look up at the ascent and decide to call it a day at 3pm. We decide to wake early tomorrow. This will be the first time I’ve cowboy camped, camping with no tent, on trail. The spots are small and rocky, so it’s what is called for. I eat more food than I “budget” per day as the hunger is starting to grow. These ups and downs have worked my body thoroughly. The idea of a large meal at Vermillion Valley Resort keeps my mind preoccupied. I spend the remainder of the day preparing and blog writing. I’ve found it more difficult to write well. I simply don’t have the time to stop and get the ideas I want jotted down. The Sierras are calling for my complete attention, but moments like this are great for getting some work done.

Heading down Palisade Creek

I woke early in the morning. I don’t know if it was nerves or the bright moon that stood above the snowy mountains. I wonder who else I know could be looking at the same moon…probably no one because it’s 2:30 in the damn morning. My bag is completely iced over, and I can see in the moonlight that all of my gear has a layer of frost over it. I knew this would happen camping near a lake at the bottom of Muir Pass. My dreams were strange, they are getting heavy again, but they slide off my like water instead of weighing me down. I try to bunch my body together in the fetal position to keep warm, but the morning wants me to get moving. At 4am my alarm goes off, it’s time. I see Brad getting up and packed as I am too. I was smart and dug a cat hole the night before the soil was frozen. The way up to the pass is 3 miles and it’s the snowiest of the passes so far. Other parts of the Sierras were melting quickly, but this area has quite a bit left. I decide to begin the frozen ascent fasted, pushing to make it to the shelter for breakfast. 

The snow is hard and crunchy, perfect for moving across, and we do with speed. We make it to the pass in an hour and a half, blazing boots. The sun is beaming on the Temple of Muir, time for breakfast. I open the door to the shelter. It’s stuffy, but incredibly warm and cozy. As I sit on the front steps a pika decides to come out and sit next to me. I initially assumed it would bother me for food as it had probably done to previous hikers, but it just sat there, warming itself with the morning sun. This isn’t the tallest of the passes, but it feels like the most grand. The top of the pass itself feels like a giant bowl filled with snow, and each side frozen lands. The descent is easy as the day is still early and the snow still hard. There are dimples in the snow from previous days of enduring the heat of the sun, which is enough to test our ankles, but not roll them. 

Coming down Muir Pass

Evolution Lake

We make it to Evolution Lake, the beginning of the Evolution Series (as I call it). From lake, to creek, to basin, to valley, we follow Evolution Creek for miles and miles. I’m in constant awe of the Sierra beauty. The world is flowing with water in all directions. I had initially thought of having my Crocs for all the water crossings, but it would have taken hours of my day changing shoes. There’s no point in contingency, my shoes are just always wet. I say, “embrace the trench foot”, but honestly, it’s made my feet look and feel great. 

We finally hear from Joe. All these new phones have a fancy satellite capability, I feel behind the times with my iPhone 13 mini, but continue to stand my it’s economy of size. He’s realistically just a few miles ahead of us. We plan to do 23 miles as it is this day, so we won’t catch him today, but we do smell blood. We can catch him, likely at Vermillion Valley Resort, the resupply point. 

Mountain Mustaches