Mile 924 - 1018: The Mosquito Cometh

It was a week rebuilding the body but the mosquitos began to tear at our souls. We knew we were leaving the Sierras and as sad as I was to leave, the mosquitos made sure that I didn’t linger. The amazing views were still aplenty, but summer began to make itself known.

The beginning of Tuolomne Meadows

Yosemite

We’re still learning what contributes to condensation on our sleeping bags, definitely still water nearby is a big one. I squeeze the remainder of enchilada sauce into my mashed potatoes for breakfast. I’ve had access to only one type of potato flavor, I’m excited for the day there are more flavors. We make it over the pass into Yosemite Park. We set up our stuff to dry while we swim in frigid water in the first lake below the pass. The day feels long but a good chunk of the walk is flat, arriving to Tuolomne Meadows General Store before it closes. 

Dome crawling in Yosemite

We have some wine the night before and I swear it gives me bad dreams. There’s one dream where I can only describe as experiencing the most extreme sadness I’ve ever felt. Very strange. The bad sleep makes for a rough start of the day. We are taking a day off to get a “tour” of some of Yosemite’s domes from Francis, a worker on the John Muir Ranch that Dina had met about a week back. He doesn’t use a phone and we don’t have service, so we hope the meeting place and time holds steady. In the parking lot of the general store I stretch, something I rarely do I out here. Francis shows up and we head out, where I have no idea. I sit in the back with his dog, Roca, a nervous herding dog. We spend the day climbing domes, not too far from Tuolomne Meadows General Store.  We eventually arrive to Lower Cathedral Lake, where Francis continues to educate us on the history of the park. Cathedral Peak was a challenge for John Muir, and he was stuck up there for a minute before basically sucking it up and driving his was to the top. The John Muir Trail goes close by. I don’t know if I could get to the top, at least not without gear.

Cathedral Range

Half Dome in the distance 

Tenaya Lake

I’m quiet as the day wanes on, my digestive system doesn’t feel great today either, I wish I could have just slept for the day, but try to hide my discomfort. I feel sad. We get to the final dome to where we can finally see Yosemite Valley and Half Dome in the distance. It has been a worthwhile trip despite the discomfort. Before we head back to the general store, we stop at Tenaya Lake. I consider getting some water to filter, but the lake seems to be full of some sort of tiny invertebrate, so I pass on the opportunity. Francis gives us a bucket of food to go through. Apparently many hikers order food to the John Muir Ranch but never take it. We get first dibs on top notch hiker food. I grab a burger and eat whatever I can’t take with me from the bucket. I think my body is just behind in calories. I start to feel better as we transition into the next step in our journey. Francis drops us off and we camp not far from the road.

Mosquito Creep 

The night before we had cowboy camped again, but I told Dina I had seen a bunch of ant holes where we set up. I’m too tired to move spots which was a poor choice. Her sleeping bag opens from the top, mine from the bottom and sides, so the entire night I had to search and destroy inch long ants that decided to cozy up with me. She had no issue. We discuss the next two weeks of travel. My shoes seem to have some priority. They are trashed. They have big holes, the support is long gone, and it wore done unevenly, affecting my gait. I stuff bits of cardboard under my arches to provide some more support, which does help quite a bit until we get to a real town, likely around Tahoe. It’s a slow morning, part of slowing down in the Sierras in general. There’s a part of me that wants to blaze on and crush miles, but I agree with Dina, this is where to enjoy the miles. The Sierras  are a jewel to hold and we’re nearly done with them. Northern California can have huge mile days. I feel like proper hiker trash. That’s a term used by thru-hikers for thru-hikers. I don’t hardly shower (though I do bathe in wild water some way or another every day), my beard is growing in, I would eat food out of the garbage, but I’m also deeply comfortable in wilderness now. These long stretches have given me confidence to stay and explore remote places. 

Dina and I had hiked pretty close, chatting a lot in the previous week, today we split up with a common meeting spot, I feel I’m with myself for the first time in a long time, which is what I need. My body feels like it’s slowly getting some strength back that can help push me through the days. We find each other at lunch I’m excited, I have ghost pepper flavored tuna. I put it in a wrap and nearly cry from the spice, a welcome change from the bland oatmeal and potatoes I’ve been eating. The lake we set up next to is interesting. The shore is full of the skeletons of damselfly nymphs that joined the sky, looks like a giant bloom of them less than a week old. The large influx of damselflies is still nothing compared to the growing horde of mosquitos. We fight them for ours as we sit around the fire. Dina and I just sit and listen to music as the sun seems to stop, unwilling to go down any further, it feels like the longest day of the year, but summer solstice is still a few days away. I give up the mosquito fight first and go to bed.

Dina apologizes for her grumpiness the day before, I honestly couldn’t tell.  Not much bothers me anymore (barring mosquitoes), I know I’m not in control of other people’s emotions. But I feel a grumpiness growing inside me too. Hiking alone the day before has given me a sense that I want to do it more. I had been hiking with someone the entire time in the Sierras, versus the desert where I largely hiked it alone, then met folks at resupply points. The day is full of physical ups and downs, climbing between different valleys, tiered along the mountain range. These feel like some of the steepest miles. Dina is a faster hiker by far, but I’m a faster climber, so I always catch up on the uphill, my legs feeling fuller, more powerful each day. We have a storm chase us down one of the steep descents. I want to move fast from the storm, as we immediately go into another steep ascent after hitting the valley floor. I look north, another set up dark clouds where we are to go next. It provides shade on the climb up and dissipates, thankfully. I look to the south as the darkness grows with bellows of thunder in the distance. The storms seem to be of very little concern, and really, we were hoping to get caught in it. 

We wanted reprieve from the mosquitos. We are uncomfortable and grumpy. We itch. We swat ourselves. No breaks from the horde. Our camp spot initially has little to no mosquitos, which means I can sit and enjoy the fire, for only a little. They then swarm me. My tantrum is quiet and hidden, I just say I’m going to bed early, but the mosquitos begin to drive into my soul.

I woke feeling nauseous and as if I had not slept at all. It feels like being up after a heavy night of drinking. I figure I ate too much for dinner, the packaged dal had a ton of coconut milk, so I blame the excess fat. I want to be alone. I want to make my own miles. I tell Dina I plan to hike at least 20 miles today, and that if we get separated we’ll just meet in Pinecrest. She seems amendable but also hesitant. I know she likes hiking with me, but there’s also a conviction within me that I won’t compromise my hike for someone else’s. 

She ends up hiking the 20 miles. I hope not to her detriment, and I hope that my hiking strategy is not affecting what she wants out of her hike. We do arrive to a beautiful campsite next to Dorothy Lake at the edge of Yosemite Park. There’s something in the air, rather a lack of something, no mosquitoes. We don’t know how or why, but they are not present. It’s the first real relief we’ve had in days, and though it was a long day of hiking, we are ecstatic. They have ground us down and we joke about it. There’s another hiker, Matthew, from Belgium, at the site. It feels like we can relax for what seems like days of grumpy tension.

Pinecrest

I get to take the most peaceful poop I’ve had in days, unmolested by hordes of mosquitos while I squat, defenseless. The day will be another long one, but we all have a good sleep. I don’t know if Dina wants to do 21 miles today, but a shower and dinner sounds too nice to pass by, I am making it to Pinecrest today. Dina blasts ahead and I take the morning slower, I’ll eventually catch her on a smoke break. The landscape begins to drastically change. I see what we have to climb and it looks alien compared to the stone, snow, and forest we’ve been in. In front of us are what look like giant mountains of scree with boulders built in. It’s red and dry, devoid of almost any plant life. Is this beginning of Northern California? The climb begins. I overtake Dina on the climb. I’m back, baby. My legs are like pistons, my breath moving rhythmically to make sure I get enough oxygen at the rising altitude and that I get enough carbon dioxide out to avoid too much lactic acid build up. We reach, not the top,  but close to it, and what feels like our last view of the Sierras. Dina and I feel gratitude and the tension between us dissolves, enough time without mosquitos. I get some service for the first time in days. A lot of folks checking in, which feels great. I get some heavy news, not bad though, and I react differently to it than I thought I would. I realize there has been some changes within me, ones that I find deep peace in. The rest of the way is along the volcanic Sierra. The terrain is nearly jarring for its contras to the previous few hundred miles, but makes for quick hiking along the ridges.

View of the Sierras, goodbye

I struggle to keep up with Dina, she’s flying now. I tell her at Sonora Pass that I appreciate she did those big miles even though initially she didn’t want to. I know my uncompromising approach can seem callous, and at the end of the day, I’m here to hike, but I can still appreciate her effort. I thank her for hiking more than she wanted to for the past few days and apologize for any grumpiness. It’s easy hiking alone because if you’re grumpy, you only have yourself to be grumpy with. However, it has been nice to have company that has forced me to slow down to smell the roses. We get a hitch fairly quickly all the way to Cookie’s cabin in Pinecrest, a trail angel offering quite a bit. We eat, shower, and sleep hard.

Cookies takes us to Walmart the next day, a dangerous resupply, the odds of buying too much food are high, but I’m willing to carry the heavy load. I’m lucky to sit in the back because I’m exhausted, so I close my eyes for the ride to Sonora. On our way back I have more energy, having my new supply of food to excite me. I learn his family has had his cabin in Pinecrest for decades, over generations, and though he now lives in the Bay Area, he’s been in and around Pinecrest his entire life. From working the outdoor movie theater on the lake to helping serve pancakes to the community on Sundays, he’s a staple of the community. We get back and I make a giant dish of, you guessed it, chilaquiles. It’s cheap, easy, filling, often times folks have never had it, and there’s always enough for the scavenger hikers to have some. I’m pretty lazy throughout the day, make calls, do all my administrative things, then in the evening we start a campfire and sing songs. It feels like summer camp.