160 Miles on the John Muir Trail, 1992
MONDAY, JUNE 29 -- DAY 1
I awake at 5:30am to a gray sky. I slept well until about an hour ago, but as the sky began to lighten, robins began singing and that made me itch to get going. It is very cloudy, but a few visible patches of blue sky provide hope. I gobble down a couple of Hostess fruit pies and then review my pack one more time in preparation for the start of the hike. The person in the other half of my duplex, whom I believe is a single female, is making a lot of noise by clopping back and forth in loud shoes across the non-carpeted floor and coughing and sneezing a lot. I'll be glad to get away from people! I crave solitude!
At 6:00am, I am ready to go, but I sit for a few minutes to savor the moment -- somehow it seems too early to start. As I sit here contemplating this 160-mile hike, I feel a combination of intense excitement about the fantastic scenery that I am about to enter, but also fear of the weather. It doesn't look very good right now and I wonder just how uncomfortably cold it will be camping at 10,000' if the skies are cloudy and there is wind and maybe even rain. I admit to being a little worried, but the idea of actually not going is not even a remote thought.
At 6:30am, the moment is at hand! Two weeks in the backcountry! Goodbye civilization, and good riddance! Hello wilderness! YAHOO! I start off walking in shorts and a flannel shirt, and I'm okay for now, but just slightly cool. I walk a dirt road south out of the resort and within 10 minutes, I intersect the JMT and start up the trail. TRAIL! Nothing but trail for 160 miles! Happy, happy, happy!
On this first day, I plan to cover 11.3 miles and climb to 10,160'. For the first hour, the trail climbs a gentle grade out of the valley to the southeast. The thick, tall pine and fir forest shelters me from the wind. The air is calm and feels mild, even though my thermometer shows it still in the 40's.
As I climb out of the valley, I get an occasional glimpse through the clouds and spy a little sunshine on the valley's western side, although the valley is mostly clouded in. Watching the clouds, it appears as though my weather is coming from the south, and it looks quite gloomy in that direction. As I gain altitude, I climb up into the clouds and enter a foggy mist that offers no view at all.
The trail continues climbing, staying in thick forest, clouds and fog, with visibility down to about 100 yards. I would naturally rather have sun, but there is a certain beauty about these conditions that is dark and mysterious, yet somehow pleasant.
"The woods are lovely, dark and deep..."
- Robert FrostI'll have to make a point of learning Frost's poem when I get back. At 8:00am, I come to a signed junction with a trail heading east to Mammoth Pass. I continue straight and speculate that I have come about 4 miles by now -- only 156 miles to go.
"...and miles to go, before I sleep."
- Robert FrostI cross a small brook on a slippery log and stop at a campsite on the other side for a 10 minute break. The temperature is only about 45°, but its calm and fairly comfortable in spite of the clouds and fog. The sky lightens a little, but when I look up I see only gray. Hey, maybe I'll climb above the clouds and into the sunshine! That would be great, but I'm not very hopeful. I can't predict what this weather is going to do, but it doesn't appear to be getting any better. It may snow for all I know. I am thankful that, in spite of the crummy weather, its not raining and the trail is dry.
I continue on, following the little brook upstream into a dark, misty valley. It really is neat here in spite of, or maybe because of the mist. Soon, the trail levels out and crosses a breezy, cold little meadow with a trail junction in its middle. Horseshoe Lake is to the left, Purple Lake where I am headed, is 9 miles ahead. Once beyond the meadow, I am back into the thick forest.
The sky lightens again and causes me to perk up as I get my first glimpse of hazy sunshine. The clouds and mist break a little and I can actually see a few small patches of blue, although the sky is still about 99% clouds. A prominent, rocky protrusion appears about a mile to my left -- "the Thumb", per the map. So far this morning I have been treated to some wildlife -- mostly birds. I have seen or heard robins, jays (Stellar, scrub or pinion jays, I don't know which), juncos, chickadees and chipmunks.
By 10:00am, I'm at Deer Creek crossing, per a trail sign. A trail takes off to the left here, presumably to Deer Lakes. Deer Creek is about 10' wide, but not deep, and I am able to dance across on a log. I'm surprised that there are no mosquitoes. I had expected hordes of them at these stream crossings, but haven't seen that first one yet. Perhaps its too cool for them.
The trail begins climbing again and soon reenters the clouds and mist. There is no sun now, only dense fog. Frequently the visibility is down to 50 yards or less. I can tell by the terrain that there is a large, deep valley off to my right and probably some fabulous views, but I can't see any of it. A few snowflakes fall on me. Only a few, but enough to notice. The temperature is now down to 43°. I wish it would clear so I could see the views.
At noon, I've been walking in solid mist for over an hour now. I'd like to stop for lunch, but the weather is too crummy -- I'll stop at the first good chance. More snow: lightly, briefly, but snow.... SNOW! The temperature is now down to 40°! I meet my first backpacker of the trip, heading the opposite direction as me, hiking alone to Reds Meadow from Piute Pass. We exchange a short greeting and keep going. I cross a good-sized stream that should be the outlet of Duck Lake and quickly come to the junction with the Duck Pass trail. This was supposed to be my destination for today, per my planned itinerary, but it is only noon and obviously way too early to stop. I keep going. There's no point in stopping now and just sitting around in crummy weather for the rest of the day.
I continue on and climb steeply out of the Duck Creek drainage, passing another solo backpacker along the way. This guy is not particularly friendly and not talkative at all. Five minutes later, I find an acceptable stopping place and break for lunch. I am near a snowfield at the base of a large rock face and, although I think that this may be a beautiful area, I can hardly see it through the fog. During lunch, I ponder the last backpacker that I encountered and his lack of cheer. I suppose that some hikers are out here to escape the crowds and don't necessarily want to spend any time talking to people. Perhaps I should adopt a policy of not attempting to chat with other hikers unless they initiate the conversation?
After a short 15 minute lunch, I continue on. I'm cold now and have my windbreaker on after hiking all morning in just a flannel shirt. There is still a big valley to my right, but I can't see it. I'm not getting to see much scenery at all today. Eventually the fog lifts a little and I can see some of the valley and the mountains beyond. Soon I arrive at Purple Lake, which is actually blue. This seems to be a scenic area and would probably be spectacular on a clear day, but today it isn't clear or spectacular. The cloud level is down to approximately 500' above the lake surface and I can see nothing above that..
I begin a moderately difficult climb out of the basin and back into the wind, up and over a small pass that separates the Purple Lake basin from the Virginia Lake basin, which is just ahead. I imagine that the clouds have lifted a little. Oh, its still plenty crummy, but the vistas seem to have opened up somewhat. Near the top of this pass, I get pelted with a few small ice crystals.
During a fairly gentle descent to Virginia Lake, the lightly falling sleet continues, but is now mixed with rain. By the time I descend to the lake's shore I'm starting to get wet, so I stop and wrestle with my poncho, trying to get it on over both me and my pack. I fight with it for about 10 minutes, getting wetter and colder. It just won't slide on over a wet pack! Finally, after much frustration, I take the pack off, put the poncho over the pack, and crawl into the pack. Even then, it doesn't seem to cover very well. Its not long enough and the sides are very open, allowing wind and rain in.
"Do you fear the force of the wind?
The slash of the rain?
Go face them and fight them,
be savage again.
Go hungry and cold, like the wolf,
go wade like the crane.
The palms on your hands will thicken,
the skin on your face will tan.
You'll grow ragged and weary and swarthy,
but you'll have walked like a man."
- Hamlin GarlandVirginia Lake is pretty and I wouldn't mind camping here, but I push on, not wanting to stop because of the wind and rain. Soon, I approach Tully Hole, which is a deep valley with a meadow and a stream at the bottom. A long, steep descent brings me to the valley's floor and a nice campsite sheltered by a few large pine trees. Its now 5:00pm and, grateful for the shelter of the trees, I decide to stop for the day. Even though its been sleeting lightly for about an hour, the ground beneath the largest tree is fairly dry. That's where I'll pitch my tent.
Due to the inclement weather, I've traveled farther than expected today and am now 6 miles farther along the trail than planned. I've walked 18 miles today, with 3700' of elevation gain, which pleases me since I was unsure of my capabilities with a 60 pound pack.
I am wet and cold and miserable and glad to stop. I drop my pack and just sit, waiting for the rain and sleet to stop. Its cold and I feel chilled -- no wonder, its down to 36° ! I know that if the rain stops long enough for me to set up camp, I'll climb into my sleeping bag and be cozy. I put on all of my warm clothes and wait.
After an hour of waiting, the sky lightens and the rain stops. Could it be clearing? Should I wait for a few more minutes for the sun to appear? An improvement in the weather could still bring a nice evening but no, this may be only a temporary break. I quickly pitch my tent and make my bed, taking advantage of the lull in the precipitation. Within a half hour, the sky darkens, the rain resumes and it looks like its going to be around for awhile.
My tent is up, but I'd like to eat and its too wet to cook. I settle for cold food tonight granola bars and then hang my food in a nearby tree. Hanging the food is an awkward exercise for the inexperienced and I get fairly soaked while doing it. I hate this! Wet, dirty, cold! I'm tired of it!
At 8:15pm, I hit the sack without washing or without hot food. I hope -- boy, OH BOY do I hope that its clear and sunny and dry tomorrow morning! It should be -- I believe I deserve sunshine after this rotten day! I can take this weather for awhile, but if it stays like this for many consecutive days, I'll be really depressed. I am warm and comfortable in my sleeping bag and gradually fall asleep to the sound of sleet pelting my tent.
Pre-hike
Day 2