Never mind the miles, my body said. You’re not going anywhere.
And so I sat, and Richard sat with me, in our motel room for another day and night.
Time was spent on the toilet, listening to podcasts and catching up on lost sleep and fluids.
Around 10 a.m., the unprepared cleaning lady came upon the recycling bucket I had puked in overnight. At the time, I was also on the toilet, so puking into the bin seemed like the only viable choice. I had put it on the porch before crawling back to bed so the smell might dissipate outside.
“Oh, God!” she said, then started frantically knocking on the door.
Richard got up and explained the situation. Once he said he would handle the mess, she calmed down.
Richard also went to the store to get Gatorade, Imodium and anything else I might attempt to ingest.
I started with fluids, eventually moved on to a plain tortilla and then graduated to peanut butter and banana by the end of the day.
And I kept it all down. Although, the abdominal pain took longer to leave me.
After the peanut butter and banana I thought the whole cycle might repeat, but I was able to sleep through the night.
Coming down out of the Sierras for real world business and a week of slacking*, we knew we would need a solid day to get the logistics in order.
*Slacking, or slack packing, is when thru hikers cover miles on the long distance trail they’re hiking but do so as a day hike, without overnight gear.
We caught the 6:30 a.m. bus north from Independence to Bishop, a larger town with more resources.
We started by hitting the Schat’s Bakery for breakfast and second breakfast. We got there for pastries, bagels and coffee before 8 a.m. and were finished with those and anxiously awaiting the sandwich bar opening by 8:10.
We had pizza and a HUGE sandwich from the bar when it opened at 8:30.
From there we headed to all three gear shops in town to replace or update some of our supplies.
We got a new fuel canister, Aqua Mira water treatment, liner socks, a new hat, and a new rain jacket to replace the poncho I will be mailing home.
Next stop was the car rental. In order to slack pack ourselves, and eventually get to the airport, we needed a car. Once rented, we headed north to Walker, California. We got a motel room, some dinner and then all our circumstances changed.
After dinner, as I was packing my pack for the ambitious 32-mile day we had planned, I started feeling pressure and pain in my abdomen. It was similar, but less intense, then the gastrointestinal discomfort of traveler’s diarrhea I got in Dominican Republic.
Figuring it would go away soon, I tried to get some sleep.
But sleep did not come. I was up most of the night on the toilet flushing down fluids.
I get did some relief after 2:30 a.m. when I vomited up my thru-hiker-sized dinner. Although the diarrhea didn’t stop.
It was a long and uncomfortable night. A night that was not followed by a day of slack packing.
Mileage: 10.5 (plus, 7.5 up and over Kearsarge Pass to Independence, California)
Day: 39
Neither of us slept well thinking about the pass all night. Would it go? Would we have to turn around?
Plus, it was cold. We set up our tent on snow and really pushed our lightweight summer backpacking gear to its max. Our sleeping pads are really only meant to insulate until zero Celsius. At 6 a.m., the temperature in the tent read -3.4 degrees Celsius.
The tent was iced in frost and anything left exposed in the tent overnight was too.
But the motivation to make the pass prevailed. We packed up and started the ascent.
The trail up the steep face was impressive. The trail makers spent a lot of money on dynamite to blast a ledge into the wall for hikers to walk on. They built retaining walls of stacked rocks to hold the ledge in place.
After about 45 minutes of switchbacks, I was under the cornice. It looked so small once you got up close. I followed the tracks of previous hikers and post holed to the opposite side. Then I turned around and waited while Richard made the same traverse.
It’s important in situations like these to make sure no two climbers get too close to each other. The combined weight can make fragile snow ledges break. The day before we watched multiple pairs of hikers cross under the cornice and climb the snow field with less than three feet between them. That’s a risk they didn’t know not to take, I presume.
We followed the same procedure on the snow field, which, by the way, is a lot less steep than it looks from 500 feet down.
In no time we were on top of the pass! 13,200 feet.
Forester Pass! We did it! Photo by Richard.
The trail on the north side was buried in snow, but the many hikers before us cut “a” trail into the snow. We followed their lead and started to make our way down hill. The whole descent was 4,000 feet over ten miles.
It was a beautiful day again. It seems all our mornings in the Sierras start off beautiful. And it’s only a matter of waiting for the snow or rain or ice to show up at some point.
We reached the bottom of the descent just after noon.
Our ascent wasn’t long as we were only taking the PCT for another two miles. From there we took off east over Kearsarge Pass and down to Independence, California.
The hiking wasn’t hard but it did start to rain after we gained the crest…of course.
On the hike down we met a man named Matt, an art director from Los Angeles out for a weekend of day trips. He graciously offered to give us a ride down the steep, 13-mile road to town. It’s so lovely the people you meet on trails. They’re some of the best, if you ask me.
Matt took us to a local hotel and we found our way to the seated position. Next came pack explosions to manage our wet gear, followed by tacos and ice cream. Then showers and bed.
Enjoying the long-lost sun after the descent off Forester Pass. Photo by Richard.
A note on our trail exit: Richard and I have some real world issues to deal with over the next ten days so we will be on and off the trail for that time. We still plan on hiking, but they’ll be day hikes a little further north. After we’ve managed our front country lives to the point where we can leave them behind again for a bit, we’ll head back into the Sierras.
Half awake in the middle of the night, I tried to scooch my head toward the end of the tent. I tend to slip down my sleeping pad as I switch positions. The only problem was, I couldn’t. The end of the tent was right there already.
I woke up a little more. Huh? I thought. I opened my eyes and took in the scene. There was snow over the whole tent. Man! More snow! I sat up and tried to push some of the snow off. That’s when the tent fell in.
And Richard woke up. He wanted to know why I was leaning on him.
Both awake, Richard held up the tent pole and I put on another layer as quickly as I could. I went out into the snow to fix the tent and remove some of the built up layers on each wall. I reinforced the tent stacks with rocks and got back inside also as quickly as I could.
Geez. More snow. There was a limit to what our summer gear could manage in the wintry high Sierras and I think we were finding it.
The tent held for the rest of the night and by morning we were reluctant to get up and deal with the new snow.
Wet tent and sleeping bags were eventually packed away and we headed north to Forester Pass, the highest and most technical of the passes in the Sierras.
We got there after a beautiful, if wet, snow walk. The sky was blue, the wind was absent, the snow sparkled.
Blue bird skies and beautiful snow.
The trail took us right to the foot of a rock wall. Near the center top was a small notch: Forester Pass. When Richard pointed to that notch as what he thought was the pass, my reaction was “no way! That looks crazy.”
He was right.
And just as we approached, a group of three hikers were on the brink of turning around rather than going over the formidable pass.
Forester Pass is at the top of the snow shoot at the center of the photo. And it looks a lot less steep in this photo than it really is.
After much discussion, Richard and I decided neither to go over the pass nor retreat. We would wait and watch and make our final decision in the morning when the snow was still firm from the night’s cold and the towering cornice (that we would have to walk under) was more likely to hold.
All day we sat and stared at the pass. Each hiker who tried to go over the pass made it, although some slid a lot on the snow field you had to climb up for the final 10 feet of ascension.
Despite their successes, we waited. The cornice made Richard nervous: what if it gave with one of us under it? The snow field climb made me nervous: what if we lost our footing right at the top? It was over 500 feet down.
We took the time to make a decision we were comfortable with.
And we faced many hungry marmots to do it. Apparently there are very few sources of salt in the high Sierras, so they spent a lot of time eating the dirt my urine had soaked into.
Snow camping really tested the boundaries of the tent and our sleeping pads. They’re really only designed for use down to about freezing. It was colder than that.
We went to bed early and tried not to be too nervous about hiking the pass.
The alarm went off at 4 a.m. With the temperature in the 20s and our information about the climb limited to its elevation, we decided to wait until light. That way we could see.
The alarm went off at 5:30 a.m. Didn’t hear it. We eventually got moving around 6 a.m. and were on the trail by 7. It was a pretty morning with blue skies.
Crystal clear reflections.
The trail was already starting to thaw by 8 a.m., which was good and bad. It was so pleasant to hike in full sun in this unbelievably beautiful landscape. The bad part was the snow covering the trail was melting. With so much new snow, that made the whole face we were ascending more and more unstable.
We followed the tracks in the snow made by the other hiking parties going for the summit who got up earlier than we did. It was nice to have someone else break trail in the two-foot drifts.
We decided that noon or bad weather would be our turnaround time. We would reevaluate the skies every couple of hours.
The moving was slow because of the altitude. To reach the summit, we had to gain 4,000 feet in 7.5 miles. We’d left most of our gear at the trailhead to lighten the load. It was so nice to carry only 10 pounds.
The trail went up a series of switchbacks to 13,500 feet and then created the ridge which went up another 1,000 feet to the summit. Just after the13,500-foot mark, we saw people above us heading down.
They reported dangerous snow conditions and tough trail finding ahead. Also, it was steep enoungh that a wrong step could mean falling down a 60-degree slope into a pile of rocks.
Everyone was turning back. We hiked up o the beginning of the dangerous section, then made the same call.
As high as we could go.
Maybe if we were outfitted for mountaineering rather than lightweight summer backpacking, we thought.
Despite not making the summit, it was a lovely day on a big mountain in the Sierras. And it was the first lovely, if still a little chilly, day we’d had in the Sierras.
Hiking back down toward Guitar Lake. Photo by Richard.
Back at the trailhead we packed up the rest of our stuff and headed north for about nine miles.
Heading north to Forester Pass. Photo by Richard.
Next up: Forester Pass.
A great challenge for us in the Sierras has been information; specifically, the lack of it. We don’t know the weather forecast, whether the passes the trail goes over are navigable under the current snow and ice conditions, what those snow and ice conditions are, etc. We have hiked past three backcountry ranger cabins, none of which have been staffed. It’s too early in the season, I think.
We moved slowly today. The cold kept us in our sleeping bags until 7 a.m. We waited until the sun rose over the ridge and started to thaw the ice that had formed on everything.
Even though my pack felt lighter, my body hadn’t yet recovered from the previous days’ hiking.
You’d think hiking 700 miles would make you strong and in shape. Guess not when your pack weighs 15 pounds more than ever before and you add big elevation gains and losses to each day.
I’m trying not to feel badly about it, but it’s disappointing to miss goals that 15 pounds ago and 5,000 feet lower you could reach.
Regardless of how my body felt, the snow sparkled in the sunlight under blue skies. It was a beautiful morning.
With the sun all things are possible.
The storm systems that were moving over us each day were supposed to break today. Or that’s the hopeful word we hikers are passing up and down the trail. Whenever you pass a section hiker it’s important to stop them and get a weather update. They had the most recent access to the Internet of anyone we’ve encountered. Their words are precious and can lift or sink one’s mood with a sentence.
Unfortunately, the beautiful morning ended with clouds rolling in around 10 a.m. They brought more snow.
We had planned on attempting to summit Mt. Whitney today, but fatigue and weather ended that plan.
So, we stopped for camp super early about 7.5 miles below the summit at a popular site for Whitney hikers.
Our plan is to get up wicked early, attempt the summit (if the storm really does break) and see how that goes.
If the weather stays unimpressively cold, we’ll continue north on the PCT and leave Whitney for another day; perhaps a day in a future August when we have a better chance at summer.
Richard approaching the turnoff for the Whitney trail.
Man, the Sierras are cold. I generally like cold and I definitely like it when I’m prepared for it, but I was under the impression that we were nearing summer. Nope. Still winter up here.
I guess I should have figured on some snow, on occasion. Or at least the threat of it. But I also really hoped for blue skies everyday.
We woke to frost on everything. The hikers on the other side of the creek made a fire with breakfast.
We got moving, reluctantly, by 7 a.m. And once the sun hit, things warmed up nicely. At least, until the snow came back.
More snow!
Our highest point of the day was 11,500 feet. We were moving slowly thanks to pack weight, altitude and general fatigue. The snow hit with about 800 feet of elevation gain to go. It petered out after a bit, but came back just as we started our descent. We’d planned on hiking 8 or 10 more miles past the high point. We made 5 before the snow, cold and general discomfort under the pack weight stopped us. My back and shoulders were so mad. I really look forward to eating now because it means a lighter pack with every meal.
I’m glad this is the only 10-day carry we’ve planned. They’re really not much fun, at least at the beginning.
And we had another cold night, hunkered down in the snow, above 11,000 feet.
Mileage: 28.5, plus .8 back to the trail from the Kennedy Meadows General Store
Day: 34
Do you know what’s heavier than 30 miles of water? 10 days of food plus a bear canister.
In an attempt to make the next section of trail less complicated, we opted to hike as much of the Sierras as possible without resupplying. Because the Sierras are so remote, getting food in and out requires long detours down steep trails multiple times. That is, unless you are willing to carry at least 200 miles of worth of food and do at least 20 miles a day. It’s not uncommon for people to slow down in the Sierras. But it is uncommon for Richard.
Doing big miles is fun, don’t get me wrong; I’m also not pinning this whole plan on him. I thought we could do this. But the terrain out here is tough. And made tougher by the heavy packs and altitude. I always forget how affected I am by altitude. Up to 9,000 or 10,000 feet, I’m usually okay. But above that my body seems to forget how to push blood to my legs and my lungs shrink a lobe or two.
This is all to say, we have opted for big miles with big packs.
And day 1 went pretty well. We definitely weren’t doing 3 miles per hour. But we were able to keep up our 2.75 miles per hour for long enough to hit our mileage goal.
Hello, Sierras.
The first part of the day took us up a valley to the first meadow in the Sierras for northbound PCT hikers. Because meadows are fragile landscapes, the trail rarely goes through or across them. It goes up and around. I get it, but these are some of the prettiest parts of the trail right now and I feel like I only get to glimpse them from afar.
We took a break at a river crossing and hid from the wind behind a concrete platform supporting the bridge. It would be a lovely place to camp, I thought. But we must on.
After lunch the climbing started. Not much at first, but the weight of my pack made each step so much work. Around 4 p.m. it started snowing. It wasn’t heavy or wet, but still. If it’s snowing then it’s cold enough to be snowing.
After 8 miles of up came 6 miles of down to camp. By the end of the day, my feet and back were done.
Pack down. Shoes off. Life just got so much better.
Mileage: 28.5, plus .8 back to the trail from the Kennedy Meadows General Store
Day: 34
Do you know what’s heavier than 30 miles of water? 10 days of food plus a bear canister.
In an attempt to make the next section of trail less complicated, we opted to hike as much of the Sierras as possible without resupplying. Because the Sierras are so remote, getting food in and out requires long detours down steep trails multiple times. That is, unless you are willing to carry at least 200 miles of worth of food and do at least 20 miles a day. It’s not uncommon for people to slow down in the Sierras. But it is uncommon for Richard.
Doing big miles is fun, don’t get me wrong; I’m also not pinning this whole plan on him. I thought we could do this. But the terrain out here is tough. And made tougher by the heavy packs and altitude. I always forget how affected I am by altitude. Up to 9,000 or 10,000 feet, I’m usually okay. But above that my body seems to forget how to push blood to my legs and my lungs shrink a lobe or two.
This is all to say, we have opted for big miles with big packs.
And day 1 went pretty well. We definitely weren’t doing 3 miles per hour. But we were able to keep up our 2.75 miles per hour for long enough to hit our mileage goal.
The first part of the day took us up a valley to the first meadow in the Sierras for northbound PCT hikers. Because meadows are fragile landscapes, the trail rarely goes through or across them. It goes up and around. I get it, but these are some of the prettiest parts of the trail right now and I feel like I only get to glimpse them from afar.
We took a break at a river crossing and hid from the wind behind a concrete platform supporting the bridge. It would be a lovely place to camp, I thought. But we must on.
not too shabby a view.
After lunch the climbing started. Not much at first, but the weight of my pack made each step so much work. Around 4 p.m. it started snowing. It wasn’t heavy or wet, but still. If it’s snowing then it’s cold enough to be snowing.
After 8 miles of up came 6 miles of down to camp. By the end of the day, my feet and back were done.
Pack down. Shoes off. Life just got so much better.
We slept in… until 7:30 a.m. I felt rested and warm in my sleeping bag. I wanted to be up by 8:30 to get in line for the laundry. So, 7:30 was a little earlier than I’d planned, but there you are.
It was a day of chores: laundry, shower, eat, but last-minute supplies, eat, etc.
Because there is no Internet or cell service in Kennedy Meadows, making the necessary travel arrangements for our upcoming days off trail was more complicated.
We had to use the only payphone in town and a calling card for everything. So what would have been a few quiet clicks on the smart phone turned into calling family members and having them Google stuff and dictate the Internet to us. Thanks, Annette, Terry, Mom and Dad for being our travel agents, personal shoppers and post masters.
Richard as he was for hours trying to be in two worlds at once: thruhikerland and real life.
Even though it took so much longer, we got the most important stuff done.
It was nice to have a day off our feet. Speaking of feet, remember the new shoes I was so excited to have finally ordered from the side of Owens Peak? Yeah. I ordered the wrong size. Two sizes too small. So, I will be hiking into the Sierras with my heaviest pack weight thus far in shoes I found in the give-away hiker box.
Pretty much every retail or lodging facility along the PCT and other thru-trails have a box of stuff left by other hikers that might still have some use to others. It could be uneaten dinners, half-empty bottles of sunscreen or fuel, used clothing, or old maps. We often use the hiker box to swap out snacks or dinners we’re sick of.
This time, I took shoes. There was a pair of Altras size 7.5 that were left by a lady who just needed a larger size. There weren’t many miles on them, so I took a gamble.
It may be a horrible choice. And I won’t know until I’m out in the middle of nowhere.
Good thing I bought a fresh supply of ibuprofen.
Here’s all my food for ten days. Bear canister, stuff sack,and pot are all full of food. And yes, that’s a jar of peanut butter; it’s one of my favorite sources of protein on the trail.
Tomorrow we head out with a lot of food to try to cover a lot of miles.
