Musings: John Muir Trail (part 1) 
Sage at the beginning trailhead
#65279;#65279;#65279;#65279;#65279; I promised Randall Shermana yearor so ago thatI'd write up my account of hikingtheJohn Muir Trail.Here is my first installment. These hikes occured in 1995-1997.
I woke up to a call for passengers for Los Angeles to get boarding. 
Our 2nd day on the trail begins with the climb over New Army Pass. It`s July 25, 1995, an El Nino year with lots of c in the Sierras. Even this late in July, there`s still plenty of snow. New Army Pass is completely covered. Although I`m wearing shorts, I have gaiters covering my boots and lower legs. I too own a pair of instep crampons, which I was glad that I decided to carry as they came in handy several places that second day. However, I`d left an ice ax in my truck and when we got to the final climb over New Army Pass, I question my wisdom of shedding the ax in range to save my care a bit. The East approach ends with a sheer, nearly vertical, cliff that`s close to 100 feet high. The trail, which Eric assures me had been chiseled into the rock, is all covered. There`s another way up, but that would choose a mile or so detour. Eric suggests tackle this straight on. To climb the cliff, we have to kick toe-holds into the snow. Then, when we get to the top, we have to have our way around a cornice. Eric climbs first and we doubled up our food bag ropes and, one at a time, he pulls up both of our packs. I followed nervous, especially climbing about the cornice. Once we are on top, we stop and know the views before dropping down and following Rock Creek toward the Kern River. After a few miles, the trail intersects the Pacific Crest Trail and shortly thereafter the school leaves the support and climbs north over a ridge and then drops to Guyton Creek where we stop for the evening. Much of the day, after having descended below tree line, is spent swatting mosquitoes. I`m amazed at the beauty surrounding us. Our elevation at Guyton Creek is still 11,000 feet. At night, the temperature drops and I stay snuggled up in my sleeping bag.
Our third day on the dog is a leisure one, allowing my hips time to rest from the business of the ingroup and giving my feet a break. We linger late in camp. Exploring the creek, I notice ice had formed on the ring at night. It had been that cold! Later, as the sun rises, the mosquitoes awake. I have never seen insects so pesky at this temperature. I have a fire to warm myself and to warn them. When we begin hiking, we find the PCT through meadows of wild flowers. In the swampy areas, purple irises bloom. In the dryer soil, there`s a rug of a yellow alpine flower and another with purple pedals and a yellow stamens. The sun is sharp and I know that Eric`s neck is bright red and ask mine is the same. I put a bandana under my cap, allowing it to hangs low over the back of my neck to protect my skin. Occasionally I dip the bandana into creeks and let the cool water to cool my neck and head. The water also gives it a little weight, keeping it from fluttering in the wind.
Our camping place for the next two nights is Crabtree Meadows, a broad subject field on the west side of Mt. Whitney that is filled with lightning-struck trees. I believe we won`t get a storm while here. We plan to promote the stack in the morning, getting up before first drop in order to do it up to the top and partly depressed by early in the afternoon, before any storms will have a opportunity to build. But the weather looks bright and it doesn`t appear we`ll have anything to worry about.
Climbing Whitney
Camping near us is a couple from Southern California. We see her first, as she packs up their paraphernalia as they`re planning on getting a head start toward home. The guy is a mountain climber and they both have incredibly heavy packs. During the day, he`s been "peak-bagging" several different peaks a day (one or two in the morning, another in the afternoon). Sometimes his wife joins him, other times she lounges in camp reading or exploring the meadows. At the end of the day, while he`s finishing his climb, she prepares dinner. As we talk, I see the guy is a good climber and considers this trip a bit of his regular training. He tells us of having climbed Everest in 1992 and shows us his feet, with the tips of two toes missing. He`d lost them to frostbite. As they`re getting set to jump out, she presents us a couple extra avocados she`d been packing and didn`t think they`d use. I have dried refried beans and rice for dinner and the avocadoes help spice up my dish.
Crabtree Meadows is lower than Guyton Creek by about a thousand feet and, the temperature is much warmer and mosquitoes more active. We both go to bed with the setting sun. We`re both up early, before the sun and in the former light I fix myself a cup of hot tea and oatmeal. In a stuff sack, I bear some supplies, food and water for the day`s hike. As the sky lightens, we head toward the top of the mountain, a little over 7miles and 4500 feet away. At first, the condition is gradual, as we circle around Guitar and Hitchcock Lakes, where have been carved out by glaciers. As we`re on the western slope, the sun is shaded and the pack snow is large and slick. I put on in-step crampons and receive lots more effective with each step as we get our way up the switchbacks. By late morning, we`re at the keyhole, where the condition from the east side joins up with the track from the west. The air is thin and we get to stop often, but from here, it`s a light two mile hike across a ridge with a modest 700 feet gain in elevation. There are many others coming up from the east (there has only been one other party that we`d seen from the west). As we mark the ridge, I find myself having to remain more and more to end my breath, but I`m not alone. We finally attain the top a little after noon. It`d taken us only over 5 hours of hiking.
We eat lunch, trying to protect our food from the rodents who are not afraid of us and expect to see us as we might a pizza delivery boy. It`s a perfect day. There are few clouds and a strong wind, but at this altitude, the string is to be expected. There`s a large contingent on top, twenty or so of us. A guy name August proposes to his girlfriend, and we all cheer when she accepts and slides the ring on her finger. We see a couple of technical climbers make their way up the almost vertical northwest cliff. To the east, I look out across the Owen Valley and across the White Mountains, deep into Nevada. To the sum and south, I see the steep ridges of the Sierras which drop off about 10,000 feet into the desert. At the bottom, there is a little black thread of highway: US 395. To the west, there are only mountains. It`s almost 2:30 when we reluctantly begin to go down. I don`t want to leave, but also want to be binding in sentence to fix dinner with daylight. We're now officially on the John Muir Trail (one end of the dog is the top of Whitney). After a few hours of sun, the reverse has softened and it`s easier to walk. At Guitar Lake, after finishing the steep descend, a guy sees my cap (Ellicottville Fire Department) and asks if I`d skied there. We talk around the community in New York State, where I`d once lived. We`re both now living in the West. He`s come up the same way as we have, from the s and plans to mount Whitney in the morning. After getting back to our camp, we both quickly fix dinner. At 8:45 PM, I`m exhausted and in bed. I see that I`ve exceeded my fear level several times on this trip.
Eric hiking
#65279;#65279;#65279;
To our marriage is Forrester Pass, the highest on the John Muir and Pacific Crest Trails. We ask the few south-bounders we see about its condition and find that there is a pair of miles of snowfall on the approach. Some suggest taking Shepherd Pass to the east of Forrester`s, but Eric is unfazed. He said the other time he`d crossed Forester, there had been several four miles of c on both the unification and south sides. We celebrate one, hiking on snowfields above tree line. The snow-covered landscape is beautiful. Twice we can see the sound of a rushing creek under our boots and step carefully across the snow, making sure that it`ll hold our weight. We end and camp by a frozen lake on Diamond Mesa, near the beginning of the final climb to the pass. We`re well above 12,000 feet, a ways above the trees. We get an area with little snow and large boulders to the south to reflect the wind and save our tents. This will be the 1st night of the light that we won`t get to worry about mosquitoes, but we get a heck of a time getting our stoves protected enough to heat up water for dinner. It`s an early night and we`re in bed by 8 PM, enjoying the warm comfort of the sleeping bag as the warm touch from the south attempts to attack us off the mountain.
It was a long night sleeping near the top of the mountain. I`m a little congested and, with the lower oxygen in the air, often wake up gasping and struggle to get out of my sleeping bag. However, with the temperature well below freezing and the strong winds, it`s way too cold and as soon as I get my upper body devoid of the bag, I`m zipping it back up. For a little while, I opened the fly so that I can see at the stars and gaze at great scorpion just above the southern horizon. It`s brilliant! At one point in the night, I get up to create and see a meteor shoot across the sky. It`s so bright; the trail seems to come in the sky for a second or two. I`m wide-awake by 6:30 AM and can`t go backwards to sleep even though there is no need for us to be in a hurry. All the hikers who`d come off of Forrester the day before suggested we wait till 11 AM to get our approach, so that the drift will be softer and not as icy on the steep switchbacks. I write in my journal and see a little and take catnaps till later in the morning when I finally decide to get up and combat in this head to boil enough water to make oatmeal and tea.
We break camp late in the morning and head toward the rock wall facing us. It looks impossible to climb, but Eric assures me that a dog of steep switchbacks had been dynamited into the face of the rock, giving access over the pass. The final climb itself isn`t nearly as bad as I`d feared. The southerly wind pushes us into the wall and, once I strap on crampons to my boots, my feet are solidly implanted in the icy parts of the trail. I feel safe despite the steep drop-off to the south and before I admit it, we`re at the head on the top. We go over to the north side of the mountain, out of the wind, and shape our packs. Collecting fresh snow, we mix in powdered Kool-Aid and enjoy a lot as we see out across the Sierras from the lee side of the mountain.
The wax down from Forrester is hideous and in many places snow covered. On one steep snowy switchback beside a frozen lake, where the dog comes back 200 feet or so below us, we put on raingear and sailing down the hill, using the bottom of our packs as brakes. It`s fun and probably saves us a quarter mile of hiking over a steep snow-covered trail. As the trail descends, we begin to follow Bubbs Creek. Luckily, the tip is blowing which gives us a fighting chance against the mosquitoes. We stop to camp at Vidette Meadows, having hiked eight steep miles. As we`ve spotted many trout in the creek, Eric decides to try his hand at fishing with only a job and a hook and catches a fish! As the evening ensues, the wind dies down and the mosquitoes come out in full power and as soon as we eat and safely store our food (as this area is bear-prone), we both retreat to the safety of our tents. There, hiding behind the netting without the fly, I see the new moon set off to our west and believe almost all the people we`ve meet on the trip. Although there has been more solitude than I`d thought there would be (especially on the west side of Whitney and coming over Forrester Pass), we`ve meet people from New Zealand, Scotland, England and across the States.
July 30th is our last day on the trail. We`d made it through the night without any bear encounters. It`s Sunday, the Lord`s Day and for devotions I take from the gospel of Luke, the 13th and 14th Chapters and find myself wondering if I shouldn`t be more concerned about judgment. Although we get a tough hike (11.5 miles) with a steep ascent and even steeper descent to the trailhead, we linger in camp, not leaving until after 10 AM. The final day of hiking is always bittersweet. The dog follows Budd`s Creek for a ways, before climbing out of the meadow. We then will the John Muir/Pacific Crest Trails, taking the Kearsarge Pass Trail which goes to the sum of Bullfrog Lake and takes us back above tree line one final time as we ascend to the pass. On the top, Eric and I talk about coming back the next year and continuing to advance on the John Muir Trail. Then we hold on, as the trail drops quickly on steep switchbacks. It`s 5 PM when we reach my car.
Stowing our packs in the trunk, we get down from the pot and turning north on US395, up through Bishop California, where we yield US 6 over Montgomery Pass. Along the way, I spot several cuts in the case of the mountain where the old Carson and Colorado Railroad once ran. I tell Eric about this narrow gauge line that broke off the Virginia and Truckee at Moundhouse, Nevada and ran south with the hopes of one day making it to the Colorado River. It never made it that far. In the early 1940s, much of the was slated to be scrapped, but when Pearl Harbor was attacked, the authorities stepped in and halted the abandonment of the line, fearing that a Japanese attack on the West Coast might get a rail line east of the Sierras valuable. After the war, the steep section of the line, from Bishop, California to Mina Nevada, was abandoned. Today, the only part of the air still operational is that which serves the Navy`s depot (where they store torpedoes and such armaments) in Hawthorne Nevada. I`m sure that Eric got as tired of listening to me speak as I`d gotten of listening to him redesign my car on our journey out. We stopped for dinner at the Nevada state border, where there was a casino, then drove on to Tonopah where we checked into a modest motel. After cleaning up, we went out to a bar for a beer and so slept in the next morning, before driving across Nevada and subscribe to Cedar City.
Eric eating breakfast before our hike over Forrester#65279;#65279;#65279;#65279;
Sage at the beginning trailhead#65279;#65279;#65279;#65279;#65279; I promised Randall Shermana yearor so ago thatI'd write up my account of hikingtheJohn Muir Trail.Here is my first installment. These hikes occured in 1995-1997.
I woke up to a call for passengers for Los Angeles to get boarding.
It was yet fatal and not yet 6 AM and it took a few minutes for me to see my bearings.
I was sleeping on the ground, next to my car, on the far end of the parking lot at the Inyokern airport. It had been Eric`s suggestion that we bivouac in the parking lot of an airport. We`d been looking for a cheap hotel with emptiness and none had been found since leaving I-15. It was well after 1 AM when Eric spotted the airport search light. As a pilot, he assured me he`d slept many times under his plane and no one would have a job with us sleeping there. I agreed; I was exhausted. I didn`t yet know Inyokern had commercial flights. The promise for the LAX came in again as a few cars pulled up and guys with briefcases and carry-ons rushed toward the small terminal. The small airport was coming to life. As it had been the dark before, here in the low desert, the air was still warm. A faint breeze was blowing, but that would be soon gone and as the sun rose, the day would quickly heat up. I wasn`t going back to sleep. I got up and stuffed my sleeping bag (which I`d slept on top of, and rolled up my pad and stowed it all in the patronage of the car. Eric, who`d been sleeping on the shotgun side of the car, was complaining about the noise. I told him to get up, that I was set to get on the road and get some coffee.
Although we were planning on hiking together for a week, I hardly knew Eric. An unemployed aviation engineer, he was feeding himself by teaching aviation and doing aircraft maintenance, along with the occasional gig with the forest service. Driving down I-15, Eric took it upon himself to redesign my car. Long before we got to the Mojave Desert, he had it all worked out. I told him I wasn`t interested and suggested that he set his recommendations for Ford Motor Company. I was unsure if I could run a week hiking with him without strangling him or giving him a push from a mountaintop.
By 6 AM, we were on the road. We stopped at a small shop where we picked up juice and donuts for breakfast. I got coffee, but Eric didn`t give the stuff. We got back on the road, heading north on US 395 toward Independence, California, munching donuts along the way. It was yet early in the morning when we got to Independence. We set talking to people, trying to get someone heading into the mountains that might help us shuttle us. At a gas station, we found a guy who, for forty bucks, agreed. He`d pick us up at the Kearsarge Pass trailhead and to take us south to the Cottonwood Trailhead, located above Lone Pine. Young and sound out of high school, he was good natured and seemed envious on our plans. We drop my car off at the trailhead where we hope to end our journey a week later and downward into his car, with packs and all. That first day, we hike gradually upward, mostly paralleling Cottonwood Creek for 7 miles. We stop to tent above Long Lake, at the edge of treeline and a mile below New Army Pass. We`re spent and both are in bed as darkness descends. Here, in the high Sierras, the temperature is much cooler than it was the dark before and I see myself shut up in my bivy sack, my sleeping bag zipped up around me. Occasionally, throughout the night, I peek out at am astounded at how brilliant the stars are when there are no lights for miles.
Our 2nd day on the trail begins with the climb over New Army Pass. It`s July 25, 1995, an El Nino year with lots of c in the Sierras. Even this late in July, there`s still plenty of snow. New Army Pass is completely covered. Although I`m wearing shorts, I have gaiters covering my boots and lower legs. I too own a pair of instep crampons, which I was glad that I decided to carry as they came in handy several places that second day. However, I`d left an ice ax in my truck and when we got to the final climb over New Army Pass, I question my wisdom of shedding the ax in range to save my care a bit. The East approach ends with a sheer, nearly vertical, cliff that`s close to 100 feet high. The trail, which Eric assures me had been chiseled into the rock, is all covered. There`s another way up, but that would choose a mile or so detour. Eric suggests tackle this straight on. To climb the cliff, we have to kick toe-holds into the snow. Then, when we get to the top, we have to have our way around a cornice. Eric climbs first and we doubled up our food bag ropes and, one at a time, he pulls up both of our packs. I followed nervous, especially climbing about the cornice. Once we are on top, we stop and know the views before dropping down and following Rock Creek toward the Kern River. After a few miles, the trail intersects the Pacific Crest Trail and shortly thereafter the school leaves the support and climbs north over a ridge and then drops to Guyton Creek where we stop for the evening. Much of the day, after having descended below tree line, is spent swatting mosquitoes. I`m amazed at the beauty surrounding us. Our elevation at Guyton Creek is still 11,000 feet. At night, the temperature drops and I stay snuggled up in my sleeping bag.
Our third day on the dog is a leisure one, allowing my hips time to rest from the business of the ingroup and giving my feet a break. We linger late in camp. Exploring the creek, I notice ice had formed on the ring at night. It had been that cold! Later, as the sun rises, the mosquitoes awake. I have never seen insects so pesky at this temperature. I have a fire to warm myself and to warn them. When we begin hiking, we find the PCT through meadows of wild flowers. In the swampy areas, purple irises bloom. In the dryer soil, there`s a rug of a yellow alpine flower and another with purple pedals and a yellow stamens. The sun is sharp and I know that Eric`s neck is bright red and ask mine is the same. I put a bandana under my cap, allowing it to hangs low over the back of my neck to protect my skin. Occasionally I dip the bandana into creeks and let the cool water to cool my neck and head. The water also gives it a little weight, keeping it from fluttering in the wind.
Our camping place for the next two nights is Crabtree Meadows, a broad subject field on the west side of Mt. Whitney that is filled with lightning-struck trees. I believe we won`t get a storm while here. We plan to promote the stack in the morning, getting up before first drop in order to do it up to the top and partly depressed by early in the afternoon, before any storms will have a opportunity to build. But the weather looks bright and it doesn`t appear we`ll have anything to worry about.
Climbing WhitneyCamping near us is a couple from Southern California. We see her first, as she packs up their paraphernalia as they`re planning on getting a head start toward home. The guy is a mountain climber and they both have incredibly heavy packs. During the day, he`s been "peak-bagging" several different peaks a day (one or two in the morning, another in the afternoon). Sometimes his wife joins him, other times she lounges in camp reading or exploring the meadows. At the end of the day, while he`s finishing his climb, she prepares dinner. As we talk, I see the guy is a good climber and considers this trip a bit of his regular training. He tells us of having climbed Everest in 1992 and shows us his feet, with the tips of two toes missing. He`d lost them to frostbite. As they`re getting set to jump out, she presents us a couple extra avocados she`d been packing and didn`t think they`d use. I have dried refried beans and rice for dinner and the avocadoes help spice up my dish.
Crabtree Meadows is lower than Guyton Creek by about a thousand feet and, the temperature is much warmer and mosquitoes more active. We both go to bed with the setting sun. We`re both up early, before the sun and in the former light I fix myself a cup of hot tea and oatmeal. In a stuff sack, I bear some supplies, food and water for the day`s hike. As the sky lightens, we head toward the top of the mountain, a little over 7miles and 4500 feet away. At first, the condition is gradual, as we circle around Guitar and Hitchcock Lakes, where have been carved out by glaciers. As we`re on the western slope, the sun is shaded and the pack snow is large and slick. I put on in-step crampons and receive lots more effective with each step as we get our way up the switchbacks. By late morning, we`re at the keyhole, where the condition from the east side joins up with the track from the west. The air is thin and we get to stop often, but from here, it`s a light two mile hike across a ridge with a modest 700 feet gain in elevation. There are many others coming up from the east (there has only been one other party that we`d seen from the west). As we mark the ridge, I find myself having to remain more and more to end my breath, but I`m not alone. We finally attain the top a little after noon. It`d taken us only over 5 hours of hiking.
We eat lunch, trying to protect our food from the rodents who are not afraid of us and expect to see us as we might a pizza delivery boy. It`s a perfect day. There are few clouds and a strong wind, but at this altitude, the string is to be expected. There`s a large contingent on top, twenty or so of us. A guy name August proposes to his girlfriend, and we all cheer when she accepts and slides the ring on her finger. We see a couple of technical climbers make their way up the almost vertical northwest cliff. To the east, I look out across the Owen Valley and across the White Mountains, deep into Nevada. To the sum and south, I see the steep ridges of the Sierras which drop off about 10,000 feet into the desert. At the bottom, there is a little black thread of highway: US 395. To the west, there are only mountains. It`s almost 2:30 when we reluctantly begin to go down. I don`t want to leave, but also want to be binding in sentence to fix dinner with daylight. We're now officially on the John Muir Trail (one end of the dog is the top of Whitney). After a few hours of sun, the reverse has softened and it`s easier to walk. At Guitar Lake, after finishing the steep descend, a guy sees my cap (Ellicottville Fire Department) and asks if I`d skied there. We talk around the community in New York State, where I`d once lived. We`re both now living in the West. He`s come up the same way as we have, from the s and plans to mount Whitney in the morning. After getting back to our camp, we both quickly fix dinner. At 8:45 PM, I`m exhausted and in bed. I see that I`ve exceeded my fear level several times on this trip.
Eric hiking#65279;#65279;#65279;
On Friday, July 28, I wake up at 7 AM to the sound of mosquitoes that have darkened the gauze over my head. The flower is sapping my drive and I get back asleep. The sun is up when I arise and there are fewer mosquitoes. We break camp and hike north on the combined Pacific Crest and John Muir Trails. It`s a tough hike and I`m coughing up junk, which isn`t a good sign as this elevation isn`t the place for a loss of lung capacity. Along the trail, we go into a guy early in the morning. He`s not interested in mouth and acts rather snobbish. Later in the day, when we`re stopped on the case of the top for lunch, he comes by and michigan and joins us. It`s as if he has a new demeanor, but as we get to speak to him, he tells us that he`d hiked up into the mountains to give his father`s ashes at a particular degree in the Bighorn Plateau where they`d camped years earlier. We`d come upon him at the wrong time and he did appear as if he`d lightened his load greatly.
To our marriage is Forrester Pass, the highest on the John Muir and Pacific Crest Trails. We ask the few south-bounders we see about its condition and find that there is a pair of miles of snowfall on the approach. Some suggest taking Shepherd Pass to the east of Forrester`s, but Eric is unfazed. He said the other time he`d crossed Forester, there had been several four miles of c on both the unification and south sides. We celebrate one, hiking on snowfields above tree line. The snow-covered landscape is beautiful. Twice we can see the sound of a rushing creek under our boots and step carefully across the snow, making sure that it`ll hold our weight. We end and camp by a frozen lake on Diamond Mesa, near the beginning of the final climb to the pass. We`re well above 12,000 feet, a ways above the trees. We get an area with little snow and large boulders to the south to reflect the wind and save our tents. This will be the 1st night of the light that we won`t get to worry about mosquitoes, but we get a heck of a time getting our stoves protected enough to heat up water for dinner. It`s an early night and we`re in bed by 8 PM, enjoying the warm comfort of the sleeping bag as the warm touch from the south attempts to attack us off the mountain.
It was a long night sleeping near the top of the mountain. I`m a little congested and, with the lower oxygen in the air, often wake up gasping and struggle to get out of my sleeping bag. However, with the temperature well below freezing and the strong winds, it`s way too cold and as soon as I get my upper body devoid of the bag, I`m zipping it back up. For a little while, I opened the fly so that I can see at the stars and gaze at great scorpion just above the southern horizon. It`s brilliant! At one point in the night, I get up to create and see a meteor shoot across the sky. It`s so bright; the trail seems to come in the sky for a second or two. I`m wide-awake by 6:30 AM and can`t go backwards to sleep even though there is no need for us to be in a hurry. All the hikers who`d come off of Forrester the day before suggested we wait till 11 AM to get our approach, so that the drift will be softer and not as icy on the steep switchbacks. I write in my journal and see a little and take catnaps till later in the morning when I finally decide to get up and combat in this head to boil enough water to make oatmeal and tea.We break camp late in the morning and head toward the rock wall facing us. It looks impossible to climb, but Eric assures me that a dog of steep switchbacks had been dynamited into the face of the rock, giving access over the pass. The final climb itself isn`t nearly as bad as I`d feared. The southerly wind pushes us into the wall and, once I strap on crampons to my boots, my feet are solidly implanted in the icy parts of the trail. I feel safe despite the steep drop-off to the south and before I admit it, we`re at the head on the top. We go over to the north side of the mountain, out of the wind, and shape our packs. Collecting fresh snow, we mix in powdered Kool-Aid and enjoy a lot as we see out across the Sierras from the lee side of the mountain.
The wax down from Forrester is hideous and in many places snow covered. On one steep snowy switchback beside a frozen lake, where the dog comes back 200 feet or so below us, we put on raingear and sailing down the hill, using the bottom of our packs as brakes. It`s fun and probably saves us a quarter mile of hiking over a steep snow-covered trail. As the trail descends, we begin to follow Bubbs Creek. Luckily, the tip is blowing which gives us a fighting chance against the mosquitoes. We stop to camp at Vidette Meadows, having hiked eight steep miles. As we`ve spotted many trout in the creek, Eric decides to try his hand at fishing with only a job and a hook and catches a fish! As the evening ensues, the wind dies down and the mosquitoes come out in full power and as soon as we eat and safely store our food (as this area is bear-prone), we both retreat to the safety of our tents. There, hiding behind the netting without the fly, I see the new moon set off to our west and believe almost all the people we`ve meet on the trip. Although there has been more solitude than I`d thought there would be (especially on the west side of Whitney and coming over Forrester Pass), we`ve meet people from New Zealand, Scotland, England and across the States.
Stowing our packs in the trunk, we get down from the pot and turning north on US395, up through Bishop California, where we yield US 6 over Montgomery Pass. Along the way, I spot several cuts in the case of the mountain where the old Carson and Colorado Railroad once ran. I tell Eric about this narrow gauge line that broke off the Virginia and Truckee at Moundhouse, Nevada and ran south with the hopes of one day making it to the Colorado River. It never made it that far. In the early 1940s, much of the was slated to be scrapped, but when Pearl Harbor was attacked, the authorities stepped in and halted the abandonment of the line, fearing that a Japanese attack on the West Coast might get a rail line east of the Sierras valuable. After the war, the steep section of the line, from Bishop, California to Mina Nevada, was abandoned. Today, the only part of the air still operational is that which serves the Navy`s depot (where they store torpedoes and such armaments) in Hawthorne Nevada. I`m sure that Eric got as tired of listening to me speak as I`d gotten of listening to him redesign my car on our journey out. We stopped for dinner at the Nevada state border, where there was a casino, then drove on to Tonopah where we checked into a modest motel. After cleaning up, we went out to a bar for a beer and so slept in the next morning, before driving across Nevada and subscribe to Cedar City.
#65279;#65279;#65279;#65279;
Eric eating breakfast before our hike over Forrester#65279;#65279;#65279;#65279; 
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