Sage at the beginning trailhead#65279;#65279;#65279;#65279;#65279; I promised Randall Shermana yearor so ago thatI'd write up my bill of hikingtheJohn Muir Trail.Here is my first installment. These hikes occured in 1995-1997.
I woke up to a song for passengers for Los Angeles to start boarding. It was yet black and not yet 6 AM and it took a few minutes for me to meet 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 vacancy 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 aeroplane and no one would make 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 approaching to life. As it had been the dark before, here in the low desert, the air was still warm. A light 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 rolling up my pad and stowed it all in the support 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 ready to get on the route and get some coffee.
Although we were planning on hiking together for a week, I scarce 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 place his recommendations for Ford Motor Company. I was uncertain if I could pass a week hiking with him without strangling him or giving him a drive from a mountaintop.
By 6 AM, we were on the road. We stopped at a little store where we picked up juice and donuts for breakfast. I got coffee, but Eric didn`t reach 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 dawn when we got to Independence. We set talking to people, trying to get someone heading into the mountains that might assist us shuttle us. At a gas station, we plant 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 good out of high school, he was good natured and seemed envious on our plans. We drop my car off at the trailhead where we promise to end our journey a week later and down into his car, with packs and all. That first day, we hike gradually upward, mostly paralleling Cottonwood Creek for 7 miles. We cease to tent above Long Lake, at the border of treeline and a mile below New Army Pass. We`re fatigued and both are in bed as darkness descends. Here, in the high Sierras, the temperature is often cooler than it was the night before and I see myself shut up in my bivy sack, my sleeping bag zipped up round me. Occasionally, throughout the night, I peek out at am astounded at how bright the stars are when there are no lights for miles.
Our 2nd day on the chase begins with the climb over New Army Pass. It`s July 25, 1995, an El Nino year with much of c in the Sierras. Even this later in July, there`s still enough of snow. New Army Pass is totally covered. Although I`m wearing shorts, I have gaiters covering my boots and lower legs. I too own a couple of instep crampons, which I was happy 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 last climb over New Army Pass, I doubt my wisdom of peeling the ax in order to relieve my charge 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 completely covered. There`s another way up, but that would take a knot or so detour. Eric suggests tackle this straight on. To raise the cliff, we bear to kick toe-holds into the snow. Then, when we get to the top, we make to take our way round 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 stay and love 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 soon thereafter the train leaves the brook and climbs north over a ridge and then drops to Guyton Creek where we stay for the evening. Much of the day, after having descended below tree line, is spent swatting mosquitoes. I`m astonished 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 chase is a leisure one, allowing my hips time to relief from the line of the camp and giving my feet a break. We linger late in camp. Exploring the creek, I notice ice had formed on the border 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 make a flame to warm myself and to discourage them. When we begin hiking, we observe the PCT through meadows of wild flowers. In the boggy 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 acute and I acknowledge that Eric`s neck is brilliant red and ask mine is the same. I put a bandana under my cap, allowing it to hangs down over the support 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 small weight, keeping it from fluttering in the wind.
Our camping place for the following two nights is Crabtree Meadows, a wide subject field on the westward face of Mt. Whitney that is filled with lightning-struck trees. I trust we won`t get a storm while here. We design to upgrade the mess in the morning, getting up before first fall in place to do it up to the top and partly depressed by early in the afternoon, before any storms will hold a chance to build. But the weather looks bright and it doesn`t appear we`ll have anything to care about.
Climbing WhitneyCamping near us is a couplet from Southern California. We see her first, as she packs up their paraphernalia as they`re planning on acquiring 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 piece 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 rise 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 almost a 1000 feet and, the temperature is often 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 other light I fix myself a cup of hot tea and oatmeal. In a stuff sack, I carry some supplies, food and water for the day`s hike. As the sky lightens, we head toward the top of the mountain, a slight over 7miles and 4500 feet away. At first, the train 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 heavy and slick. I put on in-step crampons and find much more good with each step as we get our way up the switchbacks. By late morning, we`re at the keyhole, where the train from the east side joins up with the lead from the west. The air is slim 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 just been one other company that we`d seen from the west). As we cross the ridge, I feel myself having to stay more and more to stop my breath, but I`m not alone. We finally accomplish the crown 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 look 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 thread 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 band on her finger. We see a match of technical climbers make their way up the near vertical northwest cliff. To the east, I count out across the Owen Valley and across the White Mountains, deep into Nevada. To the union and south, I see the steep ridges of the Sierras which fell off about 10,000 feet into the desert. At the bottom, there is a little black ribbon of highway: US 395. To the west, there are only mountains. It`s near 2:30 when we reluctantly begin to pass down. I don`t need to leave, but also need to be binding in sentence to fix dinner with daylight. We're now officially on the John Muir Trail (one end of the tail is the crown of Whitney). After a few hours of sun, the blow 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 talking about the community in New York State, where I`d once lived. We`re both now keep in the West. He`s come up the saame 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 rouse up at 7 AM to the voice of mosquitoes that have darkened the gauze over my head. The peak is sapping my push and I come 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 full sign as this elevation isn`t the property for a deprivation of lung capacity. Along the trail, we break into a guy early in the morning. He`s not concerned in talk and acts rather snobbish. Later in the day, when we`re stopped on the face of the lead for lunch, he comes by and chicago and joins us. It`s as if he has a new demeanor, but as we get to talk to him, he tells us that he`d hiked up into the mountains to open his father`s ashes at a peculiar point 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 union is Forrester Pass, the highest on the John Muir and Pacific Crest Trails. We ask the few south-bounders we see about its consideration and determine that there is a pair of miles of snow on the approach. Some suggest taking Shepherd Pass to the eastward of Forrester`s, but Eric is unfazed. He said the early time he`d crossed Forester, there had been several four miles of snow on both the union and south sides. We keep one, hiking on snowfields above tree line. The snow-covered landscape is beautiful. Twice we can see the voice of a rushing creek under our boots and tread carefully across the snow, making certain that it`ll hold our weight. We end and camp by a glacial lake on Diamond Mesa, near the root of the last climb to the pass. We`re well above 12,000 feet, a ways above the trees. We get an orbit with little snow and large boulders to the confederacy to ponder the winding and deliver our tents. This will be the 1st night of the spark that we won`t have to care about mosquitoes, but we get a heck of a time getting our stoves protected enough to wake 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 hint from the south attempts to blast 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 fight to get out of my sleeping bag. However, with the temperature well below freezing and the warm winds, it`s way too dusty and as shortly as I get my upper body devoid of the bag, I`m zipping it back up. For a short while, I open the fly so that I can see at the stars and stare at great scorpion just above the southern horizon. It`s brilliant! At one show in the night, I get up to make and see a meteor shoot across the sky. It`s so bright; the trail seems to fall in the sky for a minute or two. I`m wide-awake by 6:30 AM and can`t go backwards to sleep even though there is no demand 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 blow will be softer and not as icy on the steep switchbacks. I write in my diary and understand a small and take catnaps till late in the forenoon when I finally decide to get up and fight in this lead to boil enough water to make oatmeal and tea.We break camp late in the sunrise and heading toward the stone 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 last climb itself isn`t nearly as bad as I`d feared. The southern wind pushes us into the rampart 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 southward and before I acknowledge it, we`re at the pass on the top. We go over to the union face of the mountain, out of the wind, and cast our packs. Collecting fresh snow, we mix in powdered Kool-Aid and love a deal as we see out across the Sierras from the lee side of the mountain.
The wax down from Forrester is outrageous and in many places snow covered. On one steep snowy switchback beside a glacial lake, where the dog comes back 200 feet or so below us, we put on raingear and glide down the hill, using the seat 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 cease to encamp 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 just a job and a bait and catches a fish! As the evening ensues, the wind dies down and the mosquitoes come out in full force and as shortly as we eat and safely store our food (as this country is bear-prone), we both retreat to the refuge 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 westward slope 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 downward from the stack 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 face of the mount 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 government stepped in and halted the defection of the line, fearing that a Japanese fire 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 solitary portion 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 certain that Eric got as tired of hearing to me speak as I`d gotten of hearing 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 following morning, before driving across Nevada and support to Cedar City.
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Eric eating breakfast before our hike over Forrester#65279;#65279;#65279;#65279; 
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