Anyone who has done PCT switchbacks knows the agony of endlessly winding mile after mile to descend just ten feet in elevation. There is a good side, though. One benefit was if you suddenly realized that a great photo opportunity was missed. But, not to worry. An hour later, another chance, perhaps closer, perhaps not, presented itself. The view of that same marvelous rock, that curious tree, of Interstate 15, was nearly identical. The drawback of such routing or "over engineering" was the tendency for some hikers to cut, or bypass, the switchbacks. I was burned on that once, and learned my lesson well. By taking a shortcut down to what appeared to be a switchback, I got on a side trail, temporarily losing the PCT that was heading around the canyon, instead of down into the canyon.
Seeing all these poor plants uprooted when hikers crossed downhill made me ponder the struggle of life. Most little plants start the same way, all created equal. A seed fell. Ten years later, having finally soaked up enough moisture, it germinated. In ten more years it grew big enough to have stickers, thus reaching its full potential. But life throws a curve, and places one in a favorable location, another in a bad. Those out on their own, with no big brother to shelter them, get run over in life. And it's not their fault. Sad to see such tenacity rewarded thus.
One instant food I enjoyed a lot was the “4-cheese” mashed potatoes. I was surprised how light it was. A box came with two packages containing 4 servings each and together weighed only 7 ounces. That made 2 suppers for me. A beef stick, or some salami broken into pieces and added to cornmeal, cooked over low heat was amazingly filling as well. To avoid lumps, I brought the water to a low boil, then while stirring slowly, sprinkled in the cornmeal until the consistency was thick. Ramen noodles, broken into bits and placed in a peanut butter jar, can be solar cooked. By filling the jar with water, screwing on the plastic lid, and placing it in the sunshine, within half an hour, the noodles will be softened and satisfyingly warm. Sprinkle in the flavor packet, if desired. Ramen noodles can be eaten raw, like pretzels, so I always considered them a good investment in the food bag.
After only five weeks on the trail, civilization meant little. It didn’t matter whether we slept in our clothes, brushed our hair, said our bedtime prayers, had all four-food groups, or wore things inside out. Personal strength and tenaciousness were the intangible values now. It’s not what we wore but what we did that earned respect. Long distance hiking culture has a way of developing its own jargon. Some of my terms are defined below:
Trail Animal - A long distance hiker who is thoroughly comfortable being dirty, smelly, stealth camping and hiking mega miles (20+) every day. Usually has a wild gleam in the eyes, prone to laughter without reason, especially when hiking solo. Happily eats ramen and oatmeal, but will cause a stampede for pizza, beer or the use of a telephone.
Trail Maintenance - Originally meant to signify a pee break, but further elaboration includes removing stones from shoes, changing clothes, stopping for a drink or other things designed to make the miles less miserable.
Stampede - Term for the onset and completion of a mad rush to a goal, initiated by a trail animal who has pizza on his or her brain, and knows where he or she can get some an ungodly distance away. The proposed mileage is initially deemed to be impossible by other hikers, but the idea is implanted and the stampede is on. From that point, breaks are limited to a quick pee and a chug of water, lasting no more than 2 minutes. In 6 weeks, I have been in 4 stampedes. They usually involved 5 – 6 hikers.
Treadmill - This happens when trying in vain to gain elevation on a four-foot wide, sandy, undulating trail. Using hiking poles like mad and climbing, one suddenly looks over to the trail’s edge and realizes they’ve been hiking by that same damn rock for 15 minutes.
Undulation - The vertical or horizontal waves of trail tread. The vertical ones caused by illegal mountain bikers are especially maddening because they are totally uncalled for and preventable. Thru-hikers have verbally expressed bodily harm intended for such offending bikers, solely in the interest of such prevention. No hard feelings. The horizontal ones caused by canyons are just there because they have to be, or else this trail wouldn’t be 2,659 miles long.
We celebrated upon reaching Kennedy Meadows. It meant the end of the desert; now there would be plenty of water. It meant we had come 697 miles. For most of us, it meant reunion with our cherished bounce boxes. There was access to a newly installed pay phone, the enormous hiker box and a wonderful little store with quaint showers, soap and laundry facilities. We showered, washed clothes, stuffed ourselves with hot food and kept that phone busy for hours. In preparation for elevations above 10,000 feet, I bought an old army blanket for $2, trimmed it down, and sewed it with dental floss. I used it to supplement my sleeping bag. This added two extra pounds of pack weight, but I couldn’t have done the High Sierra without it. The price for starting this trail with a worn-out sleeping bag would now be paid.
Kennedy Meadows to Tuolumne Meadows/John Muir Trail
From Kennedy Meadows to Tuolumne Meadows, in Yosemite National Park, hikers do not cross a single paved road for over 235 miles. I packed food and supplies for 192 miles, which included a 15-mile round trip day hike to the summit of Mount Whitney, then over to Vermillion Valley Resort. With ten days of food, my ice ax and blanket liner, my pack now weighed twenty-eight pounds on their scale. In the desert, I used my Cherokee tent every night, but sometimes just as a “bivy bag”, spreading it out on the ground, and crawling in. The condensation was tolerable in such a dry climate. Once we entered the High Sierra, in early June, I used my tent properly every night.
Ascending from an elevation of 6,120 ft. to 10,540 ft., we noted plenty of water and every creek was swarming with thousands of hungry mosquitoes. Upon reaching a suitable campsite, I would immediately set up my tent, and then throw everything, including myself, inside. Those with bivy sacks were very limited. Friends intending to hike straight through to Vermillion Valley Resort, but lacking strong bug repellent, decided to hike the two miles down to a parking lot on a side trail, hitch into Lone Pine and buy something, anything. The bugs were making them nuts. Becky told us the natural herbal stuff that she carried didn’t work at all.
The Gorp Bag
This is a phenomenon I have noticed among many long distance hikers. A gallon size zip lock bag is filled with a decent recipe of Gorp. This name originated when good old raisins and peanuts were mixed together for trail food. Nowadays, there are more elaborate recipes. For instance, the one with equal amounts of peanut M&Ms, walnuts, raisins, and yogurt covered dates. It is an enormous amount of food, and sometimes cannot be finished before the next resupply.
At the next town, perhaps a 13-ounce bag of pretzels, or a hiker box find of sesame sticks and sunflower seeds is thrown into The Gorp Bag. Better to carry one large snack bag than several tads of food.
In the following town we find leftover Chex breakfast cereal joining The Bag. Or some “Does anyone want these?" apricots gets dumped in, along with some indecently moist raisins, or questionable dried apples.
One renowned Bag made it all the way from Idyllwild to Kennedy Meadows, 423 trail miles, where its owner committed said Gorp bag in disgust to a hiker box. Within 2 hours another hiker claimed it. Thankfully, that hiker finished it by Vermillion Valley.
No way could recipes ever be written for a 300 Mile Bag. It may be the most awesome of trail gorps, including shredded coconut, freeze dried strawberries, corn and peas. Included, but not limited to, may be Captain Crunch, Kandy Korn, peanuts, bacon crackers, and corn nuts. It is not a matter of imagination. It is a matter of not enough zip locks. Well, that and convenience. At snack time, one just hauls out The Bag and munches. If holes develop, as in even the best of Bags, a duct tape patch is used. If the zip refuses to lock, a hiker may chose to double bag. Crumbs are not thrown away, but eaten, regardless of salt or sugar concentration. A note of caution however, eating from zip lock bags containing food of such origin is like playing Russian roulette with your stomach.
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From Kennedy Meadows to Crab Tree Meadows it is 63 trail miles. There, many PCT hikers camp, hike 7.5 miles on a side trail to summit Mt. Whitney the next day and return to camp that night. There are bear boxes (metal food storage lockers), which are fully utilized. Hikers stash anything they don't need for their hikes to Mt. Whitney, with an elevation of 14,492 feet, the highest mountain in the contiguous United States. At a campsite so remote from roads, there was no fear of theft. Only long distance hikers use such a place and the honesty among our peers was a given. Someone was more likely to leave something behind than to steal anything.
On June 10th, I cooked breakfast, and was on the trail at 7 a.m. with Ben. It was quite overcast, with a line of blue to the west. We planned to summit, if at all possible. Mt. Whitney is the southern terminus of the John Muir Trail. The Pacific Crest Trail joins the JMT for nearly 170 miles, then they split at Tuolumne Meadows. Without a summit of Whitney, there would be no point in finishing the JMT in Yosemite Valley. We stripped our packs down to essentials, placing gear and extra food in the bear box. My external frame, now equipped with just one stuff sack, carried clothes, snacks, one full water bottle, ice ax and rain gear. It weighed about 5 pounds total and felt like nothing. This was my first taste of a seriously ultralight pack weight.
There was ice on the log when we forded Rock Creek. An hour later, we came to Guitar Lake. The dark clouds moving eastward gave us hope the weather would clear. Snowfields began to appear. Key rocks used for climbing were covered with thick ice. “Just follow the footsteps, don’t worry about the trail,” Ben called back to me as I approached a set of 3 switchbacks. He waited at the top of that section, and cautioned me not to touch the icy rocks. On hands and knees, I pulled myself up and over the snow bank. We gained 4,500 ft. of elevation in 7.5 miles. It was mentally exhausting watching for ice, snow and loose tread with every footstep so near the edge and just inches away from eternity.
Since it was Sunday, many day hikers appeared on the Whitney Portal Trail, which joined ours just 1.7 miles from the summit. Some carried crampons, ice axes and packs. They seemed winded, theirs being a longer and steeper trail. Near the summit, ice mounds taller than me covered the trail, requiring axing-in and pulling myself over and onto a narrow ledge. Picking our way to the top, much of the trail obscured with snow or boulders, we gained the summit at 12:15 and stayed until 2:00 p.m. Going down was easier because the snow became soft and mushy. There was dangerous post holing, where one breaks though the snow crust and becomes lodged up to the groin. Climbing out of such a hole, hopefully on solid snow near by, took extra time. I learned to watch for the bluish tint just beneath the snow's surface that warned of such danger.
Near Guitar Lake there was so much snowmelt that I lost the trail and bushwhacked straight down, seeing the PCT/JMT winding around the lake below. Ben had gone ahead and I took a little extra time.
I had just a few problems with the altitude. During the night, I would fall asleep just fine, then I’d wake feeling breathless. Once I adopted a No Fear attitude, slight headaches and mild nausea disappeared. If everyone around you says they feel sick, it can affect you. Ben and I decided we felt fine. The high top trail runner shoes were a good choice for this section, keeping out loose stones and some snow. For the first time I tried some Smart Wool socks. My feet stayed warm and comfortable, even though they were sopping wet by day’s end.
The next day, Becky rejoined us. We forded streams barefooted, pressed on to Forester Pass, highest point on the PCT at 13,200 ft., all the while anticipating the snowy climb. We needed to get there before it refroze in the evening. These areas are dangerous in early season because the approach to the pass is often snow covered, and hikers may find themselves traversing a snowfield undercut by water. The first clue is the sound of a rushing river, while it remains unseen. At that point, one gets to higher ground, avoiding the sunspots, or low melted areas, with that same bluish tint.
Forester Pass, highest point on the PCT/ Ben, Becky, Brawny
After the pass, the northbound trail below was totally snow covered with footprints diagonally traversing the slope. We three had cross-country skied before, so with that same gliding motion we descended the slope. When at last we were back on a small piece of dirt footpath, we celebrated by placing clean snow in our empty peanut butter jars, stirring in some packages of cocoa mix, and making Ice Cream Slushies. We spent the rest of that day hunting the trail, which was covered in snow, ice and water.
Things You’d Rather Not Hear:
“It’s all down hill from here.” - Somehow those words always precede the worst of sections, but draw one into an insanely huge mileage day. Be careful who tells you that. They may just be trying to get rid of you.
“The prices there are pretty reasonable for California.” - Means outrageous to normal folks.
“So, are you having fun?” – Excuse me? You mean I’m supposed to?
“There’s a horse camp upstream.” - This just after you’ve drunk a quart of untreated water from this lovely creek. “Don't worry, he’s waiting for you, Honey.”-From a weekender, especially disturbing when you've been hiking alone for days. Who could be waiting?
Pinchot Pass, Mather Pass, and Muir Pass, are all noteworthy. South bounders were questioned on the snow cover and depth. Sometimes I found myself frustrated by lack of calories while slogging through miles of snow. The last hour before each pass was usually spent searching for footprints, avoiding sunspots and under washed snowfields. The PCT / JMT doesn’t always summit at the low spot of the pass. We followed footprints, guessed at the meaning of obscure guidebook passages, took compass readings, and checked maps to find our way. Often I caught up to Ben. Two sets of eyes are good at times like this. He was a man of few words, and the few were to the point. One day while climbing at over 10,000 feet, he turned and stated, "I feel like shit." I burst out laughing. I knew he wasn’t asking for help, just stating an observation.
Finally, with Vermillion Valley Resort only 27 miles away I could enjoy the last bites of my food, and save a breakfast for tomorrow. My ramen had been supplemented with wild onions for 9 ½ days. At night I dreamed of candy bars and woke up disappointed. At this point, anything was good and money seemed unimportant. Clean clothes and hair (without every last strand coated in dust), became worth whatever the cost in dollars and cents. The day before reaching our resupply, we met a young man who was filled with fears, who talked about all the bad things that might happen to people. He even skipped a section because he feared tainted water. Fear is a very negative force; deadly to dreams. I have been very afraid many times. Hate to let it beat me without a fight, though. I just get up everyday and hike, trying to not to worry about tomorrow's trail until tomorrow.
There are two choices for getting to Vermillion Valley Resort. Either take a boat ride across the lake, $15 for the round trip, or hike 6 miles one way. I chose the boat. There, tent cabins, a small store, laundry and shower facilities were built on the dusty shore. We spent one night, feasting and laughing. The only outside contact is via cell phone, at $2 a minute. I hauled lots of goodies out of Vermillion Valley and ate like crazy: cookies, gorp, gourmet coffee, and red licorice. This was my reward for last week’s hunger.
People dream of hiking the John Muir Trail. It’s an incredible place; plenty of water and lush meadows, high passes, innumerable waterfalls and cascades, wildlife and flowers. There are also beautiful clear skies and ice covered turquoise lakes surrounded with snow-covered ridges. Words or photos can never convey the quality of the unfolding panorama. All five senses marvel at the birds singing, marmots whistling, water and wind rushing, soaring eagles, circling ravens, and dark clouds threatening. There were these magnificent, sculpted cedars, tender shoots and delicate flowers clinging to a 12,000 ft. cliff, the earthy smells of damp earth and bodies, the taste of clear ice water and wild onions. This was no postcard trip; it was the total surround of an Omni-max theater. I planned to finish the JMT by day hiking to Yosemite Valley fr
om Tuolumne Meadows, getting a ride back to Tuolumne Meadows, then picking up the PCT where I left it, and continuing north.
Hikers on a budget learn to get the most luxury for their buck. At Red’s Meadow, just one day from Tuolumne, I bought a 24 oz. loaf of wheat bread, 18 oz. jar of peanut butter, 13 oz. bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos, 8 oz. jar of cheese salsa, 4 king-size candy bars and 11 black liquorish sticks. There were free hot showers near the campground, thanks to thermal springs nearby. Each of the showers had a private “room” with cement tub. I placed the jar of cheese salsa on the ledge of this enormous cement tank inside the little room that was mine. Opening the chips, I basically ate while showering and washing trail clothes. My shower lasted an hour. I finished the salsa, threw away the jar, and was ready to hike.
Generally speaking, we are not into possession of things, but possession of experience. The few things we have with us are well worn with daily use and their respective weight in ounces quoted upon request, or even in defiance, as in “Yeah, well, this 4 pound camera is taking pictures that will last me a lifetime!” I have seen several Pocket Mails, cell phones, guitars, and tiny radios. Each person perhaps has one “luxury” item. One JMT hiker summed it up “Seems like the longer your hike is, the less you carry.”
Fording A Creek
I’ve learned a lot about fording creeks since I started in Campo. First, let me describe and define a PCT “creek”. Out here anything with water flowing is either a spring, streamlet, lake outlet, or a creek. Back home, some of these would be classified as Class 4 rivers.
Just to name a few, there’s Evolution Creek, Bear Creek (there must be at least 5 Bear Creeks out here), Kerrick Canyon Creek, Stubblefield Canyon Creek, and Kennedy Canyon Creek. The trail will parallel, from a ridge, one of these “creeks” as it roars down canyon. In the back of your mind runs the thought, “How on earth am I going to ford that thing?”
My Journey to Freedom and Ultralight Backpacking Page 5
