Making my way back down Mammoth Pass Trail to the PCT, I contemplated several things. The first and foremost thing on my mind was my foot. It hurt. A lot. It almost seemed as if a couple days in town of less walking and smoother surfaces had made it even worse. Even the wide, soft trail up the valley was a challenge as I tried to walk exclusively on the outside edge of my left foot. The problem with that, however, is that it also felt like I had sprained my ankle recently. Maybe I had; given the terrain, it was pretty likely. Or maybe, it was just the pain from my foot radiating up and manifesting itself in two locations. Either way, I was struggling. Day hikers shot concerned glances in my direction as I limped my way up the hill. They could tell I was a thru-hiker. They could also tell I was hurting. They were probably wondering why in the world I was leaving town and heading back out into the wilderness in this condition. Realistically, I should have been wondering the same thing. Mammoth Lakes had a hospital and a good public transportation network. I could have gotten my foot checked out there. I probably should have gotten my foot checked out there. If I had been forced off trail, however, I simply couldn’t bear the thought of not being able to finish the Sierra. Per the regulations of my long-distance hiking permit, I can only hike through the Sierra in one direct footpath, with no skips or directional changes. If I were to be forced off trail now, I wouldn’t be able to return later to complete this section of the trail without securing individual entity permits, and given the nature of a thru hike, that would be nearly impossible. I had to make it out of the Sierra, to Kennedy Meadows North at least, but preferably South Lake Tahoe.
The second thing going through my mind was that we were indeed approaching the end of the Sierra. Our next stop would be Yosemite Valley, still in the Sierra, but more dominated by valleys and canyons than high peaks and passes. After that, would be Kennedy Meadows North, the official borderline between the Sierra and Northern California sections of trail. Yes, the northern extent of the Sierra range technically stretches further north than that, and we would still be hiking, from a purely geographical perspective, along the Sierra spine for roughly four hundred more miles, but it would look very different. We had already traversed the most famous and recognizable portion of the range. We only lacked one more major alpine pass and the elevation of the trail was already beginning to drop. Alpine lakes were becoming fewer and farther between and we were spending more and more time below the tree line. Part of me already missed what wasn’t entirely gone yet: the sweeping views and endless climbs; the snowfields and route-finding across the vast slopes. The other part of me, the more rational part, however, was looking forward to more moderate terrain in the future. There’s a certain appeal to a trail that is flat enough to consistently maintain a pace of three miles per hour.
The final thing that I was going over and over again in my head was our plan for this stretch, from Mammoth Lakes to Yosemite Valley. This section of trail was unusually short, but our plan was to take roughly six days to cover the forty or so miles. That was because we had agreed to complete the entire John Muir Trail without missing any sections of the PCT: basically, a thru-hike within a thru-hike. Along most of the trail, this had been easy, the JMT and PCT follow the same route from the Crabtree Meadows junction north to Devil’s Postpile, and our summit of Mt. Whitney had taken us up to the southern terminus of the JMT. At Devil’s Postpile, however, the two trails split for about twenty miles before rejoining at Thousand Island Lake. Additionally, the JMT branches off again at Tuolumne Meadows to make its way about twenty-five miles down into Yosemite Valley to its northern terminus at Happy Isles. Our plan was to continue north, past Devil’s Postpile along the PCT (on the eastern ridge), before turning south along the JMT at Thousand Island Lake and traversing back down along the western ridge. We would then find ourselves back at Devil’s Postpile and would retrace our steps back north along the PCT and continue past Thousand Island Lake. Once reaching Tuolumne Meadows, we would camp at the backpacker’s camp there and then hike the entire distance to Happy Isles in Yosemite Valley in one day to avoid additional permit requirements. That would conclude our JMT thru-hike. After resupplying in the valley, we then planned to hitch a ride back to Tuolumne to continue our trek north on the PCT, having not missed any portion of either trail.
It was a complex, time-consuming plan, but thinking my way through it kept my mind busy as I finally reached the PCT and turned north. Our camp for this particular night would be Red’s Meadow, the place where my southbound JMT hike ended last year. I fondly remembered the delicious (albeit expensive) food around the picnic tables as the smoke from the Creek Fire descended in waves of ash. I remember the sight of the steady stream of concerned hikers pouring into Red’s, wondering how close the fire actually was, which way the wind was predicted to blow, and whether or not their journeys would be forced to end early. I remember the scarcity of reliable information and the fearmongering that ran rampant as we planned our next moves around the picnic tables. The camaraderie among hikers, PCT hikers, JMT hikers, section hikers, and thru-hikers, as we attempted to sort through the dangerous, dynamic situation is something I’ll never forget. Arriving at Red’s, I walked directly to the picnic table where I had sat, ten months before, as we had planned our evacuation route. By we, I mean Morgan, Emily, Kobus, Rykie, and myself – the original tramily. Five strangers that had barely known each other for twenty-four hours, ultimately deciding to evacuate together and drive up to Washington to escape the smoke and continue hiking for another week. That’s what I love about the trail. People look out for people. Even in the face of adversity, there is always a strong sense of unity.
I had spoken to some JMT hikers just south of Red’s, who had seen a bear in the area. I kept an eye out, but saw nothing. At least we would have bear boxes for our food tonight. Red’s Meadow Resort and Pack Station is a sprawling complex consisting of a small store, restaurant, cabins, stables, and campground. When they’re open, they provide almost every service that a hiker could need including laundry and showers, but we were aware that they wouldn’t be opening for another week or so. Wandering through the complex, however, we met one of the owners who kindly informed us that we were welcome to use the restroom and could camp wherever we wanted. If only the restaurant had been open! Setting up camp, we were relieved to find a complete lack of mosquitoes, and enjoyed the rest of the evening sitting around the picnic table, feasting. For a morale boost, I had packed out a 38oz can of Dinty Moore beef stew and some dinner rolls. I had neglected to realize, however, that I had no efficient way to open the can. Finally, after probably fifteen minutes of struggle, I was able to cut a triangular hole in the top of the can with my small knife. Sitting there, laughing with Anchorman and Sausage, I was acutely aware of how much I was enjoying this journey. We were up early the next morning, and as we filed out of camp, we agreed to either camp at Thousand Island Lake, or just south of there on the JMT at Ruby Lake. That was the last time I saw Anchorman.
Passing Devil’s Postpile, I was no more impressed that I had been last year. Yes, it’s a strange looking rock formation, but even from the higher vantage point of the PCT, it still seemed small, a pile of funny looking rocks. Maybe I’d just seen too many rocks in the desert to be impressed, or maybe the massive scale of the Sierra had spoiled me, but I passed by quickly, snapping a few pictures and continuing down the trail. I continued on the PCT past the JMT split and continued north, along the eastern slope of the Middle Fork San Joaquin River valley. I stopped briefly for lunch at Agnew Meadows, where I found a trash can, water spigot and pit toilets all within ten yards: a hiker’s paradise. Sausage was now in the lead, and I was surprised to not see Anchorman. Typically, he catches up quickly. The afternoon brought magnificent views of the eastern slopes of the Ritter sub-range, including Mt. Ritter, Banner Peak and the Minarets. Snow still covered the upper-most slopes, and lakes scattered the many glacial valleys, high above the central valley of the river. Shadow Lake and Garnet Lake were particularly prominent, as I could distinguish the rivers of snowmelt cascading down from the peaks, into the lakes tucked deep into the mountainside, and then the violent crashing of the lake outlets over the ledge and far into the valley below.
Later in the afternoon, clouds gathered over the peaks and the temperature began to drop sharply. I was stopped, for the first time, by a ranger who checked my permit, and by the time I continued on my way, I needed to pull on an extra layer. Approaching the shores of Thousand Island Lake, it was now cold. The wind ripped down from the towering heights in frigid blasts, and the clouds had now descended in a dark blanket, over the crest of the mountains. Not finding Sausage or Anchorman in the immediate vicinity, I turned south onto the JMT and continued toward Ruby Lake. The last couple miles were eerily reminiscent of last year, when Morgan, Emily, and myself had planned to camp at Thousand Island Lake, but decided to press on and take refuge from the smoke and ash at Ruby Lake. This year, however, I was running from a late-season winter storm that had appeared out of nowhere. At least the campsite at Ruby Lake was in a semi-protected basin and sheltered by trees. Reaching the small lake, the wind had risen to a crescendo and snow was beginning to swirl. Sausage had already taken refuge in his tent at the lower site, so I decided to save the rest of the space down there for Anchorman and setup in my spot from last year, a little higher up the hill. A little while later, after having cooked and eaten dinner in my tent, I emerged one last time and noticed that there was still no sign of Anchorman.
That was the coldest night that we had experienced on the trail so far. For most of the night, the wind gusted consistently to sixty miles per hour, even in the basin. A thin layer of snow had fallen but had subsequently blown away. At some point, I splashed water from my water bottle in my tent and it froze instantly. We later estimated that it had probably reached single digits overnight. Daylight, however, brought sunshine and better weather with it, and the temperature, while still chilly, became more comfortable. There was still no sign of Anchorman, and we were beginning to worry. It wasn’t typical for him to disappear for twenty-four hours without letting us know. I hoped that he had found a good spot to camp last night. Without good tree cover or the shelter of rocks, it would have been brutal.
Throughout the day, we followed the JMT along the ridges and around the lakes that we had seen from across the valley yesterday. Passing Garnet Lake, Shadow Lake, Rosalie Lake, and Gladys Lake, along with many other smaller named and unnamed bodies of water, we made our way back toward Devil’s Postpile. Despite having hiked this stretch of trail last year, it seemed completely new without smoke and ash. Each lake was nestled deep in a valley on the side of the range, which the trail would descend into, before climbing up and over the next spine to the next lake. To the east, I could look out over the ridge that we had walked yesterday, and to the west, the high peaks of the Ritter Range towered proudly over the lakes.
After crossing Minaret Creek on a brand-new foot-log (the forestry worker was still anchoring it), I reached the PCT and turned north, again. Passing back up the east side of the valley, I passed Agnew Meadows and finally reached camp, overlooking the ridges that I had crossed earlier in the day. I then noticed that I had received a text from Anchorman. He had apparently received news yesterday that he needed to return home as soon as possible, so he had decided to abandon the JMT loop and keep pushing north. His plan was to push straight to Kennedy Meadows North and then on to South Lake Tahoe, where he would catch a bus to Reno and fly home. Expressing regret that he had needed to leave without a proper farewell, he encouraged Sausage and I to try to catch up to him by the time he got to Tahoe. He wasn’t planning to increase his daily mileage by a whole lot, but just needed to avoid any unnecessary detours. Sausage reached camp about an hour after me and I showed him the text. We were both in shock. The three of us had hiked together for over eight hundred miles. Soon, however, our shock and disappointment turned to resolute determination. This was, after all, an individual journey above all else. Still, the incredible beauty of the mountains from our campsite was slightly less impressive that night, as we ate dinner quietly.
We passed through the majority of the next day in a fog. The first half of the day was trail that we had already hiked, so our minds wandered to the sudden exit of Anchorman. Since Idyllwild, we had been aware of the fact that he wouldn’t be able to finish the trail. He would need to return east for law school at some point in July, but we never expected him to leave in mid-June. He was probably taken just as off-guard as we were. I think he’d been truly enjoying himself out here. We had left Mammoth Lakes in good spirits. Another possibility was that maybe he had just wanted to spare us the inevitable eventuality of his leaving. He would have needed to leave soon anyway, so maybe he just assumed this was as good a place as any. Maybe internally, he had gotten what he wanted out of the hike and was just trying to spare us the uncomfortable interaction of sending him off toward home while we still had over sixteen hundred miles left to go. Of course, the most likely scenario, is that something unexpected happened, for which he needed to quickly return home. He never offered an explicit explanation, and he didn’t need to. He had been a good friend and valuable member of our squad, and we eventually made peace with his absence. Maybe we would somehow catch up to him between here and Tahoe. Maybe.
Pushing past Thousand Island Lake and up and over Island Pass, I crossed several small patches of snow. The mosquitoes, which hadn’t been bad since before Mammoth Lakes, began to buzz again. Climbing up Donohue Pass, I looked over my shoulder, back toward Thousand Island Lake and Banner Peak, clearly visible in the afternoon sun. Last year, I had been headed south as the first haze of smoke and then the towering pyrocumulonimbus clouds poured over Banner Peak and blanketed the surroundings with the sight of lightning and ash, and the rumbling of thunder. Oh, what a difference a year makes! Reaching the top of Donohue Pass, the last major pass over 11,000 feet, I stopped to turn around and admire the view. The high peaks of the Sierra, glistening white, stretched out toward the southern horizon. To the north stood row after row of green, rolling mountains, lower and less rugged, but every bit as beautiful. Far below, was the green floor of Lyell Canyon, stretching out toward Tuolumne Meadows. This was Yosemite National Park, the third National Park of the trail.
Descending from the pass, I continued down toward the valley below. Passing through steep canyons and switch-backing down vertical cliffs, I remembered this trail from last year. I had struggled up this climb. It wasn’t much easier down, especially with my foot. Every step was painful. I eventually resorted to pole-vaulting my way down the slope, driving my entire downward force into my trekking poles to take some pressure off my feet. I had learned that skill from Anchorman. After finally reaching the bottom of the slope, I passed my campsite from last year and kept walking, keeping an eye out for Sausage, who was ahead of me. Finally, I found him setting up camp along the Tuolumne River. There were a few mosquitoes around, but to our surprise, we were able to enjoy the evening outside our tents. Just through the trees, the river meandered quietly, and throughout the evening, squirrels and birds and deer all frequented the banks, undisturbed by our presence. I’ve now spent two nights in Lyell Canyon, on two different journeys, and I’m convinced that few places on earth can rival its beauty and peacefulness.
I got a late start the following morning, but it didn’t matter. We only needed to hike roughly eight miles to Tuolumne Meadows, and I knew from experience that the trail would be nearly completely flat. As I walked, I swatted the occasional mosquito, but was relieved that they weren’t too thick. I was surprised, however, because there was standing water everywhere, usually a guarantee for those miserable creatures. In my opinion, Lyell Canyon is more of a valley than a canyon, as it drops down from Donohue pass. The wide, flat valley floor is covered in green meadows interspersed with dense thickets of pine. For much of the hike, the trail follows within sight of these meadows and the Tuolumne River that winds peacefully among the grasslands. I’ve heard people say that you’re likely to see more wildlife in the miles along the floor of Lyell Canyon than you are for the rest of your trip combined, and I would have to agree. By the time I reached the road at Tuolumne Meadows, I had counted several dozen deer, along with more smaller creatures than I could count.
As I approached highway 120, it occurred to me that this was the first road that the trail had crossed since Sherman Pass Road at Kennedy Meadows South. Yes, the trail had crossed near a couple picnic areas and trailheads, but all those roads were dead ends. We had not crossed a road on which you could cross the Sierra Crest in 240 miles. Turning off the trail and onto the road, I made a beeline for the Tuolumne Meadows General Store and Grill, just down the street. What I found as I arrived there, could only be described as a confluence of hikers and backpackers of every variety from every surrounding trail that had all been attracted by the simple prospect of food. As Sausage and I sat around the picnic tables, we shared stories and listened to the adventures of PCT hikers and JMT hikers alike. South-bounders and north-bounders (and even some flip-floppers) all shared their adventures. Even hikers and backpackers of shorter trails and distances joined in, all eager for social contact after emerging from the remoteness of the Sierra. There was no cell service and no wifi, just hikers and climbers and travelers of every variety, just enjoying good (and surprisingly affordable) food and cheerful company with strangers. After the grill closed, most backpackers made their way to the backpacker’s campground. Located in the rear of the campground, even further back than the Yosemite Search and Rescue base camp, we enjoyed every amenity that we could ever desire: picnic tables, shade, a water spigot, a restroom, and trash cans! It truly felt like a five-star establishment.
As the sun rose, I jerked awake to the sound of a large blue jay screaming at the top of his lungs from several feet way. Time to get up, it was going to be a long day anyway. To comply with park regulations, we would need to hike the entire distance to Yosemite Valley in one day. As I headed west, along the final leg of the JMT toward the valley, the trail began to climb up toward Cathedral Lakes. I had camped at Upper Cathedral Lake last year, and to this day I still consider it one of my most enjoyable campsites. The view of the mirror reflection of the jagged Cathedral Peak in the clear, still water was one of my first introductions to camping out west. As I passed the lower and then the upper lakes, however, I was disappointed to realize that the trail had been rerouted since last year. Instead of following along the shoreline of the upper lake, the trail remained in the trees, with only brief glimpses of the shimmering water. I had been looking forward to visiting the lake again, but there was no time to detour down the side-trail, I needed to keep moving.
The tally of day hikers and short-term backpackers was climbing into the hundreds as the trail continued to climb up and over Cathedral Pass and continued along the Yosemite highlands, through high meadows and along rocky outcroppings. By the time I passed Sunrise High Sierra Camp, the trail had begun to flatten out, but mosquitoes swarmed at my legs in vicious clouds. I resisted the urge to hose myself down with deet for as long as I could stand, but eventually gave in. It worked for about twenty minutes until my sweat rinsed it off. Finally finding an area windy enough to keep most of the mosquitoes away, I enjoyed lunch and then continued, descending a steep ridge and then pressing on toward the junctions for Cloud’s Rest and Half Dome. Passing Sausage near the base of the slope, he asked if I’d seen a bear – apparently, he had seen one about a half-mile back and had decided to push a little further before stopping to rest. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was the same young bear that I had seen last year near the Half Dome junction – Number 26. It probably wasn’t, but you never know. The next few miles consisted of a full-contact battle through the thorniest stretch of trail I have ever experienced. It was bad last year too, motivating us to give the thornbushes a name that I shouldn’t repeat here. Despite my best effort, I was unable to determine if it was less painful to step carefully through the thorns, or to just quickly plow through. Either way wasn’t pleasant. Passing Little Yosemite Valley around mid-afternoon, we finally breathed a sigh of relief, we were going to make it in one day.
We were now among day hikers from the valley, who had made the strenuous, 2,000 foot climb up the infamous switchbacks to the top of Nevada Falls. I remembered how tough that climb had been last year and was glad that we would be going down. First, however, we had enough time to enjoy the cool pools above the falls. While most day-tourists were simply soaking their feet and playing in the water, we set out, in true thru-hiker fashion, to complete some chores while we were at it. Before long, others looked on with surprise as we pulled several pairs of filthy socks from our packs and proceeded to do laundry and wash up as best as we could. Sausage commented that it would be bad to let our clothes get away from us over the falls. I was thinking the same thing about ourselves. I could buy another sock, but I don’t think anybody has ever survived the 594 foot plunge in the raging torrent. We enjoyed the water for almost an hour, before deciding that it was time to make our way into the valley.
Descending the switchbacks at breakneck speed, we quickly reached the base of the valley and continued a short distance to the trailhead sign at Happy Isles. We had officially completed a thru hike of the John Muir Trail, 211 miles from here to the summit of Mt. Whitney. We had detoured several times to resupply and had needed to backtrack along one section, but had successfully covered the entire distance of the JMT without missing any of the PCT. The satisfaction for myself, personally, as I paused at the trailhead, was overwhelming. I had started from this place on September 2nd of last year, full of anticipation for the trail ahead, and while I had experienced a grand adventure, my JMT thru-hike itself had been cut short at that Red’s Meadow picnic table. It had taken me nine months longer than expected, but I had finally conquered one of my goals: I was officially a thru-hiker!
Making our way, first to dinner (a 16” pizza for me), and then to the backpacker campground, we found the area already full, but were able to find just enough room to pitch our tents and finished dinner in the dark. The night and morning were noisy, with over a hundred tents in the area, but we headed out early toward the Yosemite Village Store to resupply. The selection was slightly disappointing, being geared more toward car-campers, but I was able to find what I needed, along with two bacon, egg, and cheese biscuits, a sizeable breakfast burrito, an eight-count pack of powdered donuts, and a bottle of orange juice for breakfast. After downing my 1,800-calorie breakfast, Sausage and I agreed that we had been less impressed with far more expensive meals in the past. We sat around for the rest of the morning, planning for the next stretch of trail, as our devices charged from two unoccupied plugs behind some vending machines. By mid-day, however, we were making our way out to the road to try and hitch a ride back to Tuolumne Meadows.
I thought it had been difficult to hitch a ride in Lone Pine. This was almost worse. A steady stream of vehicles passed by, bumper to bumper at times, but no one stopped. We debated our options: the bus that typically runs between the valley and Tuolumne wasn’t scheduled to start running for the season until tomorrow. At the very worst, we could just stay another night and then take the bus. We remained by the curb, thumbs out, hoping that it wouldn’t come to that. Sausage decided that maybe we weren’t getting people’s attention, so he started twirling one of his trekking poles. It didn’t help. Finally, after nearly two hours, a van pulled over and rolled down the window. They were climbers and could take us as far as the El Capitan junction. That was only a small fraction of our trip, but we graciously accepted and crammed ourselves into the back, wedged between the bed and cabinets. Once at the junction, they showed us where the rangers had set up some telescopes to watch the climbers up on the wall, and talking with the ranger, we learned that he was Slick, from the PCT class of 2008. Peering through the telescope, we could see several different parties, all near the top of the massive wall. According to Slick, it could take as long as a week to reach the top. Sausage eagerly exclaimed that he had found his next hobby. I wasn’t so sure.
Back at the road with our thumbs out, we waited for our next ride. The last road had been busy, but this road was even busier, with two lanes of traffic, both headed in the direction we needed to go. Still, no one stopped. Several people parked, walked over to the El Capitan viewing area and returned to leave in the time that we stood there, and finally, one such group had pity on us and offered a ride. Their truck was full, and we would need to put our packs on the roof, but at a certain point I would be willing to ride on the roof myself. Once again, however, they weren’t going the entire distance to Tuolumne Meadows and dropped us off at Crane Flats. We were almost halfway to our destination. At least from Crane Flats, it was a straight shot to Tuolumne, but it was also an empty road, with only a few cars every few minutes. After just a few minutes though, we were picked up by some guys visiting from Canada. They had never heard of Tuolumne Meadows, but were headed to Mammoth Lakes and would drive right past Tuolumne Meadows on their way there. Ultimately, we arrived back at the General Store and Grill four and a half hours after we had first begun trying to hitch out of Yosemite Valley. Sausage raced into the store before they closed to finish resupplying, while I sorted my gear outside. We had talked about covering some miles tonight, but decided to stay at the backpacker campground again. We could hike tomorrow. The mosquitoes weren’t bad, and we enjoyed dinner at the campground, listening to the sounds of one of the Search and Rescue team members picking on his guitar in the nearby amphitheater. Tomorrow we would set out, the two of us, through the final stretch of the Sierra.
