My Journey to Freedom and Ultralight Backpacking (6 page)

“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 from 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.

  G
enerally 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.”

  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?”

  But, thankfully, it crosses at a fairly benign place where it has widened and slowed and most boulders are not in motion, at least not now. Usually the trail resumes directly across the creek and the objective is clear. A simple rock hop is possible in many streamlet crossings, the rocks having been placed a long-legged man’s stride apart. Cobweb had this magnificent way of ricocheting himself, rock-to-rock, zig-zagging across. Momentum is the key word here. One must not stop to consider.

  Early one morning, I had already committed myself to such a hop.  Seeing the next one an impossible 5 feet away, I stopped. This necessity was the mother of the invention I called the “Sacrifice the Queen” maneuver. In chess, the dumbest move apparently is to lose one’s queen, the most powerful piece. However, it may save the whole game. That’s the term I used for putting my foot on a slightly submerged rock, allowing that shoe to momentarily taste water, and then using it to complete the ford. It appeared unskillful, but to any sneer of laughter, I lifted my head with haughty eyes and simply stated, “I sacrificed the queen.” That usually shut them up with a look of complete confusion.

 
Sometimes a creek crossing looks like a barefoot necessity. Nothing immediate presents itself. Then running up and downstream to find an easier place ensues, perhaps a partial log, met by a boulder, a point peeking out. That’s all one needs.

  Ice may be present. The logs may be unstable. Hiking poles definitely help for balancing, touching points on either side of logs, and for checking water depth. When all else fails, off come shoes and perhaps socks. Laces are tied in a knot and shoes slung around the neck. A crossing is slowly made diagonally, wading down stream, allowing the current to bring you and the thousand feasting mosquitoes ashore. No grimace or groaning is permitted for a Classy Crossing. This barefoot crossing has the benefit of some thorough cleansing action for feet as well as socks.

  And always, of paramount concern is the pack. Sleeping bag and food must not fall in. Feet and legs may need to suffer to insure such, with slow, sure steps in icy cold water.

  The whole procedure is an art form.

  Tuolumne Meadows has a post office, café and store, joined together in one long building. Outside there are many picnic tables and two pay phones. The tourist crowds were not easy to maneuver around, and we long distance hikers stood out like wild animals. I didn’t spend any time in Yosemite Valley, but simply hiked down in a day, completing the JMT, and was back in time to stealth camp. Most hikers sent their ice axes, surplus supplies and winter gear home. I sent my Army blanket bag liner home but elected to keep my ax until I got to Echo Lake out of respect for Rainmaker’s and Cindy Ross’ near death experiences at Sonora Pass. And, too, in defiance of a local weekender who told me to mail it home. I might have been the only hiker that year to carry an ice ax through this section, but it had a dual purpose. It was a good weapon.
 
  The trail has been great, and challenging, but the time had come to shift gears. I had to slow down because my rendezvous with Rainmaker in Reno, Nevada was still over two weeks away.  I would miss seeing my thru-hiking friends, especially Ben and Becky. Those behind me would catch up and pass. Trail friendships are just that, and seldom continue into the other world. We love what we have when we have it; we let go of what we must when it’s time.
 

Tuolumne to Echo Lake

 
These last 156 miles of my solo adventure, I planned to hike slowly. Nearly three weeks remained before Rainmaker flew in to join me. I carried an estimated eleven days of food, in two stuff sacks. Only the campsite at Glen Aulin had a bear box. It also had some bears known to harass hikers in their tents. So, that first night out I continued another 12 miles to McCabe Lake Trail junction, buried my food under rocks between large boulders and gathered some smaller rocks to place in the vestibule for ammunition, should the need arise. No sign of a human camp nearby, no fire rings, no human footprints or trash. This was definitely a stealth campsite. To maintain a low profile, all my gear was kept inside my gray Cherokee tent.

  Many hikers spent extra time in Yosemite Valley visiting relatives, climbing cliffs and just relaxing. Others had hiked quickly ahead to avoid the 4th of July-No-Post-Office at Echo Lake on this long weekend. It seemed that all the thru-hikers had disappeared. So, all alone, and trying to relax, I slept late, cooked oatmeal for breakfast, and piddled around to my heart’s content.  However, I still was on the trail by 7:30. That inner drive that plagues me fought this slower pace. The next day, I only hiked about 10 miles and buried my food again. That was a big job since my food filled two stuff sacks. 
  I forded several wide streams that were very low for this time of year. The climb up Benson Pass was ambiguous. If it hadn’t been for the rock ducks (ingeniously piled rocks, used as trail markers), I don’t think I could have found the way. One important note; don’t ever cut switchbacks in a multi-use area, you could very easily end up on a spur trail, and not realize it for several miles.

  Later, I crossed Kerrick Canyon Creek and cooked supper. Maybe it was the appetizer of double hot chocolate or the black liquorish sticks, but somehow the Ramen and Cheese delight didn’t go down very well. Or perhaps it was the dried apricots? Anyway, I felt ill. I didn’t want to camp where I’d cooked, but my stomach hurt. Slowly I stood up and contemplated the situation. It was already after 5:00 with a 900-foot climb ahead and a steep descent on the other side. Suddenly, off to my left walked a beautiful black bear. I don’t believe he saw me, or perhaps he was just being nonchalant. Decision made; guess I can hike some more tonight. I put on my pack while watching the bushes where the bear had disappeared and saw him cross the creek using rocks like a human would do, and then dash off.  Either he had caught my scent or saw me at that point. I hiked another 3 miles and camped among some boulders, forgetting to pick up water at the last mosquito infested stream crossing. A dry camp, indeed. That was a 19-mile day.
   On June 27
th
, the next day, I did an unbelievable 25 miles. It was windy, cloudy and cold, and not a soul to be seen all day. Very lonely for a face; I just would have liked to see another human being. Finally, in the distance, two people were fishing at Dorothy Lake. They watched me the entire time I skirted the east side of the lake. Greeting them when I drew near, they completely ignored me. A bit later, I met a park ranger on horseback, and talked his ear off for a while, begging him to check my permit, Whitney stamp and all. He finally relented, while reminding me we could have snow that night, any night, in the Sierras.

   The last 13 miles to Sonora Pass are narrow, very windy, and at times snow covered. I stopped, put on my silnylon rain suit and later negotiated an ice slope using my ax. If one ever intends to slide down an ice slope, or glissade, it is not recommendable when wearing only shorts. From experience, I found it is quite rough on the skin, and can shred the only pair of shorts you have. My silnylon rain pants were very useful at these times. Rainmaker later told me he used a large garbage bag for his slides.

   Early that afternoon, I reached Sonora Pass, and ate lunch. To my delight, Becky hiked in. We stealth camped in the same spot Rainmaker spent his last night, camped in 1999, and the exact spot he and I camped together our first night last year in 2000. It was time for connection. A special reverence for this place made me defy the perceived threat of a stranger who lurked, binoculars focused on the tables where we had supper. Becky had met him earlier when getting water, he with the duct-taped vest, who asked too many questions and refused to look her in the face. But, didn’t I carry my ice ax? Just let him come and threaten us. It’s a fool who tries to move a wild animal from its lair.
   I had lightened my pack by throwing out some food and the Z- rest, giving Becky food and an extra shirt. Everything possible went in the garbage cans at Sonora Pass. I was tired of burying my food, and sleeping alone. It was 74 miles to Echo Lake Resort. The best remedy now was to just hike long and hard. The first two days I hiked with Becky, then she disappeared again. On the third day, I reached Echo Lake. That evening I called Rainmaker, and managed to get a ride to Berkeley Camp just a quarter mile down the road. For $10, I had a hot shower, access to a hot tub, full sized pool, and a bed in a shared tent cabin. I was done for now! I still had eleven days until Rainmaker arrived, and I intended to spend the time resting and relaxing.