Nine Days on and near the John Muir Trail - August 2007

---

Back to Index Page Written by Big John, dedicated to Amnon of Israel

Day One, or "Let's Get High"

The night before the start, Ken, my brother Mike and I arrive at Lake Sabrina above Bishop California, on the steep eastern slope of the Sierra Nevada range. This lake is at 9000 feet, much higher than Wishon Reservoir where we started last year. Jasmine has elected to remain at home this time, letting Mike plan a much more ambitious route than we managed previously. It sounds pretty tough for three dorky looking guys in their late 40's, but no guts no glory. From left to right in the photo, it's Ken, Mike, and Yours Truly.

This time we will climb just a few miles of steep trail before beginning a cross-country trek to fabled Echo Col and the John Muir Trail on the opposite side of the Sierra crest. "Echo Col" sounds pretty mellow, not at all like last year's "Hell For Sure Pass," oy. The only ominous note is the elevation of the col, at 12,600 feet. Hey, at least there ought to be killer views there, right?

This year I'm in better shape than last, having done several backpack trips in the interim. The 2200 feet of climbing on the first day is not too tough, altho the sudden large increase in altitude is hard on everyone. In compensation the scenery on the east slope is magnificent, with huge crest peaks clearly visible right from the start. Actually this is just a bit intimidating and we know in our guts that we're headed for heavy duty work.

The day goes fairly well and we reach Moonlight Lake at 11,200 feet just before dark, finding a tiny campsite along the shore and under some trees. This side of the range seems to have a higher tree line than the west slope, maybe because of the nearby desert heat to the east.

Another difference is the total lack of mosquitoes which we had to endure in great numbers last year. Back then the mountains were all soggy from a late heavy snowfall but this year a major drought is in effect, and the signs are everywhere in dead grass and brown needles on many of the pine trees. It's still beautiful, but much of the emerald hue is gone. Not that we'll miss it, not at the altitudes where we're headed!

At this point we are already a mile beyond the upper endpoint of the trail we started on, and there won't be a real trail underfoot again until we've crossed the col and descended several miles to the JMT in Le Conte Canyon. Tomorrow the boulder hopping begins in earnest so it's time to rest up for the trials to come.

Day Two, or "Echo Lake"

In the morning we're all rather sore, but that doesn't stop me from climbing the ridge behind our camp to look over at Hungry Packer Lake, the twin to Moonlight Lake. From that high up it's obvious that the ideal route for approaching Echo Lake is to follow this ridge until it meets the bottom edge of that lake, only 400 feet higher than our camp and about three miles away. I convince the others and off we go. A side benefit is that the views are better up here than they would be along the watercourse far below.

It's pretty rough going but also good training for the col assault to come. This roughness along with the altitude and the fatigue of the first day slows us a lot, but by noon we arrive at the outflow of Echo Lake and pause to take in the sights. This 11,600 foot high lake is quite large and deep looking, and is ringed all around by very lofty peaks. The only thing that seems to be missing is an echo! Okay, there is a huge vertical cliff on the opposite side, but it's just too far away to bounce back any sounds we can make. Should we have brought a stick of dynamite?

To make up for its echo-free properties the lake is beset by periodic wind gusts that come every 20 minutes or so, alternating directions each time. The lake surface clearly shows these gusts moving to and fro. Weird. It's almost as tho the basin generates its own weather pattern.

We have lots of time left in the day but now the col is in plain sight, and what a sight it is. Immense granite teeth lined up across a space between two of the big crest peaks, with a small permanent glacier hugging the steep bouldery slope below it. Trouble is we're rather tired already and the col area appears very hostile to would-be campers. Discretion being the better part of valor, we chicken out and opt to camp here, preferring to take on the col after another night of rest. As it turns out, this is a very smart move.

Near Echo Lake's outlet the winds are too blustery for comfort, so we sidle along the left shore looking for shelter. Eventually Mike and Ken locate a semi-flat spot well above the lake that is no more than half-filled with pointy rocks. We have plenty of time to pick over the area and create two clean patches for the tents. After that it's time to engage in some dedicated loafing. Ken and I while away the afternoon watching the gusts cross the lake and Mike shows off his advanced yoga skills with the col serving as a dramatic backdrop.

Finally the sun goes low and we crawl into bed. The wind drops, and in the calm thin air we all slumber on until a strange noise shatters the quiet. Suddenly I'm woken out of a sound sleep by an increasingly loud crunching noise. A bear? Way up here? What would it eat? Uh oh...

After a moment of trepidation I realize that it's obviously a biped on foot, not a hungry ursine on the prowl for tasty tent-fillings. Crunch crunch crunch, and then a very bright light passes directly thru our camp. Oh no, we're gonna be probed! Cautiously I poke my head out in the cold and see what seems to be a man (whew), going away down the path we came up and wielding a flashlight only two shades dimmer than the Sun. We all watch in amazement as this mobile searchlight wavers its way down to the lake below and rapidly departs from our vicinity.

There is no place the mystery hiker might have come from, except for Echo Col! But at midnight? 'Tis a puzzlement. Oh well, it just goes to show that we are on the correct path, altho this particular fellow must be some kind of superman to be travelling over such dangerous ground in the middle of the night, a very humbling thought.

Excitement over, we all slip back into our comas and stay that way until morning.

Day Three, or "The Gap"

Next day it's pretty cold but there's a job to do, so we lurch upright and stumble about until the camp is (more or less) back in the packs. Then it's onward and upward (mostly upward), searching out the occasional trail ducks that other considerate hikers have left here and there. It's all very steep and dangerous here, increasing the awe we feel at the feat performed by our nocturnal visitor.

Progress is very slow but the col is only two miles from the camp and by 11AM we reach Echo Glacier, now starting to soften in the sun. That's good, because getting around it looks rather difficult. At first I attempt to do this, but on seeing the others easily climbing the glacier face I give it a try. it's a lot easier than picking along the side rocks and safe enough when done one careful step at a time. It's far from safe tho, as a slip would mean a long fast and unpleasant ride down the highly irregular glacier face. No one wants to experience that.

Before long we all arrive at the bottom of the final rockfall slope below the apparently vertical col itself. About this time another party of five hikers arrives from below, headed to the col as well. We saw these guys on the first day, but they camped in different locations than us and we didn't know they had the same goal in mind. As we all rest a couple hundred feet below the col they explain that they have climbed up here not to cross over, but to accompany one of their number. He's come to scatter the ashes of his departed father at the col itself.

They tell us that in life the man loved this spot, and we can see why. All around there is nothing but gigantic peaks, white snow, and pure deep blue sky. Awesome indeed, and a fitting place for an old hiker to rest a while.

Before that can happen tho, we must find the correct gap. Ken climbs up to one gap and I to another, but both go to vertical drops on the far side. Standing up there, Le Conte Canyon is revealed before me, with seemingly endless ranks of major peaks beyond. Here is a spot very few have ever visited and it's hard to turn away from that view, but the others are waiting below so down I go.

Eventually Mike locates the correct gap and the path to it, and while he's up there I hear strange voices. Turns out there are a couple of gents up in the gap who are camped at a lake on the far side. They have come up to scout a path for their intended crossing tomorrow with their packs. I can't see them, and before long they have gone away.

Now a problem arises. Mike had claimed that we could get over quickly and one liter of water each would be enough, but now in the bright sun I'm nearly out of water and the gap is still well above, with a near vertical pack climb up the treacherous fallen boulders to get there. I won't say I'm panicked, but a desert hiker like me doesn't get very old by ignoring such a lack. I hate the idea of going back, but thirst on the rocks is no picnic, let me tell you.

Mike starts 'working' on me, and then one of the other guys lets me drink some of his water since two of them have reached the col, performed their ceremony, and are headed back. They can get water at the bottom of the glacier so it's not a big deal for them. This double mouthful works its magic and now I feel I can go on, to Mike's obvious relief. The fact is, I know I have to keep going anyway, but the altitude and the stark landscape has apparently short-circuited my good sense. It's strange to realize you are acting like a petulant child and yet are almost powerless to stop it.

Having snapped out of my funk I manage to reach the gap in a startlingly short time, joining Mike there. Then Ken finally works his way up and we all pause in that small space, with two fantastic views on either side. It's not hard to picture an old hiker sitting in this same spot not so many years ago, seeing the same views and knowing like us that he couldn't stay and might never come back here again.

We can now see a nice big lakelet a few hundred feet down the far side, with nothing to stop us but a lot of unstable boulders. Hah! After what has just occurred this little descent is no big deal. At least it isn't for Mike and I, but part way down Ken manages to badly tweak his herniated disc and henceforth he will be boulder-hopping in some pain. I'm feeling ashamed at my earlier show of weakness and resolve henceforth to become Mr. Stoic. Unlike Ken, I have no physical problems worth mentioning, an amazing thing in itself.

After an hour we reach the lake and filter some blessed aqua pura, and then it's down one more long bouldery descent to the bigger lake below. This is where those two other hikers are camped, but somehow I manage to stroll right past their lakeside camp without seeing it. Must be the "Rapture of the Peaks." Yep, that has to be it.

We reach the lake outlet, and now the JMT is only one mile distant but it's down yet another steep boulder-hopping slide of several hundred feet. Thus we decide to camp here and go for it in the morning. Having settled in, we gaze up at the jagged col with quiet smiles. This is the hardest thing I've ever attempted, and now no mere trail can faze me, regardless of where it goes. Besides, tomorrow the boulder-hopping comes to an end. Woohoo!

This happy thought sustains me right thru the "expanding cous-cous" incident, and also the subsequent disposal of said expanded cous-cous. That stuff REALLY absorbs water. I had tried to warn Mike but he ignored my plea. Now it's too late and the mushrooming mass has taken over the cooking pot. There is now a huge pile of semi-edible yellow stuff on hand, and not nearly enough appetite to match up with it. Ken is in the fetal position in his tent and no help at all.

I bring out a new kind of dry chili mix to attempt a save, but it's even more hideous than the cous-cous and our appetites are strangely suppressed. A final "mix them together" approach is doomed before it starts. Admitting failure, I try to bury the excess cous-cous. Unfortunately what little local dirt can be found is very dry and hard, and I'm gonna need a big hole. Oh well, I guess some ill-favored marmot is due soon for an "interesting" discovery.   ;-)

Day Four, or "A Lake Called Wanda"

This day we only need to reach the John Muir Trail and then walk up it a few miles to Muir Pass. Before that tho we must descend that final steep granite slide to the bottom of Le Conte Canyon. I've scouted an easy-looking descent ridge to the right, but Mike insists on going down the center section, so we part ways for the moment. Ken decides to follow Mike, and I can only shake my head ruefully.

My route isn't too bad, altho there's a section of smooth and highly angled slab that I have to mince down in a very slow and deliberate way, because falling would cause a fatal tumble off a cliff. Meanwhile the others seem to be having some route finding difficulties, and Ken's back isn't helping either.

Within thirty minutes I have bottomed out at the trail. Looking up, I search in vain for my buddies, who must be located somewhere amidst the jumble of cliffs and boulders far above. There's a very pleasant glade alongside the trail here, so it's no hardship to rest and contemplate fate. Finally two moving dots appear up on the slope, and reunited at last we take a break, or at least they do. I'm all rested now so I gather the bottles and go down to the creek.

While filtering water there, who should appear from down the trail but a very pretty young woman named Sevan, wearing wraparound shades and sneakers, but no pack. Most unusual! We chat while I work, and Sevan tells me she and her bulky boyfriend are camped a ways down the trail. He's assaulting some local peak while she traipses up the trail, headed for Muir Pass. As Sevan leaves, I warn her about those two old coots lounging up on the glade.

Water collecting done, I return up top and find the three of them becoming fast friends. Sevan is doing stretches on the grass and everyone else is loving it. Not to be left out, I get down and practice some yoga of my own. Yoga is a recent thing for me, but the results have been so dramatic that I take every good opportunity that comes along.

Then Sevan takes off up the trail and we soon follow, winding up the canyon along a rushing creek. The trail here is very rocky, but seems delightful compared to our recent cross-country jaunt. Occasionally other hikers are met, this being a premier Sierra trail. One particular guy has just a small daypack and is jogging down the difficult rocky trail. Hey, whatever turns your crank, I guess.

A couple of small lakes go by, and it's a bit hot in this closed-in section so I'm plodding along with my head down. Suddenly I hear a loud "Boo!" and startled, look up to see Sevan straddling the trail on two tall boulders just in front of me. It's a good thing I have a strong heart or it could have been the end. I can't stay mad at Sevan tho, as she giggles past me and on down the trail. Mmm mmm.

Finally we reach Lake Helen, the last in the chain on this side of Muir Pass. It's large and deep, with impressive peaks and ridges hanging above as usual. Here we run across a party of guys who are skinny dipping in the very cool waters. They say they jump in every big lake they run across, a worthy goal in my opinion. I'm almost tempted too, but luckily we need to push on over the pass and reach Lake Wanda on the far side before dark.

Mike had originally planned to turn away from the trail here and go over a rough pass to the trackless Ionian Basin, but with Ken's problem we agree to rest a day at Wanda and then come back for that little side trip. Actually Mike had an even grander expedition planned for us, but after Echo Col we all realize that itinerary is far too ambitious.

Now we trudge up the last few hundred feet to the pass and are greeted by the sight of the fabled Muir Hut, hand built from the local granite in 1931 by the Sierra Club with a donation from a rich benefactor. They put it here on this exposed 12,000 foot pass as a storm shelter for weary hikers like us, but sadly there's no storm so we have to imagine that there is one. Oh well.

The Muir Hut is quite a happening place in the middle of the day because hikers from both directions are just arriving at that time in great numbers. Every few minutes another party comes along and all of them are very pleased to be there, I assure you. The Hut might possibly be one of the most photographed buildings in the world!

Then it's on down into Evolution Basin and big Lake Wanda visible in the distance, arriving at the shore around 4PM. Mike and Ken want to park in the first semi-flat spot we find, but I'm sure there's better sites farther on. Sure enough, after scouting along the big lake for a half-mile I find many fine sites and then go back to collect the guys. The campsite we pick already has a carefully built kitchen area complete with fancy granite countertops.

Dropping the pack, I go down to the outlet and plunge into a shallow (and hopefully less frigid) part of the lake, thus shedding several pounds of accumulated salt layering. No wonder it was so hard getting over the col! As I'm basking in the afternoon sun I spy activity down in a very shallow place. It looks like tadpoles, but they are almost an inch wide! Every few seconds they all go crazy stirring up the muck, then become quiescent and settle on the bottom, only to repeat the cycle again and again. Odd.

Later as we are pitching tents, a solo hiker comes along and stops to chat. His name is Amnon, an old Israeli soldier who determined one day to walk the entire JMT and climb Mount Whitney too. Very cool indeed. In the photo Ken is on the left, Amnon on the right. Within moments of his arrival, Amnon, Ken and Mike are deep into a discussion about all things Jewish. Oy, too deep for me. This conversation goes on right thru dinner and far into the night, helped along by the complete lack of chilling wind. Finally fatigue plays its cards and we collapse into our tents.

Day Five, or "Rest, Ye Weary Gentlemen"

Today is a "rest day," so naturally both Mike and I go off to do some more hiking, he to a local mountain (Mikes Peak) and I to the lower parts of Evolution Basin. Before that tho, Amnon takes his leave and we're sorry to see him go. I find that you tend to meet a more interesting class of people in places like this, and sometimes they are real gems like Amnon.

While Mike is once again risking his neck up on high, I'm ambling down the long wide glacier-cut valley, passing one lake after another. I'm looking for shady trees to rest under, but they are very small and sparse at this altitude. After three miles I reach Evolution Lake but still no tree shade to speak of. Well, it was worth a try, but I'm not enjoying the brutal noon sun hammering me like a bug on an anvil and the bright white landscape isn't helping any. Sure wish there were clouds but sadly they all blew away the day after we arrived, just like last year.

As I begin the walk back up to Wanda I'm treated to a rare glimpse of the elusive Mountain Ape in his natural surroundings. Three prime specimens are "displaying" in knee-deep lake water for the females, and they seem to be having a great time too. Okay okay, they're just a mixed group of young-adult hikers having a paddle sans-clothing, but I always wanted to be an anthropologist, so sue me.

Back at camp it's time for a quick clothes wash in the bear-can-o-matic with the duds laid out on boulders to dry. You would think that the nighttime cold would prevent drying but the humidity and pressure are very low. This literally sucks the moisture out of everything, even us. Without Chapstick, things would get very ugly. In fact I'm the only one who managed to bring any along, causing the others to whimper and beg to use mine quite often. Hmmm, perhaps I ought to charge for the stuff, ya think?

The remainder of the day passes uneventfully, but tomorrow Mike has big big plans. Sure wish I had rested a little bit more today.

Day Six, or "The Hut, Part Two"

In the morning we start back up toward the Muir Hut along the "Forever Trail," called that because of the way you can see the Hut a long long time before you actually get there. I suppose that tired hikers could view it that way, but we are fresh and so the three miles up to the Hut are rather mellow and nice. Once again we find ourselves atop the pass in good time, with gaggles of hikers stopping by regularly.

This time I take the opportunity to practice my yoga in the darkness of the Hut, a most eerie place. I bet not many people can claim that, eh? No actual visions manifest to me in there, but I bet a lot of people over the years have sent truly heart-felt prayers heavenward after reaching the sanctuary of the Hut's walls. Have such events imbued those old granite walls with something more spiritual? Who's to say?

Now we press on, but not down the trail to Lake Helen. No, Mike really really wants to get into the Ionian Basin, particularly after being denied last year. Thus we leave the trail at the Hut and start contouring across the rocky slopes toward a nearby pass that we know leads into that basin. Progress seems slow, but the distance is not great and we arrive at the base of the final steep slope in good time.

I say "we" but actually I mean just Ken and me. As usual, Mike is traversing high above along the most difficult route he can find, crossing one steeply sloping snowfield after another. We can see him up there, struggling along and causing the occasional rock slide. However, Mike is so strong that he still beats us to the pass itself and then comes down to tell us that it looks too loose and dangerous to descend the other side.

What? Too dangerous for Mr. Mountaingoat? I gotta see this, so Ken and and I doff our packs and scramble up to the top. The Ionian Basin is most striking but it's very difficult terrain, with no trails anywhere near it. I can tell that Mike is dying to go, but perhaps he's being thoughtful of Ken's back condition. Ken doesn't complain much, but this boulder-hopping is the thing that hurts him the most. Besides that, Mike seems to have cut up his hand. I will never understand why more people don't wear gloves like me in such a jagged environment.

I'm all for continuing since it doesn't appear all that dangerous, but Ken is clearly having problems so I acquiesce to their wishes. Just as we turn to go back, a middle-aged couple appears out of nowhere. We had been hearing strange talking from time to time, but couldn't locate the source. These folks explain that they have been hiking along the top of the nearby Black Giant, a huge dark ridge looming far above the pass. Oh, just having an easy afternoon stroll, were you? Talk about being humbled!

In the photo you can see the couple descending the pass ahead of us, and in the top center the very tiny dark spot at the middle of the brownish saddle is the Muir Hut. Lake Helen is down and to the right, out of sight. The unnamed lake below the couple is henceforth to be known as Coffee Cup Lake.

By the way, Helen and Wanda were the names of John Muir's daughters, and the big lakes named for them lie on either side of Muir Pass. I like that.

Anyway, we all head back in the direction of Lake Helen, arriving an hour later. This extra taste of cross-country travel has reminded us of the travails encountered at Echo Col, so rejoining the JMT is a very pleasant experience. Now we begin descending back along the route we came up two days ago and the going is very fast.

The jaunt to the side pass has sapped our strength somewhat, so just before reaching Sevan's Glade we stop at an idyllic hilltop campsite for the night. it would be less idyllic if there were mosquitoes but now it's a pure delight. It's time to rest because tomorrow we have a lot of descending and climbing and miles to get behind us.

Day Seven, or "Living Large in LeConte Canyon"

This is the day I have been waiting for, primarily because we get to descend far down into LeConte Canyon where there are rumored to be actual trees. Yay! Not only that, but most of the hike will be downhill and the uphill part at the end will be short and sweet, hopefully.

There's not much to say about the trip down except that the scenery here is absolutely first class in every way. The higher trees are all gnarled and tortured by the extreme climate, resulting in stunning vistas that just get better and better.

About halfway down we come across some pretty meadows cut by many narrow little creeklets, and out in the middle are two people. They look like they're doing something in a creek, maybe fishing or frogging. I'm taking long shots of them when the others arrive, and then the two people walk over to the trail to chat with us. Turns out this young man and woman (Mathew and Melissa) are Forest Service employees looking for non-native game fish that were introduced a few decades ago.

Those fish are deadly to the native frogs, which remain in the tadpole stage four years. This explains the giant tadpoles I saw in Lake Wanda! The idea is to kill off all the fish, working down the canyon from one level to the next. These two are well equipped, using an electric shock tool that they sneak into place near an unsuspecting fish. Then ZAP! One less fish to worry about. Naturally the process is slow and arduous, and they have been at it here for eight straight years. No game fish have been found here for a year, so perhaps this section of the canyon has finally been cleared.

Later on down the trail we get into thicker stands of trees and spot a deer with ribs clearly showing. The drought is not very kind to some of the wild critters, that's for sure.

Now Ken and Mike are ahead of me, and I spot them talking to someone down below. Upon approaching I see it's Ranger Dave Gordon from the LeConte station a couple miles ahead. He's starting a long range patrol along his section of the JMT, and I guess he likes to chat with hikers 'cause he sure spends a long time talking to us. Mike has met him before and says Dave is a 15 year veteran at this station. Being stationed on the JMT is a dream job for most backcountry rangers, and we can see the truth of this in Dave's sunny disposition.

I query Dave about our midnight visitor at Echo Lake, but he's mystified too. We had thought maybe it was Ranger Dave himself, but he says he doesn't do that kind of thing. It must have been some very tough peak climber going without camping gear who ran out of time up among the cirrus clouds and had to hustle back to Sabrina in the dark. At least he brought along a bright light!

Now we're getting much lower, below 9000 feet in fact, and then we reach Dave's station cabin deep in the trees lining the bottom of the big canyon. After a long lunch rest, we take a left turn off the JMT and begin the switchback climb up the canyon-side toward the Dusy Basin region hanging above.

Soon we've risen high enough to get a good look at this part of LeConte Canyon. All I can say is "Wow!" The view trumps all that has gone before, in my humble opinion. It can't really be described properly, so just look at the panorama shot. 'Nuff said?

Dusy Basin proper starts 1400 feet above the station, so we won't make it today. Luckily there's a nice campsite in the deep woods less than halfway up, altho we all manage to walk right past it. Mike goes the farthest, but eventually he realizes the mistake and comes down to stop us.

This campsite is just below 10,000 feet so a wood fire is legal. It's the first and only fire we will be allowed for the entire trip, so we make the most of it. There's even some wild onions nearby, altho they are getting old and a bit tough. No complaints however, not after seven days eating preserved food! While we eat, a young buck with a small rack brazenly strolls right past our camp just a few feet away. He seems to be extremely interested in a tree trunk a short distance away and commences to sniff it for a good half-hour. Probably has some deer-sign on it. This specimen looks quite healthy and well fed, not like the one we saw down below.

Having gotten a sufficient woodsmoke fix at last, we all turn in to rest up for the 2000 feet of climbing to come tomorrow.

Day Eight, or "Storming the Palisades"

The climb starts as soon as we hit the trail, but we are nice and rested. Soon we top out into the lower half of the basin, where the trail winds along next to a creek and several beautiful but shallow lakes. The grass here is all brown and dead, but I guess that's nature's way.

Dusy Basin is pretty large, separated into two distinct parts with about 600 vertical feet between them. The basin as a whole is much wider than is typical, with the very high Palisades peaks along the eastern portion. We pause in the lower section for rest, but it's way too early to stop here as we had planned days ago so on we go, poling our way up one more climb to the upper section of the basin.

By mid-afternoon we top out at the last sizable lake before the climb up to Bishop Pass. Again I refer only to Ken and I, as Mike took a big lead is now nowhere to be found. The plan is to stop at this lake for the night but Muleman must have got the bit between his teeth and galloped on, perhaps all the way over the pass!

Ken hangs out while I cruise along the lakeshore where dozens of great campsites are evident. Upon returning I find that Mike has come back. Seems he didn't quite make it to the pass before "dawn broke over Marblehead." Oh well, at least he managed to burn off some of that excess energy.

This lake is within a long day's hike from South Lake, our trailhead destination, allowing strong hikers to come up here for an overnighter. Some horse packer outfits also do this, letting less-strong individuals get a taste of real backcountry living without taking too long to get there. Right now I can see a bunch of horses over to the side, getting ready to head out somewhere else.

Tonight the Perseid meteor shower is supposed to be in full force, so I let the others talk me into sleeping out in the open to watch it. Fooey! Not one single spark do I see, but I do get a lot colder than usual without the tent holding in a bit of warmth. Serves me right.

Even so we sleep like babies, under a light coating of stardust.

Day Nine, or "One Last Pass Before We Go"

From this high lake, 12,000 foot Bishop Pass is just a one hour trudge up the trail but that doesn't stop us from celebrating when we get there. Next to the pass is mighty Mount Agassiz at 13,893 feet. The peak is said to be a "walkup," but we now know what that means, oy. Yesterday we met a couple of guys intending to do just that today, so now they must be somewhere on the side of that tremendous mountain.

Once the dancing is done, we start down toward South Lake and civilization. It's about five easy miles downhill to the trailhead, but nothing is really easy in this range and so it does take a while. Along the way we pass many more of those patented eye-catching Sierra lakes, along with an increasing number of backpackers and day-hikers from below. The total drop from Bishop Pass to South Lake is 3000 feet, and I can see a lot of fatigue on the faces I pass. We must have looked much like that on the first day.

Nothing of consequence happens during the descent until I'm only a couple miles from the trailhead. Then up ahead there's a line of horses coming up the trail with teenage girls riding them. Seems quite nice until I notice they are all stopped and looking behind. There's some kind of commotion going on back there under a tree where people are resting.

Then I see the dog. The dog might be just fine under normal circumstances, but apparently five horses don't qualify as normal to this mutt. It's shaking like a leaf and whining like a tormented soul. Any moment I expect to see it foaming at the mouth. The owners appear to have their arms locked tightly around the dog, so I move well off the trail and sidle on past very slowly. I don't like the way the dog is eyeing me and the loud whining doesn't moderate at all, so it's with great relief that I pass by, rapidly departing from the danger zone.

As I progress I warn all and sundry about the mad dog up ahead. I don't see how those people can bring an unstable dog up a popular multi-use trail like this!

Now I'm home free, or am I? Not more than a few minutes from trail's end, what should come along but a couple more teens, this time leading ponies by the bridles. The trail has a steep dropoff here, but there's a wide spot just where they stop when they spot me coming around a corner. Looks like I can squeeze around them on the outside, but one pony takes umbrage at my close approach and almost bolts. Oh fine.

As they go past, the guy on the bridle is whispering to the excitable equine "It's okay, it's okay, just a man with sticks..." Sigh. Having dodged two bullets in a row, I finally reach the trailhead and nearly drop to my knees to give thanks. Next time I'm bringing a Taser!

Now we need to beg a car ride down and around the ten road miles to Lake Sabrina where our own sleds are located, but Mike has already managed this handily, the old smoothie. No other incidents occur and soon we are back at Bishop, looking up at the peaks all crowned with beautiful clouds. Aargh! Why, oh why? Eight straight days of cloudless skies, and now they come back? Next year we're going in March, that's all there is to it.

I would end this account here, but there's one last thing to report. Last year I managed to leave my expensive trekking poles behind at the Woodchuck Trailhead, and it now appears that lightning has struck again. This is becoming a bad habit. Mike claims it's now a tradition but he's full of it. NO WAY am I gonna do that again next year! Forget it. Ain't gonna happen. Nope.

I hope...

Big John
August 2007