...And Into Yosemite National Park

Shang-hi at Donahue Pass.

July 2: Happy birthday, Shang-hi! It was Shang-hi's birthday today, though admittedly, I had forgotten that fact when I first woke up. He mentioned it the day before, and it wasn't until later in the morning when I remembered it and wished him a happy birthday and started making sure that everyone else on the trail knew it was his birthday. =)

We crashed down Donahue Pass quickly, not having much trouble at all. A few miles down, once we got out of the snow, we started passing huge numbers of hikers. Some were day hikers, many were backpackers, and none of them were thru-hikers. I lost count of the number of hikers after twenty, but it seemed like there could have been a hundred or more. This place was positively infected with people.

Clearly, we had finally entered Yosemite National Park. I'm not exactly sure where we crossed into the park. Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks had signs up clearly marking the boundary, but we never passed any signs marking our entrance into Yosemite.

One hiker going southbound on the trail warned us of a "dangerous" river crossing ahead. The water was fast and deep, and it was sketchy. He said he saw a couple of thru-hikers risk the crossing and made it okay, but he wouldn't recommend it. Go around, he suggested. "You might die if you don't," he seemed to suggest.

When we reached this river of death, we found it to be about ankle deep, and running quite slowly. Shang-hi and I tromped through the water, grumbling about having to get our feet wet, but laughing about the "fast and deep" river crossing we just made. These southbounders really need to toughen up.

After a few miles, we fell below treeline and entered Yosemite.

Once we got a few miles behind Donahue Pass, the snow stopped, and it stopped for the rest of the day. The trail wound its way down to Tuolumne Meadows where we stopped at a large clustering of thru-hikers outside of the general store. They were everywhere! Like a dozen of them. Maybe two dozen. I found Fidget there, which was the first time I'd seen her since we parted ways. During that time, she had discovered that Charmin and Hasty were the hikers who found the food bag I lost the week before. The food, I was sure, was long gone, but I hoped to catch them at some point and get the bag back. I liked that bag. I used it on the Florida Trail and most of the PCT. I was attached to that bag. What I couldn't understand is how they managed to find it. I lost it shortly after crossing Evolution Creek and they blew passed us while Fidget and I had camped with our campfire. How did they get behind us again? Did they not cross Evolution Creek after all that evening? Where did they camp then? Why didn't we see their camp while walking down the trail? It seemed mystifying how they could have found my food bag, but I guess it didn't really matter either. The only people with answers were Charmin and Hasty.

I ordered a cheeseburger, fries, and a drink at the store there, then bought more food for immediate consumption and to resupply at the general store. I also picked up some postcard stamps from the post office there.

Lambert Dome in Tuolumne Meadows.

I spent a couple of hours there lounging around and getting fat, but finally left along with GQ. We walked together for a couple of miles, but then he started lagging further and further behind. He planned to go off trail to do some sightseeing along the way. For a lot of thru-hikers, this was their first time in Yosemite, and a great number of them decided to make a few side trips since they were in the area. Some wanted to see Yosemite Valley where most of those iconic photos that everyone recognizes in a heartbeat are taken. Some wanted to climb up Half Dome. Some wanted to complete a thru-hike of the John Muir Trail which leads from Tuolumne Meadows to Yosemite Valley. I've been to Yosemite Valley before, and I've hiked to the top of Half Dome twice, so I skipped the side trips. I would like to do a full thru-hike of the John Muir Trail someday, but preferably late in the season when there was no *#$^@ snow on the ground anymore. That could definitely wait!

I camped a few miles beyond the Glen Aulin Campground. The mosquitoes were terrible for miles on end, and I finally stopped, threw on a head net and slipped into my sleeping bag, napping until the evening progressed late enough for the temperature to cool and the bugs to die down.

If they would just cut down more trees,
the views would be a lot better!

I camped alone, and worried about a "dangerous" river crossing several miles ahead. I hadn't heard anything about this particular crossing, so maybe that was a sign that the crossing wasn't particularly bad? At least not by Evolution Creek or Bear Creek standards? But then again, I didn't really relish the idea of making a dangerous river crossing by myself either, and right now, I was on my own.

Donahue Pass: It's Not Over Yet!

Agnew Meadow

July 1: I woke up with a horrible sense of impending doom. Dread. I didn't sleep well. The idea of going back to the trail made me nauseous. Going back to the snow, postholing in the snow, crossing crazy rivers, getting beat up and chewed up. I was tempted to take another zero day. Maybe I'll feel better about it then, I thought. But I knew I wouldn't. The only thing that would make me happy is knowing that there wouldn't be a single fleck of snow on the trail ahead, and that wasn't going to happen. Quitting never entered my mind, not really, but I envied those who would. A zero week, however.... A zero week was very tempting. The snow wouldn't be gone, but maybe a week would have allowed a great deal of it to melt.

But I knew I'd grow restless if I stayed too long. It would just be another week of worrying about the snow ahead. Just get it done and over with.

So I prepared to get back on the trail. I walked over to the outfitters to get on the Internet real quick--I had to pay the bill to keep the lights on at Atlas Quest for another six months--and on my way back, I bumped into the two Israeli girls, Shani and Noga, along with trail angel Tom at the motel. Tom offered me a ride back to the ski area, saving me the hassle of taking a trolley to the bike bus to the ski area.

Back into the snow.... Ugh!

We arrived at the ski area, and the bus to Agnew Meadow was already loaded and looked ready to go. I jumped out, grabbing my pack while thanking Tom, and all but running to the bus before it left. I was the last person to board, and I walked to the back of the bus, but there were no seats left. So I set my pack on the ground near the back door and stood. I've been on crowded buses with standing room only before, but it seemed strange to be the only person actually standing. It didn't help that I clearly looked "different" from every single other person on the bus either. Everyone else had small day packs, kids played with each other, and then there was me, carrying an agonizingly heavy pack, trying to be careful not to swipe anyone with my ice axe.

The bus started moving, and shortly thereafter, the bus driver got on an intercom asking if anyone was planning to get off at Agnew Meadow. Several voices called out now, even more nodded their heads no. I was the only person--and I mean the only person--on a bus loaded with dozens of tourists to wave my hand and nod my head. Yes, I needed to get off at Agnew Meadow. One voice in the front of the bus told the bus driver, "No, nobody needs to get off," and the bus driver replied, "The guy standing in the back does."

I don't think I ever felt so out of place. Walking into a prom dance wearing camo wouldn't have felt so awkward.

The bus stopped at Angews Meadow, where I was the only person to get off, and started hiking. A huge sense of dread enveloped me. Not that I worried about anything going wrong, but rather at the thought of trudging through snow. Before I started my hike, I didn't have strong opinions about snow one way or another, but I'd grown to loathe snow. Actually, loathe isn't a strong enough word. I don't think there is a word to accurately describe my feelings toward snow.

Shang-hi (aka "Yellow Pants")
approaches Donahue Pass.

At 1000 Island Lake (more like 20 Island Lake by my count!), I caught up with Shang-hi and Hurricane. Hurricane I've been growing increasingly impressed with. He doesn't like to hike, and will happily tell you all of the reasons he doesn't like to hike, but through pure stubbornness, he keeps pushing on leaving younger hikers behind like they were standing still, but I wondered how much longer his stamina would continue. Even now, he wanted to stop for the day, and it was barely past noon.

So Shang-hi and I continued on, wanting to get over Donahue Pass (11,050 feet) by the end of the day. We both knew that late in the day, postholing would likely be a huge issue for us, but we wanted to position ourselves to get into Tuolomne Meadows as early the next day as possible, so we would face the postholing problem or die trying.

Near the top of the pass, we crossed paths with several southbounders hiking the John Muir Trail who just started their hikes in the last day or two, and invariably, they warned us that we'd "never" make it before sunset. After they passed out of hearing distance, we'd snicker to each other about their dire predictions. These people don't have any idea what they're talking about. Donahue Pass was one of the lowest and least snow-covered passes so far of our trip. We didn't have the heart to tell them that--for them--their horror was just beginning. They hadn't seen anything yet!

The view from Donahue Pass and our campsite!

One southbounder, late in the day, seemed a little disappointed to see us, explaining that he thought he was the last person to go over the pass that day. It seemed like he wanted to take being the last person over Donahue Pass as a point of honor, and we spoiled it for him by going up so late in the day.

Shangi-hi and I made it to the top of the pass by 7:00 that evening, a respectable time, and we decided to camp right there on the pass. A small area was snow free, and even a small creek trickled nearby from the snowmelt. Given the exposed position and high elevation, it was cold, but not shockingly so. Definitely no bugs! Little wind. And it was an absolutely beautiful night.

Zero Day: I Earned It This Time!

Among other things, I needed to replace my shoes.

June 30: Before I even got into Mammoth Lakes, I had decided that I wanted to take a zero day. For the first time on the trail, I felt like I earned a zero day. The High Sierras tore me up, physically and mentally. When I limped into town, my shoes were falling off, my trekking pole was broken, my sunglasses were being held together with duct tape, my pants were ripped to shreds, one of my gloves was missing (and the other had holes in each of the fingertips that were growing increasingly large), and basically, I was in bad shape. My legs were scratched up and bruised from all the postholing I'd done, and bumps marked countless successful mosquito attacks. I was exhausted from the snow, mentally and physically. For the first time, I wanted a zero day for absolutely no other reason than that I had earned it. I deserved it.

And by golly, if that gave the snow another day to melt before I had to go back to it, even better. =)

On my way to the movie theater the day before, I discovered the location of a thrift shop and decided to take a gander, nabbing myself a ski pole for $1. One buck! I was giddy with the find. It wasn't a trekking pole, but a ski pole was close enough in my book, and just one buck! I also bought a couple of thin paperback books for one dollar each. (War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells and Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie.)

I checked a few different places for shoes, growing increasingly despondent that there was nothing in the whole friggin' city that sold a pair of shoes for less than $100. I finally found a pair that I liked for a mere $60 (and they gave me a "thru-hiker discount of 10% on top of that) and took them. Those were probably the most expensive shoes I've ever bought, but it was still a full hundred dollars less than the cheapest shoes I could find at the first outfitters I went to.

A free trolley allowed us to get around town easily.

That was the last of the major resupplying that I needed to do. I went to Vons to buy food and such--the usual resupply needs--but the rest of the day I had free to do whatever. I found a mini-golf course that I thought would be fun to do and even had a coupon for it, but I seemed to have a difficult time finding any thru-hikers wandering around who'd like to go with me. Mini-golf is fun. Mini-golf by yourself.... not so much. So I skipped that and ended up spending most of the afternoon reading War of the Worlds, finishing fairly late in the night. It's a classic and a quick read, and by finishing it in town, I didn't have to carry it on the trail. I left it in the hiker box at the motel. Perhaps another hiker would enjoy the book as well.

And that was my zero day. A little bit of resupplying, but mostly laying around taking it easy and reading. =)

Civilization! Can it really be?!

I pass by this enticing sign for Reds Meadow
and go to Agnew Meadow instead.

June 29: When I passed Tom a couple of days before, he suggested to Fidget and I that if we wanted to go into Mammoth Lakes, that taking the bus in from Agnew Meadow was the way to go. Invariably, all guidebooks suggest getting off at Red's Meadow, and invariable, that's what nearly all hikers do. Tom suggested Agnew Meadow for two reasons, however: One, it was a shorter bus ride into Mammoth Lakes, and two, we'd be carrying lighter packs up the next ten-or-so miles of trail since we wouldn't have much food. Hikers returning to Red's Meadow will be loaded down with food.

Looking at maps and studying the situation for myself, I liked the idea. My pack was positively empty of food, and it was early in the morning. I could hike the extra miles to Agnew Meadow with the near-empty pack and still get into Mammoth Lakes before noon.

So I skipped the turnoff on the trail to Red's Meadow and kept hiking. My food supplies were now down to a single Cliff Bar (which Tom had given me a couple of days earlier) and a small bag of gorp, but that was enough. I could make it.

Devils Postpile. It's a pile. Of rocks.

There's a network of trails in the area, and I decided to take an alternate route through Devil's Postpile rather than stick to the official PCT route. The two routes are nearly identical in distance for the few miles they split, running parallel to each other, except the trail past Devil's Postpile didn't allow for horses, so the official PCT couldn't go in that direction. (At least that's my theory. So far as I can tell, there's absolutely no other reason for the official PCT to follow that parallel route.)

So I took the alternate route. I've never been to Devil's Postpile before, but I remember seeing photos of it since I was a mere child, and I wanted to finally see it close up and personal. I passed a few day hikers and a couple of fishermen working a nearby creek, but it wasn't especially crowded. Not at 7:00 in the morning, at least. The lighting on the postpile was terrible, causing the whole thing to be in its own giant shadow. I had to steady my camera on trees and rocks to get photos of it that weren't blurry.

It's kind of cool to see, but there's not really much to it either. You can see the entire postpile in about 30 seconds of walking. If you're in the area, by all means, check it out. But I wouldn't drive very far out of your way to visit this place--it's just not worth it.

Is this supposed to be funny?

The trail went back into the woods, and the occasional day visitor that I seen disappeared leaving me alone with my thoughts once again. A couple of creeks I had to walk through, highly annoying. I had hoped to at least have this one, easy, short day with dry feet, but it was not to be. I think the people designing the trails are making fun of us too. At one point, I had to walk halfway across a creek to reach a small bridge that spanned the other half of a creek. And really, what's the point of hiking through a creek to get to a bridge? I cursed the trail workers who put up that bridge for the half-ass job that they had done. Even when there was a bridge completely crossing the river, the river was so high, water would still splash onto the bridge.

Following the maps provided by Eric the Black's book, the trail was supposed to go onto what appeared to be a paved road where there was supposed to be a bus stop to take hikers into town. So I just followed trail markers blindly, walking through a campground, passed a few folks doing trail maintenance, and started switchbacking up a steep hillside, waiting until the trail crossed a paved road....

And I started thinking, "I don't remember any steep switchbacks before Agnew Meadow." So I pulled out my maps, and there were steep switchbacks, after passing Agnew Meadow. Damn trail never even touched a paved road, but I was absolutely certain I had hiked too far. I cussed the inaccuracies of the guidebook and turned around.

Bus Stop #1

Back at the campground, I followed a dirt road eastward to where I thought the main (and paved!) road was supposed to be, hitting it after perhaps a quarter of a mile. A post labeled the point as a bus stop (#1!), and I threw my pack down on a picnic table and sat down to wait.

I pulled out the small bag of gorp I carried--the last of my food by now--and ate the last morsels of food I had left. I was now completely and totally out of food. Not a drop left. Oh, I still had some powdered milk, but nothing that was actually edible. Before eating it, I took a photo of it. It seemed important enough to document with photos.

The mosquitoes were terrible while I waited. I batted at them. I cussed them. I told them about all of the horrible things I wanted to do to them, but to no avail. DEET seemed to provide a marginal amount of protection, but the little devils were everywhere.

Buses were scheduled to run every half hour, and I must have just missed the last bus because it was nearly a half hour later when a bus rolled to a stop and picked me up. The cost was $7, round-trip. I carried $6.61. I also carried a ten-dollar bill. I hoped the bus driver could provide change for a ten, or was willing to go 39 cents short of the full fair. I really didn't want to pay $10 for a $7 ticket.

Alas, he did not make change. When I realized how little I was short of an even $7, however, he started digging in his pockets to add two quarters of his own to the contribution, but one of the passengers on the bus (the only passenger on the bus, I should say) beat him to it by handing me a one dollar bill, given me an even $7 to pay the ticket price.

Sweet! =)

My last bit of food.

So the bus continued on, dropping me off a short time later at the ski area for Mammoth Lakes. From here, there was supposed to be another bus that would get me into the city of Mammoth Lakes, and this one was supposed to be free. It wasn't readily apparent where I was supposed to catch this free bus, so I asked a couple of guys who seemed to be working in the area if they knew anything about it, and they directed me to the "bike bus." I wasn't sure what bikes had to do with anything--I was hiking! But I followed their directions and waited. I was supposed to see a bus that was pulling a bike rack, and it would be my free ride into town.

While waiting, I watched a few snowboarders showing off on the ski slopes. It seemed astounding to me, here, at the end of June, and the ski slopes were still open? Blasphemy.

This time, I only had to wait about five minutes before I saw it--a giant bus towing an equally giant bike rack behind it with what seemed like hundreds of bikes. The bus was packed, but a few folks got off. Most stayed on, and I got on and took a seat.

The bus made another stop a few miles down the hill at which point everybody--and I mean everybody except myself got off the bus. I felt seriously out of place amongst all of these bikers. I got on where absolutely nobody else got on at, and I stayed on when absolutely everybody else was getting off. I guess they get free rides (with their bikes in tow) high up the mountain where they can bike down back into town--downhill the whole way.

Only in Mammoth Lakes, and the tourists were everywhere!

As the bike bus pulled into town, the driver pointed out a trolley just ahead telling me that I could jump on that to get around anywhere in town I needed to go--also absolutely free. So I jumped off the bus and into the trolley. The girl driving it recognized me as a thru-hiker, clearly having picked up a few in the past, and asked where I wanted to go. I told her the Motel 6, and she said she'd tell me when that stop was reached.

She was a friendly, chatty girl, telling me about the city and pointing out sights along the way. She gave me a copy of a free local paper and told me about where I could find a happy hour. Very friendly town folks!

I checked into the motel, showered, then went off to see the town. I needed to do a major case of resupplying! At the outfitters, I bought new pants, gloves, socks, sunscreen, and sunglasses. I checked out the price of a new trekking pole and winced with pain. I just want a cheap little pole that Wal-Mart would sell for $10 or less. I'd rather carry a stick than pay the prices they were asking. I also needed new shoes but again winced at the prices. Maybe I could find a cheaper place for shoes elsewhere in town. So I held off on those items.... for now.

The bike bus.

In the little newspaper the trolley driver had given me, I learned that Toy Story 3 was playing at the movie theater, and--even better--it was "Tuesday Customer Appreciation Night" and all movies, all day, were just $6. SOLD!

So I walked over to the movie theater and went to see Toy Story 3--which I absolutely loved! It hardly seems possible, but I think that may be my favorite Toy Story yet. That is a story that just gets better and better with every sequel. Can't recommend it enough.

And then I headed back to my room for the night. Time for sleep.

A Typical Journal Entry

Heading up Silver Pass

June 28: Typically, late in the afternoon or early evening, after I've eaten dinner, I sit down and write "talking points" in my journal. I'm too lazy to write out detailed descriptions of what happened during the day, so I just write a bunch of points to remind me about what happened during the day so, when I get online later, I can type them up in rich details as if I wrote it directly on the trail. I can type a heck of a lot faster than I can write anyhow, so the details come in my typing--not in my writing. I just need enough information to "jog" my memories of the day. Maybe look through my photos as well.

Not today, however. Today, I'm going to copy June 28th's journal entry word-for-word, to give you a taste of what I actually write in my journal at night. =) It's nowhere near as detailed as my regular journal entries, but perhaps you'll find it interesting anyhow.

As an aside, I'm currently typing this entry on August 3rd, for stuff that happened to me on the trail on June 28th, and this post isn't scheduled to actually go public until September 4th at 5:00 in the afternoon (Pacific time).

So, without further ado, this is my journal entry:

Fidget slips on a log while trying to avoid the snow.

• Silver Pass (10,900') was covered in snow for several miles. Exhausting but glad Fidget and I did it in the morning to limit postholing.
• Passed Tully Hole. Not sure who Tully was or what the deal her hole is about.
• Steep climb up to Lake Virginia, where the trail is inexplicably routed through the lake. Okay, normally, it's shallow enough that one can cross by jumping over a series of large rocks. Right now, the lake is so high, the rocks are underwater.
• Ate lunch on far side of Virginia Lake. I cooked mashed potatoes (440 calories) while sewing a new hole in my pants closed. I'm so domesticated!
• Food levels critical. Enough to last me about 24 hours--if I conserve!
• Lost trail in snow several more times--at Duck Lake Turnoff, at Purple Lake, at Deer Creek, etc. Argh!
• Stopped for night with a French couple thru-hiking the JMT southbound. Fidget pushed on to Red Meadow with two other hikers hoping to arrive in time for a drink. Never even had a chance to say goodbye. French couple have terrible English, so I didn't try to talk to them very long.
• Ate Mac and Cheese--the last dinner in my arsenal. 

Fidget postholes up to her waist.
Instead of helping, I take photos. =)

One thing I'd like to elaborate on--Fidget and I hiked through the worst that the High Sierras could throw at us--and this particular evening, we finally parted ways. Ours is a strange relationship. So far as I can tell, off the trail, we have absolutely, utterly nothing in common. It seems like the trail brought us together to get us through the tough times, and once we made it through that, we drifted our own way again along the long, windy river known to thru-hikers as The Trail.

Late in the afternoon, Fidget asked me if it would be okay if she went on ahead with a couple of other thru-hikers who were planning to get into Red's Meadow where there was a store with food, alcoholic beverages, and who knows what else. I was a little surprised--like she needed my permission? But it wasn't that she needed my permission. She was just looking out for me, making sure I'd be okay hiking alone again.

We never really entered any kind of formal agreement to watch out for each other. It was just something we kind of fell into, but it worked out really well. When my trekking pole broke, she was there offering one of her own to get me through tricky creek crossings.

Late in the day, I was hiking behind her, and she was moving! I'd never seen her hike so fast. At a couple of points, she even started jogging a bit. "She really wants that beer in a bad way," I thought. =)

For some inexplicable reason,
the trail is routed directly through this lake.

I had no intention of going into Red's Meadow that evening--I wanted to go into Mammoth Lakes the next day, then take a zero day--and when I stopped to pick up some water from a creek, I never caught up with Fidget again. I was a little sad to not even have the chance to say goodbye, though I was sure we'd cross paths again somewhere up the line.

So I camped, a couple of miles short of Red's Meadow, with the French couple who didn't speak very good English, silently wishing Fidget good luck on her journeys, and thankful our paths crossed when they did. I knew there would be more snow-covered passes ahead, but they were becoming progressively lower and easier to cross. My confidence level at navigating such treacherous terrain had grown tremendously in the week or so I spent with Fidget. Even though she wouldn't physically be hiking with me anymore, our experiences together would still help me through the days ahead, and I really can't thank her enough for helping me through the worst of the Sierras.

Fidget offers me a trekking pole
for the creek crossing.

And I can't help but laugh at the memory when I first met her, while I was hiking naked. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but it was only a week. Our last night we spent together, Fidget turned to me and said, rather unexpectedly, "I've really enjoyed hiking with you." It made me smile, and I really enjoyed hiking with her too. I'd miss her.

The Most Dangerous Day of the Trail....

June 27: The highest of the High Sierra passes were well behind us, but as Fidget and I were quickly learning, it was the river crossings that we should have been worried about all along.

I didn't sleep well overnight. A sense of dread washed over me, and lingered. I worried about crossing Bear Creek in the morning. Would the water level have fallen to a safer (and saner) level? Nightmares of drowning plagued me. Even worse, my guidebook showed four more dangerous river crossings further up the trail. In all, we'd have to deal with five potentially deadly stream crossings before the sun had set. It was enough to make you throw up thinking about it.

But it was Bear Creek that worried me that most. I'd heard horror stores about Bear Creek. The other so-called 'dangerous' creek crossings I'd never heard of. Maybe they are dangerous, but in my head, Bear Creek was the one to be feared the most, and it filled me with a sense of dread.

At sunrise, Fidget and I woke and walked over to examine the river. It seemed to have gone down a little--perhaps an inch, maybe two. Nothing that would make any difference at all in terms of safety, though. The river looked positively deadly. My sense of dread increased another notch. I hoped I wouldn't die this day. It was a morbid thought to think, but it seemed like a distinct possibility. Not likely, perhaps--I could probably swim to shore if I started getting carried away, but the possibility seemed all too real. Crossing this river could be a deadly decision.

Fidget turned to me and said, matter of fact, "If I die crossing this river, I want to you to tell everyone that my last wish is that they build a bridge here." I laughed. Partly because I thought it was funny, but partly out of nervousness. I didn't like this crossing at all, and thoughts of morality were very much in my own mind as well.

We ate breakfast, mostly in silence, hoping it wasn't going to be my last meal, then packed up camp. Fidget decided to go upstream looking for this mythical safe place of passage Yogi described. I looked around for a stout stick to help me keep my balance during the crossing, looking downstream. I hadn't searched for a safe place to cross downstream very thoroughly. I only went down about five minutes the evening before. Considering that our lives were in the balance, it seemed like it would be worth the effort to search downstream more thoroughly. I'd search downstream for a half hour if I had to, but I at least had to make the effort for a safer place to cross. My life was worth it!

And about ten minutes downstream, I found a possible place to cross. The river forked into three branches. The first two branches looked positively easy to cross. The third branch was further away and contained the bulk of the water, but I couldn't see it very well from the shore where I stood. It might be crossable. At the very least, a good portion of the river (and it's 'enthusiasm' as Fidget diplomatically described it) had been channeled into two other smaller channels. It was definitely worth a shot, and the best place I'd seen so far to cross. I was cautiously optimistic that I found a safe place (relatively speaking) to cross!

I went back up to the trail. Fidget hadn't returned from her scouting upriver, so I sat down and waited. When she arrived, I tried to keep up a poker face about my discover and asked her, "So did you find anywhere to cross?"

She shook her head, clearly disappointed. She described a log that seemed to have potential, and I knew exactly what one she was talking about, but it was in water so deep, so fast, and was partially submerged. The narrow canyon above the trail seemed to funnel the water into a faster, stronger, and far more dangerous current than where the trail crossed. The log might be crossed, but one slip would be instant death. Given the water was running over the log, I didn't think it could be crossed.

Then she asked me if I found anything, and I smiled. "Yes!" I jumped up explaining what I had found downstream. I told her that I couldn't be certain that the third channel of water would be easy to cross, but that the first two definitely were easy, and it certainly pulled out a lot of water from that third channel. And it looked a hell of a lot better than anything else we had seen.

Fidget was very happy about this news, and we grabbed our packs and headed downstream to my discovery. Fidget loved what she saw, and tromped into the first channel without any hesitation. I followed with the stick I had found earlier. We both stood on the land between the second and third channels, finally getting a good look at the last channel, and it looked positively wonderful. The water was fast, but most of it was pretty shallow. Maybe a little bit near the other side of the river it got a bit deep, but compared to everywhere else we had found, this looked a hundred times better. Fidget, fearless, stepped out into the water.

I watched, and started waterproofing my camera and other important documents. Those first two channels of water were so easy, I didn't worry about it. This one was a bit sketchier, however, and I wanted to take the additional precautions.

Fidget made it across fine, and I followed suit also getting across without any trouble. And we felt an enormous sense of relief to finally have Bear Creek behind us. I was positively giddy about that fact. We still had four more "dangerous" water crossings in our future that day, but if we could get past this one, I thought, the others should be a cinch!

We hiked for a few hours. I pulled ahead. There wasn't much reason we had to hike together at this time. In the snow where the trail is easy to lose or at a dangerous river crossing, I'd wait. Until then, we hiked at our own pace.

At the turnoff for VVR (Vermilion Valley Resort, but hikers call it VVR for short), I found Tom camped out. Tom gave me the ride from the Kearsarge Pass trailhead into Independence, and I was surprised to find him out on the trail here. He was waiting to meet up with Evan and the two Israeli girls, so I told them about the last time I had seen them (Golden Staircase) and when (a couple of days ago). They probably weren't far behind, but I doubted they'd make to this point that day. Maybe tomorrow?

Fidget caught up soon and told him about Evan breaking his ice axe.

Tom exclaimed, "Evan broke my ice axe?!"

I laughed. "Yes, he did. I didn't realize that the ice axe was actually yours, though! Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but yes, your ice axe is broken." The head had broken off of it somewhere during their crossing of Mather Pass.

Tom gave Fidget and I both a Cliff Bar and Pro Bar, which I happily accepted to add to my meager food supplies. My food was running especially low given the food bag I had lost. He also offered us a can of sloppy joe mix he had, but I didn't have a can opener to open it and declined. Fidget did have a can opener, however, and accepted it. He also offered to take the trash we had to lighten our loads. This was awesome!
(And thanks, Tom, if you ever read this blog!)

A short ways past time was the second 'dangerous' river crossing of the day: The North Fork of Mono Creek. A tree had fallen across the river, which wasn't one we could cross over easily, but it slowed down the river water and Fidget and I crossed through the water fine. It wasn't even particularly deep, coming up about halfway between our knees and waist.

"If the rest of these 'dangerous' river crossings are like this," I told Fidget, "We're home free!"

The next dangerous river crossing was a few more miles up the trail, recrossing the same North Fork of Mono Creek. This crossing looked a heck of a lot worse, however. It was crashing down a steep canyon, and the water here was a lot faster, and a lot deeper. Neither Fidget nor I liked the looks of it, and we started heading upstream to look for a better place to cross. We weren't finding much, however. Fidget turned back to start looking downstream, but I scrambled upstream to keep looking. If my life depends on it, I thought, it's worth the effort.

I followed the river upstream for more than a half hour but came up with nothing promising. Back at the trail, I found Fidget who said the river forked into two smaller streams a little downriver and looked okay. Heartened, I followed the stream down to see for myself. I found where she talked about, and indeed, it was a better place to cross than anything else I had seen to date, but looking at the terrain, I thought searching even a little more downstream might be prudent, so I kept going.

The river lost its momentum in Pocket Meadow, a small flat area filled with twisted logs and debris, and realized that there was actually enough that I could cross on the logs without even getting my feet wet. The trail went right along the edge of the meadow, so I followed it back up to Fidget and told her I found an even better place to cross than the one she did. I brought her down to Pocket Meadow, proud of my discovery.

"Look! We can cross without even getting our feet wet!"

Before we crossed, I took a good, hard look at my topo map. Dangerous river crossing #4 for the day was only 0.2 miles after this one. The topo map showed two creeks, merging here at Pocket Meadow, but the trail went above the meadow and crossed each creek one at a time. Crossing here at the meadow was positively easy, and it looked like we could scramble up a steep slope back to the trail.... after it already crossed dangerous river crossing #4. If my topo map was right, I thought, we could actually get past two dangerous river crossings without even getting our feet wet!

I explained my idea to Fidget, who seemed to approve of it. Fidget wrote a note out on a piece of scrap paper suggesting to hikers behind us to cross there at the meadow and follow it upstream until the trail it reached again. Save them the effort of spending the better part of an hour scouting for a safe place to cross like we did.

We crossed the rivers at Pocket Meadow. I made a special effort near the end of using logs to cross ankle deep water only so I could brag later that I crossed two dangerous water crossings without even getting my feet wet. Fidget let her feet get wet, though.

The rock scramble up the slope was sketchy, but nowhere near as sketchy as where the trail crosses the river normally. We pulled ourselves over one last hump and saw two hikers ahead of us. I couldn't see the trail under their feet, but obviously, they were standing on the trail. We made it! We came over the hump, and I threw my arms in the air, "WHOO-WHO! We made it!"

I can't imagine what these two men must have thought of seeing us, coming out of the bushes seemingly out of nowhere, scraggly and dirty. Monsters? Bears? Savages? But they recovered quickly, and asked where we had come from. They were stuck at our dangerous water crossing #4--the so-called "waterfall crossing" because the trail crosses the creek at a waterfall. (As we heard from another hiker, as long as you don't fall off the ledge, you'll be fine.) The waterfall crossing stopped these two southbound hikers in their tracks. They were discussing setting up camp early and trying in the morning when the water level would likely be lower.

So we told them how we got around the two dangerous water crossings, which seemed to reinvigorate them, and they eventually crashed into the bushes to try to retrace our steps backwards.

At the top of the mountain, the creek flows through a meadow, slowly and meandering. This was the fifth (and last) so-called dangerous water crossing of the day, and it turned out not to be a big deal at all. The water was deep--waist deep--but it flowed so slowly that there was nothing at all dangerous about it.

We set up camp on the far side of the last dangerous water crossings, happy to have made it through the day alive and in one piece. We hadn't seen almost any snow for the entire day either, which was a nice break from the snow slogging of previous days. We camped as close to Silver Pass as we could without getting above snow level to set ourselves up for an early morning climb over the pass before the snow warmed up.

At this point, my shoes were starting to show some serious wear and tear from the snow and water, so I spent much of the evening sewing together a hole in one of my shoes. The needles weren't really strong enough for this sort of work, but it was all I had so I made do, a couple of times sticking myself with the needle inadvertently.

Damn, these mountains are tough, and they seemed to have no end......

The Most Dangerous River Crossings of All....

June 26: Evolution Creek is misnamed. It is not a creek. It is a raging river of death. It looks like a raging river of death. Fidget and I woke with the sun, and marched off to check out this so-called 'creek.' A sign posted near the ranger station suggested walking 25 yards upstream where the creek would only be about two feet deep, which didn't sound bad at all. Another sign at Evolution Meadow, near where we camped, said if the river was high, we could cross in the meadow itself. The water level there was high, but it was moving slow and easy to cross.

So we had options. The hand-made sign by the park service that suggested walking 25 yards upstream seemed recent and relevant, however, and we decided to go with that. When we reached the creek, we found a very wet Anne, seemingly in some distress. We didn't expect to see her at all--she had wanted to reach Muir Ranch the night before. "What happened to you?" we asked.

She said she tried to cross the night before, but failed. She couldn't do it, and finally set up camp along the shore to try again in the morning when the water level was lower. The water level, she told us, was a lot lower this morning, so she tried to cross again, and failed again. She couldn't get across. Now she was cold and soaking wet, and looking absolutely miserable.

We walked 25 yards upstream to check out where the rangers suggested that hikers cross, and the river looked fast, deep, and dangerous. Fidget and I knew Charmin and Hasty had to have passed the evening before, when the water was even higher, so it had to be crossable. Did they cross there? Charmin's a little girl. If she could cross it, surely we could. None of us imagined that her and Hasty were laying dead downriver somewhere. (Don't worry, they weren't!)

Fidget asked if I'd mind if she crossed with both of her trekking poles. "By all means," I told her. I'd just have to find a good, stout stick to help keep my balance while crossing. No big deal. That was the only indication she had any trepidation about the river crossing, though. She marched into the water while Anne and I watched from the banks to see how it went. Most of the way, the water rarely came up past Fidget's knees, and it didn't look bad at all. Near the other shore, she dipped into waist-deep water, which she was clearly struggling to find her footing, but eventually reached a log, pulled herself up, and was securely on the other side.

Fidget turned around and shouted something, but I wasn't sure if I had heard her right. I turned to Anne, "Did she just say that it was too dangerous and for us not to cross?"

"That's what I heard," Anne confirmed.

Hmm.... It didn't look that bad to me, so I decided to cross anyhow. I rooted around for a long, stout stick to take the place of my broken trekking pole and followed in Fidget's steps across the river. Like Fidget, I didn't have any trouble at all--not until I got to near the far edge where the water came up close to my waist,a and I started thinking, "Maybe this is too dangerous....?"

But it was too late, I was already committed. I made a jump, grabbed onto a log, and pulled myself up, safe and sound on the other side.

"Your turn," I shouted to Anne.

Anne shook her head. "I can't do it!" Anne wouldn't cross there, yelling across the river to me that she'd hike back to Evolution Meadow and cross at the meadow. I shouted a good luck to her, then turned around to find Fidget.

But Fidget was nowhere to be seen. I walked 25 yards back downstream to the trail, and still no Fidget. I didn't even see her pack. Was she scouting for a better place for Anne and myself to cross? That didn't make any sense, though. If I were scouting for a better place to cross, I wouldn't have been carrying my pack the whole time. I started thinking, maybe Fidget left? She ditched me!

Or maybe she was hiking upstream to Evolution Meadow, thinking that Anne and I were headed up there to cross? I didn't know. What to do? What to do? I can't imagine why Fidget would have bothered to hike up to Evolution Meadow hoping to find us crossing, so I leaned towards the theory that she just left and continued down the trail. She ditched me!

I yelled back to Anne asking if she saw Fidget on my side of the river at all, but she didn't. I yelled again, telling her if she saw Fidget, to tell her that I didn't know what happened to her so I was going to go ahead and continue down the trail. Maybe I would catch up to her there. Maybe not?

Anne left to go back up trail to Evolution Meadow to cross the river. I continued down the trail, alone. The trail followed along the river for a short ways, down a steep incline, and the relatively smooth river where I crossed became a crashing waterfall, a natural blender for anything in the water, throwing up so much water in the air, it created a multitude of rainbows.

"Holy $#!^!" I thought, looking at the crazy whitewater. Had I slipped and been taken downstream, it would have been death. I'm so glad I didn't realize how bad the water got just downstream from where we were. Actually, if I did know how crazy the water got, I probably woulddn't have risked the crossing where I did. I'd have gone upstream with Anne to Evolution Meadow.

About six miles further along the trail, I caught up with Fidget. At least now I could know with certainty where she had gone to.

"You ditched me!" I yelled to her. Not angry, but with mock hurt.

She seemed surprised to see me, and even more surprised when I told her that I crossed at the same place she did. Since she knew my trekking pole was broken, she thought the crossing there would have been too dangerous for me and assumed I'd go up to the meadow to cross along with Anne. She didn't realize that I planned to find a stout stick to help steady by balance while crossing. Basically, just a bit misunderstanding.

We stopped for lunch eventually, where I emptied my pack looking for a bag of snacks I had. It was a gray bag, and I had M&Ms and Skittles in it. Probably some granola bars as well, but it was the M&Ms and Skittles I was after, and the bag was gone. At first I thought it must have just slipped into the bottom of my pack, but it was gone. I must have left it behind on the trail somewhere where I had stopped for a lunch break.

This was a problem for me. I had enough food to get me to my next resupply point at Mammoth Lakes, but not much more than that. Losing a whole food bag--that was a problem. I'd have to inventory what food I had left, but I had to definitely be careful about how much I ate in the future and ration the food I had left. Grrr....

A group of five or six young boys passed us at lunch. We had stopped for lunch right at a sharp turn in the trail, and the trail ducked under a small pile of snow right at the turn. Fidget and I were experienced enough in the snow to recognize the turn immediately, but the group of boys passed by, going straight, and neither Fidget nor I stopped them to say, "Hey, you're going the wrong way." We just watched them pass by.

"So how long do you think it'll take them to realize they went the wrong direction?" I asked Fidget. It didn't take long before we heard cussing coming from them on the other side of the meadow. At one point, we heard one of them shout out to the others, "Stop talking and find the fucking trail, would you?!"

Fidget and I laughed. We thought it hilarious listening to them bushwack and start scrambling up a slope on the other side of the meadow. I was surprised that none of them thought to turn back, walk perhaps one minute back where were were still lounged on the trail, and figure out where they went wrong. We spent a good ten minutes listening to them trying to find the trail again.

And this wasn't even a tricky section. We're we cold-hearted, not helping when we could? Perhaps. They didn't actually stop to ask for our help either, however. And anyhow, there would be a lot more snow ahead. They really needed to learn how to route find, because it was assured that they'd lose the trail many, many more times in the future. And lose it in sections much trickier than this one. It was a good experience for them, so we thought, even if they weren't thinking that themselves. =)

The group finally did find the trail, and Fidget and I continued hiking, catching up and passing them quickly. The trail was heading towards the next 'big' pass--Seldon Pass, topping out at 10,900 feet above sea level. It was late in the afternoon and we figured that there would likely be snow and postholing involved, but at a mere 10,900 feet, we weren't too worried. "It's more than a thousand feet lower than those other passes we got through!"

Going up turned out to be relatively easy, but down the other side was problematic. We lost the trail, thoroughly and completely. "This is karma for us letting those kids get lost," Fidget told me. She even went so far as to suggest that my losing my food bag was karma for my having done something bad earlier. I couldn't imagine what I did to deserve that, however.

Miles after losing the trail, we finally picked it up again, thrilled to have finally found it after so long. Near dusk, we approached Bear Creek--the second of the two seriously dangerous river crossings we'd been hearing about for hundreds of miles.

The river looked scary dangerous. Even more so than Evolution Creek, if that can be believed. Fidget, who carried Yogi's guidebook, suggested that a safe crossing could be found upstream, so I wandered upstream for nearly a half hour looking for a safe place to cross but found nothing. Absolutely nothing. The best place we could find was perhaps a one minute walk upstream from the trail. I went downstream for a few minutes, around a bend in the river, to see if anything downstream looked promising, but I only saw the raging, churning river. It didn't look good.

A sense of dread started enveloping me. The best crossing we could find looked too dangerous to me. I didn't really want to cross there. The idea terrified me. The water looked deep and fast--a deadly combination. Fidget, once again, seemed remarkably fearless and tromped into the water bravely. She got a little ways out, then turned around and came back to shore. "That wasn't working," she told me. But she's nothing if not persistent. She went back out again, making a second attempt at the crossing while I sat and watched.

She got a good 15 feet out or so, the water coming up to her waist, and I could tell she was struggling with her footing and even just getting her trekking poles in place. Then I saw her lose her balance, twisting around, and I felt nauseated. I thought I was going to watch her die, swept away to God-knows-where. She looked up at me, and clearly saw the look of horror on my face, and somehow managed to catch her balance once again. She scrambled back toward the shore, and I felt so relieved to see her on shore and still alive. That woman has nerves of steel, though. She didn't seem at all phased at a near-death experience, or she hid it a lot better than I did.

"We're camping on this side of the river," she said authoritatively. She got no argument out of me. That seemed like a prudent thing to do. Maybe the water level would be a lot lower in the morning.

It's the last day of August, and the last day to sponsor Amanda and myself for the Washington Trail Association's Hike-a-Thon. If you haven't already, please consider sponsoring us. (Especially me!) The folks do great work helping to fix up and maintain trails such as the Pacific Crest Trail and help make thru-hikes such as mine possible. If you enjoy reading this blog, consider giving something back to the trails that make it possible. Thanks! I'll be continuing this blog so it covers through the end of my thru-hike, hopefully (if all goes well and I don't get myself killed before then!), to the Canadian border. So stay tuned. Just because the Hike-a-Thon is coming to an end doesn't mean that this blog will end....