Rattlesnakes and Bald Eagles

by Chris Townsend

  This stationary sojourn in the mountains gave a different perspective to the Sierra Nevada and to the journey. I noticed details missed when on the move - how the shadows changed as the sun moved across the sky, how at different times the light picked out tree bark, rock walls, the curves in the snow. I was static. The world was not. That night I could hear coyotes howling not far away. I woke to a heavy frost coating the inside and outside of the tent. Unable to go far because of the tents I wandered round the lake watching the open water increase in size as the snow and ice thawed, crossing creeks on diminishing snow bridges and staring at the peaks. In the afternoon clouds built-up and shrouded the peaks. A cool breeze sprang up. Soon a steady drizzle was falling, the first rain for forty-four days. I had expected the others back late in the day but they didn’t appear. When the rain stopped I wandered towards Kearsage Pass, which they’d crossed, to see if they were coming. A snow bridge over a creek they’d crossed had gone, leaving rushing water ten feet wide. Their boot prints had vanished. As the skies cleared at dusk a thin crescent moon appeared and the last clouds hanging over Kearsage Pass turned pink. There was no sign of the others.

  During my two days alone at Bullfrog Lake I didn’t appear to do much. I let the world lead me. I’ve sometimes been asked if I contemplate nature or meditate when alone in the wilds. Both those sound too dynamic. They imply doing something. I’m not that active. I just let my mind wander where it will, picking up on hints and signs from the natural world. I don’t try and direct my thoughts and sometimes I’m not aware of thinking at all. If something – a tree, a bird, a pattern in the snow – caught my eye I would watch it for a while until distracted by something else. No effort was involved and nothing really happened. Hours could pass without my being aware of them. I was absorbed in the world and not really aware of myself. I have been told this is meditation. If it is I did it without effort, thought or intention.

  My companions returned the next morning bearing gifts of food and fuel and even a newspaper. The Onion Valley store had been closed so they’d gone out to the town of Independence in Owens Valley. Larry had brought me what seemed an enormous amount of food, all of it welcome. Half a loaf, a big chunk of cheese, a tube of honey, sugar, coffee, 12 instant puddings, 3lbs granola, 12 chocolate bars, 6 granola bars, 4 quarts of instant milk powder and 2.5lbs of trail mix ingredients. I needed the lot. My appetite was enormous. The crossing of the High Sierra was proving extremely strenuous and I had no fat reserves left. Every calorie I expended I needed to replace. I had a toasted cheese sandwich followed by honey sandwiches for lunch, which was a delicious change from the usual granola bars and trail mix. It was good to feel full too. Larry had also brought me up a quart of stove fuel, a pen, a lighter, a loo roll and, most precious of all, two rolls of film. I’d been rationing photos for several days. Now I could shoot a few more each day.

  The day turned very windy and we had to repeg the tents more often. Larry’s blew down twice – not that he was more careless than the rest of us but because the design meant it was more dependent on pegs for its shape. A raven flew into camp and scavenged some food scraps Andy and Phil had left, then hopped around just a few yards from the tents. Seeing one this close really brought home how big and magnificent these birds are.

  In the evening we discussed plans. We were 12 days out from Kennedy Meadows but had only progressed 84 miles, partly due to the snow and partly due to the day on Mount Whitney and the days here. It was about 118 miles to Mammoth Lakes. We hoped to be there in ten days – and would be hungry if we weren’t. We needed to speed up. The next day would see the end of my eighth week on the trail. Two months gone already. I’d planned on around 500 miles a month so should have walked about 1000. In fact it was just 650. Miles were needed.

  Needed maybe. Gained no. The first day out from Bullfrog Lake we did just seven and a half miles in ten and a half hours. That did involve crossing 11,978 foot Glen Pass, which, along with Forester Pass, is the hardest and steepest in the High Sierra but even so it was disappointing. The approach to the pass was over hard snow so we needed crampons. The last section looked hard and dangerous with thin steep snow with lots of rocks and talus breaking through and nasty boulders at the bottom to hit if you slid back down. Deciding to avoid this we climbed safer looking slopes to a point about two hundred yards from the pass and then scrambled along the narrow rocky ridge to it. Real mountaineering again. Real mountain weather too with a piercingly cold wind. I needed gloves, balaclava, fibre-pile jacket and windproof jacket.

  As with Forester the north side of Glen Pass was much gentler than the south, just a long wide snowfield. As the run-out at the bottom was just more snow we decided to glissade. This went well at first but then I caught my foot on something and flipped over twice, ending up with the pack pushing down on one shoulder. I couldn’t get up without Scott’s help. Once on my feet I decided to let the pack slide down on its own. This was a mistake. Initially it slid down smoothly but then it hit something, flew into the air and then burst open as it landed back on the hard snow, scattering my belongings over the snow where they then slid down the slope. With the assistance of the others my goods were eventually all retrieved and nothing was lost. Amazingly nothing was broken either except a pen that had snapped. I did lose some used guidebook pages, which blew away in the wind. At least being paper they would eventually rot away. I was most concerned about my camera gear but this was all okay, a credit to the heavily padded pouches I was using. Ironically, during the glissade a weld broke on Larry’s external pack frame even though he’d had no problems with the descent. The broken frame was tied up with cord but clearly it wouldn’t support the load as well and would have to be replaced once we were out of the mountains. Until then Larry would need to treat it carefully.

  Beyond the glissade snowfield the terrain became steeper and more difficult so it took time to reach Rae Lakes. The views made up for the slow progress as we gazed on a ring of multi-textured, multi-coloured peaks at the head of the lakes, with Dragon Peak and Painted Lady standing out. The glorious landscape accompanied us to our campsite near Dollar Lake from where we had views of the great wall of Diamond Peak, the Rae Lakes peaks, the soaring tower of Fin Dome and jagged Mount Clarence King. It was an evening to sit outside and watch the mountains fade to silhouettes and a quarter moon shine in the sky.

  Pondering mileage that evening I realised that worrying about it would only detract from the walk. I was here to enjoy being in wild places. Reaching the end of the trail was a convenient goal but it wasn’t close enough to be concerned about yet. The walk was about the daily journey and the nightly camps not the final destination. Here in the snow I would go as far as I could each day and think about the next stage of the walk when it arrived.

  Thinking this proved wise as we only progressed nine miles the next day and ten the following one. Continuing our descent from Dollar Lake we dropped below 9000 feet and below the snow for the first time in many days. The trail appeared, an actual footpath running through the woods, and led to a log bridge across the roaring snow-melt torrent of Woods Creek. Down here it felt like spring with birds singing, green shoots sprouting from the black sodden soil, still saturated with snowmelt, and many butterflies flitting about the sunlit meadows. The forest was richer than at timberline too with massive incense cedars, red firs and ponderosa pines plus aspens and willows beside the creeks. Being out of the snow and able to walk without crampons or snowshoes was a joy, albeit only a brief one as we were soon climbing back up 3,000 feet to camp on snow again at over 11,000 feet ready for the crossing of 12,100 foot Pinchot Pass. That evening thick white mist rolled in and blanketed our camp. For once we could see nothing. The mountains, our constant companions, had vanished.

  The landscape reappeared for the climb to the pass. The early morning snow was hard and icy and we needed crampons. A long rising traverse across a steep snowfield with avalanche tracks down it, which made us glad we were here before the sun started to soften the snow
, led to a final rocky scramble to the pass. The descent was easier than the ascent, something we were now coming to expect, and we were soon back down at timberline. Again the PCT dropped down into the forest before climbing back up. We decided not to do this however and instead stayed at timberline on a long and marvellous traverse above the glaciated canyon of the South Fork of the Kings River with the coloured bands of the metamorphic rocks of Striped Peak and Cardinal Peak always in view. In my journal I wrote ‘superlative alpine scenery – as usual!’ We camped in the Upper Basin of the South Fork ready for the next pass.

  ‘A strange day ensued’ starts my journal entry the next evening. So far we’d roughly followed the line of the PCT without any difficulties but now we went wrong. Looking up at the snow and rock wall above us, somewhere along which was 12,100 foot Mather Pass, we could see no sign of a trail. A notch in the ridge must be the pass we decided so we climbed up to it, at first on icy snow and then some final rock climbing that was unpleasant with crampons on. From the tiny narrow cleft we looked down on a lake that shouldn’t have been there. This wasn’t Mather Pass. Instead we were well to the east of it and some 400+ feet higher. How we’d made the mistake we couldn’t work out. Luckily we didn’t have to retreat but could descend the north side and rejoin the correct route at the frozen Palisade Lakes, down the centre of which we walked.

  Below the lakes is a tight set of steep switchbacks blasted into the rock face known as the Golden Staircase. We certainly needed to be on the right route here as there was no other way down the steep rocks below the lakes basin. They were only partially snow-covered so following the switchbacks wasn’t difficult. Then it was on down into the woods and out of the snow beside Palisade Creek. For the first time in over a week we camped on dry ground. At 8400 feet it was also the first camp below 9000 feet for two weeks and the first below 10,500 feet for a week. It was the last day of May and really spring-like. To save fuel we cooked over a wood fire. We also hung our food, something we hadn’t bothered with up in the snow – and which wasn’t possible at many high camps anyway as any trees were too small.

  4000 feet of ascent led back up to 11,955 foot Muir Pass, the last time the PCT would be above 11,500 feet. Two mule deer, easy to identify due to the big ears that give them their name, watched us from the trees. Slowly the soft forest gave way to harder, rockier terrain. Glaciated granite walls and peaks rose all around. We crossed much avalanche debris and scrambled beside water slides on the Middle Fork of the Kings River. In places avalanches had swept right across the river and up the far side, tearing down big trees and scattering them like matchsticks. The thought of the force needed to do this was terrifying. Dramatic waterfalls poured down from the snowfields above. In a land of superlatives this day was especially spectacular, particularly magnificent LeConte Canyon with its vast slabs of smooth granite and unbroken rock walls.

  Camp that night was the highest of the whole walk, at 11,600 feet above frozen Helen Lake, named for one of John Muir’s daughters. The view back to the 14,000 foot summits of the Palisades was breath-taking. We were now in the heart of the John Muir Wilderness and it was an easy climb to Muir Pass itself. A beautiful octagonal stone hut marked the top. For once we could see no trees as the canyons either side twisted down between rock walls. The PCT runs for ten miles above timberline here for the only time in the High Sierra. A big storm could be serious so far from the forest. Then the hut would be welcome.

  As we descended from Muir Pass the highest section of the High Sierra was behind us but that didn’t mean that all the difficulties were over. Nor the most beautiful and spectacular landscapes either. Indeed Evolution Basin, which lies below Muir Pass, is possibly the most impressive place on the PCT. A wide stony valley laced with lakes – Wanda, Sapphire and Evolution – and walled by granite peaks there is a feeling of mountain perfection here with every element of the scene balanced by every other.

  Evolution Basin lies in the Evolution Group – Mounts Darwin, Mendel, Fiske, Haeckel, Huxley, Spencer, Wallace and Lamarck. The evolutionary names were given in 1895 by mountaineer and explorer Theodore S. Solomons who is important in the story of backpacking in the High Sierra as he was the first person to suggest and reconnoitre a trail the length of the range, an idea that eventually resulted in the John Muir Trail.

  A gentle wander down Evolution Basin over the frozen lakes led to a steeper descent into the woods of Evolution Valley where we found the trail snow-free in places. It was an interesting game trying to follow the line of the trail through snow patches in the lodgepole pine forest. We hiked through a series of beautiful meadows before camping on the edge of one of them, Evolution Meadow. Again we cooked over a wood fire. I was becoming bored with my dried meals as was Larry so we mixed some of them together and added some spices to make something that tasted a bit different. It still had a familiar mushy texture though and I was beginning to look forward to fresh food with a bit of a bite to it. With maybe four days to Mammoth Lakes I could afford to start looking ahead. The longest section in the wilderness was approaching its end.

  Dropping deeper into the forest we left most of the snow behind and were able to follow the trail easily as it ran beside the South Fork of the San Joaquin River. There were groves of aspen trees just coming into leaf and many flowers in the meadows, especially bright red paintbrush. The easy walk below soaring glaciated granite walls was a joy after all the hard going in the snow. I felt like a backpacker again rather than a mountaineer. We weren’t finished with the snow yet though and the day ended with a climb back into it and a timberline camp at Sally Keyes Lakes. Here we met the first PCT hiker since Phil and Andy at Bullfrog Lake. Manuel had hiked the southern Sierra then dropped down into Owens Valley and walked the road before returning to the mountains. He had spare food which we gratefully received.

  Now we were in slightly lower and mostly less steep terrain the nature of the challenges posed by the High Sierra changed. Our first taste of the new difficulties came after we’d crossed lovely 10,800 foot Selden Pass and descended back into the forest. A ferocious creek barred our way. There was no bridge. In summer it was probably no more than a trickle. We ventured into the water and found it stronger and deeper – waist deep on me – than we’d expected. Dave somehow struggled across using his ski poles for support. Larry, Scott and I linked arms and only just made it. The snowmelt water was very cold and it took some time to warm up afterwards. I suspected there would be more of these fords to come as the snowmelt speeded up. That day other creeks were bridged though. Dipping in and out of the snow as the trail rose and fell we eventually dropped down to a low-seeming 7750 feet where we camped by Mono Creek. An almost full moon lit the forest. For the first time in ages I didn’t pitch the tent but slept out under the trees.

  The next fords came the next day. Larry and I were ahead of Scott and Dave now. We’d decided that when we reached the road we would try and hitch-hike into Mammoth Lakes and it seemed sensible to do this in pairs rather than as a foursome. A cold thigh-deep ford of the North Fork of Mono Creek was followed by a roped crossing of Silver Creek. We used the rope because there was a waterfall below the ford. I hadn’t brought any rope but Larry had thirty feet, which was barely enough. I made a mental note to buy some more. After crossing Silver Pass – the passes now were easy compared with the rock notches to the south – we wandered through pleasant forests above Cascade Valley. Here I saw my first graceful mountain hemlock trees and in shaded places the strange red spikes of the parasitic chlorophyll lacking snow plant.

  Late in the afternoon, for the first and only time in the High Sierra it snowed, flurries of big white flakes brought on a cold north-west wind. We took shelter in the gentle bowl of Tully Hole and squeezed the tents onto some snowfree ground below big trees. Mammoth Lakes was in reach so we no longer needed to ration food and ate large meals – pasta, instant soup, rice all mixed together and then instant puddings. None of it was satisfying though. I suspected this was because it was mostly processed
carbohydrates, especially sugar. I wanted fats and protein to chew on and to fill me up.

  With Mammoth Lakes so near I began to really look forward to a day or two in town. It was 25 days since, back in Weldon, I’d last had a shower, washed my clothes or eaten in a restaurant. Suddenly I really wanted to do all those. In the cold and the snow I hadn’t noticed how dirty and smelly I was. Now, with temperatures staying above freezing, it became unpleasantly obvious.

  The High Sierra didn’t let us go without a final difficult day with hard going in soft and slippery snow to Duck Pass and then a nasty steep descent on icy snow. For the first time I needed to brake a fall with my ice axe. Finally though we emerged onto a highway. We’d crossed the snowbound High Sierra. Now it was time to get into town and celebrate. We stuck out our thumbs and soon had a ride. ‘You look like you’ve been out some time’, said the hikers who picked us up. ‘Do you want to go to the campground or a restaurant first?’ ‘Restaurant’ we responded instantly.

  In Andersons Restaurant I ate a three-course meal with all trimmings, especially enjoying bread, cheese and crisp salad. It was huge and went down as if it was only a morsel. After this snack we made camp at the Shady Rest Campground. An hour after leaving we were back at the restaurant for another three-course meal. The waitress seemed surprised. Later in the evening Scott and Dave arrived. An ice cream parlour provided a pint of ice cream each to tide us over until morning.

  After a shower the next morning I looked in the mirror at the bag of skin and bones that must be me. Only my legs had any muscle on them. My face was burnt dark despite all the glacier cream with pale circles round my eyes left by my sunglasses. My cheeks and chest were hollow, bones clearly visible. My arms were like matchsticks. Coming up was another long section, probably fifteen days, which meant another heavy load. I needed to replenish my energy as did the others so we spent two whole days in Mammoth Lakes, mostly eating. I collected my next food parcel plus mail and sat in restaurants writing letters and postcards. A bag of film went back to Kodak for processing. My pictures of the greatest adventure of my life so far.