A lot of up

The first stretch in the early morning was up a thousand feet in elevation to Bear Ridge. After a fleeting bit of level ground, I began a long, steep descent through a shady forest—negotiating 57 switchbacks, according to the guidebook—down to Mono Creek, which was large enough to warrant a small wooden bridge. Those are rare on the trail.  

From the river, the next six miles were up, 3000’ to Silver Pass. I walked along the rising bottom of a long canyon, alternating between moderately steep stretches, tiny little bits of flat walking, and sections of ridiculously steep climbing. Halfway up I stopped at Silver Pass Creek, a small stream of large brown boulders, with trickling waterfalls both above and below the crossing. While I was having my rest, and filtering water into my bottles, a couple came along, hiking south. The water actually occupied the path, but it was easy enough to clamber over the boulders on either side. But no, the man walked right through the water, which came up to his ankles and soaked his boots. His wife (I assume) started to follow but then stopped and said, “You have to come back.”

He walked back through the water, and she had him take her sandals off her pack; they were hanging on the outside. I wondered why she couldn’t have taken her pack off and gotten the sandals herself. She sat down and took off her boots while he watched, and this took some time, as did the switch back to boots on the other side.

I reached the 11,000’ pass at two in the afternoon, thrashed but happy. I had broken out the iPod on the last part and listened to a bit of Adam Bede for encouragement; George Eliot’s sentences are such a pleasure….The view to the south was spectacular, an alpine lake just below, jagged gray peaks running off from each side of the pass. A spare, treeless high country….

There were other people on the trail throughout the day, about thirty or forty all together again, almost all going south. Down on the north side of the pass, beside Squaw Lake, I stopped to chat with a young Belgian guy. These trail encounters usually last just a couple minutes, and the subjects are limited to the trail over the next or last few miles, campsites, maybe where we’re from…. But I stood and talked with Frederik from Belgium for almost an hour….

He was soft-spoken, slight and fit, with long, wavy blonde hair, and a blonde beard that didn’t quite coalesce, with smooth open patches between his sideburns and moustache. He wore red shorts and a green shirt and a backpack of modest proportions. He had finished his university studies recently, and he had come to North America for four months of travel; he was nearing the end of his trip, but after a brief return home, he planned to spend the winter in Australia and New Zealand. He had already spent time in Kauai, and had hiked the Na Pali Coast; he’d also been in the Northwest, on Vancouver Island for a time, and then he discovered that his Greyhound bus pass would take him to the Yukon, so he rode up to Whitehorse and back; he had also hiked the Chilicoot Pass Trail…. He had been in Arizona too, and then he had taken the John Muir Trail, starting in Yosemite Valley.

We got onto other long hikes, and it turned out that he had walked a portion of the Lycian Way in Turkey (which I walked two summers ago). But his favorite was the Himalayas. He had hiked in Nepal and Tibet and India and Pakistan. Pakistan was his favorite. I asked if he had had any trouble. No, he said, the people were very friendly. “You must go,” he said, eager that I have the experience too. He described staying in tea houses with local people and his face and voice  exuded happiness at the memory.

Once he returns to Belgium, he wants to go back to school for a year-long program in “development work.” Then he can live and work overseas, helping people and being out exploring the world too.

Frederik would’ve been an ideal hiking companion. But we were going in opposite directions, and so we shook hands and he moved up towards Silver Pass, while I walked along the high, small lake and headed down beside a creek at the bottom of a long valley….

The path dropped down to 9000’, and I was tired and should’ve probably camped. But I had gotten it into my head that I would complete a twenty mile day, a number would take me to Virginia Lake, which from all reports was a good spot. Plus, there were still a few hours light left, and the valley was a bit mosquitoey…. The last two miles, it turned out, was a steep, switchback climb out of the canyon and up to the lake, and it just about killed me. I moved at a foot-dragging, snail’s pace upwards…. Once climbing I had no choice but to go on, as there was no place to camp on the slope. I suppose I could’ve gone back, and I thought about it but not seriously….. By the end of the day I had gained (and lost) more than 5000’ in elevation.

Virginia Lake was indeed picturesque, up at 10,000’ with small cedars and pines growing in clusters along the edges, and perched up on a high bench between peaks. I scouted for a camp site along the north shore, and discovered that the best spot was taken already by a middle-aged couple. But I found another good spot nearby in a patch of trees above the lake. After my tent was up I noted that one of the trees was leaning over the tent, the hal-fallen tree’s  top caught in the top of another tree. I was tired, and discouraged at the prospect of moving the tent, but I thought, maybe I should….. I poked around for another spot, but found nothing good among the rocks and roots….Then  I studied the leaning tree from various angles, trying to determine just where it would fall if it did come down. It seemed that it would miss my tent, but worst case there was a possibility it would hit the bottom end of the tent and take off my feet, maybe my legs too. Highly unlikely, though.

A light breeze blew down off the mountains, but nothing strong enough to dislodge the tree. A stronger wind could come up in the night…. But if it did I could always get up and move. I decided it was fine, and I left the tent where it was and turned to dinner preparations.

I finally broke out the small stove, and I made instant mashed potatoes and dumped in a packet of spam and a handful of dried tomatoes. It tasted good and I ate it all.

Just after sunset I went down to the still lake and washed my feet, and then I got in my tent. I felt a little sick, from exhaustion. A full and beautiful day but just a little too much.  Still, I didn’t sleep much again, but more than the night before.