Sonora Pass

On the trail my sources of entertainment are mostly different than in my usual life at home. Hiking alone, there’s little conversation, and only occasionally other people to stare at; there’s no television or radio or internet; there are no grocery stores or restaurants, no refrigerator (a bear canister, yes, but the food choices are noticeably circumscribed). There’s reading only at breaks and in the evenings; I can listen to books on the iPod, but a limited battery life restricts me to an hour or so a day, at the most. So, what does one do while walking along all day?

Well, look about, of course. And the scenery is remarkable and striking, yes—but also non-narrative. In other words, it’s not sufficient for a mind addicted to story. So, besides thoughts such as “cool mountain” and “great creek” and “is that a mountain hemlock or a white fir?” one needs other stimulation…. Much of the time my thoughts are taken up with the trail, with distances and landmarks, with how far I’ve come, how far I’m going (lots of math),with where I will stop next, where I will camp…. But this subject matter only satisfies for so long, and if dwelt on too much becomes obsessive and repetitious….

What I rely on then, is memory. Partly such memory is randomly experienced, as events and people arise associationally or from some source that remains mysterious…. But I also undertook more pointed recollective efforts. For example, yesterday I applied myself to the subject of girlfriends. I pursued a chronological agenda, starting with Edie Richardson and a fifth grade field trip bus ride during which we shared a seat and our legs touched. With Edie and each subsequent girl I strove to remember as much detail as possible, and to be open to unexpected memory side trips, before I would go on to the next…. I came back to this topic on and off throughout the day, and by the time I reached camp I had gotten as far as the end of high school….

I had done the girlfriend reminiscence on my walk in Spain several years ago, maybe in Turkey too…. On this trip I took up other categories as well (some of which overlapped). I did friends more generally, starting with best friends but trying to recall any and all people with whom I had been social. This led me to grades (the organizational structure of most of childhood), starting with kindergarten and focusing not just on classmates but on teachers and remembered schoolwork…. I did television shows, concentrating on the 1960s and 1970s…. Then I hit on what proved the most enjoyable of these memory recreations, houses. Or, more broadly, rooms. I walked slowly and attentively through the rooms of houses and apartments I had lived in, and the houses of friends, schoolrooms, gyms where I had played sports, stores and restaurants…. The possibilities were vast and eclectic, and I often veered off into other memory territory, and often into recollections that had long remained dormant, nearly forgotten….

In this manner, sometimes the miles would pass almost too rapidly….

In the morning, I had set off at six, and walked about five miles up and down in short bursts until I came to the mouth of Kennedy Canyon. After a few miles up the canyon I had a break at Kennedy Creek, a shallow steam where I soaked my feet and filled my water bottles. The next water source was reportedly ten miles up the trail. Though dry, those ten miles would prove among the most spectacular of any I’d walked on the trail, and certainly like nothing that had come before.

From the creek, I began to climb more steply, and within a mile I had passed treeline. I had also passed out of one geological zone and into another. For ten days I had been walking among mountains where granite dominated, boulder and slab and peak, but now I came into a volcanic region. Pale gray gave way to dark red. Here the terrain was in a sense less friendly; for example there were far fewer boulders or smooth aprons of rock—which had been so convenient for sitting or lounging—and what rock there was proved too rough and knobby for comfortable accommodation.

Above treeline, the land was also less jumbled, not the mix of stone and wind-wracked trees of the granite Sierras, but vast uniform slopes of clinkers, stretching ahead for miles…. The path took to an old mining road, now in a wilderness area so no longer open to vehicles. The road traversed a long, steep slope, and switchbacked dramatically up towards a distant saddle. A fierce wind tore across the heights, and I snugged down the chin strap of my hat. I could see where I would be going for miles ahead, and I kept stopping to gaze ahead and behind and all around…. I felt excited and exhilirated ….

From the saddle, at 10,600’, I could see everything, dozens of miles in all directions…. To the north the trail traversed high along the open slope of a long undulating ridge; the valley below was far away, with a dark green splotch of trees only at the very bottom. Behind to the south and west I could see the granite mountains of Yosemite, patches of snow on the highest. I tried to pick out where exactly I had walked in recent days…. I took a side trail from the saddle and walked around a peak to look down the other side, down onto more hills and more valleys….

North along the ridge I met the first people of the day, two women in their forties; they were at the start of a ten-day trip from Sonora Pass to Tuolumne. They had never been backpacking before, and the one who did the talking was entusiastic, but the other woman seemed worried….

Twice the path crossed over the ridge, peaking at 10,800, traversing more immense open slopes, rock and only rock, hardly a plant in sight…. I went along these heights for six giddy and wind-blown miles before the trail began to descend towards Sonora Pass…. (Note: on the trail one usually ascends to a pass, unless that pass is crossed by a road, then one usually descends.)

The descent was long and as the excitement of the high ridge drained away I began to fret about water. My trail atlas said I could get some at Sardine Creek, a mile before the pass, but I couldn’t see any sign of water in the dry landscape. I began to pass small streambeds, but they were all empty. The creeklets rely on snowmelt, and there was little snow on the peaks or ridge (I had crossed one patch, a couple miles back, the only snow I would cross on the whole hike; but this is unusual—most years there is still plenty of snow up high in mid-July)….

The next water was well beyond the pass, and I did not plan to walk that far…. I imagined sitting beside the road with a sign, “water?”…. But would anyone stop? I always took care to carry enough water, but now I was down to a single liter….

In the end Sardine Creek came through. It wasn’t much, just a foot or two wide, a couple inches deep, cutting and dropping down through the dirt and gravel of the dry slope. There must’ve been a snow source somewhere high above, but I couldn’t see it….

After I’d filtered water for both water bottles and the two liter platypus (adding about seven pounds to my pack), I continued down to the road. I could’ve camped by Sardine, but I thought maybe I’d see some people down at the pass. There was a trailhead lot but only unoccupied cars. I sat down at one of the picnic tables for a rest, and eventually made myself dinner, ramen and tuna, which didn’t taste quite as good as last time….

Beside the picnic table was a good spot for a tent, but signs said “no camping,” so I walked another mile, up through sagebrush hills to the north of the pass, and made a dry and somewhat glum camp. A bit of a comedown after the glory of the high ridge—though that wouldn’t have been a good place to camp, what with the wind and the lack of water…. Clouds were gathering to the west and south, and I wondered what they portended for the next day….