Grandeur and Grit on the JMT (Pt.3)

“The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.”   
        —John Muir

The six-day segment from Glen Pass to Muir Trail Ranch had entailed long days over four high passes that were inescapably grueling at times. But persevere we did, arriving at MTR—halfway point of our journey—on schedule. On the face of it, the toughest part of the hike was behind us. Now the daily mileages would be a little shorter, the elevations a little lower. And we were certainly leaner and meaner. But the trepidation over Terry’s knee and my feet holding out for another 102 miles was real. Were we taking on too much? It was a valid question. Then again, I didn’t christen my wife "Trail Boss" for nothing, and as for my blistered dogs: I stocked up with enough Moleskin at MTR to march off to war. It was 47 miles to the next resupply at Red’s Meadow, where we also had a room waiting for us at Mammoth Mountain Inn. And we had five days to get there.

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Day 12: We roll out of bed at 6:15, grab our MTR spa towels and saunter down to the hot springs for a soak. The pools are for guests only, each completely enclosed—if there’s nobody inside, lock the gate for privacy and it’s all yours. The water in this one is a steamy 107 degrees. (This is beyond doubt one of the highlights of our stay at Muir Trail Ranch.) Afterwards we donned clean clothes and stepped over to the dining hall for breakfast. Not a terrible way to start the second half of the trip.     

Meals are served in the dining hall, which adjoins the kitchen where Chef Warren works his magic. The Muir Trail Ranch property was homesteaded in 1885 and originally functioned as a sheep ranch (one structure from that era still in use). It was then turned into a guest ranch when sheep and cattle grazing were banished in the Sierra Nevada at the turn of the century. Clark Gable and Carole Lombard vacationed here in 1940, and a regular visitor in the 1970s was film director Sam Peckinpah. There are only about a dozen guest cabins and they’re booked months in advance (reserved ours in February). It’s a slice of paradise, five miles in the backcountry.

These two young ladies are from Austin, Texas, here at Muir Trail Ranch to retrieve their resupply bucket and move on. They are southbound on the JMT; departed Yosemite Valley eleven days ago. The girl on the right had some backpacking/wilderness experience, but her friend had never ever done anything like this before. Baptism by fire on the Muir Trail. 

She smiles tensely as the maelstrom approaches. Ominous thunderheads had been building over Seldon Pass all afternoon while we toiled up the steep grade from MTR. Thunder rumbled, getting closer each time. You could smell it. You could feel it bearing down, and finally we dropped our packs and pulled out the rain gear. We hadn’t been hiking two minutes before the wind kicked up and it started to dump.   

KABOOOOOM! The thunder was deafening, the storm now directly overhead, pelting us with hail. From the fleeting flash-boom interval, I estimated the lightning had struck the ridge a quarter-mile away. We hiked faster. But on the second strike, which was even closer, Ter threw down her pack and poles and took shelter under an overhanging boulder. Come on. Really? She wouldn’t budge. So we hunkered down under the rock until the storm passed.

We set off again once the storm had abated. It was a weird afternoon. Just an hour earlier, 
it had been exceedingly hot, at least 80 degrees in the shade. Now it was in the 40s. 

Taylor and Walt join us for a late dinner at Sallie Keyes Lake. They had arrived and pitched their tent before the storm hit. We weren’t so fortunate. In retrospect, we should’ve got out of MTR earlier. We didn’t leave until noon (I didn’t want to leave at all, actually) and then we faced a hot, steep climb, followed by a wicked thunderstorm that pinned us down. 

JULY 28th—
After eleven dry days, we finally got some inclement weather. It caught us at the top of a relentless 2,300-foot climb, pummeling us with hail, thunder and lightning. We hid under a rock. Trail Boss insisted. The ascent before the storm sucked: The trail was south-facing, mostly in the sun; blistering hot; a real ass-kicker. Trail Boss, on the other hand, cruised it. She left me in the dust. Literally. All of this put me into a foul mood and Trail Boss caught the brunt of it—which really wasn’t that often since she was usually hiking a quarter-mile ahead of me. In any case she has now, finally, appointed me with a trail name. It's G.O.M. Which, she says, stands for Grouchy Old Man. I told her that's okay. I’ve amended her name to Trail Bossypants.  

Lingering for one last look at Sallie Keyes Lake in the morning before starting up to Selden 
Pass. The lake was named after Sallie Keyes Shipp, daughter of the Shipp family who 
owned the MTR property from the 1890s through 1940. Very scenic here.

We're on Selden Pass (10,900 ft) by mid-morning. It is named after Selden Hooper, a USGS crew leader who surveyed this area in the late 1890s. That’s Marie Lake (named after Hooper's sister) shimmering in the distance, which is where we are heading next. 

Terry wades across Bear Creek, where we stopped after the ford to have lunch and allow our feet to dry. Although thunderclouds were stacking up to the south and west, they never closed in to be a threat. The afternoon was partly cloudy; distant thunder; no rain. Perfect. We pitched camp at the Bear Ridge trail junction, logging 9½ miles for the day.  

“Going to the woods is going home.”    
        —John Muir

Blue lupines border the trail across Bear Ridge on the morning of Day 14. We had camped 
near here last night: A dry camp with no water source for miles. We had each lugged three 
liters to get us (barely) through yesterday afternoon, last night and this morning. Makes for 
a heavy load, but it would be our only dry campsite of the trip. 

After descending 2,000 feet from Bear Ridge, we cross the footbridge over Mono Creek and head upstream towards Silver Pass. If you turn downstream, a trail will lead you to Lake Edison a mile away, where a boat ferries you across to the Vermillion Valley Resort. Vermillion—or VVR as it’s known to thru-hikers—is a popular resupply station.   

Looking up the North Fork of Mono Creek with Red & White Mountain (12,800 ft) in the far 
distance. We climbed out of the canyon from where this photo was taken. Of the 2,000 feet 
of elevation we lost this morning, all of it had to be gained back in the afternoon. 

We camped below Silver Pass Lake at 10,300 feet, a secluded spot with a small brook nearby. After washing off the trail dust and doing a little laundry, we relax; eat dinner; watch the sunset; hit the sack; fast asleep by nine o’clock. Ours is a simple life. And fully gratifying.

JULY 30th—
It’s a beautiful evening, good spirits prevail. We’re camped about two miles below Silver Pass, which we’ll cross in the morning. Since leaving MTR, we have logged 24 miles and Trail Boss (a.k.a. Bossypants) has made a miraculous comeback. She was fairly beat up by the time we had reached MTR and I was worried about her. But now she’s trucking along without a fuss. This girl has grit. Now it’s me I’m concerned about. The good news: Some of the blisters on my feet are clearing up. The bad news: Three toes are now bruised and hiking downhill is painful. It is now a war of attrition. Bring out the Moleskin. Red’s Meadow is 23 miles away and we have two days to get there.

Early morning, we’re hiking past Silver Pass Lake where people are only now crawling out 
of their tents. It was imperative that we get a jump on the day, as our hiking pace has slowed 
some. We have twelve miles to cover to reach Duck Creek tonight.  

Looking down the north side of Silver Pass (10,800 ft) with Mt. Ritter and Banner Peak lurking on the horizon. Theodore Solomons was the first to document and chart this area in 1892, naming Silver Creek on the south side of the pass, as well as nearby Silver Peak. USGS cartographers took it further when they published the Mount Goddard quadrant map in 1912, giving the Silver name to the pass, lake and divide as well. 

“Another glorious Sierra day in which one seems to be dissolved and absorbed and sent pulsing onward we know not where. Life seems neither long nor short.”         
        —John Muir

We arrive at Purple Lake late in the afternoon. We’ve hiked ten miles so far today and we’re tired—and still have two more miles to go. I misread the map, big time. The terrain was much more rugged than I anticipated: Way more ups and downs. But in the end, we made it to Duck Creek as planned. 

Day 16: This is it! We are packed up by seven o'clock and ready to jump on the trail. It’s eleven miles to Red’s Meadow, and if we can keep up the pace—our backpacks are lighter with no food—we should arrive early afternoon. 

Ter sets the cadence all day long. She’s a trail trooper. Me? That’s a different story. I easily 
kept up with her in the morning, but by noon, had started to fall behind. Way behind. It was 
a long, suffering descent into Red’s Meadow. 

It was truly a sight for sore eyes and feet. And for the first time in over two weeks, we heard the sounds of modern civilization: cars motoring by; a shuttle bus idling; scores of people chattering; dogs barking; babies crying; music. It was audio-sensory overload at first. But in the market was… Ice. Cold. Beer. We took showers and did laundry. We also picked up our resupply bucket. Then we hopped on the shuttle bus that would take us up to Mammoth Mountain.

The feet and the damage done. A week ago, I had nine toes bandaged up. Now I’m down to five. That’s an improvement, right? 

The view from the bar at Mammoth Mountain Inn is superb. After checking into our room, 
we proceeded here and enjoyed a fine meal. Sitting. In a chair. At a table. Wearing flip-flops.  

AUGUST 1st—
We’re at the Mammoth Mountain Inn tonight and I’m still numb. Took a while for it to sink in, but we just got done hiking 164 miles. For sixteen days our mission had been to hike. Every day. Every day hiking in a caloric deficit, burning more fuel than we consumed. I’m tired. Trail Boss is tired. Our bodies—especially the feet—need a break. Layover days were not in the original game plan, but ever since leaving MTR, we had entertained the notion of a Zero Day once we reached Mammoth. And eureka, we have arrived. First thing I did was extend our stay for a second night. 

The next 24 hours will be used to relax and assess battle damage. The final segment to Yosemite Valley is 55 miles. Can we make it? I had a gimp to my stride the last two miles into Red’s Meadow today. I need to get my head wrapped around this, but it’s getting late and my mind is mush. Trail Boss is icing her knee. Tomorrow, she says, we’ll go into town; hit the drug store. She’s got some ideas. Okay. That’s a good sign. One of us is still thinking.  

Continue on to PART 4