We've officially completed two thirds of the John Muir Trail. I'd say we feel a mixture of emotions at this point—sadness that most of our trip is behind us, pride for what we've overcome, and an ever intensifying longing for the host of home comforts I've written about ad nauseum already. Could someone give Baja Fish Taco a call and warn them of the black hole that will soon consume their restaurant in 9 days? Thanks.
Today was one of the most emotionally difficult days so far. We woke up to nothing but grey skies and the lingering smell of a forest fire, which I would later learn is burning off-trail at Cartridge Creek. The prospect of packing up your cozy little home and hoisting it on your back, knowing full well the very strong likelihood of you getting soaked and chilled to the bone later in the day, is daunting to say the least. And it's not so much an individual rainy day that is gut-wrenching, it's going through the same routine day after day with no way to dry your clothes or charge your phone to take photos of the picturesque, if slightly gloomy, scenery. Nevertheless, we woke up and took care of business as usual, bracing ourselves for yet another consecutive day of unruly weather.
I made a bold move and made an entire bag of my dreaded oatmeal, having separated myself from the once fantasy backpacker breakfast that crushed my dreams. It was...okay. I choked the last few bites down, vowing to only make half a bag at a time for the next few days. And this leads us to the game we like to call (in a timbre only Bob Barker's voice can conjure) Which Thing Did Graham Eat For Breakfast Today?! a game in which you, the reader, are tasked with distinguishing which picture shows what Graham ate for breakfast and which one depicts a pile of horse shit. Ready?
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| Option Number One |
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| Option Number 2 (pun intended) |
If you guessed Option Number One, then you are absolutely correct, and you have won a lifetime supply of my oatmeal. If you guessed Option Number 2, then don't feel too bad, as they are by all accounts indistinguishable.
Once on the trail, we began cruising at a quick pace down Le Conte Canyon toward the ranger station. We stopped sparingly, as we felt determined to make it the 13 miles or so to Palisade Lakes.
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| Log crossings are fun |
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Yet another exciting wildlife sighting...but it's no bear...
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| Looking down Le Conte Canyon |
On the way down I started to think about one of the inspirations for taking this trip, the documentary Mile...Mile and a Half. For those who I haven't told, this was a film that debuted last year in which a team of film makers lugged all of their equipment along the entire trail to document the journey. It's beautiful, funny, and inspiring. When you watch the movie (and I strongly suggest you do. It's on Netflix, so if you've read this far into my blog you owe it to yourself to watch it), you are presented with an idyllic view of the wilderness. Although it makes the best possible attempt strives to capture the reality of being out here for long stretches at a time, the hardships just cannot be felt through the screen (although that's probably some 4D technology someone out there is working on). When I dreamt about going on this trip, I thought of it mostly in reference to what I had seen on the screen, and I hoped that actually being out here would stimulate those same romanticized visions I felt during the planning process. Having seen the film an embarrassing number of times (approaching double digits), I realized today that although bits and pieces in my mind sync up perfectly with my own experience, I have developed an entirely distinct set of feelings toward my adventure. In a way, I'm glad I'm not living someone else's journey (even though they experienced much less rain), as it's uniquely ours and we earned these fantastic memories with our pain, sweat, and tears. I'm not sure if I communicated that as well as I could have if I weren't so tired, but it is something I noticed today.
Come to think of it, I'm not sure if most of what I have written has come off the way I meant it. At least I'm trying. It would be much easier to just post the photos and give repetitive accounts of scenery descriptions before hitting the sack. Example: We woke up early, we walked down the canyon, we got tired, but then we saw a beautiful meadow, and then we cooked dinner, and now it's bedtime. Boring right? I think posts like that read as though the writer feels obligated to blog, which has engendered yet another term I call oblogation. I look back on some of my entries and there are only a couple of paragraphs I found to feel oblogated where I was too tired to give any uniquely personal insight into what was going on. For those sections, I apologize. And for those wondering why I don't just put the phone away and enjoy the solitude, I have a couple things to say. For one, we get no service, evidenced by you reading this long after I actually wrote it. I'm not checking Facebook or sports scores. Also, after I look at the stars for a little bit, it gets too cold, so I go inside the tent and there's nothing else to do when Maddie drifts off and I'm not quite ready to sleep yet. Most importantly though, is the fact that it makes me feel like I'm communicating with the people who have helped make this trip possible with some form of support. The way I see it, so many people have given me the support and encouragement to be here making this dream a reality, that it's the least I could do in return to let them accompany me from the comfort of their homes...with access to fresh food...and showers...and a bed...shiver. So whether you're family, friend, or random internet stranger, I hope you enjoy my ramblings from my nightly wilderness home.
On the way down the canyon, we came across these odd wire fences. Perplexed, we stood wondering whether we had taken a wrong turn. Referencing our maps though, we resigned ourselves to scaling the obstacles (which I later realized upon closer examination are very easy to unlatch and walk through). As removing packs is far too much of a hassle, we made fools of ourselves climbing the wooden structure. It was this series of gates that inspired my idea for the next most popular summer Olympic event behind speed waking: the 354,056 meter hurdles.
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| Maddie's way |
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| My way |
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| I call this maneuver The Nut Cracker |
We got to the ranger station and I asked about the forest fire situation to make sure we were safe to proceed. Also, she informed us that the crummy weather should only last through today. This was great news except for the fact that we had to get through today. So we embarked at a brisk pace down the canyon again. John had raved of Le Conte Canyon, and I see why. Not even the gloom of the afternoon could ruin how beautiful Grouse Meadow was.
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Grouse Meadow
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Once we took the turn east toward Mather Pass, it started to drizzle. It wasn't so bad at first, but we had yet to take an appreciable break, and we had more than 2,500 feet of climbing to do. The drizzle intensified into a thrizzle (if this silly term doesn't register with you, I suggest you read one of my last posts), and the trail became incredibly muddy and almost overgrown in places (trail crews, where you at?!). It was very slow going, a trudge if ever you saw one, despite the gradual grade of the slope. We only heard two very distant thunder claps, and the clouds were not nearly as ominous as those on our Evolution Valley climb, but we felt a little cautious nonetheless. It was only a few miles in that Maddie started to lose it a little bit. The abysmal weather was taking it's toll, and it was the first time that I could sense a real longing for home. I called for a break under some dense tree cover so we could eat a proper lunch and discuss our options. She was worried about climbing up in such terrible conditions (we had already passed a few tents hunkered down for the long haul this afternoon), but she also didn't relish the idea of climbing 3,500 feet tomorrow over Mather Pass and beyond. These thoughts dominated our vacillation between setting up camp or plodding onward. Instead of belaboring the troublesome decision, I tried to keep it light and talk about other stuff while we snacked. Sure enough the rain slowly abated to the point that I could see life reemerging in Maddie's eyes. Though full of butter cookies and almonds, she was hungry--hungry to finish out the day strong. I didn't want to baby her if she felt confident to proceed (as long as we deemed the weather safe), but I also didn't want to push her past her breaking point. Assessing the weather, we both agreed to press on. Once again I felt super proud of her, as we hoisted our packs for the long haul up the "golden staircase."
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| Sigh...the closest I'll likely come to a bear sighting |
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And our rainy day struggles begin...
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| Beginning our ascent of "The Golden Staircase" |
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| Sunlight teasing us through the clouds |
The ascent was steady and seemed to last forever, but we felt energized and excited to complete our goal for the day. I didn't actually know that Andre the Giant was in charge of the engineers who designed the monstrous steps that made up the staircase. As pictures below attest, these things are massive, requiring considerable effort to climb with a heavy pack. The step size struck as even more surprising considering the average size for adults was shorter back in the time if the steps' creation. But not even these not-so-golden-more-like-grayish-perhaps-even-reddish-or-tan-in-places behemoth steps could slow us down. Especially given the fact that the sun decided to break through the clouds and illuminate the beautiful valley we had been cursing only 30 minutes prior. Though we didn't want to get our hopes up, we could not have been more excited to see the sun—talk about a total 360 degree turnaround!
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| Sunshine giving us hope that the rain will not return |
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| Maddie and the wretched muddy canyon...that is actually quite beautiful after the fact... |
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| Hard to tell, but it takes a sizeable lunge, much deeper than for stadiums, to overcome these bad boys |
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| Where we were |
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| Where we're headed...don't get too crazy, we're not climbing those things |
By the time we finally found a suitable camp spot next to lower Palisade Lake, the sun basted us with it's warming rays. We could finally charge the phone a bit, dry out some clothes, and enjoy a delicious trail dinner (it's all relative, folks) surrounded by some spectacular scenery. It was a very, very good evening. Tomorrow we'll head over Mather Pass, topping the highest elevation either of us has yet climbed. Matt,we are really looking forward to seeing you (and Maddie's really looking forward to getting her resupply of Oreos, so if you somehow don't make it on time and get hungry...please, whatever you do, DO NOT EAT THE OREOS!)
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| Not sure if we've ever been so happy to see the sun |
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| Some downward dog by the Palisade Lakes |
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| Looking forward to Mather Pass tomorrow #PlacesMyPotGoes |
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| Progress on the facial hair growth...looking forward to getting my hands on a razor |
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| Some pretty pink clouds before bed |
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| Our day in elevation |
Now I'm truly spent, and I'm looking forward to sleeping in a bit. Goodnight from paradise...well sort of paradise...like, sometimes it is, sometimes it isn't....you know, let's just stay away from labels...I'll stick with goodnight from our cozy little transient wilderness cubbyhole...or something like that.
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| Here's to those who get us through the toughest of times! |
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