At around 4:30am I awoke to the lovely spattering of rain against my tent, a sound I've come to really enjoy. About half an hour later, thunder boomed all around me, another sound that for whatever reason brings comfort to me. I blearily muttered to myself something along the lines of, "this better be done by the time I get up." Mother Nature refused my ultimatum. No surprise.
When I was awake and ready to pack up, the storm was still pounding and so I just laid back and listened to Aziz read his book to me. Audiobooks are the way to go. At around 9:30, the rain turned to sleet, which quickly became snow. It was actually delightful peering out and watching the gigantic snowflakes drift next to my vestibule, blanketing everything in almost 3/4 inch of snow. It was a winter wonderland until I realized how simultaneously thirsty and water-less I was. Opting to venture out in search of water in the snow seemed a less messy alternative to doing so in the rain, but a half a mile down the trail and still no water. Oh well, I figured I'd be able to head out soon enough.
The precipitation broke around 11:45, and I immediately packed up my stuff. The entire surrounding mountain scape was draped with a threatening darkness that made me second guess my move to keep hiking, but I could see a small gap of blue sky hovering above Red Peak Pass, my destination. I figured as long as I had that sliver of clear sky above me, I was in the clear to make it over the pass without putting myself in harm's way. The only alternatives were to wait (which just seemed like torture), or to backtrack and get to Yosemite Valley via Merced Lake, which would add at least 7 miles to my trip. Given my time constraints, as well as the fact that the main thing I wanted to see, Ottoway Lakes, was on the other side of Red Peak Pass, I decided to make a break for the pass. I have a pretty good track record when it comes to intuition about storms, and I thought I could make it.
I don't think I've ever hiked that fast. Just as I started, I caught movement on the slope/almost cliff to my left. Though it was a long distance away, it was unmistakably a bear scrambling up the face of stone. I didn't know how it was getting lumbering up that steep face, but it was so cool to finally see a bear! As I climbed, anxiety started to creep it's way into my mind, as the shrinking vortex became supplanted by a gray haze. Sure enough, as I looked back, the very ridge I had camped, as well as the surrounding mountains and valley were being engulfed by a menacing charcoal, almost black shroud of storm cover. I picked up my pace. I passed a couple of people who told me a that a ranger warned them the storm would likely persist through Saturday, so this weighed in my mind as I considered the fate for the remainder of the trip. I made it to the top of the pass at almost 11,100 feet, snapped a photo and booked it down the other side as the blue sky completely disappeared.
Ottoway Lakes were gorgeous to be sure, but I really didn't feel I had time to appreciate it. I was over the pass but not out of the woods yet. Actually that phrase is a bit misleading here because I was, in fact, well above tree line, so technically I was very much out of the woods...but you get what I mean. My timing was cutting close, and sure enough, as I approached the tree line, the heavens opened up and let loose a fury of hail and lightning. I didn't feel too worried, as I was doing the right thing and retreating to lower elevation, but the hail was getting bigger and more painful as I half-jogged my way down the switch backs. Just as I found cover under a tree, a giant pine cone fell on my hand and my hand was covered in blood. Shoot. Oh well.
I decided pretty much right there that I was going to make it back to the car tonight. I didn't care if I had to sleep in the car, but I was just not in the mood to hunker down, soaked and battered, to wait out a thunderstorm. There was a 30-50% chance of storms in the forecast when I decided to come here, so I wasn't surprised. I just felt like I didn't have to prove anything to anyone and would be just as happy heading home tonight.
I calculated that if I hustled, I could make it to the car by 8pm before dark. From Ottoway Lakes, I didn't stop a single time the entire walk, and neither did the precipitation. It rained continuously for almost 5 hours as I ground out the 25 painful miles. My heels and ties were a disgusting mess, and to make matters worse, I slipped and fell up to my shins into a creek crossing. See what I mean about mishaps? It was a cold, poodle-dog riddled slog back to Mono Meadow, and I pushed myself by thinking of the day as a sort of test. When Liam and I do the JMT in August, we'll have three consecutive 25 mile days, and I figured if I could knock out 25 miles starting hiking at 12:30pm through horrible conditions, busted feet, and soggy boots, then I'd be able to handle our JMT stretch...hopefully.
As I trudged my way into the parking lot at Monk Meadow, my jaw dropped. I was so relieved and happy to have made it! That, I discovered is one benefit of going solo--the option to truly test your limits. Granted, I my prefer companionship, and miss Maddie like crazy, but I was glad I got to try this out. I laid down my groundsheet in my trunk, put all my disgustinf gear inside, and headed down Glacier Point Road. On my way down, I came across a crowd of people on the side of the road, which can only mean one thing. Could it be? Twice in one day? Yup! No more than 100 feet away, was a small bear grazing in a meadow going about its business. I couldn't believe it. It felt like a reward for my hard day's work.
I snapped a couple photos and headed home, devouring two Carl's Jr sandwiches and listening to Amy Poehler's hilarious audiobook aalong the way. I got home around 12:45, and Maddie was still awake. I showed her photos as I cleaned and dressed my wounded feet. If the pain was tolerable walking on the trail, cleaning them was the absolute worst. Graphic images for you weirdos that like that stuff will be provided at the bottom of this post. So don't scroll further if that stuff grosses you out.
And now the fatigue of 25 miles, 4,000 feet of gain, and 5,000 feet of loss is hitting me and I'm going to hopefully sleep through tomorrow evening.
I sprouted a sixth toe!
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