Day 3Approach to Donahue Pass is benign. Come to snow bowl I think is the pass. I meet a group of PCT hikers who direct me to where the pass actually is (1,000 feet above and way over, obscured by a snowfield). Lose and find trail 1,000 times on the way up. Finally reach top of pass; disappointing sign tells me it’s Yosemite wilderness, you need a bear canister, be a good hiker, etc. I go right, lose bearings, wind up trudging through suncups for an hour, which is like walking through a field of rotting barrels.
I see no signs of the trail. I check the map, re-check, realize my map-reading skills suck. Ever-growing panic dictates I set up camp and deal the following morning, as I have no clue where I am. I really lose it and question myself over and over; I’m already behind schedule.
While setting up camp, a hiker walks around the ridge. His name is Tyler. Turns out I am way off trail (maybe 3/4 of a mile), but Tyler just wanted a good view of the mountains from my ridge (and to stop walking on snow in his dental floss—sewn shoes). He tells me he crossed the entire Mojave in one day (nearly 40 miles). In stories, he is known as my “trail angel,” as my trip could have ended on day 3 had I continued to head so far off course.
Day 4
I see no signs of the trail. I check the map, re-check, realize my map-reading skills suck. Ever-growing panic dictates I set up camp and deal the following morning, as I have no clue where I am. I really lose it and question myself over and over; I’m already behind schedule.
While setting up camp, a hiker walks around the ridge. His name is Tyler. Turns out I am way off trail (maybe 3/4 of a mile), but Tyler just wanted a good view of the mountains from my ridge (and to stop walking on snow in his dental floss—sewn shoes). He tells me he crossed the entire Mojave in one day (nearly 40 miles). In stories, he is known as my “trail angel,” as my trip could have ended on day 3 had I continued to head so far off course.
Day 4
Take shots of Tyler, wish him well, and head down. Trail is fairly easy to pick up again (now that I’m headed left, not right). Some harrowing snowfield crossings, a glissade or two, but otherwise, no problems finding the trail. It’s a lovely brown snake from high above, crossing gently into snow sections. The rest of the day is spent making up time, meet two rangers along the way—they look like wayward auto mechanics, but much kinder/soft spoken—who actually check my permit. I slip on one section (steep slope down to some boulders that stop me), nearly lose the trail in others, eventually make it to Shadow Lake. I hear families across the lake, which thankfully I never see. Exhausting climb up to my campsite at Rosalie Lake.
Day 5
Feet still ok. Highlight: see large black bear near north end of Devil’s Postpile. Chocolate coat, with solemn eyes. I take shots with the pack on—most come out blurry. He shambles around, finally saunters over to a felled spruce, which he sinks his claws into. He rears back, his entire roly-poly body instantly going taut, haunches rippling, and actually lifts the tree off of the ground. The entire tree. He rocks back and forth to release his claws and moves off, toward the trail section where I passed a father and his son looking for Minaret Lake.
Day 9
Muir Pass. Very anxious before I start out. Ipod near its last legs already. Everything working nicely, camera, my bowels, most gear (save the tight-ass sleeping bag), the maps (now that I can read them). Multiple reports from hikers of two miles of snow on either side of the pass. Last night: chilly, gray, staring at multiple walls of clouds, crag-toothed series of peaks with mist climbing over them. Always appreciate what you’re given…
Day 12
Day 12
Yesterday I had the scariest moment of my life. Storm appeared over mountains near Dollar Lake; not one of those pansy mid-afternoon drizzles. I was trapped at 10,000 ft. I ran, sort of, as the lightning flared ahead of me, across the sky, down, thunder across the whole range. Booming above me, around me, in me, all over, and it almost seemed that I could reach up and grab hold of the roar. Finally a small copse of trees… I was able to pull out the rain jacket and pack cover, but the rain was sheeting down, and with it came massive amounts of hail. I huddled in a tree, literally in a hole in its trunk (bad idea, but intuitive), and kept my head down to let the rain slough off, making sure to keep my feet on rock. The sky was fierce, I was freezing and soaked, and there wasn’t a soul around. I waited. It didn’t stop after a half hour, so I dug in my backpack again—I was shivering uncontrollably and wondering what the hell? Am I going to die of hypothermia on a major trail?! I was finally able to find the fleece, which I remembered retains warmth even when wet. Thank God I remembered that. Because the rain lasted for 3 hours, and I was nearly hypothermic after 40 minutes, even with the shelter of the tree. The lightning continued for some time. At some point, I felt the hair on my hands stand up, and I actually prayed a bit (bizarrely), and I asked that I not die in such a silly way when I have two people at home who love me so much.
Later, I met a man named “Bolt.” He was traveling north to south, same as me, and had done the same exact trek in 2005. Only he made national news. He was camping in a meadow near Mt. Whitney when lightning struck his scout troop. Several people died and he was struck as well... Always appreciate what you’re given.
Later, I met a man named “Bolt.” He was traveling north to south, same as me, and had done the same exact trek in 2005. Only he made national news. He was camping in a meadow near Mt. Whitney when lightning struck his scout troop. Several people died and he was struck as well... Always appreciate what you’re given.
