Day 64: Mile 790.1 (plus Kearsage Pass and Charlotte Lake Trail)

I woke up late, which was a godsend on a day back to trail. It made such a difference not to rush getting ready before such a long, intense, remote section of trail. After eating, organizing my gear, and bringing everything that didn’t fit in my bear can to a hiker box, Rory and Clare stopped by my hotel to hang out before our ride at 11am. Rory, who’s from the UK, was really excited about experiencing Fourth of July in the States. We estimated we’d be in Mammoth by then, so we decided then to book accommodations at a hostel far in advance since we wouldn’t have service and things might book up. It was exciting to have already have a plan to get excited about, but that definitely meant we had to make it to Mammoth in around nine days.

Our ride, a trail angel named Debi, picked us up at my hotel. We squeezed in the back of her Jeep and set off toward Onion Valley again, listening to music from the 60s and 70s, my favorite. Debi talked about her experiences in the Sierras as we climbed up the road twisting high into the mountains.

There was something so special about meeting friends from my real life on the trail— it made it seem like a normal backpacking trip. I met my friend Trevor at the trailhead, who I worked with at REI for two and half years. He was hoping to do some peak bagging in this section of the Sierras, and adjusted his trip dates so he could hike back to trail with me. I was so happy to see him!!

The hike up Kearsarge Pass was hot, lengthy, arduous, something that I wasn’t looking forward to after hiking down a couple days ago. My bag was weighing me down with all of the food for the next stretch, and my legs not used to hiking after two days off. Thankfully, catching up with Trevor, who I hadn’t seen in a little over a year, made it much easier. It was fun to introduce him to the dynamics of thru-hiker life, and social the experience is. He met my friends, as well as the many hikers I knew who were coming up and down the mountain.

After making it to the top, it wasn’t a far hike to Charlotte Lake, but I was so tired after the ascent and getting back to a higher altitude. Today, I wouldn’t hike a single mile on the PCT— we’d briefly cross it, but take the Charlotte Lake trail down. That added to the feeling that this was just a normal weekend backpacking trip. As we approached the shoreline of the lake, we looked for an orange tent, which belonged to Clare’s friends, who were on a climbing trip, who we were also meeting here. We found the tent at the far side of the lake, tucked in a cove right on lake, a perfect view.

It was such a beautiful campsite, and wonderful to be with my friends. We set up camp and started making dinner. When I set up my stove, I noticed that the gas canister was hissing a lot, but I didn’t really think much of it. I boiled water, made noodles, and started to take apart my stove, but since there was still gas escaping, the pilot light didn’t go all the way out. All of a sudden, my stove burst into flames, a fireball in my hands. My first instinct was to run to the lake and throw it in, afraid of starting a wildfire. Trevor and Rory’s voices broke through my panic, shouting, “Drop it!” Thankfully, I did, and the stove kept burning on the ground. We moved our belongings away and kept a wide berth, hoping it wouldn’t explode or set any of the tents on fire. My heart was racing, my hair slightly singed. The stove kept burning, a brand new gas canister attached. Trevor tried to extinguish it by throwing dirt on it, but all we could really do was wait for the gas to run out and make sure nothing else caught fire. I felt stupid for not paying attention to the gas leaking, and terrified that something would go wrong. Thankfully, after about 10 minutes, the gas ran out and the fire stopped burning. I felt so lucky that I hadn’t been burned, since that could have easily ended my hike. Once the fire was out, the serious mood was broken with jokes and relief about how everything had been okay.

I realized then how dangerous it is to be complacent out here, in any context. After two months, things become routine, and it’s easy to forget that things can go wrong in a serious way out here. Even though it was a terrifying experience, in a way, I was thankful for the reminder to stay vigilant about safety, especially setting off on this weeklong stretch.

With dread, though, it dawned on me I had to face this weeklong stretch without a stove. I knew I could probably borrow Clare’s or Rory’s, but I really didn’t want to use up their gas and potentially make it so they couldn’t cook. I resigned to my fate of cold-soaking my food for the week.

Trevor became a trail angel when he offered to give me his stove and gas, forfeiting his ability to cook on his weekend trip. I knew how incredibly lucky I was that he had been here, and that he was willing to do that for me. I knew I’d appreciate every hot meal I’d have during this stretch. I said a very grateful goodbye to him as he went back to his campsite. I was thankful for the stove, but also his company, and the fact that he made the trip out to see me.

I was pretty shaken up the rest of the night, but enjoyed meeting Clare’s friend Sonia, who returned from her climbing trip with her partner. We stayed up until ten catching up. I went to bed feeling grateful for friends, and that everything was okay.

Day 65: Glen Pass (Mile 790.1 – 803.9)

After the adrenaline rush of the stove disaster the previous night, I woke up not feeling rested at all, and didn’t want to get up. It was a beautiful morning at the lake, however. We said goodbye to Sonia and began to climb back to the PCT, and then up to Glen Pass.

In a grove of trees, we encountered Sticky, Chris, Lizard, Noah and Morgan, who were just finishing up packing up camp and beginning the climb themselves. The climb started quickly and was moderately steep. It felt much less formidable than Forester, which shot straight up at an intense incline. Glen was more drawn out, but still challenging, with huge rock-constructed steps to climb. It had no snow, with flowers dotting the sides of trail, and big, deep blue lakes below.

I felt physically good at the top, just hungry after expending so much energy. I sat with the group to enjoy a break and a second breakfast. The views were stunning, looking over Rae Lakes and the upcoming valley. There were unusual clouds ahead, like flat sheets of gray, which made me nervous about potential weather. I didn’t spend too long at the top, and descended down the pass, which had barely any snow to traverse.

Hiking along that morning, I felt a general sense of unease and anxiety. The events of yesterday still hung over me, the possibilities of what could’ve gone seriously wrong popping in my head from time to time. The foreboding clouds concerned me, and my period was definitely going to come this week, which inescapably affected every part of my experience in the backcountry. All there was to do, though, was hike.

Even though I wasn’t in the best headspace, Rae Lakes were stunning. My friends jumped in a beautiful lake from big rocks dotting the sides of it. The water was pure blue, and the wind created waves that sparkled under the snow-clad mountains.

After hiking around multiple alpine lakes, I joined Morgan, Chris, and Noah for a rest near a fast-flowing creek. After not sleeping well the night before, I longed to take a nap under the shade. I watched fast-moving clouds dart across the sky, and then fell asleep for about thirty minutes. Waking up, I inexplicably felt really sad, missing Isabel and home. It’s easy to get wrapped up in the excitement of hiking and the gorgeous sights, but on the hard days, the feelings of homesickness come on quickly. I talked to Morgan, who also missed her partner at home, and we hiked together for a while. It was comforting to not be alone.

As we descended even more, the landscape became more forested. Morgan, Lizard, and I encountered a cold and fast-flowing creek, and crossed a swift current by jumping a large length between two rocks. Shutting off the fear and doing something like that made me feel proud, brave, and capable. Hiking on, the forest parted to reveal a large, wide canyon, with trees on either side of the gorge, and a long, flowing waterfall snaking down the valley.

The clouds rolled in and the wind picked up, making the air cold. Clare and I hiked together for a bit, talking about our struggles on trail as we put on more warm layers. Someday though, she said, we’ll look back on moments like this, and miss it so much. I agreed.

At the bottom of the canyon, I crossed a suspension bridge high above Wood’s Creek that swung with every step. The rest of the day until camp would be a steep, intense climb to get as far as we could to the base of Pinchot Pass, our objective for tomorrow. The trail took us right next to the waterfall I could see from far away, the Wood’s Creek Waterslide. It was loud as it skated down the rocks, and I contemplated how powerful, rushing water was such a force to behold.

The wind was unyielding as I kept climbing, struggling to get to camp. There were huge rocks to step over and over, which exhausted me, and the exposure to wind and cold made me just want to get to camp already. Clare and stuck together, morale low but determination high, and we finally made it to a forested campsite with the others.

After setting up my tent, it was so cold that I could barely sit and eat outside. The weather forecast from my Garmin said that it would be about 36 degrees tonight, but that the “feels like” temperature with the wind would be about 20 degrees. I was grateful to finally be in my sleeping bag at the end of the day. It was a challenging day, both physically and emotionally. It was stunningly beautiful too, and even though my head wasn’t in the best place, I tried to reassure myself that this was okay. I just needed more sleep, and there would be plenty more beauty to appreciate in the coming days. What mattered was that I just kept hiking.

Day 66: Pinchot and Mather Pass (Mile 803.9 – 820.6)

I got a good night’s rest, warm in my sleeping bag. It took a long time to get out of camp, though, since it was brutally cold and windy. I hiked the morning alone, completing the ascent to the base of Pinchot Pass, which was much more even and less steep than yesterday’s climb.

The mountains surrounding Pinchot were almost red. It felt like stepping onto an alien planet, with the exposed rock, and sparse green grass. I encountered a family going up the pass, who were doing the JMT together on summer break. It really inspired me — I’d love to come back here someday with my future kids and show them this landscape, and tell them stories about doing the PCT.

I got to the top of Pinchot and met Rory, Clare, Chris, Noah, and Morgan there, and we hung out for a bit, taking in the landscape. When we decided to descend, however, and left the wind break, we were blasted with incessant wind. It was so strong that I could feel it catching my backpack like a sail, pushing me to the side. There were several alpine lakes on the way down, and the wind storm made them look like small seas, with waves lapping steadily on the rocky shores.

Once we got to treeline, the wind died down significantly. The PCT followed the South Fork King’s River for a gradual ascent towards Mather Pass. Since the wind was so strong the previous night, we decided to attempt to do two passes in one day, in order to not have to camp at the exposed base of Mather Pass. That meant a lot of elevation gain, and a long day.

Luckily, the ascent to Mather was some of the most beautiful and easy-going sections of trail. The trail gently rose through forests and meadows of wildflowers surrounding the river.

Towards the end of the day, we rounded a corner and encountered our friend Jay resting on a huge boulder. We thought that he was behind us! It turns out that he was going southbound (SOBO) with another group, taking Bishop Pass to Kearsarge Pass in order to cut down on the long food carry we were having to do to get to VVR. Jay was a wildcard, and it was always fun to unexpectedly encounter him on trail.

We finally made it to the base of Mather, which had snow-fed rivulets of water everywhere. It was green with small alpine grasses, and the views of the mountains to the south were incredible.

It was already around 4pm, and there weren’t many miles left to hike, just a tall pass to get over. Mather was just one giant headwall with long switchbacks up the sides. They weren’t steep, just rocky, and very exposed. I chugged up the mountain, following behind Rory and Clare, and eventually made it to the top. Again, we were met with stunning views, a stark alpine landscape marked with lakes and jagged peaks.

We thought that all that there was left for us were a few miles to descend to camp— we were sorely mistaken. The descent down Mather was steep, rocky, and some of the switchbacks were snow-covered. I was taking a while to navigate this, the downhill hurting my knees. Rory waited for me, though, and together we scouted out ways to scramble down to avoid the slippery snow.

At about 6pm, the three of us were feeling exhausted, ready to be in camp. It felt like we could just camp anywhere. We pushed to the spot where the whole group was though, in hopes that there would be lots of flat, protected spots. It was definitely a slog. Close to camp, our last challenge for the day would be to cross a raging waterfall. It looked extremely treacherous, and after everything that happened today, I could barely think about how to cross it. Rory again saved the day, by offering his hand to me as I braved a jump across. He has been such a good friend to me, and I’m really grateful to be with him and Clare this week.

The campsite was tucked amid rocks and small trees, offering stunning views of the pass and mountains ahead. Marmots scurried around us. All of us were completely exhausted. There would be no early start tomorrow. I was feeling accomplished though, and emotionally better after a rough few days. Tomorrow we’d have no passes, which should make for easier hiking.

This section has been incredibly difficult so far, but also some of the most beautiful views I’ve seen yet. There are many more passes, long days, and beauty to be witnessed until we get to VVR. I miss home, and sometimes wish that every day wasn’t so hard, but I desperately want to keep hiking, and be able to encounter everything this trail has to offer me.

(Also, a note from present me: I’m currently past the halfway mark in Northern California, doing about 25 miles a day and taking fewer days off to finish before the end of September. I’ve gotten behind on posts, even though I’m still writing them, and plan to catch up whenever I have service. I’m sorry to leave everyone in the dark for the past few weeks! Thank you for reading!!)