June 8

After sleeping fitfully last night (slanted tent, Eliza and Jeremy contributing equally to noxious gas air pollution), we set out into a surprisingly cool morning. We had been feeling sluggish after having the day off in town. My feet were aching terribly; we're both anxious to finish up this next 100 mile stretch and meet up with my mother, have some time on the beach, R&R, etc. We hoped that today would pull us out of whatever slump we might be slipping into.

It turned out to be a really nice day. We put in a good 22+ miles, ate well -- Gary and Cheri, thank you both so much -- felt strong and sure-footed again.

Today it seems that we may have left the desert behind for good. Things are changing in our surroundings as we ascend into the Sierras. The geology, which I know practically nothing about, is much different -- mountaintops are sharper, more jagged, boulderfields occur more often, are more striking. The air is different, cooler, moister. We had clouds hanging over us for much of the day, the first we've seen in weeks. Late in the day as we came up over 8000 ft again we caught a glimpse of the snow-capped High Sierras to our north and west. Mt. Olancha looms the closest; awaits us just days away.

Eliza commented that while they are beautiful, huge, frightening, even, they aren't as close or as towering as she would have expected. We are only some 60 miles from Whitney and we don't even know where it is in front of us. I told her she had been spoiled by the Himalayas in Nepal. I can only imagine what looking out at 20,000-ft peaks is like!

We had a couple of interesting run-ins with quail today. Twice we rounded a bend in the trail and surprised a mother hen with her flock of chicks. They would scatter like hell in all directions, little chicks stumbling and falling down the dusty hillside. The hen, once she figured out where the intrusion had come from, would ruffle her feathers and come charging our way, kicking up a cloud of dust, clucking and squealing her disapproval. It was a neat thing to see.

It is a chilly night and we are camped amidst a forest of burnt, blackened pines, standing breathless here since a massive fire in 2000 destroyed thousands of acres. It almost feels like Fall back east somewhere.