I awoke this morning to the sound of gunshots cracking the distant silence. Crack, thud, thud. The cold mountain wind coursing around the tent had kept me in a state of fitful half sleep for hours through the morning's predawn darkness. At some point, the sun still below the jagged eastern horizon, a group of chattering voices (speaking Spanish?) even floated in on the breeze. I tossed and turned. The cold earth had found its icy fingers a way in through the foot box of my sleeping bag. It was a surreal and sleepless morning, a struggle for shuteye and shelter from the stormy, blustery air outside. Finally, we rousted ourselves as the sun peeked over the crag to the east, out to face the bluing heavens and the dawning day. We broke camp quickly, racing against the chill, and made for the orange, sunlit cliff face where our trail was already busy warming itself.
Our plan was to hit Route 108 at Sonora Pass by mid-morning and hitch down to Kennedy Meadows (the northern of the two which our trail passes near) for a good breakfast and to re-supply at the store. On the way down to the pass, we noticed a strange orange spackling spread out over the rocky, red landscape. The cold morning air made me think of winter. I felt oddly nostalgic for the hills of upstate New York and the comforts of home. Rounding a bend by a set of volcanic pinnacles we saw more of these construction cone orange blots dappling the distant scene. What were these bright, bold figures? Are they people? We wondered aloud. And then we had our answer. Crack, thud, thud. Gunshots from up ahead. Dogs barking. The hairs standing up on the back of my neck. A primeval fear churning deep within my belly. Them's guns. And this must be hunting season, I thought.
And so it is. Today is opening day and the blood-hungry hunters are out in full force, toting rifles, clad in blaze orange. I didn't expect that it would be legal to hunt in Wilderness Areas, but from the looks of the crowd heading up into our Wilderness area today, it apparently is. Yippee. Where's my orange vest? Looking down at my drab hiking gear, I am not entirely sure that I won't be mistaken for an innocent, forraging deer one of these days. I guess we'll just hope that where we're headed will be too remote for most hard working hunters with day jobs to venture out for the kill.
Coming to the trail head at Sonora Pass we were delighted to meet up with Duck and Swift, two hikers that we last saw in Griffith Park in L.A. on June 6th or thereabouts. They had dropped us off after leaving the Saufley's together and had returned to the trail before we had. Then they flipped up to Sierra City from Kennedy Meadows, went north to Canada (we missed them in Oregon) and then finally returned to Sierra City just a couple of weeks ago to hit the Sierras southbound like many of the rest of us. Unfortunately, it turns out that this was their last stop. They had gone into Kennedy Meadows yesterday, had lunch, picked up their re-supply package, come back to sleep at windy, cold Sonora Pass and decided this morning that they had had enough. Their plan was to hitch west to Sonora and then make it up to the Bay Area where Duck's family lives. We were sorry to have to see them go. They were very kind, however, and offered us their re-supply as they would no longer have much use or desire for camp foods and candy bars once back in civilization for good. So we graciously accepted and decided to roll right on by Sonora Pass, no longer in need of a store to get us supplied through to Tuolumne Meadows -- 75 miles down the trail, and our junction with the John Muir Trail.
The hiking south of Sonora Pass has been a whole different monster. We shot straight back up to the crestline at over 10000 ft. and clammered across jagged, endless boulder fields for the next six hours. The terrain up here is stark and desolate. The wind is relentless and biting.
About four miles into the section (we are now in the Emigrant Wilderness) we crossed paths, yet again, with Billy Goat. He laughed his silly laugh and wishd us luck on he rest of our trip. "It's cold up in the high country," he warned. We watched him trek off over the impressive and stark grey, brown landscape towards a narrow, rocky gap in the saurian ridgeline.
The rest of the day was pleasant enough. We dropped down into Kennedy Canyon where we passed our 2400th mile marker and descended easily for the afternoon until setting camp early at a junction with the West Walker River.
For the first time since climbing Mt. San Jacinto in May, we built a nice campfire tonight. There was a fire ring set up alongside a big stone shelf and once we had the fire roaring, the heat bounced off he wall and lit up the whole camp with a warm orange glow. Eliza and I sat out well into darkness after finishing a nice dinner of freeze-dried sweet and sour pork and green beans, talking and laughing.
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