It was a quiet, introspective, suspended sort of Sunday. The morning skies were hung with whispy white clouds along with the normal jet exhaust streamers. The warming day had a hungover feeling to it, something of a wintry heartache and slow Zen nostalgia, when tears threaten but would never actually fall.
We broke camp late, with the sun and speedily, as is our habit now that the weather has turned. The terrain rolled and jolted us up and over endless rock outcroppings, in formations down the river valley almost like volcanic ash in their random spotty placement.
Before long we climbed up to a beautiful wide open breakfast spot near Dorothy Lake Pass. Eliza named the mountain mound before us "Jet Stream Peak" and I liked that. Here, we also entered into the Yosemite Wilderness, which excited us. What is in a name, afterall?
Eliza is still struggling with this stomach bug so we stop quite a bit now. It is a shame that she has to deal with that during this penultimate stretch here in the high country.
The rest of the morning and into the early afternoon we just plodded along, talking some, singing to each other, trying to recall the lyrics to too many half forgotten tunes. The south leading canyon was bound majestically on both sides by the huge, rugged, white granitic mountain peaks -- the type of thing one might expect to see out here in Yosemite. These are the things that really make you wonder about where this all came from. How incredible it must have been when the mountains rose up and the earth quaked from within so many millions of years ago? What must have the native peoples who ventured out to these remote and extravagent (not to mention inhospitable and often very dangerous) places thought? I wonder the same thing of all of the most breathtaking sights we've seen along this trail this summer -- Crater Lake, Mt. Rainier, the volcanic mud pits of Lassen . . .
Our long slow descent ended as we rounded gorgeous, serene Wilma Lake. Again, the huge granitic walls were just awesome. We recalled at this point the times we had visited National Parks earlier in our lives and how little we could actually remember of those trips. Was that Yosemite or Yellowstone? I remember taking a ten-minute walk but it rained so we left and took pictures from the car. We laughed at the idea that it would be a fitting commercial for Sizzler or some such food chain. The disgruntled kids, the eager father, the scolding mother all out on a vacation taking in the sights that nobody really has any desire to see anyway, and then the one thing they can all agree about . . . Sizzler. Thanks Mom!
Leaving the south shore of the lake our day's walk in the woods changed very abrubtly and very drastically. From here on out it seems that we are either going straight up or straight down. Our data book is in agreement. There will be no more mercy, it seems. The afternoon was grueling. We climbed up and we dropped down. The trail seemed haphazard and all too steep, winding recklessly to and fro, heading directly up gravel covered slopes and sending us skidding down the other side.
We passed two PCT hikers, Wildcat and Nickel, this evening. We have seen their names in registers since leaving Canada and finally got a chance today to stop and meet them. We passed them, it turns out, when choosing not to stop in Etna back in northernmost California. They are both middle-aged and full of good humor. They have slowed way down as Wildcat has some stomach bug and doesn't have the energy to fly through this tough terrain.
We bid them safe journey, forded the creek next to their camp, and hiked on another few miles -- up and over the next steep ridgeline and down to the next creek canyon.
We camped at Kerrick Canyon alongside another chatterbox creek.
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