Sitting here in front of the fire, under the big rock, the crashing water roars away down over the slope of soggy, slushy earth. The new day has arrived and, with it, no more snow. All of the firs and pines have sloughed off whatever clumps of heavy snow they had encumbering their still summer-sure boughs.
We come to, boil up another pot of water for a morning pick me up and set our sights on the trail for the day. All morning, we expect to descend under the fresh baby blue sky until we come to Deer Meadow around noon and begin the long, long, long ascent up 4000 ft to Mather Pass.
***
The morning was fine and we were cheerful. The sunny, warm air is such a relief after yesterday's wintery weather. Within two hours we pass eight other backpackers, all of whom were much less lucky than we had been in dealing with yesterday's storm. With the exception of one couple on the JMT planning on making Whitney and sticking to it, every other group we met seemed to be changing their plans due to the weather. I suppose it makes sense that you are only out here for a few days, you'd like them not to be miserable ones. I might rather go home too if it had ever once even felt remotely like an option.
Us, we just keep on walking.
Eliza had a spring in her step all morning. I was well behind her taking photos of the dazzling white peak and the glorious yellow Aspens and orange, autumn ferm patches.
The climb up to Mather Pass along Palisades Creek began smoothly enough, a regularly slow ascent up along a creek's canyon floor. Soon, it really turned into a climb, however, and I felt muscles starting to ache that haven't been getting much use out here. We huffed and puffed up long series of steep, rocky switchbacks until eventually stopping for a lunch break on trail looking back on the great peaks along the Le Conte canyon from whence we had just ascended. The sun hung beautifully and warmly overhead and the lower skies were filled with passing cottonball cumulus puffs.
And then came the final, big push. This turned out to be no joke. At around 10,500 ft the snow began to reappear at our feet. The trail was a rushing, muddy creeklet. Within a half hour our sneakers were soaked through and we were breaking fresh prints into the already icing and crusty snow in the desolate, rocky Palisades basin at the foot of Mather Pass. The sun was glaring violently so I gave my glasses to Eliza to wear -- she's already been snowblind and I figured it was my turn. And we walked, trudging up the steep snowy switches. By the time we had reached the top of the pass, the snow was caked up to my mid-shins and higher. Both of us were freezing and had to stop and rub our feet dry on a dry parcel of tread. The ascent had been an arduous, never ending affair. The trail was generally easy to follow as it was wide and unmistakeable even under a solid foot of glaring, cold icing. Difficulty - -and danger, perhaps -- arrose only when the trail underfoot and unseen became jagged and irregular. Occasionally I slipped or knocked my foot against a boulder awkwardly, but recovery was simple (hiking poles are the answer). At no point were we in danger of falling or anything as drastic or life threatening as that.
While very difficult and tiring, the trek up and over Mather Pass seemed romantic to me. I felt blessed to be out in this virginal, snowy tundra, sweating and swearing under the gaping, glaring heavens, Eliza right behind me, the rest of the planet below. The trail, it seems is really putting us to a test out here now just as we attempt to make a break for the finish. The Sierras are giving us a run for our money.
But even then, coming to the top of the pass, there wasn't much time to sit and reflect on the grandness of the situation. The opposite canyon was a sea of snow, treeless, and absolutely barren. The looming white mountains to the south were enormous and daunting. And there we were, shivering, watching the sun go down. So we pulled on our wet socks, stod shakily back up and started the snowy descent.
Fortunately, we warmed up quickly and the afternoon hike across the tundra was quite pleasant. It reminded me of the snow hiking I had done in and around Ithaca on the Finger Lakes Trail last winter as training for the PCT.
We came upon two poor guys who had been caught on the pass during the storm and had spent a difficult and harrowing night in the freezing snow. They were so relieved to se us and hear that the pass was in fact passable. They had planned on going south to Whitney but decided, forget it, and were going to try to exit in the next couple of days at Bishop Pass.
We pushed on into dusk and camped on a tiny, round snowless patch along the South Fork Kings River, at the low point of 10,050 ft. before the short ascent tomorrow up to Pinchot Pass.
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