Day Seventy One

Today's miles: 11
Total miles: 1018

We were excited when we woke up this morning: only eleven miles to Sonora Pass! We had been counting down the miles for days, and we were glad we were almost there. No one wanted to be out of mosquito country more than Katie and me this week.

We left our shelter of trees early and climbed up a very steep mountain. It was a good thing we hadn't done it last night, for the trail was very open, exposed, and covered in slick scree. The switchbacks wound upwards away from us in a long, serpentine motion. Slowly we plodded along the trail, leaving the valley and trees far below us.

Once up on the ridgeline, we were met with two wonderful changes: first, the jagged, granite peaks came back into view, soaring all around us, and second, there were no mosquitoes. We were above 10,000 feet for the first time in days, and the cold and the breeze was enough to completely demolish any sign of bugs. We were so happy we could have cried. I couldn't remember the last time I saw the world from outside a mesh bug net. We took our first snack break in relative comfort, relishing the fact that we weren't swatting bugs while shoveling down food.

The rest of the day was spent traversing mountain sides. I quickly discovered how difficult scree is to walk through: the loose shale moved under my feet like water, making my steps slide back and forth as though I weren't moving forward. It made progress slow and unstable, and wearied the muscles in my feet. Even trickier was the new arrival of frozen hail and snow on the trail from last night's storm. We had several large patches of snow to cross and each step seemed more unstable than the last. The open, rocky landscape was so drastically different from the lush green valleys and rivers we had been walking through lately.

Before descending Sonora Pass, we needed to cross several washed out areas of the trail. The narrow trail only barely clung to each mountain face, and one wrong step could send us slipping down a very loose, rocky slope. The washed out areas tested my fear of heights to its very limit, for I had to place my feet very carefully and had nothing to hold onto for stability. My heart was hammering the whole time, and all I wanted was to be down off the mountain and with Tanner.

We made it through safely and were able to enjoy some amazing views down the valley as we descended. We were in good spirits, being so close, and hurried down the trail toward the highway. We met several dayhikers coming up the pass who informed us that there was some trail magic happening below. This made us move even more quickly. We hit the bottom of the pass by early afternoon and found ourselves in a picnic ground where a man who called himself Owl was serving fresh fruit, drinks, cookies, and cake. He even had a banner tied to a tree that read: "Hey, mom, I just hiked 1,000 miles on the PCT!"

Katie and I relaxed at the table, a bit surprised that there weren't any other hikers here. But TwoBadDogs showed up soon after, and we had fun talking and eating sweets. I called Tanner and learned that he was still a few hours away, so we had some time to kill. As usual, our 2:00 storm began rolling in so Katie and I set up our tent and took naps inside for the afternoon.

Shortly after we were awakened by the arrival of some thru-hikers we hadn't met yet. One was from South Africa and the other two were southbounders who discovered that the snow in Washington was still too high to cross, so they had flip-flopped and started hiking northbound a few days ago. Shortly after they arrived we saw someone else walking into the picnic area. His blue backpack and white hat were strangely familiar....

"FOCUS!!" we yelled, running across the grass to meet him with big hugs.
"Honey Bunny! Bramble!" he cried.
"We thought you were ahead of us!"
"I took a zero with Dance Party in Yosemite Valley to climb Half Dome," he said. "I've been pulling 23 mile days to here, though."
"Twenty three!" we were shocked. The terrain from Tuolumne Meadows to Sonora Pass had some very steep ascents and descents, and often our pace of 15-18 miles per day was exhausting enough. I couldn't imagine doing twenty three.
Focus joined TwoBadDogs, the new hikers and us at the table to enjoy treats before going to the nearby town of Bridgeport to resupply and stay the night. I gave him a big hug goodbye since I knew I wouldn't be seeing him for a while.

At 5:30 Tanner arrived in his truck to pick us up. We were ecstatic to see him, and more than happy to leave trail to join civilization for a while. We drove down some very windy roads to get back to the highway (a downside of thru-hiking is that riding in cars tends to make you very carsick...) and then to Lake Tahoe, where we met up with some of Katie's good friends who have a house there. We spent the evening taking showers, talking about the trail, and eating plates of food until we were practically sick. Katie planned to stay with them for a few days more, then hike a little to the Desolation Wilderness with her boyfriend Bryan when he came to visit next week. Tanner and I would be leaving tomorrow to visit some of my family in town, then drive home to Portland so I could fly to Geneva next week and begin my circumnavigation of Mt. Blanc from the town of Chamonix, France. Once I returned, I would be joining Katie back on trail in Northern California to finish my trek north.

And so this is a crossroads for so many people on the PCT, but certainly not the end of the journey...

Day Seventy

Today's miles: 16
Total miles: 1007

My alarm went off at 4:00am. I was determined to get up before the mosquitoes and get some miles in this morning before I got bitten to death. But 4am was so much earlier than we were used to waking up these days, and I lay in bed for a moment before struggling up onto my elbows.
"Unnnhh," Katie groaned next to me, clearly not a fan of waking up this early, either. "What time is it?"
"Four," I said.
She rolled over and looked out the mesh, where a row of mosquitoes had landed and was waiting.
"The mosquitoes are already awake," she said, "lets go back to bed."
"Makes sense to me," I promptly agreed, and we fell asleep again.

Two hours later we were awake again and got dressed, dreading getting out of the tent. We donned our headnets and Katie sighed, "ready?"
We jumped outside and were immediately mauled by bugs. We hurried through our daily routine: packing up gear, putting on sunscreen, having breakfast. We couldn't sit still for any of it, and if I hadn't been so annoyed by the mosquitoes by now, I would have thought it was hilarious to see Katie eating her granola while she ran around in circles.

The worst part of the morning routine, though, was going to the bathroom. There was nothing more horrifying than having to drop your pants and sit still in the middle of a mosquito swarm. It was inevitable that by the time you stood up, you had a dozen bites in places you didn't want them.
"If I never see a mosquito again, it will be too soon," I muttered.

After checking over the maps and elevation charts last night, we had a good plan for today. We were only two days from Sonora Pass, and we were determined to make the most of it. The terrain was pretty flat this morning, so we were going to try to get through ten miles by lunchtime. Then six more miles to the bottom of a big climb, where we would have dinner, and then use the extra calories and caffeine from dinner to get four more miles up the climb and only have seven miles left to do tomorrow.

It was a solid plan. But as solid plans usually go, it completely fell apart.

The first part of the day went very well. We made great time along the trail, mostly driven by our desire to get over Dorothy Lake Pass. The pass marked the end of Yosemite, and we had heard that the mosquitoes weren't as bad outside the park. Having been driven nearly to insanity by them over the past few days, we couldn't wait to be rid of them again.
As we hiked, we slapped at bugs and dreamed of life in the mountains again.
"Want to hear a song I made up?" I asked Katie halfway through the morning. "I call it, 'Ode to a Fucking National Park.'"
She laughed. "Yes."
I launched into my newest tune:

"I hate you Yosemite, oh yes I do,
I hate you Yosemite, oh yes it's true
Because of the mosquitoes
And you're hot and humid, toooooooo
Oh, Yosemite, I hate you."

"I love it!" Katie said.
"I'm making up another verse called, 'I miss you High Sierras,'" I said.

When we got to Dorothy Lake Pass, we were greeted by the lovely Dorothy Lake, which was incentive enough to jump in and cool ourselves off. The mosquitoes were still horrible, though, so we soon pushed on before stopping for lunch at mile marker 999. As we ate we soaked in the fact that we had walked 1,000 miles from the border of Mexico to Lake Tahoe in central California. It seemed unbelievable, and yet, here we were. Even with swollen feet, sore joints, and arms covered in mosquito bites, I was still proud of the accomplishment.

Our official 1,000 mile celebration was cut short because the bugs didn't let us stand still for more than a couple seconds. We took a quick photo and then hurried on. There were many miles yet to go.

By the time we reached the bottom of the climb, our now-familiar speedy thunderclouds had taken over the sky. I checked my watch, and sure enough, it was almost exactly 2:00.
"I don't get it, how does this happen every day?" I wondered. "The morning starts out sunny and hot as hell, and every afternoon like clockwork we get reamed by a thunderstorm."
"It's really putting a kink in our plans," Katie frowned.
"Especially since we always need to go up in elevation when the storm hits," I sighed.

Technically the original plan had been to eat dinner at the bottom of the climb, but since it was still early in the day, we wanted to get to our next water source before eating. But the storm was making our plan fall apart. Instead of hiking on, we waited in the trees for the rain to pass. A half hour went by. Then an hour. Then an hour and a half. Still the storm rumbled overhead, but no rain.
"I say we keep going," Katie said. "We can't wait here forever."
So we hiked upward beneath the threatening thunder and storm clouds. Our next water source was a river that crossed the trail, but before we reached it, we noticed the river below us in the canyon: it was running heavy and muddy.
"Is that our water source?" Katie wondered uneasily.
"I hope not," I said.

We soon discovered why the river was so muddy; there had been a mudslide from a recent storm and it was all washing into the water. Worried that we wouldn't find a good source of water to drink, we stopped at the nearest tiny stream and took some time filling up our water bladders. As it turned out, though, when we reached our water source, it was right at the fork in the river where the muddy water met the clean.

By then it was raining and the sky had gotten significantly darker. It was 5pm, so we decided to stop for dinner and mull over our options. We ate in the rain under a bow of trees and contemplated the odds that the storm would pass by the time we got to the top of the climb. The topo maps of the climb made it look pretty exposed, so we ultimately decided that it would be safer to stay in the trees tonight than to chance the storm and climb to higher altitudes. Still, we were frustrated that we were forced to stop hiking at 5pm when we could have gone further.

In the end, staying put was the smarter decision. The storm didn't pass over quickly; it rained all night long and we learned a few days later that the ridgeline had gotten pelted with hail and high winds all night. It would have been a dangerous place to camp.

As for Katie and I, we set up the tent and hid from the rain inside, listening to Ender's Game on tape while we lay in bed at 6pm. TwoBadDogs eventually caught us and set up camp nearby. We giggled about going to bed so early, and both of us were glad we were so close to Sonora Pass. It had been a very difficult week, and my desire to see Tanner and get back to civilization was growing stronger.

Day Sixty Nine

Today's miles: 18
Total miles: 991

We woke up at 6:30 when TwoBadDogs passed us again, barking at our tent like dogs to wake us up. We had Selvey Pass to climb early this morning, but since we were on trail early enough, the hike up was mostly in the shade. It was hot already, though, and we knew it was going to be another muggy day. Yesterday's thunderstorm wasn't even a blip on the radar: the sky was bright blue, sunny and cloudless today.

We had second breakfast at the top of the hill with TwoBadDogs near an alpine lake. The mosquitoes weren't quite as bad here with a breeze, but they were still irksome. Katie and I joked that we wouldn't have any recollection of this part of the trail because we moved so quickly through it, trying to escape the bugs each and every day. We barely even had any photos of Yosemite; stopping for a photo was simply inviting the mosquitoes to bite. We clicked pictures as we ran through the landscape, promising ourselves we'd look at them later, even if we didn't remember seeing any of it. My bug headnet was now a staple of my daily wardrobe; I put it on first thing in the morning and wore it until I fell asleep. I was starting to hate Yosemite and its bugs.

We hiked down the backside of Selvey Pass and stopped for lunch beside a river ford. TwoBadDogs caught up with us and as we ate, we realized dark clouds were once again rolling overhead. I checked my watch and noticed that it was almost exactly the same time that the thunderstorm had hit yesterday: 2pm. It was strange how quickly and unexpectedly these storms rolled through. I didn't want to be caught in another lightning storm, and the upcoming trail climbed a very steep and exposed ridge. We opted to stay below to wait out the rain, hoping it would pass quickly. But today's storm was slow, and though it rumbled and clouded above us, it wasn't breaking.

After an hour, we decided to risk it and keep hiking. The air was heavy and sticky, the bugs were horrible, the trail was uphill, and just when we thought it couldn't get worse, the rain began. I also discovered that mosquitoes still have the audacity to bite you even when it's pouring rain. In fact, they seem to bite harder, as if they're aggravated about getting wet. If I thought wearing long sleeves in 95 degree humid heat with 10,000 mosquitoes biting me was my own personal hell, then wearing long sleeves in 95 degree humid heat with 10,000 mosquitoes biting me while it's pouring is hell intensified.

The clouds stayed with us for some time and then slowly began to drift away. We finished climbing one mountain and started up another. Half way up the hill, my blood sugar crashed. I knew immediately when it happened because my feet suddenly felt like lead weights and each step upward was a desperate struggle. I had been getting so strong these past few months, able to climb mountains like a slow, steady machine, but this energy crash brought me back to my first weeks on trail. It was suddenly hard to move. So hard that I fell behind Katie by a considerable distance and had to force my feet to move forward. I began feeling my mood pitch in wild directions, and when I was to the point of breaking down, I knew I needed to get food into myself or I would fall apart. Unfortunately, I was carrying less food than usual this stretch and I didn't have many snacks left. I allowed myself a granola bar and some peanut butter, but it helped only a little. I managed to finish the climb and catch up with Katie, and forced myself to say in an even voice, "I think we need to stop soon for dinner. My energy completely tanked and I'm having a hard time."

Katie was nearly out of water, so we needed to push on at least until the next river. We got there none too soon, and I practically inhaled my dinner, sucking down the calories. It made an immediate difference and I felt 100% better.

The next few miles were very flat, so we flew through them. We flew even faster than usual, too, because mosquitoes were chasing us every step of the way. They were worse than we had ever seen them, and if we slacked our pace even a little, they covered us in a black swarm. They bit through our clothes, covered the tops of our hands, tried to bite through our mosquito nets, landed all over the fabric on our pants and shoulders. I spent most of my time swatting at them and shaking clouds of bugs off my skin. We tried to find a campsite that had a good breeze, to ward them away, but there were none to be found. We made it 18 miles before we were exhausted and knew we had to set up camp.

I don't think we've ever pitched a tent so quickly. The mosquitoes were ten times worse once we stopped, so much so that we had to run in circles as we did all of our nightly tasks. It was mentally exhausting. Getting into the tent was a process, too. In order to avoid letting all the bugs in with us, we had to be quick about our movements. Katie went first, with me crouched beside the tent door zipper, wildly shaking like a crazy person to keep the mosquitoes from landing on me.

"Ok, ready? Ready?" she asked, kicking off her shoes and socks in one fluid movement as she danced in place.
"Go! Go! Go!" I said, unzipping a tiny hole in the tent for her to dive through.
"Get the mosquitoes off! Get them off!" she shrieked as she jumped into the tent.
"AHHHH! AHHHHHH!" we both shrieked as I wildly slapped her on the back, the shoulders, the legs, trying to rid her of bugs before she got in the tent.
"Sorry! Sorry! AHH sorry!" I yelped as I slapped her over and over.
"It's ok, it's ok!" she said back, "I'm in! I'M IN! CLOSE IT!" I zipped the tent behind her. A second later I was up and running in circles again, not able to stay put.
"How many are in there?" I asked, doing laps around the tent.
"Lots," she said, "but not as many as I would have guessed."
I could hear her slaps as she killed them against the tent wall, one by one.
"Ready for me?" I asked.
"I'm by the zipper," she said.
I kicked off my shoes, did one more lap around the tent and then jumped for the open door.
"Shake them off! Shake them off!" Katie yelled.
"AHHHH!" I yelled back, shaking frantically as I squeezed in beside her.
"It's closed!"

We sat huddled in the tent, looking warily outside, where mosquitoes coated the doors and mesh so thickly that the tent was turning black.
"They're waiting for us," I shivered.
"So gross," Katie moaned.
"We have to get up early tomorrow," I swore. "Like, 4am early."
"Deal," she agreed.
"I never thought I could hate something so much," I said, as we killed the remaining bugs that had snuck into the tent and tried to go to sleep, the high-pitched whine of mosquitoes just outside our door.

Day Sixty Eight

Today's miles: 15
Total miles: 973

Katie and I intended to get up early today but slept in until 8, when TwoBadDogs passed us. We got ready, forded a river, and caught up with them a few hours later. The terrain was lovely and green, but we had a hard time stopping to enjoy it because the mosquitoes were still pretty bad. An indicator if a spot was good enough for a snack break was to pause and see how many bugs surrounded you. If you were mauled by a swarm of them in under a few seconds, you had to keep moving. If it was a smaller cloud, a headnet and long sleeves made it somewhat tolerable to stop for a few minutes to eat.

We trucked along beside rivers and beneath granite mountains, but the mountains here were not nearly as impressive as those in the high Sierras, and I missed them. We spent the morning climbing hills in the humidity. I wished it would rain and break the heat, but the skies were perfectly blue and clear with no indication that cooler weather was on its way. Soon we got ahead of TwoBadDogs on our way up Benson Pass. It was a long hike to the top, but we were rewarded with a nice view and a good spot to eat lunch.

As I dug my lunch bag out of my pack, I looked back over the pass to see sudden, dark clouds rolling over the valley.
Where did those come from?
They certainly didn't look friendly, and they were moving toward us at a very fast rate. By the time we finished lunch, the dark clouds were practically overhead and we could see lightning in the distance. Thunder rolled closer and closer. Realizing we were at the highest point in the area, we scrambled to get back down to lower elevations. As we ran down the trail, the storm crashed into us. It began pouring, hailing, and the lightning split the sky right above us.
"What should we do?" I yelled over the rain. "Keep going? Set up the tent?"

I hated being caught in lightning storms in the open. There were so many varying reports about the proper thing to do and I wasn't sure which was the most safe. We ran through the rain for a while until we were drenched, and thought perhaps setting up the tent to wait out the rain would be a good idea. But we struggled with setting it up for so long that the tent was soon drenched and we were no closer to being out of the storm than we were half an hour ago.
"Forget it, let's just wait it out," Katie said.
We huddled under trees with our rain coats pulled up over our faces. I was dripping wet and freezing, thinking it ironic that it had been so hot and muggy all morning. The storm didn't last long, and pretty soon the dark clouds moved past us, it stopped raining, and the thunder rolled in the distance.

The storm left a wave of hot, muggy air behind it, and soon we were dripping sweat again. We were both grumpy and exhausted, and when we stopped for dinner beside Piute Creek, we sat silently swatting clouds of mosquitoes and frowning at our pasta meals.
"Today loses," I sighed.
"Totally loses," Katie agreed. "I wish we were at Sonora Pass already."
"Me too," I said.
"If there were a road nearby and a car came through, it would take me two seconds to catch a hitch into town right now."
It was something we said often; that on our worst, most difficult days, all we wanted was an easy way out. But the trail was never easy, and perhaps it was for the best that we couldn't catch a ride back to civilization, for we would have done it many times over by now.

We had planned on doing at least three to five more miles tonight, but our next water ford was so heavily coated in mosquitoes that we were screaming in frustration and covered in hundreds of bites by the time we waded to the other side and put our shoes back on. Neither of us wanted to keep pushing, so we went a mile further to higher ground, set up our tent to dry it out, and went to bed.