In this 289 mile stretch from Red’s Meadow to Sierra City, Yosemite National Park and the neighboring Sonora Pass kicks my backside, I surpass 1000 miles, hike through the lovely Desolation and Granite Chief Wilderness areas and encounter some oddballs near Mammoth Lakes and Donner Pass.
It’s Father’s Day weekend, and the bus is packed on the way back up towards Red’s Meadow. Some tourists are interested in my pack, which is sitting in a luggage bin near where they’re sitting. They start touching it, pulling on the straps and pretending to lift it in a joking way, as if it’s far too heavy for a human to carry. Then they fiddle with my ice axe, at which point I snap at them to stop.
“Aren’t you scared of bears? Don’t you carry a gun? What does your mother think of you doing this?”
Maybe I need to staple a FAQ to my shirt. I manage to escape, and hit up the cafe again for at burger. Back on the trail, my irritation level is high. There are loads of tourists everywhere, and they’re all in my way. They’re taking up the entire trail, wandering aimlessly and in a daze. I try to be polite and let them know when I’m passing, but they freeze up in the middle of the path and stare at me as if I’m Sasquatch himself.
I tried to hustle the rest of the way to Tuolumne Meadows, trying to get to the store before it closed (I may have had beer on my mind). Unfortunately, I was 10 minutes too late. I find the backpacker camp in the campground, which is overrun with tourists. Even the backpacker campsite is oddly full of people who are not backpackers, this being obvious by their wheeling luggage and massive 4-room tents. A nice thru-hiker called Star lets me camp with her, and a Belgian man named Louie asks to join us.
I find out that the reason for the Chaos in Yosemite is because of a visit from President Obama and the First Family the next day. A wilderness ranger comes around later, clearing out the non-backpackers and scolding them, and I feel secretly delighted by it.
On our way up to Benson Pass, we hit loads of snow. It’s slow going, and the other side of the pass proves to be worse. We spend the morning postholing and route finding, and eventually stop at Smedburg Lake for an early lunch. It’s obvious that today is going to be long and with little progress. Stretch has a swim is the lake, and I soak up some sun on a nearby rock.
The trail still continues be arduous ahead, and we watch as another hiker ahead of us falls from a narrow snow-covered section of trail into a turbulent creek below. Thankfully, he’s able to pull himself to safety.
We decide to make camp after only 18 miles completed, in a snow free area near a creek. Stretch is hurting and tired from the long days, and wants to do shorter mileage from here on out. I need to keep up my mileage, so we decide to go on solo from there.
I walk through flooded over alpine meadows, and pass by massive Dorothy lake in the evening. I’m tired and consider camping, but the 1000 mile marker is just a few miles ahead and I can’t resist pushing it. I leave Yosemite National Park over a snow-covered pass, and then dip back down into some forest. There’s loads of slimy ponds throughout the woods, and I find myself in mosquito hell once again.
I make camp alone in the woods, and hide out in my tent from the bugs while I eat some dinner. When I go to stash my bear canister before bed, I notice a large pile of human shit in my camp, decorated with a bouquet of toilet paper. Are you serious? How did I not notice this before I pitched my tent a what the fuck is wrong with people? Who are these morons that do this? I go to bed grumpy.
I enter the Emigrant Wilderness, and encounter more snow. Flex is ahead of me, and signals with his ice axe that I should be using my own on the bit ahead. I grab my axe from my pack, and watch as he struggles with his footing across some snow-covered scree and some scary steps. I have a go at it, and it’s ridiculously scary. I’m shaking as I find my footing, and on the verge of vomiting. I finally reach a stable area, and glissade safely down.
I stop right before the ascent towards Sonora Pass to eat a quick breakfast, and meet a few more thru-hikers: Flex, and two Canadians called Claw Hammer and B-Line. They take off ahead of me, and I start the treacherous climb up to the ridge. The route is covered in snow the entire way up, and only ceases when I get to the epic ridge line.
The climb away from the highway is difficult and I regret my decision to keep going once I reach the top: there’s another horrible snow crossing, across a steep mountainside via sloppy, half melted snow steps. The fall from the mountain will surely be deadly, with jagged rocks at the bottom. I want to cry.
I get up and around Tyron Peak late in the afternoon and then down into Noble Canyon by evening. My knees are aching from the descent on loose scree, and I’m ready to call it a day soon. I ford through several chilly, somewhat hair-raising creeks before finding a good spot to camp overlooking the canyon. I’m all alone, but I don’t mind.
After my surprise lunch, I attempt to hitch with two other guys into town. The highway is busy with tourists though, who aren’t inclined to pick up hikers. They usually have cars full to the roof with kids, dogs and stuff, and they generally don’t know that we’re hikers and mistake us for drifters.
I get dropped off at the Lake of the Sky outdoor shop in town, where I have a box waiting for me. After I get my box, I begin a merciless walk three miles across town to my awaiting motel room.
South Lake Tahoe is an assault on my senses; it’s hot and busy, loud with traffic and stinks of pollution. There are a million things going on all at once around me, and my head feels like it’s going to explode. I stop at a Denny’s and get a sandwich for lunch, and suck down about ten orange sodas. The city is stifling and I don’t want to go back out in it. (photo: Lake Tahoe, seen from a casino buffet room)
The trail leaving Barker Pass is delightful; it’s lined with thousands of bright yellow Mule’s Ears flowers that are alive with the sounds of cicadas.
The crazy wind starts moving clouds in and I fear a thunderstorm is on the horizon. I start descending into the Squaw Valley, passing beneath swaying chair lifts. I see Lo Flo again further on, making camp in some trees and protected from the wind. But there’s no room for me, so I’m forced to keep going. I go much further than I want to, fighting to stay upright against the forceful winds as I make my way to the top of Tinker Knob. There, within a group of trees, I’m able to find a very small spot to put my tent next to three others. I don’t bother with the rainfly, as I’m pretty sure that would result in me taking flight in the middle of the night.
I can’t wait to get out of the area once I’m back on the trail. I cross under Highway 80 and stop briefly at the rest stop to fill up on water, then begin climbing up to Castle Pass. There’s still more tourists there, but this time they have taken Ninja Mike and Bombadil captive with their questions (sorry guys). I keep going until I reach the camping area I want to stop at, but it’s overrun with weekend warriors who have started illegal campfires despite the 90 degree weather and recent burn ban. Frustrated, I move on.
I’m awoken to the sound of an animal in my camp before it’s light outside. I shuffle around in my tent a bit and it runs off. I’m wide awake now, so I decide to get on with my day. I’m up before the cicadas, and when I hit the trail they are warming up like a symphony before a performance. It’s a lovely sound to start the day.
A few miles in, the sun is already baking me. I follow a winding trail, decorated with Mule’s Ears and volcanic stones. I find a welcoming stream at the bottom of a canyon, and immerse my poor aching feet into the cool water. Further on I enter dark forest, and I find that the heat has permeated the shade. I take lay down in a creek for some relief, letting the cold water soak my clothes through.
By the time I reach the highway, I’m not sure I have it in me to road walk the 2 miles into town. There’s no traffic to try to hitch, and it’s getting dark. With no other choice, I hobble down the highway. I go to the far side of town and get a room with a hiker discount at Herrington’s Sierra Pines Resort. The woman running the desk kindly offers to bring me some dinner down from the kitchen to my room, and I gratefully accept.
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