Altitudies

If you under-promise and over-produce disappointment has no hold to cling to. Anticipation and hype were all that surrounded my entering the Sierra Nevada Mountains, so there was apprehension that they might not live up to the the promises of beauty and scope of experience. One past thew-hiker even told me that no description, no matter how grandiose, could possibly do justice to the landscape I was set to enter, and you know what? He was absolutely right.

The day we left Kennedy Meadows we charged over ridge after ridge into a different meadow after meadow more grand and scenic than the previous. Crossing the South fork of the Kern River, your eyes follow it up stream to incredible distant mountains that beckon through cloud and mist. Gaining altitude increases the expanse of the view and shrinks your self-perspective. Feeling small and insignificant, the route seems daunting and impossible. 9000, 10000, 11000 ft and climbing, the vegetation changes and becomes more and more rugged. Trees seem to grow from solid stone, splitting or simply growing around rock and boulder. Ice cold alpine lakes and tarns, melted only days earlier, feed streams that trickle down to inviting meadows. Forests give way to snow capped peaks and steep icy spires. But the high altitudes that produce such beauty also produce new challenges.

Altitude creates very volatile weather conditions. As systems move eastward, wind currents and moisture must also navigate the lofty barracade. The sun's rays are quite powerful at such heights but are stifled drastically by the slightest cloud cover or shade. Temperatures fluctuate a great deal and layers are put on and torn off by the half hour. Days in we are hiking past Chicken Spring Lake. Late in the month of May, only a week earlier we craved a cool breeze, but now we search for our gloves and warm beanies. Then over 11000 ft it began to snow. Lightly at first, then increasing in volume. Nearly but not quite freezing, the flakes were very big and wet, saturating the air. We were soaked. Even with our rain gear the soggy cold clings as you drag it down the trail. Luckily, as quickly as it begin, it quickly ends and the sun and the views return.

The next two days would prove to be the toughest days of hiking so far. I guess I didn't think about it too much before hand and maybe that was best. The plan was to leave Crabtree Meadow and hike Mnt. Whitney, the highest peak in the lower 48 at just under 14500 ft, followed the next day by the highest pass, Forester Pass, the highest pass on trail at just over 13000 ft. So I leave the meadow and a couple hours in I catch up to Stinky Butt on his way up the mountain around Guitar Lake, 12000 ft. We are both glad to now have a buddy on this little side trip. There are a few snow shoots gliding down over the trail. Some I used my ice ax to cross and some we scrambled around through the rocks. It was a long climb over 4000 ft to the top but we made it. At the top we take cover from the light snow that was falling and cold wind in the old Smithsonian observatory that is still there from the late 1930s. On the way down the light snow turned to a full on snow storm. It was coming down and coming down heavy. The trail was quickly obscured, but I knew if I couldn't find the trail I could follow the water which drained back down to crabtree meadow. Back down below 11000 ft the snow turned to rain, and back on trail I had to catch up to Burning Daylight who only moved up the trail about 5 miles while I did my side trip.

Soaked to the bone and cold I hike quickly to generate some heat. The rain lets up for a time and I get to Wallace Creek, about 5 miles from our last camp. Ron should be here. He wasn't. The next creek is only a mile more so I hike on. At this creek I find a small soaking note in the trail from Ron with his location. "Go to Tyndall Creek and cross." Angry that he is farther than we discuss and completely exhausted from the agressive hike already accomplished, I locate Tyndall on the map. I become down right furious when I discover it to be over four miles away. At this point the rain decides to continue for my inconvenience. Not wanting him to think I was in trouble or something I hike to meet him. Disgruntled and cranky I struggle up to Big Horn Plattue. My bad mood is immediately lifted when the skies clear on top of the plattue to reveal one of the best views yet of the Southern Sierra. A small fox runs across the melting snow field to far away for a picture. The sun splitting the clouds with rays of yellow as it lowers toward the sharpened snowy peaks. I made it to camp not knowing that those same sharp snowy peaks were the same peaks I'd be crossing the next day.

After such a day, the next morning was a late start, not leaving camp until almost eight. We made a small fire to try and dry out some of our socks and the rest of our packs. Approaching Forester Pass, the snow was quickly warming and we would sink through the snow's crust on ocation. There was plenty of snow covering the step switchbacks so, ice axe in had we kicked steps straight up to the last thousand feet. This part of the trail was a foot and a half ledge carved right into the granite face. Peeking over the side revealed a breathtaking thousand foot fall or so.