Trail Log: JMT Days 12-14

Day 12

August 16th, 2019

10 miles

We wake late today and take our time breaking camp. After all, I can’t imagine a more beautiful place to enjoy a hot morning mocha than the Palisades basin.

We hike 2000 feet down the iconic Golden Staircase and descend into the valley below. Here, the air is muggy, oxygen rich and thick with dust and bugs of all kinds. Mosquitoes chase us down the valley. When we stop for more than 30 seconds, they descend upon us in droves. HP starts to sound like the father in Christmas Story when the furnace breaks. A litany of swear words. I’m no better. Every time we need to stop, we have to ask ourselves if it’s worth the inevitable mosquito bites.

As I hike, I reflect on my depression. It tends to be worse in winter months (though I do have episodes during the summer too). Each winter, I gain weight then spend all summer trying to lose it again only to gain it back the following winter. This past year, I gained 20+ pounds and am only finally losing it on this hike.

When I stop to think about it, I am literally weighed down by my depression. I decide not to let that happen again this year. I resolve as I hike through the valley that I will get stronger rather than weaker during the dark months of this coming season and focus on building my body up rather than abusing it. I cannot always help having hard days, but I can accept how I feel on these days and reconnect with the things I love. I can practice gratitude since the tough emotions are as much a part of me as the happy ones, and perhaps more integral to shaping the woman I am always becoming.

I get progressively heat sick as we hike. By the end of the day, I am lightheaded and nauseous. Usually, I drink 3-4 liters of water a day. Today, I likely drink 5+ liters and still barely pee all day… not a good sign. When I start getting dizzy and weak, we stop to make camp early so I can cool down. It’s a few miles earlier than we had planned, so this will mean a bigger day tomorrow getting over Muir Pass.

We are in bed long before the sun has fully set. Tomorrow, we plan to start hiking early before the snow gets slushy.

Day 13

August 17th, 2019

22 miles

Today, I set a new personal record of 22 miles hiked in one day.

We wake at 5:30AM to get an early start approaching Muir Pass, the last 12000+ ft elevation pass and the one reputed to have the most snow. We want the snow to still be firm when we traverse it to decrease the risk of post-holing.

We reach the pass by 9AM, and the snow is perfectly firm. I once again don’t need the heavy micro spikes I‘ve carried all this way, so I decide to mail them home at the next opportunity. Oh well, better to have them and not need them, right? There is a fair bit of navigating, but most of the snow has footprints that help us keep tabs on the trail. We do a fair bit of bouldering around snow and even cross a snow bridge over a river. I barely breathe as I step over it. Punching through here would not be pleasant.

As we ascend, we cross paths with a family of four with an 8-year-old and a 6-year-old hiking southbound. One of them falls on a boulder and just bounces right back up to keep going, like he is made of rubber. I can’t help but be impressed by these kids out here doing this. They have little stuffed animals clipped to the outside of their backpacks.

We reach the top and enjoy exploring Muir Hut before starting our long descent through the breathtaking Evolution Basin and into Evolution Valley. Once we reach the Valley, the mosquitoes become almost unbearable. My legs get horribly chewed up despite frequent Deet applications. I wear my head net to lessen the frustration.

Somewhere in the midst of the mosquito-ridden valley, we decide to hike as long and as far as we can, irregardless of where we had intended to camp tonight.

People pass us the other way, looking miserable with clouds of mosquitoes surrounding and descending upon them when they slow down. They ask us where the bugs die down in the direction we’ve come from. We ask them the same thing.

Some of the passersby tell us there are almost no mosquitoes near Muir Trail Ranch (MTR)… the possibility of a safe haven. We decide to get as close to MTR as possible. I think again of all the zombie stories I’ve ever watched or read. They all seem to be headed someplace rumored to be safe. “Go North.” And we do, as quickly as we can.

We descend further down into another valley just as the sun begins setting behind the mountains. Suddenly, we find ourselves in a new landscape entirely. Forests of ancient juniper and softly rattling aspen. It is absolutely enchanting. I decide that I love aspen trees. They are beautifully unique and make the most relaxing sound as the wind rustles their leaves.

We camp near the river 7 miles outside of MTR. The mosquitoes remain a persistent issue though I feel like maybe there are slightly fewer of them here. Wishful thinking, perhaps.

Tomorrow, we will reach MTR two days ahead of schedule to pick up our next resupply. Then we will move forward to Vermillion Valley Resort where we hear they give backpackers free beer and camping. A hiker’s oasis.

Day 14

August 17th, 2019

7 miles

We wake at 6AM intending to reach Muir Trail Ranch (MTR) as early in the day as possible. I’m excited to resupply, though we are two days ahead of ourselves again and still have leftover meals. A part of me hopes a cabin will be available so we can shower and soak our feet in their hot baths. I try not to hope too hard, but optimism is woven into the fabric of my nature.

A horse and rider with a few other horses in tow pass by. This is a common occurrence out here; many people have their resupply barrels carried in by horse or mule rather than hiking over passes to nearby towns. The rider asks if either of us is allergic to bees, and my stomach drops.

He warns us about a yellow jacket nest at the edge of the next footbridge. The horses stirred it up, so he tells us to be careful. I’m not allergic (that I know of) to bees, but I’m pretty damn afraid of the wasp variety. I’m capable of an the exceedingly hardcore bee dance when those fuckers get near me.

We reach the bridge and, sure enough, see a swarming mass of yellow and black buzzing around the entrance of the bridge. No way around, straight through is the only option.

I don all my rain gear and my bug net, as though that might make any difference whatsoever, and pass through at a run. Miraculously, I don’t get a single sting. Feeling a bit silly, I shed my rain gear and carry on, slowly rebuilding my dignity. Had it been a nest of spiders at that bridge post, I would’ve hardcore NOPE’d it all the way back down the trail. It’s the little things in life.

We keep a good pace despite our 22-mile day yesterday. Thoughts of a mosquito-free oasis with resupply and hot springs fuel each step. As we reach the MTR turnoff, a couple hikers coming up the trail tell us there may be two cabins available if they haven’t been taken yet. We hike even faster, the possibility now almost tangible.

From the turnoff to MTR, we walk with two hikers from Flagstaff who are also northbounding the JMT. We had heard stories from many hikers and rangers along the trail of a physician who self-diagnosed a fibular fracture and got airlifted out somewhere in the northern half of the trail. It turns out that he was a part of their group and the stories were indeed true. They originally had five in their hiking party but now are down to just two.

We exchange stories of our journey so far and of our local wilderness – Mount Rainier for us, the Grand Canyon for them. It’s nice talking to other people for more than the usual “How are you, good thanks, enjoy your hike.” They have so much interesting perspective to offer.

We reach MTR and find out that not only is a cabin available, but my saint of a husband emailed them this morning and reserved it for us. My gratitude for him, if possible, grows even bigger.

We sort through our resupply and donate our extra supplies to the hiker barrels. These barrels are filled with gear and food of all kinds donated by hikers who no longer needed them. Unsurprisingly, there are entire barrels filled with instant oatmeal and leftover fuel. Hikers all around us call out offerings.

“Anybody need Tums?”

“I’ve got extra running socks, great condition.”

“I can’t possibly eat any more of these cookies, anyone want them?”

“Who wants a few bites of these Mike & Ike candies?”

I join the fray. “Anyone want this Snickers bar? Great calories, and I’ve just got too many to carry.” Someone nabs it right away. Anything different than what I’ve been eating for the past two weeks tastes like a dream. We score a smart water bottle full of bourbon from a couple who overestimated what would fit into their bear canisters. Somebody pinch me.

We check into our cabin and head straight for the soaking baths. The 107 F hot bath has a bathing corner with actual shampoo, conditioner and soap. I almost cry at the sight. I can’t remember anything ever feeling as good as this bath.

Once I’m clean, actually clean, I slip into the hot water and let it soothe my aching body. Eventually, I move to the colder (98 F) bath to soak even more. Even when my skin feels pruny, I’m reticent to leave the healing magic of these warm waters. With a silent promise to return after dark when the air cools down and the stars come out, I rise from the water feeling like a whole new woman.

Laundry here feels rustic and exciting. I spin and shake my clothes with detergent and rinse them with a hose. I wring them out with a hand crank machine and hang them on a clothesline to dry. As I do, a mare and her young foal stand at the edge of their paddock hoping for a cool bath.

I realize something is missing… and it occurs to me. I haven’t seen a single mosquito since we arrived. Oasis, indeed, I think contentedly as I sip bourbon on our cabin porch and catch up on my writing.

We enjoy a real dinner not dehydrated then cooked in boiling water. I eat salad, garlic parmesan potatoes, tri-tip and cobbler. To top it all off, I drink fresh-brewed coffee in a real mug. On the way back to the cabin after dinner, I make friends with a sweet orange farm kitty who follows me begging for scritches. I think of my own kitty at home and fervently miss her. I’m grateful for the touch of a domestic animal after only seeing wild critters for the past two weeks. It feels a bit like home.

After one final soak in the hot bath, I turn in for the night… warm, well fed and without being attacked by bugs. I feel immense gratitude for the little joys around me.