J. Willis Jarvis
The motive for this Mt. Whitney southern hike was primarily to restore physical fitness and combat a mysterious persistent jaw ache/headache, now believed to be the result of dental trauma to a nerve, and general feelings of lethargy, also marking time until the start of a new job at the University of Utah in Salt Lake City after a long period of unemployment. This was a successful hike and the memory of this success led me to undertake even longer hikes some years later (Mexico-Oregon PCT 1993, Mexico-Canada PCT 1994, Mexico-Canada CDT 1999). I use square brackets to indicate present-day comments.
J. Willis Jarvis, Labor Day, Sept 2, 2002, Mineral Wells, Texas.
Originally composed at my apartment at 2210 E. 3300 South #20, Salt Lake City, UT 84109, in August, 1990
Hike Summary
From: Donner Pass, NW of Lake Tahoe, California
To: Mt. Whitney, opposite Lone Pine, California
Length: 300 miles along Pacific Crest Trail (skipped Yosemite)
Highest: Mt. Whitney summit 14,496 feet
Duration: 29 days, from Thursday, July 5 to Thursday, Aug 2
Pace: Averaged 12 mountain miles per day
Resupply: After first week: South Lake Tahoe (2 nights in a motel)
After second week: Bridgeport (1 night in hotel)
Last 141 miles were done in an unbroken 13 day stretch
Pack wt: 50 lbs fully loaded, including 4 lbs for 2 quarts water
Body wt: Lost 30 lbs from 190 to 160. Waist shrunk from 36 to 32.
List of Equipment (Inspired by the Journals of Lewis and Clark, 1804-1806)
Some excess articles were discarded or mailed back to base camp to Geoff and Debbie Wertzberger, 10923 S. Pleasant View Drive, Sandy, UT 84092. My sincere thanks to them for keeping my Honda car safe and for housing me until an apartment was found.
Shell
* Kelty Tioga Pack, External Frame, veteran of Donner Pass to Mt. Shasta Hike, 1980
* Moss Starlet Tent, 2 man (29 sq ft), tan, white and burgundy
* Tent poles
* Poncho/Groundsheet, green
* Thermarest foam pad
* North Face Superlight down sleeping bag, rated +5 degF
Kitchen
* 6.5" x 4.5" stainless steel pot with pan lid, in black bag, containing:
-- MSR Whisper-Lite Stove
-- Aluminum Pot Holder
-- Spoon
-- Bic butane lighter
-- Sponge
* Red bandanna, used as napkin and pot cleaner
* MSR Windscreen
* MSR 33-oz white gasoline fuel bottle (oversize -- next time use smaller size for 2-week intervals, even a 16-oz size)
* 2 1-qt Lexan water bottles
* Sierra cup. Very handy for scooping water from trickle springs.
Clothes worn every day
* Teal nylon shorts with thigh pocket. Not satisfactory due to crisp waist wrinkles cutting into skin from cinch strap pressure. Better [?] would have been cotton elastic waist shorts with separate cotton underwear briefs. [? boxer-style underwear ventilates better than briefs].
* Gold color cotton tank-top (avoid armpit body odor).
* Polypro/Wool socks, 2 pairs, worn on alternate days. Tight fit, hard to peel off, next time try Ragg wool socks and three pairs. [1 pair is enough, mainly for camp use, while using white nylon or poly sock liners; for hiking. The white color helps to prevent overlooking socks left behind drying on a bush.]
* Vasque Sundowner Boots, 9W. Excellent supple boots with GoreTex linings, dry out completely two hours after fording a river.
Other clothes
* Black Taslan nylon shell jacket. Wind and light rain protection.
* Red checkered long-sleeve cotton flannel shirt.
* Down vest, used mostly as a pillow stuffed in green bag.
* Yellow bandanna. Keep sweat out of eyes while hiking, keep bugs off like a horse's tail, cover face during rest stops, shield shoulder or neck from sun, possible torch in case of bear attack (tied to a flaming stick).
* Sunglasses in blue hard plastic case with red croakies.
* Far-distance glasses in white case with black croakies.
* Near-distance glasses, not needed except on bus to read magazines.
Green Mesh Utility bag
* Black Teckna-Lite twist on flashlight
* Compass/Thermometer. Miniature compass was barely adequate, next time take slightly larger but more accurate Silva compass. Thermometer feature unnecessary.
* Tiny scissors to cut moleskin, adhesive tape and dead skin.
* Gerber folding knife. Not actually needed, scissors cut better.
* P38 can opener.
* Metal whistle for bears.
* Fingernail clippers.
* Yellow toothbrush kit containing toothpaste in handle.
* Dental floss. Not used much because of bitter taste of DEET on fingertips [nevertheless should be used daily].
* Acrylic lightweight mirror
* 2 Bic razors.
* Adhesive tape, wrapped around match safe. Contents of match safe never used, next time carry firecrackers in safe [for bears, but no longer recommended].
* Moleskin, later tried Spinco second skin, about the same as moleskin.
* Roller ball-point pen for journal.
Red Medicine Bag
* Potable Aqua iodine tablets. Not used; all water on this high sierra hike was scooped from mountain springs. However, the second of two 1-qt bottles (weighing 2 lbs) could be replaced by some kind of water purifier for lakes or other questionable sources [now recommend boiling questionable water if an abundant fuel wood burning stove is available, don't mess with purifiers].
* SPF 36 sun block.
* Mosquito repellent, very frequently used.
* Aspirin. Something stronger like codeine would have been appreciated at times for chronic foot pain.
* Odor Eater Foot powder. Effective in controlling foot odor, body odor and thigh chaffing
* Rolaids. Not needed after first week when ulcer was cured by keeping stomach empty of food at night.
First-Aid Kit in Curad Band-Aid Box
* 1/4" x 4" gauze pad.
* 1/2" x 4" adhesive pad.
* 4 band-aids. Resupplied later with 10 more.
* Mycitracin antibiotic, used on blisters and hip sores
* Needle and thread, not used.
* 1 flat razor blade, not used.
* Tweezers. Pull up dead blister skin in order to trim with scissors.
* ThermaRest nylon patch.
* Urebond adhesive.
* Ripstop tape.
* 3 safety pins.
* Stove cleaner tool.
Other gear
* Maps: PCT guide, Donner Pass to Walker Pass sections cut out from larger book. Margins were used for journal notes.
* Viscose super absorbent towel. Use to pad waist from cinch strap pressure, dry off after getting wet [recommend no cinch straps and use bandanna as general-purpose towel].
* Toilet paper, used about 1/2 roll in 4 weeks.
* Red plastic trowel.
* Nylon cord. Clothesline, possible bear food bag but not used as such.
* Nylon/Velcro billfold with wilderness permits, traveler's checks, etc.
Food
* Almonds, raisins, dates, hard candy, in Rubbermaid plastic container.
* Oatmeal breakfasts, assorted flavors.
* Campbell soups, Knorr soups. Horrible for breakfast, OK otherwise.
* Mountain House dinners. Palatable at first but by end of hike all meat-based dehydrated dinners had become revolting. Hungry for fatty foods, carbs, vegetables, fruits, sugars. Next time take more variety of vegetarian foods and liquids such as coffee, tea, chocolate, fruit juices.
Journal, Numbered Days 1-29
The following numbered entries were slightly edited from notes kept on the margins of my California Sierra PCT guidebook section. The topo maps in my guidebook were numbered with the location of each of the following entries. Usually each entry was made at the end of the day before the darkness of night, during those blissful moments after the daily struggles have ended, in the snug comfort of sleeping bag and tent, when all that needs to be done is roll over and go to sleep.
1. Greyhound bus Reno to Truckee, then up to Soda Springs, a little beyond Donner Pass. Hiked 3 or 4 miles from Soda Springs back to intercept the Pacific Crest Trail at Donner Pass, at the same spot where I had headed north 10 years before. Startled by a curious dog who almost blundered into my open tent.
2. Ridge north of Tinker Knob. 7 miles first full day. First view of Lake Tahoe.
3. Entered Granite Chief Wilderness. Camped early, about 6:30 pm. Back sore, feet sore, legs weak, sunburned, mild nausea, thirsty, not hungry, but enjoying good weather.
4. Barker Pass. No supper, not hungry.
5. Desolation Wilderness, 2 mi south of Sourdough Hill. All day in lowlands, no view. Clouds of mosquitoes. Back sore -- same spot as for Zen sitting at Jemez Springs Zen Center, New Mexico. Feet sore. Nausea. No BM. No other hikers the whole day, seems fewer than 10 years ago on 400-mile hike to Mt. Shasta. Short of water, dehydrated. Padded hips with socks to relieve pain from pack strap pressure. Grimy beard growing on face at least protects from flying insects. Odor Eater powder on thighs stops chaffing. No water for breakfast tomorrow. Stepped around a giant tree with storm-blasted limb blocking trail for 50 feet. Many other trees fallen across badly maintained trail. A little crayfish bravely nipped bare right heel cooling off in clear water of Richardson Lake.
6. Middle Velma Lake. Lost trail in heavy undergrowth among hordes of mosquitoes. Thought I picked up trail 200 yards farther but got off on a different trail. Did not discover wrong direction because sky was overcast and forgot to correct for magnetic declination using woefully inadequate compass. Lost this trail at a peculiar circular granite clearing, about 300' in diameter, which I named the Turntable. Scrambled across bare granite slabs and ravines in a westerly heading until intercepted Rubicon river flowing north. Crossed Rubicon [had to say it], found trail, soaked feet on crossing Rubicon again. 5 mile detour to get back on trail. Met one hiker going to Canada solo but too many mosquitoes to stop and talk.
7. Heather Lake. Lost trail again, climbed cross-country up to saddle of Dicks Lake. Humming bird buzzed head. Buried more tasteless generic food (mashed potatoes, macaroni, instant rice) [a pinch of salt can make all the difference]. At Gilmore Lake a horse jerked my neck by looping his reins around my head and pulling up. "That pore s.o.b. almost got his head tore off." Man looking for 10 lost boys. Nausea all day, no lunch or supper. Threw up first bite of macaroni and cheese spoiled by taste of iodine tablet. Mosquitoes harass constantly except at high elevations. Dicks Pass highest yet. Pass elevations north to south:
Donner 7,088
Barker 7,650
Dicks 9,380
Echo 7,390
Carson 8,580
Ebbetts 8,731
St. Marys 10,500
Sonora 9,620
Yosemite skipped
Red's Meadow 7,700
Silver 10,900
Selden 10,800
Muir 11,955
Mather 12,100
Pinchot 12,130
Glen 11,978
Forester 13,180
Guitar Lake 11,600
Whitney Saddle 13,560
Whitney Summit 14,496 (tectonic drift has raised it from official 14,494)
8-9. Reached Echo Lake resort store early afternoon, including 3-mile shoreline hike to save $6.50 water taxi fare. No lodging at Echo Lake. Hiked to Little Norway on Hwy 50. Hitched down to South Lake Tahoe, to Sportsman Lodge, $30/night for two nights, one full day. Hip sores better. Feet sore but better. Heel tendons still sore. Mild sunburn. Lost 10 lbs the first week. Ate a 12-oz steak for an outrageous $16, not really worth it in retrospect, but did it because I had promised myself a steak. Next day found a supermarket deli with broiled chicken and a big juicy dill pickle. Bought some Richmoor food to replace discarded generic food. Ordered Mountain House from REI to be delivered to Kennedy Meadow next week. Called Dr. Pam Fain in Salt Lake City about job -- sounded encouraging, the starting delay is due to the grant schedule. Druggist opined that nausea results from strenuous exercise. Replaced stinky T-shirt with sleeveless tank top to cure body odor problem. Mailed thongs, third pair of socks, t-shirt to cousin Geoff Wertzberger and family in SLC. Abandoned excess food, bungee cord, iodine tablets, single tent peg at motel.
10. 2 mi north of Showers Lake. What a difference a week of conditioning plus a day of rest can make! Climbed 1600 feet without having to pant through mouth as before. Almost always synchronize breath with steps when climbing. On a moderate slope: two steps inhale, one step exhale. Steep slope: one step inhale, one step exhale. As strength increases take bigger steps but keep breathing in sync. This stretch from Echo Lake was first really nice forest trail. Unlike Desolation, trail is organic, trees spaced apart, undergrowth sparse, elevation high, mosquitoes few, sky blue and big. Big white granite boulders. Sore on left hip opened up again, carried heavy pack a few miles using shoulder harness 90%. Stuck moleskin directly on sore. Walked in light afternoon shower using nylon jacket, then tried poncho but rain stopped before everything got adjusted. Biggest improvement: tank top doesn't stink like T-shirt. Chewed beef jerky and dates for supper, too much trouble to cook a tedious oriyoki ritual. Getting used to slight hunger at night, good practice for future weight control. Main meal of day will be lunch, not supper, with a rest period after midday. Camp overlooks wild ravines to east, feels remote and cozy.
11. Mokelumne Wilderness, 2 mi south of Elephants Back. Afternoon shower never completely shut off. Listening to pitter-pat on tent as I write this. Eating beef jerky instead of cooked cobbler. Skinny dipped in Showers Lake while a nude couple dipped on opposite side. On third shore about 5 adolescents in cutoffs snickered and made loud provocative comments such as "What is she doing now -- oh that's disgusting!"
Moleskin stuck on left hip won't peel off; just leave it stuck for the time being. Dentist's ache is subsiding. Feet hurt most of the time. Swollen veins on left foot hurt to touch. Stiff achilles tendon on left foot. Right toe partially numb, been like that for several days; hard callus forming on outside edge of both big toes; feet are spreading out under excessive 50-lbs pack weight. On descending to Carson Pass thought I discovered deer tracks but overtook three llamas instead. What ugly teeth they have, like camels, but soft woolly necks. At Carson Pass saw replica of a tree carving made by Kit Carson while guiding John Fremont on exploration trip from Markleville to Sacramento. Why on earth did they set out in February? They lost half of their 67 horses and mules; should have used llamas!
12. Past Blue Lakes region, NW of Raymond Peak. Lost trail because Jeff Davis peak was mistakenly identified as the "Nipple", a topo landmark. Jeff Davis is much more prominent than the unremarkable nipple, so it should be called the "Teat". Near Lost Lakes looked at clouds head upside down until disoriented. Rain began at midday, drizzled all afternoon with booming thunder. Slogged on anyway using poncho. Socks damp, should have waxed boots better. xxx brand chile with beans for lunch was awful but ate it half sheltered by some pine trees. Beans only partially rehydrated after 10 minutes soak. Definitely prefer xxx or yyy brands. Made camp early to dry out with 45 minutes of sun remaining. Feet sore. Bean farts all afternoon, kind of a miserable day. While inside tent reached out and cooked xxx raspberry cobbler with graham cracker topping, but was sadly disappointed because the imitation raspberrys were faked by apple bits. Read labels!
13. Ebbetts Pass. Feet the weakest link. After long climb to Raymond Pass and descent to Pennsylvania Creek, should have rested them but pushed on. Meadow with belled cattle was a grind without shade for rest. Discovered first small blister in two weeks on right heel at Raymond Meadows. Sores on left hip were worse in spite of using Viscose towel as waist pad. There are three holes, each about the size of a pencil eraser, sunk into the scar tissue where the rod was removed from my hip from the motorcycle accident at age 21. Put mycitracin ointment and last large bandage, instead of moleskin which sticks to sores. Walked for some distance with all of pack weight on shoulders. Then I discovered that if I cinch pack above hips around stomach, sore is not rubbed. This waist position would not have been possible over the flab lost last week. Mildly sunburned. Felt cold chills in late afternoon and feet ached, so made a "poncho sandwich" and slept an hour in warmth of sun, ignoring black ants that crawl but usually do not bite. Several doe but no bucks. Heard automatic rifle fire last night numerous times. Ignorant hunters, shooting at themselves, mammals killing mammals.
14. Carson-Iceberg Wilderness, 1.5 mi past Wolf Creek. Camped after rain shower on high mountain slope, not sure if I was still on PCT. [Next morning, 100 yards further, found sign to Murray Canyon trail]. Met a couple of Mexico-Canada hikers who said they average 17 miles per day [little did I dream then that I would average 22 mpd in 1994, but I had not yet learned about ultralight hiking]. Then met another pair who claimed an incredible 28 miles per day to make up time after a bear attack delayed them in Yosemite. The legs of one of these stalwart hikers were as thick as fence posts. The veins stood out. He claimed a bear stole his pack while he was sleeping on it without a tent. Then he described a second attack while hiking in the light of a full moon, after stopping at 11:30 pm and resting packs against a tree. While scrounging for twigs to make a fire they were ambushed by a black bear with a white throat who may have been tracking them. The bear rushed out of the forest and grabbed their packs. He tore the packs to shreds biting everything except the sleeping bag. After hearing these horror stories I did not sleep well at night. I pulled my pack inside the tent. Strung a panic whistle on a lanyard around throat. Kept butane lighter in reach to light a torch. Wish I had some fourth of July firecrackers. Twig snaps in the forest darkness woke me up about 10 times last night. Now have 4 blisters on right heel. Lanced vent holes in each one and dabbed some ointment. Sore on left hip starting to mend now that pack rides above hip.
Witnessed an incredible scene of devastation at a fork of Wolf Stream. The little stream could be jumped over easily but the boulder-strewn canyon floor, 100 feet wall to wall, contained huge uprooted trees smashed like toothpicks and yawning cavities big enough to swallow buses. The jumbled confusion of rocks, sand and splintered trees reminded me of the Mt. St. Helens devastation where no living thing survived. As I picked my way cautiously across the debris I felt exposed to the threat of flash floods and did not care to linger. Wondered if I was still on the PCT trail or if I had somehow wandered into Jack's beanstalk country.
15. Carson-Iceberg Wilderness, Carson River canyon. Should be at Sonora Pass tomorrow by lunchtime. Sore on left hip improving, itching. Three horsemen surprised me while I was cooking lunch with my poncho carelessly spread across trail. For a second I feared their mounts would trample on me but they went around. I caught up to them later; they were ranch men mending fences. I volunteered to hold a barbed wire to help one cowhand nail to a fence post. Cattle chips but no cattle seen. Ramen noodles for lunch, Lipton green pea soup for supper. Not very hungry but not nauseated either which is an improvement at least. As long as my body keeps drawing down reserves of fat it is OK with me. Moved pack into tent again tonight. Resting on its side it forms a barrier against bear claws. Considering skipping Yosemite because of bears, to resume PCT at Red's Meadow opposite Mammoth Lakes.
16. Bridgeport, quaint hotel ($28). After strenuous climb over St. Mary's Pass, then down to road at Sonora Pass, hitchhiked to Kennedy Meadow by late afternoon. Discovered that my REI food mail order had been sent to another place called Kennedy Meadows, a location south of Mt. Whitney. Canceled the order. After a snack at the store, consisting in no particular order of an ice cream bar, a can of sardines, a can of Beenie Weenies, two pecan cakes, a bar of Jalepeņo Monterey Jack cheese and two Budweiser beers, waited patiently for two hours before a couple of good-ole-boys drinking beer gave me a ride to Highway 395, then got a quick ride on back of a jeep while sitting on top of my pack, gripping the roll bar, into Bridgeport after sunset. A friendly dude at the general store whose roommate had once hiked the entire PCT from Mexico to Canada offered me a sofa to sleep on, but I opted to take a room at the Victorian Hotel, wanting a good rest. Unfortunately, no air, no TV, a lumpy twin bed and an accident prevented this. The room had an old-fashioned wooden sash window which I left open to cool off and to dry out my tank top. During the night the window banged shut. In a deep sleep I imagined the sharp report was a grizzly bear charging into my tent. I yelled so loudly I must have exorcised the hotel. My beating heart thumped for hours.
17. Ridge south of Pumice Butte, on Fish Creek trail south of Red's Meadow, Yosemite bypassed. No backpacker food found in Bridgeport so hitched quickly down to Mammoth Lakes in the morning after a standard favorite breakfast of two eggs over easy, toast, hash browns smothered in catsup, and coffee. At M. Lakes store got a dozen Mountain House dinners plus some Knorr soups, candy and cheese at a supermarket. Mailed unused polypro bottoms to SLC. Bought cap to shade eyes and nose from burning sun in treeless altitudes (later gave it to Darrell Wertzberger in SLC). Got an outrageous $10 haircut. Enjoyed a beer in a pizza parlor. No mail. $5 shuttle down to Red's Meadow. Valley dry, steep, clear of underbrush, tall trees. Decided to take an alternate trail which joins John Muir in 19 miles, for an easy start with a loaded pack (goes downhill), also to get away from bear country faster. Met a local who had actually tried my idea of firecrackers on bears. He said he tied five firecrackers onto a sparkler to make them explode in sequence, but I wonder if this was a Mark Twain story.
18. Fish Creek canyon on wrong side of creek. In mid-afternoon trail seemed to end at a sign posted "2nd crossing" of Fish Creek. However since the "1st crossing" was a wide bridge, it did not occur to me that this was a wading crossing about 40 feet across so I looked in vain for a bridge. I proceeded cross-country up the canyon on the south side of the creek looking for a fallen tree to cross the stream which is considerably larger than the small creeks forded until now. Cross-country travel is very tedious. the path winds up and down and around fallen trees. I am getting stronger, however. Sores in right heel slightly worse. Found two photogenic rest stops along river where rushing water cascades across smooth slabs of granite and swirls in green whirlpools.
19. 2 mi beyond Silver Pass. All day climb to Silver Pass. Continued cross country in morning until finding a pair of trees fallen across Fish Creek. After heavy lunch fell asleep more than an hour. As I climbed up out of Cascade Valley new vistas kept opening, including several hidden levels of lakes. Fractal geometry again -- the more you zoom in the more you get. Camped beyond pass on tundra-like cirque at 10,000 feet. Mostly green mossy grass and forlorn little ponds, some scattered clumps of dwarf trees, a few melancholy birds, lonely, quiet, pensive. Felt good to get back on the high trail again. Shortcut wasn't easier after all and the steep canyon walls were confining.
20. Bear Creek, 1 mi south of Kip Camp. Camped a whole hour before sunset due to aching balls of feet. Blister on right heel under control, it is the ball of the foot where pain is most felt. Feet swelling or else socks shrinking, getting harder to peel them off. Running out of Odor Eater and adhesive tape. 53 switchback climb of Bear Ridge was like a shot of Johnny Walker whiskey, straight and smooth. Trail is well maintained by Outward Bound according to a wooden sign nailed to a tree. These nylon shorts are not suitable for carrying packs but too late now. The crisp waist wrinkles bite into skin. Cotton tank top and cotton flannel long sleeve work well together. As body shapes up my optimism about future improves. Had forgotten the self-confidence that comes from feeling fit. Remembering old girl friends (Verna Newton at AHHS, Tammy at TCU, Nancy Robles at Sanger's in NYC), lots of what if's. If not for bad timing, what if I had gotten married? Only a handful of hikers travel alone, like these wild and woolly juniper trees standing alone.
21. Hot Spring south of San Joaquin River. Written morning after. As I sit in the morning sun on an open knoll near the trail, drying out the tent, sleeping bag, boots, socks and feet, the Hot Springs episode is mercifully past. According to the map I did 22 miles yesterday, a personal record. The last seven miles were due to an attempt to reach the Hot Spring before sundown to soak my poor aching feet, remembering the wonderful hot springs at Jemez Springs, New Mexico. Feet complained all the way down the steep switchbacks. I even tried a jogging shuffle for awhile, risky with heavy pack. Reached the bank of the river just at sunset but to my dismay saw there was no way to ford the wide 100' expanse, running 4 to 18 inches deep over slippery boulders, except by holding onto a rope strung overhead. Not to be stopped so near the goal, but unwilling to get boots wet under the mistaken belief they would not dry out, I swung the boots around my neck and started to wade across in bare feet, holding onto the rope with one hand. The first part was bearable since my feet were so hot from the forced march, but by the time I had reached midstream the pain from the freezing water had become excruciating. In my haste to cross my foot slipped on a rock and the swift water swept my legs downstream, but I did not let go of the rope. Gripping the rope for dear life I hauled myself erect, legs and pants soaking wet but pack and sleeping bag still dry. With frozen breath and trembling legs I staggered to the far bank where I collapsed on the ground and rubbed my bloodless feet until color returned.
After all this anticipation the hot spring turned out to be a tiny circular pool only about 8 feet in diameter in a lush meadow of grass. Hot water and sulfur gas oozed up from a muddy bottom a yard below the surface. A sinister place suggesting blind movements under the earth. As dusk was sinking into night I pitched tent nearby on uneven clumps of grass, then eased my body into the dark hole with soft moans. The water was indeed soothing but not really hot enough to sweat. After a long relaxing soak I crawled into waiting bag, but then waves of foot pain returned to keep me awake for hours. In the morning before sunrise I woke to find the tent and sleeping bag crusted with frost, moisture condensed from the nearby spring. Quickly packing up gear, wet or not, I submerged my body into the hole to wait for sunrise, not in much of a hurry to recross the San Joaquin river. As the sky grew pale I contemplated tiny drops of dew on the grass at eye level. Then I noticed a large buck deer about 50 feet away grazing in the meadow. He would raise his head to look at me frequently but did not run away.
Finally I decided to get on with it since I wanted to try out a new idea, having figured out my error the night before. This time I did not take my boots and socks off to cross the wide stream. Also, instead of walking forward unbalanced by the strong current, this time I faced the current, and while gripping the rope with both hands edged crab wise across the river. It was a piece of cake. Later, when the sun reached down into the valley I discovered that my boots had dried out quickly after all and my other gear too. My Sundowner boots, MVP of the day.
22. Evolution Valley, past ranger's cabin. This part of the country is named after great scientists. Lunch after a long nap in poncho sandwich at start of climb up Evolution Valley. Met a man with two sons and a dog, used up conversation credits talking about my ford of the Joaquin river instead of asking about their trip down to Mono Hot Springs. The kids seemed dispirited and tired. Talking about yourself is like shining a flashlight in a tent at night; the link to the surrounding world is broken. On the other hand did enjoy a long conversation with a young couple on their way to the hot spring who appreciated my advice on rope wading the river and shared some home-dried apricots with me. Threw away the last of unappetizing xxx food, started on xxx. Why do I always consume the bad stuff first, like nibbling the edge of a sandwich to save the tender center for last bite? The hot spring washed off layers of dirt revealing peeling white flakes of sunburned skin on arms and legs. Bullfrog SPF 36 works on face and shoulders but supply is too limited to apply all over.
Burning sun during walk up San Joaquin canyon changed to pleasant forest shade in higher Evolution Valley. Wade ford of Evolution Creek, about 80 feet of 2-6 inches of calmly flowing water, hardly slowed me down after earlier experience, but may have discouraged other day hikers. I didn't give it a second thought and just walked across with boots on, but did take socks off. Did not get usual late-afternoon energy spurt today. Sort of meandered up the valley in a reverie, imagining myself as a wandering monk without family or friends. Daydreamed what I might do in next 20 working years. Compared Tucson working years to fierce sun like this morning; desire peaceful upper meadows now.
23. 2 mi beyond Muir Pass. Not a good day but some progress made. At Muir Pass reached half-way point from Mammoth Lakes to Mt. Whitney. Met a man in the small stone hut at the top who planned to spend the night there at 12,000 feet, but the bleak loneliness of the place repelled me. Some day, if world population gets really out of control, only the extremely wealthy will be able to afford the free space which I disdained. Descended beyond pass down to tree line. Felt nauseated all morning, did not eat breakfast. Not hungry at lunch but felt too weak to climb up to the pass so tried to eat something. Felt better for awhile but nausea returned, probably due to exhaustion and dehydration. When I spit, for instance, the mucus dangles down in a sticky string. Muir Pass is all barren rock and water, truly desolate except for small life such as grass, ants, flies, mice and clouds of gnats at Wanda Lake. The gnats pepper the body about 10 per square inch. I dug out the cap bought at Mammoth Lakes and started using it even though it restricts vision. But practically speaking, most of the time a wilderness hiker's gaze is focused directly on the path ahead while he keeps moving, because every step is different.
24. Palisade Lakes. Small undetectable puncture in Thermarest must have happened yesterday on sharp shale rocks below Muir Pass. Shouldn't have risked it on sharp stones without a ground cloth. Looking for still water all day to do a bubble test but no lakes until now, after sunset. In middle afternoon met a young guy out of Cedar Grove, at foot of the Palisades switchbacks, on his way to Yosemite without a tent. He asked me where a bug-free campsite might be found. If I had thought of it I would have offered to share my tent but I was challenging myself to attempt the Palisades switchbacks before dark and we were going opposite ways. This hike has been a solitary walk for the most part with few encounters with other people. Maybe this makes for a dull story. After we parted I regretted not changing my plans to adapt to circumstances. Anyway, the switchbacks were awesome, very rough, with hundreds of knee-busting steps. Not dozens but hundreds. I reached the high lake after dark by the white light of the moon. Pitched tent on a wide place on the trail itself on a ledge overlooking the lake at 10,800 feet. Shivering, first stage of hypothermia, will use North Face bag in full mummy position tonight.
25. Lake Marjorie. Climb to Mather Pass was moderately tough but not as strenuous as Palisades switchbacks last night. Every advance upward revealed new vistas beyond. After breaking camp this morning, met a black South African named Herbert accompanied by his 17-year old son Lule on a father-son trek to Mt. Whitney before the son goes off to college. I had heard reports about them three days ago on the trail grapevine. Queasy empty stomach all morning rebelled against soup for breakfast. Fantasized about 2 eggs over easy, whole wheat toast with butter and jelly, hash browns with ketchup, OJ and 3 cups of strong coffee served by a waitress with a white apron in a cafe. Met a programmer with EE background like myself who quit job at Microsoft in Redmond, disgusted by the 14-hour workdays expected of everyone. This is the same company I used to believe I wanted to work for more than any other. Still unemployed, he is experimenting with mountaineering. His body weight is 140 and his biggest problem is carrying enough food for his constant hunger. Wonder when my hunger will return. Wish I had a can of Budweiser now to settle my stomach. My waist is shrinking and my thighs and calves have slimmed down considerably. Every night the heat generated by the metabolism of my thighs is three degrees warmer than the rest of my body. Good place to warm cold fingers.
Going down from Mather Pass was a weary walk. Going down is harder on abused feet than going up. It reminds me of going into debt because every step down must be repaid with interest to climb next pass. Going down gets buggy meadows, going up gets cool breezes and distant views. Met a couple from Massachusetts into practicing yoga who mentioned that my former teacher Swami Satchidananda is still active at his ashram in Virginia [this was written 13 years ago. Swami passed away less than two weeks ago, on 8/19/2002 while visiting Chennai (Madras), India; he had almost reached the age of 88 years].
Fell asleep for two hours after lunch. Nausea gone on waking but no appetite. Forced some chicken stew down slowly, fighting urge to chuck it back up. Felt weak all afternoon. Arrived at Lake Marjorie 1.5 hours after Herbert and son, went to bed drained in body and mind. Have resumed dragging pack into tent having been warned of bears in these parts. Considering the ancient defense of fire. Maybe a bandanna tied to a stick to make a torch. Heard rumors about a certain smart bear who unzips packs with his teeth.
Before the light faded was passed by a southbound hiker [David Ostrov, MIT student] who also warned me about bears. This hiker is on his way to Mt. Whitney but exceeds my leisurely pace of 12 miles per day. Slept poorly worried about bears and uncomfortable on deflated Thermarest. Bubble test in cold lake water was negative, hole must be very small. Rock slides and heavy footfalls heard in the night. Wore whistle around neck. Tied bandanna to torch-stick next to a vial of gasoline.
26. Rae Lakes. Herbert and son filed past my concealed tent early this morning but did not see me. Usually my camp is instinctively hidden from view. Their gear was bundled up carelessly with parts parts protruding at all angles, but the main fact is that they were out there on the trail. Each one hefted a mighty stave, six feet if an inch, really biblical in size with a shepherd's crook on the end. I imagined a safari on the slopes of Mt. Kilimanjaro. We are all converging on the same destination.
This evening I strode into Rae Lakes, a pretty spot, to the second official bear box, and there were Herbert and Lule finishing supper. Good to meet trail friends. They actually seemed concerned about me because of my late arrival and worn-out condition yesterday. Felt pretty good this afternoon. Not going to soak torch after all; food is safe in the designated bear box and many tents nearby, about eight members of a boy scout troop. Sky was hazy all day due to a forest fire near Cedar Grove. Thought about former foster son Jose today and wondered what it would be like if he came back to live with me. Once we went hiking over Hunchback Pass north of Durango, Colorado, and got sick on the water; I carried him over the pass on my back just before a lightning storm broke.
27. High cirque just beyond Forester Pass. Bid farewell to Herbert and Lule in the morning; they are making a detour to Independence via Onion Valley to resupply. I'm sorry we cannot continue together. Reached Glen Pass on weak legs after a breakfast of -- ugh -- leek soup. While resting, watched 14 scouts and three guides climbing Indian file up the switchbacks and waited for them. Secretly felt smug that I, middle aged, had beat them to the pass. The scoutmaster, a Mormon contractor in El Cajon, California near San Diego, was leading the troop on a 6-day backcountry trip. One boy arrived trailing behind the others, limping, followed by an older man with a middle-age paunch, puffing heavily. They were all in good spirits and congratulated themselves on their climb. The scoutmaster gave me some surplus hot chocolate packets and apple cider packets. After they regrouped and continued on their way, I followed but soon overtook the old man resting beside the trail with two packs, the second one belonging to the boy with a limp. Then farther down I bumped into the main group again waiting for a kid scientist to extract water samples from a pond. Farther down, at a recess in a ledge I set my pack down and was checking my map when the Indian file caught up to me. I asked the scout leader at the head of the line if the slow boy had ever caught up. "Yes, but we were waiting to collect water samples." Then I asked, "When he drops behind, does anyone stay behind to walk with him?" "Well, the old man brings up the rear, but you know how boys are, just open the barn door and point the way.". "And", I agreed, "they are like little horses or mountain goats." As I said this I couldn't help smiling at the boy standing in single file just behind the leader, a pure-faced picture of innocence. He smiled back with one of those shy, sweet smiles that open a flower in your heart. By then the line was bunching up. "The cars are pushing the locomotive," I observed, mixing metaphors. So they filed past and were gone.
Realizing there is an outside chance of reaching Guitar Lake below Mt. Whitney in one more day, instead of two days, and food all but gone, I pushed on all day today at a determined pace. The last 1000 feet up to Forester Pass was awesome. Lonely, windy, scary switchbacks on exposed ridges, some snow patches, in a silent race with the setting sun. Crossed at 13,200 feet, caught the sun on the far side. Camped at first level ground in high, desolate basin, a rocky desolate Martian landscape, not a blade of grass. Surely no bears here? Pack inside tent for marmot defense. [note: incredibly but true, the next morning just before dawn a bear lumbered up to my tent, but scampered away scattering loose stones when I woke up on hair-trigger reflexes with a loud shout. Maybe he was returning a secret cave in the rocky pass after a night's foraging].
Two passes in one day, whew! 12,000 feet and 13,200 feet. Total elevation gain today was 8,340 feet, summing positive and negative. 12.5 mountain miles. View of surroundings under 3/4 moon is unreal, a prehistoric, dawn of life scene. New blisters on both heels. Coughing from panting cold wet air while climbing highest pass on the PCT. Feet hurt as usual.
28. Small unnamed lake above Guitar Lake, 11,600 feet on flank of Mt. Whitney. About 17 miles today, feet only slight sore since the pack weight has been steadily diminishing with the food supply. Wonderful how a body can adapt. I am generally worn out. Queasy stomach all day, actually vomited some of lunch. Repugnant dehydrated food. My stomach has shrunk in volume, cannot eat double portions of food any more. However, no ulcer reflux problems last three weeks. Solution is to keep stomach empty at night. Do miss fatty food. Crave home baked bread, sardines, tomatoes, bar-b-que, fritos, beer, potato salad, cottage cheese, cornbread, thanksgiving turkey and dressing, juicy sour dill pickles and mountains of mashed potatoes cratered with cirques of brown gravy. (Steak? not really, too rich, too chewy, I crave submissive food that doesn't resist being eaten or swallowed whole). Rice and beans, the best.
Afternoon clouds rained a bit on Whitney, first seen from NW. Had to circle around mountain to get to the SW approach. Strategy is to get up to the top tomorrow morning before noon, before afternoon thunder storms. Thirteen hikers were recently trapped in the stone hut on the summit and several were struck by ball lightning, one killed. First view of Mt. Whitney was ambiguous. It is not sharply defined like the volcanic Mt. Shasta which dominates all the surrounding countryside. Close under the western backside of Mt. Whitney the summit is not visible. It was only after climbing out of the forest above Timberline Lake and reaching Guitar Lake that I became sure of my destination. Grotesque, claw like projections encrust the back ridge like crocodile scales.
Lungs are hurting now from wet gulps of air on Forester Pass. Lung/heart power has become the main limiting factor, not foot strength. Hiking up steep switchbacks is like Zen kinhin walking meditation exercise where attention is focused on breathing. I pump myself to the top by hydraulic air pressure. Two steps breathe in, one step out. I walze to the summit, one two three, one two three. Deployed the sleeping bag in full mummy mode, warm and cozy. Too bad the Thermarest has pancaked on hard rock.
29. Did not sleep much in anticipation of the final ascent. Woke well before dawn, packed up gear by flashlight and set out while trail slowly appeared. Filled both quarts from spring inlet to unnamed lake. Ate a peppermint lifesaver for breakfast, the very last of my food supplies. At dawn a few parties of young, fresh climbers overtook me but I maintained a slow, measured pace, breathing through nose to favor tender lungs. Reached saddle to the eastern side by 9 am where backpack was stowed beside all the other packs in a row. After four weeks of conditioning I took the last switchbacks to the summit without the weight of a pack in an easy stroll. Did not see the infamous stone summit electrocution hut until but a short distance below it. I felt I recognized it from all I had heard about it. The inside was dark and dank. Outside in the calm air and sunny sky, about eight other climbers milled around, gazing down into distant Owens valley, taking photos, talking, resting, signing the log book. My entry was printed as "8/2/90, John W. Jarvis, Salt Lake City." Under comments I printed "FIX THE LIGHTNING ROD, DON'T JUST PUT UP A SIGN". [I suppose today I would prefix this with"PLEASE" or try to say something inspirational like "PURA VIDA" or "NOSOMOS2" or summarize the four noble truths, and my name is not engineer-John any more]. I remembered standing on the frigid summit of Mt. Shasta ten years earlier in fierce whipping cold but could not remember what I wrote in the Mt. Shasta logbook, except that the metal box contained a blunt pencil.
I only stayed a little while. On going down I met a second wave of climbers, many of them women. There were more than 30 backpacks in a row along the ledge at the final summit depot, about a 100 feet under the saddle crest to Whitney Portal. The switchbacks on the east face were steep and rough, but I descended briskly, fully concentrating on the path. A few thousand feet lower (the descent to Whitney Portal from the summit is about 6,000 feet, more than the Grand Canyon), to my surprise I overtook David Ostrov, the MIT student who had passed me at Lake Marjorie, whom I did not expect to meet again. We decided to pair up, so I finally got a partner to end my solo trip. Both of us talked all the way down, an outpouring of nervous energy. He told me of news on his radio that Iraq had invaded Kuwait -- it all seemed very remote to me. By mid afternoon we were at the store at Whitney Portal and after a welcome $2.50 shower, shave and new clean T-shirt "I climbed Mt. Whitney", we hardly recognized one another. We exchanged addresses and said goodbye before getting separate rides down to Lone Pine.
I was in Bridgeport by sunset, hoping maybe to get another offer to sleep on the sofa but the guy at the general store was down at Cal Tech for registration. Instead I ended up waiting outside the Napa Auto Parts store for the Reno Greyhound bus which came through at 2:45 am, 45 minutes late. For a few hours I spread my poncho and wrapped my sleeping bag around me but felt uneasy because of exposure to strange people, unlike feeling at ease in the wilderness except for an occasional brother bear. The bus pulled into Reno just after sunrise. I walked around a bit looking for a room to spend a night, but then realized that I only wanted to get back to SLC to start a new life there. Lucky for me the bus was delayed by two hours because of the continuing greyhound strike, so it had not left yet when I returned to the terminal. The bus was air conditioned and only half full and I enjoyed a comfortable smooth ride back to my new home city. Geoff Wertzberger picked me up at 8 pm. When I saw my faithful little blue Honda CRX waiting for me in the garage my joy on returning to civilization was complete.
Epilogue -- Two Weeks Later
Even in spite of eating like a bear during the first week back, I have only regained six pounds. Now I am resolved to keep the good eating habits I was forced to adopt in the wilderness, in spite of 24 hour access to a well-stocked refrigerator. [good luck!] Eating lightly or nothing at night seems to be the key rule for me. An empty stomach in the morning makes breakfast joyful. My diet will be mainly vegetarian from now on.
The blisters on my feet are healing. My feet are still stiff in the morning. My blood pressure has dropped to 110/66, curiously the same both before and after donating a pint of blood to a local hospital. My only adverse reaction was an attack of hemorrhoids two days after return which I had never experienced before. I do not know the exact causal factors but suspect altitude pressure, dehydration, sodium imbalance, sudden flood of blood lipids, infrequent BM and constipation. There are hopeful signs that the condition may be correcting itself like other aches and pains that come and go. The ache in my upper right jaw, the result of a dentist's injection last February traumatizing a nerve, for which I paid for a CAT scan and which inspired me to do this hike in order to recover good health, has vanished completely.
I just hope that I can find a way to continue to exercise on a regular basis because the results are certainly worth it. [exercise continues to be a lifelong challenge].
Epilogue -- Two Months Later
My weight has been inching back up. The only control that works is exercise. Will power counts for nothing. Put someone in front of a refrigerator and sooner or later the door will be opened, and then again and again. The outcome of a situation depends on the whole picture, not any one factor. I doubt if free will exists at all. We discover our choices as we imagine we make them, but we are conditioned by our concepts of ourselves like puppets on a string. At least the hemorrhoids cured themselves as mysteriously as they first appeared. I love the view of the small mountains around Salt Lake City, my new home. On driving to and from work I look at them and feel I want to cup them in my hands and hug them.
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