The Mountains Are Calling...... So I Answered - Part Two

 

On The Road (Trail) Again - Bishop Pass

The morning of my ascent and eventual exit from the mountains dawns mostly clear, with a few fleecy clouds passing overhead.  I've been over Bishop Pass several times before on previous trips, so I know what lies ahead.

Right from the junction with the JMT/PCT, the trail begins an ambitious climb on a series of switchbacks that roughly parallel the Dusy Branch, a vigorous stream descending from the subalpine basin above me.  Today I will hike just over 12 miles and scale 3200 feet to the pass before dropping back down 2100 feet to the terminus at South Lake.

After hiking for 5 days my body has finally adjusted to the rigors of the trail, and I make good progress on the steady uphill grade.  My spirits are also buoyed by thought of real food, a shower, and clean clothes.

I don't want to give anyone the wrong impression - I love being outdoors and spending time away from "civilization", but living out of a backpack for days has its limitations, and I can appreciate a few simple comforts on a regular basis.

The trail continues without interruption towards Dusy Basin, one of my favorite places that I've visited in the Sierra, but the view as I rise above the valley requires me to stop frequently to take it all in.

Dusy Branch originates from the multitude of lakes below Bishop Pass, and merges with the Middle Fork of Kings River in the basin I'm hiking out of.  Around a third of the way up on the lower section there is a place where the stream sheets over a inclined slab of contiguous granite.  The rock is nearly impervious to erosion, and so far the water has yet to cut any kind of channel.

Dusy Branch flows directly on granite

After a couple of hours I reach the lowest level of Dusy Basin.  This is almost a "hanging valley", a broad area suspended above the basin below spreading out beneath rugged peaks.  I have passed through here on multiple transits of the pass, and each time I want to linger in this superlatively beautiful area.

Dusy Basin

I did camp here for a couple of days on a earlier trip, and thoroughly enjoyed spending time rambling around the many rocky outcrops and blue green lakes.  Except for the marmot who tried to eat my hat.  I can't really blame the critter - many wild animals (mice, deer, marmots, etc.) are attracted to gear and clothing for the salt residue from sweat.

The basin has a couple of tiers like stairs as it continues to rise towards the pass.  Each step contains myriad small lakes, ponds, and streams where residual snowmelt continues to feed the network that eventually emerges from the mountains and provides vital water to wildlife and people.

Upper Dusy Basin

Soon the topography of the basin yields to unrelenting granite.  Like all the passes I have tackled in previous days, Bishop Pass exists in a treeless, rocky saddle.  Because of the elevation and lack of cover the wind is a persistent and unwelcoming feature, and I don't waste much time beginning to head down.

Bishop Pass 11,972 feet

The descent begins quickly with a rocky series of switchbacks.  As Bishop Pass is a widely used access point to the mountains as well as a popular day hike, I pass multiple parties heading up.  Some overnight hikers are beginning a route known as the North - South Loop.  Starting in most cases at North Lake and ending at South Lake, this hike generally takes 5 days and some opt to do it in the opposite direction like the folks I meet here.

The subalpine basin below me is typical high altitude environment and contains many lakes.  Relatively easy access means people who live in communities up and down the length of Highway 395 frequently make the trip to fish, hike, or camp (sometimes all of the above).

Making my way down I start to encounter more and more outdoor enthusiasts coming up, and that is a good sign for me as I need to hitch a ride to Bishop once I reach the road.

The basin below Bishop Pass on the eastern side

Even though I started early, by the time I reach the parking area, it is nearly 4:00 pm.  Fortunately there are visitors who just came for the day, and as they begin to leave my chances of catching a ride increase.  I walk down the road a ways to find a suitable spot to stick out my thumb and within a fairly short time find a kindly soul to take me to Bishop.

Once I am dropped off in town, I locate a place for the night and begin to organize my plan for resupply and return to the mountains.

Right Back Where I Started (Finished)

The next day sees me doing what I did the day before in reverse order.  Having replenished my food and fuel as well as making myself hygienically acceptable again, I stand on a main street in Bishop with my opposable digit extended.  

Hitchhiking is one of those things that I would not normally engage in as a regular practice, but when traveling away from home without a car it becomes somewhat of a necessity - something I did a lot of on my PCT attempt.

The good news is this area as a whole sees lots of transient backpackers, and the sight of someone with a large pack on the road to the mountains is pretty common.  Since there is a steady stream of people heading up for their own recreational pursuits, it is only a matter of time before another good hearted person pulls over to give me a lift.

I always have great conversations with the considerate drivers who offer me a ride, and since both of us are heading for the same place usually have a lot in common to discuss.  I have met many interesting and thoughtful people in this way, and I extend my gratitude as always, since their generosity makes it possible to get where I need to.

Once I reach the trailhead it's back up and over Bishop Pass, this time climbing a mere 2100 feet before dropping 3600 feet to the junction with the JMT/PCT.

Looking up towards Bishop Pass

Most of my backpacking trips are fortunately uneventful affairs, but I am in a wilderness setting, and avoiding trouble requires constant vigilance.  The trails here usually see some annual maintenance, but in many places near constant erosion and rockfall create numerous obstacles and challenges.  Making my way down the switchbacks I need to pick a way through, but even so I occasionally step awkwardly on a root or stone.

As I descend not once but twice I manage to twist my left ankle.  I do hike a lot and I have learned over the years I have what I call "floppy" ankles, where I will turn my foot to the outside for a split second, but almost never to the degree that I injure myself.  In this case the first time I did it I felt the tendons protest when it happened, and mentally reminded myself to be more careful.

The second time I did it I definitely felt it, and immediately began to worry I might have actually done some damage.  As I usually do in these instances I tested the usability by continuing to walk, and after a short while the pain subsided to manageable levels.  I've been a Wilderness First Responder (WFR) for over 20 years, and understand what the stakes are for backcountry injuries.

I make it the rest of the way to the junction without further incident, and set up camp before removing my shoe to check the status of the ankle.  I don't see any obvious bruising or swelling, and decide I'll just keep an eye on it for now. 

Muir Pass 

I slept well, but noticed during the night that my ankle was sore.  When I got up the next morning once again I tested the usability by putting weight on it, and was relieved to see that although it was tender I was going to be able to continue the journey.

The Bishop Pass trail junction lies near the bottom of the valley, and as I rejoin the trail heading north it begins to climb immediately towards the next pass in line - Muir Pass.  Named for the famous Scottish naturalist who was to spend many years of his life exploring and journaling his fascination with the range, Muir Pass sits 7.5 miles away at 11,970 feet - a gain of just over 3100 feet in altitude.

Now I have to confess something here.  I have a love/hate relationship with Muir Pass dating back to my first encounter in 2018. At the time I was 800 plus miles into my PCT hike, having been on trail for nearly 2 1/2 months.  The winter of 2017/18 had been slightly below normal, but in mid-June there was still plenty of snow to deal with in the Sierra.

As I approached the pass for the first time, I began to encounter sections where snow covered the trail.  People transiting before me had created a network of paths where they elected to go wherever they thought made the most sense.  The net result was a confusing and in most cases completely wrong web of chaos, and it took me quite a while to find the correct route.

June snow - Sierra 2018

One thing that is critical for traveling the mountains in late spring is crossing larger snowfields early in the day, before the sun has a chance to soften the top layer.  If you don't make it in time, you will face a long, miserable slog as you posthole through miles of crusty, thigh deep snow.  And that's what happened to me.

I reached the pass around 1:00 pm that day, and after a break tried to proceed into the broad basin beyond the pass.  I was already tired from my frustrating climb up that morning, and the first several hundred yards was such a struggle that I felt tremendously discouraged.  Looking ahead all I could see was what seemed liked miles and miles of snow covered landscape.

Wanda Lake is out there somewhere

Muir Hut - my refuge in 2018

After considering my limited options I look back to the pass where a memorial hut commemorating John Muir was erected in 1930 by the Sierra Club.  Both an homage to Muir and an actual emergency shelter, the building utilizes extremely robust construction techniques and methods to withstand frequently extreme alpine conditions.  Feeling somewhat sheepish I turn around and retreat to the easiest alternative.

I slept in the hut that night, and as I suspected would happen did not see another person for the rest of the day - everyone else knew what I knew, and no one was foolish enough to attempt crossing late.  Despite feeling a sense of defeat staying at the hut was a practical necessity, and I found the experience unique and unusual. One last note about the hut - despite being located in a treeless basin, the architect added a fireplace.  Go figure.

The following year I returned to the mountains, but did so later in the summer when most of the snow was gone.  And last year when doing a similar hike to this one, I developed a sinus infection as I was starting, and it greatly impacted my aerobic capacity on all the passes.  With a congested head and chest affecting my stamina, Muir kicked my butt.

In any event, here I am again facing the same climb but with no snow and a healthy constitution.  The only "gotcha" is my ankle, which although functional is also warning me that another twist is all it will take to put me out of commission.

Being very conservative in both my pace and foot placement slows me down, and it takes a while to tackle the pass.  Still I am grateful to be in such a beautiful place and remind myself to stop frequently and appreciate the view.

Helen Lake - named for John Muir's daughter

I reach the pass late in the afternoon without doing further damage to my ankle.  I pause for a brief rest and survey the site of my first encounter with Muir Hut.  But I don't stay long - in order to find a good place to camp I must continue on for at least 3 miles, as the broad alpine valley before me is nothing but rock.

As before I take care to avoid a misstep.  The trail slowly traverses the basin before finally dropping to the next tier below.  Evolution Creek begins here at Wanda Lake, making the descent to a meeting with the South Fork of San Joaquin River.  Like Helen on the opposite side of the pass, Wanda is also named for a Muir daughter.

Evolution Creek is named for an association with another man of 19th century science and discovery, Charles Darwin.  There are other features nearby that bear his name - Darwin Bench, Mt. Darwin, and Darwin Canyon.  I have not visited but these places are associated with an area called Lamarck Col, which I have heard about from other hikers.

Because the lake is at around 11,500 feet, I know it will be cold at night, and especially in the morning.  I decide to keep moving until I reach Sapphire Lake, which is about 1000 feet lower, where I hope to find scattered copses of limber pine as a possible wind break.

Late in the afternoon I reach the upper end of Sapphire and spot a suitable place below the trail near the lake.  After carefully picking my way several hundred yards down the slope I get to the flats and pick a site.  I'm too tired to do much of anything but get into my camp clothes and make dinner before retiring to the tent.

Once again, I sleep fairly soundly and awake just after dawn.  As I suspected it's cold outside and my determination is not to rise from my nice warm sleeping bag until the sun crests over the mountains in the east.  It doesn't take long however, and soon I am on the move again.  Like the night before the ankle was achy enough that when I moved I could feel discomfort, but it was still doing the job, so off I go.

Moving again the progression of environment is a familiar pattern.  Barren and sere rocky terrain eventually yield to scattered clumps of vertically challenged trees, then slowly other shrubs and taller trees begin to appear; sparse at first then more numerous.  This valley like the previous ones stays as close to the creek as geography allows.

Evolution Valley 

There's no Golden Staircase here, but midway through the morning the trail begins a drop on a series of switchbacks to quickly lose around 800 feet of elevation.  At bottom the trail once again joins Evolution Creek through a beautiful forested valley that contains one of the rarer environments in the Sierra -  a lush riparian meadow.

Ankle turning rocks fill the trail on the way down

Referred to as Evolution Valley, this part of the region offers very leisurely hiking in a forested vale next to Evolution Creek.  Interspersed among forests of pine are lush green meadows, and the gradient of the landscape is gentle, so for much of the way the creek placidly winds its way in gentle meanders through the bottomlands.

Tranquil meadows

There is no pass today, or tomorrow, and as I mentally map out the next couple of days decide to slow my progress a bit.  I can afford to be more deliberate - I will climb another pass the day after tomorrow, but I'm in no rush since it will be my ultimate exit from the mountains.  After nearly eight days I am finally settled into the rhythms of the outdoors, and recognize that I will be on my way home before I know it.

I reach McClure Meadow, and an inviting spot along the creek lures me in to an early end of the hiking day.  As I said I'm in no hurry, and the chance to set up camp in the early afternoon means more time to simply sit and soak in the splendor - that's why I'm here after all.

Evolution Creek becomes serene

For me there's no greater pleasure than to just sit and look around me. There's no great pondering or contemplation of life's mysteries.... just peaceful repose and being in the middle of a majestic landscape.  Well, I did spend a minute or two looking at my feet - yes they're kind of beat up but they got me here.  The left foot is slightly swollen, but I've asked a lot of both my feet and they have answered the call.

Gotta love those feet

The afternoon inevitably passes with the swiftness all too common in these later years, but I try to make the moments linger as long as possible.  Watching the shadows lengthen and the colors shift on the peaks makes me appreciate my situation all the more.  I am very fortunate to be here.

Tomorrow I'll continue on, content to ramble through the rest of the valley to reach the junction with Piute Pass trail, where I will begin the final stage of the journey.  But for now I am content to sit and watch the stars come out, one by one, before the promise of a warm and cozy sleeping bag entices me to bed.