RISK VS. REWARD

26 Jan

I wanted to talk about this image because of a tragedy that happened in Yosemite Valley less than a week after we hiked through this area. This is a shot of Nevada Falls which is above Vernal falls and the mist trail. It’s one of the most popular hikes in Yosemite. Sadly, a few days after we hiked over the bridge in the picture below, three hikers jumped a protective fence and were washed over Vernal falls. None of them survived.

I remember seeing Bridalveil falls, after I drove through the tunnel into Yosemite Valley a few weeks before our trip while Zee and I were laying our food depots. I’ve been going to Yosemite my whole life, and I had never seen so much water plummeting into the valley. 2011 was a record snow year, and that has led to a pretty crazy snow melt run-off. While hiking, everywhere we looked there was water more pure and beautiful than a Bill Withers song. The rivers and waterfalls were chaotically bursting with rushing white water. What during normal years are creeks and streams, were full rushing rivers. Roiling cascades lined the canyon walls.

I’m not going to lie, there were a few crossings that were a little higher and swifter than I would have liked. Often you would see the rocky edge of a trail one or two feet underwater. That said, the snow and the water made this an extraordinary year to hike the JMT. You might get one year like this out of every twenty to thirty. Sadly, the added risk led to some tragedies, but thankfully all of us made it through with nothing more than a few cuts, scrapes and numb feet. And our reward for taking the added risk was the journey of a lifetime.

THE GREAT OPTIMIST

10 Jan

We weren’t a fast group. Let’s just get that out of the way. We’d made it our mission to capture our experience on the trail, and that required a substantial amount of time and energy out of each day. On top of that, we’d all arranged to be gone for 25 days and there was very little need to shorten that by even an hour.

Yet, each morning we’d assess the day ahead, set a goal and try to gauge the challenges awaiting us. There is always one in every group. The person who’s estimations are (how should I put this?): Ambitious? Optimistic? Clearly shy of reality?

For us, this was Jason.

• Add 2 to his mileage calculation.

• Add 1000 feet to his guess at the day’s climbs.

• Add some extra discomfort to his “today shouldn’t be that bad.”

This is not to say he couldn’t read topographical maps. That wasn’t the case at all. And his ambitious estimations never put us at risk, but they provided some light humor to our day.

However, it was Jason’s optimism that led us on this great hike. It’s one thing to long for an extended adventure like hiking the John Muir Trail. It’s another to arrange all the logistics (ie, loss of income, paying bills, home sitting, children, etc.). It would be very easy to just say it’s not possible. But every winter for the past five years, Jason has reminded us, “We should really try and do Muir this year.”

Well, in 2011, the opportunity finally presented itself.

The morning of our monstrous climb up the Golden Staircase, we played a game to see who could guess, with closest accuracy, our group’s arrival time to the top: Palisade Lake. Knowing our track record for late arrivals, the majority of us guessed between 6:30pm – 7:30pm, but Jason inspired a roar of laughter when he proposed a 5:30pm arrival.

He was the closest by far, his guess only minutes off. When we arrived at Palisade Lake, he jokingly cheered, “The undisputed champion of time guessing, the pride of Davis, California. Jason, the Irish American Hurricane Fitzpatrick. Thank you, very much!”

(the crowd went wild)

Was it an exception to the rule that Jason’s optimism contributed heavily to his victory? Probably. But then again, it was this very same optimism that led us here in the first place. And for this, I’m eternally grateful.

MUSIC TO MOVE YOU

16 Dec

On the trail – and in life – you have good days, bad days, and then those days you wish had never gotten up.

I was having one of those days – when we had to hike 11 miles, climb over our highest pass to date, my ankle was throbbing, and what hurt most for me – starting straight out of camp with a climb. I don’t know what it is about those first few miles of the day, but if they are heading up, then my body is complaining.

None of my usual tricks were working to motivate me through this climb… that is, until I found this song.

The rhythm, the power of her voice, the rejoicing in life and THIS particular moment in time was just what I needed.

(She even has a line “ascender on the climb, you know what I mean.” And boy, did I.)

I listened to the song six times in a row and after that.. I could breathe, I could l climb, I was FEELIN’ GOOD.

I love the song so much that when I saw the final Whitney summit just steps away, I cranked up that song and sung it at the top of my lungs all the way up the mountain. (sorry, fellow travelers.)

May you find your voice today, and may you feel good.

KEEPING THE TRAIL WITH ME

9 Dec

Whenever I finish something monumental I try to extend the experience into my “normal life” Tangible mementos often help. When I returned from South Africa I carried my lunch in a zebra print bag I’d received with a souvenir purchase. After our month in Hawaii I attempted to maintain (unsuccessfully) the salt water bleached blonde hair I’d hopped off the plane in Colorado with. A week ago I realized how I was keeping my incredible experience on the John Muir Trail with me.

Let me back up a bit. I’ve been making an effort this school year to dress more professionally; more skirts, no ripped or excessively worn clothing, more teacher like attire. I was getting ready for school and I looked in the mirror. I was wearing my new black and white checked skirt with a black ¾ sleeve button up shirt and black flip flops. Professional yet casual… perfect.

It was a cool morning in Dolores so I threw on my down vest. Unknowingly, I had combined my trail camp shoes with a dressy skirt and shirt, and topped it off with the down vest I’d worn every day and most nights in my sleeping bag on the trail. One tidbit of information about clothing and backpacking you should be aware of is gear gets very dirty! Of course I’ve washed all my gear several times since, but I realized I’d managed to work some article of clothing from the trail into my daily wardrobe.

The lines between adventures are starting to blur and that gives me such joy. As I walked into the parking lot at Whitney Portal, our destination on the trail, I wondered if my copper colored coffee mug that went with me to South Africa was still in the bear box fifty feet from our car. It was.

IN THE BELLY OF THE WHALE

3 Dec

Few of the challenges on the trail were as difficult as the descent from Muir Pass. To me it felt like I spent most of that day waist deep in white slush trying to dig my way out only to posthole again a few minutes later.

To make matters worse, I cut my hand open while glissading down one of the steeper sections. I wasn’t the only one to bleed that day either. Dave smashed his knee on a rock and Jen got a good gash from another. Needless to say, by the time we finally had descended below the snow line just above Helen Lake we were all pretty tired.

We had planned to hike all the way down to Big Pete Meadow, but about a half-mile or so before the meadow we spied something off the trail. Grinning welcomely, or menacingly depending on how you looked at it, was a giant rock monster. Some very clever hikers before us had turned a giant boulder split horizontally into a work of art. Lining the bottom of the crack with small pointy rocks for teeth, and placing two rocks in nooks above the crack for eyes, they created a surprisingly anatomically correct monster sculpture.

Upon our first glimpse of the monster it was pretty clear that we were camping there. So that night we shared our campfire with an unexpected creature. I felt like we had hiked into the island from “Where The Wild Things Are.” The next morning, Durand and I, being the two goofiest in a troop of goofballs, had no choice other than to serve as the rock monster’s breakfast.

Later that day while poking in for a quick visit with Rick the Ranger at Le Conte Meadow, we learned that they called it “The Whale.” I can see the cetacean like features in its visage, but I think it will always be a monster to me. One that gave me a smile when I really needed it on the trail. Hats off to the fellow goofball hikers who created it wherever you are.

FOOT NOTES:

IT ALMOST ATE DURAND THAT DAY TOO…

BUT JASON SOON MADE A NEW FRIEND.