Day 7. Friday, June 26, 2009. Mileage: 767.2 – 783 (15.8 miles)

At some point this morning we joined The John Muir Trail (JMT), which is almost entirely the same path as the PCT for the next 175 miles.


I had a lovely morning, hiking alone quite a bit and vibing on the surrounding ‘dinosaur land’. While these monster mountains make me smile nearly all day long, winding around the stacked and scattered boulders in sections that are like rock minefields bring me the most delight. Maybe I am projecting my love of New Mexico on to this terrain, but I have to say that the rock formations are the most mesmerizing and beautiful sights. (Speaking of NM, I am finally turning into the wrinkly, sun stained, old desert lady I've always wanted to be. Hands as dark and worn as an aged fieldworker.)

In the afternoon, we came to Big Horn Plateau, a long stretch that was the most consistently exposed terrain we had walked across.

As we approached what was to become the exclamation mark of the entire hike (Forester Pass, the tallest mountain pass on the Pacific Crest Trail), I had no idea what was ahead of me. I thought yesterday’s climb up Mount Whitney to be the most difficult single day of my life. I was wrong.

Forrester Pass is not only a long and strenuous uphill and descent; it often holds tight to the brutal winter conditions well into summer.

We had already hiked 7 or 8 miles that morning before beginning this 6 mile nightmare of the pass. We hadn't seen any hikers since early morning and this area is a near lifeless, lofty rock and snow mountain explosion.

As I have now learned, hiking over a 13,000 plus foot pass late in the afternoon when the snow has softened is not advisable. I can't explain the energy I had to put forth to get myself out of a posthole (when your leg sinks into soft snow) while climbing uphill on fatigued legs and feeling the altitude steal my oxygen. I also can't explain what it feels like to see half of your petite friend disappear into the snow as she postholes up to her hips, only to stop sinking because of her backpack. Often times there were creeks and rivers below the unpredictable whiteness.

We lost the trail due to snow at least ten times. It was evening by the time we crossed our last dangerous snow chute (one that, if I were being honest with myself, would have been significantly safer to have crossed with an ice axe) and reached the summit. Any personal celebration was abrupt as I looked downhill and saw that the climb down from this remote, Alaska-like scene was more precarious than the ascent. It was evident that some sections would have to be taken as glissade since it was too steep and slippery to descend on foot.

There were a lot of expletives. I don’t believe that Dangermouse nor I had ever felt so physically or mentally drained. Relying on one another for both physical support and encouragement became almost a point of survival. We were never entirely sure that we were on the trail until we had descended to flat ground and the sun had almost set. We were off the pass and had found a place to camp just before dark.

I'm glad that today happened because I learned a tremendous amount. I cannot imagine doing some of what we've done alone. Jess has been a crucial part of my everyday. We seem to peak in energy at complimentary times and her hard-ass encouragement kept me putting one foot in front of the other (and inevitably 2 feet deep into snow) even when I was hating every step.

Our campsite was not only a welcome safe haven form the intensity of Forester Pass, it was absolutely beautiful. We ate a cold dinner because it was so late by the time we got off the pass and out of the snow that it felt futile to try and cook something (plus we were bear scared at that time of night).

I love that perceived security and safety can come from setting up a simple tarp. How incredibly adaptable human beings are. I listened to the chirping of a misguided bird perched next to our tent past nightfall before drifting into a deep sleep, awash in exhaustion.