Days One and Two

The first six miles of our trail were like walking through the set of a Bambi film.  Incredible! The beautiful snow dotted mountains before and around us framed in a green and lush meadow.  Spiring pines and lower aspens filled in the middle of the picture, and the burbling stream we walked beside added even more beauty.  There, in front of us, was a bachelor herd of deer, about seven or eight of them, browsing through the foliage and stopping to take sips from the stream.  The birds chirped, a marmot skittered, a mother deer leaped across the path. This made her two yearlings a little nervous, being so close to us.  One paced back and forth nervously, watching mom and sibling, then finally made a break for it and leaped across the trail in front of us.  The other one played it safe and went up hill and around.  I hardly even noticed the twenty five pounds of food, water and gear strapped to my back.

We made camp on a little hill in the trees, near a little flowing stream.  I took off my socks to check my foot, and to my amazement my left foot was perfectly normal- no swelling at all.  The ankle, sporting a bright pink Hello Kitty band aide (be very wary when your teen aged daughter contributes items to the first aid kit) looked pretty good too, although it was still pretty sore.  We made dinner, gobbled it down, and set up camp for the night.  A neighboring hiker came over and inquired about the placement of Bear Cans; we visited a bit, and then snuggled down in our bags for the night.  Day one was complete, a wonderland of delights. This was going to be the best trip ever!

Let me stop here to say a few words about the bear cans you have to carry through the Sierras and other bear inhabited areas.  I hate them.  I know they are necessary to protect the bears from our food, thus protecting us from the bears.  I know they are more environmentally feasible than having the forest service install metal boxes all over the wilderness.  But I still hate them.  The canister is bigger around than my back pack, and takes up at least one third of the volume of my pack.  In order to shove it in, I had to take my sleeping bag out of its stuff sack, layer a little of the bag in the bottom to cushion my back, wedge the Bearicuda in, and then stuff my sleeping bag all around it, cramming the rest of my gear in and around the bag. " Did you put your toothpaste and soap in the bear box?" " Ug."  Everything comes flying out; I pry the bear box from the bottom of the pack… I learned pretty quickly to take time in the morning to get out all the food I would need for the day, which, sadly fit into a sandwich sized baggie, and put it aside so that I did not have to go through this procedure at lunch or when I needed a snack. The thing also weighs in at two pounds and nine ounces.  We only allow about one pound of food per person per day, so the canister I have to carry my food in weighs more than two days of the food I desperately need to keep me walking twelve hours a day.  But after a few days I learned that the Bear Can could be a useful item.  It made a great stool- much softer than granite.  I used it as a table surface when cutting cheese for lunch or spreading peanut butter on my bagel (though I did not find a suitable table cloth).  Then I watched how other hikers were using their Bear Cans.  It could haul a whole lot of water at once.  When set out in the sun for a little while, the water warmed up nice enough to be used as a dump shower for washing up, causing goose pimples on only half your skin.  And it made a great wash tub for our dirty socks and things.  We just loaded it up with water, a little soap, the dirties, dropped in a couple of roundish river rocks, fastened the lid, and rolled it back and forth to clean the clothes. So, i did eventually make peace with the bear can, but we were never really friends.

Day two dawned clear and bright and we broke camp, repacked our bags, put our granola bars in our pockets and hit the trail before six am.  We spent several miles in the green, tranquil valley.  Psalm 23 kept working in my head as we walked along the peaceful, meandering river and through the green meadows.  This is the place God chooses for us.  When we stray into harder, rockier, steeper or darker places, He is still with us, guiding us back to the righteous path.  In the German the phrase is “and if I should wander off into the valley of the shadow of death.”  It gave me a new perspective as I wandered peacefully through this beautiful country, which is always here, whether I choose to come visit it or not. 

After a nice, leisurely morning full of contemplative thinking and admiring the beautiful scenery, especially the stately mountains, I noticed the trail was getting a little rockier and steeper.  It finally occurred to me that in order to get into the next valley, I was going to have to go over those mountains. Oh. Mountain Pass does not mean a nice little door you get to go through or something, it means that instead of having to climb to the peak, you get to climb to a slightly lower elevation to get over the beast.  You still have to really climb!  There were also many little streams to cross, one which was pretty wide, almost like a lake, and up pretty high in elevation.  While concentrating hard on the rocks I had to step on to keep my feet dry, I was keenly aware of the juxtaposition of the beauty and the danger.  I wobbled.  I didn’t fall, but my sunscreen bottle fell out of my pack and into the water below.  I balanced myself, then tried using my hiking pole to extract the bobbing tube.  No luck- it started downstream.  My husband, already across the stream, saw what was happening, threw down his pack, and ran ahead to the next stream crossing.  The little tube of Badger All in One sunscreen and insect repellent (obviously and important piece of equipment) took its time floating down the meandering stream as if it were enjoying the voyage.  Finally it got to a place where it was wedged between two rocks for just a moment, and Mark deftly reached in and grabbed it.  My Hero!  We donned our packs and made for the summit. 

Even though you are in the wild, you are never really alone.  Another hiker or group of hikers can come around a corner at any moment (and I am always concerned that it is going to be those moments when I am doing what nature requires me to do, but society does not want to see).  Sometimes they are travelling in the opposite direction, and usually stop and say hi and find out where you are headed.  Often they just smile a greeting and keep going. Then there are the people who are travelling in the same direction.  We were headed south from Tuolumne Meadows, and there were several other couples or groups doing the same.  We would pass them as they were taking a break, and then later we would take a break and they would pass us.  When there is a good water supply, everyone stops to tank up, and it is surprising how many will gather around a water hole, exchange information, talk a bit, and then all disperse as we all find our best pace moving on.    You are all on this journey out here together. It gives you a common goal and something to talk about.  We met up with a few groups of people that we “leap frogged” for a few days and always enjoyed their company, even for a brief time.  One was a French couple, who spoke very little English, but he and I shared a great appreciation for this beautiful landscape, and we would always point to the trees, or mountains or sky and say “ci bon!” and smile.  One day, while gathering water, he told me “I am speaking no English” but still we were able to communicate that I had recently been to France and that I thought his country was very beautiful too. 

After a lot of huffing and puffing, stopping and high stepping we made it to the top of Donahue Pass.  It was a lot harder than I imagined it was going to be.  Of course we had started at sea level the day before and now we were at 11,056 where there seemed to be a lot less air per breath.  We stopped and had a little lunch at the top of the pass, along with a lot of other groups of people, and then began the rugged descent.  I am only five feet tall.  My knees measure probably only about eighteen inches high.  I don’t know who the giants are that cut these beg stones steps for the paths, but I can assure you they are not thinking of us midgets when they do it.  Whoo.  Once or twice I had to sit down on a step and jump down to the next one below.  It was all worth it though.  We stopped at a little alpine lake to rest- I even got bold enough to strip down to my cami and take in some sun- and soak our tired feet. We watched the fish swimming around and the marmots watched us, sometimes venturing pretty close.  We made camp that night overlooking a little lake and fell asleep under the stars to the sounds of our audio book- that lady has a pretty somnolent voice.