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(Editor’s Note: Kristin is able to send us her blog entries when she comes to a town with internet access. As a result, the entries are published as they are received rather than on the day the events actually took place.)
Before this trip I had never climbed above 7,000 feet. I had never been in the woods without re-supplying for more than 5 days and I had only used an ice axe once. The roadless 9 day stretch of the PCT in the High Sierras brought a lot of firsts for me. When I started this stretch of wilderness I felt confident and prepared. Of course, this was all before I had ever seen 13,000 foot passes, had to self belay, or had to go hungry when my lighter decided to stop working.
At 14,500 ft, Mt. Whitney is the highest mountain in the lower 48 states. The Pacific Crest Trail does not travel directly over it, but passes in a valley only 8 miles from the summit. Knowing that I might never be in a position to hike up it again I decided to try for it. My plan was to camp at the base of the mountain, get an early start and summit around 9am. No matter how hot it gets during the day, the high Sierras are cold at night and in the mornings. I started walking in my long johns, rain gear, fleece, gloves and winter hat. The hike up was amazing. The trail takes you past a guitar shaped lake and then switch backs up a steep cliff. The high altitude slowed me down towards the top but the views are so amazing I forgot my exhaustion: desert on one side and mountain after mountain on the other. Once I reached the summit I stayed up there for about an hour just staring out. It was my 21st birthday and not one I’ll soon forget. To celebrate I feasted on a box of Jelly Bellies.
The following day the views were just as amazing and I past the highest point on the trail, Forester Pass. Getting there was a little more trouble than I expected. The trail disappeared under snow for a ways so, to avoid post holing I walked around on rocks. Luckily, another thru-hiker was just ahead of me and when I caught up we were able to find the trail again. It took us straight to the base of a cliff that the trail switch backed up. The guidebook describes the path something like this: “the trail will lead you to a wall. Look up. See the “v” shape? That’s Forester Pass. No, I’m not kidding.” When we finally reached the pass, the view on the other side practically knocked me back. I have seen some pretty amazig views while hiking, but none had ever struck me like this one. A valley with endless mountains on either side stretched out before me. Snow bound peaks with sharp edges and blue alpine lakes could have left me staring for hours. While resting at the pass, a large group of weekend hikers came up the other side. “Where are you coming from?” they asked. It always feels pretty good to reply a with a casual “Mexico” whenever someone asks this question. At first they think they’ve misheard “wait, so you are from Mexico?” they’ll ask. Then, after a quick explanation, they’ll understand. One of the hikers in the group knew about the PCT and immediately asked me if I needed any food. Before I could answer, two granola bars were in my hand. Their generosity surprised me and I wish I could have done more than say “thank you.”
The following passes the PCT takes you through are increasingly treacherous. The trail on Pinochet Pass took me a good hour to find after it disappeared under the snow, Glen Pass was very steep and icy on the way down, but it was Mather Pass that left my knees shaking. The hike up to Mather goes through such a beautiful, nearly flat valley, that you hardly expect the treacherous climb up ahead. When you finally reach the rock face the trail sweeps up gradually. I remember then looking up and seeing a steep, nearly vertical switch back in the snow. “There is no way that is the trail” I thought. It was. So, when I reached the edge of the snow, I took out my ice axe, tightened the straps on my pack, took a deep breath and began climbing the snow covered face. It was 5 PM, so I expected the snow to still be soft but the area turned out to be surprisingly icy since a neighboring mountain was hiding it from the sun. To safely climb the slope I used my ice axe to self belay, driving it into the snow next to me after every step, so that if I slipped I’d have something to hold on to. I have a strange habit of counting in Italian when I’m nervous and so I counted, one number for each step “uno, due, tre” trying not to look down “venti, ventuno, ventidue” terrified that the snow would not hold my next step “trenta, trentuno, trentadue . . .” It took me about thirty minutes to reach the top. When I finally did, my adrenaline was pumping so hard that I did not stop to take a break. I just kept right on walking and made camp about 7 miles into the valley.
Food is a big deal to thru-hikers. It is the main topic of our conversations and day dreams. About 5 miles after you have left the last town, you have already planned everything you will be eating in the upcoming one. A thru-hiker burns an estimated 6,000 calories a day and, unfortunately, you cannot carry enough food to replace those calories, so you get a little hungry. At the end of the 9 day stretch in the woods, I was more than a little hungry. I had saved my favorite dinner for the final night: Annie’s Macaroni and Cheese, and I was ready for a feast. I set up camp at dusk, took my stove out of my pack and attempted to light it. Nothing happen. I tried again and again, but it refused to light. I rummaged around in my bear canister as if there might be some extra food hiding in there, knowing full well, that all that was left was one zip lock bag of granola. My breakfast for tomorrow. I decided to eat half of it. There were ten more miles to Vermilion Valley Resort where I would re-supply the next day. I would be hungry when I got there, but that would just make the cheeseburger taste even better. So, I went to sleep, stomach growling, and practically ran into town at the first hint of light the next morning. Vermilion Valley is an exciting place to get to. Not only is it the first piece of civilization after 9 days, but you also get to take a 15 minute ferry ride across the lake to get there. I was waiting for the ferry as excited as a little kid when it arrived. Right on time at 9:45am. It swept me away to a land of very expensive cheeseburgers and ice cream sandwiches, but I was too hungry to care.
