The Y's Hikers John Muir Trail hike, 1971
Kevin Anderson
Chris Hughes
Steve Seibert
Chuck Ringrose
Dean Ranger (not on this hike, but on many other Y's Hikers trips)
Rob Culbertson, Dean Ranger, Bill Morse (not on this hike, but on many other Y's Hikers trips)
Itinerary:
S Toulumne Meadows to Rafferty Creek
S Rafferty Creek to below Lyell Creek
M Lyell Creek,
over Donahue and Island Pass,
to Thousand island
T Layover Day
W Thousand Island
T layover day
F lake Ediza to Trinity Lakes
S to Devils Postpile, get food drop, hike 2 miles out of DP
S to Purple Lake
M over Silver Pass, to Qual Meadow
T to Lake Marie
W over Selmer Pass to Evolution Valley
T over Shit for Brains Pass, to Midnight Lake
F to Lake Sabrina, get ride to South Lake
S to Saddlerock Lake
S To Barrett lakes
M layover, climbed Polomonium, Sill
T to Palisade Lake
W over Mather Pass to Lake Marjorie
T over Pinchot Pass to Rae lakes
F To Onion Valley, over Glen, Kearsarge
S to
S over Kearsearge Pass to Bubbs Creek
M over Forester Pass to Wright lakes
T Layover
W another layover for Group A, to Wallace lakes for Group B
T To Hitchcock lake for Group A, layover at Wallace for Group B
F over Trail Crest to the Portal, to summit of Whitney
S out to trail head Group A, down to Whitney Portal Group B
Mike Shaver, at Sierra Lake
The backpack of the John Muir Trail began as a two man trip,
just my brother Mike and I. The closer we got to the planning state, the more we found
other interested people. It reached five
or six and we decided to make it a Y’s Hikers trip in order to be insured with
the Y. Almost immediately we had a party
of 12 or possibly 16. The extra four
were Scouts and when Mike refused to put them in one cook group they dropped
out. We decided to charge everyone $50 each, for 28 days worth of food, plus gas for the transpotation to the trailhead and back. We were all students and we were trying to keep it inexpensive, but that was rediculous. if we had charged $100, we could have eaten a lot better. This is a letter from Mike to me
when I was still off at college, and he was in
Bob:
Here’s the signup
$50 paid: Kevin Anderson
me
John Laine
$10 deposit Chris Hughes
Robert Bouclin
Tomlinson (age 14 but really wants to go and went on shakedown hike
Lowry, Conrad
You
Wes Little
Madeline Payne (ah yes, Gordon’s has put in a moutaineering line. Wipe out for Eaton! Wally to help buy food wholesale. Cheep. Good equipment. The jacket sold for $25 at last meeting to Payne)
Antonia Reeves
The first 11 seem alright to me, though Antonia Reeves and Robert Conchil weren’t on shakedown. The other two will have to committ themselves and $10 by next hiker meeting. I don’t really thin 13 would be too many (+Sue? Is she going part?). Also Byron might go part with us. Que respone es? Shakedown was to Kern Peak with Wally Henry – in ickey trip, but it found a leader (I stayed home).
On food—I
can get egg noodles and macaroni from the Wrangler cheep cheep cheep. All deyhdrated, good for perhaps two meals on
each 7 day segment. John Laine said any grits and he’ll wipe us both out (cream
of wheat!).
Rob Culbertson was drafted into the Army and Kevin Anderson into the Treasury. They still mail bank notices to 2121. Its frustrating!. Kevin A’s parents are willing to drop off food—how about Primmer? Still in? Logistics are going to be interesting! Where do we keep the food that is to be taken up to us?
Boy, have you got problems
Mike
Bob Shaver at Sierra lake
I got out of school the week before we were to leave, and the week before the trip was when 95% of the work on the food was done. Our itinerary was planned and we already had out food drops in order. Of all the preparations I guess the food was the most work.
After the menu was made we had to buy enormous quantities of food, enough for 12 people for 27 days. These supplies purchased, we took over the facilities of the Palmdale Y for the week. The five or six steady workers became quite expert at food packing and accomplished the largest food packing in the history of the Y’s Hikers club, with no major problems. By Thursday our bundles were lined up along 3 ½ walls of the room, all in order and ready for the food drops. They were bundled and stored in Mike’s bedroom, till they were picked up and delivered by our support parties, the Powells, the Peca’s, and Ken Primmer.
We got started on the trip on Saturday, driven by the Powells up the Owen’s Valley to Tuollumne Meadows, at the top of Tioga Pass.
Once dropped off, all we had to do we hike 227 miles through the roughest mountain country, and the most beautiful, in the North American Continent. We got on the trail by late afternoon, and reached a camp on Rafferty Creek by evening. We were all tired, even though it was a short day, because none of us were used to the heavy packs and none of us were in shape for that high elevation.
My girlfriend Beth drove up from Modesto, and I hiked back down to the Meadows to meet her and spend the night there. I got up early and bombed up to Rafferty Creek but the troops had already split. We finally met Conrad, John, and Mike. The whole group had apparently gone up Rafferty Creek rather than up the Canyon of the Toulumne, which was our route. We had all been fooled the evening before when reading the map. When the mistake was discovered, Conrad dropped his pack and ran up the trail to catch Chuck, but never caught up with him. Since no one had seen him leave camp that morning we all hoped that he would realize his mistake and come back down the trail, to rejoin the JMT.
We went
back the trail ourselves to the Lyell River, where Beth left us and
headed back down to Toullumne Meadows, and we started up Lyell Canyon. Reports told us that one
group of 4 was ahead of us, and a larger group ahead of them. We knew the smaller group was ours and hoped
the other included Chuck. Cruising along all afternoon we caught sight of Chris
Hughes a few times but never caught up with them till camp that night at the
headwaters of the Lyell River,
a campsite arranged the day before. We
made camp and hoped that Chuck would make it in and that everything was all
right with the people that were with him. They did show up shortly after us, after climbing up Rafferty Creek and
then hiking cross country to our camp on the Lyell. He and everyone was quite
tired, and we set about supper and a good nights sleep.
Nancy was of course angry at him and as John was fantasizing about the encounter, Nancy undermined and parodied him with a skill born of practice.
John: why, hello there sweetie, which way are you lovely ladies headed?
Nancy: The other way from you if they’re smart.
John: You say you’re going to Whitney? Why what a coincidence. It seems that the fates have thrown us together.
Nancy: What luck!
John: How about a little kiss before we go to bed?
Nancy: Oh this I gotta see! Show em how you kiss like a fish John. Its really something. Just like a big, wet, slobbery fish! God, its horrible! Do you practice on doorknobs, John?
We had a campfire and cooked popcorn and most groups had breads or cakes before retiring. Chuck was given the task of baking bread for our group, and really burned it badly. He made up for it later in the trip by turning out a series of flawless breads.
We cooked in groups of 4, and each group had a steel army ranger cookset. This set had a pair of nesting pots, with wire bails. The lid was a shallow frying pan, with wire handles that folded against the side of the pan. By putting water in the outer pot, and bread mix inside the inner pot, we made a double boiler, and could cook bread and cake mixes. We always camped in wooded areas in those days, and had wood fires. Stoves were an optional kind of thing, and only Conrad and Chris had a stove on this trip. We baked by putting the nested pots on a bed of coals, and then we put coals on the lid to heat the top of the mix. With practice, the breads could be baked perfectly, and were delicious. Each cook group also had a grill with three wires, which would be placed between two rocks with a fire under it. The outer pot became black from the smoke and the cook set was carried in a cloth bag.
All the way to the notch we ascended the snow field by kicking steps in the snow. At the notch we looked at the north side of Ritter and it looked really hard to me. From the notch we were about 500 vertical feet to the summit of either mountain. John wanted to stay but we talked him into continuing for a ways.
We stared up the most prominent chute and climbed its ice until it became quite steep and terminated. Chuck and I both had ice axes, but I don’t think John did. At that point John had had enough and waited for us there.
Chuck and I climbed up and left out of the coular into the coular to the left. We just traversed across the top of this one to a ramp leading to the top. Three belayed pitches across the coular and 3 up the ramp. At the top of the ramp it was boulder hopping to the peak across boulders and wind fluted snow. We signed and read the register as we huddled from the wind. To the west we could see Half Dome and Yosemite, north were the big lakes of the Owens Valley: Mono, Crowley, and Owens. South was the whole of the Sierra and a tiny bump that I recognized as Mt. Whitney, our destination some 200 miles away.
Too bad it was too cold to really enjoy the view. After a quick lunch we started down, picked up John on the way, much shaken from 3 hours alone on an exposed coular, and had a long wet glissade to the notch between Ritter and Banner. At the notch Chuck began running up the south face of Banner, scrambling up the peak like a madman. John and I waited for him and we was to the top of Banner and back down in no time at all. The glissade from the notch to the bottom of the glacier was very fast and John especially enjoyed it. The trip down to Ediza and home to camp was uneventful, but Lake Ediza is a beautiful area.
After lunch Conrad and I lagged behind, talking. We were overtaken by a group of four middle aged fishermen.
“Hello, where you headed?” they asked.
“The Postpile. How about your selves.”
“Same. Have those ice picks come in any good or you?”
They were referring to our ice axes, which several of our group were carrying. “On Donahue Pass they were life savers, and we used them climbing Mt. Ritter also.”
“Oh. Say, has that mob from Toullumne passed you? A big party doing the Muir Trail.”
And thus was born the name of infamy that spread terror in the hearts of backpackers far and wide. Mothers would tell their kids “you’d better eat your spinach or the Toullumne Mob will get you.” That may be an exaggeration, but the name stuck with us and seemed to fit. This perhaps the start of a feeling of group unity, a feeling that would grow after we’d weathered a few storms together. We were the Mob, or the Toullumne Mob.
We reached the Trinity lakes and spent the afternoon sitting around, throwing rocks into the water, and other intellectual pursuits. John, Kevin, Madylin and Wes were not here and had presumably missed the lakes and gone bombing down toward the Postpile. Mike put on some running shoes and ran after them, passing John and Wes and going on after Kevin and Madylin.
Meanwhile Mike had returned. He had run down Kevin and Madelyn, and they were on their way back to Trinity lakes. Kevin showed up shortly and said that Madelyn was far back and having a hard time of it. Mike had left the two of them at a trail crossing, the other trail going deep into the heart of the Minarets. This was also the last time Kevin had seen her, since he left before she was ready to go.
When she didn’t show up for a while more, Chuck went to help her carry her pack up. It was fully dark by now. After 40 minutes Chuck hadn’t returned so I went after them, with Nancy waiting supper for our return. I ran down the trail to the trail crossing Mike had told me about, then on towards the Postpile. What had happened, had I missed them somehow? Had they gone on down to the Postpile for the night? Had they taken the wrong trail? When I reached a river crossing too dangerous to cross at night I headed back, calling all the way. About a mile from Trinity Lakes Mike met me. They hadn’t shown up at camp either, so all we could do was wait until morning. We assumed they were together, and Chuck could handle any emergency that came up.
We had an uneasy night of wondering about Madelyn. It was at this time that I was really struck with my responsibility. No matter what happened, I was responsible for the safety of eleven people. I cursed myself for not having made a stronger point earlier about not going off without a map and with no idea of where you were going.
Saturday: Early in the morning Chuck came into camp.
“Where did you find Madelyn, and where is she now, at the Postpile?”
“I never found her. I spent the night at the river. Ran all way down to the Postpile and couldn’t cross the river on my way back. No sigh of her here?”
“Damn! We thought you would have found her and you two would have spent the night somewhere together. How the Hell could she get off the trail, anyhow?”
We knew that she had food so if she didn’t panic she would be OK. I packed up and took off down the trail, agreeing to meet Mike and the others at the Postpile, where we could search the place if she hadn’t been found. At the trail crossing some fishermen had seen a girl in red windpants heading down that morning. Yes, she had come from the Minarets trail.
I bombed on, and found her at the trail heading into the Postpile. She was fine, but shaken after spending the night alone on the wrong fork of the trail. She had discovered her mistake the next morning, and waited for us on the bridge when I found her. God, what a relief! We went on to the Postpile and I bought her breakfast at the café while we waited for the others. Apparently when Mike and Kevin left her they were so close to the fork that they assumed she would either remember the way she came or read the sign. She did neither, and hiked up the wrong fork until overtaken by darkness.
I filled her in on the happenings of the evening, and she really felt bad about causing us concern. She said that she had really learned something and would be more careful next time. Chuck and Mike arrived, followed shortly by the group. A few of us had breakfast and bought hot showers, and everyone made a raid on the store, resupplying for the coming week. It was becoming obvious the the food we had packed up for the trip would keep us alive, but to be full and satisfied we needed to buy supplement food in the form of bread mixes and extra lunch foods.
The showers were really heaven and after the showers we went back to the store in time to see several pies being devoured by almost stuffed hikers. We had lunch there, and waited for the Powells, who should have been there by midmorning. I walked down to the lower campground to see if they showed up, and was joined a while later by Madelyn. We waited and waited, and the Powell’s van finally showed up at 2:00. We hopped in and drove to the Postpile store and proceeded to sort, divide and pack our food for the coming week.
Something new for us that we tried on this trip was rotating cook groups every food drop. We hoped to put everyone with everyone else at least once. That would also allow us to avoid very large personality clashes. At the food drop, the new cook groups had to get together and divide their community gear (cook sets and grills) and food as evenly as possible, with each member carrying several meal bags. Each meal was a self contained bag, with drinks, dessert, and main course for four people in one bag. For lunches, each person had a separate lunch bag for each day, and in each bag was a complete lunch for one. That way, no matter where people were, they had their lunch for the day. They could also easily throw a lunch in a daypack for a day hike on a layover day.
At the food drop we had to pack our trail lunches, which included meat (dried beef) from a glass jar, a chunk of cheese, peanuts, raisins, candy bar, and iced tea mix. A lot of people were buying extra food such as milk, French bread, pudding, bread mixes for baking, and extra candy for lunches. By 3 PM or so clouds had built up and by 4 PM we were ready to take off. We wanted to get away from the Postpile a few miles and make camp before it rained.
The packs were heavy but everyone was in good spirits on the climb out of the valley of the Devils Postpile. We found a small spring and hurriedly made camp, putting up tube tents and making fires. We had a good meal of fresh meat and vegetables before retiring early to bed. Everyone was in good shape for rain protection before it started raining , tents up and gear covered.
Mike and I put the ends of our tube tents together and had a long talk about the route of the coming week, and general happenings. We had a very large distance to cover, and would require some 15 mile days. Everyone was getting in good shape, but Madelyn seemed to be having a hard time and Nancy was having problems with her boots. Madelyn was fairly steady in hiking, but just very slow. I was more worried about Nancy’s ankles. We would be entering the Evolution Valley and that would be a point of no return for us. Once there we would be in very bad trouble if anything happened and if her ankles were bothered by the easy first week, they probably would only get worse during Hell Week.
A lottery has developed. Wes and Steve Jepson have a three man tent and so will allow one person to sleep in it on a night threatening rain. Lots were drawn, and numbers assigning turns to sleep in it. I got a very low number, so I’m kind of out of it. High numbers were Chuck and Nancy. Now they can wait till they think it will rain and use their tent turn. They can also save their turn and sell it for food. Chuck used up his turn this night, and it didn’t even rain.
As evening deepened around Purple
lake the clouds were doing some fantastic things to the peaks on the other side
of the lake. They swirled and lifted,
revealing peaks then engulfing them, sometimes letting in brilliant shafts of
the now orange setting sun.
Monday. Big day ahead. Twelve miles and a pass to cover. Yikes, 4 miles more then yesterday, and that day just about did Madelyn in. We tore out of camp like lions, sprinting over the ridge and down down down into Tully Hole. I was last to leave camp, and hiked along till I caught up with the Mob at the hole. Here we realized that Steve wasn’t among us. He had left before I, and I even directed him to the trail. This was a key day and a several hour delay would blow the schedule of the week to bits. There was an alternate trail that he could have taken, so Chuck and I were going to do a pincher movement, Mike staying with the group. Just before we started the search good old Steve came ambling down the hill. He had gotten off the trail and had been trying to catch up all morning.
Much
relieved, we continued and caught up with the others for lunch at a small lake
below Selmer pass. Mike pulled something in his groin when stepping over a
stream, but it seemed to be better after a rest and lunch. The lake was small and nice, just below the
big ice fields that we would be climbing in the afternoon.
Nancy was having problems and so was Madelyn, so they took off early. They burnt out on the pass and were really wiped out by the time the top was reached. We were really strung out now, and Conrad, Steve, John and I were pretty far back. We were angling down, hoping to make Quail meadows by dark. Several miles the other side of the pass Steve said that he hadn’t seen Mike come over the pass. I didn’t even know that he’d hurt himself at that point. John, Conrad and I headed back up, leaving our packs at a fisherman’s camp. At the pass, no Mike. We went down the other side and found Mike where Steve had left him. He was OK but couldn’t carry his pack up the ice field. John carried his pack up and we kicked steps for him and he slowly reached the top of the pass.
When we reached our packs on the other side of the pass we divided up his pack and slowly headed down, with Mike carrying only his empty pack frame. After a while John and Conrad left us, traveling ahead to bring up a cookset and food in case we didn’t make it to camp. Without weight and going downhill, Mike’s pulled groin seemed to improve and pretty soon we were moving along at a pretty good clip. I was prepared to stop and camp for the night whenever he had had enough, but he only got stronger.
By the time it was dark we were moving at a slow steady pace, taking stops to rest Mike’s groin muscle. An hour or so after John and Conrad left us we had crossed a river and were going switchbacks when we heard voices. We yelled, thinking it was our people at Quail Meadows. We continued down, and shortly met John and Conrad at a large river. They had been unable to cross it, after searching up and down for a log or rocks to use to cross. We were really tired by now, and just said screw it! We would just wade it and to Hell with it. John took one end of my 120’ climbing rope across, with our flashlights shining on the rushing water.
In the middle it was over knee deep and moving fast. The ice axe helped balance and he made it across and tied the rope to a tree. Then Conrad and Mike went across, tied to the rope and so fairly safe. I went last, the way lighted by flashlights from the other side. The water was like ice and the current really strong.
On the
other side we all felt tired and weak, and now wet, and slowly trudged the ¾ miles or so to
camp, where we were greeted with surprised looks. The three of us had hiked 17+ miles that day,
the others 12 miles. If was now ten
o'clock and they had eaten long ago, assuming that we would camp with Mike
somewhere. The girls made cocoa for us
and we had some soup before bed. The
girls had really had a hard day also and Madelyn especially. It was especially disheartening to learn from the early group that there was a bridge over the river not far from where we forded it.
The plan would be for Mike and Madelyn to go
out to Lake Thomas A Edison to the West, a hike of 5-6 miles. There they would
call someone from
Tuesday:
Wes and I headed down to the lake with them, and left them on the shore to wait for a ferry which we learned later never came. Wes and I said goodbye and then rocketed up the trail after the others, our destination Lake Marie. After going straight up a mountain for an hour or so, I passed Chuck, coming back after a compass he had left at a rest stop a ways back. He told me the others would be at lunch by now, so I cruised on, passing his pack shortly where he had left it.
The lunch spot was at a ranger cabin on a very nice stream. The ranger was a wilderness patrolman, and Chuck and I talked to him a long time about how he got the job, what his duties were, and how we could get the job, etc.
We reached Lake Marie before sunset, and camped with a fantastic view of the Seven Gables and the Silver Pass area we had just crossed. We were going through this country much too fast to really discover it. But it couldn’t be helped this week. Next time, make a food drop at Lake Thomas A. Edison and go more slowly through the Evolution Valley. It would be worth the time.
At Lake Marie, the fisher folk were pulling out monsters. Steve was doing the best, and since Steve and I were in one cook group we said that we’d get supper ready if he just kept pulling them out. Every cook group had a fisherman and got some fish for supper and breakfast. This lake was quite beautiful and would be very nice for a layover day. The fishing continued, with everyone having good luck. We were in cook groups of 3 now that Mike, Madelyn and Nancy had left, and we had more food than we could eat, and nobody complained about that.
We had a group meeting to discuss the plans for the week and confirmed a plan first proposed at Purple lake. The facts were that we wouldn’t be able to make the next food drop by staying on the JMT and going over Bishop Pass to South Lake. We could only make it by going cross country over the crest and down to Lake Sabrina, then getting rides around to South lake by Saturday. The hike Wednesday was the key to the whole ball of wax. We had to get over Selmer Pass and as deep into the Evolution Valley as we could, at least to its first meadow.
We stayed together and headed first to a cirque lake below the notch, and from there straight up. Some of the hikers had little experience on this kind of stuff but everyone remained calm and put one foot in front of the other. Steve was shaken because of the exposure and the imbalance of the heavy packs, and we were all much relieved when we did the last move onto the flake summit. On the other side a snow field came all the way to the top, covering all the sloping gravel covered steps that Mike and I had experienced, and after a short rest we glissaded and slid down. From there it was boulder hopping for several hours to Midnight lake, camp for the night. We figured we were in pretty good shape to get to Lake Sabrina the next day. A short hike would get us there, and from there we had a day to get to South Lake and our food drop.
The camp at Midnight lake was quite a rest since we knew that we had
done the hard stuff of the week, and the hardest week of the trip. The Mob really did well on the 2nd
and 3rd class rock route.
Friday: We slept in and consumed as much food as possible so we wouldn’t be carrying it down with us. Before we left for Sabrina in small groups of 2-4, we put on the cleanest clothes we had, Conrad sporting a never been worn red jersey. The rest of us made do as best we could. After starting we pretty much bombed down. Since it was a long weekend lots of day trippers and weekend backpackers were coming up the trail as we bombed down. We must have looked a sight, with patched clothes, flithy packs, tanned like Indians or burned and peeling, two weeks of beard, etc.
Chuck and I bombed down together, getting comments from clean hikers like “there’s another one Mommy,” or “a fellow just like you passed a minute ago”, referring to Conrad. Also “there’s another muscle man,” referring to tank tops or fishnet shirts I guess. We stopped and talked to several people but usually just passed with a greetings. At Lake Sabrina we entered a new world. Conrad and I walked on the wooden dam, passing fishermen and little kids and feeling like visitors from another time. We dropped packs and regrouped at the cafe for lunch, taking over several tables and keeping the cook busy for quite a while. We consumed a lot of food.
The plan was to hitchhike in groups of 2-3 around to South Lake, where we would regroup at the dam and spend the night. As we had a boisterous lunch we got to talking with some fishermen who offered us a ride to South lake. Four of us loaded up, Conrad and Kevin already having gotten rides and left. The young fisherman turned to be a Vietnam vet, and proceeded to fill us in on his Army days. In the middle of Claymore mines and humping 9 day patrols we saw Conrad and Kevin on the roadside. Their ride had gotten them halfway and then took another road. The vet stopped and we somehow crammed two more packs and people into the car.
As we got out at South lake an old man in shorts bounced up to us.
“Where are you fellas headed?” he asked.
“We’re going to spend the night here and then go to Onion Valley.” I replied.
“It just so happens I’m the camp host, and I’ve been saving a group campsite for a group just like yours.” He was a Sierra Clubber from way back, with pins from the Sierra Peaks Section and the 100 Peaks Section in his hat. It turned out that I had met him on an SPS trip with the Sierra Club. He knew a lot of the older SPS climbers, like Wally, Glen Lougee, Ed lane, Dan Eaton, and just about everyone that I could remember in the SPS from being on a few trips with them as a guest of Wally.
The old time mountaineer was Ed Alcott. He and his wife were working for the Sierra Club and Forest Service here at South Lake as camp coordinators. We told him about our trip, and he said he could tell we weren’t the usual weekenders by the equipment. Alcott was at one time a real pioneer of mountaineering, with tremendous experience in climbing all over the Sierra, and he remains active in leadership in the Sierra club and especially the SPS and 100 Peaks Sections of the Angeles chapter.
He showed us a campsite that was hidden from the crowds at the parking lot. It was on the lake shore and so hidden among rocks and trees that no one ever found it. We settled in for the night and Ed and I talked about climbing some of the same Sierra peaks. When Chuck arrived he knew Ed and they talked about Chuck’s upcoming expedition to Peru. When Ed left to join his wife at their trailer for supper he sent his greetings to Wally and wished us a good trip.
It was still fairly early in the afternoon so Chuck, John, and I got everyone’s clothes together for a trip to the Laundromat. We filled two packs with very nasty clothes, and headed for a laundry 5 or 6 miles down the road. We arrived at the small town laundry and put our clothes in the machines, 4 of them. Chuck put all his clothes in, and was left naked. John and I kept out our track shorts. John and I went to the one café in town to get soap and ice cream, leaving Chuck jaybird naked in the Laundromat.
We walked into the café weaning only track shorts, bearded and probably pretty nasty in appearance. We had a cone, bought soap, then I bought a cone for Chuck and hit the road back to the laundry. In the laundry Chuck was hiding in the back room. Apparently a lady had surprised him in his birthday suit, and he thought she was returning with the cops at my approach. He had gotten Conrad’s half washed sweat pants out and was wearing them around.
He took his cone and ate it sitting on a washer reading a book. I took a chair and planted myself at the door as a lookout, and wrote some letters. I wrote to Sue and thanked her for the candy and food she had sent up with the last food drop, and wrote of the happenings of two weeks to Beth.
We were a pretty odd trio. I was on the porch of the local laundry wearing track shorts. John was in track shorts, down at the café rolling dice with the customers, and Chuck was sitting in soaking wet sweat pants, eating an ice cream cone that melted over his knuckles, and reading the Wall Street Journal. The final touch was when Chuck looked up and yelled “Number 1!, Number 1! My stock has gone up since last week!!”. Just then his washing machine started to buck and I broke out laughing at him.
I went down to the café and John joined Chuck at the machines. The water in the front loader had turned brown, and looked like root beer. At the café I had a delicious apple pie and milk. Fantastic! John came back down and said that Chuck had ordered dinner at the café on the hiway for us, and four of the Mob had come down to eat supper also, leaving only Conrad and Steve at the packs.
We gathered at the café and Chuck
and I had showers and washed up. Dinner was chicken with all the trimmings,
plus a really nice looking waitress.
We got a ride in the bed of a pickup back to camp, and I forgot my papers and Starr’s guide in the pickup when we got out. Damn! At camp, Conrad and Steve were pissed. We really hadn’t planned to have a wonderful dinner while they ate dehydrated food, honest. They didn’t buy it and were pissed as hell. They threw their scalloped potatoes in the ground and stamped on them, threw their dehydrated peas at us and were only more infuriated when one of us would grin and pat his stomach or burp. All John could do was lean against a tree and sign contentedly, holding his stomach aching with chicken and potatoes.
To make it up to them they were promised a free breakfast and shower at the café the next morning, but they still felt betrayed. I guess if we were thinking we would have brought them something the night before.
Letter from Mike:
Bob:
Made it out to the phone at Shaver lake—41 miles. Hiked 7-10, hitch-hiked the rest. Aggravated blisters on pavement hike—pretty bad now. Sue came Wed 12:00 and picked us up, home again by 6:30. Mom and Dad due next week. I’ll be up Onion Valley if I can coerce Ken into taking 2 more people (Madeline and I). Big troubles with Peca expedition, but it you get this, they’ve been worked out. Gaad! Never again!
$150 cask haft—with $60 owed to Y, plus Powell’s van and other little trips. Not very unlikely we’ll need another $5 or $10 a head to cover it, but don’t know for sure yet. $150 in Y’s Hikers treasury we might have to dig into.
First day home was a blast. In prep for Mom I had to vacuum rug, clean up, do dishes—I’ll make some girl a good wife.
I enclosed what extra food I could find to beef up you post hell week week. Not much, but it will help.
Mom and Dad bought 10 acres in Palisade, near Bedford’s they wrote. The three month stay in Colo lasted 2 weeks, they’ll be home soon. They went back to Kansas, Grandpa’s, Billies, The Carlton picnic and all.
Peca leaves tomorrow night (Fri) for S. Lake, and I’m gonna attempt to help get things in order here—so, see you at O. Valley. Sorry I couldn’t make it up there, but I couldn’t hike far with you and Peca looks pretty cramped for room (and I bet someone’s coming back from your group.. am I right?
Mike
God it was good to be full of good food. What a peaceful sleep we had!
Saturday: Conrad and Steve left early for their promised breakfast and we all slept in. The Peca brothers arrived early, accompanied by Madelyn, Nancy, and Wendy’s brother Clay. Madelyn was going with the Pecas on a two day trip, then would rejoin us the next week at Onion Valley. Mike was still out of it, besides, we had lost one of his boots in getting him off Silver Pass.
The Peca’s, about six of them, planned to go over Bishop Pass, on over Thunderbolt Pass, a cross country route, and camp at the Barrett lakes on the other side. This was a very hard trip for his group of young boys and 3 girls. They charged off with our best wishes, and we liesurely set about our food packing over watermelon and trail lunches.
During the packing Conrad went off to buy something at the store and when he returned Beth was with him, much to my surprise. At Yosemite she had said that the drive over would be too long and she wouldn’t be able to make it to South Lake. I agreed that the southern food drops were too far to drive from Modesto. She had driven up anyway and arrived that morning. It was a good thing she had met Conrad at Toullumne so they recognized each other.
She joined us for lunch, as did Ed Alcott and his wife, and we finished up packing food and rearranging cook groups. Beth and I walked down to her car and got her little rucksack together for an overnight camp. She would accompany us to Saddlerock lake for the night, then she would hike back to South lake on Sunday, and drive home to Modesto.
We left the parking lot in the afternoon, reaching Saddlerock lake after a leisurely hike up. Beth was really hard put to make it, no matter how slow she and I went. We got to camp an hour behind the first groups and set about making fires as the sun went down. Beth, Nancy, Chuck and I ate together at a camp in trees by the lakeshore. Beth and I slept in a stand of trees near camp after a short fire at the other two groups’ camps.
Sunday: We had a long day ahead today, so much as I would
have liked to spend the day with Beth we had to be off. The others took off before I, and I walked
Beth down partway to South lake. After
leaving her I charged up Bishop Pass, hoping to catch up to the Mob by noon. On the way I passed the Peca’s, strung out
and wiped out. They had been unable to
cross
Letter from Bob to Mike:
Mike:
Everyone OK here. Madelyn sure surprised me at South lake.
How’s the leg? Hurry back. I’m going crazy with this bunch of nuts.
Thanks for
the food, send more. No real problems in
the
Letter from Beth to Mike, July 4, 1971
I told Bob I would drop you a little line.
First of all, I’d like to devote a sentence of two to my observations of the trip. I have never seen Bob so edgy and uptight. He has always been easy going and level headed. He said he hoped you would be well enough to join the trip at Onion Valley or at least come up for a visit on the food drop. I believe he needs a little of your brotherly companionship. This is not what I am supposed to write so I’ll get down to other things.
The group needs more dried milk. Conrad and Steve tried to buy some at South Lake but other packers had bought out the general store. So they are going to do without for awhile.
Susan might like to know that Robert had written a letter to her. But when he lost his Starr’s Guide at South lake the letter and notes and everything else was also lost. So she is not forgotten. He really appreciated the candy. And, he appreciated your dividing up the cheese. It did save them time.
Well, enough’s enough. I’d hope your leg is OK, Mike, and Susan’s job is going well.
Sincerely,
Beth Millerman
I caught up with the group at the top of Bishop Pass, where they were eating lunch. Chuck was just leaving with three others to climb nearby Mt. Agassiz. The rest of us had a leisurely lunch before we started on the cross country jaunt over Thunderbolt pass to Barret lakes. This pass is not in the climbers guide but is a good shortcut to the Barret lakes, avoiding Dusy Basin and another XC pass. We had hiked it the previous year on a 9 day trip.
Nancy was really having a hard time keeping up and we stopped to rest quite a bit. Those of us who had been hiking steadily were getting in pretty good shape, with all the 10,000 passes and heavy packs. On the top of the pass were three packs and the camps of some climbers. We waited here for an hour and a half, snacking and waiting for Chuck. We finally saw them coming much higher than we had come from, and they acknowledged our yells.
At their approach we packed up and headed down the ice fields toward Barrett lakes, romping down and sliding all the way. Above the lake I stopped to guide Chuck and crew to the camp. John and the others went on to pick a good camp site. I was enjoying the sunshine and being alone until Chuck showed up on the pass. I flashed them with a mirror and they homed in on me, then we went on down to what we thought would be a camp.
At the lake we found the lake clear of ice
and dry ground around its edge. We began
gathering wood before dark. By then the woodpile for my group was waist
high and growing, our fire burning higher than I usually have a campfire.
We had lots
of food tonight. Chuck, Conrad and I
talked around our fire until late into the night. I am truly thankful for Conrad’s constant
tranquility. He is never up tight, always
helpful, and always one to be counted on in an emergency.
Monday: A quick breakfast for Chuck and I, then off we went for the U notch, a notch in the ridge between North Palisade and Polomonium Peaks. From this side, the south side, it was mostly scree and talus climbing until the upper third, then onto some more solid rock and talus. At the U Notch we met some other climbers, a group of three Sierra Clubbers climbing North Palisade, and a pair of hot dog rock climbers who knew little about mountaineering.
At the U notch we had a good view of the Palisade Glacier, since from the U notch to the north was about straight down to the Palisade Glacier thousands of feet straight own. From there we would climb below and upon the ridge of the Palisades to the east, to Polomonium Peak. The first pitch looked reasonable so I led it, hoping to give Chuck the fearsome appearing second lead. The pitch was quite exposed and after 80-90 feet I anchored with slings and belayed Chuck up. Then he did a pitch about the same as the first, with fairly easy moves and solid handholds, but very exposed. The third pitch took me over a jagged notch and to a very small belay spot on a blank wall, very exposed. Chuck followed and a few feet before reaching my belay spot climbed up a crack for 10 feet, then up some 3rd class for 20 feet. It’s a good thing he’s climbed this route before, because the route is impossible to find by using the climbers guide. The crack Chuck led was definitely 5th class and exposed, though he used no protection, and anchored himself with ‘biners and slings. From here I led through house sized boulders, over the tops and between them, to within 20 feet of the summit. Chuck led the last move onto the summit block of Polomonium Peak, and we rested. The summit block was dining table sized, and flat, one side vertical to the glacier below. I definitely didn’t hang my feet over the edge, and could barely peek over the edge.
We watched the rock climbers 400 yards to the west, on the other side of the U notch.
“What’s the big peak over there?” they asked.
“That is
North Palisade. It’s only a scramble
from where you are. You ought to go
climb it.” They had already done the hard part of the climb, climbing the
glacier and the wall of the U notch. They sure didn’t know much about the area if they didn’t know they were
on North Palisade, the most dominant and difficult peak in the area. Mike and I
had climbed it last year, so I preferred climbing a peak I hadn’t climbed
before, like Polomonium. One of them repelled down to the U notch. When he was down the one that was left called
down to him for instructions on how to rappel. Oh boy, that is a very dangerous thing to do with no practice. I guess they weren't so experienced at rock climging after all.
We had a short snack on the windy summit, then crossed a fluted snow field (8” fluting) and began the down climb of a notch in the ridge. This was definitely 4th class and exposed, and coming down last and without protection was uncomfortable. From the bottom of this notch we continued with 3rd class scrambling below the crest of the ridge, galloping to the summit of Sill in 30 minutes or so. It was really great to be climbing hard at 14,000 feet and not being really tired, just breathing strongly. On the peak of Sill we opened the register and what the Hell? A book but no pencil! A quick assessment showed us having as writing materials: water, powdered tea, chocolate, coffee powder, and hard candy. One letter at a time I wrote the date and our names with water, then sprinkled instant coffee on the wet letter. The effect was rather distinctive, looking like curdled, dried blood.
From Sill we bombed down to the east in the large bowl created by Sill and the peak we named Sucker Peak when we had climbed it with Wally, thinking it was Sill. Then we traversed around the shoulder of the rock to the south , and came around at a point to the east of the Barrett lakes. Here the snow was soft and we could tell that our planned route over the cross country pass of last years 9 day trop would be very hard with the snow cover of this year. We sloshed out way back down to the Barrett Lakes and had supper before dark. A conference concerning routes resulted in a change of plans. Because of the snow cover at this elevation, we would bong straight down and rejoin the Muir Trail some 3 miles below the Palisade Lakes rather than stay high on the cross country route that had been so nice last year.
We reached the Palisade Lakes at mid afternoon and spent an afternoon in the sun, writing letters and sleeping. Camp was open, spread out, protected and lovely in a stand of pines. Cheesecake for dessert but not enough food to fill us. We had a good campfire into the night talking about fencing and swimming then went to be bed hungry. The trouble was, I couldn’t bitch about the food because I had planned it. Sorry about that folks. The moon tonight was so bright you could actually read a book by it. A very lovely view of the lakes and the moon. Hungry as hell.
Chuck returned to my lake an hour or so later, and we left for Pinchot Pass at 4:00. We steamed across the high plateau and didn’t stop until we reached the Kings River. Here Chuck stopped to eat and said he was really wiped out. I don't why, I was feeling just fine. From the river we climbed out of its gorge and on toward Pinchot Pass. We would not make it before night and would possibly have to camp on this side of it the way things were going. We planned to stop and rest at Marjorie lake below the Pass and when we saw the world famous Toullumene Mob there we blessed them and dropped our butts for a rest.
Apparently Nancy had been wiped out
on the climb out of the Kings River and Conrad had decided she wouldn’t make it
over the pass and down to camp on the other side before dark. They had left the King’s river at 4:00, and
made camp at 5:00. We arrived at 6:00. We had enough food to eat tonight, and Chuck,
Nancy and I made two far out fruit cakes
with chocolate topping. We raided our
trail lunches for raisins, peanuts and chocolate for the cakes. This lake is very high and with very little wood. I wouldn’t camp here again if I needed a wood
fire.
Thursday: We tore over Pinchot Pass like a group of anemic turtles, with Steve and I bringing up the rear. On the top we watched a pilot buzz the Woods lake Valley below, again and again. He was mostly below is in elevation. Chuck and I went from the Pass to climb Pinchot Peak, a small peak near the pass.
Chuck and I ambled down toward the Rae lakes. The scenery around Woods lake is quite lovely and we moved slowly. On the climb toward Rae lake we started moving out and flew on as dusk deepened. At the lakes we didn’t see our people, but the hordes of scouts kept pointing us on toward the isthmus dividing the lake. We almost missed our group, which was camped on the top of a hill in the center of the isthmus. The mosquitoes were bad, but got fewer as evening deepened. We had fires late into the night with puddings for dessert and Chuck burnt our popcorn by trying to cook in on a Primus gas stove.
We ambled through the dry wooded area and explored some side trails. We had agreed to meet at the last water before the pass for lunch, and everyone gathered there at 2:00 or so except Chuck. Lunch was very leisurely, but no Chuck as of 3:00. The others left and I stayed to wait for Chuck, since several people had seen him behind us during the day. At 4:00, no Chuck, so I started back, jogging the 4 miles to the top of Glenn Pass. I jogged back and at our lunch spot where I had left my pack I met some hikers who bore a message from the Mob. Chuck had gotten ahead of us during the afternoon and everyone was on route to Onion Valley. That was a relief, but I had just jogged 8 miles in addition to the days mileage.
By now it was dark and I was tired. By the top of Kearsarge Pass I was really tired, and nearing total exhaustion as I drifted down the other side. Chuck met me when i was half way down, on his way up after me. At our camp in the campground at Onion Valley we had been rejoined by Madelyn accompanied by two of her friends. They brought beer and a party was in progress. We cooked supper and consumed as much food as was possible, then everyone drifted over to the Onion Valley store. Inside were the cowboys who ran the pack outfit, and we sat around telling lies about the trip and drinking beer. As the night wore on the refreshment flowed, and the cowboys sang a few cowboy songs. Kevin was becoming friendly, in a 15 year old Mormonish way, with the 16 year old waitress. The height of the evening came in the chug-a-lug contest. John and Man Mountain Steve drank against three cowboys, and Steve shut them all down.
At that we
left, all but Kevin, that is, who stayed for a few minutes to talk with the
waitress. After 5 minutes I went in after him and we went back to camp, swaying
all over the road. I had visions of Kevin’s parents showing up, and wondering
what the hell kind YMCA trip we ran. I
had a feeling that some parents might show up tomorrow to resupply clothes and
food. As Kevin and I staggered toward
camp, a car pulled up that looked suspiciously familiar. A window came down and my Mom’s head came out
and said “Hi, Bob.” I tried very hard to talk rationally and not with any
slurs, and got in the car to talk for a while. Kevin went on to camp and beer
cans there were hurriedly collected and stashed. Back in the car I chatted with Mom and
Dad. They had returned from Colorado
where they had bought property. Mike was
coming back on the hike for the last week, his muscle apparently doing better
and with a new pair of boots supplied by Kelty.
Ken was also on his way to join us for the last week. Jim Lawrence and Roger Bell were coming for a weekend backpack in the area.
John came down from camp and said hi to my folks, then I went with him back to camp. Kevin’s parents were on their way, we learned, and would have a cow if they found their 15 year old son drunk. I told him they were coming and to start thinking of getting sober. Actually he had only had four beers, but that was more than he had ever had, and he was definitely tipsy. We were all in bed my 11:00, and just as I was getting comfortable lying in the desert sand between sagebrush, a figure was over my head whispering “is this the Muir Trail group from Lancaster?”
“Yes” I said as I slid deeper into my bag. “Where is Kevin Anderson?” The air was silent except for a wind in the sage around us. “I think he’s over that way,” I directed them. They found him and talked in low tones for a few minutes before they left.
“Hey, Kevin, what did your Dad say?” someone asked.
“He said my Mother and brother are here and will have breakfast with me in Independence tomorrow.”
“Is that all?”
“Yeah. I don’t think he smelled my breath. He didn’t say anything.”
We finally got settled down again and I let the wind off the desert take me off to sleep.
Saturday: We would go in the cars of Ken Primmer, my folks and Kevin’s family to Big Pine for breakfast, and to restock on extra food and to replace worn out equipment. I had a fantastic greasy breakfast, and it totally filled me. We milled around town buying socks and shirts, and lots of breads, cakes, pudding, powdered milk, and candy, to supplement our prepacked menu. We then returned to Onion Valley by noon, bought more food at the store, and proceeded about the large job of unpacking our food bundles and dividing them up into cook groups. It seemed that all the pressure was off me now that Ken and Mike were with us. Chuck had told us the previous night that he would not be going on for the last week, but would go get his car and go home.
Sometime in
the afternoon we were finally ready, and ambled the two or three miles to Flower
lake. There we discussed plans for the
week, the fisher folk fished, and we just lazed in the sun. At supper we had spaghetti and Steve Jepson
spilled 100% of ours on the ground. We
dined on bread pudding and drinks. Steve
felt very bad, we felt very hungry.
Sunday: The plan was to get over Kearsarge Pass and as for up Bubbs Creek as the highest wooded campsite. Ken, Kevin, Mike and I left early and hiked fast to the Bubbs Creek area. Ken and Mike had much trouble keeping up with Kevin and I, because we were in awesome shape and used to the heavy packs. At the Bubbs Creek we dropped packs and climbed University Peak, a big scree pile. The run down was fast and furious, with lots of rocks in your socks. Back at the packs we found an unintelligible note from Conrad, something about right turns and river crossings. We found them at a camp half a mile upstream from us, and we set about a filling supper with dessert. We hoped to get an early start on Forester Pass, so we went to bed early.
“What time is it? Its still dark!” I said sleepily.
“5:00” said Madelyn.
“Christ!” I exclaimed, and rolled in my bag to catch at least another hour of sleep.
Madelyn wasn’t making any friends on this Monday morning. After trying to get me up she went to the members of her cook group. She told Conrad that she was going to the stream for water and if he wasn’t up she’d pour water on him. He wasn’t up so she did pour water on him, a full quart of ice cold water, and from his own water bottle at that! Later that day Madelyn requested to be in another cook group, so we put her in with me and food spilling Steve Jepson!
After the excitement of Conrad’s baptism we did get a good start and churned up Forester Pass. We met a large pack train coming down this side of the pass with the brand of a triangle inside a circle, which we learned was three corner round. They had spent two or three days cutting the path in the snow fields for their mules to get down. It sure is easier to be on two legs once in a while. On the pass we had lunch and Ken found a pure white Polomonium, the purest white I’ve ever see this high altitude plant, which is usually blue.
From the top of Forester we straggled out and headed for the night’s destination: the first water and wood on the other side, the Wright lakes. As a group we hiked very slowly this afternoon, although Ken and Mike and I did some bombing as we left 30 minutes behind everyone from the pass and passed everyone before Wright lakes. We were all fairly tired at these lakes, and lazed around a few hours before supper. The fishermen scouted the area and saw a few fish in holes to be tried the next day, which was a layover.
Mike and I planned to meet at one of the high Wright Lakes, but when Ken and I got there he wasn’t to be seen. I sunned while Ken fished, and after an hour or so we heard a shout, very far away. It was Mike, but he was very high up on a wall to the south of the lake.
Ken stayed and I went up to meet Mike. He had found a section of rocks which was pulling away from the main wall in a 20 foot slice, just like a piece of cheese being cut off a block. Where it was coming off a trough was formed, ten feet deep vertical walls that looked like Mayan masonry. We were joined at the stoneworks by Kevin, who had been hiking by himself in the area. This young fellow is very mature for his age, and will be a fine mountaineer if he keeps it up.
We all speculated about the mysterious stone walled trench, then headed together toward Bernard Pk. This was a class 1 walkup, but the view was fantastic. In the registers, which dated back to the 1920s, we found lots of Norman Clyde signatures, 3 or 4. There was no wind, and the view of Whitney was very good. To the north east stood the mighty Mt. Williamson, a very imposing peak from any angle. To the west the Kaweahs shimmered in the distance across the Kern Trench. We had lunch and ran out of our short supply of water, then headed down through much scree and a field of nice polomoniums.
Back at camp we found that the fishing had been fantastic, and Kevin hurried to go get some fish at a higher lake. Ken had caught lots of fish, thrown most of them back and apparently all the cook groups had enough to add to their meals. We had a campfire around a huge fire built by John. Its very stupid to have such a large fire. White man build large fire, stand far back, Indian build small fire, stand close.
The topic of the evening was what our plans for the next few days would be. The itinerary decided by the group at Flower lake would have us move the next day to the Wallace lakes for a layover there, then to the top of Whitney friday night, and down to the cars on Sat. Some people thought that the trip from Wallace to Whitney was too hard. This group wanted another layover here at Wright lakes, Thursday to Hitchcock lake, Fri over trail crest to the portal.
Some of us didn’t care for this plan because it would mean a layover in the same place for two days, plus missing the beautiful scenery, climbing, and fishing of the Wallace lakes, where we had been before a few years earlier on a 9 day trip. Its advantage was that it evened out the mileage. The final split was mostly old time hikers opposed to newer hikers, and the perfect solution was the splitting into two groups. To go to Wallace lakes were Ken, Mike, me, Chris Hughes, and Conrad. We were to meet the others at the top of Whitney and spend the night there, then hike down to the Whitney Portal together.
lake where two years earlier we had left Wendy and Byron when we climbed
Constitution.
Wales lake looked the same as always, spectacular. At Tulainyo Lake the clounds were dark above us and a cold wind whipped us. To climb Russell we went up a 3rd class rock wall south of the lake, then hung a sharp right and started on some exposed 2nd and 3rd class to the first summit. This we signed in at the register, and continued to the true summit as the clouds swirled in on us, then were swept away by wind. The main mass of clouds was over Mt. Whitney, and I was watching for lightning there. Usually all the clouds that reached the summit of Russell were wisps and fragments of the big clouds massed over Mt. Whitney. We took the register to an overhang and read it over lunch, interrupted by runs out to look at rainbows and rain on the Kaweahs and Owens Valley and stuff like that. We got a small amount of rain and small hail.
The register was a good one, rich in old time climbers and mountain history. In 1943, the register said, a man signed in, followed by the signature of a ranger looking for the same man, who went missing. The ranger assumed he had headed down the north face and would look there for him. The next entry was a further explanation. The Ranger had found the man’s body at the bottom of the north face, which he had tried to descend and had apparently fallen to his death. We had passed the place where he fell, and would pass it again on the way out. That was kind of creepy.
When the clouds cleared for a minute we packed up and left, moving as fast as possible while remaining safely on the rock and the route. Before going to Tulainyo Lake we climbed nearby Carillon, signed in fast, and continued to Constitution Pk.
There we found that one Raul DeSoto had climbed the peak since our ascent in 1969, and left a piece of paper. We left a notebook and pencil in a bandaid can and entered our ascent of 1969 as the first recorded ascent, entering DeSoto after us, then adding an explanation of the placing of the register. We covered the register with a few rocks on the highest point, which is where other climbers would look first for it.
We descended down Constitution, crossed to Tunnabora, and drew in the awesome view of the entire Owens Valley below us. Near exhaustion we started back to camp, which we reached before dark. There we were surprised by the fantastic breads Ken had baked, one with chocolate topping that he had made out of the chocolate bars from our lunches. We had one bread for supper as the sun turned the Kaweah Peaks orange, and after supper made another bread, the best of all, that we planned to carry with two others to the top of Mt. Whitney the next day. After the bread baking we went to bed, planning to get up early for the long day to the top of Mount Whitney.
After dinner we gathered wood and filled our packs to overflowing with all the wood we could carry, planning to use it to cook with on top of Whitney. With packs heavier than anything we started up the pass, stopping at a stream to fill every container we had with water. We trudged in a cold breeze for a long time, and after seemingly endless switchbacks reached Trail Crest, the top of the pass. From there it was a mile or so of more of less level walking to the peak. As we reached Trail Crest we met Steve, John and Nancy going down the other side of the portals. They and the rest of the group had decided not to spend a night on the peak in bad weather, probably a sane decision, but not the most rewarding. We were well enough equipped to survive any weather, although rain or snow would certainly be uncomfortable. The five of us had been looking forward to sleeping on the top too much to give up the plan.
As we regrouped at Trail Crest the cloud cover showed signs of breaking up, and the sun finally fought its way through to us. The warmth was really a blessing as we hauled on packs and continued carrying these water and wood filled packs at 14,000+ feet, toward the top of Mt. Whitney about a mile away and 200 feet higher than us. Below Muir Peak Chris, Ken and Mike dropped packs and went to climb the “little “ 14,000 bump.
Conrad was becoming sick from the exertion and elevation, almost to the point of throwing up, so I stayed with him, thinking I’d have time to climb Muir on the way out in the morning. Conrad and I continued slowly on the sky trail toward Whitney, battered between the pinnacles and notches with very strong winds. At one notch we found thousands of small squares of colored paper with an inscription in Tibetan (?) and mysterious figures dancing across the page. As we puzzled over them the turtle back of Whitney was bathed in a gold light, and we stumbled on, halfway expecting a holy revelation at the summit. As Conrad and I did the last switchback onto the summit the three tigers came steaming up behind us. Conrad stopped to rest and I went on with Ken to the register at the cabin. We signed in and went off to look for a campsite as clouds raged around the peak whipped by super winds.
On the top of Whitney it was a flat area with a stone hut. The surrounding area was flat, with large rocks raised only a few feet above a bed of smaller rocks, so we just got away from a larger group that was camping near the cabin, and hoped that
1. it wouldn’t rain or snow
2. the wind would quit
3. the sun would come out
Ken lost a contact lens just before the sun went down, so we all froze our butts trying to find it. When we did (it was in his cuff) the sun had turned the west a beautiful orange, with clouds lined in gold that made a cold night seem like a small price to pay for such a sight.
I found a far out place to sleep. It was a rock slab that had a space under it just big enough for all of me but one leg. I put my tube tent around me and my bag, and wormed my way in, leaving my head out till it started raining later that night. When I was fully inside it was like a casket, but water ran down from the top of the rock and slowly, over a period of hours, soaked my down sleeping bag. I couldn’t see the world outside and slept in spurts till dawn. I dreamed that Beth had come to see me, and was too cold to sleep. She came over to my bag to get in with me and be warm. She shook my shoulder to wake me….
“Bob, Bob” said Chris Hughes, shaking my shoulder.
“What?” I said, unzipping my bag to let Beth in.
“Bob, there’s snow all over and its falling fast,” said Chris.
“Damn! Lets get out of here before the trail is covered!” What a disappointment! It was Chris instead of Beth.
As I worked my way out of the rock crack I saw a world of gray and white, with the sky engulfed in clouds and the ground muffled in 2 inches of snow. The wind was strong and cold. Everyone was getting up, and we hurriedly dumped the 400 pounds of wood out of our packs, poured out 65 gallons of water, and either stuffed our sleeping bags in stuff sacs, or just jammed then into our now empty packs. I saw Ken fooling with his fishing pole, trying to get it in his pack, then he just snapped it in half and jammed it in his pack. Within ten minutes we were off down the trail, ponchos flapping in the wind and everyone soaked. We had 18 miles to hike to reach the car.
The snowline was very high, above trail crest, and from there we were splattered by rain. On the switchbacks the water was inches deep and after a time we gave up trying to keep out feet dry, and just went splashing through puddles.
The water on the trail finally did my boots in, and the sole of one boot came loose from the arch to the toe. I had to throw it out and drag it back to walk in it, and even so I often turned in under. We bombed down to Trail Camp, and stopped there for a rest and to eat one of our breads. I took my boots off and put on running shoes. The place was alive with a group of scouts, with tube tents all over the place and kids running around everyplace. We must have looked like something strange, ponchos over huge packs, bearded and brandishing ice axes. We continued down and finally the clouds cleared and the rain stopped in Bighorn meadows.
We were not in the mood to stop and take off our ponchos, and we just barreled down the trail looking very out of place, but feeling like it was the people coming up carrying Coleman lanterns and thermos jugs who were out of place. The day trippers were amazing in the assortment of trivia that they hauled up the trail, from lawn chairs to coleman stoves and picnic baskets.
Gravity pulled us down and down, and we finally reached Whitney Portals and rejoined the rest of our group. They had spend the night, been rained on, and had missed the spectacle of the Whitney sunset. They found it hard to believe that if we were to do it again, we would chose to spend the night on Whitney and hike out in the rain. The last day and night was the best of the trip, especially since I was with people who had shared many experiences and good times in the mountains before. We all felt very good about a difficult job well done.
I was also very glad that the endless hassle was over and swore never to do it again. The only way is with a small group of good friends. We piled in cars and headed to the store at Olancha, tanked up on food, and went out to Dirty Sox hot springs for a splash.
We had hiked 227 miles, climbed 17 peaks, and backpacked for 28 days. Some clean clothes and a shower would be nice.
Notes immediately after the trip for next time:
1. fewer people, 6 at most, 4 would fine. A one week trip might help before the longer one.
2. More food. The quality of ours was OK, but there just wasn’t enough for the big guys or for when we were really burning lots of calories.
3. the food drops were OK once we got them organized, but it would be nice to simplify them, perhaps buying at stores wherever we came out, perhaps mailing packaged drops to post offices.
4. it would be nice to take five or six weeks instead of 4. More time should be spent in the Evolution area for sure, also the Palisades. The pace of the last week was good.
Love the old gear!!! :-)
Posted by: Rand | August 08, 2009 at 03:01 PM