Author: Carolyn Higgins

Starting at Upper Cathedral Lakes, I make my way ten miles to the Little Yosemite Valley Backpacker’s Camp where I spend my last night on the John Muir Trail. And wake up to walk the five numbing miles into the Yosemite Valley and my JMT finish Line.

Day 26: Upper Cathedral Lakes

Good Morning!

I slept ok. It was warmer last night,  so that helped. But the splits at the end of my fingers throbbed all night and the moisture on my down bag was annoying.  The condensation has been a lot worse since hitting Yosemite.  

It’s a gorgeous morning.  Clear skies – well sort of – there are some clouds. But no smoke! I’m enjoying my coffee, taking in the gorgeous morning view of Cathedral Peak; its jagged peak monopolizing the morning sky.  I’m waiting for the sun to hit my camp to dry my tent and bag before packing up and hitting the trail.

What a difference landscape makes. Those long monotonous days in the woods were tough. Now, being in Yosemite among the granite peaks towering over pristine mountain lakes, inspiration is alive again.  It’s so peaceful and serene. Quiet. Just a gentle breeze and the chattering of squirrels and gentle tweets of birds starting their day.

I just heard a knocking in the woods behind me. I realized I didn’t startle. I continued writing and sipping my coffee. Eventually, I turned out of curiosity, not fear. The benefit of 25 days on the trail. Nothing out here wants to eat me, indeed!

Evening at Tent City aka: Little Yosemite Valley Backpacker’s Camp

This feels like a refuge camp.  I know that sounds terrible, since refuge camps are literal refuges for people who’ve suffered terrible things. But when I think of one of those camps, I envision a place packed full of tents and people and that’s what Little Yosemite looks like (minus the suffering).

This is the base camp for the Half Dome Climb and the excitement swirls in the air like a tornado. I’d thought I might make the climb (it’s included in the JMT permit), but honestly, I don’t think I can. I’m too tired and beat up and it’s a challenging – and dangerous – climb. I think it would be reckless to attempt it in my current state of exhaustion.

Ick. This is not what I’d imagined my last not on the trail to be.  It’s interesting how last night felt like my last night. I think I knew, with a name like “Little Yosemite” it would be crowded. I

It took me a while to find an spot with enough breathing room to pitch my tent. I ended up on the fringe of the camp,  near a group of younger women just over a downed Ponderosa trunk from me. After 25 days alone on the trail, this is the loneliest I’ve felt; surrounded by all these strangers.

I hiked about ten miles today over slick granite river beds, through lush Fir and Pine forests and acres and acres of post-apocalyptic-looking burned out woodlands of charred Ponderosa, Pine and Fir trunks.  It was eerie at first to be among all that death and destruction. But when I looked closer, I saw signs of life emerging. Sprigs of green sprouting from ash.  Tiny saplings fighting for life and light in the thick of the scorched bones of their ancestors. Little birds flitting and bobbing amid the stoic ghosts, relocating, rebuilding, reviving.

The day drew out as I trudged up and down hill after hill, after endless hill (all downhill my ass!).  It was another day of ups and downs, both figuratively and literally.  Heat. Sweat.  Layers of trail dirt and grime rolling off my face. Tears. Frustration. No water. Devastation. Clouds.  Smoke. Exhaustion.  Even a few rain drops, the humidity making my filthy clothes cling to my skin as I climbed mile after mile after mile of dusty trail. Only to end my day,  with the hope of a peaceful riverside camp site yanked away as I entered the hustle and bustle of the backpacker’s camp at Little Yosemite Valley.

Since entering Yosemite I’ve noticed a ton more signs telling visitors what they can and cannot do, where to go, how to be. Rules and regulations to manage the millions of visitors this park receives each year. Crowds, clueless day hikers, fat squirrels (see clueless day hikers), sandy, beat up trails, tons of off- limits places closed for restoration due to the visiting masses who never bother venturing more than a few miles outside the valley, to explore the real Yosemite.   I already miss freedom. Solitude.

But I’m also wishing I felt less relieved that tomorrow is the end of my hike.  One part of me feels soothed by it and the other is sad the adventure is ending. Time will sprint forward, the pain and exhaustion will shrink away, leaving only memories of the magic of the trail that has been hard to appreciate through the haze of aches, pains, exhaustion, dirt and grime.

What a journey!

I’m laying in my tent now listening to the bustle of excited hikers all around me and the twenty-something year old ladies next to me chatting away about jobs and boyfriends as they lay in their tent.  I’m reminded of similar conversations with my best friends at that age. I smile. It’ll be nice to see my friends. And Capone!

The sun is barely below the horizon and I’m ready to sleep.

5 more miles to go…

Day 27- Morning at Little Yosemite Valley

Good morning. I’m packing up and getting ready for my last day on the John Muir Trail.  Wow.

It’s quite an anti-climactic final morning, waking up in an icky crowded backpacking camp. On the bright side, on the way to the bathroom (yes there are pit toilets here) there’s an amazing view of Half Dome.

I slept very well. It was warm enough that I didn’t even have to zip my bag. But I’m sore from the tippy- top of my head to the tips of my toenails.

Just five more miles. A final hike toward Vernal Falls and then a huge descent into the Valley. 

Gong back is going to be hard! Being out here has been so challenging and has pushed me to my limits. But at least I knew I was alive. Home is merely existence. This is living.

Home is uninspired. Unfulfilling. I guess the question is what can I do to change that?   Different work? A new apartment, city or state? More volunteer work? Something to think about as I hike today- and in the weeks and months to come…

___________________________________________________________

My last mile down the hill from Vernal falls into Happy Isles Yosemite Valley were surreal.  The day hikers sluggishly tromping up the stone steps toward Vernal Falls moved past me in slow motion, their curious eyes probing me. Why am I thinking of Orwell? 1984? Robots?

I tumbled down the stairs. Exhausted and numb. Do I cry? Laugh? Celebrate? Run back into the safety and solitude of the forest?

I had no idea what I felt as the trail faded away behind me. I felt nothing – and everything – all at once.

A voice screamed inside me:  TURN AROUND. GO BACK… HIKE THE OTHER WAY!!!  

I felt out of place; alien. My brain was prodding me. Trying to motivate me into feeling something. What? It prattled on as I closed in on my finish line, spitting words at me: “Done!”; “Celebrate!”; “Happy!”; “Proud!”; “Accomplishment!”.

 Is that the Rocky theme?

As my cheerleader brain tried  to to pump me up, my confused psyche remained numb. I hurt. So hard. It’s over. I want to go back.

Two hours later in Curry Village

I’m done!!!  I made it! I just finished my solo hike of the John Muir Trail (plus some). 256 miles in 26 ½ days.

I laughed, I cried, I celebrated, I cursed, I sweat, I bled, I ached. But it was worth every second.

I’ve poured myself into a comfy overstuffed chair inside the Curry Village lodge (an actual chair!) after purchasing a lovely cup of Peet’s coffee with caramel and almond milk.  I’ve been here for a long time. I may, in fact be stuck in this chair! My aching body is sooo happyI guess civilization does have its perks!

______________________

Nightfall at the Backpackers campground in Yosemite Valley

I’m sitting at a picnic table eating the rest of the chocolate bark I bought at Tuolumne Meadows, studying at the maps of where I’ve been the last 26 days and scanning my journal.  Reading through the pages, my daily mileage and where I’ve been, I don’t even remember some of the places I camped already (a pond below Pinchot Pass?).

As I sit here looking at the forest around me it’s hard to believe I’ve lived out here for 26 days. I’ll miss it. Going back to being cooped up in that tiny apartment is not filling me with joy at the moment. My mind is flashing images of a hamster trapped in a cage. Bleh.

I had fun hanging out in the Valley and riding the shuttle today. I’d never done that before. I usually avoid the crowded, busy Valley like the plague. But today, without a car and a day to kill until my ride gets here, I got to play tourist. I’ll admit, it felt kinda good – if not strange- to be among society again.   Though it feels a bit alien. Fake. Put on. Superficial.  It just feels weird.

Fun to watch – and fascinating – but I don’t relate. Their groups and families and babies and couples. All doing things together. Clumped in small campsites at the crowded Valley campgrounds. Suburban sprawl in Yosemite.   Young couples in love, mothers and fathers struggling to control toddlers, grandparents solemnly soaking it all in. Some looking happy, others utterly miserable.

Despite the variety of stories and emotions I witnessed on the shuttle and at Curry Village today the thing that struck me was their connections to one another. I guess that’s what I don’t really get. How easy it seems for most people to be with others. To do things together.  I can hear the two young women – in their twenties – in the camp next to me chatting away with a familiar ease and comfort. I just sat here, alone at my picnic table listening to how relaxed they were together. Friends. Not sure I’ve ever been that relaxed with anyone without trying too hard to connect and be likeable.

Maybe this trip will give me that – the ability to relax. To be at peace with who I am and stop trying so damn hard to be loved. Maybe a softer, quieter, not-so-desperate-for-approval Carolyn will emerge.

Who knows…?

13.1 miles, 238 Total. Sunset/dinnertime

It’s been a great day.  It wasn’t easy. But overall a great day. I got to plug my phone in at the store at Tuolumne Meadows (TM) and verify that it will charge – very slowly- but at least it charges.  I don’t know what happened to my Suntactic solar charger, it won’t charge my phone at all anymore, so it was a relief to learn it’s the Solar Panel and not my phone.  However, for some reason my phone isn’t holding a charge.   The cold nights must have fried the battery.  I’m relieved I can at least get in touch with my friends and connect to my world when I get off trail.

I was also able to confirm my plans with my friend Steve:  I’ll get to the Yosemite Valley backpackers camp the day after tomorrow and he’ll pick me up the next day to drive me back to my car at the Cottonwood Meadows Trail Head in Lone Pine. Despite the challenges I faced at the beginning of this whole adventure, it’s working itself out. Thank goodness for my friend Steve, who generously offered to drive from the Bay Area to help me out, so I don’t have to hitch the 200 miles or so!

I also got to check on Capone! When I called Camp Four Paws and they told me he’s “happy” and “content”, I cried with relief. He’s alive – and doing “great”!   I bet the job of the staff is as much about reassuring worried doggy parents as it is taking care of the dogs. But at least now I know he’ll be there when I get back in a few days!   I can’t wait! I literally felt lighter, like I’d pulled 100 pounds of rocks out of my backpack. I should have called sooner!  

At some point today as I labored up yet another hill, I realized I haven’t had a zero day since Sallie Keys Lake, ten days ago. I probably should have taken a day after my resupply at Red’s to rest.  But being so close to the end, I just wanted to push trough. I’ve been anxious to get back to Capone.  Now that I know he’s ok, I don’t feel the need to rush: I have three days to cover twenty miles. I can hike as slow or as fast as I want.

It seemed to take forever to get to TM this morning. I hadn’t realized that Tuolumne Meadows Proper is huger and isn’t just a store and café.  I had a bit of a false summit moment there, thinking I’d reached my destination only to realize I hadn’t. TM central has a lodge, a ranger station and employee camp. The campground and store are a few miles away.  I wandered around the huge confusing compound feeling frustrated and lost until I finally got a ride from someone (more on that in a minute).

The hike out of TM was a long steady climb on a soft wooded trail cushioned by millennia of crushed pine needles and dirt.  It could have been treacherous, but after all the passes I’ve climbed, it really wasn’t too bad, even with a few of my usual bouts of grumpiness and WTF moments. At the end of the day, I ended up in the most perfect spot you can imagine at Upper Cathedral Lake.  My camp is nestled in a forest of Pine and Fir trees, anchored on one side by giant slabs of granite. About 20 yards behind me is the Upper Cathedral Lake which mirrors the majestic Cathedral Peak in its still cool cobalt water.

I plan to hike about ten miles to the Little Yosemite Backpacker Camp tomorrow night which is just about five miles from the Valley floor. I suspect it’ll be crowded, being so close to everything and I have a feeling this is my last real night on the trail.  How fitting that I’m spending it in the presence of the noble and majestic Cathedral Peak, Mother Nature’s holy shrine.  As though it’s dramatic, rising presence is paying homage to the wild and humble beauty of Yosemite National Park and personally, marking the end of my John Muir Trail journey.

My improved and relaxed mood allowed me to meet some interesting people on the trail today.  I met Lori from Montana, a petite woman about my age, full of nervous energy who’s starting the JMT solo tomorrow. She was exiting the permit office when I asked her where the store is.  She offered me a ride, anxious to pick my brain about the trail. I hesitated for a full minute, debating whether I wanted to give in and ride rather than hike the two miles. Will this be cheating?  I want to walk the entire JMT, skipping these two miles won’t be right. But then my throbbing feet sharply scolded me: “Oh hellll noooo. You’re taking the fucking ride.”

My feet won.

What’s a mile or two in the scheme of things anyway? I mean, with starting at Cottonwood and the resupply in Independence (and crossing Kearsarge Pass twice), I added about 40 miles to the 211-mile JMT as it is. I don’t think getting a ride for two miles is the end of the world. Lori was grateful for all my knowledge of the trail and I was grateful for the ride.

I also met a nice couple from San Diego who were heading to Lyell Canyon for the weekend and told me there was no water until Merced which was about 15 miles away.  The husband enthusiastically shook my hand and congratulated me for what I’ve accomplished as we parted ways, going opposite directions on the trail.   All day long I met day and weekend hikers who were anxious to hear about my adventures of spending 24 days alone on the trail. Many of them expressed regret that they could only dream of hiking the trail. I received so much encouragement and so many “congratulations” and “you inspire me’s”.  It was kind of hard to take in. What? I just hiked and whined for 24 days and I ache all over. So what? 

But then I remembered my first few days on the trail and being in awe of the thru-hikers I met. Many of whom looked as weary and exhausted as I feel.

About a week ago, as I put a hundred miles or so behind me, I realized I’d hiked my way out of newbie status and into veteran status. I kept meeting hikers who started 7, 5, 3 days ago and I was all “wow, you’re fast.” It took me a bit to realize no, that’s just how far I’ve come and how close I am to the end.  I was 7, 5, 3 days away from the end!  And it dawned on me, I’m now one of the people I was inspired by and in awe of at the beginning. I’ve done it. Holy cow. I’ve done it.
When I thought of it like that, it dawned me: I think I might be proud of myself!

The sun has just slipped below the horizon and a few sparkling stars are claiming the dusky sky. It’s too warm to go in my tent so I lay sprawled on my bag atop a giant granite rock above my camp watching the night sky edge out the day. I try to stretch away the aches in my legs, feet and back.   I didn’t sleep well last night because my hips were hurting so bad. I already took some Ibuprofen with my dinner of rehydrated potato curry and Bobo’s lemon bar; I hope it helps. Sleeping on the ground for 24 nights doesn’t help refresh an achy trail-weary body.  

Several people traipsed through the forest around me scouting for a spot to pitch a tent late this afternoon after I set up. Luckily, they camped far enough away that I don’t see or hear them.  It’s just the hush of nature and the not-so-subtle roar of airplanes above; an unfortunate side-effect of Yosemite’s geography. It’s lies below the flightpaths of planes from Los Angeles to Seattle, Vegas to Reno and San Francisco to Phoenix.  It seems every airplane in the country flies over Yosemite. It kind of harshes the mellow of nature and serves as a constant reminder that no matter how far I trek into the woods, civilization prowls all around me.

I lay on the rock thinking of the fun day I had loitering at the TM store and Grille, using the outlet inside the store to charge my phone, texting people and soaking up the celebratory mood of happy RVers and campers on vacation.  I especially enjoyed feeling like legitimate hiker trash; grungy, serene and  with nowhere to be, perfectly content sitting on the warm blacktop with my back against the store, backpack next to me waiting for my phone to charge. I felt free. However, it appeared there was more legitimate hiker trash mulling about – people who looked like they live deep in the forest all summer long – or maybe they were SOBO PCT hikers. Whatever their stories, they looked like they’d been on the trail a lot longer than 25 days!  I could tell by their long beards, tiny packs and shredded boots. Yep, I’m baby hiker trash!

The store at TM  is stocked full of everything a hiker, camper or passing tourist could want; from the usual junk food fare, ice, bumper stickers, magnets and shot glasses to batteries, lanterns, t-shirts, fishing gear, mouthwash, allergy medicine, ice cold drinks, Mountain House meals, stove fuel, socks, hats and even fresh fruit.  I bought some vegan dark chocolate bark with almonds and sea salt, a banana, waterproof Band-Aids (to try again to cover my fingertips which still have the open and excruciatingly painful splits), and more ibuprofen. I packed a lot of “vitamin I” but it wasn’t nearly enough.

I was so excited to see a veggie burger on the menu at the Grille. I sat at a picnic table outside among the shiny happy tourists who watched me curiously as I devoured a black bean burger and a big order of thick delicious steak fries smothered in catsup and hot sauce and washed it down with an extra-large ice-cold Arnold Palmer (extra ice!).  I’m filthy and my clothes are hanging off me. I’m quite a sight; confirmed by my first look in the mirror in 24 days. I couldn’t believe my eyes! I’ve lost some weight! I can’t wait to go home and try on all my clothes to see how much I’ve actually lost (I don’t own a scale).

After my long relaxing break at the store, it was time to get back on the trail.   It was difficult to find it.  After walking through the campground two or three time searching in vain for the trail, I was told I had to walk down the busy paved road about ½ mile.  I still couldn’t find the trail and wandered up and down the road several times before asking some local “residents” at a camp in the woods where the trail was.  They pointed me back down the road about a quarter mile where I finally found it and started my climb. Back into the woods and on the trail, one day closer to the end.

I’m in my tent now about to call it a day. It was hard to tear myself away from the gorgeous night and close out what feels like my last night, but I need to rest up for tomorrow: my last full day on the trail.  

1-mile past Ireland Lake/Vogelsong Junction, almost sunset                  

14.6 miles, 214.6 total

It’s a new day. Yesterday is gone. I feel great and it’s going to be a good day.   This is what I was telling myself as I packed up my camp at Thousand Island Lake this morning and hit the trail around 7:00. As I began my thirteen-hundred-foot assent toward Donahue pass, I was optimistic:  Donahue Pass is my last pass above eleven thousand feet, it’s going to be tough. But I got this! 

The terrain has been changing with each step and passing day: from the dramatic glaciated granite above the tree line of the John Muir Wilderness to metavolcanic glaciated mountains of Mount Ritter and Banner Peak in Inyo.  At 11,066’ Donahue pass is the 6^th highest pass on the JMT. And I had 6.3 miles of climbing to get there.

I kept my rosy outlook for the first half of the day, traipsing through Ansel Adams Wildness and Inyo National Forest, over Island Pass, which at 10,205’ wasn’t a walk in the park, but I lumbered up it in relatively good spirits.  Eight down, two to go! (Technically, TEN passes down: I climbed Kearsarge Pass twice for my resupply in Independence, but this isn’t included in the ‘official’ pass count for the JMT)

On the north side of Island Pass I stopped for a snack at the cutoff for Waugh and Gem Lakes, found a cozy spot next to a stream and pulled my day’s food out of the front pocket of my pack. I still had a few of the cardboard flavored Ener-G Flax Crackers relatively intact so I smothered them with Justin’s maple almond butter and wolfed them down with a chaser of water treated with iodine and infused with Nuun lemon fizzy flavor to cover the iodine flavor. I studied the map as I ate and was surprised and elated that I’d covered so much ground already.  I’d descended 600 feet from Island Pass, so I had another 1500′ to climb. Wow, only 1500 more feet over 3.5 miles to Donahue Pass. Easy Peasy!

Yeah, we know how that story ended, don’t we? 

NEVER.

EVER.

EVER.

Say anything on this trail is going to be easy.

EVER!!!

There is no such thing as easy on the JMT.  How many times am I going to let myself fall for that? Well, luckily, not too many more chances left!

There was nothing easy about it.  It was pure torture. If you look up “torture” in the dictionary it’ll have a picture of the NOBO climb up Donahue Pass. It was so long and drawn out.  A mixture of flat-ish and uphill trail sprinkled with rocks and sand and of course the dreaded sasquatch steps. And the false summits!  OMG, they put Glen Pass to shame. 

The last thousand feet of the climb was steep with uneven steps built for giants with lanky ten-foot legs, baby steps built for leprechauns and big rocks littering the trail that made navigation even more challenging.  I thought it would never end.  And my refreshed body was soon replaced by my twenty-four days and two-hundred-miles on-the-trail-body.

 I was in hell. I whimpered and cried my way to the top one baby step at a time. For real this time. I bawled like a baby as I dragged my heavy feet up that damn mountain. I came oh-so close to plopping my ass on a stupid Giant Sasquatch step in the middle of the trail and falling apart. I really thought I’d reached my breaking point. Well, I wanted to have reached my breaking point.  But what the hell was I gonna do? Quit? Push that evil red button on my SPOT and be airlifted out because my feet hurt? Hell no! I. Must. Move. Forward. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how exhausted and achy I was, I had to keep moving forward, even it if was just an inch at a time.

And alas, I pushed through. One baby step after another. One inch at a time. Aching, whining, cursing… and finally… finally, the end came. I made it.  Stupid Donahue Pass.

I cried when I finally reached the top. Yosemite! I’m in Yosemite. I fucking WALKED to Yosemite!

I dropped my pack, plopped down on the flattest rock I could find and guzzled Nuun flavored water from my Nalgene, gobbled a handful of Orange flavored Bolt Energy Chews and trail mix and breathed in the victory. I did it! I climbed another eleven-thousand-foot pass.  I’m in fucking Yosemite.

To the north were thousands of acres of vast rolling hills and mountains blanketed in Pine, Fir, Incense Cedar and Sequoia.   I gazed at mountains and terrain I’d been backpacking for decades, from my very first backpacking trip near Vogelsong to Glen Aulin when I was just twenty-five.  It felt familiar. It felt like home.  I felt a twinge of sadness that my journey was so close to its end.

Now I get to go downhill the rest of the way! At least that’s what all the SOBOers told me: “It’s downhill from Donahue pass into Yosemite,” they promised with cheerful knowing smiles.   We’ll see!

Coming down the north side of Donahue Pass was almost as brutal as going up Donahue Pass. Steep. Very steep. Big granite steps, tiny granite steps, running water over slippery river rocks, sand, dirt, pebbles, broken rock of all sizes and shapes. For two or three miles. Downhill.  Slow and easy… And finally, I reached the bottom.

Entering Lyell Canyon was everything I expected it to be.  A lush green sub-alpine meadow trimmed with conifers and dwarfed by mountains of granite on the eastern side. It was alive with wildlife; ducks, birds, chipmunks and squirrels. At the beginning of the meadow I passed several adequate camping spots on the edge of the meadow, but decided to push deeper into the canyon, not knowing the entire east side of the trail, close to the meadow, is under restoration and closed for camping! That means I had to climb up the rocky hillside on the west side to find a camping spot.

I ambled along the flat and wooded trail another mile and a half or so scanning the steep hillside on the opposite side searching for someplace flat enough to pitch my tent.  After scrambling up a few hillsides, I finally, found a spot above the trail: home for the night. 

It was another tough day, but on the bright side, I climbed TWO passes and had some gorgeous views I had a peaceful lunch by a babbling creek and Lyell Canyon is gorgeous. I met a nice Australian couple, got good miles in and it’s warm enough to sleep without my rain-fly tonight and it’s going to be another moonless night.  Not that I’ll be awake long enough to do any stargazing. Hopefully.

I’ll sit here and watch the happy ducks on the little pond in the meadow below me as I eat my dinner of black beans and rice followed by a cup of chamomile tea and a BoBos lemon oatmeal bar.   I look forward to putting on my clean merino wool base layer and crawling inside my bag.

I’m only four miles from Tuolumne Meadows. Holy crap. I’ve hiked 214 miles!

I’m looking forward to Tuolumne Meadows.  It’s a popular camper and hiker spot with a small store, gas station and fast food takeout place. I’ll be able to plug in my nearly dead phone at the camp store and have lunch at the hamburger stand. I heard they have a veggie burger!  It’ll be good to eat something besides reconstituted mush. Maybe I’ll call Camp Four Paws to see how Capone is doing. I keep having this panicky feeling that he died. What if he died?  What if I get off the trail and he’s gone? I mean he’s not a young dog. Anything could happen. My first dog, JT was just seven when he laid down by the side of the house and died while I was at work.

I told my ex (and Capone’s emergency contact) that if anything happens not to call me. It doesn’t make sense to upset me on the trail; it could wait til I got home. But I almost can’t stand it anymore. The not knowing. Maybe I’ll call tomorrow.

Maybe I won’t.

What a rough day. But the challenge is part of the adventure and when all is said and done at the end of the day, I feel a huge sense of accomplishment. I didn’t sit down and cry: I cried while I hiked. That means something. What I’m not sure. I just kept putting one foot in front of the other. It’s kind of symbolic of what my whole life has been about. This defiance in me: my challenges won’t break me, they won’t win.  I just keep moving forward.  Even if I have to crawl and claw, blubbering the whole way, I will move forward. And I’m grateful to be here in Lyell Canyon watching ducks play in a pond.

Just 40 miles to go. I can’t wait to see Capone!

If you would like to start reading about my JMT adventure from Day One, Click Here.

Want to find out what I’ve been up to since my JMT hike? Visit my other website or check me out on YouTube.

Before sunset at Thousand Island Lake

8.5 mile day, 200 total. I feel guilty about being so done with the trail.  This has been my dream for such a long time and here I am, ON THE TRAIL – being all grouchy. I just want to be home!  I miss Capone (my dog). I miss my bed. I miss hot water. I miss heat and running water. And I miss not aching all the time.

I’m not disappointed that the trail is hard. I knew it would be.  My disappointment is in myself for not loving every second of it, despite how hard it is. I know, it’s ridiculous to expect to be jumping for joy when my whole body screams for it to be over. I’m just tired….

Even with the trail exhaustion taking over my body, mind and soul, I had a pretty nice afternoon hike from Garnet Lake to Thousand Island Lake.  At one point I even considered hiking past Thousand Island Lake and doing Donahue Pass today. The part of me that just wants to be done is so over the scenery and the trail and the “let’s live in nature for thirty whole days” spirit I had 23 days ago.   It screams in my head: JUST GO! Be done with this!  

I just want to give Capone a hug. Is he ok? How’s he doing at Camp Four Paws? I’ve been forcing myself not to think about him; I miss him and worry about him too much.

Trail Frustrations Getting to Me

I forced myself to stop early and enjoy a relaxing late afternoon at Thousand Island Lake.  I was afraid that if I continued, I most certainly would have bludgeoned a SHP (Shiny Happy Person) with my trekking poles. I know I’m taking all my exhaustion and frustration out on the poor smell-good weekend hikers.  But their clean clothes and chipper attitudes are more than my weary eyes and ears can handle today.  I envy their freshness of clothes and body, the bounce in their step and their naïve exhilaration of being on the trail. Oh how I long for that naivete again!

Their complete and utter lack of trail etiquette is another peeve. They consistently break the cardinal rule: the right of way goes to the person carrying the backpack going UP hill.  I came close to running a few off the trail as I forced my legs to climb and push past them.  Yep, it was time for me to do the world a favor and get off the trail for the day.  the poor Shiny Happy People.

I’m loving my camp, resting on an oasis of sand tucked between the granite boulders above the lake.  I’ve been here a couple hours enjoying some R&R.  I don’t see or hear anyone, though a handful of groups passed by on the trail below, heading further away from the trail. I’ve done my stretches and laid out on the warm rocks to soothe my achy muscles, stared at the sky and out onto the lake wondering where the other 900 islands are. There is no way there are 1000 islands in this little lake.  What am I missing?

I also took some time to study the maps and realized I did 2280’ in elevation gain today.   With the little ups and downs in between, I think it would be fair to call it a 2500’ day.  And my pack is full of my Red’s resupply. I’m at about forty pounds.  That’s a pretty rough day. No wonder I’m crabby!

Geez, so much for the ‘easy’ Northern Sierras.

I Don’t Want it to End!

Tomorrow, I tackle Donahue Pass; another tough 6.6-mile climb. But then the infamous Lyell Canyon!!! As soon as I cross Donahue, I’ll be in Yosemite. OMG-OMG0-OMG!!! Tomorrow I’ll be in Yosemite.  That thought melts away all the pain and exhaustion leaving a thousand islands of sadness. I don’t want it to be over.

I know, for the rest of my life, when I reflect upon this trip I’ll remember the awesome vistas, the peaceful lakeside breaks, the deafening silence of a moonscape camp after dark. I’ll look back with warm feelings of having lived in the wilderness for xx number of days. I’ll forget how much the tips of 5 fingers throbbed. I’ll forget the constant aching hips.  I’ll forget the leaden thighs and the cold nights on the ground.  I’ll even forget the annoyingly chipper Shiny Happy People.  I’ll only remember the bliss of being one with nature for a short time.

Today I felt like I was at my end. My body ached with each stop. I even cried a little as I trudged up hill after hill (crying for me is about 3 ½ tears!). Getting to Thousand Island Lake took every ounce of will I had. Sheer will and determination got me here. I cursed every hill, every rock, every lake I passed that wasn’t Thousand Island Lake.  I cursed Mother Nature and told her if I hiked all this way and there weren’t really weren’t 1000 Islands in this lake I’d be pissed. And guess what. There aren’t! 

But it’s not Mother Nature’s fault. It’s the damn fault of the math challenged person who named it!

As the sun sets over the smoke-hazed peaks I lay on the granite, exhausted, exhilarated, happy and sad all at once.  I look at my phone and read one tiny little text from my friend. It must have come through somewhere on the trail today: “I’m thinking about you”.   I’m flooded with gratitude for this simple gesture and the four little words that wrap me in a hug letting me know that I’m not alone.

The dam broke. Salty tears stain my face.  I cry and cry and cry. It’s as if I’ve been saving my tears all my life, so I could set them free at this very moment, on the granite rocks above Thousand Island Lake on the John Muir Trail.  

The gentle sound of tiny waves lap against the not-one -thousand islands of the lake, bringing me back to the trail. I am at peace.