a love letter to the Sierras…

 

Muir Hut

Battle wound from glissading down Sonora

Tourist at Yosemite

Two weeks of hair

Soulshine’s First creek crossing!

Top of Whitney (pc: nature monster)

Climbing up Forester

Aftermath of the river forging fail

Woke up before dawn to climb Whitney

9 days worth of food!

My dearest Sierras,

About a year ago when I decided to hike the entirety of the PCT I was most excited to see you. Your steep passes, deep alpine lakes, and tree lined valleys excited me more than any other part of the trail. I yearned for a chance to play in your mountains for a few weeks and couldn’t wait for a year to pass for me to do so.

Fast forward six months I found myself becoming a bit fear mongered by the news of (in some cases) 200% snow fall in some of your higher reaches. Snow and I have never gotten along particularly well and although I consider hiking one of my strengths, mountaineering is not something I have encountered. Your glory still enticed me though, so I pushed on with plans of hiking the trail knowing if you didn’t want me I could always come back to you another year.

On April 22nd, I began my journey. It was a 95 degree day and surrounding me was nothing but dirt, yucca plants and burnt trees, so thoughts of your snowy peaks barely crossed my mind; I had 700 miles of desert to traverse, I could deal with you later. And so I did. The desert was way better than I imagined and anytime you were brought up I pushed you aside knowing your snow, cold, and high rivers had plenty of time to calm down.

Eventually the day came though. I had made it to Kennedy Meadows and was standing on your door step. Fear was interlaced in everyone’s talk: too much snow in the passes, impassable river crossings, 3am wake up calls, wet frozen shoes… The majority of hikers who had already started into your midsts had bailed due to your harshness and yet something pushed me on. Maybe I like a challenge, maybe I hadn’t been hit by your cunning ways, but something gave me hope that you would let me through.

I’ll admit you teased me from the start. That first climb to 10,000ft was hard but beautiful and totally doable with little to no snow and a stream flowing next to me the whole time. I was done with Socal’s dry dusty landscapes and ready to play in your forest. Whitney and Forester Pass were coming and with ice axe in hand I was ready to see what you had in store for me.

Again on Whitney you teased. You showed me I could ascend over 14,000ft into the air and even climb up a (small) snow field. In fact, you even gave me a successful first glissade down one of your snowy slopes: I was quickly falling in love and ready for more.

Then there was he insadent with the creek… After Whitney I was feeling confident and ready to tackle your first snowy pass. First I had to get across a few streams though. Your waters had never scared me. I’m a bit of a river otter in spirit and had no worries about getting across your raging waters, even in a year where people were bailing due to their wrath. I’d gone across a few no problem, but you had one in store for me I was not prepared for. We had been told to cross rivers in the early morning hours when they were not as deep and fast flowing, but fate had it I came upon your Tyndal Creek late in the day and if I were to camp with the crew that night I needed to pass. I’m not sure if it was you testing my commitment or just having some fun, but that fall and down stream trip I took certainly shook me up. I was incredibly grateful to have an amazing trail family around me to get me back on my feet and heal my wounds. You might have taken my poles, blood and some skin from my legs but you did not take friends like Nirvana who re-forged the river with my shaky self and Nature Monster who greeted me with loving arms and a nurses sense of purpose to get me cleaned up and warm, or Lysol and the rest of the gang who greeted me at camp with hot chocolate. They say it takes a team to get through your testy ways and I fully believe it does.

I’ll admit you almost had me after that. Even after the success of climbing up my first snow wall to crest your steep slopes of Forester Pass, I was contemplating a failed relationship. Hiking down Kearsarge Pass to get into town I was wondering how in the world would I build up the mental strength to come back into your wild terrain. I considered it even further after two dear friends decided they weren’t going back, but something didn’t feel quite right. I wasn’t ready to let you win, to say I’m done: occasionally you need to fight for want you want, especially in a relationship.

I knew this next stretch would be hard. You had 5 passes, multiple rivers and a possible 9 day stretch before town laid out for me. Early mornings, cold feet, endless snow walking and almost a pass a day meant a huge mental and physical challenge. As I started that climb back into your depths however I was feeling excited; if I made it through it would be a trip of a lifetime. With an amazing team of friends by my side and a God I was praying to more than ever, I had hope as we set off.

The next 8 days were a blur of excitement,  nauseous nerves, and strenuous physical and mental work. My mindset had gone from counting the miles to making it over the next pass. No more were the days of clear easy trail walking in the desert. Your  late snow melt made it a constant mental game of “Find the Trail” which we more or less succeeded at. From precariously pearching on suncups to full out glissading down snowy descents you had me wrapped up in every crevasse, cliff edge and cavern. You threw at me steep climbs and long strenuous snow fields but you always rewarded. The view of frozen over Rae Lakes at the top of Glen Pass and the sight of Kings Canyon and the waterfall flooded Golden Staircase are sights I will never be able to remove from my mind.

You took from us too though, made us squirm a little, or a lot. Like when you sent Physsie up the wrong way on Mather Pass and we had to watch him vertical climb for close to an hour, every other step of his breaking through the quickly softening snow. Or when we lost Cous Cous and didn’t hear from him for almost a week. Or the time we came to your White Fork River too late in the day and had to bush wack a mile up in the growing darkness to find safe passage (which happened to be an ice bridge). You took spoons, stoves, trekking poles, broke tarps, scraped up knees, stole water filters, tore up our packs, and much more.  Our team pushed on though. We might have been the laziest bunch of thru hikers to wander through your passages, but some of the most spirited. Thanks for letting us choose our own adventure, hike our own hike. For giving us a day of “rest” on the 4th to sleep in, make whiskey hot cocoa, and enjoy a day with no snowy pass but water play and forest wandering.   For giving us trust in our own two feet even after falling.

Getting off of your slopes and out of your forest for a break in Mammoth was amazing. I love you, really I do, but it was wonderful to get an air bnb with friends and fill up on Denied’s homemade spaghetti, Whoopie’s lemon shrimp risotto, and the groups lavous breakfast. To have a shower and pull out almost two weeks of hair, but realize that stream crossing made me far less dirty than two weeks in the desert. To get a real bed, carpeted floors, and all the laughter and wine you can ask for (which is a lot with 12 exhausted thru hikers).

Yosemite was also a treat. Although it did not contain showers, laundry and real beds it contained the chance to explore and slack pack around a hikers wonderland. That place lives up to its name and international attraction. I was sad to not get to the top of halfdome, but the climb to the base and the day spent on top of Nevada Falls made up for it. The golden cliff faces at sunset, the pounding waterfalls into dark green valleys, and flowing rivers will have me coming back. If Canada didn’t start calling my name again I would have hung out there and explored for weeks.

Your long stretches of isolated trail made town visits scarce, but worth every step and pound of food we had to carry. There is a reason why it takes us so long to leave them and occasionally only hike out a mile before setting up camp. But, we always did leave them and came back to you.

Your terrain slowly became easier as the passes went on. We picked up the miles, became less nervous on the slopes, traversed more quickly on the snow. And yet you still held your surprises. I wasn’t expecting a rock/waterfall scramble down Silver Pass when I lost the trail and am very grateful a scraped up knee is all I got from that. Was also figuring when you mysteriously took my ice axe away from me in Toulomne Meadows that it meant I wouldn’t need it any more. Little did I know that a steep climb up and down Sonora pass would mean some of the sketchiest snow terrain we’ve been on and yes, I would have liked my ice axe at that point. Luckily for me I walked out of that one with just a badly scraped up ass and only leaving a bit of scarlet on your white slopes. My family then greeted me in Bridgport with loving arms and a rejuvenation of spirit. I’ll admit by this point I was homesick and worn out. My love for you was waivering and your little tricks and lingering obstacles were testing my patients.

The end of your peaks were in sight though and for the last stretch I got to have my sister by my side. If you did nothing else for me thank you for keeping her safe and happy during our week of hiking. You pulled out all your grandor just in time to recapture my attention and make me realize I will miss your rugged and mysterious ways. Those fields of wildflower, gorgeous rock formations and  lucious green slopes in this last stretch had me head over heels for what you can provide.

Im done though. Really, I am. I’m not saying I won’t be back, but for now it’s time for me to take my final steps in snow,  get down below your 10, heck 9,000ft in elevation, and start the new adventure of Northern California. Your mosquitoes will still linger and I know I’ll miss your rewarding views, heck as fed up with it as I am now I’ll probably still have days where I want your snow back, but for now I’m done.

As I sit in the beautiful town of Lake Tahoe overlooking a majestic lake and seeing the final of your snow speckled peaks I am ready to move on. You took time away from me and that means pushing big miles. Thank you though. Thank you for slowing me down, allowing me to fully take in your beauty. Not many people get to see you like I did this year and I’ll forever be thankful for that time. Thankful for every breath taking view and alpine lake plunge. Thankful for crazy marmots and chipmunks, for serine deer in the morning light, for stunning sunsets, flooded trails, water, SO much water, clear blue skies, snowy peaks, the smell of fresh pine in an avalanche field and spearmint and the wildflowers. Thank you for letting me explore and nature and be me.

So although you took some of my gear, my  blood, my sweat, and my tears and as much as I bitched at you and groaned and moaned know you have also, forever, taken a piece of my heart and for that I will forever be thankful.

Forever a piece of your hiker trash,

karma

PS

for anyone wanting more specific stories or some of stories I mentioned here fleshed out, just let me know and I’ll get to it as soon as I can! Or just come grab coffee with me when I get home:) northern caifornia here I come!