It's 20 miles from Mather to Muir pass, and although that distance would have been no problem at all in the desert, at 10,000 feet with snow and non-equestrian grade steepness, such an idea was inconcievable. So instead we slept in, rushed madly down to treeline (again... we should be familiar with our speedy hiker metabolisms by now), and took our sweet time getting to within 3 miles of Muir Pass. We are camped right below treeline.
The views were pretty, the rivers most definitely flooded, but the two things that struck me most today were:
A. A tiny tree (sapling?) and moss growing out of a huge dead rotting tree in the middle of the river. Maybe the big tree will collect debris and that tiny tree will grow up to be a bit tree on a young island in the middle of the river. Maybe it will get washed away. Nothing is permanent, nothing guaranteed. But that tiny little tree has no choice but to grow it's little hear out and see what happens.
B. A small red bug flying lazily between the huge trunks of the big trees growing in the valley floor. We were in the same spot at the same time, but our worlds and perspectives are vastly different.
I don't know, maybe I'm going kooky.
Tao of the day (8.3)
"Compete with no one, and no one can compete with you."
I can kind of see the wisdom in that. Drugstore is fueled by his competitive spirit, and he's flying through the Sierra as fast as he can. I'm going a whole lot slower than he is, but I'm stopping to admire the views, smell the flowers, and wax philosophically about tiny trees on big trees and tiny bugs. Our experiences are different, and I sure am enjoying mine when I have the energy to. Then again, if I didn't feel competitive, where would I be. I ski better, run faster, hike farther, and bake fancier because of competitiveness. I'm happy about all those self improvements. I'll keep competing if it gets me to do what I want to do.
- Typoed on my iPhone
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Mile 820.9: Mather Pass- we're lemmings!
We woke up early, determined to get to the river ford before 11 (we had wanted to get farther last night, but it didn't happen). There was so much snow, and it didn't let up until about a quarter of a mile before the first fork (10,840').
With all the snow comes a lot of snowmelt. These rivers are SWOLLEN. For the biggest crossing, we ended up dividing to scout up and downstream. I took upstream, and I took my phone to show evidence of any possible crossings. I had the best luck.
The wadeable spot
Farther up than I was supposed to scout, I spied with my little eye something stretching all the way across. Since Microburst would have been up to her hip in the one wadeable area, we ended up on the log. Sweet 16 CRAWLED across it, which had both onlookers cringing in fear. Microburst scooted across it, straddling. I followed suit, but once on the log with my poles put away, I regretted not just walking.
Our log: no branches, difficult to get onto.
Then about an hour and two smaller creek fords later, we were back in the snow. It took a long time, but we finally reached the toe of Mather Pass (12,100'), just in time to watch a couple go over while we ate lunch.
As we looked at the pass, we could see switchbacks to looker's right that seemed like a complete waste of time. To lookers left, there was a chute of snow, with snow-switchbacks that met up with the melted out chunks of real trail directly below the pass. The couple and the strongest tracks went mostly up the chute, then traversed up under the pass, switched back under the cornice and finally went over. To looker's left, even with the height of the pass, we saw a horizontal line of snow amongst the rocks. Was that the final trail switchback?
Nome of our maps showed the pass in any more detail than a couple of squiggles to represent the switchbacks and a listed elevation. So we were lemmings and followed the couple, even when it seemed like tha man was motioning something to us. The switchbacks in the chute were just fine, but everything got sketchy near bare rock. The traverse under the pass wasn't too bad other than the rocks, but the switchback up and over the cornice was very steep, unreassuringly slushy, and positively terrifying. I went slow and took my time, just one step at a time (literally), and kept it together until I was successfully over, at which point I screamed, cursed, and started shaking. Looking back down, we saw that our maybe-switchback was a definite switchback, clear and dry except at the edge, and required no cornice climbing. Dammit! And with our tracks reinforcing, even more hikers will make the same choice we did.
On the backside, finally descending at a reasonable hour ofthe afternoon, the sun was scorching hot, coming from above and reflected off the snow below. I ended up wearing both my sets of sunglasses to try to prevent snowblindness and the like.
With the trail buried and tracks branching off every so often, we were soon off the trail, bushwhacking through snow, trees, and boulders. Finally, Sweet 16 and I determined that there was no way the trail could be any igher up on the hillside, so we went down and ran into the trail shortly after. For the next few hours, the trail was either under snow or under water, or both. Now we're in camp, utterly exhausted, and really looking forward to no pass tomorrow.
Lessons Learned Lately:
-your hat and gloves can easily fall out of your side pockets and get lost (me)
-your water bottle can easily fall out of your side pockets and get lost (me)
-your bear spray can easily fall put of your side pockets and get lost (Microburst)
-your socks can easily fall from the straps you shoved them under and get lost (Sweet 16)
-your water bottle cap can easily fall from your hand while refilling and get lost (Sweet 16)
- Typoed on my iPhone
With all the snow comes a lot of snowmelt. These rivers are SWOLLEN. For the biggest crossing, we ended up dividing to scout up and downstream. I took upstream, and I took my phone to show evidence of any possible crossings. I had the best luck.
The wadeable spot
Farther up than I was supposed to scout, I spied with my little eye something stretching all the way across. Since Microburst would have been up to her hip in the one wadeable area, we ended up on the log. Sweet 16 CRAWLED across it, which had both onlookers cringing in fear. Microburst scooted across it, straddling. I followed suit, but once on the log with my poles put away, I regretted not just walking.
Our log: no branches, difficult to get onto.
Then about an hour and two smaller creek fords later, we were back in the snow. It took a long time, but we finally reached the toe of Mather Pass (12,100'), just in time to watch a couple go over while we ate lunch.
As we looked at the pass, we could see switchbacks to looker's right that seemed like a complete waste of time. To lookers left, there was a chute of snow, with snow-switchbacks that met up with the melted out chunks of real trail directly below the pass. The couple and the strongest tracks went mostly up the chute, then traversed up under the pass, switched back under the cornice and finally went over. To looker's left, even with the height of the pass, we saw a horizontal line of snow amongst the rocks. Was that the final trail switchback?
Nome of our maps showed the pass in any more detail than a couple of squiggles to represent the switchbacks and a listed elevation. So we were lemmings and followed the couple, even when it seemed like tha man was motioning something to us. The switchbacks in the chute were just fine, but everything got sketchy near bare rock. The traverse under the pass wasn't too bad other than the rocks, but the switchback up and over the cornice was very steep, unreassuringly slushy, and positively terrifying. I went slow and took my time, just one step at a time (literally), and kept it together until I was successfully over, at which point I screamed, cursed, and started shaking. Looking back down, we saw that our maybe-switchback was a definite switchback, clear and dry except at the edge, and required no cornice climbing. Dammit! And with our tracks reinforcing, even more hikers will make the same choice we did.
On the backside, finally descending at a reasonable hour ofthe afternoon, the sun was scorching hot, coming from above and reflected off the snow below. I ended up wearing both my sets of sunglasses to try to prevent snowblindness and the like.
With the trail buried and tracks branching off every so often, we were soon off the trail, bushwhacking through snow, trees, and boulders. Finally, Sweet 16 and I determined that there was no way the trail could be any igher up on the hillside, so we went down and ran into the trail shortly after. For the next few hours, the trail was either under snow or under water, or both. Now we're in camp, utterly exhausted, and really looking forward to no pass tomorrow.
Lessons Learned Lately:
-your hat and gloves can easily fall out of your side pockets and get lost (me)
-your water bottle can easily fall out of your side pockets and get lost (me)
-your bear spray can easily fall put of your side pockets and get lost (Microburst)
-your socks can easily fall from the straps you shoved them under and get lost (Sweet 16)
-your water bottle cap can easily fall from your hand while refilling and get lost (Sweet 16)
- Typoed on my iPhone
Mile 808ish: Pinch it, Pinchot (12,130')!
We got rolling at a reasonable hour this morning, stoked that we'd be able to finally break the cycle of late mornings and evening passes.
We had a couple hairy fords in the way, and an estrogen spat, which ended in Carmen and I laughing and agreeing that we don't hug each other nearly enough. Then there was the climb of a thousand stairs, which were really big step ups and made our butts sore. There was the very cute park ranger who stopped us and asked to see our permit, a 2" wide handwritten slip of paper that I must have lost somewhere between here and Julian.
Then there was the approach. We've heard things about Forester, Glen, Kearsarge, and Sonora, but nothing about Pinchot. We figured there was maybe nothing notable about it. Wrong. We had about 4 miles of snow and scramble to get over, which took forever and we were at the top of the pass around 7:30. Again.
Tonight we camped at the first possible spot we saw, sick of dancing over the snow with occasional hip-deep postholes, watching the sun set. It's nice, actually. We're surrounded by snow and mountains, and that's it. No trees, no trail, no wildflowers. Carmen and I watched the full moon rise while we drank our miso and hot cocoa after dinner. It was nice. We were really stressed out about doing yet another pass in the evening, and wanting to get to tomorrow's big river ford early in the morning, but what we've got right now is nice too.
- Typoed on my iPhone
We had a couple hairy fords in the way, and an estrogen spat, which ended in Carmen and I laughing and agreeing that we don't hug each other nearly enough. Then there was the climb of a thousand stairs, which were really big step ups and made our butts sore. There was the very cute park ranger who stopped us and asked to see our permit, a 2" wide handwritten slip of paper that I must have lost somewhere between here and Julian.
Then there was the approach. We've heard things about Forester, Glen, Kearsarge, and Sonora, but nothing about Pinchot. We figured there was maybe nothing notable about it. Wrong. We had about 4 miles of snow and scramble to get over, which took forever and we were at the top of the pass around 7:30. Again.
Tonight we camped at the first possible spot we saw, sick of dancing over the snow with occasional hip-deep postholes, watching the sun set. It's nice, actually. We're surrounded by snow and mountains, and that's it. No trees, no trail, no wildflowers. Carmen and I watched the full moon rise while we drank our miso and hot cocoa after dinner. It was nice. We were really stressed out about doing yet another pass in the evening, and wanting to get to tomorrow's big river ford early in the morning, but what we've got right now is nice too.
- Typoed on my iPhone
Mile 794.9: Pass the Garlic
Woke up at 4 am to rain. Carmen and I threw our sleeping bags under the rain fly and set up the tent real fast, and tried to go back to sleep on adrenaline. It was another leave-early type morning: we didn't leave Peanut Eater's trail magic until after 11 am.
With ten days worth of food (which is a lot, by the way) we climbed up and over Kearsarge Pass (11,845'), the prettiest, and then Glen Pass (11,978'), the steepest. The approach felt longer than two miles, and I certainly started feeling a little shaky after losing my footing a few times on steep, serious consequences slopes. It really wasn't that bad though. People overhype.
Backside of Glen Pass.
Unfortunately, my day was tainted by one thing (other than being top-heavy from a very heavy pack): garlic. I refilled our dwindling supplies of garlic salt while in Bishop/Independence. Somehow, the new stuff is so pungent that the smell permeated through it's own plastic baggie, the spice bag ziploc, the stuffsack that was in, and finally my pack. The smell of garlic drove me CRAZY all day long! We kept joking that we were in luck if the bears in these parts are vampire bears.
We got into camp (10,545') right before sunset, and there were some beautiful views of all the lakes, mountains, and colorful sky. It was very pretty. There's also a bear box for my garlic.
I am happy to be back on rhe trail again, where everyone is as socially stunted as I am.
Tao of the day:
8.2
In living, choose your ground well.
In thought, stay deep in the heart.
In relationship, be generous.
In speaking, hold to the truth.
In leadership, be organized.
In work, do your best.
In action, be timely.
If you compete with no one,
No one can compete with you."
Seems all like good advice.
- Typoed on my iPhone
With ten days worth of food (which is a lot, by the way) we climbed up and over Kearsarge Pass (11,845'), the prettiest, and then Glen Pass (11,978'), the steepest. The approach felt longer than two miles, and I certainly started feeling a little shaky after losing my footing a few times on steep, serious consequences slopes. It really wasn't that bad though. People overhype.
Backside of Glen Pass.
Unfortunately, my day was tainted by one thing (other than being top-heavy from a very heavy pack): garlic. I refilled our dwindling supplies of garlic salt while in Bishop/Independence. Somehow, the new stuff is so pungent that the smell permeated through it's own plastic baggie, the spice bag ziploc, the stuffsack that was in, and finally my pack. The smell of garlic drove me CRAZY all day long! We kept joking that we were in luck if the bears in these parts are vampire bears.
We got into camp (10,545') right before sunset, and there were some beautiful views of all the lakes, mountains, and colorful sky. It was very pretty. There's also a bear box for my garlic.
I am happy to be back on rhe trail again, where everyone is as socially stunted as I am.
Tao of the day:
8.2
In living, choose your ground well.
In thought, stay deep in the heart.
In relationship, be generous.
In speaking, hold to the truth.
In leadership, be organized.
In work, do your best.
In action, be timely.
If you compete with no one,
No one can compete with you."
Seems all like good advice.
- Typoed on my iPhone
Mile 790.2+9: Independence breakdown
(This may be the most boring post I've written yet)
I have been hiking for two months. You may expect that I have gone through a personal awakening, a personal journey, or some other lofty, beneficial transformation. I am becoming civilization-stupid, retrograding in social skills (which I never had much of anyway). Day to day skills like grocery shopping and crossing a street are becoming increasingly difficult.
We are resupplying in Bishop, and it has been the most stressful resupply thus far. We hiked over Kearsarge Pass to the campground outside Independence, got a ride from Terrapin Flyer down the hill to Independence in Peanut Eater's suburban with failing brakes, and stayed in a hotel (the group decision making process for that alone took an hour). In the morning, Peanut Eater showed up at the hotel right when the Post Office opened, so we rushed our package-opening and inventory-taking and headed to Bishop.
In Bishop, we were overwhelmed by the colors, fanciness, cuteness, and expensiveness of everything at the outfitters, and walked out empty-handed. We were then overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, smells and population density in the "really good" "German bakkerÿ,"(isn't it spelled "backerei" in German?) and ended up with so-so cheesecake and gelato and no bread. Then we went to a deli-with-attitude
for lunch, and were overwhelmed by the choices, music, television, and traffic. I tried to get a hold of Olympus to figure out how to deal with my busted camera, and was told very nicely how fucked I am. When I got to the post office to send off several pounds worth of town items and the camera, it had just closed. It was the straw that broke the sleep-deprived camel's back; this is how I ended up wandering the streets of Bishop sobbing, and left five minutes of incoherent, high pitched blubbering on Amy's voicemail.
Finally, I got to the huge grocery store, and marveled at the selection they had in brand names, not actual products. They did not have tabouli, quinoa, or chai tea mix. I was told by another hiker that the bus to Independence left fifteen minutes earlier than I thought, and saw the length of the checkout lines. Thankfully, I sprang into action and the bus came at my previously expected time, but now I may have too much food. It definitely won't fit in a bear barrel, I wonder if it would fit in two. And here I was going to have no variety! I'll have to see in the morning.
- Typoed on my iPhone
I have been hiking for two months. You may expect that I have gone through a personal awakening, a personal journey, or some other lofty, beneficial transformation. I am becoming civilization-stupid, retrograding in social skills (which I never had much of anyway). Day to day skills like grocery shopping and crossing a street are becoming increasingly difficult.
We are resupplying in Bishop, and it has been the most stressful resupply thus far. We hiked over Kearsarge Pass to the campground outside Independence, got a ride from Terrapin Flyer down the hill to Independence in Peanut Eater's suburban with failing brakes, and stayed in a hotel (the group decision making process for that alone took an hour). In the morning, Peanut Eater showed up at the hotel right when the Post Office opened, so we rushed our package-opening and inventory-taking and headed to Bishop.
In Bishop, we were overwhelmed by the colors, fanciness, cuteness, and expensiveness of everything at the outfitters, and walked out empty-handed. We were then overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, smells and population density in the "really good" "German bakkerÿ,"(isn't it spelled "backerei" in German?) and ended up with so-so cheesecake and gelato and no bread. Then we went to a deli-with-attitude
for lunch, and were overwhelmed by the choices, music, television, and traffic. I tried to get a hold of Olympus to figure out how to deal with my busted camera, and was told very nicely how fucked I am. When I got to the post office to send off several pounds worth of town items and the camera, it had just closed. It was the straw that broke the sleep-deprived camel's back; this is how I ended up wandering the streets of Bishop sobbing, and left five minutes of incoherent, high pitched blubbering on Amy's voicemail.
Finally, I got to the huge grocery store, and marveled at the selection they had in brand names, not actual products. They did not have tabouli, quinoa, or chai tea mix. I was told by another hiker that the bus to Independence left fifteen minutes earlier than I thought, and saw the length of the checkout lines. Thankfully, I sprang into action and the bus came at my previously expected time, but now I may have too much food. It definitely won't fit in a bear barrel, I wonder if it would fit in two. And here I was going to have no variety! I'll have to see in the morning.
- Typoed on my iPhone
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Mile 783ish (10,800'): Forester Pass (13,180'), and lessons learned
Lessons learned the easy way:
-Afternoon snow is softer, even though it sucks when you posthole. Your ice axe actually goes in and you can self arrest with a butt cheek and an elbow. You don't slide far, just make an indent.
- When in danger of post-holing, judiciously and vigorously applied poling can help. Won't necessarily, but it can.
-Keep wet clothes on until a) hypothermic or b) wet activities cease. Keep dry clothes dry.
Lessons learned the hard way:
-Just because it's June and your maps show lakes and streams does not mean that you can get water from them. They may still be frozen.
-When choosing which set of footprints to follow, ALWAYS CONSULT YOUR MAP!!!
-You will never regret getting an early start.
-Just because you apply sunscreen every hour does not mean that you won't get sunburnt lips in snowy, 12,000 foot mountains
Forester was fun. There were miles of relatively flat snowfields before the great big wall of rock, I wish I had led the group in getting an earlier start so that we wouldn't have postholed there. The bottom half of the switchbacks were covered in snow, so we went straight up the snow. Carmen said, "It's just like the bootpack up to The Ridge at Bridger," which helped until I remembered that I've only done that hike once and the results were fairly disastrous. The chute below the pass looked super scary, but it turned out just fine. The steps and self-belays were super solid.
On the backside, we slid down on our butts, which was super fun, wedgierific, and quite painful. Unfortunately, we ran out of daylight, which I had been freaking out about all day, but we followed the footsteps of Liz and Jack who followed wrong footsteps as well, and now we're all lost together, and enjoying a fire. The trail has got to be under a lot of snow since this north face is so much snowier, so I think tomorrow we'll continue to follow the valley that the trail follows until we hit dry ground and then find the exact trail then. (Next morning note: crossed trail in morning to get water. Yay! Unfortunately the dry patch of trail was only about 20' long... Back to snow.)
We're going to try to get to Onion Valley Road and Independence to resupply tomorrow, which is 1-2 days ahead of schedule. I'm going to feel stupid hiking into town with food after going hungry, but I rationed my food responsibly according to plan, and now we're trying to bust our balls to make the miles between us and food because others didn't. Grrrr.
Oh, and by the way, every single thing I saw today was absolutely beautiful.
- Typoed on my iPhone
-Afternoon snow is softer, even though it sucks when you posthole. Your ice axe actually goes in and you can self arrest with a butt cheek and an elbow. You don't slide far, just make an indent.
- When in danger of post-holing, judiciously and vigorously applied poling can help. Won't necessarily, but it can.
-Keep wet clothes on until a) hypothermic or b) wet activities cease. Keep dry clothes dry.
Lessons learned the hard way:
-Just because it's June and your maps show lakes and streams does not mean that you can get water from them. They may still be frozen.
-When choosing which set of footprints to follow, ALWAYS CONSULT YOUR MAP!!!
-You will never regret getting an early start.
-Just because you apply sunscreen every hour does not mean that you won't get sunburnt lips in snowy, 12,000 foot mountains
Forester was fun. There were miles of relatively flat snowfields before the great big wall of rock, I wish I had led the group in getting an earlier start so that we wouldn't have postholed there. The bottom half of the switchbacks were covered in snow, so we went straight up the snow. Carmen said, "It's just like the bootpack up to The Ridge at Bridger," which helped until I remembered that I've only done that hike once and the results were fairly disastrous. The chute below the pass looked super scary, but it turned out just fine. The steps and self-belays were super solid.
On the backside, we slid down on our butts, which was super fun, wedgierific, and quite painful. Unfortunately, we ran out of daylight, which I had been freaking out about all day, but we followed the footsteps of Liz and Jack who followed wrong footsteps as well, and now we're all lost together, and enjoying a fire. The trail has got to be under a lot of snow since this north face is so much snowier, so I think tomorrow we'll continue to follow the valley that the trail follows until we hit dry ground and then find the exact trail then. (Next morning note: crossed trail in morning to get water. Yay! Unfortunately the dry patch of trail was only about 20' long... Back to snow.)
We're going to try to get to Onion Valley Road and Independence to resupply tomorrow, which is 1-2 days ahead of schedule. I'm going to feel stupid hiking into town with food after going hungry, but I rationed my food responsibly according to plan, and now we're trying to bust our balls to make the miles between us and food because others didn't. Grrrr.
Oh, and by the way, every single thing I saw today was absolutely beautiful.
- Typoed on my iPhone
Mile 7??: Forester Pass, and lessons learned
Lessons learned the easy way:
-Afternoon snow is softer, even though it sucks when you posthole, your ice axe actually goes in and you can self arrest with a butt cheek and an elbow. You don't slide far, just make an indent.
- When in danger of post-holing, judiciously and vigorously applied poling can help. Won't necessarily, but it can.
-Keep wet clothes on until a) hypothermic or b) wet activities cease. Keep dry clothes dry.
Lessons learned the hard way:
-Just because it's June and your maps show lakes and streams does not mean that you can get water from them. They may still be frozen.
-When choosing which set of footprints to follow, ALWAYS CONSULT YOUR MAP!!!
-You will never regret getting an early start.
-Just because you apply sunscreen every hour does not mean that you won't get sunburnt lips in snowy, 12,000 foot mountains
Forester was fun. There were miles of relatively flat snowfields before the great big wall of rock, I wish I had led the group in getting an earlier start so that we wouldn't have postholed there. The bottom half of the switchbacks were covered in snow, so we went straight up the snow. Carmen said, "It's just like the bootpack up to The Ridge at Bridger," which helped until I remembered that I've only done that hike once and the results were fairly disastrous. The chute below the pass looked super scary, but it turned out just fine. The steps and self-belays were super solid.
On the backside, we slid down on our butts, which was super fun, wedgierific, and quite painful. Unfortunately, we ran out of daylight, which I had been freaking out about all day, but we followed the footsteps of Liz and Jack who followed wrong footsteps as well, and now we're all lost together, but the trail has got to be under a lot of snow since this north face is so much snowier, so I think tomorrow we'll continue to follow the valley that the trail follows until we hit dry ground and then find the exact trail then.
We're going to try to get to Onion Valley Road and Independence to resupply tomorrow, which is 1-2 days ahead of schedule. I'm going to feel stupid hiking into town with food after going hungry, but I rationed my food responsibly according to plan, and now we're trying to bust our balls to make the miles between us and food because others didn't. Grrrr.
Oh, and by the way, every single thing I saw today was absolutely beautiful.
- Typoed on my iPhone
-Afternoon snow is softer, even though it sucks when you posthole, your ice axe actually goes in and you can self arrest with a butt cheek and an elbow. You don't slide far, just make an indent.
- When in danger of post-holing, judiciously and vigorously applied poling can help. Won't necessarily, but it can.
-Keep wet clothes on until a) hypothermic or b) wet activities cease. Keep dry clothes dry.
Lessons learned the hard way:
-Just because it's June and your maps show lakes and streams does not mean that you can get water from them. They may still be frozen.
-When choosing which set of footprints to follow, ALWAYS CONSULT YOUR MAP!!!
-You will never regret getting an early start.
-Just because you apply sunscreen every hour does not mean that you won't get sunburnt lips in snowy, 12,000 foot mountains
Forester was fun. There were miles of relatively flat snowfields before the great big wall of rock, I wish I had led the group in getting an earlier start so that we wouldn't have postholed there. The bottom half of the switchbacks were covered in snow, so we went straight up the snow. Carmen said, "It's just like the bootpack up to The Ridge at Bridger," which helped until I remembered that I've only done that hike once and the results were fairly disastrous. The chute below the pass looked super scary, but it turned out just fine. The steps and self-belays were super solid.
On the backside, we slid down on our butts, which was super fun, wedgierific, and quite painful. Unfortunately, we ran out of daylight, which I had been freaking out about all day, but we followed the footsteps of Liz and Jack who followed wrong footsteps as well, and now we're all lost together, but the trail has got to be under a lot of snow since this north face is so much snowier, so I think tomorrow we'll continue to follow the valley that the trail follows until we hit dry ground and then find the exact trail then.
We're going to try to get to Onion Valley Road and Independence to resupply tomorrow, which is 1-2 days ahead of schedule. I'm going to feel stupid hiking into town with food after going hungry, but I rationed my food responsibly according to plan, and now we're trying to bust our balls to make the miles between us and food because others didn't. Grrrr.
Oh, and by the way, every single thing I saw today was absolutely beautiful.
- Typoed on my iPhone
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