PCT 2018: Days 41-44, Mount Whitney to Bishop
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 41-44 from Mount Whitney to Bishop, mile 766-831.
June 14, Day 41
19.2 miles [791.9]
Frost on my bag once again, another cold start. Still a little bummed out and attempted to wake and bake my woes away. Definitely harbored some anxiety about today’s terrain and what it would bring but I quickly got enamored in the grandeur of the Sierra. In the first few miles I forded Tyndall Creek rather than take the time to find an ideal rock-hop-spot which resulted in soaked shoes ending in torn blisters. Slopping around in slushy snow didn’t help either. I have to remember to keep my shoes dry. We got to the final approach and looked up at the remaining 700 feet of gain while filtering water. It looked like Forester Pass was going to fall into space. A nearly vertical wall of snow was clearly visible from the bottom—the most highly anticipated and fear-mongered location so far. People had asked “are you going to bring microspikes? Where’s your ice axe?” There I was, time to cross the bridge, a phrase I’ve come to love. Intimidation abated with each step taken closer to the saddle. I glided across the snow-covered section with ease. Another hiker who had been tailing us the entire way up had halted before the snow. From 200 feet away, it was easy to tell he wasn’t a happy camper. “You got this”, I yelled over the chasm, “it’s way better than it looks!” He nodded, flashing a thumbs up, then took cautious steps all the way across. We saw him at the top, beaming. After a snack break we glissaded down the backside and continued to Glen Pass; it kicked my ass. Low food with a rationing mentality lead to me bonking. I was whopped, Adam was light years ahead of me. Two passes in a day is ridiculous. The thought of food kept me moving—50 miles to Bishop.
Forester Pass approach, mile 779.3.
Forester Pass and the Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Parks boundary, mile 779.5.
A hiker glissades down Forester Pass.
Northern side of Forester Pass, mile 780.
University Peak, mile 783.
June 15, Day 42
23.8 miles [815.7]
Warm sleep for having camped above 11,000 feet. Got up and out with intention because it’s hard to lie on my back with how tender my heels are—I can feel my heartbeat throbbing in my feet. Nervous about how well I would do but blisters are a known quantity, it really can’t get much worse than this. Just have to keep putting one in front of the other. Only a few miles in, I took my shoes off in order to cross between Rae Lakes with certain dryness. After yesterday’s water-logged experience my new mantra is still ringing in my head: wet is worse. Drifted throughout treeline, dozens of half-frozen alpine lakes speckled the rocky terrain. Pinchot Pass wasn’t forgiving, albeit much easier than Forester and Glen. Intense beauty was all around but I found myself looking down most of the time, the sheer discomfort pulling me away. However, I must have hopped over 50 streams and at each one, with enough searching, there were enough slick rocks or creaky downed limbs for a strategic jump-and-pray, each leap followed by a gratifying mental ding of success—I felt like a video game character. During one of my searches I found a half-full bottle of olive oil bobbing in an eddy which went spectacularly with our pasta dinner. At this point my food bag is mostly bag and trash, free calories were a godsend. Pushed to the base of Mather Pass and set up camp as spumoni skies faded into starry oblivion.
Adam gives me “knucks” for getting over Pinchot Pass.
Marmota flaviventris, yellow-bellied marmot.
Sunset in Upper Basin, Mather Pass, mile 815.7.
June 16, Day 43
27.3 miles [831.0]
Heard other hikers packing and instantly craved more sleep. I stuck my head out of my vestibule and found Adam already breaking down his tent. Hustled and got up and over Mather, then began 4,000 feet of descent for the Bishop Pass trail junction. Obsessed about food to the point of fantasy. Played a mental game where I tried to imagine foods I wouldn’t eat even if offered to me right then and there (I didn’t come up with anything). It worked well at keeping my mind off my feet which are completely fucked up. Cold mornings, soggy shoes, sharp rocks and crusty socks, 25-mile days, and low calories, never have I had this many blisters. Arrived at the junction and devoured my last packet of tuna—dry. Adam and I have both done Bishop Pass many times but always the northern approach, never from the other side. It was brutal. The first three miles might have been my hardest physically. Had a few excruciating moments of wanting to “Stop”; to just not hike anymore, to sleep and get as close to death as I could, but those moments faded just as they always do. A mile before the pass, Adam threw out one of his usual outrageous suggestions. “We could always push for the parking lot”, he dryly said, both of us drenched in sweat and sucking wind, the sun already having set behind massive granite peaks. He was just as done as I was. Somehow, delirious, I agreed, adding another six miles to our day. At 10:30 p.m., broken, tired, and hungry, we arrived at windy South Lake parking lot. My resupply had two packets of Probar Bolts, a highly coveted gummy snack lovingly saved from summer camp, I had already eaten the first pack on top of Whitney, saving the final pack for a special occasion. I chewed them slowly, trying not to think too much about what I’m going to eat tomorrow.
Adam breaks down camp, mile 815.7.
Moonset over Mount Hurd.
June 17, Day 44
0 miles [831.0]
A windy night continued into the morning, I had on all my layers while waiting for a hitch. Didn’t sit long before meeting our lord and savior, weekend warrior, Thomas, who by his own account was headed home a day early since he “wasn’t feeling it”. Got dropped off at the famed bakery and I limited myself to a chocolate croissant, chocolate covered espresso beans, and a large coffee which covered a large portion of my vices. Dined al fresco and watched clean tourists before heading over to McDonald’s for the “real food”; two chicken sandwiches, a large fry, and a coke, all while refilling my podcast supply. Wandered through a few gear shops and found two things: a replacement water filter and “Trash Bath”. The three of us formulated a plan for the upcoming section while booking a room at the Hostel California. There weren’t any laundry services so I dumped out my remaining crusty packet of drink mix and a few straggling raisins from my bear can and threw in my fetid garments with a few hefty squirts of dish soap—the socks took four rounds alone. Adam pointed out that it was opening weekend for “Incredibles 2” and the dinky two-screen theater probably still had a few tickets left. We made use of the free bikes and purchased tickets before taking a quick pit stop at the grocery store for beer and munchies. Even though the theater was completely full with 8-year-olds, the movie was amazing. Stayed well past the credits, then biked back to the grocery store for a full resupply and tonight’s dinner. At the hostel, I cooked brats and onions, in a real kitchen on a real stove no less, Adam made a salad, and “Trash Bath” shared his gallon of mint chip. Feeling the vortex hard on this spectacular zero, it’s not going to be easy to leave.
Erick Schat’s chocolate croissant.
Hostel Bishop bicycle.
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PCT 2018: Days 53-56, Tuolumne Meadows to Sonora Pass
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 53-56 from Tuolumne Meadows to Sonora Pass, mile 942-1,020.
June 26, Day 53
20.3 miles [962.8]
Unsurprisingly, I woke to hikers ‘quietly’ retrieving their smellables from the bear lockers. Read a few pages of Desert Solitaire before poking my head out and confirming “Trash Bath” and “Sticky Fingers” had made good on their promise to sunrise Cloud’s Rest; their tents were empty. Packed up and headed down to the post office and grill. Got two cups of coffee which had me buzzing. In typical fashion, just before 8 A.M., garbage trucks rumbled through the valley, dumpsters were being violently emptied—Welcome to Yosemite. Even though I had been there less than a full day, being steeped in the huddled masses of one of the most popular National Parks has started to bum me out. A van of Euro hippies which had parked next to the tables opened all their doors and musical instruments started appearing. About twelve seconds into the free-form pan flute session harmonized by a banal conversation from some try-too-hard Instagram model types sitting adjacent, “Shocks” and I decided to leave. Cruised through a few miles of open, lush meadows before taking a long lunch with “Combo”. Five, ten, fifteen, the miles melted. Took a bird bath at Miller Lake, mainly for my feet and pits. Struggled to cross Matterhorn Creek and made it half mile more before calling it quits. Nearly two decades of Scouting beat into me to never, under any circumstances, have food in, near, or around one’s tent for fear a bear would be attracted and attack. However, I am so fed up with mosquitoes, I welcome the possible grisly encounter and ate dinner in my tent with only a shrill, unyielding whine penetrating the glorious mesh. Suckers.
Cathedral Peak from Soda Springs.
Unique color and corrosion of Soda Springs.
A hiker suns herself beneath Tuolumne Falls.
Mosquitoes which made it under the rain fly.
Tuna taco with wasabi peas and chili cheese Fritos.
June 27, Day 54
19.5 miles [982.3]
Blessed to have only a singular mosquito bum-rush me during my AM BM, after which any portion of flesh was in critical danger. Disassembled my tent while attempting to move at two miles an hour. Rolling start out of camp only to be stopped by a ranger, my first, who in predictable fashion asked to see my permit only after the briefest of greetings. “Can you fit all your food in your bear canister?” she asked, groping my pack for a rigid and dense confirmation. I nodded enthusiastically, handing her my permit with a mouth full of Poptarts, a bag of Cheez-its prominently strapped to the outside of my pack, silently thinking if I continued to eat at double my current input, yes. Hiked mostly alone much like yesterday, I feel utterly zonked. Walking all day is the hardest easy thing I’ve ever done. There’s a certain calming quality in the gorgeous monotony. Benson Pass proved to be a breeze but Seavey Pass was seriously steep. Dusk soon arrived and I set up camp didn't have much to say. Annihilated a tuna taco and somewhere around the fourth bite, had an out of body epiphany: mayo is king. The delectable, savory spread makes any dry packet of tuna taste luxurious. Much like any addiction I can’t imagine life sans substance. How do people survive on ramen and instant potatoes? I don’t think I’ll ever understand the mayonnaise haters. Killed the remainder of the wine while enjoying another night safe in my tent. Kennedy Meadows North is in 38 miles but I’m looking forward to tonight’s sleep more.
Wave clouds.
June 28, Day 55
23.6 miles [1005.9]
I should be elated, I should be proud. This afternoon I crossed the 1,000 mile marker, a new significant figure has been added to my trail log. But there wasn’t anyone around to celebrate with. As I got out my camera and wondered how I was going to take a photo of me and the ground simultaneously, fortunately “Combo” showed up and was a great human tripod, but he seemed to be in a real hurry (probably the skeeters) and bolted after snapping a photo for his own memories. Didn’t see anyone I recognized for the rest of the day, I just kept leapfrogging the same pair of vaguely international women who don’t seem to enjoy sharing the English language. Set up my tent while looking over my shoulder like an addled, twitchy squirrel, hoping and praying to see any member of my trail fam come into camp; no such luck. It took 55 days and finally it’s my first night ‘alone’. That fact bums me out even further. To top it off, most of my days are spent tuning out the drudgery of putting one in front of the other. Each day seems so long, each hour seems to be another brutal reminder that I didn’t even make it another three miles since the last hour. There’s a small chance I’m behind, my plan is to get moving an hour before we normally depart. Either way, I’m sure I’ll see someone before the highway. While filling water to cut down on tomorrow's morning chores, I misread the ground and sunk to my ankle in mud. I had to curl my toes to keep the shoe from being slurped up like a tender baby back rib. Washed it in the creek, there’s nothing better than starting the morning off with wet feet.
June 29, Day 56
14.8 miles [1020.7]
Of course my shoe froze, that novelty quickly thawed. But you know what? THIS smart guy snuggled with his water filter all night. Not learning that lesson twice. Crammed my shoe into a spare Ziploc and stuffed the whole mess into my puffy while I packed up everything inside my tent. Raced out of camp in efforts to ditch the nagging demons telling me I was behind. Had over ten miles worth of intrusive thoughts, loneliness being the main culprit despite passing and being passed by a dozen other hikers. Met “Captain” who remarked on my similar looks to another hiker he had just seen and I asked if he had met a “Shocks” or a “Trash Bath”. He told me I was about four miles ahead. I strolled down to the highway and snagged a beer from the parking lot magic and waited for my tramily to appear. Watched seven people to squeeze into a mini trailer, later I found out there wasn’t even tailgate. Gang showed up and we caught a ride into Kennedy Meadows North from a gentleman shuttling hikers for the afternoon. Arrived at the meadows and promptly bought a six pack, convincing “Combo” and “Shocks” to split a load of laundry with me. Ravaged a cheeseburger during the rinse cycle. Whole crew is back, I feel like an utter fool for having been so bummed. Scavenged a decent resupply from the convenience store before packing up one last time and heading out to the road. Hitching was getting tough—it was 6 P.M.—most of the tourists using the secluded road had already headed home. As the occasional car went by, everyone stood up and threw out thumbs smiling as hard as possible. With each missed opportunity my morale kept getting goofier; positivity attracts vehicles. A Mercedes Sprinter van zoomed by with no indication of slowing. “Sorry, we have TOO much space!” I yelled in my most sardonic tone to the exhaust fumes, the gang chuckled as they sat back down. Not thirty seconds later, much to everyone’s surprise, the Sprinter van came back and offered to help. I was absolutely stunned. The eight of us criss-cross-apple-sauced our limbs and gear into the rear and I politely handed the driver my camera while he pulled out his phone for the same purpose. “We haven’t seen this many people in the back of a van since India” he said with amusement, snapping our photo. The doors slammed and we rocketed off onto windy Highway 108. We screamed through tight corners and steep drop offs while our two intrepid chauffeurs told us plans of a second attempt at a Rainier summit. In some turns, I swore I could feel the back tires beginning to break. Said a few prayers and fortunately we arrived back at Sonora Pass. Made it a few miles up trail and set up camp. Happy to have lived, happy to be alive; remember that.
Deadman Creek.
Emigrant Wilderness, Stanislaus National Forest.
Burgers and beers with restorative powers.
The hitch that almost never happened.
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About the Blog
Justin Kernes is a photographer and writer who thrives in the great outdoors.
From 2010-2017, he worked in the backcountry at Philmont Scout Ranch in New Mexico.
In 2018 “Tiny Slice” successfully thru-hiked the Pacific Crest Trail.
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