PCT 2018: Days 45-49, Bishop to Mammoth Lakes
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 45-49 from Bishop to Mammoth Lakes, mile 831-906.
June 18, Day 45
11 miles [831.0]
Drunken slumber wasn’t great but breaking my 44-day streak without a bed on a memory-foam mattress was heavenly. Immediately got coffee from the common area, took my bedraggled gear out to the patio and started evaluating. Water bottles were thoroughly scrubbed, with soap, and electronic devices got topped off while other hikers around me lanced blisters and patched holes in tents. Drank a third cup repackaging last night’s resupply, thank god this one’s only four days. Walked across the street with my fourth cup to Bronco’s Deli and got the daily special machaca and egg burrito, smothering it in as much fresh habanero salsa as I could tolerate. Back at the hostel, “Trash Bath”, “Shocks” and I mowed through a few dozen freezer cookies and the rest of the mint chip ice cream while looking for future problems to solve with a reliable internet connection. It dawned on me my first and only pair of shoes are legitimately starting to wear thin, I purchased the same pair, a half-size bigger (why not, everyone’s doing it), and had them delivered home for future request. Ordered new earbuds since the first pair have been destroyed and the backup set has already lost sound in one ear. Finally we summoned the courage to leave, ultimately getting three hitches to the trailhead. Sometimes I worry but all it takes a happy jig, a smile, and about twenty minutes. Hit the trail around 4 p.m. and had a blast going the “correct way” towards Bishop Pass—this must have been my eighth trip this direction. We passed Long Lake and “TB” took a dip, he’s trying to jump into 50 alpine lakes. Managed to get a mile or two away from the PCT before sundown and set up camp. An amazing zero, this time it actually felt restorative.
“Trash Bath”, “Tiny Slice”, and “Shocks” try to hitch to South Lake, Bishop, California.
Sunset over Bishop Pass.
June 19, Day 46
14.9 miles [844.4]
Warm sleep and good rest made for an easy departure, the group of dudes who politely tried to share our site late last night weren’t moving by the time we left. Within the first mile, as I rounded a switchback while picking out my morning music selection, I saw a grouse sitting on the trail. Before I could identify it any further, it flushed, thereby checking two separate items off my internal “Nature” list. Merged back with the PCT (hooray!) and started the climb up Muir Pass. Postholed for what felt like the entire 3,500 feet of gain, false peaks and crests made the ascent even more demoralizing. I was exhausted; a malaise only altitude is capable of. Muir hut seemed like an apparition until I swung open the hefty wooden door. We celebrated and tried to mute our collective agony by hotboxing the entire hut with a few joints. It seemed like the perfect occasion so I drank the Coke I packed out, taking care to chill it first in a pile of slush. Morale improved. Left the shelter just before 3 p.m. which only made things more challenging because the sun had thawed enough of the usable terrain which had turned it into a frigid stream. The alternative was more frustrating postholing through uncompacted drifts. Made it to the northern end of Evolution Lake which seemed to be a popular spot to set up camp. “Skinny Dip” and “Hot Pants” introduced themselves and we all ate dinner, swatted away skeeters, and bitched about the slow, difficult progress. A few more joints emerged and were passed around the dining rock, all of us believing in and hoping for its magical medicinal properties—my feet are raw hamburger. Didn’t even make it 15 miles, a feeling akin to being unable to run in a nightmare. However, the views were straight from fantasy.
Half moon and Muir Shelter, mile 838.8.
Postholing before Mount Solomons, mile 837.
Muir Shelter, mile 838.6.
Sunset over The Hermit from Evolution Lakes, mile 844.4.
June 20, Day 47
21.2 miles [865.6]
Early rise in an effort to offset yesterday’s short gain. Just over five miles into the day came Evolution Creek which Guthook says is “often seen as one of the most difficult stream crossings in the Sierra.” Unbuckled my hipbelt which basically holds up my pants and took off my shoes per my mantra. As my thighs began to enter the frigid current, whatever soreness there was in my feet was replaced with sharp, stinging cold, pain to the point of questioning if I had sliced my feet on some of the rocks; the water must have been 33 degrees. My shitty too-big pants just made things more frustrating, I nearly tripped on the baggy cuffs trying to pull up the waist while also trying to use my poles to stabilize. Made it across with a wet taint but a dry pack. More downhill miles to Muir Trail Ranch where we took lunch. A few good items were in the hiker boxes but nothing nearly as miraculous as purported. “Shocks” found, made, and shared a peppered beef Mountain House while we tried not to judge the three fresh JMT’ers, all the while buzzarding over their resupply. “Hot Mess” managed to sweet-talk herself into a huge bag of pasta from one the guys. After a fat shade nap, we packed up and headed for Selden Pass. “Trash Bath” likes our company and it seems like he’s going to stick around. Camped directly on the pass in hopes of less mosquitoes but they found us anyway. Demolished a tuna taco and some mint cookies. Don’t know if it’s the altitude, blood loss, or miles, but I’m just whooped.
How “Trash Bath” says good morning.
Muir Trail Ranch international hiker door.
Selden Pass, mile 865.5.
June 21, Day 48
21 miles [885.1]
The best part about camping on a pass is knowing the next day will start with downhill. Even then it was hard for me to motivate for today’s hike. Made a rare slip on an early stream crossing and plunged both feet into the creek. My shoes managed to dry out before lunch. “Missing Person” was having worse luck and said he broke his phone; it fell out of his pocket and smashed on a rock. I recognized the look of despair on face, as clearly as he must have seen me wearing it back at Kennedy Meadows, while he told me and “Shocks” he was thinking of exiting—indefinitely—at Mammoth Lakes in order to solve this new problem. I gave him my fuel for a hot lunch. “How many Nutter Butters do you think I can fit in my mouth at once?” asked “Trash Bath”, not waiting for any guesses while furiously stuffing in six, somehow maintaining a proper airway. Put one in front of the other and trudged along, it’s hard to recall any outstanding events from the day—I’m sapped. Camped on top of Silver Pass in efforts to avoid mosquitoes. Pulled out two creamy chicken Top Ramen packets from my bear can, fished out a few garlic cloves skittering around on the bottom and sliced them, fired up my stove and fried the garlic wafers in olive oil with a few dashes of Tabasco. The aroma was powerful enough to mask our collective stench but not enough to ward off the clouds of skeeters, even at 11,000 feet. One less mythic property of garlic.
Sunset from Silver Pass with the Minarets in the distance.
Sunset over the Minarets, mile 885.1.
Silver Peak and Sharktooth Peak, mile 885.1.
Six Nutter Butter cookies
Mosquito dinner.
June 22, Day 49
23.5 miles [906.6]
Got a fairly late start on Silver Pass for the remaining 21.5 mile mostly-downhill haul into Mammoth Lakes. It seems as though mosquitoes can’t fly faster than 2.5 miles per hour, so I just tried to maintain or outdo that pace for the entire day. Don’t remember much from the hike, stream crossings, trees, and lakes blended together like backseat views on a cross-country road trip. By 5 p.m., “Shocks”, “Trashbath”, and I rolled into Red’s Meadow. Immediately, I hydrated with an IPA from the trading post and we all reveled at making it to another town. My bear can is empty but I didn’t go hungry; success, and it only took 900 miles. Hitching seemed like a distant possibility but an $8 bus ride was a worthwhile investment. The old bird who sold me my first beer, who also sold bus tickets, must have taken another good look at me while I was asking for a bus ticket, selling me my second beer. Grinned like an alcoholic, downed the first and took the second to-go, hoping the bus driver wouldn’t care. Gang decided on John’s Pizza Works and we settled on a supreme-style ‘za; out of the 16 slices I had four or five, nothing but the pan was left. Coke has never tasted so delicious. Ran into “Combo” who had apparently rocketed ahead by a few days in order to hang with his family—he looked real clean. Made a quick stop at the liquor store for beer before setting off into the residential woods of this ski town for a spot to stealth. Got pretty drunk and talked between tents just like all those fifth-grade slumber parties.
Virginia Lake inlet, mile 891.6.
Chief Lake, mile 885.6.
Entering Red’s Meadow.
Hike On?
PCT 2018: Days 22-25, Wrightwood to Agua Dulce
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 22-25 from Wrightwood to Agua Dulce, mile 376-462.
May 26, Day 22
19.7 miles [395.9]
Slept in until 7:15 a.m. fully aware we had to climb the remaining 1,000 vertical feet of Mount Baden-Powell. Met some nice people at the summit and took a relaxing breakfast stop. More gorgeous clouds today but my knees and feet are shot from the sheer amount of ups and downs. Passed by what felt like 100 Scouts headed towards Little Jimmy campground; I remember camping there as a young boy with my Troop. Crossed back and forth over Highway 2, eventually taking Buckhorn detour and roadwalking for nearly three miles. It was completely overcast. Occasionally a patch of clear would appear, quickly gobbled up by the moving mist. Heavy clouds filled the foothills below and trees above. I wore my puffy for most of the afternoon. Found some magic at Islip Saddle; Doritos, brownies, and some lavender-flavored after-dinner mints whose flavor had me contemplating if there was any food I wouldn’t eat. We walked through a very full Cooper Canyon, a popular campground for local Angelenos. A family enjoying their campfire saw us quietly walking by. “What you got in those bags?” asked the mother pointing at our backpacks Corona in hand. Adam and I smiled at each other. “Everything” doesn’t mean the same thing to weekend warriors.
Islip saddle, mile 386.1.
Highway 2, Angeles Crest, mile 389.3.
May 27, Day 23
25 miles [420.9]
It’s hard to believe we got trail magic on four separate occasions today alone. First was at Camp Glenwood where we met Maxx, who welcomed us inside with chocolate chip pancakes and fresh strawberries. Adam let me steal a spoonful of peanut butter. Maxx spied my Philmont ball cap, which I had switched out in Big Bear, and asked if I had been to the Ranch. I smiled big. We talked about his trek, the flood, and amazing staff. Next, we made it to Three Points junction and met JT, a thru-hiker from 2014, who tossed us both a PBR. Didn’t even make it three miles before magic spot number three; a stash of craft beers in the shade of a magnificent Douglas fir. Miles melted by. Just when I thought it couldn’t get better, we were graciously provided with dinner by a couple who are planning on hiking next season. They had an easy-up at Mill Creek Fire station and all the sandwich accoutrements. I made a chicken-avocado-cheddar and washed it down with a Coke. To top it off, they even knew about Philmont—their kid went on trek. We thanked them until it became borderline uncomfortable. Did two more miles and set up camp under a nearly full moon. Maybe it’s all the beer I drank, but it was hard not to think about the Ranch.
Moon rise over Angeles Crest Highway, mile 418.6.
Sunset at camp, mile 420.9.
Strawberry peak sunset, mile 418.6.
Pancakes at Camp Glenwood, mile 400.6.
May 28, Day 24
24.1 miles [445.0]
Greeted by another stellar desert sunrise upon waking. Temperature hovered in the high 90's all day which made for tough hiking. Pushed 15 miles to the North Fork Ranger Station where I refilled water, bought a Coke, and did extensive feet-maintenance. I could have sat there in the shade all afternoon. Another eight miles to the Acton KOA which offered $10 showers and frozen treats. Couldn't wrangle a deal with the attendant so I settled for a chocolate Dove bar and decided another spigot foot wash was all I needed—the 'off-limits' pool called my name the entire time. Marginally refreshed we began to hike out, only to be stopped by a pair of couples dining alfresco in the RV section. “You guys hungry?” they yelled as we walked by. We smiled, I still feel awkward accepting such benevolent charity. We sat and ate kebabs and pasta salad, everyone shared camping mishap stories. They insisted we take a bottle of wine and Perrier and beamed when I called them “Trail Angels”. My outlook on the day has changed; fellowship is more renewing than a hot shower.
Camping above Soledad Canyon, mile 445.0.
Trail magic at Acton KOA.
May 29, Day 25
17.6 miles [462.6]
Up at 5 a.m. and to no surprise it got hot almost immediately. Luckily the terrain was fairly easy into Agua Dulce. Vasquez Rocks was worth a return trip. Bought a strawberry Arizona iced tea and hitched in a truck bed over to Hiker Heaven to wait out the midday heat. “Numbers” gave us the run-down, I signed up for a shower and laundry immediately—it had been over two weeks. I lazed around in the shade with other hikers, sipping on the bottle of white wine we got yesterday, and talked about surviving for nearly 500 miles. Got drunk pretty quickly since I had only eaten a few snacks. Refreshed, we went back into town for resupply. Adam and I gorged ourselves on an eight-piece fried chicken dinner and a bagged kale salad from the deli counter. Pumped for Casa de Luna tomorrow, I’ve heard it’s an iconic location in trail culture. My clothes smell fresh, I am clean, I have food. Life’s good.
“Tiny” the dog at Hiker Heaven.
Highway 14 tunnel, mile 451.1.
Truck bed views near Agua Dulce.
Petersen road power lines, mile 456.6.
Hike On?
Summer 100: #51-60
Setting off into cool morning air, our day's journey begins as we walk down the road's narrow, furrowed lanes. I am quite familiar with this particular...
Summer 100: #51-60
51/100
Setting off into cool morning air, our day's journey begins as we walk down the road's narrow, furrowed lanes. I am quite familiar with this particular road, having hiked it many times throughout my years spent on the Ranch, but I have never witnessed it like this before. Fog is a rare treat during the summer months and I struggle to contain my excitement. Looming pines glare down upon us, their boughs and trunks disappear into gray murkiness. Dense, moist silence amplifies the babbling Rayado and crunching gravel beneath our boots. Each crest and fork holds the possibility of an entirely new landscape. I sense our destination is getting close, but in this light, how can I really be sure?
52/100
Continuing along the hazy highway, my mind drifts and quickly I find myself obsessing about tomorrow's conclave. Throughout the summer, there are two mandatory all-day meetings Camp Directors and Backcountry Managers attend, our first one is tomorrow. Undeniably I am destined for hard plastic and cold florescence. Less than thrilled, I set my sights on celebrating Independence Day the day after, surely this will keep me motivated. I trudge onward, not even having reached Phillips Junction and already I have flipped my decision on accepting a ride; yesterday's water-bottle incident continues to teach my tendons new lessons. Hydrate, or, well...
53/100
I take another swig from my Dr. Pepper and Wild Turkey, excusing myself from one of today's many barrel races; yesterday's meeting feels like a hallucination. Opting out of unsavory and crowded bathrooms, I wander past our parked cars and into the adjacent school's baseball field. Styrofoam cups and tumble weeds collect in overgrown dugouts, this dugout being no different. Hot, noon-day sun beats down upon me, occasionally interrupted for a gentle, warm breeze which floats through the rodeo grounds. Fourth of July is shaping up to be a spectacular day!
54/100
After a quick detour through the food booth, I make my way back to my uncomfortably angular bleacher seat, chili dog in hand. Pickle-flavored sunflower seeds and kettle corn flow freely while our section cheers during the ensuing cattle roping event. Yips of “c'mon now!” and loud whistles emanate from the grandstands. Evening plans are quickly and effortlessly hashed out; the annual fireworks show over Eagle Nest Lake is a crowd favorite and not to be missed. And there's always the bar on way home. Blissfully, we chat away our afternoon in shade from the awnings, occasionally glancing up at the massive blue expanse. Who needs a beach?
55/100
The vast majority of backcountry staff are busy at their respective camps, however, plenty of staff who work from basecamp have a flexible afternoon and can attend the rodeo. Next to me is Jamie, an old friend who has continuously worked in Health Lodge, now called Infirmary due to some important legislature. I remember back to 2011, she was fortunately at camp and helped administer first aid to my index finger when I stupidly sliced it wide open with my pocket knife. In 2012, we both sat front row at the very same rodeo and snapped photos of the Mutton Busting event. Last year, she visited camp frequently to shoot guns, bake cookies in our wood-burner, and transport altitude sickness cases. This year, a group of us have plans to see a show at Red Rocks, an experience which has been on my checklist for quiet some time. I look around, stories and anecdotes of people I know unfold before me like a virtual pop-up book. Standing, we applaud the rider who just took a nasty fall; Jamie looks relieved to be off-duty.
56/100
I begin to take notice of some of the locals and realize my wardrobe is woefully ill-prepared. Shiny belt buckles and alligator shoes equally compliment coordinated pearl snaps and Stetson's. Grizzled, weather-beaten cowboys sit between cheering and supportive rodeo moms; young teens can be spotted canoodling in the extremities of the bleachers while fifth and sixth graders rope and wrestle each other in front of the grandstands. The Maverick Club Rodeo has been ongoing for over 90 years and it looks as though the entire town is here to show their support.
57/100
I sink my rear into the footwell of the bleachers, back resting against the rigid metal seating; it has always felt more comfortable to sit this way. Reaching for my empty beverage after already having tested its lack of fullness several times, I realize my afternoon has blown by, similar to the clouds which we had all watched earlier. Shaking the thoughts from my mind, I close my eyes and listen to the sounds of the event. Pounding hooves and powerful whinnies can be made out over the chatting crowd and rambunctious children. And if I concentrate, even a whistling lasso or two can be heard.
58/100
Helping to bridge the gap between Backcountry and Ranger departments are Ranger Trainers, or RT. They have numerous responsibilities, but being a Liaison for a camp is a universally agreed upon perk of the job. I have known Stuart for a few summers and this year he is our Liaison. Whether in uniform or not, high-waisted shorts and Chacos seem to be a personal requirement. Taking advantage of Zastrow's accessibility, he has visited a few times; checking in with our staff and always making a point to discuss photography and cameras.
59/100
We park our car on the shoulder of a familiar mountain road and gather our blankets and jackets during waning moments of dusk. A winding trail of car lights slowly descend into Eagle Nest; one of the few places to see a fireworks show. Munching on chips and Twizzlers, we joke and laugh the remaining light away. A solitary flash and distant bang alerts us to the show's arrival. Two years ago, I remember seeing the fireworks explode directly over the water; its receded bank a visual testament of continued drought. Bruce Springsteen crackles over a distant cell phone speaker. Conditions may change, but the ritual is still just as familiar as it ever was.
60/100
Already another week has elapsed at Zastrow. Program has been functioning smoothly, only one day of rain has soured dutch oven cobbler-cooking. Our greatly anticipated National Inspection team was here yesterday; nothing of demerit stood out which we took for success. I even managed to squeeze in a concert at Red Rocks last night to celebrate, thanks in part to my flexible staff. Camp is momentarily empty during part of our evening program and I take advantage of this brief silence to appreciate the “blood-moon”. Its radiant orange hues slowly turn to a familiar bright yellow, as if ingesting all available light while it ascends. I transport myself to last night's saga, remembering it even watched over us while we were “collapsing and screaming at the moon”.
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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