John Muir Trail Day 3: Welcome to the JMT

JMT Day 3 — 8/6/24
Rush Creek to Shadow Creek
Dusty Roads Camp to Packed Bench Camp
JMT miles:  9.2 miles
JMT total: 25.2 miles
Elevation change: 1,970ft gain, 2,103ft loss

Dusty trail, rancid chapstick, and mild dehydration were the minor annoyances that tried to balance the scales of the day. But their attempted coup was futile. The mountains were too spectacular. My mom and I finished up our alternate start to the JMT, finally joining the fabled route at midday, hoping to ride it until the end. So far so good.

The morning routine was a little more refined today, and we finally hefted our packs around 8am. The sunlight filtered through the tall trees, which we now noticed were all dead where we had camped. Oh well, even potentially catastrophic mistakes only kill sometimes. The forest was cool as we turned away from Rush Creek and set out to finish the last four miles to the JMT.

A slow climb brought us to a meadow’s edge surrounded by piles of crumbled basalt. I don’t know much about rocks, but I recognized the chunky black stone and proudly pointed it out. There would be a lot more of it as we approached the basalt-palooza of Devil’s Postpile, but this first encounter did strike an obvious contrast. Across the great depression of Gem Lake streaked other types of rock in a cliffy ridgeline — brilliant white granite to black something then the rich red something else that defined Parker Peak and Koip Peak Pass. Most of yesterday’s hiking was almost visible. Most satisfying.

My lips felt a little bit crusty when we got moving again, so I dug my ancient lip balm out of my weathered hipbelt pocket. It was a messy melt of coconut oil, mint, stevia, and an amount of SPF, and smelled expired as I squished it back into the plastic tube with a finger. I wasn’t surprised to find it past its prime. I’d picked it up at the visitor center in Encampment, WY back in 2019 when Spice and I were hiking the CDT. Nope, this goop had been old for a long time, a testament to my stubbornness when it comes to moisturizing my lips. The first thin layer felt amazing, so I slathered it on thick. The mint was just perceptible under the rancid oils, but I didn’t mind too much. Rancid oils were familiar to me. In fact, just last month I’d eaten a bar while hiking the Rainbow Trail that had expired even before the CDT in 2019. Kinda gross, maybe not good for me, but free.

Banner Peak popped through the trees after we crested a small rise. It was big now, very close, shuddering with detail. Steep chutes of black rock poured onto a skirt of ruddy glaciers. The more I looked, the more intimidating it became.

Soon after that, we joined the PCT for the final mile to Thousand Island Lake. The short stretch was anonymously unfamiliar to me nine years since I’d been here on that thru-hike, but it was cool to be back nonetheless. I hoped to see a trail crest nailed to a tree to help me remember the good ol’ days, but there were none. I settled for remembering a hot day of hiking naked on the summer solstice.

The lake was more beautiful than anything should be. It was disgustingly scenic with sapphire waters rippling around exactly 1,000  tiny granite islands, reflecting the ragged crest of the Ritter Range. Welcome to the JMT proper. We were officially on it now, and we would fall in with the conga line headed south to Whitney. But wait, where was everybody? Where was the party? It was just us and Ranger Patrick, who politely asked me to dig our permit from deep in my pack. 

The swimming was delightful. Seriously, it was warm enough to get a few strokes in, and the location couldn’t be beat. A fine spot for lunch. And wouldn’t you know it, the only two groups of hikers we saw during our two hours there passed when each of us was changing. Go figure.

The afternoon was hot, but the lakey splendor continued with Sapphire, Ruby, and Garnet Lakes. The last was as big and stupendous as Thousand Island Lake, with a breeze that blew away all my cares that my nostrils were filled with the dust of a million mule poops. We sat at the outlet, watching the windcaps twinkle and Mount Ritter turn into a silhouette.

The final climb was well-shaded in the trees, which I finally remembered to be Whitebark Pine. They nobly kept us cool and cheerful during the hottest hours. Yet despite their effort, my head muzzed with a fluid imbalance. I drank as much as I could, hoping it would be enough.

We were both feeling baked by the time we reached a concentration of hikers looking for a campsite at Shadow Creek. Restrictions and restoration placed a few groups of us on a sprawling granite bench with views down to the off-limits Shadow Lake. That was fine with me. I was cooked and ready to be done despite the short miles. My mom led the effort to pitch our tent in the challengingly shallow dirt, then I filtered several liters of good water from the languid meander of Shadow Creek. Sunset cast its golden light on the tall water grasses. I was all alone as I squeezed the filter, surrounded by peace. Until a small rodent ran into my foot. That was weird.

Back at camp, an entire liter of couscous and spanish rice challenged our stomach capacities, but we put it away as the ISS streaked overhead through a charcoal sky still waiting for its first star. After tidying camp, we both lay on our left sides to help digest the grand experiment. My headache was gone, and I felt rejuvenated already. A perfect time to sleep.