John Muir Trail Day 11: Crossing the San Joaquin

JMT Day 11 — 8/14/24
Muir Trail Ranch to McClure Meadow
Perfect Day Camp to Golden Grass Camp
JMT miles: 11.5 miles
JMT total: 96.3 miles
Elevation change: 2,421ft gain, 587ft loss

Literally and figuratively, Flower Power and I reached our JMT halfway point today. The latter came before lunch, when we finally put behind us one of the greatest question marks of this year’s hiker class. We eclipsed the former by the time we pitched our tent in the Evolution Valley. Using the occasion to look both backward and forward, the beginning of this trek already feels far away. And so does the end, although I’ve done this enough times to know that the end really does sneak up on you at an accelerated rate. I expect the second half to feel a lot shorter than the first. But that’s alright. We’ve come a long way and still have a long way to go, even if time decides to stretch and retract like a blob of kneaded sourdough. And I know for a fact that I’m even more excited for the second act than I was for the first. And that’s saying a lot. We’re broken in and in the groove now. I’m grateful to have made it this far, and hope that we can do it again.

A slight dehydration headache didn’t give me confidence in the day when I awoke at the normal time this morning. Somehow someway I managed to pull my classic resupply stop move and forgot to drink enough water yesterday. Oh well, nothing to do but move forward, so I loaded my one caffeinated bar in my hip belt, priming it for the perfect time.

The campground was quiet when we got up at our usual time, and it still was at 8am when we put on our packs and moved to the MTR store. It was quiet there too, and just our buddy Michael was hanging around. I washed my hands with soap and water for the last time and filled up my bottles. Then we hung our packs from the hanging scale. 30 pounds for Flower Power and 45 pounds for me, including food, fuel, and water. I didn’t like that one bit, but that was the price we had to pay to play in these mountains. With six days to our next resupply, that was a lot of food to carry.

It felt heavy, but familiar when I hoisted it onto my back. I’d carried this much a few times on the CDT with this exact pack, and I remembered the adjustments to make. Tighten the hip belt, loosen the shoulders, tighten the load lifters. That helped a lot, but my shoulders still felt their heavy burden.

We bid adieu to our friend and left those other bums to their r&r. I envied the other hikers and longed for another rest day, but I was also stoked to begin the two-day climb to Muir Pass. If my memory was accurate, a foolish assumption, then the trail ahead was all smooth, all gradual, and all beautiful. And some of the best stuff of the whole trail lay just ahead.

The forest was cool and shaded, and for the first few miles, my memory was totally accurate. I craned my eyes skyward to take in all of the humongous ponderosas that bridged the distance between sky and earth with such jovial competence. I padded through the rich dust behind Flower Power. Before long, we were three miles further, at the confluence of Paiute Creek and the San Joaquin River, surrounded by fuzzy red juniper. I gave the biggest a full-fingered belly scratch, wondering if the tree felt my touch and if it liked it as much as old-man Tango back at home (he’s a dog).

We sat for a short break and were amazed by the number of hikers that passed both ways. We recognized zero of them, and many were teetering below towering backpacks, so where were they coming from? Perhaps they were looping through the ever-popular Evolution region on week-long excursions. Perhaps they were just way hungrier than I was. Either way, we’d see a lot of these ones headed south with us.

We fell in line, crossing the metal footbridge that spanned a clear pool below a tumbling tumult of froth. Paiute Creek was raging lightly, though the deep scour in a trench of cobbles suggested that it was a monster during peak runoff. Crossing into Kings Canyon National Park, we turned to follow the San Joaquin to another confluence at Evolution Creek.

A short while later, we reached the aforementioned figurative halfway point where the trail crossed the river. Heavy snows had knocked out the burly steel bridge in 2023, and the river was unsafe to cross during the early hiking seasons. We’d seen why during the approach along the narrow gorge where the river often cascaded and rushed. Planning for this hike, Flower Power and I had prepared to do a detour around the busted bridge that added 30 miles and two days of hiking. However, two weeks before today, word spread that a temporary bridge was in place for construction purposes that hikers could use at their own risk. That was great news for us, substantially reducing what was already a big carry. Still, until we crossed this rumored cable bridge, the San Joaquin represented a big question mark.

So the spindly structure was a sight for sun-baked eyes. The entrance down a few metal rungs anchored to a rock slab was spicier than we expected, and the whole thing bounced and swayed a lot, but the experience was more efficient than 30 bonus miles. Painted on the wooden floorboard, “1 Person Only.” I believed it. After a high-five we kept on trucking, happy enough to stop for a lunch break.

Nearing the end of our siesta, none other than Michael strolled up the trail. Schedule differences meant that we hadn’t expected to see him again, so it was a serendipitous encounter. Flower Power, eager to undergo another thru-hiker right of passage, had come up with a trail name for our friend only after we had departed. But now she bestowed it upon him. Locked In walked away a new person, an anointed dirtbag, and one of the coolest cats in Lodi.

After a hot stack of switchbacks, replete with more furry juniper, we were at the entrance to the hanging Evolution Valley. I’d first visited this paradise in 2006, and secretly considered it overrated ever since. You see, after following a wonderful cascade of pure thunder where Evolution Creek dropped to meet the San Joaquin, the valley was just a long flat of boring forest and meadows. So lame.

But this time, I totally dug the viewless monotony. My best explanation is that hiking the ECT in 2022 had gifted me an upgraded appreciation for green tunnels. I didn’t find the valley lame this time through. It was a peaceful reprieve from the mountains that were usually too beautiful to describe. This afternoon, I liked the quiet.

The miles sped by with trees, languid water, tall grasses, and old memories. Then, tired from a day of hiking constantly uphill, we managed to pick an empty camp spot from the many that had already sprouted domed tents. Near the edge of McClure Meadow, Flower Power and I watched the pine and grass glow with golden light as we cooked dinner and prepared for bed. A pretty sweet way to start the second half.