John Muir Trail Day 12: Wanda Rules, Muir Drools

JMT Day 12 — 8/15/24
McClure Meadow to Middle Fork of the King
Golden Grass Camp to Worst Trail Ever Camp
JMT miles: 11.5 miles
JMT total: 107.8 miles
Elevation change: 2,664ft gain, 1,378ft loss

Oh boy, what a difference a day can make. Gone now is the excited optimism of yesterday. In are the dreary doubts about the itinerary and our ability to keep up with the schedule. After a grueling day spent humping over another big pass, both Flower Power and I are near the limit. New aches, sun-fried brains, and crowded trail deposited us in camp as empty husks of ourselves 24 hours prior. What does the future hold for this dream team? I don’t know, but the picture is less rosy now. Still, a big pot of beans and a night of rest can change everything. Will they this time?

Our first frozen morning of the trail started us off on the back foot. With damp quilts and a wet tent, our normal pack-first, breakfast-after routine wasn’t ideal, so we dusted the frost off of our shoes and fiddled in a confused manner. The routine, especially the morning routine, is the foundation of efficiency when the mind is still muzzy from slumber, so it was mildly distressing to get thrown out of whack. If I couldn’t pack up my quilt, then nothing else could happen, it seemed. I killed time by pooping and brewing a pot of tea.

We were hoping that the sun would reach our part of the Evolution Valley with enough time to dry our stuff, but we ran out of things to do, and so lost patience. Plus, it was super cold and time to hike. So at 7:50am, precisely when the sun reached camp, we hoisted our packs and got moving. We could dry our damp gear at lunch.

There was more uphill than flat to finish the valley traverse, which was good for warming us up. And then for producing sweat. Switchbacking to the rim, I stopped at each clearing in the trees to gauge our progress and check out The Hermit from a new angle. It was the aesthetic anchor of the area, and the gator skin-like granite scales were already bright with the full intensity of the sun. High above it gleamed, daring me to climb it just as it had 18 years earlier. It wasn’t going to happen, though, not now and probably never. Who has time for such things?

Finally, we pulled ourselves out of the Evolution Valley and into Evolution Basin. It was the alpine equivalent of Disneyland, with endless opportunities to explore, ogle, and enjoy. The spires of Mount Mendel blended with the spires of Mount Darwin to our left, forming a formidable 13,000ft rim of split granite. Below, was the lower lobe of Evolution Lake, with a shore of green meadow surrounded by lumps of granite and stunted pine. The waters were ridiculously blue, like my vision was tinted by an Instagram filter. For miles ahead, I tracked the thin trail as it traversed between lake and peaks before disappearing around the bend into the upper basin. Tiny humans trudged along it in both directions, looking misshapen under colorful backpacks. It was good to be back.

I endeavored to be as present as possible as I followed Flower Power. These next several miles were some of the most spectacular and sacred that I’ve ever known, remaining above 11,000ft for longer than should be possible and filled with a procession of wonderful lakes. This was my fourth visit now, but I’d only camped up here once, and so those other visits had felt too quick. This one would too, but I made sure to download more data to my permanent memory bank this time, hoping to take more of it with me. A few more names of things, a better look at the cascade feeding the lake. Would it work? Who knew.

We probably should have taken a break earlier, but we finally made it to Sapphire Lake, failing miserably to find a shade tree taller than a teenager. However, the breeze kept us cool despite the blazing sun and reflective granite, allowing us to lounge in comfort while surrounded by our damp gear. I ate a lot of things and gathered water from the wind-whipped blue. Packs of hikers scrolled by on the trail. Padding around with bare feet, I felt the poke of the scrubby grass that wasn’t actually grass at all, and the warm smoothness of glacier-polished granite. To cap it off, I splashed in up to my neck for some stupid reason.

The push up to Wanda Lake was tougher than either of us remembered, and we occupied ourselves by making up names for the mountains around. Reclining Grizzly Peak and Oreo Ridge were memorable. We also found it odd that most summits are named after men, usually white explorers, while a whole lotta lakes are named after women. I tried to think of a single Sierra peak named for a woman, but came up blank. I know they’re out there, but my mental encyclopedia was delinquent in this regard.

Okay okay, the best part of the day was our swim in Wanda. As the highest biggest lake in the basin, it is arguably the best. But not because it’s the coldest, which is also true. Wanda is just awesome. There are zero trees in sight, and the surrounding mountains are epic. Glaciers and granite with this ocean of a lake in the middle. If the moon had a lake, then Wanda would be it.

I dunked my head this time, then gasped back to shore to dry away my shivers and ride the fine line between being that-shirt-wearing-guy-at-the-beach and sunburn. I think I nailed it.

Then just as Flower Power and I were wiping the crud from our feet with our cruddy socks, first our Norwegian friends from MTR and then Locked In crested the rise behind us. The visit was short, but it was good to see everyone again, maybe for the last time.

Alright, so when did the day get crappy, you may be wondering. It wasn’t during the final climb to Muir Pass. The scenery was still otherworldly and the trail smoothish. No, it was the subsequent descent from that strange stone hut that someone plopped on the pass. Not only was the trail way rockier and harder to follow, and thus slower and more draining, than expected, but the conga line of hikers coming in the opposite direction was truly shocking. They just kept coming, and they were probably saying the same thing about us. For as quiet as the JMT had been for us so far, the Evolution region seemed overrun. We were also stuck in the middle of a group of six moving in our direction. Their varied paces and odd personalities tried my patience, and I was glad to finally leave them behind at the crappy section of trail below Helen Lake.

After an hour more of even crappier trail, we were both exhausted and disappointed that we hadn’t made our goal for the day. But continuing on past 6pm was a bad idea and sure to result in an injury. Plus, with so many other people around, we had little confidence that our intended spot was even available, so instead, we found a small perch to call home for the evening. It was actually incredibly scenic, but our appreciation of that would take some reviving.

Flower Power had felt an always-scary twinge in her knee, and we were both worried about falling behind schedule. This seemed stupid, but also important. Filtering water, I cycled through possible scenarios, all demanding a pretty big tomorrow. With a questionable knee, that seemed like a big ask. But by the time we had finished our beans and watched the alpenglow dust the sky with color, I was feeling better. Tomorrow was a new day, and eventually the rocky trail would end. And maybe it would be quieter too.