John Muir Trail Day 16: A Reset at Rae Lakes

JMT Day 16 — 8/19/24
South Fork Woods Creek to Bullfrog Lake Junction
No Stakes For You Camp to Resupply Rendezvous Camp
JMT miles: 9.7 miles
JMT total: 155.7 miles
Elevation change: 3,041ft gain, 1,841ft loss

This final day of our longest section between resupplies felt like a needed reset. Glen Pass was another formidable challenge in our path, but the day’s focus was on Rae Lakes and all the relaxing beauty that they provided. That basin is just one of those places where worries are checked at the door. Even with the seemingly impassable pass looming above, the inviting waters and peaceful forest imbue a calmness that I love to soak up. As the Sierra rise to their airy climax in the south, Rae Lakes offered us a final relaxing splash before the final epic push. I’m excited for what’s next, and I now feel cleaner and more refreshed. A clean slate for the beginning of the end.

But we didn’t start at the Big Rae. We were still clinging to a scratch in the dirt a few miles down canyon. Both Flower Power and I slept well despite a persistent breeze and a blazing moon, but outside the cozy confines of our quilts, the cold sharpened to a keen edge. Diamond Peak was a high wall to the east, so it was up to us to find our warmth rather than wait for it to come to us. After a questionable amount of fiddling, we were both fed, ready to go, and shivering.

We didn’t need to move far up the trail before finding the sunlight that poured through the open gate in the mountain profile. I turned to face it and opened my palms to the sun. My nose dripped with cold, but I was going to survive. Flower Power hiked ahead, correctly wondering why we hadn’t kept some warm layers on to start the day.

Now that our basic human needs were attended to, my thoughts drifted a few miles south to the inevitable plunge. I felt sticky and couldn’t wait for my first swim since Wanda Lake before Muir Pass. That felt like a long, hot, sweaty distance behind us now, as did our last real leisurely lunch break. Had we truly relaxed since MTR? Our pace had been a little manic since then, so I was looking forward to putting my feet up for a few minutes. It would have been easy to get anxious about getting over Glen but for the power of Rae, which drew my attention back to the water.

We finally climbed into the lakey part of the drainage. First Dollar Lake, clear, small, and surrounded by restoration sites. Then Arrowhead Lake, where we popped off our shoes for a few minutes and watched an osprey splash for fish. Then it was on to the big show. We had eaten up just enough time to justify an early lunch, which I got started with a blade of wild onion grass on the final turn. The black, red, and white rock of the Painted Lady and other jagged peaks opened up ahead of us, surrounding a wide basin with heaping ridges of rubble. And in that basin languished Upper Rae Lake.

Eager to get in the water, we found a spot next to the trail with good shore access and shade. Why we still looked for shade I didn’t know. After a dip, we always warmed up in the sun, but it perhaps was nice to have the option. I ate a lot while Flower Power splashed around, then we flipped so that no mischievous rodents could get any wacky ideas about the heist of a lifetime.

The water was warmer than I expected, even when the squishy mud disappeared below a bottomless blue and I was left treading water. I took a short lap, eyeing the tiny island before turning around. Wind splashed micro whitecaps into my eyes as I paddled back to shore. I dunked my head, feeling the smokey grit clear from my eyes and evaporate from my brain. My belly was heavy, making it hard to breathe through a stream of small burps, but I made it safely back to shore and pulled myself out to shiver on the grassy bank. Ahhhh, the best.

As nice as it was drying in the hot sun, Glen Pass was calling us forward. For weeks now I had considered it the toughest of the whole trail, a determination that was steeped in hazy memories and loose conjecture, so we were both stoked to finally see if the reputation was deserved. And there wasn’t a better time to find out. We were rested and cool, and a breeze would keep it that way as we climbed to nearly 12,000ft.

Looking from the lake, I can’t say that I would have chosen to build the trail over Glen. The intimidating wall of talus rose to a high saddle, as intimidatingly steep as any of the others that looked impossible to climb. However, having been over it before, I was confident that the trail was there, even if I couldn’t see it. And so it was. Well-constructed switchbacks brought us up to, then through the cliff band that hung halfway up. Then it was just a few more to the top.

I was proud of Flower Power, who for all her respectful fear of precipices, didn’t let the many steep drop-offs slow her down. As we neared the top, I was in awe of her. Just looking at where we were, on an edge of boulders high above anything that looked friendly. Our lunch spot was far below us now. The tippy tops of sharp peaks and sheer faces were much closer. A pair of ravens swooped and soared, dancing on the wind as it wooshed over the saddle. We were no ravens, but we were here too, hanging with dancers of the sky. They flew, we plodded, but when all was said and done, bird and human sat at the same place. Glen Pass, another achievement, another cool spot.

The afternoon smoke was again buffing out a lot of the distant peaks and fine details as we dropped into the next drainage. The down was more relentless and rocky than I remembered it, and it soon turned us into parched and exhausted husks. Deciding where to camp was of little consequence, but our muddled minds made it more complicated than it should have been. Yet finally, we pitched the tent and unpacked in a warm forest. It was perfect after the abundant exposure of the afternoon, safe and comforting amid the trees next to a gurgling stream. It was also perfectly located for tomorrow, when I would take a side trail to collect our final resupply from my dad who agreed to hump it up Kearsarge Pass. It should be easy, the final logistic hurdle of the JMT. What could go wrong?

Bed followed beans. And with Rae and Glen behind us, conversation shifted to Forester and Whitney. And just like that, we were looking at the end.