John Muir Trail Day 17: No Sleep ’til Whitney

JMT Day 17 — 8/20/24
Bullfrog Lake Junction to Center Peak Meadow
Resupply Rendezvous Camp to Big Sierra Camp
JMT miles: 6 miles + 5.5 miles resupply at Kearsarge Pass
JMT total: 161.7 miles
Elevation change: 1,705ft gain, 1,029ft loss

After an epic resupply effort from my dad, Flower Power and I are now underway on the final leg of this journey. “No Sleep ’til Whitney” echoes in my skull even though there will be plenty of sleep before then. However, the sentiment is the same — it’s time to put the finishing touches on this thing. There are no more steps or major milestones between us and The Old Man, Tumanguya. Well, actually, there are about 40 miles worth of steps that remain, but with just Forester Pass in the middle, the slow countdown, or buildup, to the end is undeniably ticking forward. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. I love being out here, but there is also much that I miss. I’m ready to go back home to Spice and Tango in Colorado, but I could also stay out here until the first snowfall of autumn. A good trip makes it hard to go home. A good home makes it hard to stay away. I suppose that I’m fortunate to have both, but saying goodbye to one for the other is always bittersweet. Such is the case with the JMT.

The meetup with my dad was scheduled in a way that allowed us to have a leisurely morning. Instead of getting up around 6am, we snoozed until 7am, then got up with less haste than usual. I didn’t know what to do with myself until suddenly I was out of time. A hasty poop, quickly filtered water, and I was off to Kearsarge Pass, three minutes late at 8:33am.

Saying hi to my dad before I set out for Kearsarge.

We decided yesterday that Flower Power would take the morning to rest in camp rather than make the six-mile roundtrip to collect our food. Although she really did want to see my dad, it just made sense for her to take it easy. With blisters popping up like a game of whack-a-mole and a wonky ankle, the rest and ensuing short day should do her a lot of good. It had been a while since our last layoff at MTR. Time for some r&r.

With a light load and full belly, I jetted off down the Bullfrog Lake Trail past, as you guessed, Bullfrog Lake. I didn’t give it much of a glance. I was all business, hiking as fast as I could, trying to make it the three miles to the pass in under an hour. It didn’t look that far away, but I knew from experience that the final switchbacks were a butt-kicker so I wanted to take advantage of the flat. Various pop songs jingled in my head, matching my cadence along the sandy trail through the wide basin. The sun was already hot and I quickly worked up a pant and lather.

I was past an hour, but still twenty minutes early when a cool breeze blew me up the last turn to Kearsarge’s rocky ridge. It was just me and a couple with an accent, no sign of my dad. That was perfect, I wanted to beat him there, and I was hoping to slip in a short call home to Spice. But no dice. No service. However, my adopted friends were interesting enough, and we easily found some common ground. Hikers like hiking, so it’s always easy to talk trails.

Kearsarge Lakes and a few other things named ‘Kearsarge’.

The final puffy switchback to Kearsarge Pass.

Ten minutes later, I glanced east down the trail and recognized that gait and color scheme. Dad was in da house! He looked gassed — no wonder for someone at 12,000ft who was at sea level a day earlier — and happy to be at the top. And I was happy to see him. Not only for the food that he lugged in a blue daypack, but also because I missed the guy. Plus, Flower Power and I had put our trail time to good use, solving all his problems for him and figuring out the future. I wanted to give him the good news.

But seriously, it was great to see him doing well and to hear that the weather forecast was all clear. Not that I’d been too concerned after a week without a single cloud in the sky. And of course, we expressed our regrets that Flower Power wasn’t there. That reunion would need to wait for a few more days, but I assured him that all was well, if not perfect. That seemed to make him happy, and as the pass gathered a crowd, we hugged it out and said goodbye. Back into the mountains for me. Back down to the car for him.

Sure, take off your shoes. You earned it. And thank you!

I practically ran back to camp, not really feeling the weight of the food on my back. Life was good. The plan was working. And seeing my dad and the pride on his face when I delivered the good news was a jolt to my morale, a reminder that yeah, we were freaking doing it! Reaching Whitney was within reach, close enough to believe now. Less than four more days…

Flower Power and I organized our fresh supplies of the same old bars and beans and packed up quickly after I returned. She had taken a nap and handled some chores while I was away, and was just sitting down to relax in the warm sunshine when I rudely barged in. Now we whipped up a cloud of that fine Sierra dust while shoving food in our bear canisters and everything else into our packs. 12:20pm. Time to hike.

I’ll take some credit for planning to hike only six miles before camping a few miles short of Forester Pass. Actually, Spice gets the credit for that genius after reminding me that this trip was supposed to be enjoyable while I fussed over the loose itinerary. So far that goal had been mostly achieved, but it was nice to take the foot off the gas a little bit now. Six easy miles to camp sounded good.

We dropped out of the Kearsarge basin a thousand feet down to Vidette Meadow where we turned up canyon to follow Bubbs Creek through the forest and into the alpine. The smooth triangle of Vidette East anchored the panorama as we descended into the wide gully left by a long-departed, long glacier. The sharp fins of the Kings-Kern Divide backed it up, daring us to try crossing. And from where we were it didn’t look too possible. Forester was still hidden from view up the valley, and all other routes up ended in cliffs.

Bush Chinquapin. I’ve been calling this shrub “willows” for too many years, including in an earlier JMT post. Finally, I tracked it down. It’s aromatic and only grows in cool places, so it’s always a nice thing to see.

The big drop into Vidette Meadow and the Bubbs Creek drainage.

For now, however, all we needed to do was cruise and trust that the trail would take us where we needed to go. The afternoon was hot, but the forest was shady and we made good time past huge campsites and fine swimming holes. Unfortunately, after a quick late lunch, a lassitude of one cause or another descended upon me, hazing my mind and sapping my legs of their juice. Was it the smoke that had made a habit of blowing in during the afternoon and burning my eyes? Did I eat too much? Was the dash to Kearsarge getting to me? Without any idea, I drank as much water as I could to at least rule out dehydration as the cause. It didn’t help, but it was all I could do for myself.

Where’s Forester? Nope, still can’t see it yet. Almost.

Back into the alpine. Time to feel small.

Steadily we gained back our elevation, and by 5:30pm, we found ourselves at treeline in a vast meadow tucked next to Center Peak. The wind rushed in that unsettling alpine way, and puffs of smoke hazed. Still tired, I was grateful to call it a day after finding a great campsite with a tremendous view. The mountains are big this far south, and the spaces between them are scaled to match. This combination equals unrivaled vistas and a guaranteed feeling of smallness. And this was how I felt as Flower Power and I shared a pot of beans and watched the sunlight fade on the mountains around us. The wind then went the way of the light, leaving us with a calm that hummed with silence.