JMT Day 19 — 8/22/24
Bighorn Plateau to Guitar Lake
Bigger Sierra Beach Camp to Happy Dinner Camp
JMT miles: 9.2 miles
JMT total: 180.7 miles
Elevation change: 1,844ft gain, 1,703ft loss
And then we were there. After 19 days of hiking south from Yosemite, paralleling the Sierra Crest as it rises higher into the sky to its rocky peak at Mount Whitney, leaving oxygen and shrubbery behind, Flower Power and I find ourselves a few short hours from the beginning of our final day on the JMT. The rising excitement was nothing new. After crossing Forester Pass yesterday and setting up camp within view of our goal, the inevitability of the finale finally felt real, like I could finally let myself consider the end without the risk of diluting the present. And today, since the first eruption of orange glow on the horizon of peaks, I felt the anticipation slowly grow. The summit awaits.
Expecting the intensity of tomorrow to blur even the most potent memories, I treated today like a victory lap. Or maybe that’s too presumptuous. After all, nothing is guaranteed, even now. What I mean to say is that I tried to use this relatively easy day as an opportunity to reflect on and appreciate all that has happened so far. What this left me with is an immense feeling of gratitude. I’m grateful for my privilege, which has enabled me to seek these dream trips. I’m grateful for Flower Power, who was willing to take this leap with me. I’m grateful for the weather and these mountains for giving us a smooth ride so far. I’m grateful for so many things, the warm sand, the peaceful whisper of a breeze in the bottlebrush needles of the foxtail pines, the smooth trail, the cool water, the emptiness, and the company.
And how could I not be? This has been a tough journey, but so many things have gone right, and I know that my optimistic mind will spin even the bad into good with enough time. From Bighorn Plateau to Guitar Lake, we are now as close to the final stretch as we can get. This is the breath before the plunge, the peak of the arc. What better way to celebrate than with friends and a big pot of beans?
No matter that last night was the first that I had felt a little cold. The days were noticeably shorter now than when we had started, and the nights were colder too. Anyway, the sun was up now and the day would warm up soon. This discomfort was temporary. And not quite as soon, but too soon nonetheless, I would be waking up in a temperature-controlled room. This cold didn’t feel so uncomfortable when I considered that.
I looked outside through the tent mesh, and the blurry view snapped me into action. I groggily squeezed on my shoes and stumbled to my feet. Ahhhhhhh, it was better than I had hoped. The mountains on the far side of the plateau, the ones that had been ragged silhouettes yesterday evening, were aflame with light. There were too many of them, and I didn’t have a strong connection with their unknown topography, but they sure were pretty. The air was calm, and even the smallest sounds were amplified by the blanket of silence that enveloped us. Flower Power and I stood on the sandy rise next to the tent, watching the shadows shift and disappear. But before long, the excitement for the day overwhelmed my ability to be perfectly still and present. Time to start fiddling.
By the time we were packed up and ready for breakfast, the sun had clambered above the Sierra Crest and was bombarding us with its wonderful warmth. Perfect. We sat facing it and Whitney to eat our cookies and drink our tea. It was a welcome change to have the luxury of warmth while we dined, and it set the tone for the entire day ahead of us. With relatively few, and relatively easy miles between us and our intended camp at Guitar Lake, it was time to enjoy the JMT as much as we could. Breakfast without shivering was a good start.
Even then we were hiking by our usual time at 8am, dropping off the plateau on a gradual descent to Wright Creek. Foxtail and boulders populated the gentle terrain. Each turn of the trail brought a new perspective to the same mountains. Whenever I could, I gazed to the crest, to the peaks and basins where I did have memories. Spice and I had camped less than a quarter mile away during the SHR, at the time feeling like we were in a remote area of Montana rather than near one of the most popular trails in the country. Then we climbed into that basin over there, swam in a hidden lake, and scrambled up and over an invisible ridge.
A different view brought back different memories. As Flower Power and I hopped the creek, then disappeared around the next meadow, I wondered when my next visit would be. When would I be back here, remembering the JMT? What would I remember?
The trail found the easy route around the wide edges of the big mountains, and we cruised. A drop down to a big junction at Wallace Creek followed, then we contoured towards the next and final drainage. Conversation touched on Bridgerton and Flower Power’s upbringing in England, all while we flickered through the dappled shade on gravely tread. There was a big view west to the Kaweah’s at the lush Sandy Meadow, but then it was all Whitney.
After an hour-long lunch, long enough to become chilled in the shade, we climbed up and rounded the bend above Whitney Creek. Through a gap in the trees, there it was, the hulking summit that capped the short valley. At another spot, the rest of the Whitney Crest appeared, and we squinted at it trying to find the trail where it cut below the serrated ridgeline. I knew it was up there and hoped to point it out to Flower Power, but it was shy from this angle, so the speculation was due to continue. One thing that was obvious, however, was the immensity of scale. This mountain was huge. As much as I wished for relief from my apprehensive thoughts about tomorrow, staring wasn’t going to help us in that regard. This intensity and excitement were coming with us to the end.
Keeping on, we passed a few folks coming down from their morning summit bids. Some were happier than others, and all looked exhausted. A cool breeze kicked up, and suddenly I became aware of the altitude. We’d been this high and higher before, but I felt a new edge here in the shadow of Tumanguya. The air was thinner and less substantial now that I could see how much higher we had to climb. What already seemed barely adequate to nourish our cells and warm our bones, was a thick soup compared with the thin miso that we’d sample on the summit, almost 4,000ft closer to outer space.
Shortly after leaving the grassy bank of Timberline Lake, we left timberline behind, fully immersing ourselves in the mountain amphitheater that nearly encircled us. With each passing minute, now that my view of Whitney was completely uninterrupted, my excitement grew from my belly up. Just to be back in the presence of this mountain was winding me up. However, it was a subdued thrill. I wasn’t jumping out of my socks, but the specialness of this place was something I felt rather than thought. It had power over me, and I was reminded of the quotation from the late climber Anatoli Boukreev, “Mountains are not stadiums where I satisfy my ambition to achieve, they are the cathedrals where I practice my religion.” That dude got it. The walls of Mount Young, Hale, Morgenson, Russell, Whitney, Muir, and Hitchcock held my spiritual center. For years I’d been suspicious that it was spread across this wider region south of Forester, but now I was certain that we were approaching its heart. This was the cathedral of all cathedrals.
Guitar Lake eluded us for longer than expected, and the rocky campsites initially rejected many a stake, but eventually our final camp was pitched and comfortable. There was a rowdy vibe across the meadow, where a large encampment congregated, but I was able to keep to myself for as long as desired while I filtered water for the evening and next day. While I tightly squeezed our clogged filters over and over, I scrutinized the mountain, wondering if that gully was a safe shot to the summit. Research to do when I get home.
By the time I was finished, it was time for dinner. Serendipitously, when looking for a campsite, Flower Power and I ran into our friends Pebbles and Crunchy, who had been absent from our story since MTR. It was great to see them again and easy to accept their invitation to dinner, so now we joined them on the granite bench overlooking the lake to share our final evening on the JMT. The sunset views and relaxed conversation were easily the highlight of the day and a perfect distraction from any anxiousness that gurgled subconsciously. Combined with a big pot of beans, I was full in belly and spirit when the chill told us to call it a night and head to bed.
Setting the alarm for 3am punctuated the gravity of the moment after I lay down in my quilt next to Flower Power. In several short hours, we were going for it. I was confident and ready, nervous and unsure. Let’s see how this goes…
Hike For Days 