Section 08. The Central Sierras from Vermillion Valley Resort to Sonora Pass

Section 08. Vermillion Valley Resort to Sonora Pass. Initially I was enamoured with VVR but soon cracks appeared behind the rustic veneer. It was expensive, while the carnivores were well fed on huge steaks of soya and growth hormone raised beef the vegetarians sufficed with small bowls of spaghetti under a canned red sauce. But worst the resupply boxes which were not collected by the relevant hiker were opened at the end of the season and the contents were put onto the shops shelves at exorbitant prices.

 

Nonetheless it was a great meeting place and the first place of rest hikers found after coming through the High Sierras.  In my three days there I was delighted to see so many groups had made it through. The Cream of America group left soon after I arrived heading for Mammoth. Then came Bliss and his team came for a day and left. Even Blue, the PCT’s party piece, strolled in complete with ukulele which surprised me. In all about 50 people came through in the 3 days I was there and many also bypassed VVR and went directly to Mammoth. Just before I left Deb and Harvest arrived with a big group including Aladdin, Fireball, Renee, Baby Carrot,  and Left and Right who took on the Sierras after all and succeeded. I had to go though as I had finished finished the very laborious process of uploading the blog and other emails, for which I had to walk a mile each way to the dam to get a tenuous phone signal 2 days in a row.

 

My plan was to get back to the PCT via Goodale Pass which meant I would not have to do the mundane walk round the lake and then up and over Silver Pass. Goodale Pass joined the PCT just after or north of Silver Pass. So I set off set off up the north shore of Lake Edison for a mile where the Goodale Pass Trail split off from it and headed north. I followed it north up past a meadow covered in purple Shooting Star flowers and then through huge Jeffrey Pines to the south end of Graveyard Meadow, where the trail crossed to the swollen Gold Creek on a jam of logs.

I remembered someone recommending this route and describing how they saw a bear cub frolicking in meadow last year.  I could not really see the meadow from the trail so cut through the woods towards it. It was large meadow and was covered in yellow flowers. The slow flowing and deep Gold Creek meandered across it, flooding onto the meadow frequently. This encouraged swarms of mosquitoes which attacked me with a frenzy.

 

Suddenly some 400 metres away I saw a small bear. It must have been the cub the person saw last year. It was nose down feeding on grass or roots in the open. decided to stalk it. I put a copse between me and the bear and ignoring the consequences of wet boots waded thigh deep across the creek. I got to within 100 metres and took a photo and continued to approach. However the mosquitoes were so think I could not avoid inhaling a few. Some got stuck in my throat and despite efforts to control it had to cough. The bear heard, turned round and had a look at me and then bounded off at  terrific speed across the meadow and into the woods. I was excited but disappointed I could not get closer to get a good photo.

I turned and headed north through the rest of the beautiful but mosquito infested meadow. Just as I got to the north end I surprised another bear. This time it was only 20 metres away and looked like a small adult. Perhaps it was the mother. It bounded off away from me at once so all I really saw was the rear end. It all happened so quickly I could not get to my camera in time.

 

Buoyed by the Black bear encounters I continued north through lodgepole pines and increasing snowdrifts on the east side of Gold Creek for another few hours. It became increasingly arduous as the path vanished beneath the snow. I slowly picked my way north and climbed up to about 10,000 feet where the trees disappeared and snowfields took over. I found a lucky knoll where the wind had kept an area of gravel clear and camped there. It was a stunning place right at the head of the remote and wild valley. I was also right under Goodale Pass which I could easily climb tomorrow.

 

The next morning I made an early start and after putting my sodden socks and boots on headed up the snowfield to the crags above. It only took an hour to tread a route through the crags and snowfields to reach the gentle saddle between two rugged peaks.

This remote saddle was Goodale Pass and it was basking in the morning light. The view from here over this wild landscape was huge with seldom visited mountains and plateaus everywhere. Especially spectacular was the vista to the west where the jagged Silver Divide range formed a jagged barrier with hidden alpine lakes in every cirque.

 

I had to head north down a steep slope to Papoose Lake and Lake of the Lone Indian, a name which evoked a sad regret of a bygone and harmonious past. From these lakes it was a short hard sun cupped slog up to the PCT again, which I reached just after Silver Pass. It was now a simple descent down more snow slopes to reach Squaw Lake where the snow stopped and the path emerged from under it.

 

There path quickly descended through the side valley for a couple of hours to the main Cascade Valley where the large and turbulent Fish Creek tumbled down a ravine. Luckily there was a footbridge across Fish Creek which I then followed upstream for a good mile until it open out into a meadow called Tully Hole. I optimistically looked for bears in this meadow after yesterday’s encounter but it was too close to the main trail here.

 

Just at McGee Pass Trailhead, a route up to a mountainous and remote area of snowy jagged peaks the path split with the main PCT climbing a bare slope up to Lake Virginia. I passed a few southbound hikers here on the JMT trail heading to Mount Whitney and they all quizzed me on  conditions in the High Sierras. At the top were contorted twisted lodgepole pines of a veneration and and ancientness which I thought lodgepoles could never achieve.

 

Lake Virginia was still largely frozen, but I could not risk a short cut over the ice and had to walk a mile extra round the tarns at the north end. As I did so the skies darkened and there were tremendous thunderclaps on the surrounding peaks but no rain fell.

 

The walk from here to Purple Lake was short and I was getting tired. The morning’s work over Goodale had taken it out of me, especially my feet which were still in damp heavy boots. I was going to camp here but decided to continue to Duck Lake to make tomorrow’s journey to Red’s Meadow shorter. As I rested Blue arrived. He never ceases to amaze and surprise me. This must have been the 20th time on the trip he has overtaken me only to get delayed in town a bit later. His ukelele still stuck out of his lightweight rucksack at a jaunty angle.

 

Blue went on and I walked the path to Duck Lake alone as I had been all day. It was a beautiful stretch with stunning views south across the Cascade Valley to the vast snowy barrier of jagged peaks and deep saddles which made up the 20 me long Silver Divide. To the east end I could easily make out Goodale and Silver Passes where I was this morning. It had been a great day but I was tired when I put up the tent and my feet were in trouble.

 

There were conflicting reports on the openness of Reds Meadow. One fact was the forestry road between Mammoth and Reds was damaged by the winter and transit was very restricted. It was essentially closed, bar once a day for the pickup to keep Reds Meadow supplied. I decided to stay here if I could and order new boots and trekking poles. I had new boots in Sierra City but it was 300 miles away. I could not endure my heavy leather boots that long.

 

The walk to Reds Meadow  was only 10 miles that day but seemed longer. Apart from a few lovely meadows and a magnificent forest of Red Firs the route was quite uneventful and I was counting down the miles. When I eventually got there I was surprised to see so many hikers. Most were on the John Muir Trail  (JMT) heading south to Mt Whitney from where I had come. However lying on a picnic table was my old buddy Top’O. He was walking with DG the the moment and had just returned to the Trail after a zero day at Mammoth where they resupplied. it was hearty, jokey reunion with a lot of tales about the Sierras.

 

I had to leave him to get a cabin and make some phone calls before the shops closed. I had to replace my hard uncompromising boots ASAP. After a frustrating hours phone call, where the signal was so bad we could hardly understand each other for minutes at a time, I finally arranged to have some shipped to Sonora Pass in 100 miles. I would shed all my unnecessary winter gear here and travel lightweight the 200 further miles to Sierra City. Once at Sierra City it would shed even more and travel ultra lightweight for the next 900 miles through Northern California and Oregon until I reached Washington

 

Once this frustrating phone call was over I checked into a cute cabin, showered, washed clothes and gorged myself on two veggie burgers. Reds Meadow was as good as it remembered it from 2006. It was simple yet easy, with great historical connections and photos of many film stars who made films here like John Wayne and Ronald Reagan. It was much better than VVR and I would have sent a package here but this year’s record snow made that too risky. I really enjoyed my stay and the fact the road was closed meant it was only hikers here.

 

After 2 breakfasts I wrote the blog and then set off around midday. I went past the vast White and Red Firs in the courtyard and could hardly see a difference. Apparently the white fir has branches which stick straight out while the red firs branches droop and then flatten out like a ski jump.

 

I walked the mile to the Devils Postpile; a small outcrop of hexagonal basalt which was once probably a volcanic vent. Beneath the columns of the outcrop were a jumble of long hexagonal blocks which, with a bit of imagination,looked like a pile of wooden posts. It was not Giant’s Causeway or Fingal’s Cave though.

 

The path then crossed a bridge over the Middle Fork of the Joachim River and followed it west to the foot of the Minaret Falls which were spectacular and huge. The stream at the bottom was also fast and turbulent but I was determined not to get my dry boots wet. My feet were to fragile for another 24 hours in damp conditions. Eventually I found a few logs to cross and added one to bridge a gap. It was clear and 10 foot deep where I crossed but the water was moving slowly.

 

Triumphant with my dry feet I carried on up the Joachim River in a steepening valley full of magnificent firs, possibly both red and white.  The path then crossed to the north side over another bridge and climbed up to Agnew Meadow. This was a lovely green oasis on a mountain shelf and the streams and rivulets were keeping it green and lush. Flowers were growing rapidly across it.

 

Beyond the meadow was the closed road to Reds Meadow and Mammoth. There were no cars or many other hikers and the Forest Service campsite here was deserted. I left the campsite and then climbed some zig-zags up a dense forest with some gigantic firs. Some were qui5e awe inspiring in their stature. The Zig-zags took me through this forest onto open hillside with great views south across the Joachim River to the snow covered mountains on the south side of the valley.

 

For the next 2 hours I followed the path as it contoured across the sunny south facing slope climbing slightly. I crossed the odd small creek as the path went from copse to copse of lodgepole pines, but generally remained on clear hillside covered in small scrub. I could easily see over this scrub to a stunning view on the south side with Shadow Lake nestled in a deep rocky bowl. Above this bowl rose a wall of jagged peaks and buttresses including Garnet Peak and Mount Ritter.

 

The sun was setting on this range when I found a spot to camp. My tent looked, tucked away in a grove of gnarly lodgepole pines which glowed orange in the sunset, looked out over this fabulous vista across the valley.  As the sun set a huge moon, orange and full, rose out of the east. It would mask most of the night sky and only the strongest stars would shine through.

 

The next morning continued to contour along the hillside for a further 2 miles with beautiful views across the valley to the south west. It was remarkable to see how quickly summer was unfolding here, especially beside the creeks and rivulets. Vegetation was unfurling almost visibly even here at around 10,000 feet. The plentiful lilies and angelica were already 2 foot tall and the flower heads were forming. There was also an abundance of other flowers, including a very flamboyant lily with orange flowers.

The path now skirted round the head of the valley passing a large lush meadow, cluster of small lakes called Badger Lakes, some of which were like ponds, before climbing through lodgepoles to 1000 Island Lake. The lake a couple of miles long and 1 wide but it had a scattering of small bare islands which just rose above the surface. Some of the islets had small bonsai trees growing on them. At the west end of the lake the steep craggy and very imposing Mount Ritter filled the sky. When i viewed the lake today most of it was still frozen and the islets covered in snow.

The path now veered west up through gnarly lodgepoles and across small snowfields to Island Pass. It was barely noticeable and very easy despite larger snowfields at the top. The descent was also easy and took me down into the woods around Rush Creek. The crystal clear creek could be crossed on logs despite being swollen and overflowing.

 

Then began the long climb up to Donahue Pass. The southbound JMT walkers had warned me it was snowy, and it was for about 3 miles of the gentle climb. The snow was deeply sun cupped but enough hikers had stomped a path through. It went through a desolate upper valley with lots of small tarns and grassy pastures which were all just starting to emerge from the snowfields. It was not a difficult pass but it took time and effort to reach the top.

 

I had seen only 2 PCT hikers all day. There were plenty of JMT hikers heading south passing me. They all smelt of soap or deodorant, had huge backpacks, were white and pasty,  and often plump. I tried to allay their fears about their trail further to the south as the JMT and PCT share the same path to Mount Whitney.

 

The descent down Donahue Pass was swift and easy. Most of it was soft snow and the heels of my heavy boots crashed into it forming nice steps. Occasionally I could even glissade on my boots. I came down to the small lake at the foot of the pass in no time and found a place to camp in the woods. Nearby were the PCT couple, both of whom were outdoor instructors, he Australian and she from Colorado.

 

It was a lovely campsite at the head of Lyell Canyon, a flat valley with a meandering river flowing gently through meadows all the way to Toulumne Meadows some 11 miles downstream which I would saunter to tomorrow. That evening after supper for the first time on this trip I had my permit and bear canister checked by a park  ranger. Obviously this is a busy hiking area.

 

The next morning the day started around 7 and I hiked with Jay, the Aussie, and Tania, from Colorado for a bit but they were too fast for me as the plummeted down through the lodgepoles beside the tumbling Lyell Fork Creek. By the time we reached the valley floor I let them go and slowed down, as this was a place to savour.

 

The tumbling creek now slowed into a wide lazy meandering river as it spilled onto the first meadow. The transparent waters had a green hue to them but despite being 6-10 foot deep the bottom was crystal clear. Occasionally I could spot a trout or three. The path skirted along the edge of these meadows where the lush grass and the lodgepoles met. Sometimes the lazy river would be near the path and at other times on the other side of the flat valley. It  was perhaps the most lovely meadow on the trip so far.

As i walked down one meadow disappeared into the forest but then another would open up soon  afterwards so the whole valley floor was essentially a series of beautiful meadows with small copses or strips of lodgepoles between them. If one remembered to look behind the snowy mountains of Donahue Pass filled the head of the valley and these mountains were reflected in the river. With the sun warming the day and chipmunks scurrying around and the rare deer grazing it felt like I was in the Garden of Eden.

There were occasional marmots here also but what was common were Belding’s Ground Squirrel. These animals were like small marmots and also lived in burrows and posted a sentry so others could forage. I watched one 0for a while as he wandered among the sedge selecting the developing flower heads. Standing erect it would hold the clump in his front paws and swiftly  eat the flowers before moving on to the next.

After 4 hours of this quite stunning walk the path then crossed the river and entered Tuolumne Meadows. This area was busy with visitors and had parking lots, a ranger station and some short trails. However this winter’s record snows had crushed the roof of the store and many of the sheds around the ranger station. It had also flooded the whole septic tank system of the village so all facilities remained closed. It was not a place to linger so i quickly walked through it and past the bare granite hill which was Lambert’s Dome.

 

Once through the day visitor areas I found myself on the north side of the river which was not swelled with tributaries and changed it name to the Tuolumne River. It was now still flowing lazily across the meadows but was huge and spilling onto the meadows frequently. I followed its course for 4 miles as it forged through the meadows. In the backdrop to the south were some sharp granite spires and domes, like Cathedral Peak. Of course Yosemite Valley was just  beyond these but out of sight from my viewpoint on the north of the river

Then the path crossed the river to the south bank over a wooden bridge which had been damaged by trees ramming into it during the spring melt just 4 weeks ago. After the bridge the river reawakened from its slumber and briskly started flowed down a series of wild rapids. It was mesmerising watching this powerful river crash down. Just as I thought it had reached its dramatic zenith the whole river then plunged over two waterfalls. There was spray everywhere and double rainbows shone in the evening light.

At the bottom the path recrossed to the north of the river over a high steel bridge below  the turbulent plunge pool of the lower waterfall. I was then supposed to cross a tributary, Conness Creek, on the north bank to reach the prescribed campsite called Glen Aulin, However the large wooden bridge to Glen Aulin was a twisted heap entangled in trees beside the creek having being swept off its foundations in the recent spring melt.

 

I did not have to cross this creek other than to camp so decided to camp on the west side. The was another PCT hiker here, a girl called Reroute wbo started 2 weeks after me. I have seen remarkably few PCT hikers since leaving Reds Meadow. Only 5 in 3 days. I think many went to Mammoth after the Sierras, to recoup and are spending a few days there.  The tent went up easily beneath the lodgepoles and I retired into it to reflect on an astonishing and beautiful day, one of the top 5 says so far.

 

From Glen Aulin the PCT goes up Cold Canyon for nearly 5 miles until it vanishes on a plateau. The walk goes through lodgepoles initially for a couple of miles until it reaches a beautiful tranquil meadow with the small creek meandering across it. It was only a mile long but it was one of the nicest meadows yet. At the far end the lodgepoles were ousted by huge firs which were well over 100 foot high and dominated the forest.

 

There were just glimpses of views through the trees to the large granite mountainsides which still had some snowfields on them. But everything was melting quickly. The path plunged quickly through these firs to the confluence of two creeks McCabe Creek and Return Canyon Creek. Both were large and I decided to keep my boots on and try and dry them on the rocks over lunch. The fords were just thigh deep and no problem.

 

Reroute was already on the other side sitting on rock slabs when I arrived. She had just finished eating and after a quick chat she headed on. I laid out my boots and socks on the hot sunny slabs, had lunch and then an hours siesta while everything dried off. Damp socks would damage my feet  and I could not afford more feet problems.

 

After my sleep it was a quick jaunt round the spur of the ridge to Spiller Creek. It was flowing quickly down across slabs. The official crossing point was stoney but just thigh deep. However I wanted to get across with dry boots. I searched up for a log but there were none. I did see that the creek had been very much higher perhaps just 2-3 weeks ago at peak melt and this would have washed many logs away. I did however find easy slabs I could cross barefoot with the water just up to my knee.

 

There was now a short steep climb up to Miller Lake. It was still surrounded by snow patches but the meadows around it were turning green after months under the snow. It was a beautiful and serene lake surrounded by rocky outcrops covered in gnarled lodgepole pines. I am al2ays surprised there are no wildfowl at these mountain lakes. Perhaps they are too high.

There was now a quick, sometimes snowy, descent to Matterhorn Creek. I could see it was going g to be difficult to get across with dry feet. Just as I was contemplating what to do the two Israelis i met 3 weeks ago on Mount Whitney showed up. They called themselves the Jew Crew. They forced my hand a bit by plunging straight in and wading over. I removed my socks but put my boots back on.  It was only a thigh deep wade but my boots were soaking again.

 

I chatted with the Jew Crew as I put my socks on and squeezed.my boots but they were eager to go another 4 miles to camp while I only had 1 to go. They left and I sautered down the flooded meadow. Where it was dry deer were grazing,  flicking there big ears and tails in a hopeless effort to keep the mosquitoes at bay. They just watched me walk by without to much concern. Pretty soo  I reached Wilson Creek and camped beside it, pleased to see it it was not that big as I had to cross it three times tomorrow.

 

As I was packing up camp in the morning and fawn wandered in. It started looking at me and I it for a good half minute. The the mother arrived, saw me and bolted. Only then did the fawn become afraid and ran after the mother.

 

The morning’s climb up beside Wilson Creek was quite easy. I had spotted a pine over the last days and I did not know what it was. Papery cones about 4 inches long, 5 needled and a rough reddish bark. It was very similar to the Foxtail Pine but i knew the did not grow here. It must be the northern cousin like the Bristlecone was the eastern cousin.

 

After the climb I found myself in a hanging valley. It was a secret enchanting world of a mix of conifer trees on the valley floor hemmed in by steep mountainsides.  There were many such lost valleys in this part of Yosemite where people seldom venture.

 

After a few miles in Wilsons  Creek Valley the path cross to the west side and started to climb steeply until there were many snow drifts still here. Then suddenly the snow became more or less continuous for a mile. I realized I was going up Bensons Pass and before long I was approaching the apex. It was a gentle easy pass at 10,000 feet and nothing like the passes of the High Sierras 2 weeks ago.

The descent down the west side had patchy snow cover but before long I had reached the slushy meadow under the granite tower of Volunteer Peak. This meadow led down to the picturesque Smedberg lake which was surrounded by pines. The lake was still half covered in ice but i could see large brown trout, some over a foot long cruising around the rocky shore. It amazes me people can fish in National Parks. Surely the fish are part of the ecosystem and a plentiful supply of large fish would encourage ospreys.

 

After this lovely lake the PCT had to make a tough detour up into a high cirque to the west of Volunteer Peak. This was because the granite slabs below Smedberg Lake were too steep. This detour was taxing as it climbed about 500 feet on steep snow. When the path was visible it was sketchy. The descent down the other side of the cirque was equally steep and covered in steep snowfields. Sometimes I questioned whether I was on the PCT or a minor,  rarely used sidetrail.

 

On plus point of this detour was the Hemlock trees. I had been noticing them for the last week, but they must have been at the edge of their range as they were small. Now they were growing well and some were 100 foot with their floppy tip drooping over, allegedly in the direction of the rising sun, but not in every case with these trees. Sometimes I noticed that they grew in compact groups or circles, but the specimen examples grew alone.

 

The descent was quick but the detour had taken it out of me. I had to cross the outlet creek of Smedberg Lake 3 times. The first time I found a solid snow bridge created from an avalanche just below the official crossing point and the other two further down had logs across the tumbling creek. I was lucky to have dry feet when I reached Piute Creek and I wanted to keep them so.

 

Benson Lake appeared briefly as I descended but the trees quickly obscured the view. When I reached the valley floor I was greeted by some gigantic firs. Some were over 150 feet high and 8 in diameter. I felt humbled by them. Even the lodgepoles were completely dwarfed.

 

Piute Creek was easy. I waded the first braid barefoot and the slow current and sandy riverbed were kind. The main braid however was 5 foot deep, but still sandy and relatively slow. Just as I was about to plunge up to my armpits I noticed a log jam 100 yards further down. I crossed easily on this. After a few hundred yards of primeval swamp the other side I began the day’s final climb.

 

It was only 1500 feet but the two previous climbs had tired me. I was thriving on just 3000 calories a day and the tank was empty. I had my last snack and set off. Within an hour I had gone from warm moist valley floor, through pines where the sun heated the resin and needles so they smelt oily to finally reach the snow drifts hidden in the cool sunless forests.  At the top of the climb were some steep zig-zags which delivered me to a charming hidden lake. It was fringed by snow but was ice free. It was probably too small for larger trout. When I reach it the sun was shining on it illuminating against the dark forest. It was a serene sight. I circled round it and climbed a bit more to near Seavey Pass. However between the tranquil lake and the pass i came upon a small sandy flat campsite. It was only 6 but it was too good an opportunity to pass.

With the sun still shining on the tent and hiking clothes drying on tree I went to get water. En route I disturbed what looked like a large female  grouse or capercaillie. I observed it for a minute before it moved off slowly into the lodgepoles. It was a great end to a tiring but  very rewarding day, a day where I saw no one else and was completed alone to savour this landscape.

 

Today it was the turn of a Marmot to watch me as I emerged and took down my tent. He was just 10 foot away but too greedily involved in gnawing a root to scamper off. Once the tent was away and the sun was warming my lovely campsite I headed off to Seavey Pass just half a mile away.

 

I passed a couple of tarns amongst the granite outcrops and hemlock trees before a short very steep snowy descent into the depths of the Kerrick Canyon. The path was covered in snow and mostly obscured so I had to pick my own way down.

 

The canyon was a disappointment.  I had hope for an easy few miles down a forested valley floor. Instead I got no path, steep snowfields and a tangle  of trees for the first two miles, which took about 2 hours of hard work. Eventually the snow petered out and I found the path which was now easy to follow.

 

I could see Rancheria Creek in the floor of the canyon would be difficult to cross as I followed it down. When the time came I stripped off and set off barefoot. After a few i realised it was a bad idea so returned to the bank and put my boots on. It was now tolerable but it was navel deep and moving fast and nearly swept me away. However I made the north bank.

 

Just then another hiker arrived. The first I had seen for a day and a half. He was called Houdini. He shouted over the was a log crossing a few hundred yards upstream. I usually check but in this case thought this spring melt would have swept all away.

 

I continued up and over the ridge with great views of the granite landscape with a few trees on the barren mountainsides and down to another creek. The valley this creek flowed in was wide and fertile and there were more gigantic firs growing on the floor.

 

However this valley also contained a large creek. It was sandy bottomed but looked chest deep and 10 yards wide, yet it was sluggish. There were no signs of logs, despite the near 150 foot high trees here. It decided to keep everything on this time and dry out as I had lunch on the north side. It was an easy ford and just chest deep.

 

As I relaxed in the sun Houdini arrived and crossed with ease and so did another hiker called Pat. On the north side I saw perhaps the largest fir so far. It must have been 175 feet with massive branches high up. It must have tolerated a terrific amount of snow this winter.

 

I looked at the map. It was 5.miles to Wilma Lake where there was another ford, however this looked quite small given the topography of the catchment area. I was sure it would be easy so set off up another dry ridge with scant trees, bare a few incense cedars and pines.

 

There was a great view from the top looking across a granite landscape which was heavily gouged out by glaciation. On the ascent both Houdini and Pat overtook me. The descent was easy but and view was obscured by the trees but I had glimpses of Wilma Lake far below. It looked idyllic  Eventually the descent spilled out onto the Tilden Canyon Creek valley in a thicket of small lodgepoles. I was a bit concerned about this creek crossing but managed to find a log.

 

Just a short descent remained to Wilma lake, but as as the recent trend it was much more difficult than the map indicated. There were deep drifts of snow which obscured the path and i continually had to search for it. This was time consuming and hard as the drifts in the thick forest were sometimes steep.

 

As compensation though I passed a couple of small lovely lakes nestled in the forest with the sun shining on them illuminating the greens of the trees. Then more arduous descent and I finally reached Wilma Lake. The path went along the shore but it was frequently flooded for much of the half mile to the outlet.

 

Here I got a shock. The water was flowing into the lake here from the nearby creek marked on the map. However the creek was a massive river which was so flooded it was higher than the lake hence the water flowed in not out. I had misjudged this “creek” from the map it was 30 yards wide and 6 feet deep and I knew I had to cross it, and it worried me. There was no mention of the size this river on any of the maps, apps or word of mouth, yet it was by far the biggest yet.

 

I waded the outlet of Wilma Lake, which the river was overpowering and filling the lake up and walked through a few hundred yards of sombre forest preparing to swing and wondering what Houdini and Pat had done. At the official crossing point the river was 40 yards wide and perhaps 5 foot deep. It would be lower by the morning but I want to cross tonight and dry out. Then I saw Pat coming to the water’s edge. He had crossed and indicated it was chest high.

 

I waterproofed my camera and plunged in. It was cold but the adrenalin was pumping. I was soon waist deep and then chest deep. My feet were slipping on the gravel and I was being carried downstream but it was a safe area with plenty of leeway. Slowly the far bank approached and I could get a grip on the gravel again after drifting 10 yards  downstream.  Finally I made the west bank and walked out dripping wet to be congratulated by Pat. Houdini had also made it and was already camped.

 

I setup my tent, got into dry clothes and watched two other come over. Soulful crossed in a different place and while the first half was easy he had to swim the second half, which was clumsy with a rucksack. The Mika arrived. Mika made it look very easy but then he was a strong, lean, 6 foot 3 inch man who had just left the US Marines.  We all camped here as it was a fitting end to the day.

We all left around 7 except Soulful who was still trying to dry some of his stuff out after last night’s icy swim. Mika, Pat and Houdini soon pulled away and I ambled on at a leisurely pace  beside the turbulent Falls Creek, which incidentally had fallen a foot in the night due to the lower snowmelt. The was frequently buried by large snowdrifts which were protected from the melting sun by the lodgepole canopy. This made progress very slow and sometimes it was just a mile an hour.

 

Eventually the valley opened up into a beautiful narrow lake and then Grace Meadow. Here the snowdrifts had been melted by sun long ago but the was water everywhere. Every small stream has burst on the grassland each side of it. Every footstep was squelchy, but the day was hot. These are very forgiving mountains, and the sun is nearly ways out to warm you up.

 

It was a long meadow, about 3 miles in all. The granite mountainsides on each side were initially covered in forest but were bare higher up. The waterlogged grasslands each side of the now greatly reduced Falls Creek never ceased and there was a huge amount of water stored here waiting to swell the ford lower down for today’s  batch of PCT hikers.

 

When the path returned to the forest it was again covered it snowdrifts and difficult to follow. I frequently got lost and had to backtrack to the last sighting, which was very time consuming. As the path climbed so the snowdrifts increased but then previous hikers footprints were easier to follow. At last the path burst out of the forest to reach Dorothy Lake. Despite  being mid July it was still mostly covered in ice and surrounded by snowfields. Just beyond the lake was Dorothy Lake Pass, the crossing from one watershed into another. It was also the source of Falls Creek a tiny trickle of melting snow here yet a huge river we waded just 8 miles downstream showing how quickly the creeks form.

The descent was drier than I thought and I quickly reached Harriet Lake. The path crossed Cascade Creek, the outflow of Harriet twice but already this creek was a wade so I went off piste for a mile to avoid crossing and recrossing later and luckily did not get tangled in willow thickets of meet a steep rock band.

 

On the way down to a campsite I passed the 1000 mile mark since leaving the Mexican Border. I was about a week behind schedule mostly due to the snowy state of the Sierras and had only managed an average of 10 mil3s per day instead of around 15. I hope I would make this up in North California and Oregon where I would expect to average 20 miles per day. Still 1000 miles was a pleasing achievement and all the more satisfying for have done it as continual footsteps rather than have it broken with hitch hiking into towns.

 

The path became quite dry and the snow drifts disappeared as I descended Walken Meadow where I would camp. There was even a bridge of Walken Creek. As I walked slowly in my heavy cumbersome boots a couple, Field Trip and Grandma Candy caught up they were going on another 6 miles so they could easily get to Sonora Pass tomorrow and have time to go to town to resupply. We chatted a bit and then they went on.

 

However when I reached Walken Meadow it was overrun with mosquitoes. I fled through it at speed and headed another mile to a creek side campsite. As I walked through the lodgepoles I heard the now familiar and distinctive dusk call of a bird It was one of the familiar sounds of the Sierras but i did not know the bird  When I got to the creek Field Trip and Grandma Candy were already setting up camp having called it a day 2 miles short. I camped nearby and we cooked together and chatted while the mosquitoes plagued us. They were a very easy going pair. We all decided to set the alarm for 4 to get an early start.

 

During the night the mosquitoes disappear so in the morning chill there were none to bother me as I packed up in the dawn. The path started to climb slowly up through Kennedy Canyon. Here it was increasingly difficult to follow as the snowdrifts in the forest became dense and I often lost it. It was slow going until I finally broke free at the bottom of the climb up to the last mountains before Sonora Pass. The sun was rising fast now and once out of this forest it quickly warmed me up.

 

The Zig-zags up the mountainside where still covered by large snowfields so PCT hikers made their own path traversing across the snow. I followed the footsteps of one of these paths as it made a huge arc up across mile long snowfield. The heat built quickly and it became terrifically hot it this south facing bowl. This softened the snow so I could kick good steps but it was still steep enough to warrant me getting my ice axe out.

 

At the top the mountains changed. It was no longer granite but a different type of rock which broke up readily into scree. So the mountainsides were dry and arid. The peaks seemed to sharp buttes similar to the sedimentary rocks in Arizona. Was this the end of the Sierras or just a geological band through the granite. I looked back south from where I had come. There were ridge upon ridge disappearing into the distance all with their snowy north sides facing me. This array of peaks really was a magnificent mountain range and I would miss then if this was the northern end.

I turned south and followed the arid ridge south for 5-6 miles as it threaded a lofty path through the dry buttes and peaks and crossed frequent snowfields. The melting snow here disappeared into the scree or talus and there were no rivulets at the bottom. For the first time in a month I got thirsty and could not see water at hand to drink. Somehow plants managed to survive here, notably pine shrub bushes with massive twisted trunks which must store water and masses of delicate alpine flowers which were in full bloom at the moment. This was also the realm of the butterfly and there were hundreds of them of many different species feeding on the alpine flowers, all undisturbed by the relative lack of predatory birds.

Briefly I got a very rare phone signal and was able to confirm my food resupply box and some equipment were waiting for me at Sonora Pass just a few miles away. The outfitter Sonorapassresupply.com had come up trumps against the odds. I sent stuff to them and then they brought it to Sonora Pass meaning I did not have to go to town. A few hikers used this service but not enough I fear to make it profitable.

 

The final descent from this dry ridge down to the Sonora Pass was magnificent. It was a steep 1000 foot snowfield. Many hikers had slid down on their bums with ice axe braking their speed. Fearful of ruining my trousers I tried to glissade down on my feet. It worked most of the time but I had a couple of slips and sped off down the slope on my back until I manage to get the pick of the ice axe in. At the bottom there was a short walk to the Forestry Service carpark where I could see Sonora Pass Resupply truck and the friendly Casey coming to greet me.

 

Within three  hours I had managed to empty my rucksack and put my heavy boots, bear canister, ice axe and crampons and extra clothing into a box to post to Sierra City further north and also repack my rucksack with the 9 days of food I would need to walk the 180 miles to Sierra City. The new boots felt great and gave me a spring in my step. A few other visitors to the carpark who were picnicking at other tables chatted and gave me food and soda and I soon felt full of sugar and energy. I had wanted to camp here the  night and upload the blog but there was no phone signal as usual so I set off at 5 pm to start Section 09. The Northern Sierras. Sonora Pass to Sierra City.

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