Week Eight Wrap-Up

To put it simply, week eight was a cold torturous shitstorm.

We hiked endless miles through the snow, up and down mountains, pass after pass. There was little warmth and little rest. We forded through frigid raging rivers, and ran from swarms of mosquitos. I had a minimum of one meltdown per day, which Chris soon lost his patience for, and I don’t blame him. The landscape was beyond magnificent, but we rarely got to appreciate it, as our heads were constantly fixed toward the ground in agony and to keep a watchful eye on the treacherous “trail”. The majority of the trail this week was either covered in snow, making it invisible, or it was turned into a river from melting snow. Both options sucked.

We had two passes to get over on day one - Kearsarge and Glen - so we needed to get an early start in order to hike as much as possible before the snow began to soften and the trail became too dangerous to navigate. Turns out, the snow softening wouldn’t be a problem. Everything froze overnight and remained that way for the entire day. It was absolutely freezing. Our alarm rang at 3:45am but we were already awake, shivering in our sleeping bags. We didn’t sleep an ounce that night. As much as I dreaded going out in the cold, part of me looked forward to the two massive climbs we had waiting for us, because I knew it was the only possible way to thaw out. We moved slowly, burdened by the weight of our packs - all of our regular gear, an eight day food supply, bear canisters, microspikes, and ice axes. Getting ourselves up and over Kearsarge Pass was probably the most strenuous part of our PCT journey so far. The worst part - it’s not even part of the PCT. But we didn’t have a choice. We had to hike it to get back to the PCT after going into Lone Pine and Independence.

Glen Pass was also an ass-kicker, but we were pleasantly surprised by the snow. For once it was fairly maneuverable. Chris flew down the descent like always, moving confidently in the snow, and I moved just above a snail’s pace, which is extremely fast for me when it comes to traversing snowy/icy passes. Following the passes, we spent the rest of the day hiking alongside beautiful alpine lakes. We stopped at one for lunch where I promptly fell asleep beneath all of my warm clothes and Chris’s, exhausted from the frigid sleepless night and the only-slightly-warmer day. We hiked a few more miles before calling it a day, scarfing our dinner, and climbing into our tent for a more restful night.

The next day was a short one. Only 12 miles - yay! We hiked up and over Pinchot Pass, which turned out to be one of the easier passes we’d have the pleasure of hiking, and then we hiked to the base of Mather Pass. Mather Pass isn’t safe to maneuver once the snow softens, so we set up camp early and spent the rest of the afternoon and evening enjoying the landscape and watching other hikers roll into the campsite. We have a bad, but hilarious, habit of giving other hikers pseudo trail names. We were on a roll this evening. We nearly died laughing in our tent as we watched and listened to the other hikers around us and assigned them names. None were appropriate, or I’d share. But surely we’re both going straight to hell. Fine by me - my mom said she’d save me a seat.

Karma got me back the following morning on Mather Pass. At one point we had to scramble straight up the side of the mountain - all limbs on deck to cling to the rocks and pull ourselves up the 15 feet or so to where the trail resumes. Without a pack seemingly the weight and activity level of three small flailing children, this would have been much more doable. It took every ounce of strength in my body to pull myself, and my pack that I swear was trying to wrestle me, up to the trail. I was on the verge of a complete meltdown, but I tried my best to hold it together as I couldn’t afford to waste a single bit of energy if I wanted to survive the scramble. We made it to the top of the pass, just to find the backside of the pass was the same level of sketchy. Chris took off, descending the steep snow-covered trail easily and comfortably. I swear to god he’s half horse - nobody is more sure-footed. I slowly crawled down, every single muscle fiber in my body quivering and tense, knowing if I slipped, like I often do, I’d be battered and broken at best. Luckily there was a glissade track a few hundred meters down the descent. My body finally relaxed as I sat down on the slick slide and let ‘er rip. Chris and my ice ax stopped me at the bottom. I was exhausted from the stress and physical toll Mather Pass took on me, but we still had 20 miles of treacherous trail and multiple river crossings to go. Slowly but surely we completed the miles and set up camp at the base of the next pass. Well, as close to the base as we could get. We had to camp about a mile from where we planned because there was too much wet snow. The extra mile wasn’t worth having soaking wet or, more likely, frozen shoes in the morning.

We woke up early again to get over the pass while the snow was still firm. Muir Pass, although not notorious like Mather Pass, was an absolute biotch. The snow went on for miles on both sides. The miles on Muir Pass were our slowest miles yet on the PCT. It took all morning to get down the other side where the snow finally ceased. Between the rough trail and the petty tiff we were having, it was a dreadful morning. But soon enough the trail cleared, Chris admitted he was wrong we made up, and everywhere we looked was unfathomably beautiful. Again, we were unable to hike as far as we planned. Those first six or seven miles took way longer than expected and put us behind. When the sun starts to set, so do I - desperate to crawl into my sleeping bag before the air turns intolerably cold. We set up camp a couple miles from where we planned, in a mosquito infested area, but with a beautiful view.

The next morning we climbed Selden Pass. Finally, a bit of a break. By no means was it easy hiking, but in comparison to the past few days it was a breeze. It’s all relative. After the pass, most of the trail had turned into a bog, so the afternoon was pretty slow-going, but we were able to make up a few miles from the past couple days. We set up camp on a sandbar a few miles from the peak of Silver Pass. Had it not been for the cold wet air and the thousands of mosquitoes, it would have been a heavenly campsite. We weren’t too bothered though, as it was our final night of this torturous stretch. The following day we’d arrive to Mammoth Lakes where we’d take a much-needed nearly three day break.

We woke up even earlier than normal, eager to get to town. I’m not typically an early morning pooper, but I had to go. I walked into the still pitch-black woods, guided by the light of my headlamp, and found a spot. Seconds after squatting down, I spotted two large beady red eyes across the creek in the meadow. I told myself it was probably a marmot or some other harmless mammal, but it quickly began to leap closer and closer. I was petrified. Something was stalking me and on its way to make me its prey when I was most vulnerable. Mid-poo I sprinted back to the campsite, screaming for Chris, pants still around my ankles. He thinks I was full shit. I was, considering I never got to finish the job.

Silver Pass was one of our least favorite passes yet. It was snow-covered and steep and slick. We were hoping to blow through the 23.5 miles to Mammoth Lakes, but Silver Pass had other plans. Finally, around 5pm, we made it to the trailhead. We didn’t have to wait too long for the town trolley to arrive. The trolley driver was a textbook narcissist, but he gave a decent unsolicited town tour nonetheless. It was far from serene, which I typically appreciate in a tour, but it was still jam-packed with facts and dark history and also constant interruptions to our questions.

We really enjoyed our stay in Mammoth Lakes where we took two zero days to recuperate. We reunited with Amy and Paul - we were all over the moon to be back together. We ate our weight in pizza and birthday cake - it was Amy’s birthday, and we went all out in the celebration of food. We spent an evening at an Airbnb where a group of our trail friends were staying. We played beer pong and rage cage and pretended like we were all back in college. Fuchsia Problems - the name of said group of trail friends - were taking their zero day the next day, but Chris, Amy, Paul and I would be headed back out on the trail so we tapped out early. The following morning, before venturing back to the trailhead, we ran a few last errands. On our way back to the hotel to pack up and check out, we were startled by a lady screaming from her car, “ahhh no way!!”. It was Jacqueline, our favorite trail angel. She drove us to and from the trailhead several hundred miles ago in Big Bear. She was in Mammoth visiting her daughter and just happened to drive past us as we were walking back to the hotel. We all chatted a while. We didn’t know it, but she was exactly what we needed. Having just learned of the passing of Maddie, her warm, reassuring, maternal energy helped to lift us from the dark hole of sadness and guilt we were stuck in.

As always, our time in town went way too quickly. Before we knew it, we were headed back to the trailhead. Thankfully we had Amy and Paul back with us again, so it felt a little less daunting to exit the trolley and step back onto the trail. We had another long Sierra section ahead of us - seven days until our next stop. It took a couple miles, but soon we were all back in our groove, hiking at a good pace despite our fully loaded packs. We made camp at a cool campground along the middle fork of the San Joaquin River. We were finally low enough to have a fire - campfires are prohibited above 10,000 feet - and the wind was resting for once, so we gathered some wood and lit a fire. We were hopeful the smoke would deter the swarms of mosquitoes, but they were unbothered by it. The fire was lovely but the mosquitoes were not, so we turned in to our tents soon after dinner. Not a bad first day back - hopefully it was foreshadowing of what week nine will bring!

Week eight was another tough one. It seems like that will probably be the trend until we’re through the Sierras. Only a couple more weeks! Despite the endless challenges the trail presented us, we stayed in the fight and tried our best to focus on the positives. Without a doubt, week eight made us mentally and physically stronger and made us more appreciative of the luxuries of modern-day civilization. I don’t think I’ll ever take a comfortable bed or a hot shower for granted again.

We ended the week at mile 911. Only a few days from the 1,000 mile marker!

Keep humping!