Miles hiked: 24.7
Today was one of the most physically challenging of the trip, but also the most rewarding.
My usual sunrise hiking did not disappoint, with subtle reds and pinks in the clouds to the east and south. The trail traversed a steep talus field with foxtail pines in various stages of life and death, all twisty like an artist would hope to sculpt. As the trail rounded from the south to west side of the slope, a greater and greater panorama of mountains unfolded. Big rugged barren mountains that look like they're actively uplifting and crumbling before your eyes.
I crossed in to Sequoia National Park then dropped down into the forested slopes above a high meadow called Siberian Outpost. This is one of he great place-names of these mountains; I really wish I knew the history.
Next the trail dropped down again to Rock Creek, which flows down out of a basin walked in by some fantastically rugged terrain to the east, and what I think is just south of Mt Whitney. This looks like a really interesting little basin to explore some time.
At Rock Creek I meet Happy Feet and Coyote, and tell them about my plan to stay the night on the Whitney summit, the highest peak in the lower 48 states at 14,505 feet. But they tell me this isn't allowed, and another backpacker there agrees. Well, OK. That's fine. There are plenty other mountains to sleep on. I make some water in my frustratingly slow Sawyer mini squeeze, wet a bandana to go around my neck, then begin the climb back up out of Rock Creek toward Crabtree Meadows. I take my time, still being careful with my legs and also now not in a rush to get up Whitney. The trail climbs up a steep, thickly wooded slope then curved into a bench with widely scattered big pine trees (Jeffrey?) and a sparse understory. It was a beautiful grove of big old trees hanging on in this little corner of the mountains. One more short climb brought me over Guyot Pass then down in to a similar bench with big views west toward the big and scary looking Kaweah peaks.
I was leapfrogging with Happy Feet and Coyote the next couple miles to Crabtree Meadow, and we all took a break for lunch there where the trail crosses Crabtree Creek and meets the John Muir Trail for the side trip up Whitney. They were both drinking water right from the creek, and seemed surprised that I wasn't, since the water was "clear and flowing". I pointed out that it was flowing right from perhaps one of the most heavily used wilderness areas, a place where there has been so much impact that now all human waste must be packed out, and said that filtering water seems like a pretty small cost to me (even wit my slow filter) relative to the potential risk. I happily creek untreated water in parts of the Sierra that don't get as many people, but along the PCT/JMT corridor, pretty much everything gets treated unless I see it coming out of bedrock or cascading off a thousand-foot cliff I'm pretty sure no people go up.
I had a long rest here since it was only another 4-5 miles to where I thought I'd camp, and eventually Lost and Found and Smiley showed up. These two are super friendly and happy and I like hanging out with them and the few others in their group, even though the stoney baloney is a bit thick sometimes.
Eventually around 4 I started to mosey on up he JMT along the beautiful babbling little Crabtree Creek, first following it through a big beautiful green meadow walled in by high granite peaks, then climbing as it tumbled down a narrow little wooded gully. I stopped by the ranger station in Upper Crabtree Meadow to let them know about some smoke I'd seen way out toward the Kaweahs, and ended up talking with Rob, the ranger, for about 20 minutes as he finished his laundry outside the little log cabin ranger station. The fire was old news and there's a crew there keeping an eye on things. He said he's been pleasantly surprised at how responsible the PCT hikers have been this year with minimizing impact, despite the increased number of hikers; he commended the PCTA for the good job they've done communicating the importance of Leave No Trace practices. We talked about Sierra geography and place names, then I asked him how close to the summit it was legal to camp. He replied that camping is legal all the way to the summit, but employed me to tread lightly if I chose to do so.
With this new information I set out again with renewed ambition. I still had something like 7 miles and 3000 feet to get to the summit, and by now it was about 5. The trail continued on up the valley along the streams and trickles draining the big west-facing bowl that Whitney is the crown jewel of, and passed perfect alpine lakes with big peaks behind like I was living in a post card. I got some more water at a little tarn above Guitar Lake (many lakes in the Sierra are named for how they look from up on the peaks), chatting with a couple on the last night of a JMT section hike, then began the real climbing. The trail led up through boulders and talus toward a steep unstable looking slope punctuated with spires and pinnacles of precariously balanced granite blocks and plates. The trail followed an improbable route up this slope, seeming impossible to have been made by mere humans. I switchbacked up and up and up, struggling more and more to find enough oxygen in the thinning air, but for a time my rate of ascent was enough to match the speed of the setting sun, so that it stayed the same distance above the western peaks.
Then sun began winning the race about the time I finished the switchbacks and made it to Trail Crest, the junction with the trail coming up from Whitney Portal. But now was when the beautiful scene I was traversing became more magical place Han I could have expected. I've spent many evenings camped in alpine valleys looking up at peaks awash in alpenglow, that special light that happens in the mountains right as the sun dips below the horizon. But this evening I was in the alpenglow! Everything around me was humming with the most incredible combination of reds, pinks and oranges. The trail now followed up the jagged saw-toothed northern ridge of Whitney, at times passing little notches where I could peer east down into the darkening emptiness of a several thousand foot straight drop toward tot Owens Valley. I was becoming a bit light headed and wobbly now with the altitude and exhaustion of the long day, and had to take a break and focus at a few aces where little patches of snow covered the trail above steep drops.
I finally made it to the summit just as it got too dark to really walk without a headlamp. The western horizon was still glowing, and I circled the stone shelter checking out the scene before going inside to set up. There was one JMT hiker in there, and we talked a little as I set up my bed and shoveled Fritos in my mouth. After setting up I went outside again to enjoy the stars and the moment. I was feeling so alive having made the climb and arriving just at dark and just being up here in this incredible place.
Birds:
Mountain Chickadee
White-crowned Sparrow
Fox Sparrow
Oregon Junco
Hammond's Flycatcher
Clark's Nutcracker
Rock Wren
Northern Flicker
Yellow-rumped Warbler
Hermit Thrush
Chipping Sparrow
Cassin's Finch
White-breasted Nuthatch
Townsend's Solitaire
Brown Creeper
Ruby-crowned Kinglet
American Robin
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