June 29. Day 59.

Mammoth Lakes back to Red's Meadow, then to about mile 912.

Miles hiked: ~2 round trip to see Rainbow Falls, then 5-ish on Devil's Postpile NM trails and PCT.

We packed up our soggy little camp and Libby drove me to The Village, the sort of swanky part of Mammoth where one of the gondolas heads up the mountain. Of course the goodbye was bittersweet. It was such a nice visit, but over so quickly and leaving me feeling all lonely and homesick and doubtful of why I'm doing this all over again. I sort of moped around until finding a Starbucks, then sat outside for another half hour waiting for it to open. I was still a few days behind on journaling, and due to a miscommunication my bug shelter didn't come up with Libby. So my plan was to drink a bunch of coffee and catch up on writing and kill a bit of time so Libby could get home a rush mail the bug shelter to Tuolumne, which is only another 35 miles up the trail. I pretty much succeeded in all those things, and also phoned my parents.

By the time that was all done it was darn near lunch time, so I got a bagel sandwich with a fried egg, avo, cheese and bacon, then caught the free shuttle bus up to the Adventure Center, another gondola take off point, this one right at the base of the ski hill, and which this time of year is crawling with mountain bikers. There I remembered I needed to order new shoes to be sent to Echo Pass, so killed another 30 minutes and half my phone battery getting that done then caught the bus back down to Red's Meadow.

At Red's I talked to Libby and learned that she couldn't next-day deliver the bug net from Bolinas, so that gave me  2 half days and a full day to get to Tuolumne in stead of one and a half. So since I could take things a bit more casually I decided to have an ice cream sandwich and a Gatorade then a beer (why not?) and started working on a light copy of Orwell's Animal Farm (actually haven't read it yet). About the time all that was taken care of the nice sunny afternoon had turned dark, and thunder and a few raindrops began as I packed up to go. I figured I'd head out anyway, despite the weather; I've got the skills and the gear to deal with rain (better than mosquitoes), and it would be more good practice for what might be headed my way farther north. 

I backtracked back south to go to Rainbow Falls to try and see the swifts that nest behind the falls common and going. But by the time I got there it was raining pretty good and the lightning was getting within a mile or two and the falls overlook was sort of out in the old. With just a few isolated trees so I didn't stick around log and didn't see any swifts.

Turning back north, I wandered along the empty wet trails of Devil's Postpile National Monument, enjoying having the ace seemingly to myself. I stood atop the classic hexagonal basaltic columns, their glacial polish shining even more from the rain, then stood below and wondered again, like I do every time I'm here or see a photo, about that section where the columns bend and merge together.

Postpiles in the rain.

The rain was pretty much done by the time I was done checking out the Postpiles, so I hiked on looking up at mist hanging along forested hillsides and dodging drips from nearby trees. Just north of the NM the JMT and PCT split, the former climbing up along a series of lakes along the western side of the valley, and the later following along the San Joaquin a few more miles to Agnew Meadows before climbing up the eastern side of the valley. The two rejoin about 10 miles past Devil's Postpile at the head of the valley. I'd heard the bugs all the JMT were pretty bad, so I decided to take the slightly drier PCT even though there might be fewer camping options within the distance I wanted to go.

Tiger lily(?)

With the rain done the birds started up all their noises again: Hammond's Flycatcher, Oregon Junco, Western Wood-pewee. The forest dripped, creeks cascaded down from unknown heights somewhere up in he must to meet the river, flowers glowed clean under fresh droplets.

I set up camp a bit before 7, so much earlier than theist week and a half, and learned that my pack cover had let in a fair bit of water, with my down jacket and sleeping bag apparently soaking much of it up. Neither we too wet, but it tested my previously high regard for pack covers. Could have been user error; good Washington practice, at any rate. A robin sang slowly ad dusk matured, and the tumble of the nearby river nearly drowned out a distant Hermit Thrush.

Birds:

Hammond's Flycatcher 

American Robin 

Western Wood-pewee 

Oregon Junco 

Brown Creeper