To Have and To Hike: Kennedy Meadows to Bishop Pass

One of the awesome things about the trail is how slowly you get to see the changes in the land - for example, from high wooded desert, to lower scrubland and sagebrush, and then to classic desert complete with cacti and Joshua trees. This past section, well, it wasn't exactly that. We were just walking along in the desert and then all of a sudden BAM we're in the High Sierra. It. Was. Awesome.

We left Kennedy Meadows on the evening of June 2nd. We had 45 miles to go to Horseshoe Meadows, a campground 2 miles off the trail where we were meeting the one and only Tim Churchill aka Breakfast Sandwich aka Dr. Churchill aka Ill Timmy. These miles should have been easy ones - not too much elevation gain and no snow. The first day, indeed, was easy. The second day, not so much. It turns out a nasty stomach bug was working its way through the hikers who were at Kennedy Meadows the same time as we were. I taught kindergarten for four years and never took a single sick day....but here, somewhere north of the Kern River, I found myself quite ill. I won't get into the details, but let's just say walking 20 miles without being able to keep food down is not a bueno situation.

If only this photo showed the thousands of mosquitos swarming us.

Sick Jenny. Every quarter mile or so, I had to assume this position. Also, note the difference in tan between my legs and my belly. Gonna look great for the wedding.

Overlooking the Owens Valley, a massive lakebed that was drained to provide water for the city of LA in the 1930s. Thanks, LA!

We finally made it to Horseshoe Meadows (rather, I dragged myself there) and got to the appointed spot where we were to meet Tim. We found.... no Tim. Suddenly, we realized we'd done a severely inadequate job of planning this. What if there's another area for tents? What if there's another Horseshoe Meadows altogether? What if Tim's flight got cancelled? So many variables, and we had no cell phone service to try and troubleshoot any of these. I was still pretty woozy, but Justin was a champ and embarked on a LONG walk to a nearby campground to see if Tim had ended up there by mistake. 45 minutes or so later, an SUV pulled up and dropped off Justin and Tim! Success! We spent the night enjoying the amazing town food Tim brought us (blueberries! avocados! beers!) and strategizing for the week ahead. The High Sierra in early June is a force of nature to be fully respected.

We spent the next two days climbing through the foothills and enjoying some firsts for the Sierra - first Alpine lake (Chicken Spring Lake - which we'd heard was frozen solid as recently as 10 days earlier, but now was in a glorious liquid state), first marmots (!!!!!!), first snow travel.

Chicken Spring Lake

Well placed logs

High Sierra!

Ancient Bristlecone Pine - favorite tree

Bighorn Sheep Plateau - otherworldly and awesome

We also did our first creek crossings. I cannot emphasize enough how different this journey through the Sierra is relative to 2014. 2014 was a historic drought year. Back then, we scampered across creeks by bouncing from rock to rock, and ascended mountain passes by switchbacking up dry dirt paths. This year, well, everything is snowier, wetter, and more dramatic. The snowmelt coming down from the Sierra peaks is tremendous and each creek we approached was simply roaring. Crossing these creeks can be treacherous, with water rushing by as high as our mid-thighs. Fortunately, Dr. Churchill has a height advantage on Justin and me and generally went first through the creeks to help us see how deep they were. Each crossing also took a lot of time. Not wanting to get our shoes soaked (for they would likely freeze overnight), we stopped at most creeks and switched into our Crocs for the crossing. This shoe swap took five minutes on each bank, and often got combined with a snack or some water. Our desert pace of 3 mph, this was not, especially as creeks came 1-2 per mile sometimes. Creek crossings also become more treacherous as the day goes on, as the warm sun increases the snowmelt and therefore the volume of water rushing through. We crossed Tyndall Creek at the end of the day, and I was so scared by the current (and the drop on the other side of the crossing spot!), that I tied myself to Justin. We both survived to tell the tale.

A rager

Breakfast Sando testing the depths for us. Also #cold

The next five days all followed the same schedule.

5 am: alarm goes off. Tim begins packing up immediately. Jenny and Justin snooze alarm 2-3x.
6 am: depart camp and start walking uphill towards that day's big mountain pass, typically somehwere around 12,000 feet (while we often camped closer to 10,000 feet)
7 - 10 am: go over pass while snow is still solid from re-freezing the night before. Wield ice axe and microspikes (mini-crampons) like pros. Glissade whenever possible.
10 -11 am: celebrate surviving the pass by having a hot breakfast on a rock, overlooking a beautiful alpine lake
11 am - 1 pm: continue down off the pass through snowfields that never quite seem to end. Posthole a little bit.
1 - 2 pm: lunch next to an epic, roaring river
2 - 6 pm: try to get as close as possible to the snowline of the next pass, crossing a ton of swollen creeks in the process. Gasp at scenery intermittently.

Basically, it was incredible. Crossing the passes felt more like mountaineering than hiking, as we traveled up steep snow and ice fields towards the passes, using our microspikes for traction and pulling out the ice axes (huge thanks to Barrel Roll for lending them to us!!) whenever the slope go too steep. At the top of each pass, we'd kick it for a minute and enjoy a snack, then hustle down -- we wanted to take advantage of the hard snow early in the morning. Also, from the top of Forester Pass, we saw a snow/rock fall in the distance, which reminded us that spending any more time than necessary on the passes is an unnecessary risk. The down-hike was always an adventure - a combination of snowy traverses, snippets of trail switchbacks emerging from the snow, and, everyone's favorite: glissading. Glissading is essentially sitting on your butt and sliding down a snow chute, using your ice axe to control your speed. It's a far more efficient (and fun!) way to descend. I can't get enough of it.

Ascent up Forester

This was the scary part. Don't look, Mom.

At the top!

Thanks for the ice axes, Barrel Roll!

Tiny hiker on the descent off Forester.

Here are the passes we covered:
Forester Pass: The tallest pass (13,200 feet)
Glen Pass: The steepest pass - great glissading
Pinchot Pass: The easiest pass - not too much snow on the backside
Mather Pass: The coldest pass
Bishop Pass: The hardest-to-navigate pass.

Skies out, thighs out.

Top of Glen Pass

Justin glissading!

Rae Lakes

Battle of the beards. Think I have to give it to John Muir.

Scary bridge, but at least it's not anther creek ford?

Hiker Christmas tree - shoes hanging, bear canisters beneath.

Snowfields forever.

Up top on Pinchot (?)

Hope that snow bridge holds....

Bishop Pass is not technically on the PCT, but the trail is so deep in the Sierra that in order to get to town, you have to go over another East-West pass. Most people go over Kearsarge Pass, which we did in 2014. But because of Ill Timmy's flight timing, it made more sense for us to go over Bishop Pass this year. We'd been nervous about it all week, as it is far less traveled than the other passes, and often our best navigation aid is simply following the footprints in the snow. Fortunately, Justin had been over it once before and has a great mountaineer memory. We indeed lost the trail a few times, but with three of us scouting for the telltale signatures of the trail (footprints, rock arrangements that look distinctly manmade, switchbacks), we were never far. However, navigation proved to be only one of our difficulties on this pass. At one point, we found ourselves on a steep ice field right next to the trail, with no obvious route down. It was too icy to glissade (not to mention that it dead-ended in a bunch of rocks which would not be fun to crash into if you found yourself going too fast!), and too steep to walk down, even if we were cutting switchbacks. Tim was a champion and blazed a trail - lowering to one knee for stability and using his ice axe to anchor himself as he lowered down each step. We made it safely to the rocks and the flat trail, thanks to Tim's hard work there. Within seconds of getting to the rocks though, it started snowing. The menacing clouds in the distance were finally overhead - and a decent snow and windstorm was on top of us. We were incredibly grateful to be off the summit and off the ice. The next 4-5 miles of descent to the parking lot were uncomfortable, cold, and wet, but not dangerous. And we'd been able to wait out the weather in everyone's favorite mountain town....BISHOP!

Dinner before Mather

Snow texture = so cool

On top of Mather

Coming off Bishop Pass. Foul weather alert!

Top of Bishop Pass.

We've been here in Bishop for the last 24 hours and have been ecstatic. Matthew decided to make an impromptu trip from Berkeley to kick it with us for the weekend, and we've been drinking beer, eating BBQ, and visiting gear shops to our heart's content. It's basically been heaven. Matthew is going to drop us back off at the trail tonight, and we'll go back over Bishop Pass tomorrow morning, when the snow is again hard. We have three more passes to go - Muir, Selden, and Silver. We're particularly excited for Muir Pass, because it descends into Evolution Basin, which you should just go ahead and Google because it's so damn beautiful.

We said goodbye to Breakfast Sandwich this morning and were so sad to see him go! His constant energy, medical wisdom, and height while crossing creeks will be sorely missed. But most of all, it's special to be in such a beautiful place with such a dear and old friend. Fortunately, we only have 370 more miles to hike until we get to see a LOT of our friends at our wedding!! We can't wait to share a bit of this experience with the people we love the most!