rae lakes
If my first week heading north on the John Muir Trail was about relaxing, the second week was when the Sierras said, «Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.»
This was the week of the rest of the most important steps (Pinchot, Mather, Muir) and it was the week in which I discovered the extent to which walking at 60 years old is stubbornness and gratitude in equal parts.
Racing storms over Pinchot
When my new trail companion, Lara, and I reached Pinchot Pass, the sky finally decided to break its long stretch of perfection. The climb to Pinchot from the south was relentless: eight miles of constant climbing on exposed terrain. As storms gathered, Lara and I kept a constant assessment: Are we still safe? is it not safe? How fast can we move?
We passed over Pinchot Pass just as the wind picked up. Lara was pale and exhausted, fighting nausea, and I was trying not to show all my anxiety. When we finally dropped into the trees near Lake Marjorie, just as it started to rain, the only available campsite was near a man who was backpacking with his two teenage sons, and clearly didn’t appreciate the neighbors. As we set up our tent on an established site about 30 feet from his, with large rocks separating our two campsites, he walked over and said, «Hey, I hate to be a jerk, but my kids and I were hoping for a more intense wilderness experience. Can you keep going?»
I looked at my partner Lara, who at that moment was emotionally exhausted, just like me. I also looked at my tent, which was already fully pitched. I could appreciate the father’s wishes, but I told him: «Look: we are exhausted, the rain is about to fall and we are in an established place. I’m sorry, but we’re staying.» He turned around without saying a word and we continued setting up camp. Under normal circumstances, he might have walked further, but when the sky begins to crackle, decorum loses ground to survival.
Later, after we had settled in and ready for the night, I noticed that the man and his children had quietly packed up and left. I can’t blame them, although we were calm and soon fell fast asleep.
That night I ate cold, soggy food in the rain, listening to the distant rumble of thunder. My food actually tasted good… I think I might try more cold soaks on future trips.
I can’t even remember what a beautiful lake this was. Can anyone tell us in the comments?
Crossing the hundred mile threshold
In the morning, I met a lone hiker named Jan: she was 68 years old, incredibly tough, and a strong walker. We crossed paths several more times until she texted me that her foot had started to develop severe plantar fasciitis. Seeing older hikers around here always motivates me. We swapped stories not only about miles, but also about joints, sleep systems, and the quiet pride of still being able to do hard things.
Later that day I crossed the 100 mile mark. It wasn’t marked, but I felt it. My legs had become more reliable than ever. My one minor, solitary blister was healing thanks to the hydrocolloidal pads. And I had perfected the Andrew Skurka bidet method, which, believe it or not, felt like one of my biggest victories of the week.
Let’s talk about bidets
Speaking of bidets: a brief digression. Arid areas like the High Sierras are not conducive to toilet paper. It can take years for toilet paper to finally decompose and is often dug up by animals. I have often seen ugly white “TP flowers” blooming on mountain slopes. One of the best ways to avoid leaving behind toilet paper is to use a bidet system: relying on streams of water instead of toilet paper to clean your butt after defecating. Well friends, I’m here to tell you that using a bidet works and this is exactly how it’s done:
1. Pull down your pants and spray some water on your butt to prevent the poop from sticking to your skin when it comes out. Also, wet one of your hands to prepare it for what’s to come.
2. Relieve yourself in a hole you’ve already dug, at least 200 feet away from water sources, and then, while still squatting, prepare the bidet water.
3. Squirt a firm stream from the bidet into your nether regions. Aim for the target on your butt. Next, put a few drops of soap on your hand and use it to make sure your butt is totally clean along with your hand. Then rinse your butt and hand with more water.
4. Once you’re done using soap, just in case, rub hand sanitizer on your palms and fingers. I’ve seen too many videos and blog posts about people contracting norovirus on the road.
5. Finally, bury your waste. If you missed the hole, use a twig to push the poop into the hole (don’t use the trowel).
With this technique, you’ll have no rash on your butt, (almost) no trace, and as a bonus, your hands will be really clean.
Mather Pass and the Golden Staircase
Okay, let’s get back to our regular programming. Mather Pass was a gentle climb followed by a brutal descent. The talus was steep and sharp, and I felt every year of my age in my knees. But then the trail led out to Palisade Lakes, with sunlight glinting off the water, and I laughed out loud.
And the infamous Golden Staircase? I was able to enjoy it downhill, which I consider one of the great advantages of this walk north. I ran into two thirsty hikers heading south and they asked if there was water nearby. I almost hated to tell them how far away they were.
Become a student of time
Storms were forecast almost every day, but the only predictable thing about the Sierra is its unpredictability. My Garmin InReach weather app told me the storms would start at noon; instead, the hours passed under a bright and deceptive sky.
Another beautiful lake along the JMT, south of Muir Pass
I continued studying clouds, aligning hunches with forecasts, developing a kind of intuitive meteorological literacy. I remembered how heat builds up in the basins, how the wind carries moisture across the ridges, and how the wind typically intensifies minutes before the first drops fall. Here, staying dry is a skill I’m still learning.
After previous trips where I had to frantically dig out almost the entire contents of my pack to reach my rain jacket and rain pants, I’ve learned to keep these two items near the top of my pack even on days when rain isn’t in the forecast. I can often get away with just opening my umbrella, but when the wind is blowing hard there is no substitute for proper rain gear.
Muir Pass and the stone cabin above AlI
Climbing Muir Hut felt like a pilgrimage: the airy approach revealed the austere Evolution Basin, the deep tranquility of tall tarns and a beehive-shaped stone shelter perched in a treeless world.
The iconic Muir Pass cabin
Inside I signed the register. I didn’t write much: just a thank you and some thoughts on how good it feels to move around the highlands at my age. I can’t pretend I’m as fast or as strong as before. But I am steadier, more patient, and more attuned to the miracle of simply putting one foot in front of the other.
Forward to the MTR
Descending towards Muir Trail Ranch, I felt the heat rising. My umbrella became the hero of my day: three different hikers commented on it with envy.
When I arrived at the MTR, dusty and covered in sweat, I was ready for the little luxuries: sorting food, charging electronics, and chatting with other hikers in this strange oasis of human activity. My new trail friend, Jan, arrived later, limping and discouraged. I felt for her. This path forgives no one; it simply gives you different battles depending on your team, your age, and your luck.
Some people don’t like Muir Trail Ranch very much: they find the resupply too expensive and the amenities desirable. But I was glad I stopped there. Sure, there were no showers or bathrooms, but it was great to spend some time talking to other hikers and rummaging through the spacious hiker boxes.
The trail winds north of Muir Pass.
I didn’t delay. After sorting and packing my resupply, I shouldered my pack and headed back into the heat, heading up toward Sally Keyes Lakes. I wet my shirt in the stream water and my umbrella cast a moving island of shadow. When I finally reached Heart Lake at sunset, the world seemed calm and golden. It was a hard day, but good.
My second week on the JMT had been hard, sweaty work, dodging storms and dealing with blisters. But what a joyful job.
Next: The last week.
