Nobo takes my breath

Rana Toro Lake

JMT Novo Section 1: Horseshoe Meadow Aion Valley

Approximately 66 miles, including the Whitney Summit, ours from a projected total of 255.

Among the altitude, the impressive views at every step and the magnificent path work in the JMT, our first week Nobo left us stunned and spilled.

Alamos pass

Thanks to a trip from Linda, we slept in Horseshoe Meadow (10, 200 feet) the night before starting our trip. It was quite cold to be buried completely in my sleeping bag with almost all the layers put. I worried not to have enough heat until I woke up and I saw that the temperature was 29 degrees that morning. It is not surprising. Then I knew that I could handle 20-25 comfortably, and worse in an emergency, so it was reassuring. There was little frost because it was very dry.

The PCT section of the Cottonwood Pass was mainly gravel and sand, small and very dry trees with the temperature that increases to 70, the burning sun for noon. Because we were still adjusting to the altitude, my hiking partner Jody and I chose to stop at Chicken Spring Lake, only 4.5 miles from the beginning. There was no reliable water for many miles after the lake, and this was our first adventure of the year above 11,000 feet. We had little breathing and a little dizzy, but also euphoric to be on their way. Chickn Spring Lake is surrounded by crumb -raised rock, but remains clearly lush by the departure below, a beautiful beginning for what turned out to be a spectacular trip.

Chicken spring lake

So good people

The next night we move to Rock Creek. There we met many travel companions, some of whom we saw repeatedly, including Scott («a man with a chair») by Madison, Wi, whom we saw again and again uploading the passes and at the Mount Williamson hotel in Independence, where many of us refuse. A little larger than us, it was part of my biggest surprise path, while there were many twenty people, most JMT through/hikers we met were in the age range of 50-75. Some had walked before, while others, like me, tried a dream on their wish list. Scott was the old school, loading large gorp bags and chairs, a practice that my back urged me to consider for the future, while many others had ultra backpacks, duplex tents and titanium boats to relieve the path of their aged bodies.

Of course, there were many twenty people. There were enough Asian and Latinxes hikers, some African -American and many internationals in Asia, Europe and Israel. People were friendly, focused on what we have in common. While the previous demographic group often had trail names, we tended to use our names by habit. And in a moment, Jody and I are part of a mule train from the aged university peoples who walk together for the passes: Madison, Wi, Champagne Il and Columbia MO. Scott’s children had gone to the same high school as my wife. And it turned out that Champagne’s lawyer had played in a band with Jody’s cousin.

Guitar Lake and Whitney

Finally we joined the JMT in Crabtree Meadows, then we headed to a few miles to an impressive guitar lake without trees, hidden in a high circque. It was a hot and dusty day, so we threw ourselves into the reinforcing water.

Guitar lake

The lake was full of hikers from all directions, establishing Summit Mt Whitney. In fact, when we lay around 8, the procession of lights that would grow in the early hours of the morning had already begun to finish the path to the summit. We chose to leave at 5:30 am, not wanting to climb too much in the dark. As I have a Trekking pole tent from Durston, I left my team under the fly on the floor, but fortunately, I deflated my sleeping pad neoair for fear of a creature that punctured it. I didn’t think about doing the same with my pillow.

In addition to three days of camp in 8900 Jody and I began to take Diamox to help with altitude, since we both get sick on other trips. We had no side effects, and although I cannot say with certainty that helped, we complied with Whitney in an abnormally warm morning with tolerable lack of encouragement and mental confusion. The sky was clear. The hot sun. Surprisingly, my sun hoodie was enough without even a wind. To the east, the white mountains hovered over the Owens valley. To the west, the high spikes of the great division in the Sequoia National Park. The path by Whitney, such as Forster Pass, Golden Stircase and most JMT represents a feat of engineering and maintenance. Very clear and stable path with reinforced rock walls through areas that would be covered by rock slides in most wild areas.

The JMT is the most consistently good altitude path that I have seen in North America, although I have feelings found over all the dynamite that was used in its construction. Thank you very much to all the volunteers and employees who do the work of paths necessary to keep it such a navigable path.

Whitney Summit

Forster climate and pass

After the top, we returned to Guitar Lake. The heat was relentless, the non -existent tone, so we decided not to stay. My bear boat was hot, my viscose food. And my pillow had exploded in the heat. The first of several gear mishaps. I am so happy to have deflated my sleeping pad. I jumped to the lake once again, then we headed to the shadow of Crabtree Meadows.
The next challenge was Forster Pass and a rain forecast for 5 days. We consider rescuing for fear of not being able to overcome the pass and due to a recent experience with rain without stopping in the Wind River mountain range. But a hiker parade left that morning, and Fomo stimulated us.

In the headwaters of Tyndall Creek, the Tarns and outcrops of the rock to the south of Forester moved through boring and bright grays such as mobile water while the ominous clouds accumulated on the pass. Thunder could be heard in the distance. They were just 2 pm. But it is not intelligent to risk jitterbug with lightning. We found Scott camping on an apartment between the rocks, and we settled near beautiful gravel slots between refuge rocks. The distant ridges blinked when the dusk fell. We were lucky. The rain only sprinkles next to the pass.

The next morning, we woke up before dawn and saw Scott’s lighthouse already climbing the path towards a spotted sky. I was trying to overcome the prognosis. We are still. Passing the monument for Donald Downs, who died building the path by Forster in 1930. The pass was stimulating. Sunlight and hail, shining in silver waves on the rocks. The boundary between drains in the National Parks of Sequoia and Kings Canyon, the opinions of the Picos and the High Alpine Lakes.

Forest pass

That night we arrive at Kearsage Lakes and barely lifted our tents before another rainy episode. That was the first of our day of more than 13 miles. We had two nights before our reservation at Mount Williamson Motel, so when the next day he woke up, we took a nero, dried our team and passed the morning doing yoga next to the water, looking at the irregular peaks. Then, the clouds entered just when we started ascent to Kearsage Pass. Our rhythm recovered until we ran on the pass and went down to the trees because there were thunder in the next drainage. Again, we were lucky to rain briefly. That night we camped by Flowers Lake, prepared to walk quickly to the path of Onion Valley, where the next day, we caught an 8:30 transport to the motel, which was full of JMT hikers. Including our Scott man with his chair.

Kearsage Lakes

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