How did I get here?

Walking through extremes

Tue, 22 Dec 2015 09:50:27 -0800

I’ve always been particularly drawn to distinct landscapes and anomalies in geography. This appeal generally acts as the foundation to my pre-trip planning process. If you add the moniker oldest, deepest, biggest, or driest to any descriptor, my interest is instantly piqued. Maybe it’s quintessential Americana, but maybe it’s just the curiosity for the unusual that is inherent in all of us. Take for example Mt Whitney, the tallest peak in the continental United States. At 14,495ft it towers over the Owens Valley, nearly 10,000ft below, acting as a way marker to the Eastern Sierra. Its no wonder Mt Whitney is the most coveted and climbed peaks in the Sierra. As the crow flies, Death Valley National Park lies just 85mi to the east and is the home to the lowest point in the continental United States and holds the record for the highest recorded temperature on earth; a balmy 134F. How do these two extreme landscapes convene? How will these landscapes transition into one another? There is only one true way to answer these questions, thus the Low 2 High Route is born.

The Low 2 High route was largely conceived by fellow adventurer Brett Tucker and is loosely based on the Badwater 135 ultra marathon race. The primary difference being Tucker’s route stays more consistently off roads, links rarely visited canyons and ridges, and is generally the more wild and adventurous of the two. Both routes are roughly 135mi in length, have the same start and end locations, and most notably, marked by extremes in elevation gain and loss; nearly 31,000ft. The sum of which is more climbing than Mt Everest from sea level.

We began our trek in Badwater Basin on October 24th, just two weeks after a record-breaking rain storm deposited 3” of precipitation across Death Valley in just a few hours; 150% above their annual rainfall. In the wake of this flash flood, the former legendary salt flats of Badwater Basin were transformed into tranquil Lake Manly; a rarely seen body of water nearly 2ft in depth. Consequently the start of our route was ironically marked by the longest ford of my life, a three-mile gaunt of mud and muck across Badwater Basin. It was an eerie feeling standing there alone, gazing across this body of water, not entirely sure how deep this ford was going to get. This level of uncertainty would be a constant companion for the remaining miles.

To start the hike we had a 3mi ford across Badwater basin due to the recent flash flooding that occurred in the park. Apparently the rarely seen lake is called 'Lake Manly'.

Texture of the 'playa' salt flats in Badwater Basin

Scraping the mud and debris off my Oboz Switchbacks, Telescope Peak stood 11,000ft above us. This cross-country trek up Hanaupah Canyon would be the next waypoint along our route. Hanaupah Spring, 15mi into the trek, would be our first indicator spring to gauge how dependent each of our future water sources might be. Our primary concern was the upcoming 65mi waterless stretch between China Garden Spring and the town of Lone Pine; yet another challenge along the route of extremes.

There's a pair of OBOZ under there somewhere! Our 3mi water ford across Badwater Basin quickly turned into an extended 2mi mud slog.

Perched along a ridgetop bluff, exhausted after knocking out 7000ft of continuous climbing, we set up our first of five campsites. Cooking dinner under the evening light, our extended solitude was briefly interrupted by a 400lb bighorn sheep barreling down the ridge side, myself narrowly being trampled by mere feet. Equally startled, the muscular silhouette of the sheep caught its breath and moved on as is nothing had happened. We resumed our dinner as well, content with this exploit that only remote wilderness experiences can present.

Enjoying the evening light perched along an exposed ridge for the night.

Remains of a bighorn sheep deep within Wildrose Canyon. Likely the distant cousin of the sheep who nearly trampled me the night prior.

The route has an interesting mix of solitude and interface. Along the connecting ridge between Telescope Peak and Rogers Peak, we were greeted by early morning summit-hopefuls. Each friendly hello was juxtaposed by looks of confusion as we dove off the well-manicured trails into a sea of sagebrush along our descent into Wildrose Canyon. This reminder of commonplace clashed against the unfrequented was also present with our discoveries of ancient mining claims, relics, and trinkets along the way. Complete desolation could not have been more present as we traversed the moonscape playa of Panamint Valley, strictly under moonlight.

History is lost in the desert. You never know what you're going to stumble across.

Night shot of us crossing the playa slat flats to beat the heat. We timed the route perfectly with the full moon. It was an amazing experience to hike without headlamp across the barren moonscape.

It’s amazing to me what lies hidden just out of site from commonplace. If you push on, just a little further from where most turn around, the greatest discoveries often exist. Darwin Falls is a classic example of this. Most will do the ¼mi trek to the lower falls and feel content. Few realize that by scrambling past the perceived ‘point of no return’, this level of commitment will relinquish the true pleasures of Darwin Canyon. We stood in awe at how the upper falls had carved a lush line of green over the course of millennia into the barren rock face. Despite our best efforts, the inaccessibility of the tranquil pools below left this beauty best observed from afar. Emerging from the upper limits of the canyon revealed open countryside; vastness best navigated by dead reckoning. We narrowed our sites on a distance landmark, only self-correcting by putting one foot in front of the other.

Surprises are around every corner in the desert. This is upper Darwin Falls, a reprise and oasis from the parched landscape.

Joshua Tree and typical cross country travel across Death Valley. Its intimidating and freeing to point a point far on the horizon and walk towards it.

By following long forgotten mining roads and right-of-ways we could feel the landscape evolving and taking shape underfoot. Linking into the Inyo Mountains, one gains a rare glimpse of the eastern flank of the Sierra. The abandoned mining town of Cerro Gordo stands as a distant reminder of the boom and glory that these hills once held. The magnitude of the Owens Valley is hard to perceive, let alone translate. From this vantage point we could tick off the silhouette of distant namesakes and recall prior experiences there within; Horseshoe Meadows, Mt Langley, Miter Basin. As the eye moves north progress is palpable as we neared Mt Whitney. I can’t help but think of early pioneers forging their way through this landscape under strict trial and error; the evolution of survival into recreation.

The route passes through the historical ghost town of Cerro Gordo, which was a huge silver mine in the late 1800's. The diversity in landscape and context is prevalent throughout the hike.

A rarely seen perspective of the High Sierra and Mt Whitney looking across the Owens Valley. The route incorporates long forgotten 4x4 roads to link into the Sierra Nevada.

Pushing the shoulder season into late October, we knew this trip would likely be the last of the season. In thinking of how we wanted to create a bookend to the experience, we opted to explore a few new areas in the Whitney vicinity over culminating on the summit proper. Our route deviated from the Whitney Portal Trail and crossed over Russell Col into the upper reaches of Tulainyo Lake. Atop the col, our descent was punctuated by blustery winds and talus barely blanketed in snow; a dire combination that expedites the urgency of descent. Lower down in Wallace Creek drainage, the impending lure of winter was evident by the hues of amber across the willows. Now well into the alpine, a stark difference to the landscape enveloped us transposed to a mere 100mi ago to the east. As the sun drooped behind a façade of granite peaks, a sense of being the last to exit the Sierra came over me. As we wrapped around into Hitchcock Lakes Basin, I couldn’t help reflect back on the hordes of hikers that descend upon this popular area in the summer. With the last rays of sun hitting Guitar Lake, we had this place to ourselves; a curtain call of sorts and a fitting end to this wild and varied traverse between the lowest and the highest of terrains. As I, this place would lie dormant until spring

Nacho faces blustery conditions atop Russell Col, Whitney is the high point on the left.

Enjoying the solitude and fall foliage in Wallace Creek drainage.

Final sunset illuminating Hitchcock Peak

One last look in the Sierra before winter. Nacho and I's parting shot of the High Sierra for the winter.

Planning for your best trip ever

Thu, 3 Dec 2015 09:36:04 -0800

When one looks back on life what are the experiences we wished to have had versus the experiences we are fortunate to have had? When peering through this lens of decision-making, fear and apprehension themselve’s can become a driving force, rather than inhibiting; FOMO as the kids call it, the fear of missing out. I think about this a lot when people ask me what’s on my horizon for a next adventure. Not so much in the context of letting others down, but even worse, letting myself down. What a shame to mismanage the time we are allotted on this one wild and beautiful planet.

So what is it that regulates these internal limitations we place upon ourselves? I think it is two fold. Goals take a lot of motivation and desire, not to mention how overwhelming they initially feel. So let’s look at that critically. Whenever I’m planning for a new what next I start by answering these two initial questions, as it will lay the framework for the rest of my thought process.

Why do I want to do this trip, what will excite me?

How am I going to go about doing it?

In less than 24hr I’ll be setting off to do a solo traverse of the Wind River Range, hugging the spine of the Rocky Mountains for ~130mi. Why am I excited about this trip? When I came through on the Continental Divide Trail in 2006, I knew all of the more impressive, glaciated terrain laid to the east, shrouded in mystery, just out of the scope my current map set was offering. I love being off-trail, high in the alpine, geeking out on micro-navigation and confronting doubt in terrain classification. Will this pass ‘go’? Will the weather hold? When and were will I get ‘cliffed out’? This route will offer ample opportunities to consider these very questions. Engaging the brain is ultimately how I connect with a landscape and feel alive.

In all honesty I’ve spent less time planning for this adventure than I normally do. Mostly out of familiarity in the process, but also to leave some semblance of mystic in the unknown; to honor the sense of adventure. There is a difference in my mind between gross negligence and over-preparedness. For far too long I’ve know that 80% of what you planned for goes out the window the moment you set foot on trail. Here’s how I expedite the process:

Commit
Buy the plane ticket, order the guidebook, print the mapset! Far too often people talk about what they want to do rather than committing to what they should do. Set a date on your calendar and hold yourself to it. By setting this hard deadline you have to prioritize getting your ducks in a row. This level of commitment will help drive the process in sorting out all the rest of the planning.

Ask the hard questions?
What do I know for certain? What do I think I know? What do I have no idea about? These types of questions help take a lofty, overwhelming goal and place them into context and compartmentalize your next steps. Having an honest conversation with yourself to analyze what your previous experience entails is a good jumping off point. This will also help set boundaries to prevent biting off more than you can chew. Don’t have the required skillset? Great, how can you go about getting them to fill in the gaps? Unfamiliar with the region or terrain? Great, let’s look into what resources are online or available. All pertinent questions have answers, just remember that some level of uncertainty is acceptable and its ok to let the experience unfold before you.

Logistics
This is the heart of planning and a huge part of the overall experience. It’s your experience so feel empowered to cater it to your needs. After completing whatever adventure you found yourself in, you’ll look back at all the hours you slaved away on the computer, posting to on-line forums, pouring over maps and bagging up trail mix into ziplock bags. There are a few key categories I think about when diving into the logistics.

Transportation: How will I get to and from the triail? Are there shuttle services or trail angels in the area? Can I alter the route to simplify these logistics?

For this Wind River high route I’ll be flying into Jackson Hole, renting a car and driving to the southern trailhead terminus. I intentionally planned my route to enter and exit on the east side of the range. When I finish I will plan on hitchhiking back to my car. The town of Lander is beautifully situated to iron out many of the last minute logistical needs.

Weather and Terrain: This will not only drive your gear decisions but possibly your overall comfort and moral. Sometimes life gets in the way of the ideal season, but can you live with less than ideal?

I’m knowingly pushing the envelop on complimentary weather for this traverse, but it was the only time that worked for my schedule. I’m fully anticipating moments of discomfort via rain, wind, snow and sleet. In knowing this, I’m be relying on a lot of the prior experience I’ve gained in managing self-care in these types of conditions.
One of my favorite resources for looking at weather is noaa.gov. This website allows you the ability to zoom in on the exact location you want a weather report for. This can be particularly helpful in mountainous environments where elevation and topography can have a huge affect on the true conditions.

Nearly everything has been done before and the Internet has a wealth of information on tracking down details and specifics on a particular region or place. Doing a search for relevant forums will provide a great platform to asks pertinent questions that others may back perspective or background on. Summitpost.org has a plethora of trip reports and forums to peruse.

Gear: What terrain will I be in? What will the temps be? What hazards will I need to mitigate? What skill will I need?

Having the right gear has its limitations with the overall success of a trip. Skills and systems are far more important. I like to travel as light as possible and the ethos of ultralight backpacking help guide my decisions around gear selection. Cutting weight is all about compromise. What can you live with, what is a non-negotiable and what do you currently have that is working? A shake down trip is always a great way to try out new systems without worry of great consequence.
In knowing this route will traverse several large glacial fields and terrain up to Class 3/4, footwear became a careful consideration. I would need something comfortable enough for putting in long days, yet burly enough to stand up to miles of boulder hopping and talus traversing. The sole would need to have sufficient traction for moderate alpine climbing and be compatible with instep crampons. The combination I settled on what a pair of OBOZ Switchback mated to a set of Vargo Ti Pocket Cleats.

Food & Water: How often will I need to resupply? How close are the towns? Will I need to hitch? What is the quality and frequency of water sources? What level of protection will my food require?

Luckily this trip is short enough that I can carry all of my food in one push. Six days of food is my personal preference of maximum food weight before preferring a resupply along the way. Water will abundant and with the anticipated cooler weather, I doubt I’ll carry or consume much water at all.

Contingencies: What are my options to bail? What level of remoteness do I need to anticipate? What is the timeline if something unexpected occurs?

Emergency response is an important area to consider, but don’t dwell on it. With proper skill and risk management, there is very little that can go wrong in the backcountry. Far too often I find people place too much emphasis on the ‘what if’s’. The Winds have trailheads all along their eastern and western flanks and I wouldn’t be surprised if I come across a few NOLS expeditions while I’m out there since they are based in Lander. With the nature of solo expeditions, I place more personal emphasis on conservative decision-making.

In summery, planning for any trip of grandeur is just a series of systematic questions to resolve. The real tragedy is to not try at all, feeling overrun with excuses. Fair warning in that once the mind has been stretched to new possibilities; it’s hard to return to a previous mentality. Happy trails!

A Few Thoughts on Gear

Sun, 8 Mar 2015 09:54:19 -0700

There is a fine balance between pushing boundaries and appropriate preparation, particularly when it comes to the equipment that is intended to keep you safe, comfortable and moving. Heading into the planning of our winter traverse, gear was a major talking point for discussion and debate. The nature of the PCT in the winter is that it traverses through such a variety of terrain and conditions that narrowing down a gear list to a singular multi-functional kit felt impractical and illogical.

It felt at times like we were prepping for 4 distinct trips all in one. We asked ourselves, what would we need for the transition into winter? What would we need as the snow got deeper? What would we need when we were in the depth of winter? And lastly, what would we need when the trail drops in and out of winter?

We knew going into this trip that conditions would constantly be changing and routinely be less than ideal. You plan for the worst and expect the best when somedays our mode of travel might be the lesser of all evils. Flexibility and constant reassessment helped to ease the transition between systems, but the reality of our equipment is that some things just weren’t designed for our purposes; ski equipment in particular.

One of the main areas we were keenly aware of is that the more you push the boundaries of ultralight travel, the more you rely on your experience and judgment to utilize the equipment to its fullest potential. The margin of error becomes smaller, and for winter particularly, your reaction time needs to be quicker.

Despite all of this planning and preparation, there were many lessons learned along the way. Below I would like to highlight a few key systems we used along the way. I’ve also attached our full gear list that has been updated for what we actually used, along with thoughts on performance.

PCT Winter Gear List.xlsx

Sleep System

This system was taken directly from my experience guiding dogsledding trip in Minnesota in the winter. Having had experience at -40F degrees nights, I knew the (relatively) mild winters of the western mountain ranges would be well within the limits of this double bag system we utilized. Two main consideration for winter sleep systems are warmth (duh) and more importantly, maintaining warmth. The necessity to dry gear becomes a nightly ritual. Over prolonged periods moisture will begin to accumulate within the insulation. By utilizing a down inner bag in conjunction with a synthetic overbag you blends the strengths of both worlds; weight and warmth when wet. I much prefer the versatility of quilts over traditional bags and incorporated the hood of a jacket or a balaclava as my head wear. The use of a bivy also helped contain the quilt sandwhich and minimize wetting out from spindrift under the tarp. Additionally, never underestimate the need for a quality sleeping pad. When sleeping directly on snow or ice, I find the sleeping pad to be more important than a good sleeping bag.

Katabatic Palisade 30 degree quilt
Mountain Laurel Designs Spirit 38 quilt
Katabatic Bristlecone Bivy
Thermarest XTherm sleeping pad
Mountain Laurel Designs Apex Balaclava

Shelter System

Throughout the entire trip we utilized the exact same shelter the entire time. The MLD Cuben Duomid’s was proven on our Great Himalaya Trek together in 2011 for performance and durability. The space to weight ratio is amazing and the strength of cuben fiber in windy condition is unmatched. A floorless tarp is preferred in the winter for the ability to dig into the snowpack to create more space and protection. A mid also utilizes equipment that you are already carrying, such as skis and ski poles, for set up. A simple sheet of tyvek was used as a groundsheet for added durability over polycro. Later in the trip I began using my MLD poncho tarp as a groundsheet, likely shortening it’s lifespan, but adding multi-function and saving weight.

We had intended to swap out to a larger version of the Duomid with a cuben MLD Super Mid as we anticipated conditions worsening. We had further customized this set up to integrate a wood burning stove that Titanium Goat provided. We were anticipating having to wait out storm cycles in the High Sierra and having the added ability to dry out ski liners nightly and to more efficiently melting water seemed like an added plus. Due to the perfect weather window we encountered, the swap was never warranted.

Mountain Laurel Designs Cuben Duomid
Mountain Laurel Designs Cuben Super Mid
Titanium Goat WiFi Stove

Ski System

This is the area we probably debated over the most. Above all we needed the system to be as light, efficient and versatile as possible. We looked at cross-country systems, alpine touring set ups and ever funky hybrid systems like the Marquette Backcountry Ski . Limiting factors were either a compromise on waterproofness, ski-ability or comfort. Cross-country boots are amazingly comfortable, but cannot drive a larger ski and are marginally waterproof. Alpine touring skis are great for anything touring or skiing related, but walking in plastics is still walking in plastics.

There is a very limited market for the type of equipment that is ideal for long distance touring. Thankfully companies are starting to see the value in hybridizing what is out there to cater to this type of travel. Overall I think we had the best possible combination of boot, bindings and skis that were available at the time. The underlying advantage to this system is that it is extremely light, the rando-racing boots are as close to comfort as you can get, and the Voile BC series combines a patterned base into the ski which greatly minimizes the need to transition into skins on rolling terrain. The down side is all rando gear is it is essentially made for a 1-day outing; read soggy liners.

Voile Vector BC
Dynafit Low Tech Race
Scarpa Alien
CAMP Contour Climbing Skins
Leki Venom Vario S

Cooking System

Alcohol stoves tend to get a bad wrap for winter use. Sure there are limitation, but the advantages should not be overlooked. I’ve used alcohol stoves on nearly every long distance trip I’ve been on. I love their simplicity and minimal weight. Shaving every extraneous ounce became priority, especially when we knew we would have a much heavier base weight with winter gear, ski gear AND longer resupplies than the summer. Our cooking style is very basic, with most meals only needing to boil water. Sure it did require extra time each night to melt snow and cook our meals, but time was nothing we were short on. We were routinely getting 11+hr of sleep each night and having both of our stoves going at the same time for up to 1.5hr greatly increased the warmth felt under the tarp.

A larger pot was also a huge advantage, not only for the added volume and efficiency while melting snow, but also the greater surface area in contact with the stove made the process much more efficient. The way the Caldera Cone and pot integrate also traps heat around the pot more efficiently.

We had anticipated cooking a lot more with fire along the way, but found the process of collecting wood each night not a priority. The multi-fuel capabilities to burn wood with the Ti-Tri stove add a lot of versatility at less than an ounce. We were worried about rationing 12+ days of fuel through the High Sierra with having to constantly melt snow, so the ability to transition into wood burning was good piece of mind.

Vargo 1.3L Ti Pot
Trail Designs Sidewinder Ti-Tri Stove

Wet Weather System

We very quickly realized there is nothing that will keep you 100% dry, day after day. At some point the levee will break. This is of particular importance when you are traveling at or below freezing temperatures on a daily basis. The key was to accept this reality and adjust our travel to suit. We minimized our snacks breaks and food types to be quick and easy to consume. We incorporated the layering philosophy into our foot and handwear through overboots and overmitts. The poncho took the bulk of the precip shedding duties while also adding a margin of safety in keeping the pack contents dry. Above all, changing into warm and dry clothing at the end of the day became our serenity. Everything else became a quarantine pile until morning. Synthetic insulation is a godsend in the winter!

Montbell Torrent Flyer Jacket
Montbell Alpine Ridge Pants
Mountain Laurel Designs Cuben Poncho Tarp
Mountain Laurel Designs eVent Rain Mitts
Montbell Thermawrap Jacket
Montbell Thermawrap Pro
NEOS Adventurer Overboots

The Last Mile

Sun, 8 Mar 2015 09:45:04 -0700

...Coming Soon

False Summits...My first winter in the Sierra

Thu, 5 Feb 2015 10:54:50 -0800

Pass. Valley. Pass. Valley. That has been our mantra for the last 450 miles. The transition from hiking to snowshoes to skiing has been one of adaptation and flexibility. It feels as if as soon as a routine is solidified, it is uprooted by another mode of travel or a change in weather patterns. Morning routines feel clunky at first with all of the added ski and avi gear. Estimating daily mileage is rudimentary at best and the worry of what lies ahead is always present. We’ve been through a lot at this point, which is both comforting and exhausting. Even now, to sit here at Walker Pass, mile 2000, with the shadow of the High Sierra behind us, I am in awe. It is February 5th, day 108, and we are still moving south.

I’ve intentionally put off writing this update until I experienced the entire High Sierra. For one, not to jinx expectations and two, not to have any in the first place. Sometimes its just better to keep rolling when the times are good. We could not have asked for a better weather window for the 25-days we spent traversing south on skis. The recent weather reports hitting the headlines seem like we made it out just in time. Up to 10” of water content is expected to hit central and northern California in the next week. We need it, to say the least.

But it is not to say that weather alone makes for a silky smooth experience. It is only a matter of time until someone udders the phrase “Well, they only made it through because it was a low snow year”. I’m not a betting man, but I’ll put $5 on that. Let me speak from experience and say that sometimes more snow is easier. Having come through the High Sierra on skis twice now through lower than average snowpack, the transitions are what eat up time and add to frustration.

Snowpack is a fickle thing. Too soft and you’re slogging, too firm and its not edge-able. If you’re planning on heading into the High Sierra anytime soon these are the conditions you’ll likely see. Snow is deepest in the valley bottoms. We saw only 2-3’, at most, of base in some of the upper basins. South facing aspects are totally burned off, even up to 11,000+ft. There is a thin crust layer with endless sugary facets below. If the basin has been wind effected, the crust layer is generally firm enough to support and expedite travel. We saw very little signs of instability, but things will get spicy quickly with any new snowpack than builds atop the current faceted conditions. I’d consider myself an expert at this point of survival skiing through the variable conditions and linking turns via rock hopping. My ski bases are proof of that, at least the learning curve aspect.

It is odd to me how skiing has such a reputation for ease and efficiency in winter travel. Granted I will gladly ski any day over snowshoeing, but some of the most menial tasks become ones of difficulty and frustration. All of that glitter is not gold; crossing open water, filling water bottles at water sources, transitioning from rock to snow, even climbing and descending through sticky or faceted snow is sometimes one step forward, one giant step back. Trauma can attest to my hoarse voice and creative use of the english language on some of the simplest of climbs. I’ll use the abbreviation GDBFC to express my most common of phrases. I’ll let your imagination do what it wants with what that means.

I’ve been getting a lot of questions surrounding what our route and resupply strategy was going to be through the High SIerra. To summarize: Pass. Valley. Pass. Valley. For the highest segments of our route, minimizing the drop into the valley portion was a key ingredient. The PCT loves to contour and anyone with any ski experience can attest to how inefficient it is to contour on skis, especially if you are on firm ice and windboard. Starting from Tahoe we opted for the much more direct Mosquito Pass over Dick’s through Desolation Wilderness. Sonora Pass is closed for the winter making resupply near impossible. We were fortunate enough to arrange for a drop at the Mountain Warfare Center in Pickel Meadows, which necessitated a more creative route to the east to make that a ski-thru resupply. Heading into Yosemite we opted for a higher and more direct route via Kirkwood, Buckeye, Mule and Burro Pass placing us under the shadow of Matterhorn Peak; a route I would highly recommend to anyone to avoid the roller coaster the PCT takes through there.

South of Mammoth we went into some of my favorite basins in the entire range. After descending Silver Pass we went up Mono Creek and linked in the seldom done Sierra High Route via Second Recess and over 12,000’ Gabbot Pass. Despite the sunny weather, we could see the snow spooling off of the upper peaks all day. Gabbot Pass is the only place I’ve been literally blown off my feet. I’ve never been a good gauge of estimating wind velocity, but whatever speed it takes to lift a 165lb man and leave them in the fetal position getting sandblasted by snow granules, it was at least that strong that day.

Lake Italy, Granite Park, Royce Lakes, Humphrey’s Basin; all stunning terrain. Alpine Col linked us back into the PCT with an ascent that felt more like ski mountaineering. Scrambling through car sized boulders, pulling low 5th class moves with skis strapped to your back is, um, awkward. A storm from the south brought 1-3” of fresh snow over Muir Pass, but wasn’t enough to coat the lower elevations, and in fact was just enough to cover any exposed rocks, creating core-shot land mines for the rest of the trip.

Mather, Pinchot, Glen and Forester all had their own variety in descent. Mather was a 1000’ face of dust on bullet hard, barely edge-able ice. Pinchot was a mish-mash of rock and skiable traversing, descending directly off the pass, as the trail proper was completely blown in and steep. Glen was one of our biggest worries and the site of Orland Bartholomew's infamous avalanche in his 1929 ski of the John Muir Trail. We found ourselves a top Glen Pass looking down on mostly snow-free switchbacks. The only pass we weren’t able to link any turns down, leaving a feeling of relief and disappointment.

We arranged with a friend for a food cache atop Kearsarge Pass which meant a bittersweet balance of no town time in Independence and the efficiency of 250mi and 12 days straight through the High Sierra. Forester Pass, the highest point on the entire trail, lay only to our south; the metaphorical last challenge for the remainder of the trip. White out conditions that day further fueled our anxiety. We discussed possible alternates over Junction Pass or the ski mountaineering route over the Great Western Divide, but the familiarity of Forester and the lower than average conditions won over our confidence. There tends to be a trend of whenever we surmount a high point along the trail, there is bound to be foul weather. Our photo on Forester together is very reminiscent of the OR/WA high point we took two months earlier; snowy but smiling. The descent was over before we knew it. The cornice commonly seen early season by north-bounders was barely curling 2ft. The steep switchbacks leading off the pass were filled in but edge-able, leaving only the chute. The upper portion had similar conditions to Mather, dust on steep, barely edge-able ice transitioning into boney talus. We clung along the far edge of the chute to get purchase in the snow and ice by heal plunging the rest of the chute. The switchbacks the trail takes to the chute were far too filled in and exposed to consider a viable option. A few woot’s and sighs of relief left less than 100mi to Walker Pass.

Its amazing how fast the transition from ski to desert goes through the Southern Sierra. It was almost too much to comprehend as I found myself skiing through the sage, feeling the first bout of post-Sierra blues. For how much I cursed my skis at times, I was already starting to miss them. By the time we were carrying them for miles on our packs through sunny 60F degree days, the lust was over. Get these things off of me.

With less than 50 miles into things to come, we can already tell the next bout of challenges will be dry, dry waterless stretches. Already some of the commonly flowing sources have been found dust and parched. The juxtaposition of wintery alpine and endless water to shorts and several 30+mi waterless stretches continue the trend of never knowing what lie ahead. The false summit is ever present at mile 2000. My chance of success has risen to 92%, but the winter PCT will not go down without a final fight.

See you all at the border.