We take a second zero at Kennedy Meadows, preparing to enter the Sierras. We walk out of Kennedy Meadows with a group of 9 hikers.
The next day, we start the section into the southern Sierra wilderness and Inyo National Forest. There is no snow for at least 15 miles-it is just beautiful high meadows.
Filip and I camp a couple of miles before the group. We don’t see them again until Lone Pine. We encounter some big snow berms for several miles, the first time the trail climbs above 10,000 feet. We put our crampons and micro-spikes on and practice using this equipment. Then, the trail dips lower again and the snow disappears. The trail climbs high again and once again we are in the snow-we turn off on Trail Pass, dropping down to Horeshoe Meadows.
We arrive to Horseshoe Meadows in the evening. I have been texting with Pinecone on my Inreach, one of the members of the big group-she and her partner Chairbear are ICU nurses in Reno. She picks up my car from friends in Lone Pine and plans to pick me and Filip up at the road, once we exit. The big group has stayed ahead of us by a few hours for the past three days.
We come to what is normally a small stream in Horseshoe Meadows. Not so today. The water is now swelling its banks, deep and fast.
We wade into the water, looking for a safe crossing spot-nothing is more shallow than waist-deep on me. I am getting cold as the sun sets and the temperature drops, now shivering in my gaitors in the shallow water near the bank.
“I think we’re gonna have to camp and wait till tomorrow. I can’t stay this cold for much longer,” I tell Filip, teeth chattering. He snaps into action, putting up the tent quickly in the twilight. I take off my wet things and get in my sleeping bag.
In the morning, the water seems to be a little lower-at any rate, we find a crossing that is mid-thigh deep. We walk the short distance to the road and Pine Cone picks us up. I had connected her last night with friends Joann and Clark, who had offered to host us in Lone Pine when we came through.
“How many people are at the house?” I ask.
“Eleven.”
My eyes pop out of my head. “Eleven?? Holy crap!”
We drive back to the house. There are tents set up all around Joann and Clark’s house, like a music festival. The property is buzzing with activity as people are organizing winter gear, buying gear, and generally organizing themselves.
Joann and Clark arrive a little later. I thank them for their incredible hospitality to host this massive group of hikers.
We leave in the evening, for Cottonwood campground. We arrive as it is getting dark and set the alarms for 4:00 am.
In the morning, we break down the frosty tent in the dark. Pinecone walks up.
“You guys. I just do not feel good about this. We’re out. We’re gonna go back down.”
It takes me a minute to process this information. Pinecone and Chairbear are kind of the de facto “leaders” of this big chaotic group. They are also the only people else than myself with any kind of mountaineering experience. “It’s ok. You’ve gotta listen to your gut,” I tell her. We promise to keep in touch. The group heads out a few moments later.
The snow starts almost immediately. It is hard, and relatively easy to walk on with crampons. We make our way up Cottonwood Pass, which has one short exposed section and a formidable cornice which is easy to step around. We continue on past Chicken Spring Lake on a few miles of side hill traverse, which is deeply suncupped, making travel slow as well as routefinding difficult.
Filip and I fall behind the group. 5 hours in, Filip says, “I need to eat something.” We sit down for 45 minutes to eat and drink.
We encounter the big group an hour later, huddled under a tree. “Where have you been? We have been waiting for two hours.” Says Stash.
“Well, it’s kind of slow travel-and we ate a little while ago.”
“Well, we aren’t having any trouble on this, and we’d like to get to Rock Creek tonight,” says Victor.
I blink. “That’s like 8 miles from here. I am going a mile an hour. That will end of being a 14 hour day for me, which I’m not willing to do.”
“Well, that’s what we’re going to do.”
Trainwreck, an ex-marine, shifts uncomfortably. “Come on, guys. It’s just 5 days to Kearsarge pass. I don’t think we should split up.”
The fast folks are firm in their decision, however, and take off at their pace. Trainwreck walks with me and Filip through the afternoon.
In the evening, we come to a campsite marked in FarOut and chat with another group of 4. Vortex and Lindsey come huffing in and flip down. “Where are the Belgians? We were supposed to meet here and decide how far we were gonna go,” says Lindsey.
I shrug. “They kept hiking. They said they were going to Rock Creek.”
I am amazed at how quickly this group has disintegrated, but I realize that I have shifted in my thinking to how I was trained by The Mountaineers-this is no longer summer thru-hiking, without any objective hazards. For people to abandon a group and not communicate like this in the world of climbing would mean being banned from future organized climbs, because it represents a very real safety hazard. But none of the folks in this group have any real experience with alpinism, and so they are operating as we have operated up to their point on the trail-every man for himself, to his own comfort and pleasure.
We walk one more mile and camp, rising again just after 4 am and walking across the hard snow as the sun rises.
We descend to Rock Creek, where the Belgians and Stash are sitting. They take off after saying goodbye, and Filip, Trainwreck and I cross Rock Creek on a series of logs. Then we begin the long climb up towards Crabtree Meadows.
In the afternoon, I see Trainwreck stopped in the trail, talking to a group of hikers that are apparently walking south. As I approach, he tells me, “these guys are going back to Cottonwood.”
“The Rangers are recommending that people exit back out Cottonwood,” one of the hikers explains. “There’s a 25 foot band of ice at the top of Forester. They Ranger couldn’t get his ice axe into it. He described it as potentially lethal.”
I consider this for a moment. “ have you heard anything about Shepherd Pass?” I ask.
“No.”
“Forget it.” Trainwreck chimes in. “I’ve got microspikes. I’m not a mountaineer. I didn’t come out here to die.”
Filip is also convinced. “Let’s just turn around. I don’t want to hike any more north if we’re just gonna have to go back.”
We walk a few minutes back until we reach water, snowmelt streaming down the trail, and then we camp early, at 3 pm. We see more hikers streaming down from Cottonwood through the afternoon. We have a good laugh when we look at the comments about Shepherd Pass on FarOut- “vertical wall of ice! 110% do not recommend! Do not attempt unless you came to the trail prepared for Everest!”
In the morning, we start at 5 am again, back towards Rock Creek. One member of the group rejoins us, uninterested in climbing Whitney, which the others are doing today-two young fast men we met the day before described it as 16 hours round trip, with waist-high suncups and a lot of lose rock. She tells us about the interaction she witnessed between the Ranger and Stash-the Ranger was advising against starting Whitney in the afternoon, and Stash told her “this trail is too easy” and took off to start the climb in the afternoon. I feel chilled by this information. I have spent the past seven weeks hiking with this group on and off and saw no evidence of this recklessness. Arrogance in the mountains routinely kills people, but in this case, the best you can hope for is a near-miss that scares the person into some measure of humility.
We camp again in the evening, then descend back out Cottonwood Pass the next day. My friend Julie Berry, who is taking care of my car, picks us up and drives us to Lone Pine. I take my car to drive the rest of the group to Bishop m, where they will fly out to flip to Washington. Filip and I rest for two days in the Dow Villa hotel in Lone Pine. I sleep more than I thought I was capable of.
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