Monday, July 15, 2013

Independence to VVR

When we got back to Bullfrog campsite later in the evening, Ryan decided to SoBo 1 mile down the mountain to where trail magic was said to be. There he found food, whiskey and Rain Maker. She jumped into Ryan's arms..reunited after a week apart. The following morning, we nero'd to Rae Lakes. As it was dubbed Hike Naked Day in honor of Summer Solstice (6/21), we hiked in our skivvies. The several day hikers that we passed were wide-eyed; one woman even covering her husband's eyes. One European gave Lindsay a hug and a kiss on each cheek. We spent the afternoon fishing at Rae Lakes despite the mosquito swarms. We caught and cleaned six golden trout which later supplemented dinner. Dinner conversation included reminiscing about fishing at the farm with cousins, Steven and Andy.

6/22: Climbed Pinchot Pass, the worst of all so far. We hated our lives while climbing the longest amount of consecutive uphill miles of any High Sierras passes. The views weren't even worth it. On the way to the pass, we crossed a suspension bridge to mile 800. We used our better judgement and did not slide down the smooth granite King's Creek water slide. Lindsay gave herself a pep talk saying she had hiked over 800 miles, up Whitney, and Forester Pass, so therefore could overcome Pinchot Pass. We camped at Lake Marjorie.






6/23: Pinchot to Mather: An 8 mile stretch and short hike to the top of Mather Pass, where it was evident this would be an incredible section. Mather Pass is characterized by a string of narrow, jagged peaks. The trail overlooks The Palisade Lakes and is lined by a variety of wildflowers as it winds down the Golden Staircase (stairs cut into the mountain side dropping you deep into the valley below along with the waterfalls). We camped with Pascal that night who is traveling with two donkeys making his way along the PCT, across the Oregon Trail, down the Continental Divide, through Mexico, Central and South America, down to the tip of Chile where he intends to build a catamaran to sail the world. Check him out at longears2chile.blogspot.com. In comparison, our trek is a walk in the park. He entertained us with tales of his adventures.





6/24: Woke up to the first rain since the downpour that sent us to trail angel, Mike Harerra's place. It was a fantastic day despite the weather. We hiked within 10 feet of several deer that casually looked up from their grazing, then went back to what they were doing. The rain came down as a light sprinkle while we hiked 13 miles until stopping around 4 pm to camp. After reading in the tent, we unzipped to do evening chores and were greeted with a creepy fog that was like something out of a horror movie.


6/25: Happy two month anniversary! We got a late start waiting for the fog to clear, leaving at 10:30 am to make our way over Muir Pass. This was a great pass having no switchbacks and having several significant snow fields. We hung out in Muir Hut with other thru-hikers and had a lunch of goat cheese and crackers, Ramen noodles and salami from the hiker box...oh, yeah! Passing glacier lakes on the way, we made our way down Muir toward Evolution Lake to camp, take our first Sierra lake bath and do lake laundry. The basin is a defining feature of the Sierras. Mather to Muir still stands as our favorite section of the Sierras.






6/26: Evolution Lake to Sallie Keys Lakes: 13 glorious miles downhill. We encountered our first creek fjord due to the low rain year. We raided the hiker box at Muir Trail Ranch which yielded three Snickers bars! What?! Who in their right mind discards Snickers bars on the trail? We hiked one mile off trail to the hot springs. The muddiness of the water didn't detract from the affect on our sore muscles. It turned out that our hot springs bath was pointless because we had a sweaty 4.7 mile hike up a steep-ass hill to mosquito hell. A passerby would have thought Ryan insane had they witnessed him running with flailing arms while stripping to change into mosquito impenetrable clothes. These mutant mosquitoes bite through spandex and netting to cover you in blood sucking bumps. By the time Ryan had gotten his pants on, his legs were covered in the carcasses of squished mosquitoes.


6/27: Made our way via Seldon Pass to VVR to catch the ferry by 4:30 pm. We were treated to brownies from a trail angel. We had fish tacos for dinner and the first beer and first night's accommodations free!

6/28: "Zero" at VVR with a side trip to Mono Hot Springs. A sixteen year old boy driving his grandpa's chicken wire held together, shock lacking truck picked us up for a white knuckle ride over a broken asphalt, cliff sided road! Making it alive, we intended to meet up with Rain Maker again and pick up our packages; neither of which actually happened, so we let off steam in the springs. Since a camper had left without dousing his campfire, a forest fire hastened our exit back to VVR because we didn't want to get trapped by the fire. Only a few cars passed us, each rolling down their window to say they had no room despite their clearly empty backseats.Without a hitch, we hiked the 8 miles back to VVR redefining our zero day. Until lights out, we drowned our sorrows in beer and dinner with the now found Rain Maker.

Whitney to Independence

Whitney was an incredible experience! Since we had done three high mile days, our bodies were screaming for downtime before climbing the highest point on the PCT, Forester Pass. (Whitney is a side trail off the PCT.) We only hiked 6 miles from where we camped at Whitney to Tilden Creek for some relaxation, reading and socialization. On the way to the creek, we passed by one of the most beautiful points on the PCT, Big Horn Plateau, with 360 degree views of the surrounding mountain ranges. Instead of hiking out with the rest of the group, Ryan took three hours of solitude to soak in the beauty and meditate.

The next morning we woke in anticipation of hiking Forester Pass, its 13,153 feet notorious for causing hikers' knees to wobble and minds to consider the real danger of falling over a cliff from the explosively carved trail edge. The granite walls rise to form a sort of tunnel entryway to the narrow switchbacks that climb to the pass.

A low snow year made the 95 degree snow chute death slide fortunately less challenging. We traversed it cautiously, but without incident.



The pictures speak for themselves as to the view from the top.

As we descended, we lost the trail in a snow field and had to "blue blaze" (make your own way), which for us was a vertical rock slide straight down the mountain to the most pristine glacial lake we had seen yet.


We jokingly named our route the Forester Yeti Trail Alternate because we stumbled across a pile of bones in the rocks.

The rest of the day's hike was very relaxed but awe inspiring as we made our way down a seemingly endless valley of majestic towering granite, cascading waterfalls, and grassy meadows.




It was surreal to think that we had actually made it into the pinnacle of the High Sierras, true backcountry wilderness. We camped at Bullfrog Trail Junction that night with intentions of hiking over Kearsarge Pass and into the town of Independence to resupply the following day.


Kearsarge Pass is a popular resupply exit point for hikers because it breaks up the roughly 12-14 day hike between Kennedy Meadows and Vermillion Valley Resort. It also boasts incredible views of the kind of jagged protruding granite peaks one would imagine the High Sierras to offer.

We were shocked at the disparity between the freezing temperatures at the top of the pass and the 100 degree temperature in the valley below. Leaving the Onion Valley trail head into town, it took the longest time yet to get a hitch: 2.5 hours. Another thru-hiker, Coaster, had been descending with our benefactor and upon hearing of our wait, gave up his prearranged ride to us. The ride, although much appreciated, got us into town AFTER Coaster and included a "shoved down your throat" sermon about accepting the driver's born again Christian beliefs or going to hell. Thanks, Coaster (premeditated "generosity"?)! In town, we hit up the Subway, collected our resupply and got stranded. Our sleeping bags were cleaner and housed less insects than the hostel where we spent the night, but the showers were welcomed. In her defense, the proprietor runs the hostel, motel, Chevron station/mini mart and Subway all in the same day 24x7. Two minutes into the next morning, we had a hitch back to the trail. 

Tuesday, July 2, 2013

Lindsay's Mt Whitney

Mama,

I decided to write this blog post as a letter to you for a few reasons. Firstly, there is no one I have been more excited to share my Whitney experience with than you. I also know that if I pretend that you are the only one reading this, I can be all the more open about the WIDE array of emotions I have felt on this journey and you will understand completely. Above all, though, most of these sentiments are long overdue. Thank you for waiting patiently over the past 25 years for me to recognize and appreciate everything that you and Dad did and didn't get to do to raise me into the woman I am growing into.

As I sit down to write, I am met with a sinking dread. I should have written this two weeks ago. I feel panicky and the perfectionist in me loathes the procrastinator who has dimmed my memory.
I close my eyes and try to do a little breathing exercise. I am immediately overcome with jealousy. All I hear is Ryan slamming away at the keyboard. I have been practicing yoga and breathe work for 6 years now and the kid can climb a mountain with no problem, while I am keeled over, huffing and puffing, consistently behind him by at least 20 minutes. And he always exudes that same zen-like peace of mind that Dad had, but you and I have to work so hard for. The little crap is perfect.

I come back to my breathe and I remember the similar feeling of anxiety I experienced the morning of our Whitney summit. Funny enough, it had nothing at all to do with my fear of climbing up 14,505 feet. After a restless sleep, Ry and I woke up and had to hike 5 miles, or roughly 2 hours, to reach the base of Mt. Whitney. I sobbed for an hour of the way down. At first, all my guilt washed over me. Did I tell Dad everything I wanted to before he died? Did I thank him for everything he taught me? Why did I wait until he was sick to express my gratitude and love? Why didn't I quit one of my jobs, take a break from school, and see my friends less in order to spend more time with him? I wondered if you could forgive me for being such a selfish daughter when I hardly entered our house for three months after he died, too busy trying to party away my reality. Why couldn't I have been a better sister and daughter?

I have really been trying to let go of my guilt out here. As much as it hurts, I can not go back in time. At the end of the day, my regrets and self-loathing serve no purpose other than to cloud my memories. It prevents me from keeping him alive the only way I know how--through the smiles that grace my face. So, for the first time in 5 years, I allowed my Papa to completely flood me. Obviously, I have laughed and cried over shared stories and you know better than anyone how much it drives me crazy when people avoid bringing him up, like if his name is not uttered than he never d-i-e-d. More like he never existed. But it's usually one or two memories at a time. I remembered everything, Mom, and in no particular order. I could see his eyes crinkle as he laughed and feel his strong hands as he pushed me higher and higher on the swing-set at Treeborne. I went back to the times he helped me with math homework into the wee hours of the night, when he taught me how to kick-drop a boy to his knees in our living room, working with him at Consortium in my new boots and monogrammed shirt, when he terrified me before Justin came to pick me up for my first car date, our last Christmas together when you set it up to look like the beach vacation he had wanted so badly, when he told me I looked like a "fucking freak" and didn't talk to me for three days after I got my nose pierced, you two dancing in the kitchen, seeing him in the stands (or coaching) from the outfield at every one of my softball games, when he made me cry at BW3's, prom...the memories kept washing over me.

And I panicked again. I was terrified I wouldn't be able to remember all of those special moments and my initial reaction was to write every single one down. Although admittedly not before I got my pen and notebook out, I realized quickly how absolutely ridiculous that train of thought was. If there's one thing I'd like to take from Mount Whitney, it's that I can revisit any memory, no matter how seemingly small, whenever I please. I just have to be open and receptive.

This mess of tears and snot came before I even got to the base of the fricken mountain! I hadn't even got to the hard part yet! I did not want to know how I was going to react when we went to spread his ashes.We started the summit around noon, with hikers you know--Chosen One and Dirtbag. For some reason, I really liked that. A fourth of the way up, Dirtbag told me I need to stop breathing through my nose and work on "pressure breathing" when I'm hiking uphill. Here we are back to the breathe again. His demonstration brought me back to my panic attack at the hospital when I was surrounded on all sides being coached on how to breathe. I'm still at a loss as to why I have such a hard time with something that should be innate. He then proceeded to offer me a drag of his cigarette. In that moment, I couldn't decide if I was in awe or if I hated him. Anyway, Ryan was waiting for me at the Whitney Portal, about half way up our summit, to eat lunch together. He had beat me by about half an hour. Here, Dirtbag yogied two sandwiches, oatmeal, and two cliff bars from day-hikers. In that moment, I was positive I hated him. I wanted that sandwich and Luna bar. My hunger has been astronomical since entering the Sierras.When we were done eating, Ryan insisted on hiking behind me so we could summit together. I was so proud of his unwavering patience and support. Ryan truly is the best of both you and Dad and I am continually impressed by the man he has become. I bet you never thought I'd say that after all the times you walked in on me wailing on him.

When we reached the top around 4:45pm, I was surprised to find only five other hikers, all of which were our fellow thru-hikers. Butters told us how honored he was to share the day with us. Paul told us how, as a father, he knew our dad would be overcome with pride. Dirtbag, Chosen, Snickers, and Soup Nazi let us know that they were all there for whatever type of support we needed. And then they began their long climb down, leaving the entire mountain and her magnificent view to us and us alone. I will forever be grateful to those guys for giving us that moment of solitude.

Ryan and I met half way to lock our circle of ashes around the rock cairn we had made to honor the man who balanced father and friend so well. Before dad got sick my friends told me that if something ever went wrong in my "charmed" life, I would not be prepared to cope. What they failed to realize was that I inherited your strength and dad's fight. When Ryan and I were huddling close for warmth and consolation, I was reminded again of how truly blessed I am. I am surrounded by an overwhelming amount of love and support and spending twenty years with a dad that has earned the title in every way was a privilege. Nothing has ever filled me with more pride than being able to tell people that the great Michael Shepard is my daddy. Not even summitting the tallest mountain in the contiguous United States.

I am always amazed by your strength, Mom. Thank you for being strong enough to carry all four us through those way-too-long and all-too-short 8 months dad was sick. And thank you for being strong enough to make us all get back on the horse after he left us. I know how much this undertaking meant to you, how much it symbolized. I hope, if you don't already, that one day you find it in yourself to recognize all the wonderful things you are because of Dad, but also without him. I love you and want you to know how very present you were on top of Mount Whitney.

Five-ever and always,

Lindsaybins