I sleepily unzipped my tent to discover ice crystals had formed in my water bottle overnight. I had overslept, and quickly packed my things to get moving before the sun melted the slow into slush on the pass. Forester Pass is the highest point on the PCT, and often covered with snow. If hikers don't clear the pass before the afternoon sun softens the snow, they are stuck wading through deep drifts, sinking through snow with every step, otherwise known as postholing. The trail leading to Forester was breathtaking; snow-streaked mountains looked down upon fields of lush green grass and distant shimmering lakes as the trail gently sloped upwards. Trees disappeared as I climbed steadily up, rocks taking their place. Soon the mountains had closed in around me, and I crossed a snow field as the pass loomed over me. My feet met a rocky path as I started up the switchbacks. The climb was surprisingly easy, perhaps because I stopped at every turn to breath in the views.
Climbing up Forester
Before I knew it, I found Spygot and TC greeting me from across a frozen chute of snow. I stepped carefully onto the ice, not letting myself consider that a single misstep or slip might leave me sliding down the mountain for a while. Leaning into the wall of snow on my left, I gingerly put one foot in front of the other, digging my trekking poles into the frozen ground as I made my way across the expanse. Safely on the other side, I joined TC and Spygot and we pushed the last few feet to the summit. Forester Pass topped out at 13,200 feet, the highest point on the PCT.
I peered over the other side, eager to see what had been hidden from view. White mountains cradled a frozen lake and stream raced into the distant pine forest. It was even more breathtaking than the climb up. We hung out on top of the pass while we waited for Southbound and Stretch, small figures slowly pingponging back and forth up the switchbacks. Looking over the edge, it appeared it would be a slippery descent down the snowy slope of the North side. We considered our options. There was an obvious path that people were using to slowly walk down, meticulously digging feet into the snow as not to slip. Then I noticed a perfectly packed slide that looked like a wonderful glassade option. Glassading is essentially sledding without the sled. I had seen videos and was eager to try, but also quite nervous. I could imagine that if you went too fast you would lose control and zoom right off the cliff edge at the bottom or smash into the rock field halfway down. I stared down the mountain imagining everything that could go wrong. Noticing my hesitation, TC volunteered to go first. He dug a pointy rock out of the ground to use as a break, and with a woop of excitement he was off. He slid past people trying to walk carefully down and made it to the bottom with ease.
Spygot went next. She used her trekking poles to steer, but as she picked up speed it looked like she was on the verge of being out of control. Still, she yelled with delight when she made it to the bottom in one piece. Finally it was my turn. I sat down carefully and started sliding, dragging my hands and feet in the snow to slow down. Soon they were completely numb. Whenever I got too fast for comfort, I dug my limbs into the snow until I came to a halt. Then I would clear out the bump of snow that had piled up beneath me and scooch forward again. Thus I made my way down the mountain, slide, stop, slide stop. It was quite fun, if a little nerve-wracking. When I made it to the bottom, I was bummed that I had gone so slow and stopped so often, feeling like I had missed out on a sweet ride. I suppose better safe than sorry. Southbound, Stretch, and Steak slid after me in their own fashion, and when everyone arrived we stepped lightly across the snow to avoid sinking waist deep.
I kept my eyes open for another glissading hill, and as we neared the lunch spot I got my opportunity. Determined to do this one right, I eyed the 25 foot descent as I wiggled into my rain pants and plopped down at the top. I pushed off as hard as I could and allowed myself to pick up speed and ride all the way to the bottom where I hopped up gleefully. Just like sledding when I was a kid; numb extremities and all.
We stopped for lunch by a beautiful lake; snow from the mountain poured into its sides and broken chunks of ice floated nearby. Steak and Stretch bravely jumped in.
Ready for a change of scenery after a long lunch break, I continued on, following a stream that eventually toppled over the rocks into a waterfall. After a few miles I spread out on a large rock overlooking a turquoise pond, jagged, snowy mountains rising all around. The others joined me, then moved on. As I heaved myself up to push onward I felt slightly nauseous. I kept walking, as it was getting late and I didn't really have time to feel sick. Still, I was thankful the trail went downhill into the shade.
The nausea grew steadily worse, and when I got to a stream crossing I weekly scooted across a log and silently joined the others waiting on the other side. I lay back and closed my eyes. Of course they could tell something was wrong, and started asking questions. I really didn't feel like talking, so I did a few hand gestures hoping they would get the picture. Thankfully they understood and let me doze.
I felt a bit better as I followed the others for the final push to a camp spot. There was one huge 1000 foot climb before we could stop. I mentally prepared myself for pain and discomfort and pushed up the steep hill. At the top, we turned from the PCT onto a side trail that led over Kiersarge Pass. It was about 7.5 miles to get to town where we would resupply and rest. I wasn't happy for the detour, but it was one of the few options for getting more food. The trail was beautiful. I skirted a lake, marveling at its glass surface, and found a lovely spot to pitch my tent. Shoving a few snacks in my mouth for dinner, I went to bed early, an alpine lake reflecting the golden mountains in the setting sun.
I was the last one out of camp, a new experience; usually I am one of the first to leave. I moseyed my way along the trail, in no rush. I didn't feel like pushing. It was a beautiful trail. Waterfalls, lakes, and mountains. Huge climbs and long descents. Despite all the beauty, finally I saw what I wanted to see most: a parking lot. It was an hour-long ride to town, but an incredibly kind man drove us the whole way.
We checked into a hostel and had some food. I had a pretty crappy afternoon trying to fix technology and figure out life plans, but after a call home I felt much better. The hostel loaned bikes for people to ride around town, and I followed Steak down the road to get some groceries. It was not a pleasant evening bike ride through the park; cars zoomed past us, heat radiated up from the pavement, and my bike resembled that of an ape hanger motorcycle (low seat, high handle bars). I tried to keep up with Steak, pedaling as fast as I comfortably could in a dress and sandals. It was a disaster waiting to happen. It did. Weird bike+sandals+ fast speed+dress+heat+cars=fall. I tried to turn onto a sidewalk and my tire hit the lip wrong, causing me to fall into the gas station driveway in front of a stopped car. I quickly got up, embarrassed, wove to the startled driver who just sat there staring at me, and examined my wounds. Aside from a long shallow cut on my arm I was undamaged. Steak had turned around to see if I was all right. I waved him on, and slowed down after that.
After another epic journey on two wheels I returned to the hostel and made some dinner, visiting with other thruhikers before heading off to the movie theatre. Something about living and working outside makes going to a movie incredibly amazing.
We took a zero day. After a productive morning I gathered the Rattlesnacks together to open a party box my mom sent for my birthday. Although it was a few days yet until my real birthday, this was the opportunity to celebrate. The games and activities that lay inside took me back to my childhood days as we pinned an arrow on the PCT, tooted noise makers (annoying everyone around, I'm sure), blew up balloons, and busted a pinata. It was good, pure fun.
Dinner rolled around and I made an epic salad to balance out the birthday treats and goodies. As I walked around the hostel, everyone I saw wished me a happy birthday. It was the most birthday attention I had had in a long time. Unable to see how everyone knew it was my birthday, It took a while for me to realize I still had a birthday tiara on my head. Oh. We played games and ate ice cream until bed.
I slept as long as I dared and finally got up to get ready. My huge 7 day resupply of food barely fit in my pack and I had to repack multiple times to make it work. 35 lbs. So uncomfortably heavy for an ultralight pack. I grabbed leftover ice cream and ate it as I walked to the bus station. Only half of the crew made it in time. The other half would just hitch back to the trail. I knew the half-day difference would split the group for a while. The hour ride back seemed to go quick and soon we were at the trailhead. Climbing back up the hill wasn't too bad at first; my pack was heavy but the views were marvelous. But as I finished the last few miles pushing up the hill, my pack seem to get heavier and heavier with every step. I found myself stopping often, longing for the top to be closer. I threw my pack down when I reach the top. I didn't stay at the pass long; there were a lot of day hikers and I had been there once before on the trip into town, so after eating a bite I started a wonderful downhill. The trail finally connected with the PCT, and we were back to making real miles. Fifteen miles round trip for food was much too far. I took a quick break to eat a nutty bar, knowing I would regret it, and then said off again. It was a gentle uphill until it wasn't. The trail disappeared into switchback after switchback as a craned my head back to find the top. I stopped on every turn to rest my pack on a rock and take the weight off my back. Yep, I regretted eating that nutty bar. I thought I was almost to the top and turned the corner to see there was a long way to go yet. My heart sank. Spygot was a bit behind me and we struggled up together, shouting about how terrible the climb was and guessing how close we were to the top. There it was. Finally. The other side was beautiful; lots of lakes nestled in the valleys below. Penguin kindly ate some of my food while I rested to help lighten my load. The good thing about uphills is that at some point they become a down, and we headed through some snow drifts toward a lake.
As we neared the lake, mosquitoes started attacking. I loved watching the fish jump out of the clear water to eat. Upon arriving to a campsite I found a lovely open spot by the water, and fell asleep in the shadow of the pass we had just descended.
Usually I have breakfast on the go but I was trying something new this week. I packed up my stuff and hit the trail, walking a few miles before stopping to make oatmeal by the waterfront. It wouldn't have been bad except for the place where I stopped had tons of mosquitoes. I tolerated them, determined to make my oatmeal breakfast great and watch the fish swim around. Unable to stomach more of the goo with bugs swarming everywhere, I shoved some unfinished oatmeal in my pack and continued on, soon passing amazing bug-free spot. I regretted stopping for breakfast so soon.
It grew hot as the day were on and I paused to soak my feet in a creek. Although it was noon, I wasn't too hungry and I caught up with Penguin before stopping for a late lunch at a stream.
With eight miles to go for the day, I pushed myself onward, up another pass. My pack gets heavier with elevation, I'm sure of it. The sun beat down, and despite the snow on the ground, it was scorching. I piled snow on my head and neck to cool down as I climbed up and up. The top was so far away. Even as a drew near, it kept getting further. Penguin was the size of a toy as he stood on top and waved is arms. Finally I made it. That was hard. Really hard. I could barely be excited for the top and the views for the misery I was in.
Penguin headed onward and I waited for TC and Spygot to let them know where we planned on stopping for the night. I saw them as little dots in the distance, steadily growing bigger. When they arrived I say hi, told them the plan, and took off down the other side. I soon lost the trail in the snow. As the trail is covered, everyone chooses their own adventure through the snow. I enjoyed picking my way down the mountain, heading toward the distant lake, the freedom of open ground with no path to direct my steps. Eventually the snow faded and I found the PCT again and shuffle-ran down the hill. The mountains had worked their magic and I was now in a fantastic mood, in awe of the beauty.
We camped amongst the pine trees; TC, Spygot, Penguin and I. The others were behind, and I didn't expect to see them for quite a while. TC made a fire to keep the bugs away, and we sat in the flickering light before heading off to sleep on the soft pine needles.
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