It was a busy few days in Kennedy Meadows, switching my gear from desert to mountain. Ready as I would ever be, I hoisted my pack and headed out. The others had left a bit before me, so I wandered through the sage brush alone. After a few miles, I found them by a stream, setting up camp by happy cascades rushing down the rocks. We hadn't gone far, but I was delighted to stay in such a beautiful place.
The first full day in the Sierras flew by. I hiked up and up as the desert transitioned to higher altitude. I emerged from an old burn area into a lush green meadow, a foreign color on the trail. It was absolutely stunning. I took a long break by a bridge spanning a wide creek as I waited for the others to arrive.
Wading in the water, I wandered under the bridge to watch the sparrows. Hundreds of nests were tucked amongst the woodworks, tiny heads popping out. A flurry of birds circled around and around, swooping under the bridge with each loop. I started to wonder why none were landing, until someone called out that they wouldn't land for fear of giving their nest away. I took two steps back. The effect was instant; suddenly the sky cleared as the birds disappeared into their nests to feed their young.
I finally headed up the trail as the sun reached its peak. The trail soon grew steep and I felt ill in the sun. I lay down in the shade for a bit, then forced myself onward, slowly dragging myself up. I had switched from trail runners to boots for the Sierras and my feet were paying dearly. By the time I stopped for camp I had pinched toes and blisters. I was exhausted, but took the time to scout out a lovely spot for my tent overlooking the valley I had just climbed from. All my trail family had arrived by the time I was set up. We ate dinner and I snuggled into my sleeping bag just as the sun was setting.
I stumbled up the trail sleepily. Although I had slept in, I looked longingly at the soft pine needle floor and considered stopping for a nap, not yet a mile into the day. The gentle downhill allowed me to shake off the weariness and I passed through lovely meadows before starting a big climb.
I pushed hard, shooting for the summit to have a view with some lunch, but mainly to get some cell service. I needed to respond to emails and communicate with people. I usually don't mind the seclusion from the outside world, but when I need to tell something to friends or family back home it can get frustrating to not be able to talk. The emails I found waiting in my inbox pulled me out of my PCT bliss and back into reality. Life was happening outside of the trail bubble. It gave me something to think about for the rest of the day, and my thoughts carried me into a campground where I joined the others for a lovely evening.
I snuggled deeper into my sleeping bag. It had been a cold night, and I was in no rush to leave. When I finally found myself on the trail, I sauntered along, taking my time.
Half of the group was going into town to resupply, but as I had plenty of food to last, I chose to take an easy day by an alpine lake. I arrived early in the afternoon and dipped in the cool water before helping myself to some lunch. The rest of the day was spent lounging about, hopping from sun to shade. We got rather bored as we waited for the others, and as evening approached I claimed my tent spot overlooking the lake. Tummies rumbling, we fantasized that the others would hike in with a pizza as we cooked bland trail food. After what seemed like ages they started to arrive, and while there was no pizza I managed to settle on the fritos they packed up for me.
It was a lovely day, and I was deep in thought as I pushed hard all morning and into the afternoon, only stopping for lunch and some yoga. I neared Whitney Creek and heard my name. "Arrow?" I looked over to see a familiar face. Mountain Goat, a woman from Australia, sat amongst some others at the side of the trail. She had thru hiked the AT my year, and last I'd seen her was in New Jersey. There were quite a few 2016 AT alum out here, but she was the first I met that I knew. We chatted for a bit, then move on. I turned on a side trail, headed for Whitney. I met many people coming the opposite direction, faces weary yet delighted from climbing the mountain. I stopped a few thru hikers I knew to get some info about the climb, for we planned on waking early the next day to watch the sunrise from the tallest mountain in the contiguous US. While I continued up the side trail, I suddenly hit a wall. I felt incredibly tired, and stopped at the nearest campsite for a break. As I sat there, I convinced myself I should just stay. The goal was to push another mile and a half before camping but I couldn't summon the energy. It was almost alarming how foggy I felt as I stumbled around in the rocks to check out the area before settling down. I set up my tent and cooked dinner, leaving a note for the other Rattlesnacks before heading to an overlook to eat. I somewhat doubted they would make it this far, as it was already late, but I could hope. I had barely taken a bite before I heard them call out. That was quick. Delighted, I rushed down to meet them. They were surprised I had stopped early, but decided to stay as well. We all turned in before sunset in anticipation for an early morning wake-up in order to climb Whitney for the sunrise.
Lots of tents in a small space
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