Day 2: Road to Sunrise

"Sunshine all the time makes a desert." - Arab Proverb.

The Yosemite High Country waits in the distance.

Day 2: Monday, July 20, 2015


10.4 Miles


Little Yosemite Valley Campground to Sunrise High Sierra Camp

Nick, Uncle Jim and I awake at first light. We're in the Little Yosemite Valley, and even though a Wilderness Permit was required for us to stay here, we're definitely not in the back country yet. Sitting at around 6200 feet, LYV has a campground of sorts, complete with a compost toilet raised on stilts. You add a handful of sawdust after you've done your business, and allow nature to create a compost that'll later be used to replenish forest soil. Besides the fact that you have to pack your stuff in, pack your trash out, and filter water from the nearby Merced River, you don't feel very far away from the bustling Yosemite Valley 4.3 miles behind.

Today, the John Muir Trail takes us north toward Cathedral Pass and Tuolumne Meadows. The first part of the hike goes on a flat track for approximately half a mile before we start climbing toward the cutoff trail to Half Dome. We'll reach the junction and stay on the John Muir Trail, which through this area is known as the Sunrise Trail. We'll continue to climb as we skirt and jump across Sunrise Creek. The trail then jacks up the side of a steep ridge to nearly 10,000 feet to reach a no-name pass many struggle with on their first days of the hike. From that high point, the trail descends toward the Long Meadow, and Sunrise High Sierra Camp. It then cuts straight through the meadow before ascending toward Columbia Finger and Cathedral Pass. Our plan is to camp at one of the Cathedral Lakes, but we'll only make it as far as Sunrise High Sierra Camp.

Sam has a permit to join us again in about ten days. He'll hike over Taboose Pass and link with the JMT to Mt. Whitney to join us for the last seven days of the trip. We wake him up to say goodbye, and he groggily wishes us well through the wall of his tent.  His plan is to wake up and bag Half Dome today before heading back into the Valley to drive back home, since he and Jim were prevented by the weather yesterday.

Speaking of weather. Of all of the potential issues I thought we'd have to deal with in the first few days of this trip, I never considered how Dolores, a tropical storm in the Eastern Pacific Ocean, would cause us so much trouble. As the storm blew through the Pacific toward Mexico in the days prior to our hike, it sucked water off the warm seas to the south, and once it made landfall with North America in Baja, bands of heavy moisture and super cell thunderstorms were sent creeping and churning up the eastern side of the Sierra Nevada. Directly in our path. I know California is having a drought, but I lament the timing of Dolores' arrival.

Lucky for Nick and I, we have something of an expert in toe. Uncle Jim is a self-professed weather guru, and his extensive knowledge and uncanny ability to predict the day's weather outcomes based on cloud patterns will be a boon to us, and any other hikers we come across for the next five days. He's also a senior member of the Ventura County Sierra Club, and quickly adopt their "Fun First, Safety Second" motto. I converse with him about the weather constantly, as well as terrain, gear and backpacking, soaking up as much as I can about how the sun, the heat, the rising moisture, and mountains create thunderstorms. "The mountains make their own weather" will become a tired mantra for the entire trip; tired but true. We're happy to defer to Uncle Jim's knowledge and predictions, and when he suggested we hike through the early morning and hit camp by the mid-afternoon to avoid the first of Dolores' kisses, we decided it was our most fun and safest course of action.

My appetite woes continue. Besides a Starbucks Via latte that was WAY too sweet because I couldn't add enough water, to dilute it, I don't even bother attempting to eat breakfast. Nick and Jim voice their concerns and offer snacks and food, which I frustratingly dismiss. I give in only somewhat and try to eat a small pastry.

The early part of the hike is pleasant. The morning air is nice and cool in the mountains, and we climb up switchbacks through lodge pole pine forest up toward the cutoff that takes Half Dome hikers toward the saddle. As we climb through the chill morning, trail runners in light gear catch us up, as they make for the summit before the crowds. We stay on the JMT/ Sunrise Trail, which takes us through some very interesting terrain. This is a small section of the area of forest that was burnt out by the wild fire back in September 2014. The area is a mess of burnt out and downed trees, and just about anything that wasn't killed in the fire didn't seem to have survived the aftermath either.

We're mobbed by mosquitos when we stop to filter some water at Sunrise Creek. As the cold water follows gravity through my Platypus 2 Liter Gravityworks Filter, I gaze at shafts of the still-rising sun as they beam through the browned and blackened area of the fire zone, dotted here and there with green, and brightly colored wildflowers near the water. A huge bumble bee wooed by the purples and oranges works to collect gold from the flowers as if his life truly depended upon it. It doesn't take long for life to return, but it will be a long while before stands of mighty trees return to mask the sun and shade the forest floor.

As we continue hiking, I notice all of the signs refer to our trail as the Sunrise Trail. Nothing in my maps, plans or any journals we read particularly mentioned this nuance, and I start to question whether we'd stayed on the JMT amongst the many cutoffs and junctions in this area of Yosemite, and me being the planner in the group, I begin to hope we happen upon anyone who can confirm or set us straight. We come across two gracefully aged women, and I confess I may've sounded frantic when I ask them whether we're on the JMT. They inform me we're in the right place, and my anxiety leads to a knee-jerk "are you sure?" without me thinking twice about how rude it must've come off. They move on down the JMT, and we stop to take a few pictures of the sick views. 

We get our first glimpse of Yosemite's spectacular High Country. We gaze across the Little Yosemite Valley, which is now tucked below us like a small ravine, to the wall of sculpted granite on the far side. A jagged row of majestic peaks stand guard over the valley, their snow covered zeniths sparkling in the late-morning sun. Canonized geologic history tells us that a massive glacier sat atop this range, and receded along with the last major Ice Age, leaving behind a marvelous landscape dotted with  countless valleys, balds, peaks, ravines, boulders and glacial moraines. I especially marvel at the pine trees that  grow at extreme altitude where long ago a seed must've managed to find a small patch of soil on the side of a cliff, clinging to bare rock in a place where it would face zero competition if it could just survive. I dub these trees "the Victors."

From here the hike turns brutal for me. I'm drinking water, and snacking here and there when I can, but as we climb toward the 10,000 foot high point for the day, I slowly admit to myself that I'm experiencing what is known in backpacking parlance as a "bonk": no energy, no emotional or moral lift, and certainly no fun. I grimace under the weight of my pack as we climb, constantly making adjustments to the straps to try to find a more comfortable fit, breaking at almost every switchback. I stop every hundred yards or so, and continue on in that manner for the next hour. I'm more worried than I am uncomfortable, and my anxiety continues to rise over my inability to take in minerals and calories. Not to mention the trail is a little dull and typical through here without much to look at as we wind up and through light forest. 

We find a nice sunny spot to lunch about halfway up the climb. I open up my bear canister to the smell of yet another mistake. I packed a snack food called Gardetto's in zip top bags, and the powdered onion, garlic and mustard it's seasoned with has mixed with my second mistake, the moisture from the avocado, and has now stunk up my bear can to the point where one whiff of it and any trace of appetite I may have buggers off. The scent is absorbed into every single thing in my canister, so much so that as I place ANY food into my mouth, I catch a whiff of stale Gardetto's and mildew and have to fight off a gag reflex. I already wasn't hungry this makes it nearly impossible to eat. Even still, I manage to force down an entire pouch of beef jerky that stayed sealed from the gross smell, and proudly show it off to Nick and Jim. I finish with a few Starbursts, which Uncle Jim points out don't confer any lasting nutrients or energy. Empty calories but at least I've got salt and sugar in my system now. 

I continue to bonk out as we hike higher and higher. Thus far, Nick and I have been hiking ahead and waiting for Jim to catch up with us, as his slow and steady pace suits him better than our run and rest method. He ends up passing me at one point, offering me the remainder of his protein and energy rich nut mix with dried dates. I happily accept it and munch on the sweet and salty mixture, even if I'm not hungry at all, and soon I pass him again and start catching up with Nick. Uncle Jim jokes that they shouldn't feed me anything but nuts for the rest of the trip. He's right it's the perfect trail food. More on that in coming posts. 

Near the top of the climb as I hike alone, Jim behind and Nick somewhere up ahead, I happen upon a family of a mother and her two teenage daughters. We chat briefly exchanging the usual questions: "where ya from," "where ya headed," etc. As it turns out, she'd lived in New York City on the Upper East Side, and started asking me about restaurants she used to go to. I must admit it was quite surreal, as I didn't anticipate I'd have any meaningful conversations with anyone from NYC on this hike. Little did I know I'd meet another New Yorker in a few days who will become a great friend beyond the trail.

I get a high as I reach the top of the climb, and spot Nick's bright blue flannel shirt up ahead. I let out a hoot! and he responds with a oowewwww! There's lots of joyful and exhilarating hooting and hollering on backpacking trips in the high Sierra if you like, its awesome. We high five each other at the top and sit in the shade to wait for Uncle Jim. We're still under tree-line even though they've thinned out quite a bit up here. The sun is still shining and I ignorantly proclaim that we lucked out, and the weather must've turned. Jim joins us a half hour later and disagrees with me as he looks up at the clouds. Once he's had his way with my bubble, he points his needle to a cloud structure ahead of us he names cumulonimbus, which looks like a towering pinnacle of moisture rising high into the sky. He explains that as the hot summer sun evaporates yesterday's rain, the moisture rises and condenses and heats until... *POP! The sky erupts in rain and electricity for a few hours. Even if we can't see it, the moisture all around us is boiling and searching the sky for that central point, moving towards it. Before long grey cloud cover will sweep in and the rain will come after.

We'll deal with this over the next several days, and for the entire JMT, as this is a typical pattern for high elevation weather. When there's a 30% chance of thunderstorms, those of us in the mountains at higher elevations are unfortunately 100% of the 30%!

Needless to say we don't linger for very long. By now I'm feeling mightily exhausted, and I start to lobby for an early stop at Sunrise High Sierra Camp. My reasons are plain: I'm truly not doing well physically, and I have to plan for the next eighteen days, so another restful afternoon to acclimate and try to eat is what I need, not a late afternoon climb. I'm not prepared for that regiment yet.  Since we have short mileage to Tuolumne Meadows tomorrow anyways, it won't affect our schedule in any way if we stop short today and avoid an afternoon climb over Cathedral Pass. Jim sees the reason, and Nick reluctantly agrees, not out of insensitivity, but more out of an excited eagerness to get into the true mountain wilderness, away from the more heavily travelled areas of the JMT in and around Yosemite. I know he's eager and I'm grateful for his patience and flexibility in those first days. 

Now we're descending in ever-thicker forest. Through the trees we spot small grassy meadows on the sides of the valley as we hike down, and the purple wildflowers dazzle even under the newly darkened canopy of foreboding clouds rushing over to meet us. After we puzzle our way over, around and under a massive downed tree, we round a corner to find a backcountry emergency waiting for us. One of the women we met a while back who kindly told me the Sunrise Trail is the JMT was waiting with a young man, maybe nineteen years old, who laid on his back with his feet propped up on a rock in front of him.

His name is Adrian, and he's convinced himself he's suffering from altitude sickness. We tell the woman to go on and meet her group and to send help from the High Sierra Camp, and agree to wait with Adrian until his group catches up. Uncle Jim questions him on his habits and symptoms and gives him a salt pill: it seems obvious Adrian is a little delusional from dehydration, but not altitude sickness. He insists that he knows how it feels, claiming he got it as he hiked down from Mt. Whitney after completing the entire JMT last year in 2014. When I ask him how much water he's had he simply replies, "I've had plenty of water." I smirk and Nick shakes his head as if to agree with me as my smirk says 'dumbass!' Meanwhile, we can each recite to you precisely how many liters we've had thus far today. The sky overhead continues to darken, and I begin to give Nick some more pressing and worried looks that say 'enough of this lets get the hell outta here': I want to reach camp and set up before the sky pops and real estate may be harder to come by as the day wains. 

From above comes hiking the mother who I chatted with about NYC and her two daughters. As she approaches she sarcastically announces, "my oldest son, huh?" Turns out Adrian is the eldest in her brood. This dude is a living cautionary tale for us. He went too far ahead of his group, didn't drink enough water or eat enough salt, and found himself in pretty dire straights. As Uncle Jim pointed out, you can drink all the water you want, but without salt and other essential minerals, your body won't retain a single drop of it. I make note of his mistakes, we update his mom on the aid Jim rendered thus far and advise them to rest, and we continue on toward Sunrise High Sierra Camp. At the bottom of the descent the JMT cuts directly into Long Meadow. We meet an attendant from the High Sierra Camp carrying two jugs of water. We tell him where Adrian is located and we move on to the entrance to the camp area just fifty yards or so off the trail to the west. 

Sunrise High Sierra Camp is a very rustic but charming waypoint set up in the mountains. Some folks ride horses up, others hike up. There's a full-time staff in the summertime, with a full galley and kitchen with hot meals, showers and compost toilets, and even tent cabins you can reserve that come with a stove and a bundle of wood to warm you up. Most of the services are reserved for those in the tent cabins and those residing at the camp, not for lowly backpackers like us. Rangers guide groups on backpacking trips through the mountains in Yosemtie and frequently make use of the High Sierra Camps on their loops. We find a primo spot for all three of our tents on the edge of the camping area, Long Meadow spread out below us, and the rolling balds of the high country marching off into the distance. It's gorgeous. Nick has developed an affinity for choosing prime campsites early on.



The sun is still shining, but not for long. These storms happen so suddenly and with such fury that its quite terrifying. Within a few breaths, the sky turns black and the rain comes hard. We all scramble for our little nylon tents, and again, communication is impossible despite our close proximity. My tent has a high bathtub floor and a rain fly firmly guyed out, but the powerful rain turns to a mixture of hail that bounces and splashes off the ground underneath my rainfly and onto the walls of my tenant that aren't waterproofed. I take on water and use my pack towel to dry up any drops and condensation, but not before water gets into my Kindle, a luxury item I brought along to read books that's now inalterably ruined. This time the rain lasts almost thirty minutes, and it floods the camp as hikers scramble in to settle down for the night from the north and the south. It's a demoralizing and dispiriting amount of rain, flooding out the camp and causing the small streams to swell and flash flood.



When we deem it safe come out I find I've made another huge mistake. I left my bear canister upright in the storm, instead of upside down like Nick did, and in this way I discovered that the lid is not waterproofed. The contents of the bear canister are now soaked and almost universally compromised. Anything not in a zip top bag absorbs the water, so now I have a smelly, heavy and wet supply of food that runs the risk of turning to mildew overnight. Awesome.



While Nick tries to manage an issue with the pitch on one side of his tent, Uncle Jim and I decide to explore the camp a bit. We follow the path that takes us past the tent cabins to find the two women who helped us and Adrian with their two daughters sitting out front of the one nearest the camp use trail. They're assessing the weather. I offer Uncle Jim's expertise and inquire about the accommodations; they inform us they had a reservation and that there's no vacancy. But she hooks us up with a tip that may very well have saved my JMT trip: if the chef has enough food, there's a rumor she'll let us buy dinner. We race (literally run) over to the galley and kitchen and ask the dude at the desk if we can buy dinner, he looks confused by our sense of urgency but goes back and asks the kitchen and they said yes! As we run back to the tents to grab our money and tell Nick the great news the rain returns, but we refuse to miss out on the opportunity to get some real food, even if its only been two days I really need it. Uncle Jim covers his ears as he runs ahead of me to protect his eardrums in case lightening strikes nearby. Just the sound blast from thunder can blow out your hearing. Acknowledging the abundance of wisdom there is in caution at these altitudes, I follow his lead.



Sunrise is kind of like a small town, its quite crowded with campers and folks using the tent cabins. And the talk of the town today is Adrian and his family. Everybody heard about what happened when help was sent to find him. Uncle Jim and I happen across them as they appear to be packing up their gear to hike onward. He suggestively inquires as to why they're leaving when Adrian should be resting in light of the fact that he was on his back only two hours ago. Not to mention continuing to hike in the storm is potentially dangerous, but they insist they're okay to make it to Cathedral Lake. We wish them the best, but shake our heads along with the rest of the folks at camp as they hike off in the rain through the meadow.



We do our best to clean up and dry out our gear after the rain ceases a bit. At 5:30PM, its time for us lucky ones to head for the cafeteria for hot drinks before dinner. I grab myself some tea, and Jim, Nick and I settle in at one of the tables in the cozy kitchen tent with a bunch of nice people from all walks of life all over the country. Some are JMT hikers, some are just staying at Sunrise, and still more are on a guided loop backpacking trip with a Ranger named Mike Davien. Before dinner Ranger Mike gives a thoughtful seminar on wilderness history, practice and preservation, and he throws in a few lighthearted stories and tales to invoke caution.



And then there was dinner. And oh what a dinner. Homemade vegetable soup with crusts of good bread and pads of butter, followed by a nice salad would've been enough to rejuvenate me. Then they served us sesame garlic chicken breasts with wild onion and mushroom, rice, and sautéed green beans. I wolf down firsts and get seconds of anything I can. Besides the goodness of eating a real hot meal in this rain, I'm grateful for the energy I know I'm getting. To close it out, huge pieces of chocolate cake. There's a little extra dessert, and after dinner Ranger Mike commissions me to distribute the extra pieces amongst a few water-logged hikers he saw arriving late to camp in the early evening rain that slammed Cathedral Pass to the north.



I know we're here to get into the wilderness, but on this second day of the JMT, I'm happy to be warm and inside, in good company, hearing stories and advice from an experienced ranger, eating real food, and laughing and smiling with my brother and my uncle, and some new friends, if only for now. This is what I came up here for, and much of the anxiety I've felt all day slips away. It was just one of the first in a series of unforgettable moments we'd share together. There won't be any campfires tonight, as the rain is slated to go off and on throughout. At our campsite, Nick and I stand at the edge of the rock formation the camp sits upon watching the distant rows of peaks and balds fade and darken into a featureless horizon on the edge of sight. As the rain moves off to the distance, faint rainbows appear and disappear in brief moments in time.

My wet bear canister doesn't faze me, since tomorrow we hike to Tuolumne Meadows and our first resupply. As soon as its dark, we all settle in for the night and drift off to sleep.