There are eight major passes on the Muir Trail - Donahue, Silver, Selden, Muir, Mather, Pinchot, Glen and Forester - and the climb of Whitney and crossing of its 13,620' Trail Crest shoulder effectively makes it nine. Each of these passes is a force to be reckoned with, and therefore requires planning - or else. These high passes are typically very exposed places that can take a lot out of you if you cross them during the heat of the day. Because passes are typically very rocky, the trail quality can range from good to poor, and is always harder to walk on than trails in the flatlands. No pass on the Muir Trail is much lower than 11,000', meaning that they usually call for a lot of elevation gain and will promise much thinner air than that from whence you came. And finally, they can sometimes be situated in entirely the wrong places relative to any strategy one might employ to minimize the effects of all these other factors. Such was the case with the 12,100' Mather Pass.
The ideal way to deal with a high pass like this is to position your pre-pass camp in such a way as to have dealt with some part of the uphill the day before crossing the pass and in such a place as to have a short climb to the pass the next morning before it gets too hot. Where we had camped the day before crossing Mather Pass was completely at odds with these simple rules. We were a punishing 10.5 miles from the summit - every inch uphill - and had to climb over 4,000 vertical feet, including an ascent of the "Golden Staircase." The expression "Golden Staircase" conjures up notions of the foyer of a beautiful palace, with the stairway leading to the boudoir of some fantastic damsel. Not! The Golden Staircase on the JMT was the last section of the trail to be built, in large part due to the extraordinary task of cutting a trail suitable for people and stock animals into a sheer granite cliff. We dreaded this day.
To add insult to injury, the moment we hit the trail, we passed a sign that informed us that the hike to the pass was actually 11.5 miles - another mile longer than the guidebook and the map said. Probably a typo, we grumbled.
The early part of the climb ascends gently though a forest along the banks of noisy Palisades Creek, then begins to get steeper as we emerged into the open hillsides below the Golden Staircase. Then the Staircase was upon us. This stretch of trail is such an engineering marvel that I almost forgot the mortal agony I was soon feeling from my legs. One of the central architectural elements of the Staircase was the 18" high granite step - something we honestly had not trained for. These go on for three miles and 1,800 vertical feet, and by the time I collapsed on a grassy knoll at the edge of Lower Palisades Lake (our lunch spot), I was toast. Those damn steps had kicked my ass, and I was badly in need of a breather.
After I came to, I was able to take in the beauty of Julian's choice of a meal stop. The day was clear and perfectly warm, and the deep blue lake was nestled in the notch of a deep, glacial canyon, with sheer granite walls on both sides. We took a long stop of at least an hour and enjoyed a nice dip in the icy waters of the lake.
The trail then traverses the canyon wall high above the two Palisades Lakes, then starts up a leg-numbing set of switchbacks which are nearly as steep as those on the Staircase. Here, though, the trail quality is much worse, and with the higher elevation having removed much of our oxygen supply, it was slow going.
About halfway up the switchbacks, I came upon the strangest person we would meet on the JMT. A man, dressed in shabby clothes and rain boots was lying on a rock next to the trail. From what I could see, he had just two old canteens (the big tin kind with the blankets on the side) a very small duffel bag, and nothing else. No sleeping bag, no raingear, no food. No nothing. He was at least 30 miles from the nearest trailhead - a three day hike for most people. I exhaled a "G' Afternoon" as I wheezed by, and he merely grunted in return. As I climbed higher, I could see him still lying there, and my head began to spin with the possibilities. My thoughts ran in two directions - either he was dangerous to himself - or dangerous to others. The nights up there were running in the twenties, and he obviously didn't have the wherewithal to keep warm. We were also just two days beyond the storm, meaning that somehow he would have been out in the storm too. I couldn't imagine what on earth he was doing there.
At around 5:00 p.m., I staggered to the top of the pass where Julian waited. Though the view was very nice, there wasn't much left of me, and it pained me to think that we still had at least three miles to go before we could make camp. It further pained me to think that we had to go over Pinchot Pass the next day.
Fortunately, the trail quality down the other side of the pass was good, and after a short descent, we were at the north end of the magnificent Upper Basin. The Basin is a large Bowl at the headwaters of the South Fork of the Kings River. It was after 6:00 by then, and the evening light made for a beautiful setting as we shot down through the Basin in search of a flat spot near water. We hoped to get at least a few miles down the trail into the Basin so as to minimize the next morning's climb.
After about two miles, my body signaled the end of its desire to keep walking, and I teetered over to a somewhat flat spot by a rushing creek. Julian arrived a moment later, and, in the dementia of my utter exhaustion, said that I would just get my sleeping bag out and sleep anywhere. Fortunately, he still had a few brain cells left than day, and found a place to set up the tent. That was a good thing, as the temperature that night went down well into the teens.
Photos: Switchbacks on the Golden Staircase; Lower Palisade Lake; Upper Basin - Afternoon Light
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