Since we remembered Forester Pass as being quite difficult, we made a concerted effort to get out of bed and underway early. We drank a silent toast in the morning to the fact that, after today, we had just two more breakfasts of "that shit" to go.
As we packed, we noticed a disturbing change in the weather. It had been a perfectly clear day when we awoke, but as we looked to the west, a large, fast-moving band of dark clouds came into view, and by the time we were ready to go, they had nearly filled the sky. Remembering that Sierra thunderstorms don't usually get going until midday, we decided to bolt for the pass - which was 4.5 miles away - and hope to get over it before the storm broke. Before leaving, we woke up Ken and Mike, who had been sleeping, and suggested that they too might want to get going.
When Julian and I had crossed Forester Pass before, it was on the second day of a 50 mile trip between Keersarge Pass (near the Onion Valley trailhead) and Mt. Whitney. Before going over the pass, we had had only one night at altitude, and that was at Vidette Meadow (9,550). We had not really had sufficient time to acclimatize, were on the trail much later in the day, and certainly were not in the kind of shape we were in by that point on the JMT trip. Because of this combination of factors, it had been a real struggle to get to the top of the pass, and we were exhausted and gasping for breath by the time we got there.
What a difference it was this time around! In the cool morning air, with our now very light packs, we breezed up the trail that morning, and were surprised to see that, in our current perception of things, the trail to the summit was one of the best we'd seen on the trip. We also felt guilty having woken up Ken and Mike, as the front we'd seen approaching had now moved off to the north.
Space Blanket Man. About a quarter mile from the pass, we stopped to talk to a man who was on day two of a nine day blitzkrieg to Mammoth. To save weight, he was not carrying a sleeping bag or a tent, but had planned to wear his long underwear and raingear to bed, then wrap himself in a space blanket. Unfortunately, the space blanket had self destructed the day before, and he was now without a source of warmth. He optimistically predicted that someone would have a spare somewhere down the trail. Yeah, right . . .
We were at the pass by 11:00, and were barely breathing hard. Fitness is a wonderful thing, and I was now beginning to feel like Superman.
Forester Pass proper is a very narrow notch formed by the downslopes of 13,973' Mt. Stanford and 13,888' Junction Peak. From the north, the trail had risen quite gradually, through a basin of small, alpine lakes and talus slopes, but to the south, the trail drops away down a near-sheer precipice to a large, expansive plain with impressive views of the Great Western Divide away in the distance. The trail down the south side is an astounding feat of engineering, as the cliff face is so nearly vertical at that point. The switchbacks are stacked upon each other so close together that one can literally touch the head of someone below them on the trail, and at one point, I found myself reaching out to hold on to the rock wall, guardrail style, because the trail was so narrow and the drop below me, so severe.
At the bottom of the switchbacks, the trail levels out and begins a long, enjoyable stretch through the grassy plains below. It must have been market day for the local marmot population, as they were everywhere. It was also very windy out, making it colder than we would have preferred, but the remainder of our hike that day was an easy one, and we could relax and enjoy the scenery.
A few miles past the pass, we stopped for lunch in the wind shadow of a large rock, and enjoyed talking with the many people who came by us on the trail. We were starting to notice that many groups who had been on the trail at the same time as us were now starting to bunch up as we got closer to Whitney, and it was nice to swap stories with so many others who had done the same trip. It wasn't long before Ken and Mike came down the trail and stopped. They had heeded our warning about the storm to such an extent that they had not even had breakfast - they just packed and sprinted for the pass. They gave me the surprising news that a group of four from Maine were headed down the trail behind them.
After a few minutes, my fellow Mainers showed up. The group, all employees of L.L. Bean (of course), had traveled the trail in just two weeks, making an aggressive sixteen miles a day, getting up early, and carrying extremely light packs, per the dictum of their weightmeister Chris. They looked none the worse for wear, and we enjoyed a nice talk with them before they headed off down the trail in search of a warmer place for lunch. Julian immediately dubbed the group "Team Bean."
As with all travelers who make use of guidebooks (the weight-conscious Team Bean were only using pages of their guidebook), we often followed the suggestions of the guidebook author in deciding where to camp, how to travel etc. On this day, we had read in the book that the Tyndall Frog Ponds offered "warmish swimming," and made plans to spend the night there. The ponds were just over five miles from the pass, and we easily made it there by 4:00 - a short and painless day.
Now Thomas Winnett, who wrote an otherwise excellent guidebook, must have spent too much time in the mountains, because his standard of warmth and ours were entirely different. I was so in need of a warm swim that I had my boot off to test the water before we'd even found a campsite. I had great expectations, of course, and imagined something on the order of your average bathwater. Nope. It was cold to the touch, and being no great fan of frigid mountain water, I passed on the swim. Julian, who loves cold water, and who had swam every day on the trip, proclaimed it the coldest water he had experienced on the trail. Buy the book, but cross out the passage about "warmish" on page 44.
The Team Bean gang arrived a short while later and were similarly disappointed at the swimming conditions. After dinner, we stopped by their camp to chat, and enjoyed checking out their tent - a homemade tarp with mosquito net flaps that weighed two pounds and slept four. A large piece of Tyvek building wrap served as the floor. They had ridden out the three serious storms in it, and it had served them well over almost 200 miles of trail. Check out your Bean's catalog - maybe they'll sell 'em some day.
Photo: Forester Pass from the South
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