Wow - a cold night last night. Temperatures were in the mid-twenties when we awoke, and there was ice and frost on everything. When this happens, our wonderful circus tent absorbs the water rather than sheds it, so Julian had a little four-pound bonus in his pack today.
Last night, to celebrate our last night of travel together, Matt caught three trout, and, together with some Indian vegetables and tabouli we chipped in, we had a nice meal under the stars. We were just two days out of Red's Meadow, but that trout was incredible.
We managed an early start - on the trail by 8:00 - and began our day by hiking over the low saddle at the southwest end of Virginia Lake. This gave way to sweeping views of Cascade Valley below, and we headed down a gentle slope to Tully Hole. From Tully Hole, we followed Fish Creek for several miles along a nice, wooded trail with lots of wildflowers. Fish Creek had a lot of water for this time of year, and there were numerous waterfalls. We left the creek at a substantial bridge and headed south up the long canyon leading up to Silver Pass.
The first part of the trail to the pass leads through some dark woods - the guidebook describes these as "dank." Dank or not, I was happy to have the shade. Above the woods, we skirted several nice lakes before coming to the pass - a climb of 1,800 vertical feet from the creek crossing below. At the pass, we spread out the tent to dry and enjoyed a final meal with Matt and Rich before they ran off down the trail (literally) to catch the ferry across Florence Lake to end their trip. We exacted promises from them to hoist a few cold ones and some pizza on our behalf.
The Marlon Perkins Wildlife Moment today came when a marten darted across the trail in front of us on the way up to the pass - a rare sight.
After lunch, with Julian's lighter pack (having dried the tent at the pass) we headed down the long, dusty decline to Mono Creek below, and our camp at Pocket Meadow. Today's downhill, between the descent into Tully Hole and this one, was well over 3,000 feet, and Julian's feet did not hesitate to express their displeasure. To further complicate matters, I was out in front when we reached the bottom of the particularly gory set of switchbacks before the bottom, and was responsible for pinpointing the location of the meadow where we were to camp. With my cityboy ways, I merrily marched down the trail, waiting to walk into the meadow or for some sign that I had arrived. There was no sign, and I foolishly plunged ahead a full three miles beyond the actual meadow (which was on the other side of the creek) before I discovered the error of my ways. Julian had been in pretty bad shape when I left him last, and I felt terrible at having caused him to walk further than we intended. My shame was only slightly reduced when the next four people down the trail said that they too had missed any sign of the meadow.
Julian eventually came along, and he too had missed any sign of the meadow. We were now in what I call a "Tourist Zone" - areas in the mountains that are so close to trailheads as to be easily accessible to people with lawn chairs, ice chests and minimal backcountry ethics. These areas are typically quite overused and I avoid them like the plague.
The next campsite on the map was still another two miles down the trail, and we made the decision to stay anywhere we could find a flat spot to lay our tent, as he had to get off his feet soon or we'd have to amputate. A short while later, we followed the hint of a trail off toward a creek and actually emerged into a very nice clearing in a large grove of Red Cedar. We were relieved, and, while Julian raced off to the creek to soak his knee and feet, I set up camp to atone for my sins.
Another bear story. Also camped in the grove were two guys making a three-day loop through the area (tourists). As they set up their camp, we were amused to see them set up a form of bear protection I had not seen since I was a child - they tossed a rope over a branch about ten feet off the ground, and tied the other end to a tree. This was in contrast to the counter-balancing technique that had become standard practice, but that had recently been declared by those in the know to be ineffective, thus promoting the widespread use of bear canisters. With six days on the JMT under my belt, I proclaimed myself Joe Backpacker and dutifully went over to politely suggest why they were likely to lose their food that night. The gentlemen indignantly explained that I wasn't seeing the whole picture. After tying the food up that way, they then placed a pot filled with rocks on top of it. The theory was: If a bear came along, would hear the noise of the pot and the rocks, wake up, and bombard the bear with other rocks, thus scarring it away. Sure, I muttered, as I walked away, that'll work . . . snicker snicker.
OK, so their damn food was still there in the morning. We were fast learning that people take their bear storage very personally, and are generally quite attached to whatever method they've been using. We, all the while though, were sleeping soundly (not lying awake with a handful of rocks).
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