As we read through the guidebooks and website accounts, it seemed there were any number of ways to approach hiking the trail, ranging from the most cavalier (I decided to hike the JMT on Friday, threw some gear in my pack and started on Saturday) to the most anal (I recruited the best sherpas in the world and planned my trip down to the last puny detail). We opted on the side of anal, as our twenty-day schedule was on the shorter end of the amount of time people generally take to hike the whole trail (accounts range from three to thirty days - the three being a crazed ultramarathoner).
Our planning feel into four major categories - an itinerary, the gear we would carry, food and basic to-and-from logistics.
Itinerary:
We felt some sort of itinerary was necessary, mainly so we would know that the trip could be accomplished in the number of days we were taking. Being great fans of leisure, our original sketch involved fifteen days of hiking and a generous five layover days. Sensibility and other practicalities later intervened, and this plan was abandoned. When we had a chance to revisit this original plan sixteen days into the trip, much of it seemed like sheer comedy, and I am thankful we were not overly hung up on this document.
Gear (see our gear list page for more info):
Our past experiences with equipment have involved no consideration of weight whatsoever. As dutiful consumers of outdoor gear, we typically loaded ourselves down with abundant quantities of polarfleece, elaborate tentage (Julian is the proud owner of a North Face VE25 - a twelve pound ubertent), plenty of swanky evening wear (down booties and the like) and, of course, all the gourmet food and fine wine we could carry. Here again, we encountered a range of thought ranging from Ray Jardine's minimalist approach (cut your toothbrush in half, sleep in the same sleeping bag with your partner, wear the same t-shirt for three weeks, etc.) to the bravado and machismo we were used to. In the end, we came up with a comprehensive gear list that attempted to pare down the weight. We both took lightweight internal frame packs of under four pounds each; our tent was a three-pound floorless Megamid; and we eschewed the polarfleece in favor of several flavors of long underwear. The result was a packweight averaging 35 pounds before food.
Our central goals for the food were that it be tasty and nutritious, that nothing we were to eat come from any sort of traditional supplier of backpacking food and that, after each pickup, it all fit neatly into the two bear canisters we were taking on the trip (each the size of a large store-brand oatmeal box). After reading a great many war stories about bear incidents, we opted to bring these three-pound, relatively low-capacity security blankets . . . and in the end were very glad we did.
Food:
Julian, friend Kate and I shopped and shopped and finally amassed a very large quantity of food. Breakfasts were a kind of supermush made of instant oatmeal, protein powder, powdered milk, dried fruits, nuts and brown sugar (we will never again in our lives eat anything even remotely resembling this substance, though from an energy standpoint it served us well). Lunch was a four-course affair - some dried fruit, a "salt course" (nuts, Cajun pumpkin seeds, sesame sticks, etc.) instant humus or tabouli (this made the meal each day) and an energy bar (Clif Bars are fabulous, Stoker Bars should only be used for animal chow). Dinners were amazing - soba noodles, rice noodles, vegi chilis, couscous - all mixed with different dried mushrooms and other vegetables and "kicked up a notch" from a handy spice kit. Our meal plan very sadly did not accommodate snacks, and those on the trail who had things to munch on at 10:00 a.m. each day made us drool with envy.
Food Drops:
We obviously could not carry this entire mass of cuisine, we collectively weighed well over fifty pounds, so we made plans for various resupply drops. As our original plan called for hiking the trail from the Yosemite Valley via Tuolumne Meadows, we elected to carry just two days of food up the 5,000 vertical foot, twenty mile climb from the Valley, then pick up the next eight days of food at the Tuolumne post office. The balance of food was to be sent to the Muir Trail Ranch, a backcountry lodge located on the Trail at roughly the midpoint. After packing the shipment to the Muir Trail Ranch, we found it would not all fit, and had to send a supplemental box to the Red's Meadow Resort, located near Mammoth Mountain at the four day mark.
The Film:
A last logistical point had to do with the filming of the documentary. Julian operates a video post-production business in New York, and planned to shoot our trip for later use as a documentary about the trip and to supplement a JMT website we intended to produce later on. After much trial and error, he decided to bring a friend's Sony digital camera, with the intention of shooting about seven hours of film. We made arrangements with the Muir Trail Ranch to recharge the batteries at the midpoint using their hydroelectric generator. High tech meets John Muir . . . something tells me he wouldn't have approved of this.
Transport:
Julian is from New York, and I am from Maine, so any sort of car shuttle involving our own vehicles was out of the question. To get to the Trail, we flew into Sacramento on Friday, the 13th, then took an airport shuttle to the wonderful Vagabond Motel in Sacto's Oldtown district - conveniently located across the street from the Amtrak station. At the crack of dawn the next day, we grabbed some chow from the Denny's next door, walked across the street and boarded the San Joaquin Flyer bound for Merced. After a leisurely three-hour ride with stunning views of tract houses and cornfields, we hopped on a Yosemite Express shuttle and two hours later were in the Valley. Mass transit works.
Julian's wonderful mate Kate and friends Rick and Diana decided to take him on a post-hike tour of the White Mountains (east of the Owens Valley), thus resolving the who would bring us cold beers at the end problem. Julian and Kate kindly ran me up to Reno the day after the end, where I took a redeye home that night.
The Call:
I suppose that, after six months of fastidious planning and the investment of copious amounts of time and money, it was inevitable that Murphy's law would raise it's ugly little head. It did, finally, in the form of a phone call from Julian eight days before we were to start the hike: "Err, Bart (he's from New Zealand, and adopted this nickname for me after riding BART, the Bay Area Rapid Transit District - go figure), I'm sorry to say I can't exactly walk." It seemed that he had been befallen by an agonizing pain in his left knee just a week before. Any number of alternative therapies had failed to reconcile the problem.
As the byproduct of a household of traditional medical practitioners, I, of course, suggested he run (metaphorically, of course), not walk to the nearest orthopedic surgeon and have it looked at. The following Monday (now D - seven days), he sought out the care of a rather pompous Manhattan-based othopod who holds forth each day wearing a bow tie. As all devotees of their malpractice insurance do, he absolutely refused to render an opinion until he had the hallowed MRI in front of him. The MRI appointment could not be had until Wednesday (D- five days), causing me an additional forty-eight hours of contemplating the potential joy of spending 20 days by myself on the trail. I whiled away my evenings studying anatomy books and websites and holding my breath waiting for the result, which could not be properly analyzed until Thursday (D-fours days, and the day before we were to fly West).
Dr. Bowtie kept Julian waiting until 5:25 Thursday afternoon, by which time I was busy compiling a list of the things I would talk to myself about and fantasizing about the joy of dividing approximately 96 little baggies full of dried food in half. The verdict was actually very good news, given the options. Julian had a Category 2 torn meniscus, an injury to be sure, but one which the doctor felt could be tempered by regular doses of high grade anti-inflamatories.
Hallelujah! The trip could happen! We made some quick adjustments to our plans: We would travel west as scheduled, but instead of starting at Yosemite Valley, which would require a brutal 5,500 ascent to Tuolumne Meadows right off the bat, we would start at Tuolumne. This loped the first 20 miles off the trail, and took away the prize of "having walked the entire JMT", but greatly increased the chances of Julian making it through the trip. As a further precaution, we decided to abandon our planned layover days and instead hike a much-shorter ten miles a day. Julian would also bring along the doctor's recommended prescription, supplemented by mass quantities of Ibuprofen.
Beginnings:
After traveling to the Valley, we briefly entertained the notion of fleecing all of our friends and family and maintaining that we had, in fact, hiked the entire trail. To support this story, we went to the official beginning of the trail in Happy Isles, took a bunch of proud poses in front of the sign marking the start of the JMT, then hiked up to the heavily-touristed Vernal Falls for some more photos. I have always avoided the Valley like the plague in the middle of summer, and our short walk made me remember why: The swirling mass of humanity en route to the falls was truly disgusting. I support the idea that everyone on earth should, at some point, benefit from the solitude and beauty of Yosemite, but do they have to all do it at the same time?!? It literally felt like Disneyland. After pizza and beer on the Verandah at Curry Village with our new friends John, Ryan and Wendy, and a night in a tent cabin, we were more than ready to get out of Dodge.
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