Day 68: Mather Pass

June 11; Mile 809-823

I left camp on the late side and descended past the smaller lakes down to the south fork of the Kings River. The water was gushing, and I was glad I hadn’t tried to cross it in the evening. I put on my sandals while a couple tried to find a way to hop across on rocks. I watched a southbound hiker wade across before stepping in myself. The water was icy and came up to my knees. I faced upstream where the current was strongest, and I used both trekking poles for balance; but in general the crossing was pretty straightforward. I was glad I wasn’t here during the peak snow melt.

I’d planned to stop afterwards for breakfast, but the air was thick with mosquitos. I carried my pot with my oatmeal in one hand and my trekking poles in another as I began the climb up toward Mather Pass. I could eat about three bites before I was completely swarmed. Eventually I gave up and dragged out my rain gear from my pack and huddled on a rock, my head net encompassing my hands and breakfast as well. I tried to hike in my rain gear, going slowly so that I wouldn’t overheat on the uphill section, but then I stepped out of the shaded woods and into the sun. I was boiling within minutes and had to pack away the protective clothes or else risk getting heat stroke. To combat the onslaught, I swung my trekking poles in sweeping arcs, brushing at my shoulders every few steps since the bugs loved to attack me there.

The trail followed the river through grassy meadows with towering peaks in every direction. There were several streams that I crossed along the way, and I plunged straight through; the cold water was surprisingly pleasant on such a warm day.

The views opened up into a wide basin with a teal-colored stream meandering through the middle. Snowy peaks sliced upward against the azure sky, and ahead I could make out the dip where Mather Pass lay. A gentle breeze and the higher elevation kept the bugs at bay, and I began to enjoy myself once more.

The route up to the pass crossed a few short snow fields, but the boot pack was solid and it was early enough that the snow was firm.

At the top I came across a group of hikers that I didn’t know. One of the older men was suffering from snow blindness in one eye, and someone was helping to tape over the eye to prevent further damage. The man had taken his sunglasses off the day before to better enjoy the views; instead he had burned his eye so badly that he was temporarily blinded and in a great deal of pain.

The descent on the other side of the pass was a mess. A mixture of snow and rock, the early season route varied wildly from the steady switchbacks that had already melted out on the other passes. I scrambled down along the granite fairly comfortably, although I missed the sturdy soles of my mountaineering boots. At least I was able to glissade (about 30 feet), though the snow was so soft by then that I barely even needed my trekking poles – let alone an ice axe – to stop myself.

Once I was past the snowfields I spotted the familiar ribbon of smooth dirt and rock far below, and so I walked across rock and dirt and flowing creeks of snowmelt to regain the actual trail. It was like walking through a stream: all the snow melt was funneling down the trail and cascading over the switchbacks in little waterfalls.

As I descended I marveled at the view of the granite bowl to my left, streaks of snow clinging to the rock face and melting into a turquoise pool below. The Palisade Lakes glittered sapphire in the distance, and a few puffy clouds drifted above the mountaintops.

It was a long, steep, rocky descent from Mather Pass. Water was everywhere: rivers, lakes, tiny creeks and raging waterfalls. I paused at a small waterfall alongside the trail and soaked my aching feet in the cold water. The trail was perched above Palisade Lakes, and I leaned back against the granite boulder behind me and drank in the view.

Half an hour later I reached the shore of Lower Palisade Lake. I’d just taken a long break, and so I continued hiking past it. The water was so clear, so inviting, that as I neared the end of the lake I threw down my pack, pulled off my shoes and hiking clothes, and waded in. I’d spent two months yearning for water in the desert; it was time to enjoy it.

Beyond the lake the trail began the section known as the golden staircase: steep rocky steps had been built into the mountainside using the existing granite boulders. The trail wound down, down, down, dropping over 2000’ in a few miles. A few other hikers near me stopped at a camp spot for dinner and invited me to join. It was less than a mile from my planned camp spot, but I was happy for the company.

When I finally reached camp I set up my tent and half-heartedly tried the zippers. Still not working. But! There was a couple camped next to me who appeared to be doing a short trip. I asked if they had a multi tool with pliers, and voila! The trail provided once more. I was able to pinch my zipper pulls so that they were working again. It was probably only a temporary fix, but Dov had mailed me his 1p tent to Mammoth Lakes. I just needed to make it 5 more days through mosquito paradise.