Day 69-70: Muir Pass

June 12-13; Mile 823-855

Day 69

I left camp and began descending once more toward the bottom of the valley. I followed the Middle Fork Kings River for the most of the day through forested slopes. The trail passed into beautiful flat, grassy meadows with streams meandering through and boulders gleaming white in the sun. Granite peaks rose high above, and I stopped and craned my neck toward their lofty heights.

I continued to leapfrog with the group that I had eaten dinner with, but I had my sights set on another group of folks: the “spice girls,” aka the original group of fun people that I’d hiked with for the first week of my trip. The notes that Sprinkles had shown me said they’d be staying in the hut atop Muir Pass tonight, just 15 miles ahead. It would be a long, hard day, but I was excited to catch up to my friends.

As I climbed within a few miles of Muir Pass, clouds thickened above me and scudded past the valley. The horizon was darkening behind me, and I began to worry about thunderstorms. Just yesterday I had talked to a couple on top of Mather Pass who had done the JMT the year before and been forced to backtrack 3 miles when thunderstorms rolled in over Muir Pass. I decided to hike until the last protected camping area and reassess before heading into the alpine terrain.

The trail became a waterfall showcase, and the rocks to cross the next stream were completely submerged in snowmelt. There were miles of snow ahead, and so I plunged into the water and sloshed across; my feet were going to get wet either way.

As I neared the stand of trees I heard someone call out “Stormy?!” It was Juniper! She’d set up her tent in the protected spot as well, and was planning to hike over the pass in the morning. The clouds were whipping over the pass by now, and it was getting late; instead of postholing my way into a wind storm, I decided to stop early and set up my tent in a semi-protected spot. Gusts still howled through the trees, flinging dirt and grit over everything.

Soon after we watched the dinner crew heading up into the storm. Everyone was bundled up in all their layers and braced against the wind. Within half an hour they’d returned to the camp spot, rebuffed by the ferocious gale coming over the pass.

I crawled inside my sleeping bag before 5pm, taking refuge from the stiff breeze and swirling dirt. My tent flapped wildly all night long, and I had to re-stake one of the guylines just before nodding off. When I woke the sky was clear, the air was still, and the water all around us had frozen.

Day 70

Juniper and I began our ascent at 6, trying to strike a balance between the freezing morning temperatures and the threat of postholing later in the day. We passed an iced-over pond – freshly frozen the night before – and then followed the rushing headwaters of the Middle Fork Kings River. 

The trail came to a river crossing where the rocks were rimmed with ice. Rather than risk slipping and falling, Juniper and I traded our hiking shoes for sandals and waded almost to our knees in water that had large chunks of ice floating just a few feet away. The initial shock from the freezing water was not as bad as I expected, but halfway across the river my feet began to hurt from the cold. Once on shore I rubbed life back into them and gladly put my socks and shoes back on. 

We reached a section where the ground was crisscrossed with snowmelt streams and icy rocks. Unwilling to wade across again, we instead opted to hike up onto the crusty snow and intersect the trail further up. Our microspikes bit into the hard surface and gave great purchase as we wove past rocks and over a solid snow bridge. 

We followed the trail up past Helen Lake, which was covered in a latticework of ice. There was an excellent boot pack all the way to the pass, and as I climbed upward with the sun shining and the sky a deep blue, I was certainly glad that we’d waited out the storm. 

I ate my oatmeal inside the Muir Hut and posed for some pictures before it was time to head down. The clock was ticking for solid snow, and we wanted to avoid sloshing our way through mush for hours. We wove across fields of snow, boulders, streams, and waterlogged soil.

My shoes hadn’t dried the night before, and they were soaked through once more. But the sun was blazing above, and we were making good time. We decided to stop for lunch at Evolution Lake so that we could dry out our socks and shoes. I jumped into the lake and then sprawled across the grass in a warm patch of sun as I ate my lunch and gazed back at the snowy expanse far above.

Juniper sped off downhill after promising to wait for me at the crossing of Evolution Creek. In heavy snow years the ford was often dangerous: strong currents, waist-high water, and several cascades just downstream. But when I arrived I was happy to see that the water was neither very deep nor very fast. I ensured all my electronics and sleeping clothes were in a dry bag, unbuckled my hip belt, and stepped into the current. The water came up just above my knees as I crab-walked across the fifteen feet, keeping my head pointed upstream and my feet and trekking poles firmly planted. It was not the first – nor the last – time that I was glad I wasn’t hiking in a record snow year.

After the crossing we had a wonderful section above the San Joaquin River as it sliced through a rocky gorge. My feet flew across the flattish terrain, the promise of dinner urging me onward. I put my head down and hiked as fast as my weary legs would carry me, trance-like in my focus, until I was jolted from my reverie by someone shouting my real name.

I took off my sunglasses and hat in confusion and squinted into the camping area to my left. Not many people knew my real name out here. Suddenly Sprinkles ran up and hugged me, followed by Grandpa. After almost two months, I had finally caught up to my friends.