Mt. Whitney at twilight
Thursday, 11 Aug 11.0 miles, 8:40
Upper ravine on the way to Forester Pass
Again, we didn’t get up as early as planned (story of my life) but we hit the trail at 7:15 anyway. The climb was easy up to the next tent site where several other hikers were just setting out. Soon we began switchbacks and a hiker named Woodley fell in with us. He seemed a gentle soul and we enjoyed his company. We crossed Bubbs Creek again in a high basin and got our first good look at Forester Pass and the snow fields we would need to traverse to get there. The upper part of the ravine was quite stark and it seemed as if the snow had only just left there. There were few plants, however, a charming clump of Rock Fringe (Epibolium obcordatum) thrived in the shelter of some granite chunks. An occasional Alpine Gold (Hulsea algida) cheered us with its yellow blooms, like tiny suns reaching up from the barren ground. The snowfields crossed steep and high slopes but fortunately we were slow enough in the thinning air that they had softened nicely by the time we reached them. We picked our way along, pausing often to catch our breath. There were good trenches in the snow from previous hikers that gave us confidence in our footing. Finally we were at the last traverse. It gained very little elevation but was a few hundred meters long. It took everyone a long time to cross as the snow was thin in places and the chance of breaking through into the jumble of rocks underneath was high.
Sky Pilot
At last, we reached the pass, just less than four hours after we left camp. More people arrived: the Italian-American group that we’d been leapfrogging since MTR, C&R followed by A&R, and many others we hadn’t met yet. Chris showed us an obsidian arrowhead he had found. It turned into a party as we took pictures of each other, shared snacks, and laughed freely, slightly giddy in the rarefied air. Exquisite Sky Pilot bloomed in abundance and their heady, hyacinth-like fragrance wafted about us, adding to the sense of intoxication. While we rested and celebrated this new altitude (13,200 feet) the incongruous sight of three hummingbirds scouting the summit area caught our attention. Hummingbirds at thirteen-two? Really? A few dragonflies and finches, and a scolding pika, added to the unexpected menagerie. Marco, the Italian man, passed around a bag of dried apples; the same bag, in fact, that I’d left in the hiker box at MTR because I didn’t have room for it in my can. It’s funny how things work on the Trail. As on Muir Pass, the Italian woman, Chiara, took a group photo that she will email to us. The pass is just a very narrow, knife-edged cleft and it was getting quite crowded. After more than an hour and a half we set out downward along with C&R and A&R. The descent was over impressive switchbacks that had been blasted into the near-sheer south wall of Forester Pass. I enjoyed them immensely. Once at the base we refilled water and continued down through a wonderful landscape at easy grades for four miles or so. I passed a shy marmot who tried to hide in a rock cave that was tinier than she. Shortly after I met the marmot we met a Girl Scout troop of teenagers from San Diego. These young women were having a wonderful time and were the only Girl Scouts we encountered on our trip, although we saw many Boy Scouts. I chatted with them for some time, curious about the logistics (and legalistics) of their outdoor program. We left them and soon made an easy crossing of Tyndall Creek, which has a reputation for being dicey in early season, and our final ascent began not long after. We rose, sometimes steeply, sometimes easily, through forest that gradually thinned. Then we stepped onto Bighorn Plateau.
Bighorn Plateau to Mt. Whitney
This place is otherworldly. Loose sand with tufts of grass surround a tiny, mirror-like pond at eleven thousand feet. Mountain views are astonishing in all directions but none more so than Whitney in the east. It is fourteen trail miles away but here it seems I could reach out and touch it. Chelsea and I set up our camp and ate supper. A&R arrived and did the same. We sat out in the open and I read aloud Robert Frost’s Fragmentary Blue, in honor of the Sierra sky. As the sun crept toward the western mountains a nearly full moon began its rise over Mt. Whitney. A herd of seven deer appeared, grazing serenely on the plateau with Whitney as a backdrop, and gradually made their way to within a hundred meters of us. A group of four ravens lingered nearby, unconcerned with us or the deer. As light began to fade, some of the deer lay down. As the sun yielded to the moon the two played beautifully across Whitney and her neighbors. It is so quiet here. When the wind stops there is the sound of nothing at all - the sound of a peaceful place. This has been my best day in the mountains.
