1630 Cottonwood Trailhead 36°26.896
/ 118°10.237 - 9.5K'(smoky)
Just for the record, Steve snaps a couple
photos of us all geared up and ready for the trail posed next to the Cottonwood
Trailhead sign. Then we are off.
This trail is not yet the John Muir Trail.
We are in the Golden Trout Wilderness. It is about four miles to Cottonwood
Pass. We do not decide how far we want to go this first non-day of our journey.
We can camp a mile up the trail at the first water if we feel like it or
not. There is no schedule we must adhere to.
The trail is familiar for we have been
on it often in the past. We have climbed Cottonwood Pass before. There is
nothing all that new and exciting about this part of the adventure. I tune
in to how my equipment is working, adjusting my pack straps, taking note
of any discomfort in my shoes, trying to foresee any long term problems down
the "road"; but, I am feeling really GOOD. Little do I know at the time,
Irene is suffering from nagging nausea (probably, too much Vegas).
We pass over the first water crossing
and keep going. When we reach the base of the pass, we keep on going up the
switchbacks. At the second water opportunity half way up the climb there
is no water so we keep on climbing. The meadow is dry and a little wilted
presaging the condition of the entire trail to Yosemite Valley. There is
no choice, we must keep going. Anyway, I feel fine and I am usually the one
to give out first.
1845-1900 Cottonwood Pass 36°27.205
/ 118°12.927 - 11.2K'
We reach the top of the pass and take
a short break to collect data and snap photos (see above painting Cottonwood
Pass). My hope is to record GPS lat/long data, temperatures, pedometer readings,
sightings, etc. at each rest stop on our journey. Like a captain's log, I
guess. Once I get into the habit it is relatively easy to keep the record;
although looking back, I don't know how much of this data has any real value
(most of the following stories and insights I have to remember because I
didn't take the time to compose them on site).
I do things like count the number of people
we pass. (I haven't bothered totalling these numbers. I know it is big).
We passed a lot of people in the beginning when we were running into boy
scout troops and then again at the end when we were hiking against the flow
of thousands of Yosemite tourists. Sorry, I "progress" (and we don't want
to get ahead of ourselves and spoil the suspense).
I keep pedometer readings in hopes of
verifying mileage between stations on the itinerary. I do this religiously
for about half the trip before I quit with the realization that for one reason
or another the data is bogus. I either had my stride wrong, or the blinking
thing wouldn't count every step, or I would forget to turn it on or turn
it off. Anyway, one piece of equipment I can leave behind next trip is the
pedometer.
The trail is pretty well delineated in
mileage even though the itinerary didn't always match the sign posted mileage.
Usually, we had a pretty good idea how far we had come and how far we had
to go. Sometimes the pedometer helped a little to determine how far we had
to go so that we could pace ourselves to make a particular destination. Otherwise
the thing was just a distraction and a conversation piece. Invariably when
we stopped to chat with folks, the guys were always curious about that "thing
on my pack belt." Gadgets ... I guess, are a "guy thing." Coincidently, not
too far down the trail Irene finds a pedometer so we had two useless gadgets
to carry 200+ miles (I'm thinking now someone chucked that pedometer rather
than lost it).
1930-2000 Chicken Spring Lake 36°27.434
/ 118°13.511 - 11.3K'
We think that if the water is running
at Chicken Spring Lake we will just bivy down by the outlet or up on the
western ridge above the Lake. Unfortunately, the Lake is not discharging
any water so we hike the extra quarter mile to the Lake shore. This late
in the day the lake is a rather crowded camp site. There are already four
other camps in prime locations on the south shore. We wander around to the
east and find a flat spot for our bivy bed.
I filter two quarts of water which is
my chore while Irene usually begins dinner. This night she isn't up for cooking
and besides we are still feasting off Vegas buffet residuals. We snack on
left over lunch bagels and cream cheese (typical trail food? ... hardly!
... it is food from the "extra" bag we packed at the last minute) The sun
is rapidly dimming, that much more due to smoke. Smoke from the Manter Meadow
Fire south of Kennedy Meadows fills the air here thirty some miles north.
The smoke haze lingers for several days as we move further north.
We retire to our bivies to escape a few
pesky mosquitos and call it a day. An unofficial day by the itinerary, but
since we covered about five miles we are ahead of our unofficial schedule.
We stay a few miles ahead of the "schedule" for the rest of our trip.
Sometime during the calm and clear night
I wake to the pitter patter of light rain on my bivy. I look up at the bright
moonless sky with all its stars twinkling like crazy and I can't see any
clouds. I return to sleep unconcerned. In all our years trekking through
the Sierra, we have been sprinkled on only a couple times. So why worry about
rain in August?