Snap June 29

June 29

I awoke to once again find my entourage awaiting me at the door. Before allowing my adoring public access, I packed up as much of my pack as I could, then slipped out. I was dressed in my "mosquito spacesuit" -- headnet, rainjacket, long pants -- and my shoes were soaked. Get me the hell out of here.
Munching pop tarts and hurriedly slurping tea, I regarded the surroundings as I was trotting by: Swampy buff-colored rock outcroppings. Swampy dark green forest. Verdant, very swampy meadows. The ridges on either side of the canyon I inhabited did not look swampy, but one could not be sure without crossing more swamplands to check.
There was only one solution: Forward progress. I needed out of this alpine bog in the worst way. Out of here and into... what? A place of better drainage?
It's a low standard, I thought, but there you go.
Basically, I needed out of Yosemite.

Goodbye Yosemite, you crumbum!

I got my wish, as the trail shot straight north up the canyon, then past the inviting shores of a swamp named Dorothee Lake. At the head of the valley, I crossed into another watershed and saw, buried in the snow, the sign of my release and relief: I was out of the national park and into Hoover Wilderness.
Before me rose a very different kind of range. Slopes of porous volcanic rock and scree surrounded pinnacles of uneroded stone. I knew from experience that this softer, more porous stone held less water and wasn't as likely to form glacial lakes. From a nature photographer's point of view, I suppose that's bad, but for me, it meant good drainage.
Just a mile or two past the border, I walked past the 1,000 mile mark. Good stuff, I thought. Then, quite quickly, I was walking up Kennedy Canyon and onto the volcanic ridge that leads to Sonora Pass (where Highway 108 crosses the trail). The sloped were open, the views astounding. I could see storms building up thirty miles to my east, and the green grasses and rust-red stone were accented by bright yellow flowers.
Still quite a bit of snow, though. Couple challenging fields on the way up to the ridge -- but I've done worse, I thought. The snow's consistency was really challenging -- melted soft as a Slurpee on the surface by the day's heat, but too dense and firm underneath to kick steps easily.  It was two steps forward, another sideways, some slapstick-banana-peel moments, another step. And then: >snap<
I looked down. My beloved Gossamer Gear trekking pole had sunk deep into the snow and snapped as I tried to pull it back out.
My heart sank and my anger rose. These poles are the epitome of grace and joy as tools; I would not choose to hike with any others. Knife enthusiasts talk about specific blades as being balanced, or seeming to belong in your hand. That describes my relationship to these poles. They were also, coincidentally, very out of stock. It took a huge effort on both Lily and my part to replace the tips at Vermillion Valley Resort. And I had broken it going through one of my last snowfields.
I raged. Raged against the PCT for the routing, which seems to take a tour of every patch of snow remaining on the slopes. I raged at myself for breaking the pole, although i am unsure what I could have done differently. For good measure, I went ahead and got pissed at the useless, enormous bear can I was still lugging around.
Cursing and flailing with one pole, I slipped and stumbled down the loose dirt and slushy snow to the road. But upon reaching the pass, my spirits got the much needed boost: Somebody had set up an impromptu cafe at the picnic area at the pass. Two somebodies, it turned out: Owl, who gave me cookies and a beer, and iPod, who gave me two hot dogs to add to my noodle dinner. I'm not trying to brag, but the Knorr Teriyaki Pasta Side pairs quite well with hot dogs and lukewarm beer. My fuel cartridge ran out, but Owl let me use his. They took my trash, including my tragically broken pole.
I felt almost whole again. It isn't all bad luck, I thought. I can hike without a pole. Well past dark, I and a few other stragglers left the cafe and set up camp in some trees near the highway.