2025 Eastern Sierras Trip #2
SEKI-ish
Prologue
Looking back, I wasn’t even motivated to say goodbye to Paula, get off the couch, and get on the road. I’m not sure why. There was something very different about how I felt walking out the door for this adventure compared to others.
The summer had started for me on 6/9, and I was on the trail at 5:00 a.m. on my first trip of the summer on 6/10. At the conclusion of that trip, I had determined that it rated in the top three of all trips I had taken. It was amazing. Home for just three days, and on the fourth day, I flew out of Sacramento with my beautiful wife Paula to spend just under two weeks seeing some of the most beautiful land and water between Waterton Lakes National Park, Glacier International Peace Park, Banff National Park, and Jasper National Park. The first four weeks of my summer break were absolutely unbelievable. With that being said, while in Canada, I got word that my mother, Nancy, had passed away. She had turned 90 just the week before and hadn’t had a good quality of life in some time. The news wasn’t entirely unexpected, but after years of joking that she would outlive us all, it still didn’t feel quite real. I didn’t want it to affect our trip and just kind of packed it up and put it away for the time being.
For this backpacking trip, I had prepped all of my food, as well as chosen and laid out all of my gear, during that short time home before Canada. I only had one full day at home before leaving, and I didn’t want to have to think about much. As it turned out, it took from early in the morning until early evening to take care of everything one would need to do between two big trips.
I’d planned to hike my own version of the “Big SEKI Loop.” SEKI stands for Sequoia-Kings Canyon National Parks. A loop of sorts went around the border of the park. I planned to hike about 80% of it and connect some off-trail passes rather than hit some of the southern part I’d been on before. I’d also planned to do a 22 mile off-trail exploration of Tehipite Dome. Tehipite Dome receives very few visitors due to its lower elevation, remote location, and challenging approaches. It towers over 3,500 vertical feet above the valley floor making it one of the largest domes in the country.
The next day was Sunday. Paula was home and I was headed to the trailhead to sleep in my car the night before my permit started. I wanted to be able to have all the daylight hours for a big push over not one but two passes, one of which is the highest pass with a maintained trail in the U.S., Forester Pass.
Paula was surprised I was still sitting on the couch around 10 a.m. I told her that it was a 6-hour drive, and I kind of just wanted to get there and go to sleep. By about noon, I started feeling like I needed to leave. Not wanting to leave. Feeling that I needed to. With some reluctance, I got off the couch, kissed Paula goodbye, and started my drive.
I busied myself on the drive catching up with almost every podcast episode I had missed in the last two weeks. Originally, my trip was scheduled for seven days, leaving on a Sunday and coming home the next Sunday. After seeing the bumper-to-bumper traffic lined up from Sacramento to Tahoe on Highway 50, I decided it would be best to extend my trip to eight days. This would give a bigger buffer with some big mile days and a fair amount of off-trail travel. I stopped for an early dinner at The Barn in Bridgeport and got to the trailhead at about 7 p.m. I read for a while and went to sleep.
The summer had started for me on 6/9, and I was on the trail at 5:00 a.m. on my first trip of the summer on 6/10. At the conclusion of that trip, I had determined that it rated in the top three of all trips I had taken. It was amazing. Home for just three days, and on the fourth day, I flew out of Sacramento with my beautiful wife Paula to spend just under two weeks seeing some of the most beautiful land and water between Waterton Lakes National Park, Glacier International Peace Park, Banff National Park, and Jasper National Park. The first four weeks of my summer break were absolutely unbelievable. With that being said, while in Canada, I got word that my mother, Nancy, had passed away. She had turned 90 just the week before and hadn’t had a good quality of life in some time. The news wasn’t entirely unexpected, but after years of joking that she would outlive us all, it still didn’t feel quite real. I didn’t want it to affect our trip and just kind of packed it up and put it away for the time being.
For this backpacking trip, I had prepped all of my food, as well as chosen and laid out all of my gear, during that short time home before Canada. I only had one full day at home before leaving, and I didn’t want to have to think about much. As it turned out, it took from early in the morning until early evening to take care of everything one would need to do between two big trips.
I’d planned to hike my own version of the “Big SEKI Loop.” SEKI stands for Sequoia-Kings Canyon National Parks. A loop of sorts went around the border of the park. I planned to hike about 80% of it and connect some off-trail passes rather than hit some of the southern part I’d been on before. I’d also planned to do a 22 mile off-trail exploration of Tehipite Dome. Tehipite Dome receives very few visitors due to its lower elevation, remote location, and challenging approaches. It towers over 3,500 vertical feet above the valley floor making it one of the largest domes in the country.
The next day was Sunday. Paula was home and I was headed to the trailhead to sleep in my car the night before my permit started. I wanted to be able to have all the daylight hours for a big push over not one but two passes, one of which is the highest pass with a maintained trail in the U.S., Forester Pass.
Paula was surprised I was still sitting on the couch around 10 a.m. I told her that it was a 6-hour drive, and I kind of just wanted to get there and go to sleep. By about noon, I started feeling like I needed to leave. Not wanting to leave. Feeling that I needed to. With some reluctance, I got off the couch, kissed Paula goodbye, and started my drive.
I busied myself on the drive catching up with almost every podcast episode I had missed in the last two weeks. Originally, my trip was scheduled for seven days, leaving on a Sunday and coming home the next Sunday. After seeing the bumper-to-bumper traffic lined up from Sacramento to Tahoe on Highway 50, I decided it would be best to extend my trip to eight days. This would give a bigger buffer with some big mile days and a fair amount of off-trail travel. I stopped for an early dinner at The Barn in Bridgeport and got to the trailhead at about 7 p.m. I read for a while and went to sleep.
Day 1 Miles-23.45
Total Miles-23.45
Elevation Gained- 5,839 ft
Elevation Lost- 4,744 ft
My alarm woke me at 5:30, and I was on the trail by 6:00. I should have been able to read the signs early on. The first mile zigzagged up the canyon with a clear view back down. Thinking I had a minimum of 18 miles to do that day (which would put me just over Forester Pass, meaning just past the mandatory bear canister area, as I was not carrying a bear can), I was a little overwhelmed by the feeling of being so worn out and unmotivated 30 minutes into an eight-day trip, and I could still see my car.
I saw nobody else for the first hour or so (except a lone deer) and then met a few backpackers coming down from Kearsarge Pass at 11,760 feet. The climb to Kearsarge was gradual and absolutely beautiful. I even saw my first Sky Pilots of the year. From the parking lot, one gains just over 2,600 feet in the 4.7-mile climb.
I saw nobody else for the first hour or so (except a lone deer) and then met a few backpackers coming down from Kearsarge Pass at 11,760 feet. The climb to Kearsarge was gradual and absolutely beautiful. I even saw my first Sky Pilots of the year. From the parking lot, one gains just over 2,600 feet in the 4.7-mile climb.
It was indeed a great way to start my week-long trip. At the top, I met five other hikers and chatted for a bit before moving on into the Kearsarge Lakes Basin. This is a place, believe it or not, I had never been. It didn’t disappoint. The eight days of food on my back were heavy. Very heavy. Even with my base weight of about 9½ pounds, my backpack felt much heavier than it should have. What else was I carrying? Another sign I missed at the time.
From the pass, the trail dropped until it met the John Muir and Pacific Crest Trails. Then, the trail dropped another 1,000 feet before meeting up with Bubbs Creek. Once at Bubbs, I would follow it almost the entire 7½-mile stretch, climbing almost 3,700 feet to Forester Pass. Little did I know that the other end of Bubbs Creek would be the only real bailout point of the route.
A few miles before the pass, I twisted my right ankle. It wasn’t bad, and I kept moving on it until it loosened up. The climb up Kearsarge was tough, but the climb up 13,200-foot Forester was brutal.
I had to stop multiple times to get the backpack off my back. I felt completely weighed down. (In retrospect, I really should have brought my larger pack, the one with the internal metal frame. The one I used didn’t have it, and I could feel it.)
There were a few lingering snowfields on the northern side of the pass that I had to maneuver around, but it wasn’t a big deal. One was fairly sketchy, banked on the side of a wall.
A few miles before the pass, I twisted my right ankle. It wasn’t bad, and I kept moving on it until it loosened up. The climb up Kearsarge was tough, but the climb up 13,200-foot Forester was brutal.
I had to stop multiple times to get the backpack off my back. I felt completely weighed down. (In retrospect, I really should have brought my larger pack, the one with the internal metal frame. The one I used didn’t have it, and I could feel it.)
There were a few lingering snowfields on the northern side of the pass that I had to maneuver around, but it wasn’t a big deal. One was fairly sketchy, banked on the side of a wall.
When I finally got to the pass, I was all alone. I had been on this pass 4–5 times and never had I been alone upon arrival. I quickly snapped a couple of pictures, smiling a bit too big before others started showing up from the south.
I took about 20 minutes at the top to drink, eat, and generally take care of myself. In that time, six PCT thru-hikers came over the top, and I visited with all of them.
Looking south from the top of Forester Pass.
The hike down was okay. The south side, in my opinion, had more gradual and smoother switchbacks. “Okay” lasted just until I got near the bottom and twisted my other ankle by landing in a hole next to some water. As I went down, I smashed my right knee on a rock. That was the knee that was still healing from an April trail-running fall.
This twist forced me to sit down for a while, as I was a little bit nauseous from the pain of both injuries. After about 10 minutes, and a piece of pizza (yes, I was carrying pizza for my lunch and dinner on day one), I was off again.
I was making my way south on the JMT/PCT and looking for the best place to cut right, in the direction I needed to go, and not have to drop hundreds of feet down by following the trail. I chose a spot and made my move. Ironically, I was just above the plateau that I had camped at just a short month ago on that amazing trip.
The terrain here was stunning.
This twist forced me to sit down for a while, as I was a little bit nauseous from the pain of both injuries. After about 10 minutes, and a piece of pizza (yes, I was carrying pizza for my lunch and dinner on day one), I was off again.
I was making my way south on the JMT/PCT and looking for the best place to cut right, in the direction I needed to go, and not have to drop hundreds of feet down by following the trail. I chose a spot and made my move. Ironically, I was just above the plateau that I had camped at just a short month ago on that amazing trip.
The terrain here was stunning.
Walking anywhere off-trail on the Big Horn Plateau is magic. Pictures and video just don’t do it justice. In retrospect, this short hour would be my favorite part of the trip.
Day 2 Miles-13.93
Total Miles-37.39
Elevation Gained-4,353 ft
Elevation Lost-6,046 ft
My sleep was fitful, as it usually is on the first night of a trip. I was a bit cold at times during the night, but I’d been able to fall back asleep. The evening prior, I’d walked about 24 miles, until about 7:00, before I found a decent camping spot above an unnamed lake just south of the headwaters of the Kern River. There were lots of mosquitoes to contend with, but I closed up my Borah Bivy,and I was quite comfortable. When backpacking, I slept most soundly at the end of the night, so today I “slept in” in order to let the sun hit so I could dry out my gear. Because I’d chosen to sleep so close to water, the condensation in the air had left some ice on the bottom of my bivy.
Still, I hit the trail at 8:00 a.m. Almost immediately, I ended up on some old unmaintained trails for a bit, which was rather nice. The morning started with a pretty good climb after crossing the Kern River. I was now off-trail, paralleling Milestone Creek and headed up toward my first of three passes for the day, Milestone Pass.
Still, I hit the trail at 8:00 a.m. Almost immediately, I ended up on some old unmaintained trails for a bit, which was rather nice. The morning started with a pretty good climb after crossing the Kern River. I was now off-trail, paralleling Milestone Creek and headed up toward my first of three passes for the day, Milestone Pass.
My backpack already felt a bit lighter after eating yesterday‘s food. My cut-up knee and my twisted ankle also were faring well as the morning started.
Milestone Pass, at 12,983 feet, was intimidating to say the least. It took me a while to find the correct line, as the pass from the north looked like a sheer cliff. I’d made some notes on my CalTopo map but realized I’d made the notes on another map. Once I found the correct notes, I read:
“This is actually a crossing of the southeast ridge of Milestone Mountain; the low point of the saddle has a cliff on its northeastern side. From Milestone Creek, approach the pass on its far right (north) side, and traverse to the left (south) down into the pass.”
That made much more sense, and now I had the confidence to climb to the point that felt safe.
Milestone Pass, at 12,983 feet, was intimidating to say the least. It took me a while to find the correct line, as the pass from the north looked like a sheer cliff. I’d made some notes on my CalTopo map but realized I’d made the notes on another map. Once I found the correct notes, I read:
“This is actually a crossing of the southeast ridge of Milestone Mountain; the low point of the saddle has a cliff on its northeastern side. From Milestone Creek, approach the pass on its far right (north) side, and traverse to the left (south) down into the pass.”
That made much more sense, and now I had the confidence to climb to the point that felt safe.
The black arrow in the picture shows where the map pointed to the pass.
The red arrow in the picture shows the route I took to get to that point.
I took some pictures and video from the top.
The south side, instead of big angular talus like the front side, was full of loose decomposed granite and small rocks. Lots of slipping and sliding on the way down, and I took a long break in Milestone Basin below. I had some food and put on more sunscreen. The sun at 10,000 to 13,000 feet was intense, and I had to stay diligent.
The next section dumped me back onto a trail for about 10 minutes through the meadow just below Colby Pass. Streams meandered through the middle, and it was entirely surrounded by big beautiful peaks. I had about 6 ½ miles in for the day, which made this my halfway point. It was pretty late in the day to be hitting a halfway point at 2:19 p.m., but I kept telling myself, “It’s late till 8 p.m., so I’ve got time.” I had less time than I thought.
The next challenge for me was going to be Triple Divide and Copper Mine Passes. I had read both were pretty tricky in different ways. I had spent a lot of time prior to the trip with maps looking for obstacles, opportunities, and bailouts. I had even brought Vargo Pocket Cleats (super light crampons that strap on trail runners) and a Black Diamond Whippet (a hiking pole with a small built-in removable ice axe on top, used for safety on steep or snowy terrain) to deal with lingering snow.
As I walked across the meadow, an enormous bunny ran out from behind a tree.
At the backside of the meadow, I came up to the approach wall that would allow me to start climbing toward Triple Divide Pass. I was at about 10,900 feet. I had a 1,000-foot climb before I hit the 2-mile approach to the pass. On a map, I had looked at this 1,000 feet many times and never found an exact route. And now that I was here, I still didn’t see one.
I spent 90 frustrating minutes searching. I would find a line and start moving up. I would continue following various gullies and ledges looking for hand and footholds until I would get to a place that I felt okay about going up but didn’t feel confident I could downclimb. From there, I would drop back down to find a new line to follow. This pattern continued over and over again until I started forgetting which routes were which, and I had bloodied my other knee to match the first. It was almost 4:00 p.m., and I still had two passes to climb and seven more miles to hike. It was time to make a choice.
I think this was the tipping point on the trip for me. I felt pushed for time. I now wasn’t going to be able to hike the route I had planned. My pack was still very heavy, the sun was intense, the mosquitoes almost never went away, and I really wasn’t enjoying myself much.
My planned bailout on Triple Divide Pass was the trail over Colby Pass. I had to downclimb from where I was, and instead of dropping all the way back to the meadow and trail, I struck a diagonal line to catch the trail about one-third of the way up the pass.
The next section dumped me back onto a trail for about 10 minutes through the meadow just below Colby Pass. Streams meandered through the middle, and it was entirely surrounded by big beautiful peaks. I had about 6 ½ miles in for the day, which made this my halfway point. It was pretty late in the day to be hitting a halfway point at 2:19 p.m., but I kept telling myself, “It’s late till 8 p.m., so I’ve got time.” I had less time than I thought.
The next challenge for me was going to be Triple Divide and Copper Mine Passes. I had read both were pretty tricky in different ways. I had spent a lot of time prior to the trip with maps looking for obstacles, opportunities, and bailouts. I had even brought Vargo Pocket Cleats (super light crampons that strap on trail runners) and a Black Diamond Whippet (a hiking pole with a small built-in removable ice axe on top, used for safety on steep or snowy terrain) to deal with lingering snow.
As I walked across the meadow, an enormous bunny ran out from behind a tree.
At the backside of the meadow, I came up to the approach wall that would allow me to start climbing toward Triple Divide Pass. I was at about 10,900 feet. I had a 1,000-foot climb before I hit the 2-mile approach to the pass. On a map, I had looked at this 1,000 feet many times and never found an exact route. And now that I was here, I still didn’t see one.
I spent 90 frustrating minutes searching. I would find a line and start moving up. I would continue following various gullies and ledges looking for hand and footholds until I would get to a place that I felt okay about going up but didn’t feel confident I could downclimb. From there, I would drop back down to find a new line to follow. This pattern continued over and over again until I started forgetting which routes were which, and I had bloodied my other knee to match the first. It was almost 4:00 p.m., and I still had two passes to climb and seven more miles to hike. It was time to make a choice.
I think this was the tipping point on the trip for me. I felt pushed for time. I now wasn’t going to be able to hike the route I had planned. My pack was still very heavy, the sun was intense, the mosquitoes almost never went away, and I really wasn’t enjoying myself much.
My planned bailout on Triple Divide Pass was the trail over Colby Pass. I had to downclimb from where I was, and instead of dropping all the way back to the meadow and trail, I struck a diagonal line to catch the trail about one-third of the way up the pass.
Looking north at Milestone Pass from my failed attempt to get up the cliff.
Once I hit the trail, it was about 40 minutes of climbing loose switchbacks to the top of Colby Pass at 12,000 feet.
On top, I had dinner, charged my devices, and chomped on some snow from a nearby snowbank.
On top, I had dinner, charged my devices, and chomped on some snow from a nearby snowbank.
I had read that the Colby Pass Trail was in pretty bad shape, but the part I hiked that evening, down the pass, past Colby Lake, past its outlet, and to an open spot in the vast forest, was just fine. I had camp completely set up by the time it was dark.
Colby Lake from Colby Pass
Once in my bivy, I did some math, and it looked like I could still stay on schedule with a couple of solid mile days. The math panned out. I was trying to convince myself that all was good. It still wasn’t.
Day 3 Miles-22.81
Total Miles-60.20
Elevation Gained-4,524 ft
Elevation Lost-5,869 ft
I didn’t think I slept much last night, but I was toasty and comfortable. I enjoyed the long rest after a long challenging day. Lying there felt good. At that point, I wasn't looking forward to any more walking.
I got out of my sleeping bag at about 5:20 a.m. and got to work packing up and organizing. I was out of camp in just under an hour at 6:18 a.m. It was a cold, frosty morning in the canyon. I was wearing my new cheap find ($12.99 dance pants) on the bottom and my good rain jacket on top. This served three purposes. One, to keep the moisture of the trail overgrowth off me. Two, to keep the mosquitoes from biting me. And three, to act as a barrier so that my two scraped-up knees didn’t get continuously scratched.
My hike started almost immediately with a shin-deep water crossing. There were no rocks or logs anywhere to be seen up or down stream. I decided to leave my shoes on for the crossing because I assumed they would be wet anyway from all the wet foliage and crossing other creeks. I was right.
I got out of my sleeping bag at about 5:20 a.m. and got to work packing up and organizing. I was out of camp in just under an hour at 6:18 a.m. It was a cold, frosty morning in the canyon. I was wearing my new cheap find ($12.99 dance pants) on the bottom and my good rain jacket on top. This served three purposes. One, to keep the moisture of the trail overgrowth off me. Two, to keep the mosquitoes from biting me. And three, to act as a barrier so that my two scraped-up knees didn’t get continuously scratched.
My hike started almost immediately with a shin-deep water crossing. There were no rocks or logs anywhere to be seen up or down stream. I decided to leave my shoes on for the crossing because I assumed they would be wet anyway from all the wet foliage and crossing other creeks. I was right.
Trail Wildflowers
For the next two miles or so, I had very cold feet and even colder hands. I knew that the deep canyon I was in wouldn’t get any sun for quite a while, and even when the sun finally did hit the canyon floor, I kept all my layers on until I got toasty. The trail was still in much better condition than I had read it was. There were very few blowdowns (trees across the trail) and very few places that I would lose the trail (and find it almost immediately).
Finally, it started feeling warm and I stopped to take the gloves and jacket off. I left the dance pants on. A bit later, I heard a hawk cry out and it made me think of my parents. I hadn’t really realized it, but I had been doing a lot of processing on this hike about what it feels like not to have living parents anymore. A brand new feeling for me and one that confused and saddened me. I had some good conversations with myself and a few out loud to my mom as well. It was then that I realized that this was the extra weight I was carrying on this trip. This was what was truly weighing me down, making me feel so heavy, so unmotivated.
I made it down to Roaring River Ranger Station at about 9:45 a.m. My day went completely south at this point, even though I was hiking north again.
The trail from the ranger station to the top of Avalanche Pass was a long, grueling ascent with hundreds of blowdowns. Each singular tree or cluster of trees forced me to climb over, under, or to walk around. The five miles, relentless sun, and 3,000 feet did me in. By the top, I was done. I had given my all and at just under 10,000 feet in sparse forest there was very little shade to seek cover and no view at all. I found a tiny bit of shade, took off my shoes and socks, plugged my devices into my power bank, and had some food and water before pulling out my map.
My plan had been to hike about four more miles past the pass before camping. I knew that the next day would include a 5,000-foot climb and the two days after that would each require 11 miles of off-trail (bushwhacking type) hiking. As I looked at my map, my shade moved and I had to move all of my things as well. This would happen three times in the hour that I sat there, which was a much longer break than I normally took.
As I looked carefully at my map and continued to ponder, I saw a way out. The Bubbs Creek Trail was at the bottom of the northern side of Avalanche Pass and at that point I would be about 18 miles from my car. This was my last and only true bail-out. One that, before the trip, I hadn’t sought out, noticed, or even marked on my map. But now, standing where I was, it suddenly felt like the most important detail I could have overlooked.
This wasn’t where I wanted to be. I didn’t want another ridge, another trail junction, another decision. I was tired, mentally, physically, all of it. I just wanted to be home. I wanted to stop moving, stop planning, and just let it all go for a while. And with that realization, I knew what I needed to do. I packed up and started walking.
The northern side of Avalanche Pass had its own challenges. It’s called “The Bitch” and it deserved the name. In addition to many blowdowns, it involved nearly 3,000 feet in elevation in about five miles, with a large chunk of that packed into steep, hot, dusty switchbacks. It was unrelenting and tedious in a way that wore me down.
Finally, it started feeling warm and I stopped to take the gloves and jacket off. I left the dance pants on. A bit later, I heard a hawk cry out and it made me think of my parents. I hadn’t really realized it, but I had been doing a lot of processing on this hike about what it feels like not to have living parents anymore. A brand new feeling for me and one that confused and saddened me. I had some good conversations with myself and a few out loud to my mom as well. It was then that I realized that this was the extra weight I was carrying on this trip. This was what was truly weighing me down, making me feel so heavy, so unmotivated.
I made it down to Roaring River Ranger Station at about 9:45 a.m. My day went completely south at this point, even though I was hiking north again.
The trail from the ranger station to the top of Avalanche Pass was a long, grueling ascent with hundreds of blowdowns. Each singular tree or cluster of trees forced me to climb over, under, or to walk around. The five miles, relentless sun, and 3,000 feet did me in. By the top, I was done. I had given my all and at just under 10,000 feet in sparse forest there was very little shade to seek cover and no view at all. I found a tiny bit of shade, took off my shoes and socks, plugged my devices into my power bank, and had some food and water before pulling out my map.
My plan had been to hike about four more miles past the pass before camping. I knew that the next day would include a 5,000-foot climb and the two days after that would each require 11 miles of off-trail (bushwhacking type) hiking. As I looked at my map, my shade moved and I had to move all of my things as well. This would happen three times in the hour that I sat there, which was a much longer break than I normally took.
As I looked carefully at my map and continued to ponder, I saw a way out. The Bubbs Creek Trail was at the bottom of the northern side of Avalanche Pass and at that point I would be about 18 miles from my car. This was my last and only true bail-out. One that, before the trip, I hadn’t sought out, noticed, or even marked on my map. But now, standing where I was, it suddenly felt like the most important detail I could have overlooked.
This wasn’t where I wanted to be. I didn’t want another ridge, another trail junction, another decision. I was tired, mentally, physically, all of it. I just wanted to be home. I wanted to stop moving, stop planning, and just let it all go for a while. And with that realization, I knew what I needed to do. I packed up and started walking.
The northern side of Avalanche Pass had its own challenges. It’s called “The Bitch” and it deserved the name. In addition to many blowdowns, it involved nearly 3,000 feet in elevation in about five miles, with a large chunk of that packed into steep, hot, dusty switchbacks. It was unrelenting and tedious in a way that wore me down.
Looking into the canyon with Bubbs Creek.
To me, going down was almost worse than going up. Each jarring step rattled through my legs, up my spine, and into my teeth, leaving me feeling beaten up at the bottom at about 5:30 p.m.
As I crossed the bridge, the first and only of the trip, across Bubbs Creek, I exhaled knowing I was not only on a heavily used and much more maintained trail, but I was on a trail leading me back out of the mountains and home.
I knew that miles hiked would be fewer miles needed the next day. I pledged to hike as far as I could. At about 7:30 p.m., I just couldn’t do more for the day and found a flat spot to camp. Once I set up camp and jumped in my bivy to escape the mosquitoes, I opened my map and estimated that I was about 14 miles from my car. It would be 14 miles of uphill walking and almost 4,500 feet of climbing, but it would mean being home that same night. Taking a shower. Eating some fruit. Hugging my wife. Sleeping in my bed. I could do this.
As I crossed the bridge, the first and only of the trip, across Bubbs Creek, I exhaled knowing I was not only on a heavily used and much more maintained trail, but I was on a trail leading me back out of the mountains and home.
I knew that miles hiked would be fewer miles needed the next day. I pledged to hike as far as I could. At about 7:30 p.m., I just couldn’t do more for the day and found a flat spot to camp. Once I set up camp and jumped in my bivy to escape the mosquitoes, I opened my map and estimated that I was about 14 miles from my car. It would be 14 miles of uphill walking and almost 4,500 feet of climbing, but it would mean being home that same night. Taking a shower. Eating some fruit. Hugging my wife. Sleeping in my bed. I could do this.
Day 4 Miles-14.58
Total Miles-74.78
Elevation Gained-4,255 ft
Elevation Lost-2,706 ft
I had set my alarm for 4:15 a.m. as I wanted to be on the trail as early as possible. I was at a much lower elevation than the previous two nights and I knew it would be much warmer in the morning and thus easier to pack up.
I was on the trail around 5 a.m.
I was on the trail around 5 a.m.
The sky was growing light and I flushed out a few deer as I walked. I passed a few tents over the next hour or so and kept walking uphill. I was holding a strong pace knowing this was my last day on the trail. I pushed to about 2.5 mph as I walked, knowing that if I pushed much harder on that specific terrain, with the weight on my back and in my head, I would have to stop and rest more often. Once I reached the JMT/PCT, I took off my pack and had a snack in a place I had walked by just three days before. From here, I knew I had a climb of about 1,000 feet before hitting the seven-mile side trail over Kearsarge Pass and back to the car. I had this.
I took my second break just after leaving the PCT/JMT to filter and drink some water and have another snack. From there I crossed the magnificent Kearsarge Basin (I would be back) and made the climb up to Kearsarge Pass.
I took my second break just after leaving the PCT/JMT to filter and drink some water and have another snack. From there I crossed the magnificent Kearsarge Basin (I would be back) and made the climb up to Kearsarge Pass.
Kearsarge basin
Here I visited with many other hikers who were taking breaks. Some were headed east and some west.
From there it was about five miles of well-groomed switchbacks leading right back to my car. A comical ending is that in this stretch I ran into most of the hikers here that I met atop of Forester Pass 4 days ago. They had all hiked over Kearsarge Pass to resupply and take a zero day in Independence. A small world indeed.
The drive home was filled with more podcast episodes and another stop at The Barn.
And then, just like that, I was home. I was clean. I had some fruit and hugged Paula. Life was the way it should be for the time being.
When I reflected on the trip, I realized that from day one, I had this overwhelming feeling that I shouldn’t be out there. The conditions—relentless sun, swarming mosquitoes, and especially the challenging terrain—all fed into that. I turned my ankle twice, scraped up both knees, and dealt with mosquitoes pretty much all day, every day. There were hundreds of blowdowns to maneuver around and overgrown trails that hadn’t seen maintenance in years.
There were definitely some enjoyable moments, but overall, I had been fighting with myself just to keep going, just to take another step.
Maybe it was my mother’s recent death and the emotions that stirred up brought back memories of my father’s passing as well. It was hard not to feel weighed down by those losses, even way out in the wilderness.
But maybe that was the point. Sometimes the hardest journeys are the ones that help us come to terms with the things we carry inside.
From there it was about five miles of well-groomed switchbacks leading right back to my car. A comical ending is that in this stretch I ran into most of the hikers here that I met atop of Forester Pass 4 days ago. They had all hiked over Kearsarge Pass to resupply and take a zero day in Independence. A small world indeed.
The drive home was filled with more podcast episodes and another stop at The Barn.
And then, just like that, I was home. I was clean. I had some fruit and hugged Paula. Life was the way it should be for the time being.
When I reflected on the trip, I realized that from day one, I had this overwhelming feeling that I shouldn’t be out there. The conditions—relentless sun, swarming mosquitoes, and especially the challenging terrain—all fed into that. I turned my ankle twice, scraped up both knees, and dealt with mosquitoes pretty much all day, every day. There were hundreds of blowdowns to maneuver around and overgrown trails that hadn’t seen maintenance in years.
There were definitely some enjoyable moments, but overall, I had been fighting with myself just to keep going, just to take another step.
Maybe it was my mother’s recent death and the emotions that stirred up brought back memories of my father’s passing as well. It was hard not to feel weighed down by those losses, even way out in the wilderness.
But maybe that was the point. Sometimes the hardest journeys are the ones that help us come to terms with the things we carry inside.