Today was one part
”
all I hoped for
”
and one part
”
my worst nightmare.
”
Today was one part “all I hoped for” and one part “my worst nightmare.”
It has rained five out of the last six days. I am not just sick of it, but I am frustrated and angry about it as well. It just isn’t supposed to be this way. The Sierras are famous for dry summer weather. When it is hot in the Central Valley, there can be afternoon thundershowers, but not sustained wet weather like we have endured.
Yesterday, a half-hour after a pleasant lunch beside Evolution Lake, Drew and I were standing side by side under a plastic ground cloth, taking refuge from a driving hail storm. Yet again, we discussed the alternatives. Should we wait it out or pitch camp? It depends. Will this downpour persist or pass quickly through? Here at Evolution Lake, we are 10,600 feet and only a few miles from Muir Pass (12,000 feet). It is not safe to continue through this treeless, exposed country with thunder and lightning striking all around.
The hail turned to rain but didn’t let up. So, we performed our pitching-tent-in-a-downpour act with practiced precision and took refuge for the day.
As usual, my first thought this morning was to check the sky. Thankfully, it was clear and beautiful. Hoping that the bad weather had finally left for good, but fearing it might return, we packed quickly in order to make up yesterday’s lost mileage.
Walking around the edge of Evolution Lake, we agreed that it is the prettiest spot we have passed so far, and we cannot imagine a prettier sight ahead. This crystalline lake is surrounded by wind-sculpted white bark pines placed just so in granite rock gardens, all nestled beneath Evolution Valley’s grand peaks. The climb toward Muir Pass was ideal walking; a gentle gradient through open alpine country and along a tumbling stream connecting Evolution Lake with Sapphire Lake with Wanda Lake just underneath Muir Pass.
Atop Muir Pass I thought, here is what this trip is supposed to be. At 12,000 feet, our highest elevation yet, our ever-growing fitness has left us with a sense of exhilaration rather than exhaustion. The weather is perfect, the view spectacular, and Drew and I are enjoying it all in solitude.
We headed down, leaving behind the San Joaquin River drainage and entering the Kings River watershed. Just above Helen Lake (Wanda Lake and Helen Lake, the lakes closest to the pass on opposite sides, are named for John Muir’s daughters), we stopped for a hot Top Ramen lunch. Yet again, the sky began to threaten.
In a matter of moments, a perfect day was transformed by more damnable rain. But first, the hail of course. We unfurled the handy tarp and found a protective overhanging branch. The correct choice among the familiar foul weather options was clear this time. We were descending and with every step moving away from danger and toward milder conditions. We decided it was best to put on our rain gear and walk on.
Two hours and five wet miles later, here we are in Le Conte Canyon at the junction with the trail over Bishop Pass. Tomorrow we will hike six miles and climb 3,500 feet to meet Peter with supplies, and then hike the 6 miles back.
But the weather, good God, the weather. The backcountry ranger stationed here says more heavy rain is on the way. This is a once in six or seven year pattern, he says. Part of the lure of backpacking is to give up the control we enjoy down below. Here, what nature serves up is yours to manage, that’s the rule. Why can’t I find the Zen in this? I don’t embrace it, I only resent not having the “normal” weather I expected.
The mirror that Mother Nature holds in front of backcountry travelers does not flatter. It is brutally honest, and I am not proud of the reflection.
