Three Arguments for Following LNT

Introduction

In this entry I would like to argue for why we should follow and apply Leave No Trace Principles when in the wilderness. First I will discuss the principles and some of the deviation from those principles I saw on the PCT. Then I will present three arguments for following LNT principles while assuming that people find value and enjoyment in being in the wilderness to begin with. The first argument will be by analogy with museums such as art museums, science museums, planetariums, etc. The second argument will appeal to the consequences of not following LNT. The third argument will appeal to the irrationality of not following LNT given plausible reasons for wanting to be in the wilderness to being with.

The Principles and Examples

   

Leave No Trace Principles (LNT) are guidelines for how one should act while doing activities in the wilderness such as camping, hunting, hiking, rock climbing, etc. There are seven principles:

1. Plan ahead and prepare.
2. Travel and camp on durable surfaces. 
3. Dispose of waste properly.
4. Leave what you find.
5. Minimize campfire impacts.
6. Respect wildlife.
7. Be considerate of other visitors.

All of these principles aim toward minimizing damage to the wilderness that results from human use, thus sustaining the wilderness for future use and appreciation. Some of the principles should be obvious (though you might be surprised). For example, don’t use the bathroom in or near water sources, which you and others need water from in order to drink and cook. Make sure you pack out your trash and do not leave it on the trail or at the campsite. However, many of the principles and their applications are not so obvious, especially to beginners.

For example, don’t bath or wash clothes in water sources such as flowing creeks and rivers. People downstream will need to drink that water. Don’t use soap in any water source, even if it says ‘biodegradable.’ First of all, you shouldn’t be bathing or washing clothes near water sources. Moreover, soap, even the kind that claims to be “natural” or “biodegradable,” can cause algae to develop in and invade water sources. Nobody wants to look at a lake covered in green slime.

Don’t poop on the ground and merely cover it up. You should always dig a 6-8” hole to poop in. It should be obvious that you absolutely never just throw your toilet paper on the ground. Less obvious is that you shouldn’t bury your toilet paper either—animals might dig up your cat hole and hence your toilet paper. What should you do with it? Easy: pack it out. It’s not gross. Just double bag it. On the PCT there are lots of opportunities to throw your waste bag out. I never once got sick from or smelled my waste bag.

Do not bury excess food. This attracts animals. Human food can make backcountry animals sick. Moreover, bears can still smell buried food, and if bears are attracted to campsites this can lead to unwanted interactions, which can result in bears being put down by the park. You must pack out food waste. So plan ahead and make sure you cook only what you need to eat, which prevents having to deal with excess cooked food. Don’t wash your dishes in water sources and don’t throw your dishwater out on the ground—this can also attract animals. I always ate out of my cooking dish. When I was through I boiled water in it, cleaned the sides with my spoon, and made hot chocolate with the water. It was always delicious!

A merely flat surface is not sufficient for a responsible campsite. The surface also needs to be durable and free from vegetation. There are plenty of well-worn campsites on the PCT. Use those and avoid creating new ones. Even if there is sparse vegetation, do not pitch your tent if you can apply yourself and find a better campsite. Planning ahead is easy to do on the PCT, especially when you have Halfmile maps or use another PCT app, which lists established campsites on the trail.

Personally, I think that campfires are a complete waste on a thruhike, especially on the PCT. If it’s daylight out, you should be hiking; otherwise, you should be asleep in your tent. My natural sleep cycle on the trail was around 8:30 PM to around 5:00 AM almost every night, no alarm. Old growth should remain on the forest floor and not burned since it is an important part of the forest’s life cycle. Fire pits can negatively impact the soil, so always use preexisting pits if you must make a fire.  Most obviously, fires can get out of control, which can cause forest fires, destroying the wilderness, closing parts of the trail, and potentially wreak havoc on local communities. All of that said, if you make a campfire, make sure that you have the proper permits and that you are careful.

Be considerate of other hikers. For example, you are coming down a pass and someone is coming up, they get the right of way. The same goes for any part of the trail where you are clearly on a decline a hiker coming from the opposite direction is clearly on an incline. When in doubt, be courteous and move to the side if it is safe to do so. Also, equestrian riders always get the right of way. When someone on a horse is approaching, move off the trail. If you can, try to stay below the horse. If you move uphill over the horse, you may scare it and cause it to freak out.

Unfortunately, I noticed a lot of people not following the LNT principles while on the trail. On the first day out of Campo, another hiker, Michael, and I found an abandoned bear canister that contained a bunch of food and gear. Michael and I would have had to carry this abandoned gear out of the backcountry to Lake Morena if it had not been for a nice border patrol agent who took the gear for us. Whatever caused the hiker to have to abandon gear could have been avoided by preparing ahead. I found toilet paper all over the trail and at campsites throughout the desert and in the Sierras. Included in the multiple pieces of trash I picked up off of the trail was a bag filled with used toiletries, which I found just off of Muir Pass!  When I was climbing up the steep, rocky stretch of trail on the last mile to summit Whitney another hiker was blowing down the trail and did not yield, which forced me to scramble to find a safe spot. On numerous occasions I saw people bathing or washing their dishes in flowing streams and creeks. I also noticed people camping on vegetated areas. All of this negatively impacts the wilderness and detracts from the experiences of others (including, ironically, the future experiences of those who are being reckless). But all of this can be avoided by making ourselves aware of LNT and thinking more critically about how to follow LNT principles while on the trail and in the wilderness.

An Assumption

Still, someone might ask, Why? Why should I put thought and energy into learning and applying LNT principles before and while I’m in the wilderness? Can’t I just go out into the wilderness and have a good time? Isn’t all of this LNT stuff just rule mongering and people trying to micromanage my wilderness experience? Hike your own hike, right? Not quite. I would like to offer three arguments for why people should follow LNT principles and why they should critically apply these principles to their actions in the backcountry. But first, let me discuss an assumption that I will make: that we value and care about being in the wilderness to begin with. In general, one might question this assumption and wonder why we should care about the wilderness at all or why we shouldn’t just look at the wilderness solely as resource to be consumed. In other words, some people might see absolutely no reason to spend time in the wilderness and wonder why we should have national parks to begin with. I think this is an interesting question, but not the one I am considering here. I think for the purposes of the following arguments it is safe to assume that most people who venture into the wilderness do value and enjoy the wilderness either explicitly or implicitly and do care about what happens to it. I think that this is true for almost every reason people spend time in the wilderness—for those who seek an opportunity for solitude or contemplation, for those who seek to experience and understand the natural world free from the effects of human activity, for those who are seeking a thrill, and for those who like outdoor recreation and athletics. So I will assume that most people find at least some value and enjoyment in being in the wilderness and argue why then we should proactively behave in ways that sustain the wilderness.

Argument by Analogy

First, I’d like to make an analogy with public museums. One way to think of (designated) wilderness areas is as natural museums in the most literal sense of ‘natural.’ If you go to an art, science, or natural history museum, you likely find some enjoyment and value in exhibits that you experience and the space you experience them in. You probably do not leave your trash on the museum floor. You probably only use the restroom in designated areas. You probably do not shine bright lights in a planetarium. In art museums, you probably do not move the paintings. And you probably do not alter the paintings, e.g. you would not draw a moustache on the Mona Lisa. Moreover, you probably would be upset if you were trying to look at a painting but someone decided to stand directly in front of the painting for the duration of opening hours.  In a way, the backcountry isn’t any different. Many of us spend time in the backcountry to appreciate the aesthetic qualities of nature. Many people spend time in the backcountry to witness and to learn something about the geological formations and processes that shape the world we live in. Or they go to study life processes in the wilderness, from academically funded biologists to amateur birdwatchers. Having a genuine appreciation for the arts, for knowledge, and for the wilderness means cultivating a spirit of conservation and exemplifying qualities of reverence and respect. Since Leave No Trace Principles are aimed at conservation and preservation, having a genuine appreciation of the wilderness means following and applying these principles to your individual actions while you are in the backcountry.

Argument from Consequences

The second argument for following and applying LNT principles to your actions in the backcountry appeals to consequences. Suppose that what matters is maximizing goodness in the wilderness, e.g. the beauty, and minimizing badness, e.g. the destruction of natural habitats and the suffering of wildlife. Then you along with everyone else should follow LNT principle because the aggregate effect of not doing so has detrimental consequences for the wilderness. Close to or over 4 million people visit Yosemite every year. The numbers are similar or greater for other designated wilderness areas such as Yellowstone, Grand Canyon, Great Smokey Mountains, etc.  The aggregate effect of, say, not packing out toilet paper would result in huge amounts of toilet paper on the trail and in campsites throughout large swaths of the backcountry and increase the amount of sickness in the backcountry caused by human waste.  Or suppose that every person that visited a national park took their favorite piece of deadwood, antlers, etc. out the park on their visit or used these things in excess to build campfires. Since deadwood and animal remains are crucial to the health of soil and plant life, the aggregate effect overtime of misusing these things is a destroyed ecosystem and harmed wildlife. A similar story holds for responsible campfire practices. One careless mistake can result in the destruction of thousands of acres, homes in the surrounding communities and the closure of trails and wilderness areas. So, if the consequences of our behavior are what matter most to determining how we should behave in the wilderness, then we ought to follow and apply LNT principles when in the backcountry.

Argument from Rationality

You are not different from any of the other thousands to millions of people in the backcountry in any way that precludes you from the responsibility of environmental stewardship. So if you think that at least one person has an obligation to practice and apply the principles of LNT, then so do you. Moreover, it is irrational for any person not to follow LNT. You are likely visiting the wilderness because it is wild and not developed or because it is the backcountry and not the frontcountry. You are likely not going on a backpacking trip merely to walk 60 miles and sleep in a tent. After all, you can do that in the frontcountry—just walk 60 miles around your block and camp in your yard. There is something about being in the wilderness that you can’t get from being in the frontcountry. You don’t go to Disney World or some other amusement part to experience the wilderness, and you probably do not want to see outhouses, water treatment facilities, sidewalks, hear loud music or droves of drunk people, etc. while on your wilderness trip. So for any action you take in the backcountry ask yourself what would happen if everyone (all 4+ million) did the same thing. What if everyone used soap in natural water sources? What if everyone failed to properly dispose of human waste? What if everyone camped on surfaces with vegetation? What if everyone cut corners and hiked off trail? What would happen is the degradation of the natural habitats. We would have to install human waste facilities, water treatment facilities, etc. We would have to build more roads through the Sierras and the Rockies. In other words, the backcountry would slowly turn into the frontcountry. So by not following LNT you frustrate your own goal of doing your favorite activity in the backcountry as opposed to the frontcountry. Hence you should follow and apply LNT principles when in the backcountry.

In Conclusion

We are not fundamentally isolated beings. We have relationships of varying degrees to other people in the wilderness with us and in the surrounding communities. There is really no such thing as being alone in the wilderness—each one of us is a member of a larger community. So it is up to each one of us to act in ways that respects every member of that community and that also respects our mutual admiration for the wilderness.  Maybe some of these arguments are more convincing than others. That is fine. But I hope that at least one of these arguments is convincing enough and inspires someone to be more conscious of their impact on the wildnerness and to be more mindful about following LNT principles.

7/19-7/25: Finishing the John Muir Trail

More beautiful Sierra Flora.

PCT vs. JMT

VVR was a blast. I spent most of my time recuperating and playing the resort’s hiker guitar. Throughout the Sierras there are *a lot* of hikers who are not hiking the PCT. There are lots of people simply on multiday backpacking trips. There are also a lot of people hiking the John Muir Trail. VVR is one place where all hikers come together to rest and share trail stories. Sometimes there is also a little bit of competitive but friendly ribbing going on. For example, JMT hikers seem to send themselves more food than they need. Hiker hunger is real, for sure, but it usually doesn’t set in until 2-3 weeks into the hike, which would basically be the end for JMTers. You can also spot JMT hikers and weekend warriors by the size of their packs, which were often bloated with excess food, clothing, and other luxuries. For example, many JMT hikers had multiple pairs of shoes hanging from their packs, and you could hear some JMT hikers coming by the cacophonous sound of pots banging and clanging from the backs of their packs. Fresh JMT hikers and weekend warriors also had much cleaner skin and gear than PCTers, whose skin and gear were layered in a consistent film of dirt and dust. JMT hikers and weekend warriors also smell. Now, I do mean to use the term ‘smell’ somewhat pejoratively, but not in the way it is normally used. To say that someone smells usually implies that you can smell their body odor or the fact that they haven’t showered. But you get used to that on the trail and after a couple months on the trail body odor goes largely unnoticed. So what counts as normal to the olfactory eventually changes on the trail, especially by the time you hit the Sierras, and being suddenly hit by an odoriferous wall of shampoo, deodorant, and detergent as fresh JMT hikers and weekend warriors pass by becomes slightly offensive. Of course, the reverse is likely true, and I sometimes wondered if people knew that I was a PCT hiker by how dirty and smelly I was. Or it could have been the deranged look in my eye.

The back of Devils Postpile.

I left VVR via the ferry and hiked over Silver Pass that day. Over the next few days the mosquitos and flies were really bad. I was wearing my black head net a lot and often felt as though I was experiencing the wilderness through the eyes of a newly widowed wife from the Godfather. The next day I stopped at Reds Meadow Resort for a hot lunch and milkshake. I only stayed for a couple of hours and hiked to the Devils Postpile National Monument, which is a spectacular formation of 60 ft columns of basalt (https://www.nps.gov/depo/learn/nature/geology.htm). I took the JMT alternate for 13 miles to 1000 Island Lake, where it rejoins the PCT. I hiked another couple miles past Island Pass, which put me at 14 miles for the day. I was still hiking cautiously to prevent my injuries from flaring up. I thought about stopping, but it was only 2:00 PM and I felt good. So I decided to hike over Donahue Pass that afternoon.

Devils Postpile.

Top of the Postpile.

Banner Peak and 1000 Island Lake

It is What It Is

I think about a lot of things while I'm hiking. Often I think about hiking stuff: how beautiful the scenery is or how depressing the scenery is; how hot or how cold it is; how I'm crushing miles for the day or how much I'm stuggling; etc. Sometimes I think about personal stuff: is this hike a part of some midlife crisis? Sometimes I think about my dissertation and how much I love philosophy (after all). Sometimes I think about whatever news from the frontcountry (as opposed to the backcountry) I manage to get when I'm in a town or have service for a brief moment. Between the mass shooting in Orlando, the potential for a Trump Idiocracy, and the recent shooting of an unarmed black therapist in Miami, I have found myself utterly heartbroken, dismayed, and angry while immersed in some of the most beautiful landscapes I have ever seen. In light of this, while going over Donahue Pass in the Sierras, I found myself thinking about how much I hate the phrase 'It is what it is.'

Sometimes I've heard the phrase inappropriately used in place of 'Let's agree to disagree', which doesn't make sense since the disagreement was likely over what in fact just is the case. And I suppose that some uses of the phrase are okay. For example, you rush like hell to get to the bank by 6 only to find out it closes at 5. It is what it is. Or you get stood up or never get a call back from a date. It is what it is. (An alternative in these cases might be 'Serenity now! Serenity now!') Still, I think that 'It is what it is' is the worst phrase or "platitude" of 2016 because I often hear it used in more substantial contexts, especially when moral matters are on the line. Thus, I hesitate to even call it a 'platitude' because I think it can be a dangerous phrase. For example, Jones is being dishonest once again. Well, it is what it is. Or, Smith is always dismissive of his female colleague's comments during meetings. Well, it is what it is. Or, there is an overwhelming lack of transparency in the US political system. Well, it is what it is. I hate this phrase because it is a phrase of resignation and I detest resignation. Sure there are some things that just are what they are, such as the fact that the natural number after 2 is 3. But many things are not merely just what they are. I'm not being incoherent. What I mean is that very often things *could* be different with the right kind and amount of effort and very often things *should* be different.

I think that many uses of the phrase 'It is what it is' involve some kind of is-ought fallacy, which was pointed out by David Hume. More importantly, I think that the phrase encourages and spreads intellectual and moral laziness. If by 'it is what it is' you mean something like, 'look, I just don't have the mental or emotional resources to deal with this right now,' then fine, but just say that. But saying 'it is what it is' implies a false objectivity or finality to the matter. So, I think for those of us that do use the phrase, the next time we go to use it we instead have a conversation about how things could or should be different. If not, then it is what it is.

Just over Donahue Pass.

Yosemite Valley

Despite hiking over 800 miles of the PCT and despite the fact that I felt much stronger and my injuries were very manageable, at this point I was feeling that completing the entire PCT was not going to happen for me this season. So it became important to me to hike all the way into Yosemite Valley and at least finish the John Muir Trail as a consolation prize. The PCT and JMT split at Tuolumne Meadows, with the PCT continuing north and the JMT heading west for 22 miles to Happy Isles in Yosemite Valley.  However, a PCT permit does not give you access to the JMT, so I would have to try and get a multiday permit to hike into Yosemite Valley at the Tuolumne Meadows Ranger station. When I left VVR, I was trying to time things so that I would arrive at Tuolumne Meadows on Monday the 25^th thinking that I could beat the weekend crowd and so have a better chance at getting a permit. But I was feeling good and making good miles. I arrived at Tuolumne on Saturday morning. I was scared that I would have to wait a couple of days before I could get a permit into the Valley, but fortunately a was able to give me a two-night permit if I was ready to go that day.  I was, and I hiked another 9 miles that day. The next morning, I hiked to Clouds Rest from where there are fantastic views of Half Dome and Yosemite Valley. I then descended nearly 6000 ft. over ten miles to Happy Isles in Yosemite Valley. I had finished the JMT and in honor of John Muir baptized myself in the Merced River.

Cathedral Peak

At Clouds Rest.

Yosemite Valley was a trip. It was beyond crowded. The vehicle traffic on the roads running through the 2000-foot sheer granite cliffs was insane. I felt like I was suddenly in the South Beach, Miami of the Wilderness. Suddenly I was the one of the few with a backpackers pack on. Suddenly I was the only one with a week’s worth of smell and dirt clung to their body. People looked at me like I was crazy, like I was an outsider who didn’t belong and might ask them for spare change at any moment. I walked into the grocery store that was the size of a Whole Foods and felt just as ostentatious. I bought myself a bag of chips, chocolate milk, a milk way, and two IPAs. Then I parked myself on the wood planked patio outside of the store. I must admit that my initial reaction was pretentious and snobbish. I somehow felt superior sitting on the dirty ground in my filthy clothes being all smelly and drinking my beer— “who the hell are these clean people smelling all cloy driving around in their cars wearing loafers and strolling around like this is a goddamned theme park. I’m the one out here really appreciating nature.” But of course that was just a bullshit reaction. I was suddenly reminded of civilization and felt anxious and defensive. As I sat there on drinking my beer, I quickly came off of my bogus high-horse. I remembered a conversation I had with another hiker, Dillon, who had pointed out that, despite the roads and the crowds, Yosemite Valley was good from a conservation perspective since it kept all of the inexperienced people in one area and limited impact on the backcountry. As I sat there I saw a few people here and there that had limited mobility, and realized that the Valley was important for another reason. There are so many people that really want to experience the sometimes majestic aspects of the wilderness but for various reasons, usually physical, cannot go backpacking, rock climbing, etc. What many of them can do, however, is go to places like Yosemite Valley. Later, I decided to get some pizza in a restaurant close to Yosemite Falls. My seat was next to a window from which there was a great view of the Falls. An older person, who was not in the best physical shape, came up to the window and looked in awe at Yosemite Falls gushing water from over 2000 ft. above. She looked at me and noted that it was unbelievable that we could sit there and see something so utterly beautiful and breathtaking. It was true. And I realized how important it is to have parks that allow access to natural experiences like that to as many people possible.

Vernal Falls

7/11-7/19: Glen Pass to VVR

JMT Rock Monster. 

The view from Glen Pass was spectacular. The ~3500 ft. decent, however, felt physically brutal. The thought that the following day I would do the exact same thing but in reverse going up Pinchot Pass felt mentally brutal. However, the next morning I met an interesting person and section hiker that helped make the first bit of the ascent more bearable. At first glance he looked something like a gutterpunk. He was tall and lanky, had not a bit of fat stuck to him, and a conspicuous network of veins covered his limbs. His hoary hair was cropped short to his head, and his face was tough and worn from years in the sun. His tumid pack, which was old and had an external frame, and his clothes all looked worn down by years’ worth of miles on trail, road, and rail. We hiked the first five miles up to Pinchot Pass together. This section of trail winds through a valley between Crater Mountain and Mount Cedric Wright. Foamy blankets of ice cold water splayed down the smooth, slightly convex granite facets and rushed into Woods Creek below. We were at around 10K ft. and the morning air was very chilly. As we slowly made our way, we talked about making a living, family, and hiking. He had led something of an adventurous life and spent much of his time working on boats. He had spent a lot of time in South Florida and we agreed that there was something pretentious about the boat culture down there. He was of a mind that experiences were more important than accumulating wealth. I pretty much agreed. Of course, we both understood that if one has a lot of wealth one can have many experiences. The problem is when you do not start off with that wealth. Setting aside luck, one can spend a lot, if not all, of one’s time and energy in the process of trying to accumulate wealth. Obviously this a gamble because there is a good chance you will then lose the time and energy needed for the endeavors and experiences for which you were trying to accumulate the wealth to begin with. We both agreed that many valuable things and experiences, such as travelling, hiking, love, art, and a general appreciation of the seemingly insane fact that we exist at all, are all relatively attainable without having to run some rat race. At the time I was deeply considering quitting the trail after I got to Yosemite or, if I was lucky, South Lake Tahoe. My motivations were now less about my health. By this point I was feeling better physically and more optimistic that I could finish most of the PCT after my conference. However, I was thinking a lot about my family. In particular, my grandmother, who lives near Atlanta, Georgia, was turning 90 in August. Now one way to look at it is that 90 is just another number; even my grandmother told me that I should hike and not worry about her birthday. But another way to look at it is that there is something really special about spinning around the Sun 90 times. My friend agreed and pointed out that the trail wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. I stopped to take a break and my friend hiked on. I thought I might catch up to him at another pass, but I never saw him again.

Suspension bridge crossing Woods Creek before Pinchot Pass.

Sierra flora.

On the way to Mather Pass.

To the south of Mather Pass.

To the north of Mather Pass.

Mather Pass.

For most of the Sierras, there is no cell service. This basically means that for nearly two weeks there are no phone calls, text messages, emails, facebook, etc. This is actually pretty amazing. One place you do get full service is at the top of Whitney. When I was up there—sitting on top of the contiguous US—an old friend, Steve, sent me a message letting me know that he was going to being hiking south from Muir Pass over the next few days. All I could do was tell him that I was hiking north from Whitney and give him a rough estimate of when I thought I would hit Muir Pass. After awhile I had to start making my descent. Since I couldn't wait for a response, it would be impossible to try and coordinate anything more detailed than that. Steve and I know each other from Jacksonville, Florida. Steve is a super cool human. He spent many years fighting for environmental causes as a Sea Shepard. He also introduced me to chess, some philosophy, and many cool people many years ago. We both moved away from Jacksonville. Steve moved to Oakland, and aside from a time I visited him there two years ago, we had not seen one another in over four years. So I felt a bit bummed and homesick when I realized that the odds of running into Steve on the trail were very slim. But I hiked on, sometimes wondering if I would run into him, and I would check the campsites at night to see if he was there. By the time I hiked over Pinchot and Mather Passes, still no Steve. On the morning I started heading for Muir Pass, I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to see him, but in a bit of trail magic, I ran into Steve and his partner Sarah! It really was a miracle: we ran into each other just about 20 minutes north of a side trail to Bishop Pass, which I was not taking and they were going to go home from. Though we only hung out for about 10 minutes, it was so good to connect with a friend.

On the trail, you learn just how valuable energy is, in all of its forms. By the time I ran into Steve, I was about three days away from my much needed resupply at Vermillion Valley Resort. My cell phone was nearly out of juice, my fuel canister was dangerously low, and I was cutting it close on food. ‘Cutting it close’ is an understatement, actually. Needless to say, when hiking 12-15 miles a day with substantial elevation gain over the passes at elevations consistently between 8K and 13K feet, you burn a lot of calories. A conservative estimate is anywhere between 3000 and 4000 calories a day. I was lucky if I was getting 2000. Now, I was actually used to a constant, subtle feeling of hunger and didn’t mind it anymore. However, I was absolutely sick of instant mashed potatoes. You can pack a lot of instant mashed potatoes in a bear can, and that was what I had been eating nearly every night since Whitney. Steve and Sarah were life savers. They had an extra canister of fuel and gave me a massive bar of dark chocolate. The previous day, I camped with some very cool people. Once of them was a really cool high school history teacher from Oakland named Joél. Joél was hiking the JMT southbound. He had some extra food and needed to drop some weight, so he hooked me up with a Backpacker’s Pantry dehydrated jerk chicken meal, which I was saving for Muir Pass. Thanks, Oakland!

California Tiger Lily.

Muir Pass was amazing. As I ascended I passed a number of small plateaus each with gorgeous, clear blue alpine lakes each pouring into the lower levels and all coming from the melting snow pack on the surrounding peaks. The trail in this section was difficult. It was not marked well and the trail was still covered with a lot of snow. I had to find alternative paths up to the pass. Once at the top of the pass, I hung out and cooked dinner—Joél’s jerk chicken using the fuel Steve and Sarah gave me!—at the Muir Hut. The Muir Hut was built in 1930 by the Sierra Club. Inside there is a little shrine honoring the memory of Muir and his conservation efforts. Collected on the shrine are little tokens that people have left throughout the years, e.g. old tools, old hiking permits, origami swans, Tibetan prayer flags, antlers, among other things. I had picked up a small wooden button about 50 miles back, which I left on the shrine. As I descended Muir Pass, I was surrounded by snow covered peaks glowing gold softly from the setting sun. Alpine lakes were strewn below me in a valley. The land was rather barren and littered with various sized boulders and sparse amounts of grass. For a moment I felt like I was exploring another planet. I set up camp by Wanda Lake, per Steve’s suggestion. The snow covered peaks slowly changed to cooler colors but continued to glow under the light of the waxing moon. In the morning I descended into Evolution Basin. The descent was steep, but the steep valley became more and more green as I humbly passed below Mount Mendel and Mount Darwin.

One of the lakes on the way up Muir.

Another beautiful shade of blue. On the way up Muir.

Southern snow filled valley below Muir Pass.

Muir Hut.

Inside the hut.

View from Lake Wanda campsite.

Moon glow.

Descending into Evolution Valley.

After twelve days on the trail with no shower and too many instant mashed potatoes, I was ready for a break and resupply at Vermillion Valley Resort. Using the word 'resort' for this place would be a bit of a stretch in most contexts, but since they have hot food, beer, milky ways, and beer it's perfectly acceptable on the PCT/JMT. To get to VVR you take a 1.5 mile side trail from the PCT to a ferry landing. A ferry comes to the landing twice a day to carry hikers over Edison Lake to the resort. Or there is a five mile side trail that climbs the cliffs and hills overlooking the lake. The day before VVR I hiked over Selden Pass and that evening set up camp by Bear Creek. I was pleasantly surprised to have some company for the evening. It was another PCT hiker who went by the name of ‘Troopa’. I briefly met Troopa 800 miles south in Julian, California. Like most PCT hikers, Troopa is a super nice and kind human being. Like everyone else, he was hiking the PCT for the beauty, for the challenge, and for some personal reasons. Troopa had just retired from a successful career as the Human Resource director of a popular health insurance company whose headquarters were located near LA.  A huge reason he was hiking the PCT was to get his personal bearings back after retirement, to rediscover and reprioritize what he values in his life. (Something similar had brought me to the trail and I found it true of many other hikers.) Still, he missed his family dearly. About a week from that day his son was getting engaged in Mammoth Lakes, California, which is right off the trail. He planned one getting off trail for the engagement celebration, but had felt torn about potentially getting off of the trail for good and not going to Canada. He explained, however, that in a moment of clarity the previous day he had realized that he had gotten everything he wanted from the trail and that it was okay to stop early. I admired this decision very much. On the one hand, most hikers do set Canada as a goal, and generally when one creates a goal one wants to follow though. But on the other hand, in the process of following through with any goal it can be easy to forget that you are the one that set the goal to begin with and that you continually choose to follow through. But once these facts are forgotten and you are enmeshed in the project you set out on, suddenly the goal becomes something like an absolute ruling over you. But this is a bad state to be in for two reasons. First, a genuine adventure is arguably an experience from which you will learn many things that will be applicable even once the adventure is done. Moreover, a genuine adventure will inspire you and push you into new adventures, into new opportunities. But often when the point of the adventure becomes an absolute, the adventure becomes something dead, like printed pages with no life or meaning, or faded photographs that no longer have significance.  Second, when a goal becomes an absolute, it can lead you to neglect other things you value in life, such as your health or your relationships. I think the way to avoid this and the healthy thing to do is to constantly remind yourself that you are *choosing* to do what you need to accomplish the goal. On the trail, you are continually choosing to hike day after day—the universe isn’t making you do it. And while it would be fantastic to make it to whatever benchmark you have set, such as Canada, you have to remember that it is okay to stop if you want to, especially when it involves your health or other important people in your life.

Sierra flora.

Young buck.

Sierra flora.

I think this was on the way up Selden Pass. It was pretty steep and the doe and fawn were trying to use the trail. I tried to yield, but I couldn't get far enough for their comfort. They ended up getting off trail but made it safely down as far as I could see.

Troopa was also heading to VVR the next day. I left our camp early in the morning, before Troopa. I had a little over ten miles to go and planned on taking my sweet time. So I thought I wouldn’t get to the ferry landing until around 3:00 PM and would only have to wait about an hour for the last ferry of the day. But for some reason I was feeling really good and knocked out the miles fast. I got to the landing by 10:45 AM! There was no point in sitting around for five hours, so I hiked the side trail to VVR that runs along the lake. The trail was bit strenuous in places, but I managed to make good time. Troopa arrived later that afternoon. I was also excited to see Jason, Dillon, and number of other hikers I’d previously met. I also made some new friends. That evening we all enjoyed a wonderful communion with hot food, lots of beer, and campfire laughter.  

Crazy tadpole looking creatures. They were about 5 inches long. :::shudder:::

Sierra flora.

Sierra lupine.

This was taken at the top of Glen Pass. It is customary on the trail to ask random people if they want a photo taken, especially when there is a beautiful landscape behind you. All told I had about six people offer and take photos of me. I offered and took photos of about five individuals and two couples.

More beautiful Sierra flora.

Close up of the Muir Shrine.

I think I took this coming down Selden Pass.

7/9-7/11: Forester Pass to Glen Pass

I started finishing my Whitney descent around 4:30 AM. After the Whitney summit and the lack of sleep, I was exhausted. The smart and conservative thing to do would have been to hike back to Crabtree Meadows and take a zero before moving north. But I decided to keep pushing forward. After about seven miles, right before the JMT rejoins the PCT, I couldn’t take it anymore and collapsed on the side of the trail and napped for an hour.  Feeling somewhat refreshed after a nap, I kept going. Eventually I started making my way over Bighorn Plateau, which sits at about 11.5K ft. The space is large and empty but in contrast with the monumental peaks on either side in the distance, there is something very beautiful about this minimal landscape. To the southeast you can see Whitney’s gently back stretching into the sky.

From Bighorn Plateau. Whitney is the second peak from the left.

The western peaks of the High Sierra from Bighorn Plateau.

After hiking another mile my left shin started hurting. The pain was very similar to the pain I felt when I started developing shin splints in my right leg. I was overcome with panic—if shin splints were developing and if it was going to be anything like what I experienced a few weeks prior, I would likely have to bail. It took the shin splints in my right leg a good 10 days to heal enough for me to hike. But that was only because I was in Mojave and near Kennedy Meadows, and now I was in the backcountry. If I needed to bail I had only three options, none of which was going to be easy with a new injury: backtrack 15 miles to the Whitney Portal trail and exit the eastside of Whitney, which would require a huge climb and be against park regulations since I didn't have the right permit; backtrack approximately 30 miles to Horseshoe Meadows; or push forward 15 miles over Forester Pass and hike to and over Kearsarge Pass. All of these options would be extremely painful with new shin splints, and given the terrain and distance would likely result in a stress fracture. Not to mention that, despite being extremely happy about summiting Whitney, I felt crushed at the prospect of not getting to at least finish a northbound hike of the JMT. My mind was spinning. I set up camp and stretched. Realizing that I was sleep deprived and exhausted from the day before, I tried to calm myself and find some optimism by hoping that my leg would feel better in the morning.

   

That night I had a strange dream. I was standing by something like a swimming pool. There were many small, almost juvenile bears. Some of them were roiling the water, and some scurrying around the edge of the pool. One of the bears was very hyper and would aggressively run after me and try to bite me. A stranger had me lure the bear out from the black, furry mass of bears in and surrounding the pool. The stranger shot the bear with a rifle. I held the bear as it was dying. There was blood everywhere and I could feel its heart beating hard and fast. On the brink of death, the confused bear's wild eyes were wide open with panic and fear. Within the dream I felt a strange and surreal empathy with the bear, and felt smothered in a heavy blanket of existential melancholy. All the while, the bear's mouth was gnashing at the air trying to bite me as if its instinct still had a firm grip on life and its desires. I woke up. As I packed up camp. I tentatively walked around feeling suspicious but also somewhat hopeful since there was very little pain in my shin. I decided to wrap my left calf and slowly but diligently push forward to Forester Pass. I was not giving up.

Approaching Forester Pass. The pass is the little notch in the ridgeline right from the center (it's very small in the photo). If you zoom in you can see the infamous snow chute.)

Forester Pass is the second highest point on the JMT (after Whitney) and officially the highest point on the PCT (though most PCT hikers take the side trip to the Whitney summit). The pass was about four miles north of my campsite. I stopped frequently to stretch. My left leg was still tender but holding up better than I anticipated. The landscape was somewhat barren scattered with small round granite boulders peeking through the sparse green grass. I passed a number of blue alpine lakes. The sun was hanging to the east. Thousands of jewels rippled across the lakes carried on by the crisp alpine winds. A thousand jewels rippled across my mind carried on by feelings of awe and joy. After a steady 4K foot elevation gain I finally made it to the final push up a series of switchbacks to the pass. Forester Pass has a reputation of being difficult both because of its elevation and the snow pack. The infamous snow chute on the southwest side of the pass was relatively clear and not an issue, however there was still quite a bit of snow on the northeast side of the pass. It was tricky to pass over in some spots, but fortunately it was clear enough to not need an ice axe so long as one moved slowly and cautiously.

Shimmering alpine lake south of the pass.

Beautiful alpine lakes south of the pass.

This photo was taken north of the pass. That is the beautiful Junction Peak on the left. The the pass is the saddle on the far right.

A close up of the saddle. You can see other hikers hanging out in the pass and some making their way through the snow fields.

High Sierra flora.

As I descended into the valley from Forester Pass I was overcome with so much joy that I was brought to tears. Part of the joy was grounded in my optimism that I was physically going to be okay. Part of it was grounded in the realization that everything I had been planning for and anticipating was now a reality despite the challenges in the desert. But more than anything I was overcome by the immensity and beauty of the landscape. I never thought it possible to be encased in something so monumental and breathtaking. I was surrounded by granite peaks and the space they created was massive and most impressive. I am fascinated by space and form, and I love art installations that accentuate their relationship. For example, I once saw a piece that consisted only of a large room with a series of yellow wires running from floor to ceiling throughout. The room was otherwise empty. The wires imposed a form on the space, which was crucial—the space of the room would be taken for granted otherwise.  Growing up I loved churches and cathedrals because of the way the structure created a vast empty space in which the light from stained glass and the notes of the pipe organ could pass, and which themselves accentuated the aesthetic qualities of the space itself. But there is something more to my appreciation of form and space, and it became apparent to me as I descended from Forester. Part of the reason I was brought to tears was that it felt as though that very massive, empty space of the valley was an intimate part of me. In particular, that impressive space, which is so much larger than my body, is still somehow represented within my mind. This made me think of just how immense our capacity for emotion and thought is. I also became aware that everything I was doing with my life was a choice, and how loss and change in life can open up new, sometimes immense, spaces and give way to new choices. In the face of emptiness one is confronted with possibility, with the inspiration and potential to create. In the face of emptiness one can find both personal calm as well as compassion for others. Encased in that valley, I recalled when my grandmother told me about a time she was sitting on her couch and felt overwhelmed with a feeling of emptiness. She told me that in that moment, she felt a deep peace and that everything would be okay.  On that descent, all of the past stress of the hike, of grad school, of life in general collapsed and I was left with nothing but my breath, the rhythm of my trekking poles, and the feeling of sheer possibility.

Descending from the pass.

Past the snow fields. I'm making my way to the forested are in the valley.

Closer to the valley floor.

I took my time coming down Forester, which is at mile 779.5 of the PCT (I’m not sure what mile of the JMT that is). I set up camp about four miles north of the pass. The JMT portion of the PCT consists in a series of mountain passes encapsulating a series of valleys. My plan was to knock out a pass per day. The next morning, I began my ascent to Glen Pass, which was about six miles north. On the way I confidently passed the side trail to Kearsarge pass—my legs were holding up and I was hiking on! Right before the pass, I hiked past a lake that was the most beautiful shade of blue. 

Leaving the valley between Forester Pass and Glen Pass.. That peak is East Vidette. It's to the southeast.

Crazy blue lake just before Glen Pass.

Close up.