Pacific Crest Trail 2016: 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.