6/24

It has been so long since I've written, and I have passed so many waypoints on this fated roller coaster that already are fading in my mind. The last week is another chapter in the grueling expedtions through the snow with Furniture and Rally, who have kept me sane and alive through most of this. A human alone in this landscape would simply be swallowed- lost inside a cosmic case of infinitely unfolding dimensions.

A week ago we left the highest of the Sierra for a town called Mmamoth, the only local resupply point inna wide wilderness. A certain Jill at the local outfitter took us into her home where we ingested copious amounts of pizza and good company. We set out with nine days of food, intending to reach South Lake Tahoe, 290 miles north. But sometimes nature kinks even the most well-laid plans.

The snow was only worse, piled high in deeper canyons and deeper forests. It took hours to reach Donohue Pass, a lingering spot on the darkening horizon, as we slipped over miles of sun touched snow. The ground does not thaw evenly and rather than a level sheet of ice, snow at high elevation transforms into suncups- ridges and cavities about a foot deep. Walking on this ground is like strapping on roller skates when you are blind drunk and trying to run. Snow fell on us as we crested the infernal pass and we slid down the north slope quickly on rocks and chutes, trying to escape the dark storm. But of course there is sun behind all clouds.

In the canyon we walked along a meandering creek in meadows of green and shadows of mountains. Birds and butterflies ushered us through, but the most joyous part was simply walking on dirt; soft, wet dirt which was so often buried under snow. After a 28 mile day, we discovered Tom, the traveling trail angel waiting in the Tuolomne Meadows parking lot, the first pavement we had seen in 220 miles. We descended on the nearest mountain town to ravage the unsuspecting local apple strudel population.

But back on the trail and heading North things became tumultuous again. The snow is packed deep stilll, and it is almost July. Route finding is challengning, and looking at maps and pausing to orient habitual. We have gone many miles without seeing dirt. Thus far through the high Sierra, perhaps 70% of the trail is under snow, 20% under water, and the precious 10% is what it should be. Hiking through snow is as absurd as strapping on skiis to walk on the beach. The north face of every mountain is white and packed in ice, and what appears on the map as switchbacks is in reality a steep chute from ridge to canyon. What would be a dry and easy grade is now a slick and slow descent with ice axe in hand. Since Tuolomne meadows every creek has been flooded with snowmelt. What is describeed in the guidebook as "rough" or "tricky" is actually potentially lethal. I have wathced my friends slip and fall in rapids belly high. We cross on fallen trees when we can, even if it means walking a tightrope over black water. This morning I felt stunned from the waist down after fording a creek and then walking on snowpack. I think it qualifies as half hypothermic. The food we inteded to last nine days has only made it six, and tomorrow we will take the 30 mile hitchike to Bridgeport, California. It's easy to forget we are in the golden state. In pleasant news, today is my birthday and we are camped on warm rocks.