Day 2dffds
"But all this is invisible from the bottom of the Valley, like a thousand other interesting things. One must labor for beauty as for bread, here as elsewhere.”
~John Muir, “The Yosemite”
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Day 2
The quote above by John Muir sets the perfect tone. Because today’s 9-mile hike to Merced Lake would deliver breathtaking visuals around seemingly every turn. But between racing the sun, hurting my knee, losing the trail, and almost nonstop elevation gain, it would also present an even steeper mental and physical challenge than yesterday…
At Little Yosemite Valley backpacker’s camp, the rain splashed down until 4am, leaving semi-frozen ponds and crunchy frost on the ground. In fact, 2 of the other 3 backpackers had to relocate their tent in the middle of the night, because the flat ground they’d pitched on became flooded!
My hiking shorts, my only warm long-sleeve shirt, and my down jacket had been soaked last night on the way in. Which meant I came stumbling out of my tent at sunrise in just thermal pants and a lightweight short-sleeve shirt. It was probably no warmer than 36F. I found the closest splotches of sun and hastily laid my soaked clothes out, hoping they would dry out quickly.
Then I immediately jumped back into the cozy warmth of my sleeping bag.
2 hours later, my jacket was still wet, and my long-sleeve shirt had become stiff as cardboard, frozen into the form it had morphed into while laying on the downed trees.
I wouldn’t end up hitting the trail until 11am, leaving me about 7 hours until sunset.
I topped up my water supply at nearby Merced River (above), and once again stepped onto the John Muir Trail, taking the northeastern route to Merced Lake.
Once I had put a couple miles between me and Little Yosemite Valley, the trail was mostly empty of other humans. (I’d only see one group of hikers the entire day — coming back down from Merced Lake — who remarked that I was the first person they’d seen in 3 days.) But I did come across some forest dwellers, like this photogenic grey squirrel!
As I climbed to about 8000 feet, I crossed through another valley which I’m calling “The Dead Forest.” The entire area had been leveled by fire, yet it still presented a kind of raw, stark beauty.
The contrast of the blackened trees stripped of life, Mountain Whitethorn, blue sky, and snow-flecked sierras was striking.
By the way, here’s a closer look at the appropriately-named Mountain Whitethorn. Don’t be like me and wade through it in shorts…
With incredibly tired, scratched-up legs, I continued through this dead forest, vaulting over and crawling under numerous fallen trees blocking the path. The dead valley eventually led back to a trail that weaved around the mountainsides and to a crossing that took my breath away:
^ I'm sharing a link to the short video I took since it’s too large for email. It was an open crossing that sloped down smoothly and then more aggressively into the grooves in the valley likely formed millennia ago by glaciers.
It felt like a bridge between worlds. One moment you’re in a lush forest sheltering you from the sky; the next in a valley stripped of life but still lively; the next on the fae of a massive granite slab, staring out into an abyss, with a backdrop of stunning mountains and pines.
It was indescribable.
What IS easy to describe is the struggle to leave my phone off. Battery life was dwindling, simply because I couldn’t stop pulling it out to take photos. So when you hear me say “I swore I was going to leave my phone off until Merced Lake,” that’s why. Every 100 yards seemed to tempt me with another scene of raw beauty, and I couldn’t resist.
The consequence for stopping so frequently to admire the scenery, however, was about to materialize.
Before the day’s tale takes a bit of a dark turn, here’s a shot of aspens embracing autumn.
And just beyond that area, here is where I almost set up camp for the night, fearing that I wouldn’t make it to Merced Lake before dark:
That’s the last photo I took on Day 2, because daylight was running out and I had 3 miles to go. It would end up being a very slow, painful, and confusing 3 miles.
My biggest fear going into this backpacking adventure was my right knee. I think you all know I injured it in the Navy when I was 18 or 19. Through the years I’ve had periodic reminders of that injury, and those reminders historically appear when I’m hiking downhill.
The last time it happened was January 2020, hiking down from Shanti Stupa (a peace pagoda) in Pokhara, Nepal. It’s the same sequence every time: a pop, an electric bolt of pain shooting up my leg, and pain. Then, at least an hour of rest and elevation before I can comfortably walk again.
Guess what happened during my rocky descent into the valley area of Merced Lake? On a particularly large step downward, the pop. The bolt of electric pain shooting up my leg from a ligament shouting in protest. As sunset began, I feared I’d be stuck on these downhill switchbacks. I still had about 1.5 miles to go.
Then a switch flipped in my brain. One I didn’t know existed until this moment. Something inside of me just said “no, this isn’t happening right now. I will fight through it. My knee is OK. The pain isn’t going to win.”
With that, the last stretch of the hike became more of an upper body than a lower body one. I popped about 600mg of ibuprofen, and leaned hard on my trekking poles, choosing every step as carefully as possible. I ended up using the poles almost like a crutch, keeping as much weight off my right knee as I could.
By the time I re-emerged above the Merced River, it was dusk now, and I still had 1/2 a mile to go. I wasn’t scared. In fact I was encouraged by the minor victory against my knee injury, and the pain had all but subsided now.
But that’s when I lost the trail. And I panicked.
Sometimes when you’re hiking in cool weather, and you’re consumed by the amazing nature landscapes around you, and you’re racing to your destination, you might forget to drink enough water. You might forget to eat something, since the hunger is likely masked by adrenalin. That is, of course, a big mistake.
For 30 minutes I stumbled around until it was completely dark. I wasn’t thinking clearly, and my GPS watch insisted I was on the path. But I knew I wasn’t. As it turns out, the trail was only 20 or 30 feet away, but the early signs of dehydration and exhaustion led to chaos and confusion instead of clear thought.
So, I sat down in the dark, chugged a bunch of water, ate an Aussie Bite, grabbed my headlamp, and tried to calmly look around for signs of the trail. In a matter of (what seemed like eternal) moments I found it, and within 30 minutes I finally clambered into the backpackers’s camp at Merced Lake.
It was dark, I was wiped out, and high winds were starting to scream through the nearby mountains. But I had reached the halfway point in my adventure! And I had reached it feeling victorious, having overcome another challenging — but beautiful — day of hiking.
Tomorrow, I would rest…
~Jason
