John Muir Trail


Ronald Turnbull : Thomas Turnbull : September 2007

My son Tom is living in America this year, so it seemed like a good idea to go across and do the great American footpath. We'd left it late to book our permit, so ended up getting one in September. This turned out to have several advantages: pleasanter temperatures, fewer folk around, and above all, no mosquitos.

We uploaded our bear canisters at Yosemite, wincingly shouldered our rather large packs, and headed up the Mist Trail - which is steeper than the regular JMT but as the name implies lets you get sprayed by the waterfalls. The waterfalls were a bit short of water (it had been a low-snow winter and a dry summer) but still worth taking this steeper trail for.

Up the trail, rangers had said that the crucial Sunrise Creek was dry. This meant that we couldn't both ascend Half Dome and continue, tomorrow, over Clouds Rest: we wouldn't get enough to drink. We ignored the ranger's water worries and went up Half Dome anyway. The ascent of the cables and wide-spaced wooden steps is as exciting as it looks in the picture. Late in the season, it wasn't too awkward passing the people coming down. Even so, the summit was quite a busy place. A couple of acres of flat stone, with a few mangled trees, and people wandering around looking over the edge in a bewildered sort of way. It was as if Trafalgar Square had been suddenly raised 5000ft into the air.

Half a mile on along the trail, we started exploring for a camp site near where the Sunrise Creek was supposed to be. 'It's good, Dad!' shouts Thomas. Is he referring to the water trickle he's found - or to the two good-looking young women who are busy filtering it? The young women head on down the trail; maybe we'll meet them again in the next 200 miles but they look quite quick.

Day 2: As we now had enough water, we diverted off the JMT trail again to cross Clouds Rest. This gave us great views back to Half Dome, and a little scrambling along the top. But soon we were back in the forest, looking at the treetrunks and wondering whether there were any bears about. Plenty of trees, and some open meadows of yellow dry grass with granite crags above them, led to Cathedral Lake.          more story

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The cable onto Half Dome: Day 1, evening
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Cathedral Peak, Upper Cathedral Lake: camp, Day 2
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Approaching Donohue Pass early morning, Day 4

Cathedral Lake was cool but not cold, a bit muddy across the bottom, a great place to float about and gaze at the superb granite summit overhead. A photographer came to talk to us until he got so excited by the light that he had to start sticking his tripod into various bits of shoreline. I was excited by the light myself, but a bit embarrassed at my very small camera which didn't even have its exposure metre working properly.

Actually, I wasn't completely thrilled by the light. Too clean and crisp, shadows too dark and rocks too pale: I missed the water-vapour tones of Scotland . Though I don't miss at all the way Scottish water vapour condenses and falls on your head as rain. Two full days of blue skies and dry feet all the way so far. How long can it go on?

On this trail, one tends to discuss bears. And there are a lot of trees for them to be hiding behind, down 3000ft of zigzag trail to Tuolomne Meadow. Here we heard car engines among the treetrunks, though the JMT doesn't actually cross any tarmac in its entire 210 miles. We enjoyed a Tuolomne breakfast. It was only a moderately big breakfast, so when we'd finished it we had another one. Then we did our shopping.          more story

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Donohue Peak, a side-trip from Donohue Pass, Day 4. Mounts Ritter and Banner behind.
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Mount Banner, and Garnet Lake, a really beautiful camp. Dawn Day 5
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Devil's Postpile, above Red's Meadow: Day 5

Having enjoyed Cathedral Lake so much, we headed up to an even higher lake for the third night out (unnamed on our map, below Donohue Pass). Here I discovered the only culinary subtlety of the boiling-water-into-the-bag freeze dried cuisine. It's formulated for altitude 5000ft. At 10,000ft water boils cooler. Obey the packet and leave for 10 mins before eating, and you get some indigestibly undercooked meaty treat. (The trick is after pouring in the boiling water to reseal it, wrap it in a fleece, and leave it for one and a half times as long as the packet. Bon appetit!)

The camp neighbours on this third night were planning ascents of Mt Lyell, the highest in Yosemite National Park. We took it easier. Having reached the bleak stony Donohue Pass, we dumped the rucksacks and set off up the bleak stony Donohue Peak. The guidebook (by RJ Secor) had promised Class 2 scrambling, but it was a walk with some entertaining boulder-clambering to finish. The 1000ft of ascent above the pass took us to 12,000 ft and left us a bit breathless. But while the pass below gave bleak crag-hung views, the summit gave views of a different sort, distant spiky summits and rather a lot of lakes. This fourth day ended at a camp site of quite overpowering loveliness, alongside Garnet Lake. Camp conversation (Bill and family, on a walk of big packs, short distances, and superb camp sites) was distracted by the tall cone of Banner Peak slowly going black against the sky.

At 6am, the first light crept into the open end of our tarp tent. The tall cone of Banner Peak stood grey, now, above a silvery lake. But then as the daylight strengthened, the mountain turned miraculously pink. The external glow warmed our hearts, though it did little for our half-frozen fingers.

Trees and lakes led down to Reds Meadow, and the Devil's Postpile.

In Japan it would be onsen, the natural hot pool set around with stone benches, alongside a pristine pre-wash zone and fluffy towels. At Red's, it's a concrete shower block. But the shower is a big whoosh of hot water, that never goes cold, and perhaps the Japanese do go to a whole lot of unnecessary bother. After all, there are plenty of tasteful aesthetic effects everywhere outside the shower hovel.          more story

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Approaching Deer Lakes after diversion over Mammoth Crest Day 6
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Duck Lake: still on the side-trip, Day 6
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Edison Lake, crossed to Vermilion Resort: afternoon Day 7

Even a small cloud in the relentlessly blue sky counts as a weather sign. One fluffy white cloud at 10am becomes several by noon, overcast an hour later, and a thunderstorm in the late afternoon. But we'd already decided on another high level, and partly off-trail, diversion, over the Mammoth Crest. A mile of compass work through a pine forest: it's just orienteering, like we do in the woods at home. But somehow it seems more serious when, if we get it wrong, the forest goes on, and on, for several days of walking. However, we got it right.

By the time we're on the ridge the 10 o' clock clouds have gathered. The views are hazy. But this doesn't matter at all, as the ridgeline under our feet is amazing. After six days of almost entirely granite, where the most exciting formation was a clump of feldspar crystals (actually, I find the feldspar pretty exciting, but then I am writing a book about rocks and stuff just now) ... anyway, here on Mammoth Crest is volcanic rubble, red crusty lava like clinker from a coal fire that burnt too hot. The larger black boulders have holes in like Emmental cheese, where the gasses boiled out of the molten rock. And all this only ten thousand years ago, which in geological terms is as recent as our last lunch-stop.

The small path leads out to a large lake, where for two miles we romp down a well-made trail across a steep slope with the large lake (Duck Lake) at the bottom and an extremely shapely mountain rising on the other side. Thunder rumbles, and some lightning might well be striking that extremely shapely mountain.

Just as we've got the tent up, it rains. The fishermen just along the shoreline of Purple Lake are quite apologetic. "It doesn't normally do this, not at this time of year." They didn't need to be so embarrassed. Never, in my life so far, have I walked six days with only 20 minutes rain.

Silver Pass is the one of the eleven that when I look back I can't recall at all. And being short of film, I haven't even a photo of it. But Tom reminds me it was where I was wanting, in the arid dust and stonefields, a lone human skeleton to complete the scene. Shucks, no skeleton -- that must be why I didn't bother with the photo. Below the pass, the trail drops off excitingly into a granite hollow and then a whole lot of trees. The last mile under the trees was hot and long. But Edison Lake had shrunk, due to a dry summer and also dam works. This gave us an another long hot mile across the dry lake bed to reach the speedboat that replaced the ferry. At the edge of the dried mud, we flopped out like stranded fish for half an hour till the boat came.

Vermilion is one of the world's great walker stop-offs. It has a useful shop: but also a bear-proof barrel at the entrance where you can pick over other walkers' abandoned food before deploying your own credit card. Vermilion has all you can eat for about $10, and all you can eat is a lot. There are veggie optios for vegetarians like Tom, and high-grease options for high-greasians like me. There are camp fires in old oil barrels under the stars, and benches around them. There are pre-erected bunk-bed tents, looking left-over from the Korean War, which you can sleep in if there's space.          more story

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camp, Marie Lake, Day 8
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scrambling to Mount Senger side-trip on Day 9
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Mount Senger summit, to Marie Lake: Day 9

With the extra mud section, it turned out to be no shorter taking the ferry back to the trail than heading direct, up the Bear Ridge Trail. "Funny thing," said impressively bearded Dan, "but whenever I'm on a geographical feature named for a bear, a bear is what I see." I tapped my walking poles on every second treetrunk, I wanted to make sure that the bear was going to see me first, and wasn't too worried if I didn't see the bear. After a day of Bear Ridge and Bear Creek mostly under branches but happily bearless, we emerged to Marie Lake. The evening light caressed several ranges of pointy summits to the north-east.

Late in the afternoon a solitary hiker in black with a big rucksack came along the shoreline: Jim from Georgia, the only person we met who actually liked the other long walk, the Appalachian Trail. Because of our habit of dodging off up side hills, we caught up with Georgia Jim several times. Pleasant company was also around the lakeside in the shapes of some fishing rods, some beer, and three men in their forties - a congenial combination that we met in several different incarnations along the way.

Next morning's side trip was Mount Senger. The guidebook made it a simple walk but we found a really enjoyable scramble on huge blocks of granite, a rising ridge that narrowed and steepened at the top and finished through a small hole. British Grade 2, I'd say, good big holds but quite steep and slightly exposed (ie with a drop below). If it was in the Lake District, or the Scottish Highlands, it would be crowded classic with people picknicking on every ledge. As it was, the summit notebook made us the first people up Mount Senger for three days.

Having had our scrambling fun, we headed down through more trees to Muir Trail Ranch.

At Muir Trail, they're more interested in horses than in hikers. For $46 each they'd hauled in two plastic buckets full of food and stored them in their varmint-proof shed. It took two hours to pack it all into the bear barrels, find it wouldn't fit, decide what we were going to leave behind, and then pack it all in again.

Jim from Georgia was already unpacking his own food bucket as we arrived. Soon he was commencing to put on his reloaded rucksack. Ten minutes later, after some crouching beneath, knees gradually straightened, groans, twitches, and shoulder shrugs, the rucksack was finally in place. From Muir Trail ranch to the end, there's nowhere to take on food. It all has to be carried: seven days' worth of it. Or, if you're taking it easy along the trail, eleven days (so we'd decided early on that such 11-day taking-it-easy was too difficult for us). For several months I'd been wondering about the seven days of food. How far would we walk before it started being any fun again? Would we walk at all? We evaded the issue by putting some of the food back into the varmintproof shed for the night and heading out to the hot spring.

The sophistication of the Japanese-style hot spring experience was, once again, not there. The pool was roughly separated from the surrounding meadow by half-rotten pine logs. Some romantic soul had stuck a few candle ends to the logs. The water itself was muddy at the edges and gravel in the middle, and about the temperature of tepid bathwater. We thought it was just great. We were soggy and wrinkled right through, and the stars were about to show, as we paddled back through the San Joaquin River to camp.          more story

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San Joaquin canyon: Day 10
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Just below Muir Pass, with Wanda Lake: Day 11
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scrambling on Mt Solomons: Day 11
Next day we lifted on the heavy loads and found that we could walk after all. Because of the baggage this was to be a slow, short day. Sadly, that turned out to mean a day entirely uphill. But the San Joaquin valley surprised us by not being a path under some pines but an impressive canyon. And above was Evolution Basin, possibly the very best of all the high lakes surrounded by slightly sheltered camp sites and big big mountains.

At Sapphire Lake, camp neighbours (passing the evening with, appropriately enough, Thomas Hardy's Far from the Madding Crowd) asserted

  • The park authorities and rangers warn cautiously against a risk that might but actually doesn't occur. The water here is actually less pathogenic the San Francisco public supply.
  • Black Giant, half a day ahead, is a straightforward walk up.
  • in 6 days a hurricane is coming, on the day we plan to cross Mt Whitney as it happens, involving several feet of snow and expensive helicopter rescue
The passes so far have been at around 11,000ft: now comes an abrupt jump up, with Muir Pass the first of the 12,000-footers. We diverted for another bit of hill climbing, so as a) not to be wearing the overloaded backpacks while meanwhile b) lightening them by a half-day's food.          more story

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700kB file: very slow without Broadband Mount Solomons 36° panorama opens in new window: bring old window to front during the boring wait

The scrambling picture above is entirely misleading. Mount Solomons is a heap of rubble, and all the way up we were wondering whether it was going to come down and join us quicker than we could get up on it. But the view from the top repaid all.

In the panorama above, you might spot Black Giant. When we saw Black Giant we decided not to believe the people who'd been at Sapphire Lake. And for consistency we decided not to believe them about the hurricane coming as well. (Of course this did also mean carrying on with the hassle of sterilising the drinking water.)

The Sierra Nevada are 200 miles of granite. Except that here and there you're on top of the big granite lump and in among the older and darker volcanic rocks it melted its way up into. (This shows rather well on Mt Goddard in the Mount Solomons 36° panorama). Descending from Muir Pass is a wonderful mix-up of pale granite and black basalt. If you're interested: "I hope you won't be displaying any of those geology photos," says Tom. The further descent was among and over granite slabs into Le Conte Canyon, where we camped in woods.

The next bit is the celebrated 'Golden Staircase', described as a path engineered out of a solid rockface. It's actually just more zig-zags (or 'switchbacks' in US) but impressive anyway. Above is the Palisades Lake -- a bare-rock blue lake among big spiky mountains, lovely yes, but not that dissimilar from the ones I've already taken pictures of. Each of the eleven passes has its own style and character. Mather Pass, the second 12,000-er, is bleak as Muir was but more sudden, with a narrow ridgeline and abrupt drop to a crag-ringed moraine plain with small lakes.          more story

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descending Muir Pass: Day 11
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descending to Le Conte Canyon: Day 11
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Golden Staircase to Mather Pass: Day 12

Five days earlier, at Vermilion, hiker Jasmine had invited us to her 21st birthday party at Taboose Pass trail junction. Since then we had neither seen nor heard of Jasmine and her friend Camina -- odd, as they should have overtaken us while we were at Muir Trail Ranch, and again as we ascended Mt Solomons. (In the event, they'd been getting lost up various side trails.)

Their ingenious plan: that Jasmine's Mom would come in over Taboose Pass, with food for their final four days -- plus, presumably, the birthday cake. We were early for the birthday rendezvous, so were Jasmine and Carmina, and we spent a warm afternoon relaxing by the tarn. The sharp-eyed will spot that I raised the tent in two different places to take its picture...

The plan was not so ingenious. Taboose Pass is a climb of 6000ft, equivalent to any two of the passes we'd been doing on the main trail. Afternoon became evening. No Mom come. And the sunset, flaming across the ridges of Mount Ruskin, had to do stand-in duty for the birthday candles... Camina filled her friends tent space with balloons, and we sang Happy Birthday.

Next morning we left the young women some food that we thought we could manage without and that would get them out across the Taboose Pass. A short climb led us to our next pass, the Pinchot. It was so subtly different from the previous two -- a lovely lake, stony zig-zags, and a sudden new valley opening below -- that I can't quite remember which was which. But at its top, a walker catching up from behind pointed to grey streaky cloud on the horizon behind: "It's not like what we've seen before, and it's bad."

At this point we recalled the hurricane warning. We had at most two more days, and then presumably would be pulling out, the trail uncompleted, Mount Whitney unclimbed-up. The coming storm a consolation possibly for the girls behind, who wouldn't have finished it even with the Mom resupply. But feeling slightly dismal ourselves, we descended to Woods Creek, through what was presumably (the aspens were just turning) to be a two-day Autumn (sorry, Fall) before the coming winter-starting storm. Dismalness continued until Tom had a clever idea. Mount Whitney (the high point of the USA not counting Alaska) is quite close to Death Valley (its low point). Given two extra days of not being on Mt Whitney, we'd hire a car and visit Death Valley.

As we approached popular Rae Lakes the trail got busier. We asked three trail parties in a row what the weather was. They all said it would be sunny and delightful for ever and ever, so far as the forecasters could determine. And the clouds behind really hadn't been that nasty looking. So we decided to forgot about the hurricane for a second time.          more story

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Camp near Bench Lake Ranger Station: afternoon Day 12
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Camp at lake near Bench Lake Ranger Station: evening Day 12
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Descending Pinchot Pass: Day 13

Are the Rae Lakes the loveliest of all the pine-scattered, crag-surrounded, lakeside camp sites? We had plenty of time to consider this question, as we arrived just too late to think of heading on over the next big climb, the Glen Pass. There was more to think about. I'd made a mistake with the schedule. With no need to stop anywhere in particular, I'd put the final 50 miles - leading to the very base of Mount Whitney - at a reasonable 3 days, and left it at that. But the three days, if evenly divided, put us tomorrow night at the very crest of the highest pass so far. This was not a plausible place to camp.

In front of us were Glen Pass, at 12,000ft; Forester Pass, at 13,000ft; and then a long but fairly level forest trek to Guitar Lake at the base of Mount Whitney. Today, careful counting on our fingers revealed, was Monday night. Buses leave Lone Pine on Fridays, and we have a plane to catch in LA. The alternatives:

  • A short Tuesday over Glen Pass to the base of Forester, then an 11-hour Wednesday to Guitar Lake
  • An 11-hour Tuesday over both Glen and Forester, then a very gentle Wednesday to Guitar Lake
As we were currently feeling quite fresh, we went for the long Tuesday.

Our routine is to rise at first light, 6am; enjoy a chilly and not very enjoyable breakfast; and hit the trail at 7am just as the sun rises. This lets us enjoy the cool of the day walking, cover 15 miles without any hurry and with a one-hour lunchstop for peanut butter crackers, and then enjoy several hours of the day's hot bit, lounging at some lakeside and eating supper. But for this long day we rose in the starlight at 5am, and hit the trail at first light. Glen Pass was a pile of multi-coloured rubble, with a weirdly striped mountain overhead, and (thankfully) the usual good path underfoot. Sunrise struck us at the pass top. Thus we had all morning for the long trek through the trees of (reputedly bear-infested) Bubbs Creek to the base of Forester.

High above and far away, jagged mountains closed off the valley head. The trail rose, the creek diminished, the trees became more sparse. The trail passed up through scrub, and lunch was a last green patch at a pool surrounded by stones. The trail zigzagged (or switchbacked) through stones to the sterile grey-blue lake below the triangle of Junction Peak, and then ever upwards among the great boulderfields (American 'talus') below the closing crags. A dozen final zig-zags led to the pass crest. 13,180ft is, for the cosmopolitan, just about 4020m -- at 13,000ft altitude it took me 15 minutes to make the calculation in my head. My first time at such height since Mont Blanc 35 years ago: Tom's first time ever.

The descent from Forester is a really impressive crag-cut pathway with big drops below. A yellow-bellied marmot grabbed one of the sparse trailside plants and sat on a stone gnawing at it. It knew we were just going to grab its sparse plant but kept a suspicious eye on us so we couldn't. We headed down to the first forest, for a comfortable and friendly camp with a teenage (well, mid-20s) stockbroker enjoying his first five days away in three years, his pal, and a couple whose mission was to place a bible teacher in every one of the 51 state capitals (20 done, the rest to come, and then Europe...)

With the lazy Wednesday ahead, we lay in until 7am, and bumbled down the valley taking arty photos. Two hours later, an approaching hiker brought news from the Ranger Station. Remember that hurricane warning we already forgot about twice? Well, it was spot on. It's going to start snowing tonight, and the big storm is tomorrow morning. We are between the 13,000ft Forester Pass and the 13,5000ft Trail Crest pass that's alongside Whitney summit. And although I have insurance against being rescued by helicopter, Tom doesn't.

Well now, just how far away is Whitney? If we started walking rather fast -- and didn't stop for peanut butter and crackers but ate chewy bars on the move -- and carried on walking rather fast -- it did seem that we might reach Trail Crest by 4pm. Allowing two hours up and down Witney, and an hour down the back towards Lone Pine before dark. Unless we got tired; or the altitude hit our lungs; or the cloud came down below 13,000ft; or the storm came early. [But in the end, it's not the problems you worry about in advance that knock you down; it's the one you didn't even consider...]

We walked rather fast and didn't stop for lunch. Wispy cirrus came up from behind us and started filling the sky. The ranger at the ranger station said that the snow wasn't going to start until tomorrow; but on the other hand, it was windy gusting 50mph on Whitney summit right now. Well, OK. We can go up to Trail Crest and then straight down to Lone Pine. But if we get to Trail Crest by 4pm, and we aren't too tired, and the altitude hasn't hit our lungs, and the cloud hasn't come down below 13,000ft, and the storm hasn't arrived, and the wind isn't too strong -- then we'll make a try for Mount Whitney, unless we get prevented by the one problem we haven't even considered. The ranger seemed to think this a reasonable plan.

We came out of the trees to Guitar Lake. Back in the north, we could see the mountains gathering cloud around their summits. Overhead, the cirrus covered the sky, and the thicker stratus was creeping up behind it. Long, long switchbacks lead up the craggy side of Mt Whitney to the trail junction below the Trail Crest pass. 4pm was the last sensible time. It was, at this moment in time, 3pm. Heading up Whitney wasn't merely possible. It was actually the sensible thing to do.

The ridge to Whitney is narrow and rocky, with huge vertical drops on the Lone Pine side but drops that are merely steep and fairly huge on the west side where we were. In Scotland, the ridge to Whitney would be a sporting scramble, not unlike the Aonach Eagach but with even further to fall. In the Alps, the ridge to Whitney would be a sporting scramble marked out with paint spots and protected with a fixed chain. But this being the US, the ridge to Whitney is a cleverly-engineered terraced path, wide enough for people to pass, almost suitable for a mule. We were in no way disapproving of this disparagement of the mountain. It was bitterly cold, and the wind wasn't 50mph but it was blustery enough to be disconcerting, and there was no engineering away the 2000ft slope dropping to our left.

We set off up the terraced path. And at that moment, the unforeseen problem that we hadn't even thought about: it didn't happen. So we still don't know what it would have been. An hour after everyone else had left it, we reached the summit of Mount Whitney.          more story

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Junction Peak, below Forester Pass: Day 14
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Trail below Muir Peak, summit ridge of Mt Whitney: Day 15
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Whitney summit

There used to be 92 switchbacks in the path down from Trail Crest. They rebuilt it a bit, and now there are 96. I'm pretty sure they're going for the full hundred -- there certainly are far more than you actually need or want, when you're trying to head downhill quickly to get below the really chilly bits of the hill before night falls. 6000ft of downhill all at once can be extremely trying, when you're tired and have sore and damaged feet. But after 15 days of dry socks all the time, our feet were fine; and we were feeling fit. Indeed, we had that feeling of going on strongly, and being ready to go on going strongly, which is ultimately an illusion that can collapse suddenly but is very pleasurable while it lasts, and for us it lasted until nightfall. At which point we cosily camped at about the 10,000ft level (Outpost Camp) in sheltering trees and well below the windswept stony zone.

Next morning, as we trekked gently down to the car park, the first pretty little snowflakes fell onto the path. Far back above, Mt Whitney was white screeslopes running up into swirly cloud.

Lone Pine is an excellent place for eating lots of food. As we were enjoying our third lots-of-food meal of the day, in came Jasmine (now five days into the maturity of 21-year-old adulthood) and Carmina, along with the missing Mom. They'd crossed Whitney in the start of the snow, no more than ankle-deep, so presumably we could have done so too. But actually (whisper it softly) the JMT is a path that's outstandingly beautiful; that gives good company along the trail; that among the granite has some stimulatingly visible geology -- but is slightly too pleasant and straightforward. That last long day added necessary excitement and energy.

And with all that excitement, we were a day ahead of ourselves. So we hired the car, and went to Death Valley anyway.          more story

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Zabriskie Point, above Death Valley: just after sunrise
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Red Cathedral, above Golden Canyon, Death Valley
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New York

We used Alan Castle's guide The John Muir Trail published by Cicerone Press for valuable info about permits, transport, resupply, gear and so on: we didn't need to carry it on the trail itself because of the excellent Tom Harrison trail maps (John Muir Trail map pack at 1" to the mile). For peaks alongside, we carried photocopied pages out of The High Sierra: Peaks, Passes and Trails by RJ Secor ISBN 0 89886 625 1. The book is tremendously thorough and complete, but its account of easy scrambling peaks is a bit cursory. US Class 2,3,4 would appear to correspond with UK scrambling grades 1,2,3: Class 4 is approximately climbing grade Moderate -- so far as I can tell.

Useful personal advice came from previous trail-goers Jeff Parr and Chris Townsend (who suggested the Mammoth Crest -- thanks for that, Chris).

We are: Thomas Turnbull, webdesigner in the environmental sector, currently residing in New York website

Ronald Turnbull, outdoor writer, living in Dumfriesshire, Scotland website



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