Wednesday, July 23. Tully Hole. 9,200 feet. 6 1/2 miles.
I am sick, downhearted and angry about how this trip is going so far. It features everything that makes backpacking drudgery. Mosquitoes in droves pursue us everywhere. If we weren't pitching the tent daily on account of the weather, we would have to do it to escape the mosquitoes. Even a quick entry into the tent allows a half dozen of the buzzing bloodsuckers in.
And the weather. Rain, rain, rain. For four of the eight days we have spent on the trail so far, we have walked through steady rain. Today we stood under a tree while it hailed harder than I have ever seen it hail. The trail turned into a river, mini-landslides slipped all around us - wet boots, wet socks, wet everything.
We left camp at 8:00 this morning under cloudy skies, feeling strong. The rain held off while we traversed to Purple Lake, then crossed a small divide over to beautiful Lake Virginia. The great view toward the Silver Divide was gray with threatening in-bound clouds. We snacked there on hummus, crackers and cheese before pressing on. We were just underway again when all hell broke loose. Hard rain, hard hail, topsoil washing away.
After waiting out the heavy downfall under a tree, we descended to Tully Hole. When the skies opened up again, we decided to call it a day.
As annoying as the discomfort of this weather is the constant preoccupation it requires. We must constantly assess options. Should we wait it out? Should we walk through it? Will things improve or deteriorate? My first thought in the morning is to check the sky. If it is clear, I feel a frantic urgency to pack and get underway before the rain comes. I don't want to be crossing a high pass when lightning is cracking all around.
We stopped at Tully Hole because lightning was very close. One strike, simultaneous thunder and lightning, was so loud and close that Drew leapt over and grabbed my arm, feeling the same alarm I did. We are in a relatively low spot here and next is the climb to Silver Pass. I don't want to walk with my son toward an 11,000-foot pass over open granite in this. It's best that we wait here.
I had hoped to make Squaw Lake just below Silver Pass. Here, we are five miles from that goal - additional distance to make up in order to meet Peter on schedule for our next resupply at Bishop Pass a week from now. We set up our tent in a downpour, climbed in and waited out this latest punch of weather. We are warm and dry, but brooding.
Drew's resilience under these trying circumstances is impressive. When the rain stopped, he emerged from the tent and pulled a couple of trout from just-born Fish Creek that twists through this meadow in the gorge between Mammoth Crest and Silver Divide. I was not motivated to leave the comfort of my sleeping bag to be mosquito food in this cold, saturated and dreary place.
Later, after an hour of persistent effort, Drew coaxed drenched wood to ignite into a mood-lifting fire. It might even be pretty here if it were lit by the sun.
The word we have twice heard on the trail is that a tropical storm somewhere in Texas is causing this wet weather. Heard it rained in Los Angeles - something that virtually never happens in the summer. They say it will end soon. Oh, please.
Please, Great Spirit, I didn't mean those irreverent comments I made earlier. Restore us to normal summer Sierra weather. I feel a sense of responsibility to Drew for this trip. I want him to remember this as a special experience, not the trial he endured. So far, his buoyancy exceeds mine. Who's leaning on whom here?
It's 8:00 and mostly clear. What will tomorrow bring?
Comments