Thursday, July 24. South of Silver Pass on the North Fork of Mono Creek. 8,800 feet. 9 miles.
My threshold of satisfaction on this trip has been so pummeled by bad weather that sitting here under total cloud cover, in a brisk wind, thunder and lightning on the surrounding peaks, and occasional timid rain is a grand delight. I'm outside, dry and warm, and not under siege from mosquitoes. Glorious.
Last evening, I worried about the prospects for completing this trip. The persistently bad weather, falling behind schedule, wet boots, socks, sleeping bags, tent, shirts, pants. Do we have the heart for more of this?
When I emerged from the tent at Tully Hole to answer nature's call at 5:00 this morning, it looked like more of the same - gray skies. I rolled through the options again: When will it start? Should we pack up and go now or wait for things to improve? I don't know. Drew was sleeping hard. I decided to wait awhile.
I want Drew to have a good time on this trip. That is part of why this weather upsets me so. I am the experienced backpacker, the father, the person he looks to for security and assurance here. I am supposed to know what to do. I can't let him know that I don't.
There is more than that though. I have not responded well to this unusual stretch of bad weather. Summer Sierra weather is famous for its dry days interrupted only occasionally by a brief afternoon thundershower. Full-blown storm fronts are virtually unheard of in summer. My experience in these mountains has confirmed this, and frankly spoiled me.
The essence of backpacking is to adapt to what nature deals you. The natural elements are in charge here. I have not eased into the Zen of this lousy weather. Instead, I have whined.
True Confessions: Drew has been more adult that I have. We might be setting up the tent in a downpour and, my frustration getting the better of me, I spew a long blue line of invective. Drew is the one with the words of comfort. For all the confounding curve balls he can throw us at home, he has been a better man than I through all this.
Rejoice. A couple of hours after my cloudy-skied pee break, the sky held more blue that gray. I roused Drew to action.
Packs loaded with wads of wet stuff, feet trying to warm wet socks and boots, we headed for 11,000-foot Silver Pass. This morning: strong bodies, good walking, mostly sun.
We walked quietly. Drew was a little tired and irritated by my persistent prodding to awaken him this morning. But beautiful scenery eased the climb. As we neared Silver Pass, Banner and Ritter were visible four days and 40 miles behind us.
We stopped for a snack and a repair of my right heel blister dressing. I am surprised that moleskin covered with duct tape won't stay secure. This stuff pulls paint off my deck at home. Why won't it stay firmly on my foot?
Crossing Silver Pass, we left the drainage of the Middle Fork of the San Joaquin River and entered the watershed of the South Fork of the San Joaquin. High on the south side of the pass were stark glacial lakes and open alpine country. Then things grew very steep. We both remarked that we were glad to be descending this side and not climbing it. But the show was grand: beautiful meadows, steep powerful cascades, and the freshest and most varied flower show yet: Leopard lilies, Davidson Penstemon, Cone Flower, Crimson Columbine, Lupine, Mountain Pride Penstemon and more.
We made camp a mile or so above Mono Creek, fearing people and mosquitoes below. Good choice. Water, but no bugs. Expansive view across Mono Creek to Bear Ridge. Haven't seen a person.
Such an evening is what I had hoped for on this trip. Dinner was prepared casually, not hurriedly in the rain. We played our hack-sack game exchanging the normal teasing and ridiculing that accompanies any male contest of skill.
This is the first time we have not been preoccupied with bugs and the weather, but instead with the pleasure of sitting here, being here and being together.
Shoulders and hips are tender from the pressure of the load, but not unbearably so. My new pack is a vast improvement is this respect. Crossing Silver Pass did not raise any altitude problems. We are acclimatizing. My feet are feeling the miles and my muscles complain, but only mildly. However, after a short rest in the camp chair, I stiffen up and appear to be doing an imitation of Walter Brennan as I grope and groan attempting to stand. I am getting used to black toenails and general filth.
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