Sunday, July 27. Evolution Lake. 10,900 feet. 7 1/2 miles.
I am ashamed to admit that this continuing foul weather fills me with anger and disappointment. Daily rain leads to building frustration. When I last walked this trail, we spent only one night in a tent. On this trip, we have spent every night in the nylon cocoon, and here I am again.
This morning dawned clear. Drew and I spread out our gear to dry under the sunshine before packing up and heading out at 10:00. At McClure Meadow the forest opened to fully reveal Evolution Valley - a stunning idyllic place. Meadows and lazy Evolution Creek are bordered by massive granite peaks - the spectacular and the sublime, each nicely complementing the other.
We enjoyed walking through the gentle terrain. Scattered clouds drifted down from the Goddard Divide up ahead, but the morning was clearer than most. We were hopeful.
At the head of the valley we climbed 1,000 feet up a glacial step and then made a short traverse to Evolution Lake. This lake is my new "Prettiest Lake Anywhere." It has all the patented Sierra garden-like features nestled among peaks named for the theory of evolution's early proponents: Darwin, Mendel and Wallace.
Still under sunlight, we lunched by the lake. Another hiker told us to follow the lakeshore around a knob to the outlet for a special view. Indeed! Here the creek dramatically falls away, descending quickly down the 1,000 feet we had just climbed. The entire length of Evolution Valley and its meadows were revealed below us.
The sky grew darker above and once again our thoughts were occupied with the weather. Should we go on? It is early afternoon and we've only walked seven miles. It is too early to stop. We have an appointment to meet Peter for a resupply in three days at Bishop Pass. At this rate, we'll fall behind schedule. Will this be a brief shower or a sustained downpour? Should we walk through it or set up camp this early? We are at timberline. Above, the country is bare granite and any campsite would be dangerously exposed. I don't want to get caught near 12,000-foot Muir Pass in thunder, lightning and rain. What should we do? Weighing these alternatives everyday constantly preoccupies us.
Wham, bang - the skies opened up again. Thunder, lightning, wind and torrential hail started in an instant. We took refuge under a gnarled whitebark pine, the hailstones madly slapping the plastic groundsheet we had pulled over our heads. When it became clear that the rain would persist, we walked through the downpour looking for an adequate tent site. Just as we finished pitching the tent, Drew pointed to a mini-flood heading our way, so we grabbed the four corners of the tent and moved to a higher spot, all while the rain persisted - then came more hail.
Later: Holy Cow! I looked out of the tent while writing and saw blue skies, a still lake, and sunshine - the storm had blown past. So, the evening since has salvaged the day somewhat. When the rain eased and while I was writing, Drew was fishing. Along with couscous and Top Ramen, we dined on six golden trout.
We invited Rose over to share Drew's catch. We have bumped into her several times along the way, and like us she is waiting here to cross Muir Pass in better weather. She a single woman, maybe 40, who has come over from England to hike the Muir Trail alone. In an age when it is easy to become a cynic, meeting a bright spirit like Rose, a single woman making this long journey alone, renews your faith in people.
The storm's raging energy has passed leaving a scene utterly placid and peaceful. Evolution Lake is now a mirror speckled by the countless silver flashes of trout jumping for bug meals. On a rock by the lake, Drew and I take a rare opportunity to sit and watch the evening light grow warm on the Goddard Divide beyond.
A few clouds linger toward the pass. What will tomorrow bring? Damn this screwy weather.
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