A ford by any other name is not the same. June 26.

It would be unnatural for any hiker to not worry about crossing the
many creeks in the High Sierras. Happy JO's greatest fear was reaching
an impassable ford in the middle of the wilderness, or attempting a
dangerous one with bad outcomes. With high snow this year and rising
temperatures, the chance of a forced turnaround was high.

After our 5pm ascent of Mather Pass the temperture was 82 degrees. As
we prepared dinner around 8pm, an avalanche rocked the opposite side
of the canyon. Things were warming up quickly and we were literally
watching it happen.

The next day we set up to climb Muir Pass, a long gradual ascent to
just under 12,000ft, infamous for its miles and miles of posthole-
perfect snow. The afternoon was incredibly warm, making snow travel
painfully difficult. We decided to camp at 11,200ft, just 2.5 miles
from the pass, and ascend at 4:30am when the snow would be crunchy
under our microspikes.

At 3:30 we all felt the drizzle coming down on our tents and we knew
that we had made the wrong decision. It had been too warm for the snow
to harden, and it would surely cave under our feet like sloppy 7-11
slushies. The morning climb and descent through 8 miles of snow was a
mind-numbing slog, nevertheless we would soon be jarred to attention
on our arrival at the infamous Evolution Creek crossing.

Winding through the long deep valley from Muir Pass -- Evolution
Valley-- is the notorious Evolution Creek, shin deep on dry years but
a raging whitewater canyon on wet years. I had never seen powerful
rivers like these before, so the best comparison I knew was the
significantly tamer brand at Six Flags, which at this point I will
note that I also found scary.

We approached the bank of Evolution at 3pm and walked upstream about
25 yards. After finding a location that balanced a reasonable depth
with a slower current, we got into formation by linking arms and
facing upstream: kamikaze Kern to lead, then me, Happy JO, Cubby and
Boston to anchor the lineup.

First step in and the water hit my thighs. By the halfway point, it
was at my rib cage. Because Cubby and I were shorter, our packs hit
the water and created huge drag on the lineup. I tried to keep my feet
on the bottom but I could barely stand. We were all screaming orders
at one another: Go! Stop! Wait! You're on my foot! I can't make it!

Cubby clung for her life on Happy JO's arm, and Boston onto Cubby's.
Meanwhile I was secretly enthralled by the action, despite having
little control over my body in the vicious current. We made it across
after about twenty minutes of slow, steady, but never effortless,
movement.

We were soaked and dazed, yet Happy JO was able to guide the next
group across about one hour later as Team Zero dried out clothes and
cooked dinner. We videoed the other group's ford, and I plan to post
it as soon as I can.

Cubby was nervous about the upcoming Bear Creek ford, and so she led a
firestorm to get as many miles in as possible that night. We walked
until 8:45pm in order to access Bear by mid-morning. (the later in
the day, the more melting snow in the creeks) Ultimately we found an
alternate route across Bear's three branches upstream and lost two
hours to avoid the main crossing, but it was worth it.

The worst was over and we would soon be emerging from the Sierras
unscathed. Photo above is at the bridge (thank you!) at the Middle
Fork Kings River: Sticky, Happy JO, Kern, Cubby and Boston. Mile 870
and getting antsy!

Sticky Upsidedown Cake. June 24.

The second traditional "drop-off point" for thruhikers is Tuolumne
Meadows, the end of the High Sierras and conveniently located near
Yosemite Valley. At this point, hikers have suffered through the
Southern Californian desert and have made it over eight passes by the
skin of their teeth. What else is left after conquering nearly 1000
miles of California's toughest terrain? Some leave feeling
accomplished, others dissappointed in their lack of mental perseverance.

I can empathize with these hikers' after the treacherous, demanding
terrain of the last three days. Team Zero + JO left late Monday for a
short hike (footlong Subway subs in tow) toward the first pass. Kern
was tightly bundled in his new OR bivy sack and Boston and Cubby in
their 8oz. one-person cuban fiber Hexamid (a kind of super
lightweight material on the ultralight hiking scene: www.zpacks.com).

The next morning we climbed back over Kersarge Pass and continued on
to Glen Pass, Happy JO's 2002 nemesis. He cringed at the thought of
stepping onto the icy North side at 11,978ft. Luckily it was slushy
glissading snow and his fear subsided, so much so that he taunted the
massive pass as he slid hundreds of feet down the embankment on his
butt. Unfortunately Glen Pass had the final word, as its progressively
crunchier snow ripped a huge hole in the seat of his pants. Boston and
Cubby got an unanticipated eyeful of Happy JO's bare cheeks, and Happy
JO was sure that he got a snow enema.

The next day was a double dose of Pinchot Pass (12130 ft) and the
often understated, but incredibly technical, Mather Pass--a sheer face
of snow and craggy rock, culminating in a 100ft wide cornice at 12100
ft. At 3pm we sat sprawled at its base, debating the merits of
climbing it or staying low for the night. Curiousity and a pure drive
for excitement won out and we began the two-hour climb to the top. We
put on our microspikes and crampons, strapped on our ice axes, and
lined up in formation: Happy JO, Boston, Cubby, me and Kern.

Happy JO kicked hundreds of steps toward the icy lip on top, amidst
complete silence in the group. The traverse required absolute
concentration: drive ice axe in to slope, step left, step right, stop.

Suddenly while traversing past a rock my foot postholed through the
steep slope and dove into the snow. My balance was lost, the ice axe
in my left hand slipped out of the snow and I fell backwards blindly
with a loud yelp. Luckily I stopped several feet below our steps,
hovering upsidedown on the snow with my pack strap in mouth, my one
foot stuck in the slope above me, and my ice axe dangling by its strap
in my left hand. I didn't dare move, instead asking politely, "Can
someone please hand me my ice axe?"

Happy JO couldn't see anything as he was in the front of the line, but
Cubby and Kern slowly got me back onto our tracks and we continued
toward the top. At last, we arrived at the final boulder and pushed
ourselves over the snow at the top. Safe and sound.

These mountains are tough, and can't be underestimated in such deep
snow. I can empathize with those who have had enough adventure for
this summer. I certainly have had my fill!

Camped just below Muir pass at mile 850. Three more passes to go. Song
for this section is Diana Ross' "Upside Down": "Upside down, Boy,
you turn me inside out and round and round". Mather, you turned me
upside down, but not back around...I'm counting down toward the finish.

(Photo above at the top of Mather Pass!)

Top of Muir Pass Hut! 11,995 ft!

Descending from Pinchot Pass. Mile 810!

Reconnecting with Team Zero, featuring a guest appearance by Happy JO. June 20.

I'm sitting in Bishop, CA in Motel 6. We hitched here yesterday from
the Subway in Independence. (incidentally the new five-dollar foot
long Orchard Chicken Salad sub is yummy. Of course I say this without
knowing the detailed list of ingredients and I'd like to keep it that
way.)

We arrived at the trail head, charging out nine non-PCT miles over
Kearsarge Pass at 11,200 ft and dropping into a campground area where
we knew there was trail magic. Bingo! We both had a beer at 9:30am,
followed by a handful of broccoli, cauliflower and carrots. Thank you,
Peanuteater!

After playing the telephone game with about 12 hikers heading back out
to the PCT, Peanuteater finally filled us in on the latest trail
gossip....about Team Zero?! Despite a successful summit of Mt Whitney,
Half Ounce contracted high altitude pulmonary edema (HAPE) that
evening. After a slow, laborious hike the next day and a completely
restless night, Boston and Cubby climbed to Forester Pass to get a
cell signal, while Tenspot and Turbo hiked, bushwacked, and carried
Half Ounce to a safer elevation. Following several unsuccessful
sweeps, a rescue helicopter finally located them and evacuated Half
Ounce to a local hospital.

Yet unfortunately the drama doesn't end there. While ascending post-
rescue, Ten Spot was faced with crossing the deep, raging confluence
of the Kern and Tyndall rivers. He tried to cross over a log but
couldn't make it without removing his pack--midstream. The pack
bounced off the bank, into the river and Ten Spot was left with
nothing but the clothes on his back in the middle of the Sierra
wilderness. He and Turbo hiked 28 miles over Forester and Kearsarge
Passes to get to the road that night, and Team Zero retreated to
Bishop so that Ten Spot could determine the next steps in his adventure.

Happy JO and I hitched into Bishop and we heard the whole story over
again in first person. Half Ounce was released from the hospital and
is recovering in Berkeley at Nobody's house. Ten Spot, now renamed
"The Kern", has bought new gear and is ready to return to the trail.
Boston made "Team Zero" ultralight cuban fiber wallets for Happy JO
and me, and a replacement for The Kern. Hopefully the bad luck has
subsided.

Tomorrow Team Zero, including Happy JO and me, will depart for the
next segment of our hike. Six days to Reds Meadows, seven passes
between us and our next zero day in Mammoth, and hopefully a reunion
with a healthy Half Ounce. Forget everything I said about tough days
in the desert, the next six days will be the final test for me this
summer.

Song for this section: Heaven Can Wait by Charlotte Gainsbourg:
"Heaven can wait and hell's to far to go, Somewhere between what you
need and what you know" I need the challenge of the next 120 miles,
yet I know it will push me to the limits. I'm lucky to share it with
the team and can't wait to report back safe and sound.

(Photo above approaching Forester Pass--the deep notch in the center
of the ridge)

Wherever you go, there you are. June 18.

The first few days out of Kennedy Meadows were uneventful. Happy JO
was coming up to thruhiker speed as we climbed out of the sagebrush
and headed into the dense pines and granite rock ledges at higher
altitudes. We picked up Shades, a wine production manager from Oregon,
and held on to the speedy Frenchmen, Dorian and Joshua, now sporting
mountaineering boots instead of trail runners, and a fresh set of
blisters. I'm guessing that's how we kept our temporary lead on those
ultralight Euro-dynamos.

The nights got colder and we hit our first river fords--nothing
treacherous but still one hip deep for me. Happy JO and I decided
against a summit of Mt Whitney, since its side trail is so early into
the Sierras and we had no way of knowing what snow situations would
lay ahead of us. With such a tight schedule we decided to push onward
and focus on the eight high passes in our very near future.

The night before our climb over Forester Pass, the first and highest
one at 13,200 ft, we sat at the edge of Wallace Creek cooking dinner.
From an intersecting trail in hobbles Graduate, a jockey-sized
Rutgers grad, who was visibly wet and disheveled. He had attempted
Forester that morning but went up the wrong pass, got lost in the
snow, bouldering at 13,000ft and then fording across a stomach-high
river. He stuck to us like glue and decided to try again the next day.
At this point he had nothing to lose. He had already expected the
worst during his wilderness quest for survival, plus he had run out of
food and we had plenty.

An evening river ford meant frozen socks and sneakers for our morning
climb to Forester (see above). Graduate kept with us as we crunched
through the snow field approaching the pass and then climbed the hard-
packed snow in our microspikes. We hit the top at about 11am and gazed
at the snow bowl below us. No chance of sliding down on our butts--it
was too hard and too big of a drop. We traversed our way to a rocky
ridge, did a bit of rockclimbing and then slid the rest of the way
down. It took several hours of concentration, option-weighing and
patience while hanging onto a steep snow slope.

We spent hours on the snow, and Slippy Feet returned in the afternoon
as the sun hit the surface cups of snow and it turned to softer slush.
There was much trail finding to be done, which happens to be one of
Happy JO's favorite past times. Once the "brown streak" of tread was
visible we released Graduate into the wild with several Power Bars and
told him to get some better maps. He skirted away and did another 15
miles that day, pitching his tent right next to Peanuteater, a hiker
doing trail magic at the nearest road.

We began to hear tales of other hikers who were swept down in a ford,
evacuated by helicopter from Whitney and one who lost his whole pack
in a river crossing. We decided to head out to Independence, a 9-mile
detour, to take stock and decide on the next safest step in my
journey. I was hoping to find Team Zero on a zero-day...and also
hoping to be phagocytosed back into the group. Happy JO and I wanted
a good team for the remainder of our adventure.

Song for this section: All the Right Moves by One Republic. "All the
right moves and all the right faces, so yeah, we're going down..."
Thanks to good teamwork we conquered Forester, made it down safely,
and knew where we were at all times. With less than 200 miles to go,
I'm calling for backup and staying focused in the present.

Leg splay with microspikes (snow traction for my sneaks) at Forester
Pass, 13,200ft. Highest point on the PCT in California!

Staging ground. Kennedy Meadows. June 14.

The traditional separation between the desert and the Sierras is the
dusty old hamlet of Kennedy Meadows. It's not really a town, but more
like a jumble of trailers, abandoned RVs, a few cabins, a campground
and the general store. Thruhikers use the general store as their
staging ground for the snowy Sierras, sending packages of crampons,
ice axes, warm clothes and food to take them through a ten-day
roadless section, often with a summit of Mt. Whitney, the highest
mountain in the continental US.

Happy JO and I arrived at noon on June 13, and headed straight for the
ice cream freezer. We ploughed through a pint each of Ben and Jerrys
and then topped it off with a cheeseburger from the restaurant, which
is really just a grill on the porch with a price list brandished above
it. After eating we perused our boxes and headed to pitch our tent out
back. Many moons ago the general store would play movies in an outdoor
amphitheater, but over the years this space became "prime California
real estate" for camping. To us it looked like a tarp city--one man
free-standing tents, one piece shelters, tarps, dome tents, anything
and everything imaginable. There was even a massive junkyard to camp
in, which seemed to intrigue me more than the scenery.

We nested in our temporary home and exchanged gear tips with other
hikers, all of us ripping open packages, repacking our bags, deciding
on meals, and theorizing about the coming snow levels and river fords.

We sauntered down the street to Tom's place, a trail angel who has
graciously built-up an old Airstream RV into a Hiker Cybercafe: three
laptops and a Skype phone. Behind the Airstream are tiny pull-behind
RVs spread around like a small toy neighborhood surrounded by old
tires and burned out pickups. Hikers can stay in these for free, but
donations are always welcome.

Captain Morgan, a five-tour veteran in Iraq, and recent recipient of a
venomous rattlesnake bite on the trail, split open six chickens and
grilled them in Tom's outdoor kitchen. Many of the resting hikers
sprawled themselves across Tom's front yard, at the picnic table, in
the many hammocks or velveteen sofas plopped right on the middle of
the dirt.

We made good use of our time in KM, loading up on calories, meeting
new hikers and planning the days ahead. With excitement and a bit of
fear for the conditions ahead, we departed with GoGo, always
exclaiming "I'm so excited!" and two French guys, Dorian and Joshua,
who were going to sustain themselves for ten days on cold couscous and
refried beans. Heading into the Sierras with about 30 pounds on my
back toward the highest point on the PCT in California!

Balancing in the wind!

South Sierra Wilderness. 10,400 ft. Mile 725!

Reunion on the trail!

'Odark (PCT '09), Happy JO (PCT '02), Sticky Fingers, and Shadow (PCT
'09) after breakfast at Mike's Roadhouse Cafe

Mojave's 747 graveyard

Distant views of the 747 graveyard in the middle of the Mojave desert,
Mojave Spaceport.

Leaving for the Sierras today! Although I have had a lovely time in
Mojave, I think I'm ready for the desert to end. I'll likely have no
signal for at least a week, so assuming I'm not eaten by a bear or
fall through the snow, Happy JO and I will update you from the top of
Mt. Whitney!

Fast and Fearless. June 8.

I left Mojave with Morph, a tall, white-haired, folk-singing Canadian
and freckle-faced Moonshadow from Asheville. They had hiked the
Appalachian Trail together, and were staying at the same Motel 6 as
me. Ten miles out of Mojave we were still fighting the wind as we set
up camp. Another group of hikers caught up to us, including Hasty, who
exclaimed, "Sticky Fingers! I never thought I would see you again. We
met at the Saufleys and I heard that you were so fast that I would
never catch you." That made me smile as I packed up and left camp the
next morning at 5:30am. I guess Hasty was right. I was fast. But where
was I racing to?

I found Green Tortuga laying under a desert pine tree that
afternoon. I had walked 20 miles by 1:30pm, so I figured a break was
warranted. I was trying to slow down, really I was. Tortuga and I
camped near one of the few natural water sources in this section...we
weren't out of the desert yet. While cowboy camping he recited several
poems to me in campfire style...The Cremation of Sam McGee, Casey at
the Bat...It brought back memories of the girl scouts except I was
actually enjoying myself in the woods this time.

The following day, after slogging through the sand in intense midday
heat, and squeezing the last drop from a water cache, it was time to
say goodbye to Tortuga. He asked me why I needed to go so fast. I
replied "because I can, because I have to." Over the next several
hours I learned that when you are dehydrated Joshua trees start to
look like hikers in the distance, urging you on to the next ridge.
Good thing I was surrounded by miles and miles of them or I might not
have made it.

Boston and Cubby once told me that hikers carry their fears on their
backs. For some it's lack of food, others lack of water, and still
others, the risk of facing inclement weather. When you hike for enough
days you realize that all of these fears can be mediated by simply
walking faster, rather than carrying more stuff. Less days require
less food. Faster walking means less time between water sources and a
better ability to stay warm in bad weather.

Before departing Mojave I told myself that I could finish 86 miles in
3 1/2 days. I trimmed down my clothing, paired down my food and fuel
to the bare minimum and swore to myself that I wouldn't lug water like
a security blanket. I felt free and fast. My feet (now sporting
sneakers 1 1/2 sizes too large) felt awesome. I flirted daily with my
lifelong enemy--the wind--and still managed to continue smiling.

I finally felt like a machine. Just enough food and water, and my legs
would crank out 25+ miles day after day. My dirt tan became thicker
than my suntan. I cowboy camped alone in the wind, followed a mountain
lion's tracks without cringing, and ate the ants stuck in my mashed
potatoes. My last day alone on the trail was so satisfying that I now
understand how and why people submit themselves to such a life for
five months en route to Canada.

The song for this section is Moby's Feeling So Real. No explanation
necessary. Sticky Fingers is fearless and flying into the Sierras.
Mile 653 and counting down!

Half lotus at mile 605!

Starting to lose my flexibility...

Hikers prepping food for the Sierras...

Town Suck. June 2.

I can finally admit that this trail is harder than I thought it would
be. Each section seems to be more mind-bogglingly difficult than the
last, but if my tears are any indicator, I didn't cry or even think of
crying during the last 104 miles--and they were brutal. Success!

I left the Saufley's alone (which was rather depressing) determined to
hike to Mojave, CA in four days. That meant at least 26 per day, which
at this point in the trip was totally doable. The heat had cranked up
a notch since last week, and I would be facing long waterless
segments. Better to move quickly...

Team Zero was sending me pics from two days ahead, including a sweet
hitch into Lake Hughes, CA for Philly Cheesesteaks and ice cream. But
things get weird when you are alone, and suddenly walking all day
without the distractions of other people, long breaks, and gluttonous
food stops seems reasonable, and even preferable...

On my first day back on the trail I met Ann, a former investment
banker who has run every day for 30 years, carries a reflective
umbrella on the trail and has bright pink painted nails. I just knew
we would get along. Yet, strangely, solitude won out for both of us,
as we only spent a brief break together at the Hikers' Oasis, a water
(beer and soda, too) cache, and later as I cooked my dinner before
departing for another few miles before dark. It's the curse of being
alone. The constant need to continue competes with the urge to stop
and chat, creating a dichotomy in your emotions on the trail. I want
to be with people, yet I want to be alone.

Green Tortuga expressed the same sentiment as he left the Saufley
house, having hiked for weeks with Charmin, and now leaving for the
desert, alone, pressed by an internal schedule, by the omnipresent
drive to experience the trail and the guilt of spending too much time
in town. It's called town suck. You are sucked in by the supposed
creature comforts that you believe you need, juxtaposed with the guilt
of enjoying things that you know you can survive without. You try to
flee, some fail and never emerge from the vortex. Others make it out
but subsequently may long for the luxuries and the companionship of
others.

On Day 2 post-Saufleys I didnt see a soul the entire day. My ipod ran
out of juice, and I almost ran out of water, but I managed 28 miles,
and I hit my halfway point. It's not as much fun when you have to take
pictures of yourself.

The next morning I made it to Hikertown, a toyland-looking western
town built on the edge of Hwy 138 and the LA acqueduct. I met a few
hikers and then fled (there's that bizarre drive again). I walked all
17 waterless miles of the acqueduct alone (and thought I might lose my
mind out of boredom), but while sitting on the dirt road a toothless
rancher pulled up in his beatup pickup.

"Hey little lady, be careful of the rattlers. They're out right now. I
seen some big ones tonight...the Mojave Green....and be careful of
strangers, too. " It was like a scene out of a desert version of
Deliverance. That was the shortest break I took on the entire trail.

Just as I approached my campsite for the night, I caught Running Wolf
who was limping and swearing at the ferocious headwind. The wind was
so intense that I decided to forego sleeping and just got up at 3:30.
I said goodbye to Running Wolf then I fled at 5:30am (trail dichotomy
again) and climbed over 4000ft for a view of the entire last week's
worth of walking! The final moments of yesterday's trek into Mojave
town were spent directly under the huge wind turbines. I was in awe
and thankful to still be in such good shape to enjoy the scene. I then
promptly got lost just one mile from the road from too much gawking, I
suppose. Oh well, the other 103 went just fine.

At the risk of being sacrilegious to one of my favorite bands, the
song for this section is Metallica's Nothing Else Matters: "So close
no matter how far. Couldn't be much more from the heart. Forever
trusting who we are. And nothing else matters." Not even a Philly
girl's cheesesteak in the desert. Battling town suck is rough, but I
emerged from the vortex.

I'll be slowing down in Mojave,CA for a few days, then pushing forward
for my final stretch alone before the Sierras. Stay tuned for more on
the Mojave Spaceport. 10-4 from the vortex at Mile 559!

Examining the rivets of the LA acqueduct...mile 525! Hot, dry, and
windy! Only another 10 miles of this to go!

Hikertown! Mile 518!

The elusive Mojave desert and the LA acqueduct--today's challenge.
Mile 516!