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.