Trail Crest to Wallace Creek
4:30am comes to our chilly little campsite and I spring out of bed, eyes wide open, bushy tailed, and ready for our first full day on the trail!
No, no I’m messing with you. Keith’s Alarm woke us up, it was super dark out, but it was 4:30am. The plan was to hike a little more than two miles to the summit of Mt Whitney – the official southern terminus of the JMT – and arrive just in time for sunrise.
In the end we didn’t manage to get there before sunrise but it hardly mattered since the summit of Mt Whitney was engulfed in a cloud bank. I didn’t even bother to take any pictures because they looked identical to putting a pillow case over your head. Ah well, it’s still the tallest peak in the lower 48!
We had planned to take a leisurely breakfast on the summit, maybe a nap, generally chill out a bit.
What actually happened was we spent 20 minutes, max, on the summit. In which we: huddled for warmth with some other hikers in the summit hut, ate frozen snacks, put on every single layer we had, and awkwardly signed the trail register before booking it down to our little campground at Trail Crest and promptly taking a nap.
After our nap we started going down. If yesterday was all about climbing (5,600 vertical feet up) then today was all about going down. Down past Guitar Lake, with it’s cute family of marmots and bright blue waters. Down onto the PCT, overhanging trees and the sweet sweet oxygen of lower elevations! Down down down.
Along the way we were passed by so many south bound (SoBo) JMT hikers that it started to feel a little ridiculous. Packs of four, seven, eight (!), hikers at a time cruising up past us on their way south. Meanwhile, the only NoBo hikers we saw were those we had shared the summit with who were camped at Guitar Lake, a short six miles into our day. However, now that we were off the most popular peak in America people are courteous, and kindly step aside when necessary, and we do the same.
At the end of our day of descending we reach Wallace Creek and are rather alarmed to see that two other groups are already there – about 10 dudes in total. But there is still one campground open to us that’s not too close to the water, so we take it.
Our neighbors are a group of remarkably clueless German hiker dudes who are really really eager to hang a bear bag despite clearly having no idea how to do it, and there being a perfectly good bear box located less than 50 meters from their camp. Part of me really wants to help them do it right/save them the trouble of doing it at all and part of me really doesn’t want to be the know it all girl who tells everybody they’re wrong.
I’m not sure why I stand by when I see people clearly breaking the rules about food storage and camp site selection, but it’s something I’ll do this entire trip. Is it because I’m afraid of confrontation? Or because I feel like it won’t make any difference to correct them? Or is it a deeper societal need to fit in and be nice? Or maybe after years of hiking as a woman, you get used to clueless dudes who are just so certain of everything that I really just can’t bring myself to be the trail police for people who don’t want to hear it. Whatever the reason I leave the Germans to their terrible bag hanging job and go filter water for dinner.
Tonight is spaghetti and meat sauce over noodles and it’s bomb dot com! It’s so good! Like, I would 100% eat this meal at home – which is not an endorsement that I would ever give a purchased dehydrated meal, but some how Keith and I managed to craft up some truly tasty trail food.
After cleaning up dinner, doing some washy wash in the woods (sunscreen is gross, ok?) and storing our food properly, I’m ready for bed. And it’s not even 7pm yet.
Womp womp. God I’m such a granny.
I lay in the tent and read for a bit while Keith hangs out in his hammock. Eventually it get’s dark, and while it’s only 8:15pm I decide to pass out. Why not? It’s not like you get an award for staying up too late on the trail, and sleep is awesome.