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I first wake up about 4:30 in the morning. This is more than an hour before my usual wakeup time, but I am hoping to catch some meteors and stars. Instead, I catch a bunch of hikers.
Looking out from my tent, I can see the trail up to Trail Crest. I know I am seeing it because of the trail of lights rising up the ridge (see the photo below). I can even see where part of the lateral trail to Whitney's summit goes. Below our site, the campers near the creek are busily packing, sensing they are johnny-come-latelys to the exodus from Guitar Lake. I hear some whoops from the campsite above us. I am amazed. When I camped atop Whitney oh-so-long ago, I cannot recall anybody arriving from down below to take pictures at sunrise. There were just those of us who had spent the night on the summit, and most of those were gone shortly after sunrise. We didn't meet anybody coming up until after we left the summit. So clearly something has changed if this many people are willing and eager to get up so early in the morning and push their way up the mountainside. Reflecting on that trip, we were only out for 10 days (and two of those days were days we just dayhiked); in that trip, a long trip but only half of the time we've spent so far on this trip, we hiked just under 62 miles. In twice that time, Megan and I have covered nearly three times that distance. Of course, we aren't carrying heavy backpacks.
I shoot several more shots (none with meteors so far as I can tell) and lay back down to sleep awhile more.
I am up again before dawn breaks, prowling around. I find the campsite with the rather loud group above our site is empty save for several large metal boxes. Clearly they were the party that the stock train we met yesterday had set up. Their site has one of the few trees at this elevation. As I walk around, sunlight reaches the Kaweah Peaks across the Kern Canyon. The shadow of Mt. Whitney is clear on the Red Spur part of the Kaweah Peaks area out to the west.
Morning camp chores are more straightforward than usual. All I have to do is get Megan her oatmeal and help her get her gear together. Packing her snacks last night is a big help--why didn't we think of that sooner? It saves pulling out lots of food all the time. Nearly all the other campers are gone when Megan gets up, collects her gear, and starts to head up the mountain.
I, on the other hand, am now blessed with free time ample enough to squander. It is amazingly refreshing. I take the llamas back down to a different part of the meadow to graze and then collect my camera, journal, and YB device and head down to sit on the rocks near the llamas. A single tent remains in view, down on the rocks east of the llamas. Another group is out of view from camp, but I can glimpse them from near the meadow, their camp near the outlet. I wander down to see what the view is like from near the outlet. A few hikers pass through on their way either to the summit or over to Whitney Portal, but the calm and quiet is in contrast with the energy exerted only hours earlier in the dark. I settle in to consider things I had been ruminating about on the trail, things like whether it is better to hike with llamas or not, whether I blew it by not figuring out how to have more slow or off days, and trying to remember all the things people said to us on the trail. I've expanded and reordered my last thusly:
14. "Do they carry their feed?" [No, they carry my feed.]
13. "You sure have strange horses." [And is that hump on your back permanent? It is really unflattering]
12. "Are you a resupply?" [No. That is left for less charismatic animals like mules]
11. "How did you get them here?" [Helicopter, of course]
10. "Are they yours?" [Only for a few days, then we return them to the orphanage like in Despicable Me]
9. "Can I pet them?" [Not the way you mean. Sometimes you can stroke their necks, but leave the heads alone]
8. "Where did you get them?" [Matt's response: ‘we found them wandering on the trail']
7. "Do they spit?" [Only when confronted by that question. Otherwise they only spit at other llamas, so don't get between angry llamas]
6. "Why are you wearing a pack if they are carrying all that stuff?" [It's just for show to prove we are hiking. Actually, the pack is light but has grain in case llamas wander off, lunch, sunscreen, spare camera battery, water, more water, snacks, rain gear, knife, a UV water purifying pen–basically most of the stuff I might need on the trail. It is also in case I need to carry real weight for some reason]
5. "How much can they carry?" [We aren't sure; none have collapsed yet under the weight. But we are told to limit things to 50-60 pounds generally]
4. "They're so cute!" [Aww, how nice. You missed them using the llama-loo just down the trail, so watch your step]
3. "Are they llamas or alpacas?" [We were told llamas, but if you can tell the difference, let us know if we've been misled. After all, "alpaca" sounds like the start of "I'll pack a bunch of stuff for you"]
2. "Can I take a picture?" [Could we stop you? No? Then sure, take a picture. We could probably have paid for the trip by charging a $10 llama-photo fee]And so the number one thing people say when they spot llamas on the trail:
1. "Llamas!" [No kidding. We could hear the cry from hundreds of feet away. The strangest variant was "Camels!" Really? Camels? Guys, you need to read more books with pictures]
As I sit, one group from near the outlet passes by on their way out to the east; their 9:30 departure is a lot like our typical starts to the day. About the same time, a group shows up and works their way to the other side of the lake near the outlet; they are easily the earliest campers for this lake.
I puzzle over our options in the coming days. If we head out to Horseshoe, it is about 20 miles or so. Heading back and then exiting at Onion Valley would take 30 miles, either demanding a brutal pair of 15 mile days or, more likely, 3 10 mile days, which would carry us to the originally planned 23 days. So everything is doable. Although I know that doubling back on our tracks isn't nearly as dull as it sounds (it is surprising how different things can look when you head back the other way), I agree with Megan that going forward is a lot more attractive.
For a time I am up at camp and I see yesterday's cowboy and his mule train arrive at the campsite above us. I wander up to chat. This fellow isn't the most loquacious person I've ever met, but he says that his group is up on Mt. Whitney where they can use their satellite phones to figure out what they should do about going out. It appears they are in the same boat we are in and trying to decide what to do. I suspect he means cell phones--apparently you can hit cell towers from the summit of Whitney. He doesn't know anything more about the lost mule.
As I am about to go down to get the llamas water, I notice a young fellow approaching the llamas. I go out and tell him that you don't approach livestock without checking with whomever is looking out for them. He is with a youth group of some kind and is lugging a heavy pack. I ask about that and he says that he is carrying most of his friend's gear. Why? His friend wouldn't come unless he carried the gear. Some friend. This young fellow has a lot of questions about llamas, some of which I cannot answer. It turns out that he is kind of the advance guard of his group; it almost sounds as though they sent him on ahead so they wouldn't have to answer all his questions. Our conversation continues until his group arrives and he heads over by Arctic Creek to huddle up with them.
Meanwhile, I head back up to camp. My lunch now is a summer sausage and Wheat Thins, my bread having run out. I am thinking of bringing the llamas back up near camp, but they seem content, just kushed down on the meadow, so I leave them. I check messages on the YB. Anne reports the fire is now 30% contained and that hikers with vehicles at Horseshoe will be escorted out. A flurry of messages from Greg, asking about our food situation and then reporting some good news: Greg has spoken with the Forest Service and they will let him go to the trailhead at Horseshoe to rescue us. We just have to provide some time window because he won't be able to just sit around and wait. That sounds great. We are also to reply to a second email address owned by Greg's friend Jack because Greg is running around with other clients. I reply that we have food through the 14th if necessary but are happy to exit at Horseshoe; we'll probably get there early to mid afternoon on the 13th.
I have seen a few folks walk by when Megan returns from the hike. She is pretty pleased; she easily outpaced everybody but a fellow she guessed was a personal trainer (apparently he would encourage fellow hikers with exhortations that 'you can do it!'). She got a woman we had met long ago to take her picture on the summit. She tried to call Anne but Anne didn't pick up (most likely she didn't get a firm enough cell signal as Anne didn't ever get the call). I pass on the good news that we can go out at Horseshoe. Things are looking rosy.
As we are chatting, a fellow stops on the trail below us and calls up--am I the fellow with the llamas? Well, yes, I reply. This fellow then goes into a diatribe about how I had clipped him on the trail days before without saying a word and that he had spoken with several others on the trail and three other groups had had bad interactions with us and just so we know, we have a bad trail rep. He then stomps off down the trail, unwilling to tell us just what we had done to piss off the other folks.
Megan and I are both dumbfounded. First, who gets ticked off enough from being passed on the trail to make an issue of it days later? And spends his time accumulating trash talk about other folks? When he mentioned the incident, I did recall it. Somehow he had gotten between Megan and I on an uphill, which is where I had some difficulty keeping up. This fellow was plodding along, oblivious to my two "excuse me" statements, so I tried to dart around him. So far as I knew, I hadn't touched him but this clearly startled him. I hadn't given it a thought since then. I reassured Megan that this had nothing to do with her or the llamas. [Later on, in talking with Greg, we learn that several other people we had met also met Greg on the trail up near Sonora Pass and had good things to say about us. So our "trail rep" was no worse than mixed, I would think.]
Well, with that, Megan retired to her tent for a bit to relax before we leave. I am now more active in getting our gear ready to go, packing up my stuff and getting all the food boxes filled and the panniers loaded as best as possible. I have finally reached the point by now where I no longer bother to fish out the tattered piece of paper with my notes on what gear goes where. By 3 in the afternoon we have all the gear packed up and loaded and are heading back down the trail (the only significant backtracking of the entire trip).
Back at Ranger Rob's, we get confirmation that hikers with cars are to exit at Horseshoe and be escorted out. We want to get as far south as possible today, but Rob indicates that between Crabtree and Rock Creek there is nowhere to camp. Rock Creek is too far, so we settle for camping at Upper Crabtree Meadow. Rob gives us instructions and tells us there is a stock party also at the meadow, but they will be camped across the meadow from where we will camp.
So down the trail we go, along a narrow slot with Whitney Creek in the bottom, until things open up and we see the meadow. We were told to veer left, which we do, and we find a large sandy flat not far from the creek a little after 4 pm. The site is probably the worst of all our campsites with almost no place to sit, but the grass in the meadow is excellent for the llamas. We can see the horses and mules across the meadow, and for awhile they stand near their edge of the meadow and study the llamas, who are oblivious to the horses.
The meadow's views help to make up for the rather minimalist campsite. Whitney is still visible back up Whitney Creek's drainage, but the meadow is dominated by the far more appealing visage of Mt. Chamberlain. Not surprisingly, Megan is tired, though she takes advantage of the nearby stream to clean up some, and she gets her snacks organized so we might leave more quickly tomorrow. After sunset, I deal with the usual final chores of moving the food boxes away from camp and pulling the llamas in from the meadow.
One more full day in the wilderness. A notion that brings me some joy, I am sorry to say. The deep cracks in my thumbs hurt, I am tired of freeze dried food and my Thermarest pad that deflates every night. Packing out TP isn't a joy. We don't have enough chocolate. Although my blisters are now mainly callouses, I would like not having to strap on my boots again. But there is melancholy too. I might not backpack or llama pack in these mountains again. The views on the last half of the trip have been exceptional, and the weather, once we got past Muir Pass, has been wonderful.
Although we are relieved to have the burden of doubling back lifted from our shoulders, there is one more twist in our journey that will cause us some angst tomorrow. But tonight we sleep soundly.
Day 20. (4.8 mi to Mt. Whitney), 3.2 Upper Crabtree Meadow; 11,580' Guitar Lake camp (14,501' Whitney), 10,450' Upper Crabtree.
3.2 miles (+9.6 for Megan), 1130' net elevation loss, 0' total elevation gain (2921' for Megan)
Total to this point: 181.6 miles traveled (191.2 for Megan), 35,140' total elevation gain (38,060' Megan).
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