This week I tried to cover as much distance as possible, back to back 30+ mile days. Out of the High Sierra, progress is faster. Alone, it’s easy to be scarily efficient; I cover great distances with gargantuan elevation profiles facing little resistance.

Because really, there is not much else to do.

6/16 Out of Mammoth I pass through Devil’s Postpile National Monument. It’s really just some rocks. I am a fan of the Devil and his work in general, this just isn’t his best. Overall it’s a beautiful section and I grab a great campsite overlooking an opposing range.

My deadline to finish before the first week of September starts to feel real, and I miss my friends, so I am determined to pick up my mileage from now on.

6/17 I cross Donohue Pass into Yosemite National Park. I enjoyed the exquisitely flat and manicured trails through the tourist areas. I get a mediocre burger and great fries at Tuolumne Meadows and eavesdrop on the big wall climbers at the mountaineering school. I skip the valley since it’s not close to the trail and I have seen it before. The crowds here even in Tuolumne are also stressing me out so I continue on, closing out nearly 40 miles today.

6/18 Multiple minor passes today, and still a lot of non-PCT hikers around. It’s Yosemite after all. The trail climbs and descends, climbs and descends, very steep both ways, testing my physical and mental endurance. We get lots of thunder and a tiny sprinkle of rain, not even enough to prompt me to set up my tarp. The winds blow massive yellow clouds of pollen from the pinyon pines.

6/19 I follow the trail past countless picturesque and pristine lakes and streams. It is incredibly wet. Finally after all this time, I pass mile marker 1,000. However since I’m alone it’s a little anticlimactic. I miss my friends; they passed by here 2 days ago. I’m catching up, slowly. I’m reminded of the Chris McCandless’ (of Into the Wild) quote, “happiness is only real when shared”.

At the end of the day, I get the dramatic moment I was waiting for. Sonora Pass, of black volcanic rock, so unlike the granite I have become used to for the past 300 miles, is incredibly striking with its patches of snow. Trees and small plants grow very far apart, leading a sparse and spare appearance. The scale is absolutely massive; I feel like an ant. So unlike any of the other passes, I have an incredible time soaking it in. My evening is almost perfect until a stranger invites himself to my camp spot, sits next to me, and tries to talk about football. I feel bad but there is literally nothing I wanted less in that moment. I hate him for ruining my moment of contemplation and try to end the conversation tactfully as fast as I possibly can.

I miss my friends. We have a tacit understanding that sometimes you just need to quietly appreciate things. Soon he’s gone and I can appreciate the view of the mountains in peace again, but it’s not quite the same, the magic had been broken. Whatever.

6/20 I hike the final miles of Sonora Pass, largely very steep and slippery snowfields. I don’t allow myself to look down and take it one step at a time. At the last second, Biscoff texts to warn me not to go to Kennedy Meadows North since the food they bought there was almost 3 years expired, so I hitch to Strawberry instead, much further but with better resupply options. Two Indian guys pick me up, friendly but stressed as they are just on the brink of running out of gas before the next gas station. All 3 of us will the car to continue down the hill. I can’t believe they picked me up in their state, weird how those who have the least are often the most generous.

Strawberry is very quaint, Bob and Gina of the general store are wonderful to hikers, allowing us to shower, do laundry, and stay on cots in their garage for free. They also have a great selection of (non expired) food and snacks. I’m glad I took the time to go here. I have a little difficulty getting back to Sonora Pass, but a van full of dudes from San Diego take me most of the way back up, I walk a ways along the highway, and a nice couple from Redwood City takes me up the final few miles.

6/21 One of my biggest days on trail so far, I cover 35 miles with 7,000+ ft of climbing, while trying to arrange the logistics of meeting family in the next section. It’s hard to text and walk, but I do my best. The miles are flying by at the end and I only stop when my feet start to hurt. The notion of being in Tahoe tomorrow, if I cover the remaining 30 miles in time, is very exciting.

6/22 When I crest a ridgeline and see Mt. Tallac in the distance, I involuntarily let out a whoop. Nobody I talk to has ever heard of this peak but it’s played a huge part in my life. It’s where I, and also Alex Honnold apparently, had our first big time failure on a mountain. Where we got our start.

I’ve been backpacking near Tallac in Desolation every summer since 2020. Some years this short trip sustained me for months after I went back to the hellhole that is Manhattan. Life in the concrete jungle was crushing my soul and I held onto any shred of hope I would be able to get out soon. I had a map of the Desolation area on the wall of my apartment. A panorama from Dick’s Pass was my desktop background on the trading floor. This place has been a longtime shining beacon of hope for me.

I do another 30 miles today, and it flies by because I am very excited to meet my brother and get some real food in Tahoe. This past week has been my favorite section so far, in terms of scenery, basically my home section.

I’m glad to be back on relatively friendlier terrain, as I enter the Northern California section. Notorious for being underwhelming compared to the dramatic and famous Sierra, I am sure there will still be lots of hidden gems here, especially if I am able to do it with friends. And frankly after this difficult week I am excited for some lower, flatter, easier miles.

Mac

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