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California Section G: Walker
Pass (Hwy 178) to Mt. Whitney
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Canada: 2000 miles
Mexico: 650 miles
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Mt. Whitney: 113 miles
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The mountains north of Walker Pass finally
started looking more like the Sierra that we'd all heard about. Rough,
steep, rocky and beautiful. For a few days, we'd been watching afternoon
thunderstorms in the distant northern mountains. Now, we were in
those mountains. As the sun heats the lower valleys, water evaporates,
gets pushed up the mountains by crosswinds, cools, and forms giant thunderheads.
From around 2pm to 5pm, the weather can get pretty nasty quickly.
We had all heard of this phenomena, we got to experience it firsthand about
20 minutes north of Walker Pass. It didn't just rain, it downpoured
and hailed. It was a chilling painful rain, with a bunch of lightning thrown
in for good measure. We were heading up toward the tops of the mountains
- just where you don't want to be in an electrical storm. But, just
as quickly as it started, the rain stopped and we only had to contend with
puddles on the trail. After steadily climbing for about 6 miles,
we came across the dog.
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When we first saw the dog, we didn't know
what to think. He was lying in the middle of the trail, not moving
and looking fairly screwed-up.
We feared he might be rabid or crazy and hiked around him. When we
got to the other side, we took a closer look and realized something wasn't
right. This dog obviously had some kind of problem. His head
was up, but his face was swollen, his eyes were half-shut and he wasn't
moving. He was just lying there staring at us. We thought he
might be hungry, so we threw him a few pieces of beef jerky. He barely
noticed. We stood around trying to figure out what to do. If
the dog was injured, there wasn't much we could do... just hope that someone
would come back for him. After debating for 10 minutes, we decided
to just move on and pray for the best. At the last minute, Jason
figured we should try to give the dog some water. I sliced up one
of my gatorade bottles, and Jason slid the cup of water under the dog's
nose. Immediately, he started drinking the water. 
Obviously, this dog was thirsty... we didn't know what else might be wrong
with him. By this time, the other hikers, Arron and Jason's wife
Lara came back. After giving the dog a couple more liters of water,
we decided that we had to see this through. The dog drank everything
we offered him. He still couldn't move though. A couple other
hikers, Nathan and his friend Alex passed by and donated some of their
water. It was getting late and we decided to camp right there on
the trail. Maybe, we thought, the dog would get better overnight
and we'll be able to walk him back to the trailhead. We even had
hopes that the dog would be MUCH better after a night's rest and we'd be
able to take him to our next re-supply stop (wishful thinking!).
We examined the dog closer and realized that the fur around his neck was
matted down as if he usually wore a collar. This had to be "someone's"
dog, not just a stray. He didn't appear to be injured, just
thirsty. After a few hours, he still couldn't even get up on his
front legs, much less move anywhere. We named the dog "Jenkins",
after the mountain we found him on. We tried to make the dog as comfortable
as possible and went to sleep.
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The next morning came and the dog wasn't
any better. It was time for plan 9. Jason found a couple somewhat
crooked branches, and wrapped the plastic groundcloth from his tent around
them. He taped the ends of the groundcloth together (I have no idea
why he had a roll of packing tape with him) and put a sleeping pad on top.
We moved the dog on top of the makeshift stretcher and picked him up.
It worked! It even seemed pretty sturdy. We decided that Jason
and I would carry the dog back to the trailhead. Arron and Lara would
hike ahead ~20 miles to a campground area which could be reached by a jeep
road. Somehow, Jason and I would meet them there that evening...
we had no idea how, but just figured it would work out. We gave Arron
and Lara some of our load, and parted ways.
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We quickly realized that this was going
to be more difficult that simply walking 6 miles downhill. The dog
was heavy and the branches for the stretcher were far from ideal.
We found that we could only walk for about a hundred yards before we had
to rest. After a half hour or so, we decided we had to find better
branches, but there wasn't a damn straight branch anywhere. Every tree
was crooked and contorted. We finally found some fairly better branches
though, and made do.
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The sun was coming up, and it was getting
hot. We had no water and a good 4-5 miles left to go. During
one of our little rest stops, the dog crawled off the stretcher and into
the shade. So, after putting him back, we hopped from shady spot
to shady spot, taking a break at nearly every one. During another
stop, the dog crawled off the stretcher again - this time to relieve himself.
The dog's urine was a pretty nasty brown color - a symptom of severe dehydration
(at least he had enough sense to not pee on the stretcher!). Eventually,
we made it a few miles. We were getting really thirsty, and started
complaining about how there was NOBODY on this damn trail - we really needed
some relief. "Nobody" must have heard us. We soon spotted someone
coming up the trail from the Walker Pass area. Rick was an F-18 pilot
who lived in the area and was hoping to climb up Mt. Jenkins that day.
He had a liter of water with him, which we just about confiscated.
He offered to help us carry the dog the rest of the way to Walker Pass.
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We made much better progress with Rick's
help.
We did a three man rotation every time we stopped at shady bit of trail.
Rick told us he had seen a "lost dog" poster at the trailhead, with a description
that matched this dog. Apparently the dog's name was Amigo.
We only had a couple hundred yards left to go when the stretcher fell to
pieces. Amigo was laying there on the hot trail, spitting distance
from safety. We tried coaxing him to walk just a little bit. He actually
did, a hundred feet or so and then collapsed. Rick finally went over,
picked up Amigo and slung him over his shoulders. He ran the last
bit of trail and put the dog in the back of his pickup truck. Rick
recognized the phone number on the "lost dog" poster as on-base.
So, we all got in his truck and headed toward China Lake and the town of
Ridgecrest. We stopped at a Chevron to call the number (and get some
much needed Gatorade!). Jason talked to the dog's owner, who seemed
happily surprised that his dog was found. The owner worked on the
military base though, and couldn't get off shift. So, we drove the
dog to the local vet to get some medical attention. While there,
we weighed him. Amigo weighed 65 pounds. The veterinarian couldn't
be completely sure what was wrong with him. He was definitely dehydrated,
and had possibly been bitten by a rattlesnake. Luckily, the prognosis
looked fairly good now that he was at the vet.
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While we were there, Rick called his wife
and told her about the day's events. It turns out that Rick's wife
was a reporter and couldn't pass up the opportunity for a good human-interest
story. She came over with her camera and note pad. The story
later ran in the Bakersfield newspaper. Rick and his wife Karen offered
to let us take a shower at their home (an offer we couldn't pass up!),
and Rick later drove us up the jeep road to meet Lara and Arron.
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We got to the campground at about 5:30pm
or so. Lara and Arron showed up about 7pm. Apparently, it was
a pretty rough section of trail - they looked wiped-out. So, I missed
20 miles or so of the PCT. I'm sure I'll get back there at some point
in my life. Jason and I figured that the ordeal with Amigo made up
for the 20 miles.
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The next day was easy. Someone at
the campground had agreed to drive most of our gear to our next stop at
Kennedy Meadows, so we were able to slack-pack the ~20 trail miles.
On the way there, we were treated to our first good views of the distant
snowy sierra peaks. From this vantage point they looked like little
white ripples on the horizon, but we knew that they were massive.
Many of them rose over 14,000 feet, and we'd be hiking among them for the
next few weeks. The trail finally made its way to the area of Kennedy
Meadows. After what seemed like an endless walk through a flat expanse
of sagebrush, we made it to the general store to get our resupply packages.
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We arrived at Kennedy Meadows on Memorial
Day weekend. Fishing season had just opened, and the campground was
crowded with weekend vacationers. We all had a good couple days of
relaxing at Kennedy Meadows. A lot of hikers got there the same weekend.
I finally got to meet the Swiss couple. They'd been a day or two
in front of me since the border of Mexico. I had only known them
through their entries in the series of trail registers along the trail.
There were a lot of people in our extended group. We spent our days hanging
around the general store and taking care of various chores - doing laundry,
organizing supplies, etc... One of Nathan's friends (Nathan had a lot of
friends meeting him along the trail) even lent me a van. A bunch
of us took a ride all the way back to Ridgecrest to buy some things and
check up on Amigo (he was doing much better). At night, we sat around
a campfire talking and singing songs.
The stay at Kennedy Meadows was delightful and refreshing. I was
as ready as I could be to hike ahead into the high sierras.
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I left alone on Monday morning. The
rest of the group was still getting ready, and I assumed they'd be an hour
or so behind me. Some other hikers I knew had left the day before.
The hike out of Kennedy Meadows was a slow steady incline, following a
fork of the Kern River upstream. I passed a number of weekend backpackers
who were returning to Kennedy Meadows. As I got further these encounters
became more rare, and before too long I had the feeling that I was the
only one out there. The trail turned away from the river and steadily
climbed up the surrounding hills. Kennedy Meadows was at about 6000
feet elevation, and I was heading toward 10000 feet on the slopes of Olancha
Peak. As I got higher, the landscape became wetter and greener.
I could tell that the climbing was getting harder due to the thin air.
I finally made camp at about 10000 feet on the southwest slopes of Olancha
Peak.
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I felt great when I woke up the next day.
I was cold and alone, but the area was enchanting. Once I started
hiking, I warmed up and enjoyed everything that I passed - the valleys
below me, the creeks that ran through them, the rocky terrain, the immense
trees and the snowy peaks to the north which were getting closer all the
time. For the first time in my trip, I didn't see another soul all
day. Not even a speck of a distant backpacker climbing some far off
peak. Even though I knew there were people a couple hours behind
me and others up ahead, I felt I had the world to myself. The trail
stayed in the range of 8000 feet to 10000 feet as it wound around the sides
of the mountains, occasionally dipping down to a valley below then back
up the mountain.
I stopped to cook dinner around 4pm. I was a little worried as this
area was well known for a large bear population. One way to minimize
encounters with bears was to cook in the afternoon and hike on. This
way, you're far away from the smell of your own dinner when camping.
I found that I really liked this routine for other reasons too (a nice
break in the middle of the day, not having to deal with dinner at the end
of the day, having increased energy late in the day...), and I kept it
up for the rest of the entire trip. I finally camped in a large flat area
about 22 miles from where I'd camped the night before.
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The wind had picked up that evening, and
the temperature dropped. I had heard that a small storm was brewing,
and I knew that I'd most likely catch some of it. I hadn't really
thought about the way high mountains tend to amplify small storms - the
air gets pushed up higher and gets trapped by the mountain tops.
You wind up with a longer, wetter, colder storm than the forecasts often
predict (the forecasts are usually for low-laying areas, unless otherwise
stated).
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The next morning it was chilly and windy.
I started up the trail, bound for Cottonwood Pass. Cottonwood Pass
was a non-PCT pass, meaning that the trail dipped down to it and then went
back up the other side. Cottonwood Pass connected the dry desert
valleys to the east to the mountain valleys to the west. I soon caught
up with Spice, another hiker who was in the group in front of me.
I passed Spice and proceeded to get briefly lost. I mistakenly took
a side trail and wound up walking 1000 feet down a mountainside, then back
up the other side. I was following what I thought were the
footprints of someone in front of me. It turns out they were made
by someone else with the same boots (Solomon boots were pretty popular
that year). I probably lost about an hour, and made my way back to
the PCT. A short while later, just before Cottonwood Pass, it started
snowing. Nothing too serious - just a few flurries. But one
look at the clouds to the west said there was potential for a lot more.
When I got to the cottonwood pass area, I caught up to John, a retired
doctor who I'd seen a number of times on the trail. Even though it
was cold, he was hiking in shorts and seemed to be enjoying himself.
We exchanged small talk, then I took a break and John hiked on. I
later saw him ahead of me, climbing up to a small tarn (a high mountain
pond) where he planned to camp with a friend.
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I continued on, the area was beautiful.
It was a landscape of granite boulders, pierced every now and then by a
huge ancient tree. There were still some snowbanks on the ground,
left over from the previous winter. New snow was coming down intermittently,
dusting everything with a thin white blanket. Before too long, I
had crossed the southern border of Sequoia National Park.
I had been to Sequoia NP once before to see the giant trees in the valley
below, but this was another side of the park. There weren't any throngs
of brightly colored tourists, just me and an endless landscape of mountains.
The trail wound down to a pretty stream called Rock Creek. I passed
Spice on the way, but he didn't hear me - he was all "mummied-in" his sleeping
bag inside his tent. I finally camped right next to rock creek.
It was really cold that night, but at least I was protected from the wind.
I woke up to a frozen ground dusted by half an inch
of snow. 
The trees which protected me from the wind also blocked out the warmth
of the sun, and I was reluctant to get moving. While I was sitting
there, Nathan and Frank caught up to me. They were planning to make
it to Guitar Lake on the base of Mt. Whitney that evening and try to climb
Mt. Whitney the next day. That sounded like a good plan to me, and
I agreed to meet them near the ranger station at the base of Mt. Whitney.
Soon after that, Spice passed me, and we continued to pass each other again
and again on the way to Mt. Whitney. It was almost comical - every
30 minutes one of us would pass the other one, who was sitting on a rock
munching on a snack. I finally made it up to the base of Mt. Whitney
where Nathan and Frank were trying to dry their stuff in the patchy sunlight.
After a quick meal, the three of us headed up the mountain.
-
-
-
We feared he might be rabid or crazy and hiked around him. When we
got to the other side, we took a closer look and realized something wasn't
right. This dog obviously had some kind of problem. His head
was up, but his face was swollen, his eyes were half-shut and he wasn't
moving. He was just lying there staring at us. We thought he
might be hungry, so we threw him a few pieces of beef jerky. He barely
noticed. We stood around trying to figure out what to do. If
the dog was injured, there wasn't much we could do... just hope that someone
would come back for him. After debating for 10 minutes, we decided
to just move on and pray for the best. At the last minute, Jason
figured we should try to give the dog some water. I sliced up one
of my gatorade bottles, and Jason slid the cup of water under the dog's
nose. Immediately, he started drinking the water. 
Obviously, this dog was thirsty... we didn't know what else might be wrong
with him. By this time, the other hikers, Arron and Jason's wife
Lara came back. After giving the dog a couple more liters of water,
we decided that we had to see this through. The dog drank everything
we offered him. He still couldn't move though. A couple other
hikers, Nathan and his friend Alex passed by and donated some of their
water. It was getting late and we decided to camp right there on
the trail. Maybe, we thought, the dog would get better overnight
and we'll be able to walk him back to the trailhead. We even had
hopes that the dog would be MUCH better after a night's rest and we'd be
able to take him to our next re-supply stop (wishful thinking!).
We examined the dog closer and realized that the fur around his neck was
matted down as if he usually wore a collar. This had to be "someone's"
dog, not just a stray. He didn't appear to be injured, just
thirsty. After a few hours, he still couldn't even get up on his
front legs, much less move anywhere. We named the dog "Jenkins",
after the mountain we found him on. We tried to make the dog as comfortable
as possible and went to sleep.
We did a three man rotation every time we stopped at shady bit of trail.
Rick told us he had seen a "lost dog" poster at the trailhead, with a description
that matched this dog. Apparently the dog's name was Amigo.
We only had a couple hundred yards left to go when the stretcher fell to
pieces. Amigo was laying there on the hot trail, spitting distance
from safety. We tried coaxing him to walk just a little bit. He actually
did, a hundred feet or so and then collapsed. Rick finally went over,
picked up Amigo and slung him over his shoulders. He ran the last
bit of trail and put the dog in the back of his pickup truck. Rick
recognized the phone number on the "lost dog" poster as on-base.
So, we all got in his truck and headed toward China Lake and the town of
Ridgecrest. We stopped at a Chevron to call the number (and get some
much needed Gatorade!). Jason talked to the dog's owner, who seemed
happily surprised that his dog was found. The owner worked on the
military base though, and couldn't get off shift. So, we drove the
dog to the local vet to get some medical attention. While there,
we weighed him. Amigo weighed 65 pounds. The veterinarian couldn't
be completely sure what was wrong with him. He was definitely dehydrated,
and had possibly been bitten by a rattlesnake. Luckily, the prognosis
looked fairly good now that he was at the vet.
The stay at Kennedy Meadows was delightful and refreshing. I was
as ready as I could be to hike ahead into the high sierras.
I stopped to cook dinner around 4pm. I was a little worried as this
area was well known for a large bear population. One way to minimize
encounters with bears was to cook in the afternoon and hike on. This
way, you're far away from the smell of your own dinner when camping.
I found that I really liked this routine for other reasons too (a nice
break in the middle of the day, not having to deal with dinner at the end
of the day, having increased energy late in the day...), and I kept it
up for the rest of the entire trip. I finally camped in a large flat area
about 22 miles from where I'd camped the night before.
I had been to Sequoia NP once before to see the giant trees in the valley
below, but this was another side of the park. There weren't any throngs
of brightly colored tourists, just me and an endless landscape of mountains.
The trail wound down to a pretty stream called Rock Creek. I passed
Spice on the way, but he didn't hear me - he was all "mummied-in" his sleeping
bag inside his tent. I finally camped right next to rock creek.
It was really cold that night, but at least I was protected from the wind.
The trees which protected me from the wind also blocked out the warmth
of the sun, and I was reluctant to get moving. While I was sitting
there, Nathan and Frank caught up to me. They were planning to make
it to Guitar Lake on the base of Mt. Whitney that evening and try to climb
Mt. Whitney the next day. That sounded like a good plan to me, and
I agreed to meet them near the ranger station at the base of Mt. Whitney.
Soon after that, Spice passed me, and we continued to pass each other again
and again on the way to Mt. Whitney. It was almost comical - every
30 minutes one of us would pass the other one, who was sitting on a rock
munching on a snack. I finally made it up to the base of Mt. Whitney
where Nathan and Frank were trying to dry their stuff in the patchy sunlight.
After a quick meal, the three of us headed up the mountain.