JMT 2016 Journal — Day 14 of 25: Holy S*** I Found the Elusive Muir Trail Rock!
Another day of emotional highs and lows, I learn about the unusual scent of the Jeffrey pine, become obsessed with finding the Muir Trail Rock, and give up on a planned zero day the next day.
On July 20, 2016, my friend Ovi and I started our 25 day thru-hike of the world famous John Muir Trail (JMT) in the Sierra Nevada mountains of California. What follows is a day-by-day recounting of that epic adventure.
Previously: Day 13 of 25: Halfway Point with Horses and Hot Springs
Tuesday, August 2, 2016
After resupplying the previous day at MTR, we donned our heavy, food-laden packs in the morning, forded the San Joaquin River, and returned to the JMT via the Florence Lake Trail. We were now officially into the second half of our thru-hike. I had no way of knowing it at the time, but this would turn out to be another day of highs and lows, of joyful discoveries and hangry mood swings.
Some time early in the day’s trek, we crossed paths with an older hiker who was admiring the trees around the trail, and she shared a bit arboreal of trivia with us: the bark of the Jeffrey pine tree smells like vanilla. We tried it for ourselves, and sure enough! I love these types of random trail encounters that end up enriching your life in tiny, unexpected ways.
After about 5 miles into our hike, we left the John Muir Wilderness behind and entered Kings Canyon National Park, which John Muir once described as “a rival of the Yosemite." And taped to the boundary sign we saw yet another handwritten note (this one addressed to a hiker named CJ).
The trail now followed the south fork of the San Joaquin River, with several footbridges crisscrossing it. The steady rumble of the rushing water crashing over boulders was a soothing soundtrack to our trek. Yet despite the idyllic scenery, my mood was starting to sour. In hindsight I know it was related to not eating enough, but in the moment I just found myself getting irritated at the smallest things, and dwelling too much on the physical difficulty of the hike. I also wasn’t feeling talkative, so Ovi and I hiked on mostly in silence.
Soon thereafter we came across a couple of hikers going northbound who asked us if we had come across “the Muir Trail Rock” yet. Not to be confused with the better known Muir Rock swimming spot in the same park, this is a boulder by the side of the trail, with the words “1917 Muir Trail” carved into it by a work crew building the trail, over a century ago. One of the hikers told us he had done the JMT 5 times and had never found it.
In all the research we had done on the JMT, we had never heard mention of this feature, and I instantly became obsessed with finding it. All I had to go on was his description of “big, flat, about 10 feet off the trail,” which admittedly wasn’t much, as it pretty much described every other rock near the trail.
Nevertheless, I became preoccupied with spotting the elusive trail Easter egg. I kept scanning the riverbank, not even knowing what exactly I was looking for. This newfound mission temporarily snapped me out of my funk. But after about the third time when I tripped and nearly took a spill because I wasn’t paying attention to the trail itself, I admitted defeat and gave up the search.
And then, it happened.
Ovi had to stop to address some hot spots on his foot before they became blisters, so I decided to take a break as well. Setting my pack down, I looked over at the river, and there it was!! The mythical Muir Trail Rock.
I could not believe the pure dumb luck, the sheer happenstance of Ovi picking this spot to stop. Or was it kismet? In the words of comedian John Mulaney, “who’s to say.” All I knew in that moment was the unadulterated joy of an unexpected find.
After the fateful stop, we continued on, but my elation soon subsided as weariness and lack of energy once again reared their ugly heads.
Journal Entry, 8/2/2016
At the third footbridge, we once again caught up with trail friends Zack and Kelbie, and followed them up the steep switchbacks to Evolution Meadow, where we had to ford Evolution Creek (luckily it was fairly shallow, and thus easy). After we had crossed, trail friend Rachel also arrived at the crossing. While the guys waited for her, Ovi and I waved our goodbyes and pressed on, hoping to make it to Evolution Lake, where we intended to take a zero day, but knowing it was a long shot this late into the afternoon.
During our time hiking with the guys, they shared some sad news they had heard from other hikers: a guy hiking with his son had died of an apparent heart attack in his sleep. One of the PCT hikers we had met way back in Tuolumne Meadows had volunteered to hike out with the son. I remember feeling such a deep sense of sadness for the boy. I can’t imagine how traumatic it must have been for him.
We also passed the familiar trio of llamas again.
The path now left the San Joaquin behind and crossed into Evolution Meadow, following Evolution Creek.
Realizing I was completely depleted and weak, and was not going to be able to make the climb up to Evolution Lake, we resigned ourselves to camping somewhere close to it, so as to have a short hike the next day. At some point during this section, a park ranger came hiking towards us at a rapid pace. She stopped and asked us if we had seen a horse pack go by recently. We replied no, and she continued on her hurried hike. It didn’t occur to either of us to ask her why. (Come back for the next installment to find out more, as we did the next day.)
Next we had to ford Evolution Creek, which, thankfully, was fairly easy.
We continued on past the lush McClure Meadow, and then Colby Meadow.
Eventually we found a suitable campsite near the base of the switchbacks that climbed nearly 1,000 feet to Evolution Lake. I remember stomping over and throwing my backpack down like a petulant child. I was physically sapped, and emotionally drained. Keenly aware of my sour mood, Ovi let me be, other than occasionally reminding me that I should really eat something.
Journal Entry, 8/2/2016
8 pm. Long day. Rough day. A big part of the problem is that I didn’t eat a proper breakfast or lunch due to not having an appetite (related to elevation sickness?), so by early afternoon I was bonking. I was grumpy and impatient with Ovi, and generally acting like a jerk. Lesson learned. I need to force myself to eat, even if I don’t feel like it. But for most of the day I was questioning why I was doing this, how many more days, how many more miles. I was not enjoying the hike, nor was I being in the moment. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, even though it’s immensely rewarding.
Even though my mood was dark, I tried to find some balance by reflecting on the beauty of today’s hike and appreciating the spectacular sights all around us. It wasn’t lost on me that our campsite had a fantastic view of The Hermit, a 12,328 foot granite monolith. It was named in 1895 by Theodore Solomons — a Sierra Club explorer who envisioned and surveyed the route that would eventually become the JMT — who said this about the lone peak:
“A colossal, sugarloaf-shaped buttress of fractured granite stood sharply up, the advance Guard of the host of peaks presently to be described, yet so conspicuously separated from them as to suggest the name The Hermit.”
After a dinner that I mostly had to force down, I retreated to my tent to journal and sit with my emotions. As I drifted off to sleep, I reminded myself that tomorrow was going to be a nero day; a chance to recharge and recenter.
Apropos of nothing, here’s a piece of deadwood I found beautiful in its ruggedness.
Next: Day 15 of 25: Rejuvenated at Evolution Lake
