Episode Six: Spooner Summit to Kingsbury Grade

TRT Section: Spooner Summit to Kingsbury Grade
Days: 10-11
Mileage: 15.4
Elevation Gain: 4,159 ft.
Elevation Loss: 4,181 ft.
Highest Elevation: 8,818 ft.
Lowest Elevation: 7,113 ft.

Thirst

Kicking back at the Spooner Lake picnic area, I chowed down on some snacks and hydrated myself as I waited for my Marlette campground crew to come in. Though I had made it to Spooner in record time, they were all fitter than I was, so I knew it wouldn’t be long until they made it.

Waiting Game

In the first half hour, I rinsed some of my rather ripe clothes, since they would have some time to dry. I also dumped my trash and charged my electronics with my solar charger.

In the second half hour, I grew antsy. Approaching 11 AM, my weather app displayed 95 degrees. Obsessively, I checked the map on Far Out, scanning and rescanning the elevation profile for the six miles from Spooner Summit (Highway 50) and “the bench”: nearly 1,900 feet of gain. While the elevation was doable, the rapidly increasing temperature gave me pause. I was worried that if I waited any longer, I would put myself in a dangerous situation.

So I packed up all of my stuff. At 11:15, with no sign of the Marlette crew, I decided to head out from the picnic area. Having “cameled up” by drinking two liters of water while at Spooner, I figured four liters (plus the eight ounces I stashed in my Stasher bag to make dinner that night) would last me the fifteen miles until Kingsbury, which I would get to by the next morning. (Spoiler: I was wrong, so very wrong.) I decided to fill my two 1.5-liter Smart Water bottles and my one-liter CNOC Vesica collapsible bottle and be on my merry way.

Heading out from Spooner Lake picnic area, feeling fresh (7/5/24)

Goodbye, Spooner and Friends

Leaving behind the luxurious picnic area, I made my way down the 1.4-mile path around Spooner Lake in order to get back to the official trail. Just as I approached the incline to get up to the trail intersection, I crossed paths with Jeanette and Brent. Though they looked a bit tired, they greeted me kindly. I let them know that there were plenty of amenities at the picnic area, and then I inquired about Lauder, whom they hadn’t seen since Marlette. Not wanting to keep them any longer, I told them that I would see them at the bench. However, I suspected they would catch me on the gnarly climb that awaited on the other side of Highway 50. (Spoiler: Once again, I was wrong.)

So with Jeanette and Brent headed to refill and take a break, I pressed on, ready to get the climb out of Spooner Summit done.

Highway 50 trail crossing to get to Spooner Summit South (7/5/24)

Heating and Climbing Up

I truly cannot understate the difficulty of this climb. From Highway 50, there were 6.1 miles to the bench. Within the first three miles from Highway 50, the trail ascends over nine hundred feet. While there are definitely way tougher climbs out there, this one, on this particular day, gave my body a run for its money.

The morning quickly melted into afternoon. As I ponderously stumbled up the steep slope of the trail, sweat escaped in droves from my pores: first my forehead, then my lower back, and then any surface impacted by any strap of my pack. After what felt like forever, I checked Far Out: not even half a mile from Highway 50.

Slowing Down

In spite of an otherwise triumphant start of the day, my confidence began to waver. I anticipated a slow in my pace, but not by this much. As I progressed at the speed of pouring molasses, a couple of day hikers began to overtake me. For some reason, my pride took over, and I funneled much of my energy into not huffing and puffing as these people quickly strode by. I stepped off the trail to let them pass, taking a swig from my Smart Water bottle with my LMNT electrolytes mix.

To my surprise, they stopped to chat. One of them, a middle-aged woman, complimented my bravery in being out on the trail alone. While I was thankful for her kind words, I was conscientiously trying to appear cool as a cucumber, not struggling in the slightest.

After a few minutes of idle chit chat (which gave me a welcomed break from the uphill), the hikers pushed on. Before going forward behind them, I checked on the water in the Vesica, strapped to my shoulder. Only a few ounces gone, yet the rising temperatures had me starting to sense that every drop was going to count until Kingsbury.

Sweat-drenched and dirt-coated, enjoying a patch of shade (7/5/24)

Kind Overlanders

Over an hour and a half passed, and I had made it nearly two and a half miles from the highway. In that time, I had forgone sips of water, knowing I would likely need it as the day wore on and the afternoon grew hotter.

I had come upon a flat in the trail, a nice reprieve from the seemingly relentless climb. A dirt road weaved across the trail and through the trees. In the density of the forest, I spotted an overlanding vehicle, set-up complete with an awning and a table. From the distance, a young girl pointed at me. Her mother (I presume) waved and shouted an echoing “hello” to me. So I meandered over to them to say hi.

Once I reached the perimeter of their site, the woman greeted me and asked politely if I’m hiking the Tahoe Rim Trail. After I told her, she asked me if I had enough water, offering me a refill if I needed one. Oftentimes, my ego impedes my ability to accept help, but this time, a survival instinct overrode that ego. I happily accepted a refill of my Vesica. She poured about twelve ounces into the collapsible flask to return it to full.

I expressed my sincerest “thanks,” wished them well, and continued on to the next (and last) part of the climb.

Lord of the Flies

The next couple of miles brought another thousand-or-so feet of gain. To be entirely forthright, this section blended together in my memory as a dusty but densely-forested slope. As I recall, I spent the better part of an hour one-foot-in-front-of-the-othering it up the trail as the clouds of dirt clung to the sweat seeping from the pores on my legs, coagulating into a muddy mixture that was a feast for the flies.

Despite the steepness of the terrain, I adopted a quickening pace, motivated only by the escape from the flying buzzing beasts that yearned for the dirt-coated perspiration on my calves. As I powered up and up, my body screamed for water as the stash I had chugged hours ago at Spooner leaked out in my sweat. I had only consumed about a liter since then. My hydration was entirely depleted.

A View of Water

With every ounce of me soaked in sweat, I made it to a clearing where the trail flattened, and an azure Lake Tahoe appeared. Rerouting energy into a victorious “Yes!” from finishing the climb, I was too overwhelmed by the heat to stop and admire the view.

What I would’ve given to dive into that water on that day (7/5/24)

The bench was growing nearer, and my body knew it. Mustering up whatever it could to get me there, my body plodded down the now-flat trail. As I strode forward in auto-pilot mode, I diverted my mental capacity to take inventory of my water supply. I had a little over a fourth of a liter left in my Vesica. I had one 1.5 liter Smart Water bottle full of water. About two-thirds of the other Smart Water bottle remained, as I had sipped from it on the hike in a meager attempt to restore my diminishing electrolytes. And I had eight ounces in a Stasher bag inside my bear can to make dinner.

My insufficient water supply began to worry me. It took all of my restraint not to chug the rest of my LMNT water (and then some). But I knew I would need enough water to get me over nine miles to Kingsbury the next day. This thought consumed me as I battled my thirst in the high-nineties heat of the afternoon. As a result, the view of a sparkling blue Lake Tahoe, in spite of its beauty, was absolutely torturous in these moments.

The Bench

As the trail snaked along the crest of the mountain, it gave way to an opening where a bench was situated with a southwest view of Lake Tahoe.

The Bench, at mile 70.9 (7/5/24)

What a serene place to stop and take in the panoramic view of the lake. Beyond the lake, mountains rise and fall, some speckled with snow, others a smooth velvety purple. The hillside that gives way to the forest is dusted with vibrant yellow flowers. And the sky…talk about blue.

So naturally, my first action upon arriving at said bench is to throw down my pack, take a swig of electrolytes, and sprawl on it as if I had just PR-ed my marathon instead of trudging through an 18.6-mile hike.

Sprawled on the bench, dying from the heat (7/5/24)

After spending several minutes prostrate on that bench, I finally righted myself to take in the views. I scanned the mountains across Lake Tahoe, approximating where I had started this journey. Though the last few hours had spent me, I marveled as I traced the line of where I had come from all the way to where I sat on that bench, boiling under the unforgiving sun. I decided that I would have to marvel later…I was too hot and thirsty to appreciate this moment.

The Return of the Flies

After a few sips of water, I searched for a tree whose shade I could revel in. Unfortunately, I would have to share that shade with seemingly every fly in the Tahoe Basin.

I decided to set up my tent under a tree to seek shelter from these winged monsters. In auto-pilot mode, as I had been all afternoon, I pitched my tent as fast as possible. Every passing moment was an opportunity to acquire yet another fly bite. I stopped to reapply bug spray to my legs, adding to the already disgusting amalgam of sweat and dirt.

Within minutes, my tent was assembled. I had not even bothered staking it down, as I sought refuge from the flies with haste. Armed with a water bottle, extra clothes, and my first aid kit, I tumbled into my tent, taking care to zip the door as quickly as I could. One stubborn fly prevailed. I only discovered this as it ripped into the flesh on the top of my foot. With my bare hand, I crushed its feeble body, letting it crumble to the tent floor. I used an alcohol wipe to clean up the mess.

After changing into a non-sweat-soaked set of clothes and using several baby wipes to scrape my legs clean, I enjoyed a fly-less hour in my tent, drinking my electrolyte mix conservatively. Understanding that my body needed the replenishment, I also knew I needed to balance that with what would have to last me over nine miles tomorrow.

Rationing

An hour passed by, yet there was no sign of anyone from the Marlette crew, and I began to suspect they would not make it to the bench. A ripple of disappointment fluttered through me, as I had truly valued their company. But at this point, I was preoccupied with my oppressive thirst and growing hunger.

Emerging from my tent, I grabbed my bear can and water and headed to the bench, where the flies did not seem to congregate. (I guess they don’t appreciate the view.) I assessed my water situation and found that my seemingly conservative sipping had not been so conservative afterall.

My remaining water supply included: a full 1.5 liter Smart Water bottle, less than a half-liter of electrolytes in the other Smart Water bottle, less than half a liter in the Vesica, and eight ounces for dinner in my Stasher bag. I desperately needed to hydrate after this day’s toils. And I would need at least 1.5 liters for the next day’s trek to Kingsbury.

Thirst > Hunger

In the midst of my rationing calculations, hunger gnawed at me. I had put my body through a gauntlet, yet had given it nothing in return. So, knowing that a resupply was around the corner (figuratively speaking), I ate my remaining stock of Starburst. All the while, I sipped on what was left of my electrolyte mix.

Once I had exhausted the rest of the electrolyte bottle, I was still ravenous for more water. The stewing heat of the late afternoon still weighed on me. To ward off the mind-fog of dehydration, I would need to consume more liquid. 

I considered the water I’d kept in my Stasher bag to make dinner. Retrieving it from my bear can, I observed leftover particles of couscous spices from the previous night’s dinner floating within. Opening the bag, I could smell a slight residual garlic aroma. This water was intended for the next pack of couscous that I’d planned for dinner tonight. Full off of the snacks of my emptying bear can, I reconsidered that dinner plan.

Ultimately, my thirst trumped my hunger. So I drank down the Stasher bag water, riddled with the remnants of couscous of yore. The relief of water in my esophagus overwhelmed the disgust of its taste. This was the moment I discovered that for the first time in my life, I experienced true thirst.

Taking up some much-needed shade (7/5/24)

Sunset and Reflection

After consuming a dry dinner (beef jerky, a tortilla, and other assorted snacks that I can’t remember), I simply sat at the bench to actually enjoy the view. I gave more thought to the mountains across the vast lake from me. That’s where I had begun this whole adventure. I had made it that far around. Soon enough, I could say I completed the circle.

The way I felt on that bench was so contradictory; exhaustion and thirst in one scale, pride and accomplishment in the other. I also reconciled that I had outpaced my Marlette friends, the ones I had told myself were so much fitter and faster than I was. Perhaps they were just smarter, but I felt a sense of fulfillment that I covered a distance that they hadn’t…that I had anticipated they would have far outpaced me on. I had gone further than I thought I could manage (and I had probably thought right). The positive emotions definitely outweighed my discomfort, but I recognized that I was pushing my own limit.

As the sun lowered, a backpacking couple came along. They said their hellos, set up camp, and they joined me at the bench to watch the sun set behind the mountains. We exchanged conversations about our hiking experiences; they told me about their encounter with the Lake Richardson bear (presumably the same one Kisha and I had come across)…I guess it has a reputation for being a regular there.

Hearing about their outings, one being the entire PCT, I found a renewed sense of zeal for the trail, despite my rather depleted state. Backpacking…this lifestyle…it’s a challenge all its own, and it’s far from comfortable and cute. But, man oh man, if I could say it wasn’t worth it as I watched the most glorious sunset from there on that bench.

One of my absolute favorite views from the trip (7/5/24)

Day 10 (Part 2): Spooner Summit to The Bench
Total Mileage: 7.5

The Day I Almost Quit

The next morning, I woke up feeling expectedly groggy, but so excited to get to town and resupply. I was more so eager to get a meal from The Fox and Hound, a restaurant that I had heard so much about throughout the trail. I got dressed with haste and emerged from my tent to one of the most beautiful panoramic lake views in the light of the sunrise.

Not a bad place to catch the sunrise (7/6/24)

Another 10×10?

Riding a wave of confidence from my ten miles by ten the previous morning, I was stoked to achieve it again today. So I grabbed a Clif bar for a breakfast on the run (also because I had to forgo oatmeal because I only had a liter and a half to get me over nine miles). Strolling out of camp by 5:45 AM, I was certain I could make it to Kingsbury in good time, mainly aiming to beat the heat of the late morning.

Eager to get the day started (7/6/24)

My dreams of a second ten by ten were squandered by my understandably slowing pace. I was averaging about two and a half miles per hour for the first couple hours, but my trickle of water intake was overwhelming my already-dehydrated body. My pace reduced significantly with each hour that passed.

Views of South Lake Tahoe as I descended to Kingsbury (7/6/24)

Running on Empty

As Kingsbury grew closer and my water bottle emptier, I found it difficult to fully relish the views of South Lake Tahoe in the backdrop of the hike. I again found myself wrestling with the enjoyment of the hike and the discomfort of my thirst. The next water source was actually a mile past the official section end at Kingsbury Grade (Highway 207). This knowledge definitely dampened my mood when I did reach the highway. It was 9:55 AM, and I had finished 9.3 miles in a little over four hours. I had completed my sixth section of the Tahoe Rim Trail.

Kingsbury Grade, Highway 207 (7/6/24)

For each of the other sections, I stopped to snap a cute photo to commemorate the completion of each one. But this one…I had no such desire to stop…only to get to the next water source, Edgewood Creek, another mile from the highway.

My mindless meandering became filled with speculative questions: Is this how backpacking feels after this many days? Do I really want to keep doing this? Is it worth putting myself through this just to say I finished the thing? What if I just catch a ride back to my car and call it a day?

The notion of quitting became a nagging temptation. I was never more ready to be done with the trail than I was on that morning. The section from Spooner to Kingsbury was so miserable, and I was starting to think I wouldn’t be able to shake off that misery. How I missed being clean. How I missed air conditioning. Oh, how I missed cold water!

After crossing the highway, I sucked down the last of my water. I only had a mile to go. I would be fine until then. Just fine…right?

Day 11 (Part 1): The Bench to Kingsbury Grade
Total Mileage: 9.3

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Comments 1

  • Amy Hues : Dec 24th

    Absolutely inspired by your perseverance and your courage!!! These are absolutely my favorite reads!!!! So incredibly proud of you!

    Reply

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