John Muir Trail Day 25: The Day We Finally Stepped NOBO Feet into Yosemite
Today is the day. The thought exploded into my mind causing adrenaline to ignite a mental wildfire, burning every last speck of sleep away as I woke up on the morning of Day 25 on the John Muir Trail. Yosemite, we get to finally hike into YOSEMITE today.
As northbound hikers on the JMT, Yosemite being situated at the end of our hike as opposed to the beginning seemed like the grand prize at the end of it all. I had been to the front country of Yosemite and toured many of its legendary places but nothing seemed more epic in my mind than to hike through the backcountry of Yosemite.
I held in a SQUEEEE of joy at the thought when I realized my husband and hiking partner, Cliff, was still asleep. I launched myself out of the tent, finally moving like the thru-hiker I was and walked with ease (who am I?!) towards our bear can. I rifled through the interior and dragged out everything we would need to make ourselves ready to eat, pack up and move out as fast as possible. Yosemite was waiting for us, we just had to get up and over 11,073’ Donahue Pass first.
As luck would have it, my unintended (totally intended) noise woke Cliff and soon he was happily extracting himself from the tent. We moved as if our bodies had finally adapted to this way of hiker life and the joy of it all had me absolutely giddy. As I brushed my teeth, I ambled around looking at our campsite, mentally adding it to the growing list of favorite places of all time to pitch a tent. Not a soul was around and it felt like we had the whole world to ourselves.
Eager to summit Donahue Pass, we packed up fast and were on our way a few minutes later. The trail out of our campsite consisted of soft dirt and, as we rejoined the JMT, I felt like we were ambling through Tolkien’s Shire. A stream trickled along beside us and that gorgeous Sierra Nevada light was glittering through the tree canopy overhead. We were hiking through a dream.
The trail wove its way through the trees until it led us towards massive boulders, presenting naturally carved stone steps for our use. This staircase deposited us onto massive stretches of uninterrupted smooth rock and a glorious view of the mountain range ahead. Carved by wind and polished by water, this expanse of stone became the trail. Cairns were the only indication we were on the right path and we followed them until rock became damp dirt. The trail was carved precisely into vibrant green turf and, suddenly, we realized we were in the land of marmots again.
We walked past marmots watching us carefully and tried to not look suspicious as we made our way out of their territory and into the alpine zone. We bid their furry faces goodbye and focused on the ascent ahead of us. We were in the final stretch of Donahue Pass.
The JMT by this time had changed into a world of rock and the trail consisted of stone with a rare few feet of tantalizing dirt trail before morphing back into stone stairs leading up and up and up. My legs muscles were soon burning as we pushed onward.
As was the case with Muir Pass, we didn’t know we were there until we were damn near on top of the summit marker. There was a small group of hikers congregating but, until I saw the anticlimactic national park sign, did I know we had finally arrived. I smiled hard despite the labored breathing and hugged Cliff in celebration.
As we made our first steps on the descent and into Yosemite, I took in the scenic expanse from Donahue Pass, which stretched as far as we could see. It was breathtaking and I couldn’t wait to see it all. We headed down the trail and tucked into a wind break of bushes that provided shade from the searing high alpine sun. Cliff had acquired a handsome tan but my nose looked like a sunburnt piece of peeling meat. It looked so bad, in fact, Cliff made a nose sun shield out of Leukotape and attached it to my sunglasses to stop future damage.
The steep descent down to Lyell Canyon was long but the stunning views kept us busy. I marveled at everything, including myself having not once tripped to land flat on my face from inattention to the trail in front of me. I also failed to notice that Cliff had fallen silent behind me until we stopped for a bathroom break.
When I returned, Cliff was slow to climb to his feet and I gave him a questioning look. He answered with a generic man grunt. I knew he was hurting but with nothing further to indicate how he was actually doing, I asked him if he was ready to hike on. He nodded and we headed out as I led the way, as was the case for the majority of our thru-hike.
I set the pace moving fast for my short legs since I was still feeling physically good. A few miles later though, Cliff called for a rest stop. I refrained from asking too many questions, having noticed that he had acquired a limp. Waiting patiently, Cliff said his right leg was bothering him and guessed it was the tendon responsible for ankle flexion. I handed him ibuprofen when he asked and suggested gently that he might use his trekking poles. He decided to dig them out of his pack and I hoped they might help him.
We moved on again, this time with him in the lead to slow me down to a pace he could pull off while still in pain.
This was a first for me and I was shocked at how we had traded places. I resigned myself, since we first started hiking together in 2004, to being “the slow one” due to my hobbit-sized body and squat legs. It was an undeniable fact that his 6’2” height and ridiculously long, muscled legs could move faster over the landscape than I could…until this day.
We took another break on a steep section of trail. As I gazed out over the long valley below, Cliff said, “I need for us to stop for the day at the next campsite.” For him to say this had me silently alarmed. I waited for more but left him alone to dig deep mentally, recognizing the kind of pain that demanded the body just get the physical task ahead done so it could finally rest.
When he was ready, Cliff took the lead again, leaving me to trail behind at an amble that left me feeling joyfully good. The trail continued downward, eventually leveling off. We hiked on until we spotted a campsite near the river that ran the length of Lyell Canyon. Cliff turned off the trail and limped heavily to it and dropped his pack in the dirt looking preoccupied with pain.
While he stayed off his ankle and begrudgingly rested, I tackled the many tasks he would normally complete once we arrived at our camp for the night. As I walked alone down to the nearby river for a full water refill, I thought about the choices we would face if Cliff decided he couldn’t complete the JMT.
We were situated less than 8 miles from Tuolumne Meadows, a perfect place to call the hike done, should he need to do so. From there, he could hop on the national park shuttle and ride out the last miles to the northern terminus of the JMT, in Happy Isles. It was a perfect contingency plan…for him.
As for me? What would I do? I thought, but I had the answer the minute the question came into my mind hours before.
I filtered the last of the water into our bottles and looked up at the setting sun over Donahue Pass and knew, without a doubt, that I would hike the last 30 miles to finish the JMT, even if I had to do it solo.
…and that was most certainly that.
Stats for the Hiker Nerds (Like You and I)
Day 25- September 10, 2024
The foot of Donahue Pass to Mid-Lyell Canyon
Mountain Pass/Summit: Donahue Pass (Elevation 11,073’)
Mileage: 8 miles
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