John Muir Trail Day 9: A Cautionary Tale of a Trail-Trashed Brain

Wrestling my backpack on I glanced at the mountain looming high above us and forced myself to breathe…but all I could smell was my own armpits. The bad scent had shifted from mild onion roll to old, raw onions. Well, I thought to myself, I’m officially hiker trash…and somehow that thought made me feel better until I glanced back in the direction of Kearsarge Pass, obscured by countless switchbacks and the mountainous terrain.

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I looked at my husband, Cliff, silently confirming I was struggling to slip out of zero-day mode and back into full-on hiker mode. I was somehow ready, though, and took my first steps back onto the Kearsarge Pass Trail which would lead us eventually back to the John Muir Trail.

Those Hiker Mind Games

As we hiked along, it became apparent that my mind had done a number on my memory of this section of the hike. On the descent, two days ago, it took an excruciating amount of time to finally get to the Onion Valley Trailhead for our resupply in town…but as we hiked along, tackling the ascent, it wasn’t nearly the challenge I made it out to be. I was moving in a way that was impressing even myself and I wondered what in the hell was going on.  Did I really need the Zero Day that much? The trail grew steeper and yet I kept solidly locked into a consistent pace that carried me past groups of hikers. Every now and then, a few hikers would strike up a conversation and Cliff would stop to talk with them, but I did not. Above all else, I wanted to keep my momentum going. Cliff easily caught back up with me and we progressed upwards until I realized we were past the last switchback and in the final stretch that would deliver us to Kearsarge Pass.

Setting Goals and Thinking We Would Be Fine

I really could not believe what just happened and said as much to Cliff. We pulled out a few snacks as we sat on a rock at the pass, staring far into the horizon and the tiny dot that was now Independence, CA. He consulted a map as I asked, “What is our goal for today?” Cliff answered, “Well you motored right up Kearsarge…what if we aimed to camp at Rae Lakes tonight?” I nodded absentmindedly until he said, “It would mean we would have to climb another mountain pass…”

My head snapped back to look at him and I wanted to violently object. Two mountain passes in one day?! But, as I took stock in how I was feeling mentally and physically, I realized I was doing…? 

Great. I was doing great, actually. And so I said yes to this new challenge of two mountain passes in one day – something I had never done before.

We finished our snacks and set a faster pace on the descent, making good time.  It was hot and the sun was beating down, intensifying my onion roll smell.

Running Out of water…and Water Sources for the First Time on the JMT

The trail leveled off for a short while and I drank the last of the water from my bottle, but didn’t want to stop for a refill. We continued on with Cliff calling from behind me that there was a water source a mile or so up the trail and we should fill up there.  I called a quick “okay” that I heard him and we pushed on.

That next mile came and went and the water source we were counting on was not there. We weren’t too surprised, since the climate in the Sierra Nevada was so dry and still, we continued on as the Kearsarge Pass Trail finally intersected with the John Muir Trail.

Our next long ascent to Glen Pass began immediately but we were too preoccupied with finding a water source to notice. According to multiple maps, there should have been many different bodies of water ranging from shallow tarns to large lakes, but they were either dried up or miles out of our way. We continued to hike along, casting longing glances at the distant, large and very full Charlotte Lake mocking us from far below. Plodding along, I realized that I was starting to deal with the effects of dehydration but said nothing because there was no solution but to keep moving towards the next potential body of water.

Finally we crested a hill, making this our fourth attempt to find water, and in utter relief, found a nameless alpine lake half full. We hiked down the steep rocky shoreline and perched on a rock and began the too-slow process of filtering water. I sat in silence assisting Cliff however I could to make sure every last bottle we had was filled to brim with water. I felt increasingly mentally and physically awful and knew that I needed to down a substantial amount of electrolytes and water.

Ignoring the Signs of Serious Depletion

We sat for a short while drinking in silence, but the urgency to keep moving nagged at us. We still had at least four miles to go and an entire pass to climb and descend. That thought had me feeling defeated, a first for my JMT experience…which should have been a warning sign that I was seriously depleted.

We tugged on our packs again and set off at an erratic pace made worse by a need for calories. The thought of putting food in my mouth made me feel queasy and so I dealt with it in the most ineffective way possible – I ignored it.  

At some point in our hiking experiences, we might one day decide to heed to the strong sense of foreshadowing and stop for the day right then and there but our survival instincts (or stupidity) took over and pushed us onward. The only priority I had was to keep moving until we hit our goal of camping at Rae Lakes where we could hopefully choke down a substantial amount of calories and water and sink into the oblivion of blessed recovery that comes with sleep.

Glen Pass Would Have Been Beautiful But…

The scenery resembled a lunar landscape dominated completely by jagged rockfall as if the mountain was constantly reinventing itself. The hike had turned into a suffer fest as I slogged along watching Cliff up ahead. He was doing exactly what I asked of him – to take the lead – because I kept losing the trail and any wasted effort of going the wrong way threatened to break me mentally.

Glen Pass should have been appreciated for the absolute geologic work of art that it was but I couldn’t muster any energy towards giving in to being awestruck, much less photograph. Another huge red flag I should have noticed.

I trudged onward not realizing we were a few switchbacks from the top of the pass, only caring about getting up so that we could get over it and start the long descent. 

I barely took in the view at the pass before turning to tackle the downward-trending trail all the while skipping the opportunity to eat anything from my substantial stores of food that would have surely helped.

The landscape would have been beautiful, had I noticed, but I only had eyes for the next placement of each foot as I moved my alarmingly tired body down the backside of the pass. Soon, an exhaustively treacherous trail morphed into a fairytale setting. We had entered into a verdant storybook scene, the polar opposite of the alien landscape of Glen Pass. The trail alternated between soft moist dirt and slick rock and, as I set a foot on a sloped flat rock, my shoe slipped and down I went. 

I landed on what I would later identify as a coyote mint plant and sat where my body came to a rest staring at nothing. Finally, I looked over my shoulder and said to Cliff, “Welp, the good news is I found a mint plant if you want tea tonight. The bad news is I’m done. Totally done. I need to stop at the next campsite we come to because I’ve got nothing left.” 

I leveraged my body, still strapped into a backpack carrying 32 pounds of weight, off the ground. Once on my feet, I began to silently berate myself as I shuffled along, not paying attention to my footing, and felt my ankle turn outwards, causing me to stumble sideways into a rock wall next to me. My ankle was fine but that was my second to last straw. I bowed my head and said weakly to my feet, “I really need to be done.”

But we both knew I could not be done yet. I had to keep going.

Needing to Be Done but Moving on Was the Only Option

The problem was the food Cliff and I carried. It was divided among a bear can and a bear bag. Rae Lakes was in a region that had strict regulations due to high bear activity. Every scented item we carried had to be placed in either a bear can or a bear locker.  Bear lockers were sparsely spaced out around the Rae Lakes area and, as a result, we would need to find a campsite located near one. There was no choice, we would need to hike on.

The distance between where we stood and where we would need to camp was not far, in hindsight, but it seemed to take an excruciatingly long time. I had dissolved into following Cliff as he followed the JMT as it wound its way between two of the lakes. We took a turn at a sign indicating the bear locker was close and, a few minutes further down the trail, we were finally at the heavy-duty locking metal cabinet. 

Campsite, Food, and finally: Blessed Sleep 

We began searching the area for campsites and found an unimpressive one nearby that somehow had no views of the lake. It didn’t matter because I couldn’t scrounge up any feeling other than disappointment in myself. I was missing everything because I was too lost in feeling horrible, mentally and physically. I was drowning in feeling like a deficient hiker. 

Cliff suggested I sit down and wait while he set up the tent and got out everything we would need to make as much food as possible for both of us and, right there in the middle of the only uninspiring campsite in all of Rae Lakes, I completely broke down.

I started to cry and, in doing so, I was utterly horrified at myself. What was wrong with me? Some detached voice in the back of my head said, Remember when this happened at Mount St. Helens when you ran out of water, didn’t have enough electrolytes and calories and things went mentally sideways? Remember crying for no apparent reason? Now you need to remember what fixed it: water, electrolytes and food. 

I turned to Cliff, who seemed absolutely alarmed, and said, “I don’t know why I’m crying but I think this a Mount St. Helens situation again.” He knew exactly what I was talking about and started pawing through his pack to find some electrolytes. Cliff dropped a tablet into my bottle of water and encouraged me to stay where I was and concentrate on drinking the whole bottle. 

By the time the bottle was empty, Cliff had an assortment of rehydrated food cooked for us and settled in next to me. We consumed it all in record time and, together, we set up the tent. We cleaned up our camp, secured anything scented in the bear locker and were tucked into our sleeping quilts before the sun even went down. Before sleeping like the absolute dead, I garbled out a thank you to Cliff for being the best hiking partner I could ever hope to have. I think he answered but my snoring drowned him out.

Stats for us hiker nerds

Day 9- August 25, 2024

Onion Valley Trailhead over Kearsarge Pass and Glen Pass to Rae Lakes

Mountain Pass/Summit: Kearsarge Pass elevation 11,823’ /  Glen Pass elevation 11,961’

Elevation Gain: 3,831’ (from Onion Valley TH to Kearsarge Pass to Glen Pass to Rae Lakes)

Elevation Loss: 2,420’

Mileage: 12.1

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