To get the most out of this Photo Companion, go treat yo’ self to a book!
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After a full night of pretending, I opened my eyes and sighed, letting out a visible column of breath into the moonlit tent.
I was lying at the front gates of the Sierra, and I’d been awake for what seemed like hours. Hell, maybe I’d never actually fallen asleep.
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All of the social media apps on my phone had long been deleted. Online PCT forums were a breeding ground of anonymous dark prophets, who enjoyed forecasting the devastation awaiting the idiots attempting the Sierra. Their pessimism wasn’t completely misplaced. Accidents in the mountains had already happened. A week before, one strong hiker almost froze to death. He exited Kearsarge Pass and quit his entire PCT hike right then and there.
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Spider-webbed ice covering my tent walls was illuminated by the dawn light, and I sighed in relief. Even though I was exhausted, sleep had been fitful in temps teetering on the edge of too low for my gear. As a cherry on top, winds had beaten the tent around for most of the night, but had finally calmed at 2:16 a.m.
How did I know it was 2:16? Because I was awake. I was awake before, during, and after that damn wind had finally settled down.
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By 6:30 a.m., we were on the trail. My left foot struggled to warm up, sending wincing flashes of pain from my heel with every step. The first couple of miles were nice and flat headed toward the ominously named Death Canyon Creek. The information I’d gathered barely mentioned it, only noting it typically dried into stagnant pools later in the season.
The four of us were stopped in our tracks at the bank of a six-foot-wide channel of rushing water.
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My alarm woke me up to gentle winds whipping the tent in the soft blue morning light. I sighed out loud in relief. Another brutally cold night had passed, somewhere around 15F. I had spent the night trying to avoid cold spots in my too-small sleeping bag. What a mistake. The entire night consisted of me waking up every 45 minutes to check my phone, praying the time had flown past and it was close to morning.
My prayers were thoroughly unanswered.
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Looking out from my tent in the crisp morning, there was no sign of Amped stirring.
"Good," I told myself, "poor bastard needs some good sleep after yesterday."
The night had been below freezing, but probably still 10F to 15F warmer than the previous night. I had slept well and it looked like Amped had also slept well. This was good news, but I knew the next night might not be as... *ahem*... "warm" at the higher elevation and that would be the night before summiting Forester Pass, the highest point on the Pacific Crest Trail at 13,200 feet.
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Looking out from my tent in the crisp morning, there was no sign of Amped stirring.
"Good," I told myself, "poor bastard needs some good sleep after yesterday."
The night had been below freezing, but probably still 10F to 15F warmer than the previous night. I had slept well and it looked like Amped had also slept well. This was good news, but I knew the next night might not be as... *ahem*... "warm" at the higher elevation and that would be the night before summiting Forester Pass, the highest point on the Pacific Crest Trail at 13,200 feet.
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Looking out from my tent in the crisp morning, there was no sign of Amped stirring.
"Good," I told myself, "poor bastard needs some good sleep after yesterday."
The night had been below freezing, but probably still 10F to 15F warmer than the previous night. I had slept well and it looked like Amped had also slept well. This was good news, but I knew the next night might not be as... *ahem*... "warm" at the higher elevation and that would be the night before summiting Forester Pass, the highest point on the Pacific Crest Trail at 13,200 feet.
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Looking out from my tent in the crisp morning, there was no sign of Amped stirring.
"Good," I told myself, "poor bastard needs some good sleep after yesterday."
The night had been below freezing, but probably still 10F to 15F warmer than the previous night. I had slept well and it looked like Amped had also slept well. This was good news, but I knew the next night might not be as... *ahem*... "warm" at the higher elevation and that would be the night before summiting Forester Pass, the highest point on the Pacific Crest Trail at 13,200 feet.
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Surprisingly, it wasn't much easier to get up after the next alarm... but grumpiness aside; it was time to go. The snow was hard again, the weather was still, and we were five miles from the highest point on the Pacific Crest Trail, Forester Pass (13,200 ft).
But we needed to get there before the sun.
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I had spent the entire trip trying to keep up with Amped, but now I found myself waiting for him. Every time I'd stop and wait, I'd reach the point of concern right when he'd appear from the snow-choked trees with a heavy limp, and an even heavier look in his eyes.
This wasn't good.
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I had spent the entire trip trying to keep up with Amped, but now I found myself waiting for him. Every time I'd stop and wait, I'd reach the point of concern right when he'd appear from the snow-choked trees with a heavy limp, and an even heavier look in his eyes.
This wasn't good.
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As we sat in the comfortable lower elevation at Woods Creek, sipping coffee by headlamp, and slowly breaking down camp in the still morning, we had no idea what was coming.
There was an ungodly hard day ahead of us.
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At 2 a.m., my eyes shot open at the sound of my muffled alarm.
Yesterday had taught us a borderline traumatic lesson: do whatever it takes to walk on hard snow. We couldn't mentally afford another day of miserable postholing.
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The silhouette of the large, grey lion stood out against the white backdrop of the snow-covered mountainside behind it. The cat was slowly walking high on a ridge above us about 200 yards away. It was going in the same direction we were... it was walking what appeared to be the same speed that we were...
It's head was low, looking down toward the valley where we were. Was it... watching us?
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The silhouette of the large, grey lion stood out against the white backdrop of the snow-covered mountainside behind it. The cat was slowly walking high on a ridge above us about 200 yards away. It was going in the same direction we were... it was walking what appeared to be the same speed that we were...
It's head was low, looking down toward the valley where we were. Was it... watching us?
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An ominous thought drifted into the forefront of my mind, 'This isn't going to end well.'
Sure enough, I watched in horrified shock for the second time that day as Thor wobbled, slipped... and went into the black, rolling mass of water.
"NOOOOOO!!!" Amped yelled in dismay, "SWIM THOR, SWIM!!"
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Black water swirled angrily around my legs, removing every shred of warmth from my skin under my rain gear. As I stood perched in the middle of the creek, feeling in my legs almost immediately disappeared. I looked across the creek at Amped and muttered, "Dammit. This is absolutely NOT safe."
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As I continued to lower myself further and further, moving past the point of return, I prayed my foot would find the rock before the prow of snow broke off... sending me into the dark hole under the ice that had been carved by the forceful stream above.
Fighting the pushing force of the water at my back, I lowered and lowered... but my foot wasn't making contact with the rock yet! I felt panic flood my brain. I was too far over the edge to get back onto the platform, but I couldn't find the damn boulder I'd spotted from the side! Had I overestimated the distance down to the rock?!
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