Regular Steps: A LOT of them
18 days. 220 miles. 3 national parks. 47,000 feet of elevation gain. 45 lb backpacks. 2 stinky brothers. 1 adventure of a lifetime.
Last summer, I came up with the brilliant idea of hiking the entire John Muir Trail (JMT) in one fell swoop. Growing up just an hour and a half from Yosemite National Park, I got a little desensitized to the easily accessible, natural beauty and never fully appreciated it until I began to experience it on my own accord (as opposed to being forced by my parents). I got my first taste of backpacking during my freshman year of college and was instantly hooked. On a few short wilderness trips in Yosemite and Kings Canyon last summer, I found out about the JMT from other hikers on the trail. It became kind of a distant challenge that I knew I was capable of rising to if I really put my mind to it. However, going alone seemed a little out of my league, so I started looking for a hiking partner. Little did I know that my search would end about two doors down the hall from my bedroom. Corbin, expecting to get accepted into dental school for this upcoming school year, was down to his last true summer vacation, and was looking to do something memorable.
Over the next year, we entered (and luckily won) the permit lottery, researched the trail, amassed the necessary gear, and planned out our schedule and meals. A week before our starting date, July 11, the house had turned into command central with sleeping bags, backpacks, trekking poles, cooking utensils, extra layers, maps, and LOTS of dehydrated food strewn about all over the floor. There was no turning back.
On July 11, we set off from Yosemite Valley, accompanied by two friends, Britni and Esther, who hiked to the top of Nevada Falls with us to send us off with hugs and prayers for our big adventure. I remember showing Esther that we had come about three and a half miles since the valley floor, which corresponded to about 2 inches on the map. I then flipped through the fifteen pages of our map, each with about 8 inches worth of trail on it. "Woah...", we both exclaimed with about the same amount of surprise.
A few inches later, Corbin and I had both had enough for one day. "Only seven miles?"
"That felt like at least double that amount." we agreed. We shrugged it off, pretending that we could have gone further if we hadn't met Richard. About to start his fifth year of medical school in Singapore, Richard was making the most of his short summer break, and first time in America, by doing the JMT. We set up camp together and shared stories and laughs the rest of the night.
The people we met and stories we heard along the JMT are a major part of why I plan to do more long hikes in the future. Everyone on the trail has a unique story and reason for their hike. The relationships you form on the trail become that much more meaningful as they are shared over the beautiful scenery and mutual hardships. Although I may never see them again, I will never forget the stories of those I met and struggled with: Richard, Mike, Jason, Charlotte, Margot, Luke, Amy, Elaina, Derek, Bill, Tomas, and many others whose names I do not have the pleasure of knowing.
Over the next seventeen days, Corbin and I became ultra-efficient. Fifteen-mile days became the standard as our packs became lighter from the ever-decreasing supply of food and fuel (that is until we resupplied at seven and fourteen days in). Our camp set-up and break-down times shortened as we learned to work together. Our bodies morphed into "all-legs" hiking machines with Corbin losing 6 lbs and myself losing 10. Walking all day became the norm, and by the time we were nearly done, walking was more desirable than not, as it meant we were getting closer to our end goal.
The only thing that didn't change throughout the whole trip was the beauty. While each day brought us a different set of scenery and views, the relatively untouched wonderland that surrounded us qualifies as some of the most beautiful country I have ever set foot in. Go ahead and gawk at the pictures below, but understand that they don't even begin to do the trail justice.
On the last three days of our trip, we were up against two of the toughest climbs on the whole trail: 13,200 foot Forester Pass and 14,494 foot Mt. Whitney. Although difficult in and of themselves, this part of the trail proved to be the crux of the trip for me. WARNING: the rest of this paragraph and the following one are not for the easily disturbed and will detail how bodily processes are dealt with in the wilderness. In preparation for my trip to Bolivia I had started taking a weekly anti-malarial pill during the hike. It's actually quite miraculous that I remembered to take the pills at all. Both nights I was scheduled to take one, I forgot right up until I had nearly fallen asleep. Upon remembering, I proceeded to bolt up out of my sleeping bag in a half-asleep stupor, and take my pill with a quick swallow of water. Little did I know that the instructions called for the pills to be taken at meal time with a full glass of water. The morning of our climb up Forester Pass, the side effects began. At first, it was just stomach discomfort and diarrhea which was easily taken care of with anti-diarrheal medication. But, by the morning of our summit of Mt. Whitney, the diarrhea had become too much to handle for my anti-diarrheal meds and I began to have stomach cramps and nausea as well.
Enter the Wag-Bag. Mt Whitney is a very popular day-hike and backpacking trip. So much so, that rangers have decided the regular 6 inch cat-hole method of pooping in the wilderness is too destructive given the amount of people who hike the trail. Therefore, all those entering the Mt. Whitney zone are given this nice little kit called a Wag-Bag, into which you are expected to do your business, and pack it down the mountain to be thrown out in the trash. Let's just say it was the worst possible time to have diarrhea.
When I finally reached the summit of Mt. Whitney and watched the sunrise through the fog, (actually smoke from the numerous fires in the area) it was all worth it. I had powered through and finished one of the most difficult physical feats I have ever accomplished. Furthermore, I had finished the JMT and would shortly descend to the town of Lone Pine in time for a $10 pizza buffet and my first shower in weeks.
A lot of people ask me what the scariest part of my trip was. Many friends and family were blown away that I wasn't going to be taking a gun, bear spray, or even a bear bell that warns bears of your presence...so that they can be SURE to notice you and eat you. In reality, the bears are much more scared of us than we are of them, and the two I saw caused a lot more excitement than fear. The instance that had me the most scared for my own life was probably when I told Corbin that I had lost the fig bars during our first big climb up Donohue Pass. (I had re-adjusted my pack earlier in the day and they had slipped to the bottom without me noticing.)
Or perhaps the scariest moment was my battle with mosquito-induced insanity. There was one evening in particular that had me questioning my mental state. It only got worse the next morning when I woke up and felt mother nature calling me out of the tent and into the mosquito infestation. Like a knight dressing for battle, I donned my thermals, beanie, down jacket, socks, camp shoes, and mosquito net. With a fresh coat of DEET on my bum and sword in hand, (plastic, shovel-shaped sword), I stepped onto the battlefield only to return ten minutes later to lick my wounds.
No, in all seriousness, the scariest part was probably the thunderstorms. Half of the days we were out, there were huge thunderstorms in the afternoon that only got worse the higher you climbed. When there was no sound delay between the lightning flash and thunder, I found myself truly praying for my life. On one particular pass, I made the poor decision to keep going despite the dark clouds ahead. Before we knew it, we were caught in a terrible storm that drenched us to the bone. Miraculously, we rounded a corner to find that six others had been caught in the same storm and had started to put up a temporary tarp shelter. We immediately dropped our packs, helped with the finishing touches, and holed up inside with the others to wait out the storm. After three hours of shivering, telling stories, and sharing what little food we had accessible, the storm lightened up just enough to pitch our tents for the night.
That thunderstorm, or rather the kind hikers who let us cram under a tarp with them, got me thinking a little about the concept of "trail magic". Like any hobby, backpacking has its own jargon. While on your next hike you may hear some backpackers saying something like, "Dude that last pass was totally socked-in, I was post-holing up to my hip" (Translation: There was a lot of snow and I had to walk in it.) Another part of the hiker's vocabulary is "trail magic". This is used to refer to any good fortune one has along the trail. Many would say that we had a nice bit of trail magic when we happened upon six other people in the same bad situation as us. I would contest that it was God responsible, not trail magic. He didn't stop there either. Neither my brother nor I had any serious injuries throughout the entire trip. Our first food resupply arrived at its destination just hours before we did, despite being told it would get there a week in advance. Throughout the whole trip, God had our backs.
With just ten days left before I fly out to Bolivia, it's nice to know that I can rely on God to help me overcome any challenge I face. The JMT was an unforgettable experience that really brought this to the forefront of my mind. Not only did He create all the beauty I was able to experience, He also guided my every step so as to keep me safe. Although the thought of living in a different country for a year scares me a little, I know there's no situation too big for Him to handle.
TL;DR
Corbin and I spent the last 3 weeks hiking the John Muir Trail. There were lots of ups and downs (figuratively and literally). We met people from all over the world, each with their own unique story that got woven into my memories of the beautiful scenery around us. We saw bears. We battled mosquitos. We braved storms. Ultimately, we were able to complete the trail and come out on the other side with a respect for nature and the One who created it all.
Last summer, I came up with the brilliant idea of hiking the entire John Muir Trail (JMT) in one fell swoop. Growing up just an hour and a half from Yosemite National Park, I got a little desensitized to the easily accessible, natural beauty and never fully appreciated it until I began to experience it on my own accord (as opposed to being forced by my parents). I got my first taste of backpacking during my freshman year of college and was instantly hooked. On a few short wilderness trips in Yosemite and Kings Canyon last summer, I found out about the JMT from other hikers on the trail. It became kind of a distant challenge that I knew I was capable of rising to if I really put my mind to it. However, going alone seemed a little out of my league, so I started looking for a hiking partner. Little did I know that my search would end about two doors down the hall from my bedroom. Corbin, expecting to get accepted into dental school for this upcoming school year, was down to his last true summer vacation, and was looking to do something memorable.
Over the next year, we entered (and luckily won) the permit lottery, researched the trail, amassed the necessary gear, and planned out our schedule and meals. A week before our starting date, July 11, the house had turned into command central with sleeping bags, backpacks, trekking poles, cooking utensils, extra layers, maps, and LOTS of dehydrated food strewn about all over the floor. There was no turning back.
On July 11, we set off from Yosemite Valley, accompanied by two friends, Britni and Esther, who hiked to the top of Nevada Falls with us to send us off with hugs and prayers for our big adventure. I remember showing Esther that we had come about three and a half miles since the valley floor, which corresponded to about 2 inches on the map. I then flipped through the fifteen pages of our map, each with about 8 inches worth of trail on it. "Woah...", we both exclaimed with about the same amount of surprise.
A few inches later, Corbin and I had both had enough for one day. "Only seven miles?"
"That felt like at least double that amount." we agreed. We shrugged it off, pretending that we could have gone further if we hadn't met Richard. About to start his fifth year of medical school in Singapore, Richard was making the most of his short summer break, and first time in America, by doing the JMT. We set up camp together and shared stories and laughs the rest of the night.
The people we met and stories we heard along the JMT are a major part of why I plan to do more long hikes in the future. Everyone on the trail has a unique story and reason for their hike. The relationships you form on the trail become that much more meaningful as they are shared over the beautiful scenery and mutual hardships. Although I may never see them again, I will never forget the stories of those I met and struggled with: Richard, Mike, Jason, Charlotte, Margot, Luke, Amy, Elaina, Derek, Bill, Tomas, and many others whose names I do not have the pleasure of knowing.
Over the next seventeen days, Corbin and I became ultra-efficient. Fifteen-mile days became the standard as our packs became lighter from the ever-decreasing supply of food and fuel (that is until we resupplied at seven and fourteen days in). Our camp set-up and break-down times shortened as we learned to work together. Our bodies morphed into "all-legs" hiking machines with Corbin losing 6 lbs and myself losing 10. Walking all day became the norm, and by the time we were nearly done, walking was more desirable than not, as it meant we were getting closer to our end goal.
The only thing that didn't change throughout the whole trip was the beauty. While each day brought us a different set of scenery and views, the relatively untouched wonderland that surrounded us qualifies as some of the most beautiful country I have ever set foot in. Go ahead and gawk at the pictures below, but understand that they don't even begin to do the trail justice.
On the last three days of our trip, we were up against two of the toughest climbs on the whole trail: 13,200 foot Forester Pass and 14,494 foot Mt. Whitney. Although difficult in and of themselves, this part of the trail proved to be the crux of the trip for me. WARNING: the rest of this paragraph and the following one are not for the easily disturbed and will detail how bodily processes are dealt with in the wilderness. In preparation for my trip to Bolivia I had started taking a weekly anti-malarial pill during the hike. It's actually quite miraculous that I remembered to take the pills at all. Both nights I was scheduled to take one, I forgot right up until I had nearly fallen asleep. Upon remembering, I proceeded to bolt up out of my sleeping bag in a half-asleep stupor, and take my pill with a quick swallow of water. Little did I know that the instructions called for the pills to be taken at meal time with a full glass of water. The morning of our climb up Forester Pass, the side effects began. At first, it was just stomach discomfort and diarrhea which was easily taken care of with anti-diarrheal medication. But, by the morning of our summit of Mt. Whitney, the diarrhea had become too much to handle for my anti-diarrheal meds and I began to have stomach cramps and nausea as well.
Enter the Wag-Bag. Mt Whitney is a very popular day-hike and backpacking trip. So much so, that rangers have decided the regular 6 inch cat-hole method of pooping in the wilderness is too destructive given the amount of people who hike the trail. Therefore, all those entering the Mt. Whitney zone are given this nice little kit called a Wag-Bag, into which you are expected to do your business, and pack it down the mountain to be thrown out in the trash. Let's just say it was the worst possible time to have diarrhea.
When I finally reached the summit of Mt. Whitney and watched the sunrise through the fog, (actually smoke from the numerous fires in the area) it was all worth it. I had powered through and finished one of the most difficult physical feats I have ever accomplished. Furthermore, I had finished the JMT and would shortly descend to the town of Lone Pine in time for a $10 pizza buffet and my first shower in weeks.
A lot of people ask me what the scariest part of my trip was. Many friends and family were blown away that I wasn't going to be taking a gun, bear spray, or even a bear bell that warns bears of your presence...so that they can be SURE to notice you and eat you. In reality, the bears are much more scared of us than we are of them, and the two I saw caused a lot more excitement than fear. The instance that had me the most scared for my own life was probably when I told Corbin that I had lost the fig bars during our first big climb up Donohue Pass. (I had re-adjusted my pack earlier in the day and they had slipped to the bottom without me noticing.)
Or perhaps the scariest moment was my battle with mosquito-induced insanity. There was one evening in particular that had me questioning my mental state. It only got worse the next morning when I woke up and felt mother nature calling me out of the tent and into the mosquito infestation. Like a knight dressing for battle, I donned my thermals, beanie, down jacket, socks, camp shoes, and mosquito net. With a fresh coat of DEET on my bum and sword in hand, (plastic, shovel-shaped sword), I stepped onto the battlefield only to return ten minutes later to lick my wounds.
No, in all seriousness, the scariest part was probably the thunderstorms. Half of the days we were out, there were huge thunderstorms in the afternoon that only got worse the higher you climbed. When there was no sound delay between the lightning flash and thunder, I found myself truly praying for my life. On one particular pass, I made the poor decision to keep going despite the dark clouds ahead. Before we knew it, we were caught in a terrible storm that drenched us to the bone. Miraculously, we rounded a corner to find that six others had been caught in the same storm and had started to put up a temporary tarp shelter. We immediately dropped our packs, helped with the finishing touches, and holed up inside with the others to wait out the storm. After three hours of shivering, telling stories, and sharing what little food we had accessible, the storm lightened up just enough to pitch our tents for the night.
That thunderstorm, or rather the kind hikers who let us cram under a tarp with them, got me thinking a little about the concept of "trail magic". Like any hobby, backpacking has its own jargon. While on your next hike you may hear some backpackers saying something like, "Dude that last pass was totally socked-in, I was post-holing up to my hip" (Translation: There was a lot of snow and I had to walk in it.) Another part of the hiker's vocabulary is "trail magic". This is used to refer to any good fortune one has along the trail. Many would say that we had a nice bit of trail magic when we happened upon six other people in the same bad situation as us. I would contest that it was God responsible, not trail magic. He didn't stop there either. Neither my brother nor I had any serious injuries throughout the entire trip. Our first food resupply arrived at its destination just hours before we did, despite being told it would get there a week in advance. Throughout the whole trip, God had our backs.
With just ten days left before I fly out to Bolivia, it's nice to know that I can rely on God to help me overcome any challenge I face. The JMT was an unforgettable experience that really brought this to the forefront of my mind. Not only did He create all the beauty I was able to experience, He also guided my every step so as to keep me safe. Although the thought of living in a different country for a year scares me a little, I know there's no situation too big for Him to handle.
TL;DR
Corbin and I spent the last 3 weeks hiking the John Muir Trail. There were lots of ups and downs (figuratively and literally). We met people from all over the world, each with their own unique story that got woven into my memories of the beautiful scenery around us. We saw bears. We battled mosquitos. We braved storms. Ultimately, we were able to complete the trail and come out on the other side with a respect for nature and the One who created it all.
Cloud's Rest
Wanda Lake
Tuolumne Meadows
Lightning hut atop Muir Pass
Thousand Island Lake
Sunset over Marjorie Lake
Summit of Forester Pass
Bighorn Plateau
Marie Lakes
My favorite spot: Rae Lakes
The thunderstorm crew
Sunrise through the smoke
Survey hut atop Mt. Whitney
Whitney Summit
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