I got off work around 4pm and drove over to pick up Noé. Daylight and summer were fading fast in the High Sierra, but the forecaster and I were determined to hike a few more peaks. We stopped at the Yellow Food Truck in Bishop. George, the owner, greeted us with a smile and a free glass of some sort of watermelon beverage. He asked where we had been, and we told him we had moved to Mammoth years ago.
We talked about the coming day’s hike excitedly. I don’t think I ever remember what I am getting into, until the last few hours of a hike like this. Those painful memories fade a lot quicker than the high.
In the aisles of Bishop’s Grocery Outlet, the clock struck 6:30pm. We huddled around Noé’s phone to hear his voice on the radio, telling us of the weekend’s weather forecast. We loaded up on various snacks and mentally prepared ourselves for the long day to come. We arrived to Sawmill Pass parking lot at last light. I counted my calories — 7500 — and encouraged Noé to pack a bit more. I looked at his what seemed to me to be meager rations and gave him a few rice crispy treats to supplement. We set our alarms for 4am.
The alarms blared. Noé put his tent in my van. I chugged a protein shake and put down a lemon protein bar. We were off, making our way up Armstrong Canyon in the darkness. The road switchbacked high above the canyon floor. When light reached us, the desert floor was nowhere to be seen. We were among the peaks now. Noe blasted ahead. I tried to match his pace, but finally I let him go. I set a more conservative pace, one that I felt I could keep all day.
We’d climbed 3,000 and then 4,000 and then 5,000 feet. The elevation ticked up. Still though, I asked the forecaster, what were the peaks named high above us? “Oh, that’s some unnamed point” he would reply. We still had a long ways to go. The peaks were not even in sight yet.
We turned off the fading road, and up a steep chute. We spun our wheels on looser and looser scree for 2,000 feet. The top seemed so close, but the chute went on forever. I loaded up on sugar and blasted up the chute. The chute took us not to the summit, nor even the Sierra Crest. But somewhere, somewhere in the cliffy maze above on our way to the peaks. As I waited for Noe at the top, none of our four peaks were visible.
The continuous climb had begun to take its toll on Noé and our pace began to slow. We followed the ridge for bit more, and then contoured over to the Sierra crest. Noé announced that he was nearly out of water, which surprised me as I had barely drank a liter. In this same time, Noé had drank two. I had just under a liter which seemed plenty to me to get over Wynne and Pinchot.
Due to his water shortage, Noé had to do some additional climbing down to a lake to grab a few additional liters. I waited 1000ft below Pinchot and had a bagel and cheese. I counted all of my calories, and at this point I had eaten 2800 calories in the first 7 hours. Noé had only eaten 1400 calories of what mostly seemed like dry health bars. Somehow we both had quite different appetites for food and water.
Noé caught up and we continued on to our first summit. By this point, we had climbed nearly 9,000 feet. I began to hike faster after the 30 minute break, whereas Noé had not had such a luxury. I started to wonder if all four peaks would be possible at this rate, and hoped we could at least go for 2 or 3.
Atop Pinchot, over 9k of climbing into the day, Noé reported feeling very weak. I reminded him to eat some food, and assured him that the upcoming flat and downhill would help tremendously. Sure enough, an hour later we were on Wynne. We made quick work of the traverse, finding a serpentine class 3 route through the crux.
We looked across at Perkins and Colosseum. Two peaks towering over the shimmering lakes below. I badly wanted to go for both, but the prospect was seeming more and more unlikely. From this remote point in the range, on which we were only the third party of the year, we still had a long ways back to my car. The descent got better and better as we descended and soon we were at the decision point. Noé told me he did not think he was up for all four peaks. I was a bit disappointed to leave a peak out here, but at the same time had made peace with this possibility. The idea of getting back to the car, and not immediately diving into a huge scree slog did sound rather appealing. Noé had made his preference for sticking together clear on previous trips, so going it alone on Perkins didn’t really cross my mind.
We made quick work of pleasant off-trail travel across basins and past lakes. At the base of Colosseum pass, both of us got a second wind, and we charged up the pass. Perhaps, I was fueled by the Basin’s abundant water, and Noé was fueled by our now more frequent food breaks. The final few hundred feet of the climb now brought us back down to earth as we slowed considerably.
The bitter taste from skipping a peak was gone as we stood atop Colosseum. It was the late afternoon now. The time of day when it seems like the sun will float in the sky forever. The sun shines brightest before dusk. We jubilantly skipped over scree and rocks down vaguely in the direction of Sawmill Pass. We bounded up the trail, enjoying our first steps on-trail since almost the sunrise. Atop the pass, the last rays of light shone brilliant shades of orange, red and gold on the nearby peaks.
We continued down the pass, continuing to discuss the merits of different fueling strategies, debating like brothers, all in good fun. Noe made some good points about some safety gear I was lacking. I asked Noé if he had brought enough calories. The tiredness had long ago set in, but we pushed on, trying to get as many miles in as possible before darkness fell. Suddenly, out of the corner of our eyes, the first people we had seen all day appeared. I was very surprised to see hikers this late in the evening, just before sunset, when most hikers have already retreated to their tents. As they got closer, we noticed they had nothing by what must not have been more than 10L running vests.
A short wiry woman was setting a punishing pace up the switchbacks, a smiling taller wiry man in tow. We both suspected it, but Noé asked first “are you Kim G?”. Yes, the vert goddess nodded, seemingly amused to run into fans in this place and at this hour. “You are a huge inspiration”, Noé blurted out, I stumbled over my words and said something to the same effect. Perhaps this was all a mirage. We had gone deeper and deeper into our pain caves, and reality had begun to blur.
“We are heading out for 40 hours, going to the westside and back”, Kim reported happily. “We are 15 hours in”, “we will be thinking of you”, I offered lamely. Then they were off, bounding up the last few switchbacks and down to God knows where. 40 hours starting at the end of the day? Why that’s two nights and a day. Our day felt small. Easy. Insignificant. Comparison is the thief of joy, but on that next hour, it was our savior. Meeting Kim was our third wind. We bounded into the sunset. If those two will hike for 40 hours, what’s a few more downhill miles to us?
Our recurrent conversations about fueling had come to an abrupt halt. My perceived wisdom about high calorie fueling was completely overturned by these two and their empty running vests. Noé had heard from a friend that Kim G mostly ran off maple syrup. There went my theories about balancing sugar, protein bars, and cheese on a day like today. Clearly she was consuming a fraction of the food I had. Perhaps past experience is the only true preparation for a day like this.
Darkness came and we took it well at first. Noé, always full of encyclopedic knowledge told me all about the hidden world of mountain lions. We wound down the trail, escaping the frigid cold of the high country just in time. Noé felt so good he was convinced he could drive us home.
Pines gave way to a lush riparian oak woodland, which gave way to sagebrush. Endless sagebrush. I don’t know what happened. Time seemed to pass in weird ways. All at once, and then not at all. I didn’t download any maps, so I had only a very low resolution picture of where we were. I had only hiked this trail once before, and part of that was In the dark as well. We were four miles away at 9:30? Or was it 10? I can’t be sure.
We walked in a constantly loading maze of sagebrush. The terrain buffered, at the rate of our headlamps. The Owens Valley far, below. Forever out of the range of our lights. Walking behind Noé, the dust became too much, and I asked for the trail. I bounded ahead, into the desert below. I was exhausted, but elated. I hadn’t done a day this long since before my knee injury some two years prior. All of my training this summer had paid off. To top it all off, in contrast to my previous big days, I had done it all without caffeine or NSAIDs. I was riding the bull, and not even hanging on for dear life. Maybe a couple dozen more days like today and I would have a fraction of the composure that Kim has. Maybe I would be able to face two nights. To vanquish exhaustion and hike on wherever I wanted to go. Looking back, all of these wild thoughts seem highly implausible. My knees and legs were slightly sore, but nothing like I had expected. Nothing like my 20 hour pushes on the PCT. Nothing like my ill-fated attempt at Western States.
The headlamp behind me drew further and further back. I stopped and waited, and Noé was not in a good way. This was by far his longest day ever. His exuberance from a few miles back was completely gone. He reported extreme pain everywhere. His pace slowed and slowed and I tried to stay as close as possible from the front. I offered to go ahead and make dinner, but he felt it would not be wise to separate even briefly as he might bonk. Given his condition, I agreed.
Noe wailed in pain. I remembered the hot knife of my first few dances with such a day. The sharp pain I felt even on copious amounts of painkillers. Noé had bravely faced the day without any such aid. The day had swung back viciously, and now Noé had to muster all of his strength to get across the finish line. I wanted to tell him some new trick I had learned or some thing to change. I wanted desperately to help him, but I was helpless to his inevitable condition. I muttered some lame words of encouragement instead. We trudged on slower and slower. Finally, the slope let up, we were nearing the trailhead. Noe let out one final scream of agony cursing the seemingly never ending trail.
11:26pm. We got to my van, Noé collapsed on the passenger seat in extreme pain. I made dinner. It had been nearly 19 hours. One of my longest days ever. I felt exhausted but overall still very mobile. I felt for Noé too though. Empathy for the extreme pain all over his legs.
Life in a day. Extreme highs and extreme lows. We burned the candle at both ends, and now all that was left was a bizarre silence as I watched the boiling pasta water, completely transfixed. Walk and walk and walk, and then you don’t even know how to sit still.
We are creatures of habit. Masters of routine but also highly adaptable. To Kim G, pain must be a constant friend, one she knows well, and one that does not disturb her. To me, a 19 hour push was an old acquaintance, whom I’d now learned to get along with a bit better, but one who still wore me down considerably. To Noé, it seemed a 19 hour day was a new lover, one with awesome and destructive powers. One with whom he will surely build a more stable relationship after a few more dates.
There was no discussion of driving home. That night the four of us were transfixed by that strange spell. Noé and I sat there at midnight in near silence eating our curry and mac and cheese. Kim G and her friend, trotted on to the westside into two dawns. Soon, I lay in my van, my mind totally blank after experiencing every conceivable emotion in the course of a day.
