6/7   mile 774-788+ 7.8 mile side trail(21.8 miles)

Last night I camped six miles from my first big hurdle of the Sierra Nevada range: 13,200 foot Forrester Pass- The highest point of the Pacific Crest Trail.  What can I say about Forrester Pass?  It holds a tremendous amount of symbolic value for me.  For years, when I thought of the PCT, Forrester Pass was on the front of my mind.  This pass was representative of all of my doubts about whether I could actually do something like this.

Near the top of the pass is a notoriously dangerous avalanche chute that hikers must cross.  Envision if you will a greater than 45 degree slope that is covered with a sheet of rock hard ice, and imagine the bottom of the slope littered with enormous jagged boulders.  Now, picture tiny foot holds cut into the sheet of ice, where foolish hikers can place tentative steps and work their way across.  What would stop you if you fell here? Nothing!  What would be your fate?  Death or disfigurement!  Therein lies the challenge of the Forrester Pass ice chute.

The morning started with a long climb up to the pass.  I quickly climbed beyond the trees into a world of snow, and rock, and ice.  Partially frozen crystal blue lakes lay all around me, and tiny streams of water cascaded everywhere, a byproduct of the summers attempt to melt the remaining snow and make us all forget about the winter.

Eventually I climb into the enormous flat expanse of rock below the towering wall of granite that is Forrester Pass.  I look up at the enormous ridge of rocks, unbroken except for a small V in the middle of it- where the pass was. Now, I need to have a discussion with whomever named this place about what constitutes a pass. A tiny notch in a towering granite wall?  Not a pass!

The trail was blasted, with dynamite, into the enormous wall of stone and switch backed up up up the face of the wall.  I climb until I reach the avalanche chute: the place that I had been dreading for years. I was alone and feeling anxious as I looked at the sheet of ice.  I stared at the rocks below and imagined my bones splintering as they crunched into them.  I swallowed hard and took step after uncertain step as I made my way across the ice chute, hoping that each footstep would hold true.  I made it across, at last, and quickly climbed up to the top of the pass.

I looked at the peaks of the Sierra Nevada stretched out in front of me like a fanned deck of cards, appearing endless.  The wind was still.  All was silent.  I made it. This enormous psychological hurdle was behind me and every doubt or worry I had about my ability to complete this trip was erased.  Pride. Joy. Euphoria.  My body felt strong, and without limit.  My mind no longer possessed the control over it as it once did. It was the best I have ever felt.

I was soon joined by a few other hikers, including one who did not have sunglasses or a hat(critical in the high mountains, especially on snow).  His eyes were swollen and watery.  I made him a pair of makeshift eskimo glasses from a strip of my sleeping pad, which protected his eyes and made him look like a teenage mutant ninja turtle, much to my chagrin.

After lingering for an hour, I made my way down the pass into the valley below.  Away from the still and cold and sterility of the high alpine and back into the world of trees and life and green.  I posthole through a few snowfields on the way down, and walk along rivers of snowmelt.  Towards the end of the day, low on food and supplies, I take an 8 mile side trail over Kearsarge Pass and down to a trailhead above the town of Independence, California.  I eventually get a ride into town, book a motel room, and look everywhere for something to fill my empty stomach.  Nothing was found.  All of the stores and restaurants in this small town closed early.  I return to my motel room and eat an unsatisfying dinner of protein bars and dried plums.

6/8 no miles!

Staying in town today.  This place is only at 5,000 feet, on the desert floor below the mountains, and it is boiling hot. 106 degrees. I eat and sleep and eat and sleep and eat and sleep and eat and sleep. Taking a break from eating and sleeping, I take a swim in the motel pool where I try to test out my newfound lung strength by swimming the length of the pool underwater.  I succeed, but slam my face into the concrete wall of the pool's edge.  Crawling out of the pool with a bloody nose, scrambled brain, and shattered ego, I am shamed by my hubris.

6/9 (4 mile side trail)

After a frustratingly long time trying to hitchhike back to the trailhead, I get a ride with a local biologist.  Once on the trail I start to feel a little queasy.  I only make it 4 miles up the trail before I camp out.  I have, without exaggeration, numerous periods of 30 second long flatulence, and feel weak and have very poor morale.  Recognizing that I may be experiencing some initial signs of Giardia (a stomach infection contracted from drinking from backcountry water sources), I take some medication and go to bed early.

6/10(3 miles along side trail)
I awake early, feeling strong and recovered from my illness, and climb up and over Kearsarge pass to return to the PCT.   The weather, however, is completely indifferent to my plans.  The morning started with 80 degree temperatures and clear blue skies, but within an hour the sky darkens, and the temperature drops to near freezing.  Sleet and snow begin falling, and playing it safe after my recent illness, I decide to hunker down for the day and wait out the storm.  I was at 11,000 feet as the wind whipped around me and snow and rain and hail pelted my shelter.  I was alone and had no other source of entertainment, so I watched the videos I had recorded of the trip so far on my camera.  It was like watching television, but far more lonely.