I don't have a title.

So we left off at Evolution Lake. An appropriate place for scientists (although I don't think they turn away creationists at the gate). We spent a chilly night at the lake, with an amazing red sunset and purple moon rise. Every hiker that passed was sombre and tired-looking. We weren't sure how to take this, but we were about to find out.

Wake up, pack frozen frosty tent, start off. The Evolution basin is still dark purple and blue, no one was up yet in the hall of the mountain gods. We cross (wade across) the outlet of Wanda lake in the half-light. We're now stream connoisseurs , this is a pretty so-so crossing. Not even knee deep. sheesh.

Directly after this crossing was the herd path . Imprinted in the snow about 3-4 inches, this was the route that all the other hikers had taken the 4-5 miles to (or from) the pass. In the direction we were heading (southbound) it is a fairly gradual rise until the last push to the pass. Most years there is no snow here and you leave the greenery of Evolution Lake for the spectacular desolate moonscape of the upper lakes. Bearing names like Wanda, Helen, and Sapphire, these lakes are shockingly clear and devoid of the friendly trout of the lower lakes. The only life up here are the marmots sunning themselves on rocks and pikas hiding in the shadows. At the top of the pass is the fabled Muir Hut, constructed in memory of the stupefyingly verbose and craggy dead hiker.

So back to the herd path. As I may have stated, this isn't a normal year. This is an exceptionally abnormal year Wanda and Helen were buried in snow, dead to the world and sapphire had a decidedly diamond-like sparkle.

Lakes? I don't see no stinking lakes.

So most of this part of the journey was a lesson in patience. Nothing really scary, a few snow bridges. No crazy hikers. Nothing but endless snow. We got to the hut, greeted the fat marmot waiting for a handout, and took a break.

In contrast to the ascent, the descent from Muir Pass was terrifying. No one said anything about 6-inch ledges in the snow with steep 100-foot drop-offs into raging streams (that then disappeared underneath the snow). So the process would be, slip, scream, fall into the stream and get washed under the snow to die of hypothermia (or drowning). Accidents like this are not uncommon. This is the stuff nightmares are made of. Being a chicken I spent the next two miles dredging up my most sacred and rarely-used curses. Apparently this is how I react to being scared, but I've read the accident reports in the American Alpine Journal. Dumb people usually end up dead. Kyle took pictures of me and laughed (which probably proves I was exaggerating a little about how dangerous everything was).

I swear to god there is a rushing stream and steep drop-off to the left.

Into LeConte Valley. If you've been there you know how terrible it is. A really, really awful place. They should do the world a favor and put a mine or something in there. Spruce the place up a bit. It got even worse as we ascended up a series of switchbacks to our eventual camp, right before the Fearful and Terrible Dusy Creek Crossing. The park service warned that this creek may be uncrossable. Well too bad Ranger Danger, nothing, was going to get me back over Muir Pass. If I was going to be swept off the side of a hanging valley, so be it.

The view from camp. You can't see it, but the rocks were really fabulous.

So that was day 3. Saw a few people. Crossed some streams. hiked some miles. Still not dead.

Day 4. Woke up, put on crocs. Prepared for death by Dusy Creek. Said apocalypse highly over-rated. Had to take one step of waist-deep water, then ankle and knee deep. No problem.
Hiked up the awesome Dusy Basin. Being south-facing, this was the nicest basin we were in since it was mostly melted out. Met an insane climber doctor at the pass who was very nonchalantly showing off "oh maybe i'll go climb that peak" (scampers off). Yeah, ok doctor man, you do that.

Since our six day trip was about to be accomplished in 4 (and this was going as slowly as we were capable of) we stopped 3 miles short of the trailhead at the imaginatively-named Long Lake. My super-sweet campsite skillz found us an isolated site on the lake. We spend the rest of the day trying to goad each other into swimming. That lake was COLD.

About dinnertime we were joined by a day hiker family. why they felt that our campsite was the perfect spot to have a loong snack is beyond me. they did have a football-sized dog, so they couldn't have been very clueful. We talked loudly. I belched. We gave them evil stares. They were violating the code of the camper! No fear. I have no shame in the woods and I needed to change my underwear. No effect!! The Massachusetts White Shark had failed me! Later, we were joined by another clueless hiker who wanted to share our super-sweet site. Quick-thinking kyle said we were on our honeymoon. Clueless hiker practically ran away.

So that's that. We hiked out the next morning, filed a chastising trail report with the USFS and goofed around in Bishop for 2 days. Kyle left for Singapore this morning and I'm in SEATAC waiting for my flight to Wenatchee (airport code EAT, lol).

remember, if you can't have fun, you might as well suffer (quote from Conrad Anker).