Day 57: Poison Creek Meadow - Wallace Creek (mi 747-770)

Smiles pokes her head out and greets the day from Poison Creek Meadow. 

We woke up early and I sprang out of bed for our final approach to Mt. Whitney. The bear hang was successful again, and I found the Tyvek sleeve for my stove stand/windscreen that had vexed me the night before. It was a chilly AM, but the robins were undeterred as they sang merrily about the morning meadow. We started a gradual climb off the bat which brought us sweeping views across big Whitney meadow to the west, with red and yellow foxtail pines contrasting greatly with the white granite, green meadows, and vibrant blue sky. Lenticular clouds were scattered across the sky like fraying white ropes. We saw the first alpine lake of the journey, chicken spring lake, tucked in behind a terminal moraine of a 12,000 foot ampitheater. A popular camp site, we saw Viking milling around smoking cigarettes and "making photos." We finished the climb and traversed around this western perimeter of the Whitney massif, stopping for a morning break along the way. Story time and Viking caught up with us, and we hiked with them for a good bit. We cruised on the divide west of Rock Creek, and happened upon Viking taking a break at the top of a small rise, smoking a cigarette and gazing east. My mouth dropped as I focused my attention in the same direction, towards Cirque Peak and the sawtooth ridge marching north towards Whitney. I had chills thinking that we were going to be up there within 18 hours. 

Meanwhile, Smiles was not so sure of our ability to execute our grand plan as originally outlined. Averaging 18 miles per day through the high Sierra, over the mountain passes, was an improbable task. Initially I was convinced we could do it with the low snows, but after reviewing the maps and literature during a long, hearty lunch next to a meadow and Rock Creek, I too doubted the plans' feasibility. We needed to cross multiple passes in a day, which was not exactly feasible or desirable. We hatched a new plan that delayed Whitney until after our social arrangements were lifted, and also pushed us on to Wallace Creek. The climb after lunch was miserable, both of us having gorged on macaroni and cheese to the gills. The climb was rather steep, too. My shin started hurting in a novel way, to boot, but we pressed on. The only pauses were involuntary, as we were awe struck by monolith after monolith, white with black shadows in the afternoon light. We finally saw Mt. Whitney, and I was struck with a minor pang of defeat as we turned north away from its approach. Another day... The deadlines and dreams that had been instrumental in getting us this far now seemed to be more of a burden, as we sped through the southern high sierras with hardly a backwards glance. However, no finite amount of time could be considered sufficient to soak in the beauty and grandeur of the region. Such is the plight of the thru-hiker, I determined. At best, there is nowhere to be in particular, but you have to keep moving into the great unknown. By the end of the day, it truly was unknown, as we descended by twilight to Wallace Creek with the granite fortresses on the skyline cloaked in the black of night, forcing us to wait another night before unveiling their beauty. We crashed that night, no dinner, beaten and cold. Thankfully there was a bear locker, so no hanging was necessary. I'm not sure we could have managed.