Day 78: mile 1000-Sonora Pass (mi 1000-1018)

Smiles hiking towards Emigrant Pass.

Smiles hiking up into the volcanic highlands. Trees became scarce in the well-drained soils. 

No mosquitoes!

A striking contrast from the soggy, granite-constrained meadows and white, solid peaks of Yosemite and points south. 

A nearly barren landscape in volcanic talus up to the ridgeline to Leavitt Peak.

Looking south towards Yosemite from the ridgeline just before noon, we saw thunderheads brewing. Time to go!

Probably the last time Smiles smiled until we got into Sonora Pass. 

Somebody forgot to put sunscreen on. 

Today was a fighting day, as Viking would put it. We woke up early, I caught a couple small Brookies in the stream while camp was being broken, then set out amidst the mosquitoes for the hike to Sonora pass and our friends! My mom sent me a text to let me know that I had 70 bucks in banking fees, which put me in a foul mood and distracted me from my task at hand for a little bit. After a soft 6 mi descent, we started climbing into a new geology of broken red basalt scree. It was well drained and did not support as many mosquitoes, which was nice. The types of alpine scenery reflected this hydro-temporal reality, with a low treeline, and low trees at that. From that climb on to Sonora pass, we were in a very exposed landscape, with nothing above 9,500 feet growing a few feet higher than our heads, when present at all. Once we attained the beatifil barren ridge line, we looked south towards the granite monoliths in northern Yosemite and saw thunderheads brewing, though 10-15 miles south. We increased our determination and speed after an unintentional detour, as we knew the exposure over the next 6 miles was nearly complete, and we did not want to be stuck on the high ridge during the storm. It was noon, and we knew we were walking in borrowed time. We ran through the scree, across long snowfields, to try and get to the high point of the day just before the descent to Sonora pass. All the while, clouds overhead thickened and grew darker. As they blotted out the sun, we were a mere mile from the descent and 3 miles from the highway at Sonora pass. I stopped to storm-proof my bag and break down my fishing pole (lest it act as a lightning rod). Smiles asked what she should do. I said walk like hell until you hear thunder, then find something taller than you to sit next to. She took off as I finished sealing everything in waterproof sacks and trash compacter bags. I set out briskly, then I heard the first thunder reverberating like an echo tube in the clouds around 2 pm. After that, I was sprinting.  I shot past Smiles and turned downhill through the scree, yelling for her to leave her current spot and follow me to the best (lowest elevation/tallest height) thicket of pines we could find. We sat down to wait out the storm. I had a thin, plastic hiker box poncho that I tossed to Smiles, while I created a mini-tarp from my ground cloth. Then the rain started. Then the hail started. The lightning, thunder and hail kept up, and 4 hours later we were still pinned down by the storm, not wanting to turn into lightning rods on the way down. I started to go hypothermic, as the rain spray and hail bounced under my half-cocked tarp and soaked me to the core.  When I started talking gibberish and suggesting hiking out (apparently with a literally blue face), Smiles put up the tent (which we avoided earlier on electric concerns), and stuck me inside in my sleeping bag to recover. We waited out the rest of the storm, then finally descended around 7 pm. The hail still hung on the north slopes around us, as the clouds relaxed their grip on the mountains. We hurried down, finally warm and dry again. As we got to the trailhead and searched around briefly, Stanger and Karl showed up. It was joyful, and Smiles and I were still shell-shocked from the most difficult trail day so far. The juxtaposition couldn't have been more dramatic: here we were, about to start a completely opulent hike with a great group of friends, while not three hours beforehand we were hoping to avoid becoming charcoal from several million volts of static electricity while frozen and soaking in an aberrantly long thunderstorm. The sierras are an amazing place, to be sure. We went to camp, and caught up as we awaited Sommerau, Danny, Mandi and Matt. They showed up after a long fight with Bay Area traffic, we reunited for a bit, then all noisily turned in for the America's hike the next day.