Everything changed the morning that Tugboat and I left Red’s Meadow, headed south and uphill, aiming for the popular and memorably beautiful Purple Lake.
Red’s Meadow is at a low spot on the JMT — 7,630 feet — and heading south the trail climbs mostly gradually but steadily to 10,300 feet and Duck Pass.* Not a bad trail at all, except the air was the stuff of a horror movie, or an apocalypse.
Before the day was out we began to feel the air scratching at the back of our throats. We played hopscotch on the trail with Jamie and Marie, also SOBO on the JMT, and ran into one party of folks heading for a pass. This was a party of three women, one wearing a knee brace, clearly experienced and knowledgeable. The apparent leader — with dark hair, a strong profile, and a confident way of speaking — was wearing an N95 mask, and from what she said, they were heading for an exit to Mammoth, although they did say the mornings were fine, and she spoke of getting up really early — like 4:00 am — as a possible strategy.
Near the Mammoth Cutoff Trail junction, Chris took a break and let me catch up and told me that he was “not thrilled.” He didn’t like the way the air was hitting his throat, and didn’t think he could complete the trail if this continued indefinitely.
I heard that but let him know — I think — then or later that I was resolved to continue, partly because this was the thirtieth anniversary of my first journey on the JMT, and partly because I committed myself to this endeavor, despite my advanced age of seventy years, and would be embarrassed if I fell short.
But I did have second thoughts, I admit, when I saw a Purple Lake outlet smothered thick noxious woodsmoke.
What to do? Still, to get off the trail was unimaginable to me. I privately resolved to make this part of the adventure, come what may, but what I didn’t fully grasp was that Chris was facing a crossroads that very night, or actually earlier, a couple of hours down the trail. For him to go on was to commit to 200 miles. Possibly in smoke. To exit at Vermillion/Mono Hot Springs wasn’t really possible because the ferry and the VVR had unexpectedly closed due to a death. To exit at the next resupply, Muir Trail Ranch, was conceivable, but would mean somehow who knows how going over a hundred miles through the mountains on back roads back to Tuolumne Meadows with little or no public transportation — at least a day’s journey, if not much longer.
Chris got pretty quiet, but went along as I suggested we get up and get going really early, to take advantage of the clean air, and to try and beat the smoke south, away from its drifting pattern. I did have worries. I recalled — or was it Chris who said this? — that Snappy and Ryan were getting off the trail to get away from the smoke, because it was said to be bad down south towards Vermilion. I recalled what a fast-moving duo of guys mentioned they saw down this way — what they described as “a wall of smoke.”
Kind of like this?
[*Chris noted the junction, where a trail could take you in less than a day over Duck Pass to the Mammoth Mountains area, where he happened to have an uncle and friend willing to pick him up and take him to his vehicle at Tuolumne Meadows]
Kit Stolz 