September 22nd Lower Rae Lake to Crabtree Meadow

Smoke on the water, a fire in the sky. Or perhaps it's smoke in the sky, fire needs some water. The growing haze wasn't Deep Purple, more a greyish-white. Actually, with the morning mists rising from the surface of Lower Rae Lake, it looked like whisps of smoke heading skyward. But the smoke I saw sweeping in from the north round Dragon Peak smelled of ash. There was definitely a fire somewhere. Initially, while climbing up to Glen Pass, I could taste the smoke as I sucked in air. Fortunately, I was able to climb right out of it as you can see in the photos. Unfortunately, after a steep and majestic ascent, it partially obscured the view. The last time I climbed the pass, it was early summer and there was still a considerable amount of accumulated snow. I remember my Dad and Uncle postholing up to their hips and struggling to get out. As a skinny eleven-year-old, I had the advantage in such inhospitable terrain as I could, for the most part, stay on top of the snow. Still, my feet were almost frozen by the time we got down to the ice-covered lakes. Anyway, so much for memories. In early fall there was no snow to speak of except for in the highest, shadiest cracks. Losing nearly 2,000 feet in four miles as I dropped down the other side, I was soon at Bubbs Creek. Instead of the roiling torrent of my youth, it was only a slow moving stream, easily crossed. It was rather interesting to see the difference that the time of year made. I was kind of glad it was autumn. I wouldn't have wanted to face that boiling cauldron. A long haul to Forester Pass, which was understandable, being the highest pass and the highest point on the Pacific Crest Trail. Up, up, and up over seven miles of trail, switchbacks, uneven rock and glacial moraine. Man oh man, was it worth it. Like Yertle the Turtle, I was the king of all I could see, and, from this location, that was a lot. Joy swept through me. I'd done it. Snow would no longer be a worry, I'd beaten the early storms. There's no stopping me now. Despite the glaring sun, it was quite chilly, especially with wind gusting now and then through the narrow opening at the top. I didn't want to leave just yet, still savoring my victory over the elements as I was, so I found a sheltered nook in the rocks and nestled in. Broke open the food bag and had a sweet celebration. Peanut M&Ms never tasted so good. I would have lingered longer, but with some clouds scudding in from the east, I decided it was wiser to get back into hiking mode. When I finally got back down to the level of the trees, I noticed that most of them were nothing more than groups of twisted trunks and gnarled branches sculpted by the violent wind driven snow of the harsh winter. They reminded me so much of what people would look like under the same circumstances, grouped together for warmth, bodies turned away from the brunt of the storm, fingers red and frost-bitten. Pulled into Crabtree Meadow, which has some nice campsites for those preparing for an assault on Whitney summit from the west. It's a base camp of sorts, lit up tonight by what appears to be a full moon.

Glen Pass

Smoke on the Water

Forester Pass

28 Miles