September 7th Bear Valley to Whiskey Creek

Quite an eventful day. Hiking in the morning hours, I passed by some lovely high country as evidenced by the names given to these places by early settlers, for example Paradise Valley and Castle Valley. One spot that was particularly lovely was a small valley between the two aforementioned, which had one of the prettiest meadows I've seen. The Peter Grubb Hut, a shelter for the way worn traveller sits in a small group of trees just off the trail. A perfect spot to spend a night if daylight is getting short. Unfortunately, I could only imagine sleeping under its roof as it was already mid-morning. Coming out of Castle Valley, I passed through the tunnel that takes hikers under I-80. I was now south of my relatives in Reno, which for some reason gave me a psychological pick me up. It was only a few short miles later that I found myself at Donner Pass, that infamous and tragic place where westward emigrants got trapped in the snow of the Sierras and had to resort to cannibalism. That's the reason why I'm pushing so hard to get over Forester Pass before October 1st. I don't want to be put in a situation in which I have to pick the bones of a section hiker just to survive. Ha ha. South of Donner and the lifts of Ski Summit the wind really started to blow and when I say blow, I mean wind that could knock you down. All along the exposed ridge that led past Anderson Peak, Tinkers Knob and Granite Chief I hummed a tune that my dad taught me when I was a child---"What Shall We Do With the Drunken Sailor". Exactly what I looked like as I stumbled up the trail just trying to keep my legs under me. I met a young couple at the base of Tinkers Knob, who were surprised as I was to see another human being out in this gale. They asked me to take their picture and I am firmly convinced that the girl's long hair standing straight out from her head will be more than enough proof to show how strong the wind really was, not to mention the strained ripples on their clothing. At Granite Chief, the ski lifts of Squaw Valley are prominent near the opposite peak. Thankfully, I began a descent which took me out of the full force of the wind. Two miles on I found a sheltered campsite among the trees. Fell asleep with the wind still howling outside my tent, which, if not for the protection of the surrounding trees, would have surely blown away with me in it! :-)

31 Miles