Lost in Space - Chapter 6
Mammoth Lakes (mi 904) to South Lake Tahoe (mi 1,093)
CA Sections I & J
We left Mammoth Lakes in the evening, with the goal of making it to the nearby Reds Meadow Resort shortly before nightfall. Usually a bustling camping destination given its car accessibility, it was quiet, only filled with thru-hikers, enjoying the last two days before the road opened for the season. The highlight was the natural hot springs, which are seemingly always positioned directly next to a frigid stream, and we soaked under the stars. The next morning we walked a little under a mile to Devils Postpile National Monument, a columnar basalt formation from ~100,000 years ago, far more recent than the millions initially estimated. Lava flowed, cooled, and cracked in a hexagonal shape, similar to mud. Then glaciers covered the formation during the last ice age and when they receded, they sheared off the top of the 60 foot columns, leaving a nearly perfect cross-section you can walk on.
The trail continued through beautiful forests of the High Sierra in both the Ansel Adams and John Muir Wilderness areas. We climbed to a ridge and then walked through a meadow for miles, treated to views of the famous Minarets, with Mount Ritter and Banner Peak also close by. With the weather getting slightly warmer below 10,000 feet we began to make it a habit of camping and eating all of our meals at alpine lakes, taking an obligatory dip in each.
Next up was Yosemite National Park, one of the trail’s highlights. We entered the park from its southeastern corner and, while beautiful, it wasn’t the dramatic scenery I was expecting. That was waiting for us in the Yosemite Valley, a nearly 2 hour side quest off trail. Having missed the hiker bus earlier in the day, I walked outside the Tuolumne Meadows Post Office and put my thumb up. I didn’t know it when the sprinter van pulled into the adjacent parking lot but I was in for the best hitch of my life. But, more on that in the Hiker Profile below.
The Valley is akin to Disneyland if it were situated in the in the most beautiful natural landscape imaginable. There are thousands of (often unsavory) people, massive parking lots, flag-waving guides, and buses that shuttle everyone from place to place. Nondescript but loosely thematic restaurants like “The Village Grill” and “The Pizza Deck” are happy to serve mediocre burgers and pizzas at $15 and $40 respectively. The hospitality is similarly on theme, throwing in a Native American term here and there to feign authenticity. But just like Disneyland, there’s also a certain magic to the place. The wonder of being at a bus stop, looking up, and seeing a cascading waterfall in the distance, framed perfectly by the trees you’re taking refuge under. It’s almost like you look around wanting to say “hey everybody, look at this,” but I would usually keep such revelations to myself.
The wildlife viewing was more like an open air zoo than a true preserve. The bears were tagged and so accustomed to human interaction they barely looked up to see the hordes of tourists taking pictures. The squirrels and chipmunks don’t appear to have had a non-human meal in weeks. The crows and ravens tore into boxes of Cheez-Its, Starburst, Nerds Clusters, and any other snacks they could get their claws on. At times, I was even a part of the wildlife viewing for the visitors. I heard “look, a real backpacker” several times. International tourists asked for pictures, as if they needed the proof in order to convince those back home. I’d oblige and then go back to whatever I was doing, happy to play my part.
There’s no denying Yosemite was amongst the most beautiful places I’ve ever been and is likely the most beautiful frontcountry in the United States. Some of its most striking vistas are visible from a car or after a 1 mile hike, making it accessible for all (even if a good number of them chose to spend the time looking at their cellphones instead). But even the initially annoying guests can redeem themselves. We camped the first night next to a group of Boy Scouts that yelled well past 11 pm, a major faux pas in the backpacking world. But they were instantly redeemed the next morning when they emptied a box of extra snacks onto our picnic table. Mo, Dylan, and I (usually quite civil), devolved into savages, playing out a real life game of Hungry Hungry Hippos as we snatched every granola bar. It’s always good to know what your price is and mine is no higher than a package of Welch’s fruit snacks.
All three of us were lucky enough to secure Half Dome permits the day of, usually a lottery system that rewards only 10-20% of entrants months in advance. I woke up at 2 am to get a head start on the crowd with my group. The ascent up the Mist Trail at sunrise was gorgeous passing two 100+ foot waterfalls as they were illuminated at dawn. We made it up the surprisingly treacherous cables by 11 and got a view of the entire valley brightened by the mid-day sun.
At the end of our second day we knew we had to leave the vortex and get back to trail. Shortly after returning to the wilderness, the chaos of the Valley melted into a quiet serenity. Just 2 miles in I was walking along a gently flowing stream, I noticed three deer on the other bank, a mother and two fawns, picking at grasses along the water’s edge. The sun, two hours from setting, blasted light through the trees. Birds chirped and insects buzzed by and I slowly rolled past another waterfall. Order had been restored to the world.
The coming days represented our last in the High Sierra, we enjoyed every moment as the newly formed brotherhood of Mo, Dylan, and I (aka: Team Reggae) slipped into a sustainable routine. We would find ourselves hiking 28 miles in a 12 hour day, even with plenty of time for lunch and a swim or two nestled in.
As the elevation dropped the mosquitoes became borderline intolerable, requiring multiple applications of repellent, bug nets, and even rain jackets to prevent them from biting through our sun hoodies. Any time spent stationary was rewarded with dozens covering every part of our bodies. Thankfully mosquitoes are more glutinous than they are cunning and many of them met their end by sticking around a little too long. Even the animal lovers, vegans, and pacifists out here that get upset when you kill a single ant will mercilessly slaughter mosquitoes by the dozen.
Within a mile or so of Dorothy Lake Pass, the official border of Yosemite, the landscape changed dramatically as we left behind the granite rock with its silver hue and white lines and instead found ourselves atop Red Peak, a metamorphic rock, turned red by oxidized iron minerals. Seeing lush forests dotted with alpine lakes and flanked by snow-covered rock juxtaposed with this harsh volcanic landscape was mind-boggling. We followed this new environment for another 15 miles or so before heading into the Kennedy Meadows Ranch for a quick resupply and steak dinner.
Heading out, with the sun about to set, we were really gambling on someone coming over the mountain pass to pick us up. As soon as we got to the main road and put our thumb up, the first car stopped short before backing up onto the side road. An eccentric, grizzled man hopped out and emptied the backseat to make room for the three of us. I immediately noticed there was a rubber chicken on the back of his bike and then once I got into the car, saw full-sized rubber chickens in each seat and a small rubber chicken in the AC vent. We didn’t know how lucky we were to have been picked up by Hans, “The Chicken Man of Silicon Valley,” on his way to complete his 15th consecutive “Death Ride,” a 103 mile bike race with more than 14,000’ of climbing.
A stalwart of the tech industry since the mid-90s, Hans’ true passion was performing Germanic music with friends after work. The group became associated with "Der Ententanz" or the “Chicken Dance" as its known in the U.S. He then got the idea to carry a rubber chicken on a bikepacking trip along the Blue Ridge Parkway with his brother. It got them a lot of attention and he knew he was onto something. Once home he began bringing the chickens with him while volunteering with children suffering from muscular dystrophy. The association has taken on a life of its own and he does the Death Ride every year while handing out the small rubber chickens to volunteers and first responders. Once we got out, we each got a hug and a small rubber chicken to go on our packs, now bound for Canada!
We spent a night at the Lost Lakes, getting in on the later side, but we’re treated to a moonrise over dinner behind the mountain that cut off the perfectly calm water. We were also blessed with a fair amount of trail magic as we got closer to civilization. First from a brother and sister, honoring their late father who was a backpacker all the way through his 70s, then at the Carson Pass visitor center where volunteers had set up a PCT-specific recovery area. There were signs explaining the PCT at each trailhead for this popular day hike destination and folks were extraordinarily differential and kind to us as we came through. It was common to have a stranger tell us how great we were doing or how proud of us they were as we walked by, accompanied by a beaming smile. It honestly meant so much seeing how our little journey could inspire others. We saw quite a few older folks on backpacking trips and day hikes. People well into their 70s and 80s shuffling up these mountain. A great reminder to continue hiking, knowing it’s something we can love now and for the rest of our lives.
South Lake Tahoe is abuzz with the Celebrity Golf Tournament taking place this weekend. Charles Barkley, Stephen Curry, the Kelce brothers, and many more have flown in on a constant stream of private jets onto the runway just outside our campsite and made everything 5 times more expensive than normal. While I’m perturbed at the moment we’ve all learned I can be bought with as little as a sighting and a picture, we’ll see if that materializes.
This morning I was greeted by 5 packages at the post office in town, a new record. College friends Alex & Aaron and former Divvy colleague turned old friend, Walker, each sent a thoughtfully crafted care package complete with words of encouragement. I am extraordinarily grateful for their generosity and to all of you who are along for the ride. You’re constantly in my thoughts and the phone calls and messages mean so much, connecting me back to my world while on this journey.
By the numbers
Get Ready With Me
I’ve heard that the newsletter format is taxing for some of the younger folks so I figured I’d try something more familiar. Enjoy!
Hiker Profile
The Bogan Brigade
The Bogan Brigade, first formed in 2020, is a tight-knit collection of family, friends, and nature enthusiasts from across the U.S. The nucleus is Mark and Linda of Memphis, Tennessee and their daughters. Some of their friends and spouses from days planning college sports in Arkansas were invited as the group took their first trip to Glacier National Park in 2020. Since then, they’ve made an annual trip and have passed through more than a dozen parks, including Zion, Banff, and Olympia. This year, the group started in Sequoia National Park, followed by Kings Canyon, before spending their final days in Yosemite. These folks are real hikers. Some are athletes outside of the trip. For others this is their major adventure each year, but all of them are capable of doing intensive hikes like Angels Landing and now Half Dome.
The group’s love language is definitely food. Linda (the head chef) flies in two days before each trip, renting an Airbnb with a suitable kitchen just to prepare for all the meals. Mark is the designated mixologist, making craft cocktails each night, strong and on theme. They crowdsource recipes and produce everything from homemade power bars to grits and gumbo. Their signature course may be dessert, where they prepare cakes and pies in cast iron Dutch ovens that are then covered in exactly 32 hot coals: 21 on top, 11 underneath. Linda meticulously organizes every meal in a spreadsheet (a woman after my own heart) and the jobs of cooking and cleaning are allocated on a rotating basis.
They rent a large passenger van that everyone can pile into as they go from view point to trailhead to new park. They listen to a map extension called Guide Along, with a narrator they’ve dubbed Bill (they’ve since learned that’s not his name but it has stuck nonetheless). Bill periodically interrupts the music to give a historical or geological accounting of the area they’re passing through. Dutiful acolytes, they stop at most any recommended point of interest to take in the view. From what I gather, Bill rarely disappoints.
The Brigade was coming back from a day hike when they saw me on the side of the road looking for a ride. After some internal debate, Linda vouched for me and given her status as the matriarch I was invited to join them. The group was immediately welcoming and passed cookies and chips while we played a game of 200 questions about the PCT. “When did you start? Are you made of money? Where are your parents?” Always happy to chat with strangers, I gladly indulged them as I simultaneously tried to understand the dynamics between each member of the group.
I cannot begin to describe the kindness that they imparted upon me. When I put my thumb up, I was going to the valley with very little preparation. They instantly made me feel at home and all I wanted to do was spend more time with them. But of course I was careful not to overstep or invite myself. I was elated when Mark told me I could join them for dinner after settling into camp and that’s exactly what I did. There was a nervous excitement that night as months earlier they had secured enough Half Dome permits to accommodate their entire group. I had told them I’d hoped to get a permit in the coming days but of course knew that was a longshot. Halfway through dinner Mark pulled me aside and said “if you’re willing to here at 3 am, there will be a spot for you.” I told him I wouldn’t let him down.
I didn’t sleep at all that night, buzzing with excitement at this last second development and determined not be late. I woke up at two and was at their camp by three just as most of their alarms were going off. The hike started in the dark so it was cool, a good thing as the terrain was challenging from the outset. I wasn’t sure how everyone would fare, but as we went up everyone broke into their pace groups and there were no signs of turning back. I was able to run between groups as we got lost and over time spoke to each member on a deeper level. Kristi and I spoke about the loss of our grandparents and longevity in life. Linda and I talked about improvisational jazz and outdoor literature. David gave insights into moonlighting as the group’s graphic designer, completely different from his day job as a pharmacist. Billy and I spoke of his time in the Coast Guard. With his wife Jess, her love of TikTok and fitness. Jen told stories about living abroad in Germany and now Amsterdam, raising her children, alongside her husband in a completely different context from which they were raised. Mark and I talked about everything under the sun, a seemingly permanent smile planted on his face.
As I was reflecting on this group in the middle of our visit, one of the first things I thought about was how kind they are to one another. I thought about the strength of the women, their maternalism shining through even with this stranger, for many of them was just a few years their junior. Then I thought about the men, so supportive of their significant others, walking them through what was objectively a pretty terrifying climb with love and grace.
Every single member made it to the top and we were all thoroughly exhausted after coming down. I took a little nap on the river before we grabbed pizzas and went back to camp to celebrate. We went through the nightly tradition of every member sharing their favorite part of the day. There were tears every night without fail, everyone expressing their gratitude around the campfire.
On that last night, they gave me something too. This was a group big on swag: custom mugs, cups, stickers, signs, bandanas, and more. It felt like I was officially a part of the group, having been given a set of the stickers that had been made to commemorate the trip. The next morning over breakfast I was given their ultimate honor, a custom red bandana that everyone wore, emblazoned with each attendees name. My name was added in sharpie at the bottom. Most symbolic and touching of all was when Mark gave me one of their tent stakes: “Use this on your trip so that we can all have a stake in your journey,” he said, warming my whole heart.
Mo, Dylan, and I benefited from all their leftovers, preventing us from even needing to buy food for the coming stretch. It was a tearful goodbye that final morning. Not only the Fourth of July but also Linda’s 65th birthday and we celebrated, not like people who didn’t know each other 48 hours prior, but like lifelong friends that didn’t know when their next meeting would come.
I know it will be a good story for the Bogans to tell on future trips and to friends back home, but I certainly hope they appreciate how much they enriched my life in that short period of time. It was heartwarming to have been adopted by such a loving family while so far from my own. I will always love the Bogan Brigade. I certainly hope our story isn’t over, but no matter what, they are a prominent part of my journey.
(No) Shower Thoughts
The Kindness of Others
My experience with the Bogans really accentuated something that I’ve found through all of my travels: people are inherently good. If you watch television or scroll on your phone, you’re led to believe the opposite; that the world is a dangerous place, intent on harming you. That society has degraded into some sort of heathenistic and predatory dystopia. While there are undoubtedly bad people intent on doing harm, they are in the minority compared to those that give every day. But those stories don’t get the eyeballs that translate to sales of cars and pharmaceuticals. Those are the stories that prey on our fears for profit.
This fear mongering is moving us towards a different type of dystopia. One where every trip is safely tucked away in a car between days spent reserved to their home, blinds shut. Some of life’s most casual interactions are dying: sitting on the front porch, getting to know the new neighbors, taking public transportation, and going on neighborhood walks. Any time we do venture outside we have headphones in both ears, sunglasses, and a hat, gaze fixed on the ground to avoid any potential contact.
In letting fear control our thoughts, minds, and habits were closing ourselves off from the world. When we assume the worst in others that’s all we see and often that’s all we allow. If you live your life never letting people in, the good ones will never make it. Bad people don’t care if you want them there or not, so it is almost up to you to bring goodness into your life and to reciprocate it by putting it back out into the world.
I think a few things have to happen, though, as we seek out the kindness of others. First and foremost it takes vulnerability. That means putting yourself in situations where you go out on a limb: comment on what someone is reading, compliment their outfit, or casually strike up a conversation in the street. Sometimes vulnerability comes from a place of need where you have to ask for help. The key is that you have to be willing to leave behind the ego and stigma of being the person to initiate. At some point we got it in our heads that reaching out is a sign of weakness. That its cool to be aloof and completely detached from strangers. But giving and receiving is what makes life worth living. It doesn’t have to be something tangible or monetarily valuable. Your stories, your presence, and your ear can all enrich someone else’s life immensely.
Over the years I’ve stayed in a number of strangers homes, gotten into their cars, eaten their coking, and been the recipient of many other kindnesses. To that point, I’ve tried to repay them as best I can by being polite, keeping in touch, and giving them stories to tell. Always trying to do something thoughtful, even if I’m not in the financial position to do so. A postcard, a letter, a photograph, or a text message goes a long way.
When I think about my ideal world a self-supported community blossoms. People sit on their front porch with their cup of coffee. Their children play outside and when they see someone their assumption isn’t that they’re going to hurt them but that they could help if need be. I see a world where people walk around just to experience the sounds of their city, neighborhood, or the wilderness. Where they strike up conversations, making a point to bring in those that are alone. It starts with people that want to see beauty in the world and so they create beauty for it. I believe this is all inherent, that we’ve just been programmed away from doing so. If even a minority make an effort and put that foot forward, we will begin to reignite that authenticity of interaction and restore the faith that we desperately need in one another.
Much love always,
Connor
Useful Links
Connor, you sound quite a bit like an urban planner in that last part of the shower thought! People travel across the world to visit neighborhoods like you describe that are walkable, have street life, and allow spontaneous connections. Then, they return to the US where those communities are illegal to build. In fact, they fight like hell to keep them from being built. Weird.
Well this journey you are on is absolutely amazing. Your reflections and observations are so insightful, it is so good to see you enjoying this ride or better yet hike of a lifetime. I take liberty in saying this , your entire family is with you every step of the way, just without the sweat. Love you!