Day 8: Lake Virginia -> Silver Pass -> Grouse Meadows

13.5 Miles / Ascent +2,148 feet / Descent -4,628 feet

A "To soak or not to soak?" moment after a 3,000' hammering descent coming down the south side of Silver Pass....Oh - we soaked. — A "To soak or not to soak?" moment after a 3,000' hammering descent coming down the south side of Silver Pass....Oh - we soaked.

Day 8: The Never-Ending Down

This day was all about the set-up for the following day. Our aim was simple:

Get to the Lake Edison ferry for a Vermillion Valley Resort "Zero Day."

Zero days are usually taken for rest. Ours was for eating. We would rest between bites of food and sips of the mythical VVR "make-any-flavor-you-want" milkshake. VVR is the last stop going south where you could have something resembling real food that wasn't dehydrated and eaten out of a zip lock bag. Did that sound appetizing? Well that's how we ate on the trail. Why?

You don't want to carry more than you need to, right? And when you're tired in camp you don't want to do any more chores than necessary. So, you don't eat out of bowls, really. You repackage all your dehydrated breakfast and dinner food into individual ziplock bags. When on the trail you simply boil water, pour it in the bag (which you usually keep in a reusable insulated "cozi" to retain heat) and let the food hydrate (cook) for 15 minutes. Then you open the bag and scrape the contents into your mouth as your head hangs over the opening trying to keep bits from dribbling all over your lap, or God forbid, the pristine wilderness. When you're done, you throw the ziplock bag into your trash and look forward to doing it again in 12 hours. Bon appetit.

So that's why we wanted to go to VVR. The idea of eating over a plate while sitting in a chair sounded novel. Seriously.

Heading down the switchbacked trail From Lake Virginia into Tully Hole.

Oh, this poor guy. So we stumble onto the above fellow casting in solitude on Fish Creek in Tully Hole. I was envious of his ability to take the time to engage in something so non-essential yet cathartic, vs our high-mileage, no-time-to-spit schedule. There he was, methodically and skillfully casting with precision on the narrow creek.

"How's the fishing?" I hailed. I didn't want to startle him, but he was in mid-cast. He jerks around and his line gets promptly tangled in the brush on the opposite bank. I wince.

He frowns, "No fish yet."

"Well, ok. Good luck!" I turn around and give Gus the guilty look of a kid that just threw a baseball through a store window.

We were headed over that ridge line in the distance in a couple hours. Ugh.

Gus crossing below on our northern approach to the start of Silver Pass climb.

My "Just casually hanging out on a bridge in the wilderness" pose.  I think I nailed it. — My "Just casually hanging out on a bridge in the wilderness" pose. I think I nailed it.

Two-thirds up Silver Pass climb we hit these lovely tarns...

....and some helpful rocks for stream crossing.

I really liked this lake.  If we had nowhere else to go I would have just stopped here and camped.  "I bet you say that to all the 10,000' lakes".  Yes I do. — I really liked this lake. If we had nowhere else to go I would have just stopped here and camped. "I bet you say that to all the 10,000' lakes". Yes I do.

My brother and I crossing streams by a lake on our approach to Silver Pass.

View north to Ritter and Banner Peaks which we camped under on Day 5.

A fellow hiker photographs the expansive views from Silver Pass.

Gus' Proof-of-Pass shot.  I think those are the Harvard girls on the left. — Gus' Proof-of-Pass shot. I think those are the Harvard girls on the left.

We stopped for our usual gross lunch at the top of the pass. The weather and our legs called for it. A couple of other groups were up there - a trio that we learned were the Harvard girls, and the Minnesota sisters. The Harvard girls were making hummus. Hummus. Making. The powder rehydrates deliciously with cool mountain water. How did I know it was delicious? Because I was ogling it as they giggled, dipped their fingers into the mix and and playfully passed them over their lips and tongues in a gesture only meant to cause unbridled envy.

I looked down at the limpid tortilla in my lap with its pasty smear of peanut butter and imagined what my meal would taste like with hummus instead. Far better. Far, far, better. They were from Harvard. I just was not.

I thought about that hummus every time my tongue came into contact with the sandpaper-like consistency of Justin's organic hoorse-hoof-like-glue-of-an-excuse for peanut butter that made me wince with every hard swallow.

Pleh

High Sierra Pizza, á la Tyler. I hope you didn't just eat. If you did, I apologize.

Trying not to cry while eating my drivel while the the Harvard girls over my shoulder feasted on fare so rich....Did John Muir have moments like this?  I think he probably did. — Trying not to cry while eating my drivel while the the Harvard girls over my shoulder feasted on fare so rich....Did John Muir have moments like this? I think he probably did.

On our descent from Silver Pass, looking back (north) at it.  Doesn't really look like much from this angle, I'll admit. Hard to capture the passes with a static image, actually. — On our descent from Silver Pass, looking back (north) at it. Doesn't really look like much from this angle, I'll admit. Hard to capture the passes with a static image, actually.

This lovely tarn awaited us as we tripped down the south side of Silver Pass.  No soaking for us, yet.... — This lovely tarn awaited us as we tripped down the south side of Silver Pass. No soaking for us, yet....

We liked it when the trail surface was smooth and flat like this. We ended up not liking the trail that much, then.

Gus catches me from behind on a rare flat section just south of Silver Pass.

Two domes.  One harder than the other. Hey - no pin-head jokes.... — Two domes. One harder than the other. Hey - no pin-head jokes....

Views off the trail south of Silver Pass were wonderful.

The trail hugged such a steep face that the switchbacks were right on top of each other.

Looking back at what we were in the loooong process of descending.

After skidding down 3,000' of descent, our feet were feeling very banged up. In fact having hiked hard up and down for seven days straight without a rest, yes, our feet were in need of some serious salve. And then Gus and I skitted past this collection of wide flat granite that Silver Pass Creek was flowing over and we didn't need much to convince ourselves that it was time to soak: our feet, backs, legs. The rocks caused different flow rates which were useful depending on the type of hydro-therapy desired.

I immediately plunked my trunks (yes, they are, I know) into a 3' X 3' hole that evinced a "gentle cycle" swaying prep before I angled them off the side and caught a more forceful massage-like jet shooting off a drop. Gus had stripped to soak his head, shirt and torso while sitting in the middle of the stream.

This was a glorious little spot, and I knew we weren't the first to think so, but while we sat there for ~40 minutes (a very long break by our standards) we were surprised not to be joined by anyone.

Gus and I have a long history with pine cones - but not like these. They're the size of his head!

When Gus and I were little we had a tree fort hidden by the edge of our property, overlooking a small road. There were plenty of pine trees and their cones littered our yard. When we had grown sick of hurling them at each other we usually turned our sites to the cars that crawled by, usually lost on our dead end street. Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! And then giggling from us. Often a car would stop and an adult voice would pinpoint us, although camoflaged, somewhere within the bushy-tree thicket, "Alright, what's the meaning of this? Come on out or I'll be forced to drive up to the house and speak with a parent." Since he was younger and cuter (a mop of long white hair) I'd sort of convince/shove him out of the opening under the nose of the driver. There he'd be, sniveling softly while some fellow would berate him, and force Gus' promise to never do such a thing again.

Gus would mope back into the bush and I'd give him a high-five, "Great job! Now hoist this bucket of pine cones up to the lookout and let's get another". I'd usually get an astonished look that would morph into a happy little smile. He just wanted to be part of the Pine Cone Club. Well, after this trip I finally gave him his badge....

My pitch, in camp.  Glad to be there. — My pitch, in camp. Glad to be there.

The bottom of the windy mess that is the southern descent from Silver Pass is Grouse Meadows. Here is where you must decide what to do:

Detour to VVR for a Zero Day
Stay and lick your wounds while contemplating #1 or #3
Hump over the dreaded Bear Ridge climb that stares right down at you.

I'll take a #1, sir, and a small side of #2. Ooooffff.

There were two ways to get to Vermilion Valley Resort: hike 6 miles on the hot, exposed edge of a dry dusty lakebed, or pay $20 to take a ferry/truck combo across most of the lake. Here's my $20, sir, thank you very much. The ferry only ran in the morning so now all we had to do was pitch camp, make dinner and relax.

The area right after the footbridge was getting fairly crowded with tents, but I did my usual nosing around and found a lovely setting, not far off the trail, open, with good ground, water access and great views. Once the burden of nailing campsite selection was over, I usually felt the day's stress ebb away.

Hard to beat this spot for dinner, even when it's "hot mush in a bag".

As Gus was setting up his tent I heard a *groan* and walked over. The shock-cord that keeps his pole pieces attached to each other had come undone. He could still set up his tent, but he was going to have to take care not to lose sections of pole until we could get it fixed. Luckily our Zero Day at VVR was going to give us some time to tinker with it.

As you can see from the pictures, this was a beautiful spot, and the weather had been perfect. We did hear some talk of rain in the forecast, but since we were going to be at VVR eating and relaxing in their common areas I wasn't too concerned. It was the end of our eighth straight day of continuous, hard hiking, and while at 13.5 miles it was one of our shorter days, our bodies just weren't buying it.

Up until this point we had hiked 103 miles, gone up a cumulative 25,000' of elevation and came down 22,000'.

Time for a break.