A Brief Adventure on the John Muir Trail Days 4 and 5

Day 4 on the John Muir Trail started better than Day 3 ended. We were up and moving before the sun had reached the bottom of the valley, the view from our rock camp still holding onto the last of the early morning quiet. All things considered, I felt surprisingly decent for someone who had hiked nearly 12 miles the day before while fighting altitude and a calorie deficit.

Today’s goal was straightforward: 13 miles to Tuolumne Meadows. Drink more. Eat more. Keep moving.

Day 4: The John Muir Trail to Tuolumne Meadows

The route was not easy, but it was a different kind of hard than the day before. Rather than one brutal sustained climb, Day 4 was a roller coaster, several significant ascents spread across the miles, each one earned and then given back on the descent. We passed Sunrise Lakes, Sunrise Camp, and Cathedral Peak. The sky was so intensely blue it looked almost dark, the kind of color you only see at elevation on a clear day.

The descent off the mountain stretched roughly six miles. I passed several lakes and a string of mule trains headed back down before I hit the flatter terrain approaching Tuolumne Meadows. I had caught up with Paul earlier in the day but he pushed ahead, wanting to reach the permit office before it closed so he could sort out the paperwork for the rest of the trip.

With a mile or less to go I was running on fumes. My legs were asking questions I did not have good answers to. The trail near the meadows started filling up with day hikers heading toward the lakes, which felt like civilization closing back in around me after days of near-solitude. I even passed a guy who had blown out the sole of his shoe and was looking for duct tape to hold the front flap together. I did not have any. We commiserated briefly and moved on.

Near the trailhead I fell into conversation with a friendly gentleman who was out for the day. He noticed my water system and we ended up chatting about gear for a few minutes. He also mentioned something extremely useful: there was a shuttle that could take me from the trailhead up to the Tuolumne store area. Ten minutes later we reached the trailhead, said our goodbyes, and I walked straight to the bus stop. The bus arrived shortly after. I was done hiking for the day. Or so I thought.

The bus driver gave me directions to the Backpackers Campground and I set off on foot. What followed was a tour of the surrounding area as I wandered around looking for any signage that said backpackers. I eventually stumbled upon it. The section reserved for backpackers was not easy to spot, and getting to it required climbing what felt, at that particular moment, like an additional small mountain.

I reached the top and found Paul. He had only beaten me by a few hours and seemed surprised I had made such good time. Honestly, I was too. We walked to the little store before it closed and loaded up on sodas, candy, and whatever else looked good. Simple pleasures after a long day on the John Muir Trail hit differently than they do at sea level.

We had been hoping that Chris, Andy, and John would make it to camp that evening. A text to Andy confirmed they would arrive early the next morning. Camp was set up, dinner was eaten, and Paul and I sat talking about the days ahead. The more we talked, the more honest I had to be with myself about where I stood physically and logistically.

Tuolumne Meadows was also the last point on the route where turning back was a real option. After this, the only exit in an emergency was a helicopter. I called home, talked it through, and agreed to sleep on the decision before making it final. I went to bed early, worn out and uncertain.

Day 5: The Decision

Sometime in the very early morning hours the campground exploded awake. A loud crack, somewhere between a cannon shot and something falling from orbit, snapped everyone out of sleep at once. The air immediately filled with people shouting at a bear. Whatever device went off, it worked, but the rest of the night was a long series of bear vault doors slamming open and closed across the campground as people reconsidered what they had left outside their tents. I eventually drifted back to sleep.

In the morning I learned that two hikers had their packs taken by a bear overnight, drawn in by candy wrappers left in outside pockets. A good reminder that the backcountry does not negotiate.

Paul and I made breakfast and packed up while we waited for the rest of the crew. When they arrived I laid out where I was at honestly. The altitude had taken more out of me than I had anticipated. My pace was not going to keep up with the group’s. And when we looked at the food situation there was no real solution: I did not have enough to add extra days, and there was no reliable way to get more food out to me on the trail. My girlfriend back home could have sent a resupply box but we had no way of knowing where it should go.

Everyone understood. Nobody tried to talk me out of it or make me feel like I had failed. We all agreed it was the right call. We hung around camp for a while, Paul packed the food Andy and Chris had carried in, and around 10 a.m. they hit the trail. I watched them go and then started figuring out how to get myself home.

That is the thing about the John Muir Trail that nobody puts on the brochure: knowing when to turn around is part of the skill set too. The mountains will be there. The trail will be there. There is no shame in listening to your body when it tells you the timing is not right.

As for getting home, it turned out to be its own small adventure. I caught the YARTS back down to the nearest town, found an Amtrak station, and bought a ticket back to Kansas City. A long ride through some beautiful country, with plenty of time to think about what went right, what went sideways, and what I would do differently next time out on the John Muir Trail.