The cold shocked me into a weary awareness of the trees and trail in front of me as I stumbled up the bridge to cross the Lyell fork just after midnight. There was an eerie calm to the forest as I walked, arms hugged tightly to my chest, my legs pumping in an almost frantic effort to get warm and stay that way. I hummed along with my headphones, more as a subtle warning to any critters to stay away and let me wander south, winding my way along the well-worn path. Strangely, after the first hour I was wide awake, focused ahead, catching the occasional sparkle of the moon on the granite and splashing through the minor tributaries feeding the river. The moonlight spread long shadows across the meadow, and I slowed only to feel the caress of fog against my face and legs, smiled as I was wrapped in the humid blanket for a moment.
I only got turned around once, where the trail crosses the river, thinking that I remembered heading further along in an attempt to climb Mt. Lyell a few years ago. I tried not to shine my lamp in the direction of the tents, to wake my fellow travelers in the wee hours of morning, where the only noise was the water flowing across the rocks. The trail climbed gently from there, granite steps arcing over a ridge and descending to a black lake away, then climbing again to the broad pass ahead. The moon had set, replaced by the gentle grey of the coming dawn, and I stepped on a patch of firm, slick snow to “finish” the climb. I still had time, though, as I looked to the skies and saw the barest hint of color brushed high above the crest.
It had been too dark still to cut early across the easy slabs and meadows below Donahue Pass, but running the ridgeline was an easy task in the growing light. I grimaced a bit at the drop to the tarn below the western ridge of Donahue Peak, but welcomed a cold drink after dipping my bottle. The rosy warmth was gently descending to the darkened outlines of rock; the waters of the tarn, and the snowfields below the mountains, reflected the gathering strength of dawn. Part way up the ridgeline, I turned to sit quietly on a boulder, my breath calming after a minute. I could feel the sweat on my neck and shoulders. Even the birds and marmots, chattering a moment before, fell silent.
Together, we watched the tips of the range burst into flame as the sun rose triumphant into a crystalline sky.
More here. From the luckiest girl in the world:
Climb Hard. Be Safe.
-L
