John Muir Trail: How I got it done

 

California’s 211-mile John Muir Trail, which starts in Yosemite National Park and ends on top of 14,505-foot Mt. Whitney, is a scenic wonder and deserves a spot on the bucket lists of adventurers of all ages.

But with more than 45,000 feet of rugged, steep climbing, much of it at elevations higher than 8,000 feet above sea level, it’s no walk in the park. Many who start the route fail to complete it.

I’m happy to report that I was able to hike the whole thing this past summer. I credit my success to training for the adventure, acclimating in advance, traveling as lightly as reasonably possible, and taking it easy, particularly during the first days of the trek. I also was blessed with good luck.

I started training specifically for the trail several months in advance of my July 31 permit start date by hiking 5-10 miles several times each week, with anywhere from 30 to 40 pounds of weight in my backpack. This was as much or more than I actually carried during the hike. This helped a lot, I think. During these training walks, I wore the shoes and socks I used on the JMT, to make sure they didn’t cause blisters or other foot or leg problems. 

As a lifetime resident of sea-level areas, I knew that the route’s elevation would be one of its biggest challenges for me. So I budgeted three extra days to acclimate immediately before the hike. I did this during a camping/fishing adventure at Mammoth Lakes CA, a ski resort town near Yosemite. The elevation in town is 7,800 feet above sea level, and the nearby lakes and ski areas are higher.

The lucky part was that I avoided signicant injury throughout. It could have gone south for me on several occasions, including once when I took a nasty fall in a bouldery creek. I landed on my back, sprawled among the rocks, but miraculously avoided any consequence more serious than a bruised ego. On another occasion, while I was completely alone on a little-used side trail heading back to the JMT from Vermilion Valley Resort, one of my resupply stops, I narrowly avoided stepping on a rattlesnake.

As a veteran long-distance touring cyclist and hiker, I already owned much of the ultra-light gear I used on this hike. But for this adventure, I acquired a new 2-pound, one-man tent (Durston X-Mid 1) that sets up with my trekking poles. It worked great. Five stars.

The Durston

I also used a 44-ounce ULA Catalyst backpack. It proved to be another winner. It was very comfortable and large enough to carry a 2.5-pound BearVault BV500 food canister horizontally. Bear cans are required on the JMT. I emptied the pack at night and slept with my feet on it inside the tent to protect it from critters. 

One of my favorite pieces of gear was a $15, ultralight, 7.8 W Lixada solar panel that clipped to the top of my backpack. I used it to recharge a 10,000 mAh Nitecore battery brick while I hiked each day. I then used the battery brick to fully recharge my iPhone 14 each night. I mostly used the phone for photos and navigation. Cell signals are only rarely accessible on the JMT.

Solar panel

My other rechargeable electronic devices—including a watch, ultralight flashlight and an emergency satellite beacon—really never required recharging. The watch, a Garmin Instinct 2 Solar, was always topped up because there was plenty of bright sunshine (don’t forget a wide-brimmed hat, sunscreen and SPF lip balm) on the trail.

To avoid having to pack out used TP (a Leave No Trace requirement on the trail), I used a portable CuloClean bidet instead of paper to tidy up. It worked very well, once I got the hang of it. (You have to use a wagbag to pack out your poop in the Mt. Whitney zone. So you need to bring a wagbag along, too.)

I am so glad I brought a pair of trekking poles. They saved me from many a fall and made it a lot easier to negotiate the trail’s steep descents. I also credit the clicking of the metal tips of the poles for awakening a timber rattler that had been napping in the middle of the trail. I didn’t see the beast, until it coiled and rattled a few feet ahead. It lashed out at me repeatedly, it’s head moving so rapidly it was a blur, before slithering off the path. Had the serpent not awakened, I might have stepped on it and suffered a trip-ending bite.

The sticks 

To minimize my load, I cold-soaked my breakfasts and dinners. Using cold water to rehydrate my meals allowed me to save the weight of a stove, cooking pot and fuel. My kitchen consisted of a titanium spoon and an empty plastic Talenti gelato container. Between my two main meals, I snacked on energy bars, jerky and meat sticks. I tired of the bars but always enjoyed the jerky and meat sticks, and genuinely looked forward to my breakfasts and dinners each day.

My breakfast cereal consisted of a mixture of equal parts of granola and Grape-Nuts, with dehydrated whole milk, instant coffee, cinammon, raisins, freeze-dried blueberries and walnuts.

Chili and Chuck

Dinners were a mixture of white rice, whole-wheat couscous, freeze-dried vegetables and beans, all of which rehydrate well without heat. I added a spice mixture that included half teaspoons of Massel chicken-flavored boullion, dried parsley, oregano, basil, turmeric, garlic powder and eighth teaspoons of pink salt and pepper. After soaking the mixture in water in the Talenti container for 20 minutes or so, I added a tablespoon of olive oil and a generous dash of Sriracha sauce, both of which are available in individual serving-sized packets. Delish. Pro tip: You can soak up extra water and add calories to your meal with freeze-dried mashed potatoes, which rehydrate instantly without heating.

I also added electrolyte mix to most of the water I drank during the hike. I carried both Nuun tablets and sachets of Ultima sugarless powder. I preferred the former, particularly the ones fortified with caffeine. The Nuuns, though heavier than the Ultima, gave me a bigger boost. You can break the Nuun tablets in half with your fingers to fit them into water bottles with narrower necks and mouths.

Fellow south bounders

It’s easier to get a northbound (NOBO) JMT hiking permit than to win a southbound (SOBO) permit in the YNP permit lottery. But I got lucky and scored a SOBO permit (starting from Yosemite’s Tuolumne Meadows), and I think that made it much easier for me to complete the hike.

With a NOBO permit, many start their treks at 10,000 feet above sea level (Cottonwood Pass trailhead) and ascend 14,505-foot Mt. Whitney—-the JMT’s highest point—within the first several days of their efforts.

With my SOBO Tuolumne permit, I started hiking at 8,600 feet above sea level. (Yosemite Valley, the other YNP starting point, is at 4,000 feet above sea level.) The Tuolumne permit let me more gradually work my way up though the trail’s higher passes—including Muir, 11,955 feet above sea level; Mather, 12,068; Pinchot, 12,090; Glen, 11,926, and Forester, 13,153. So by the time I reached Whitney (14,505), its elevation was not a problem for me.

Some of the stuff I brought along I didn’t use much—including raingear, a puffy jacket, long underwear and insect repellent. But I was glad to have it for the few occasions it was needed.

Other stuff I wasn’t using early in the going—including fishing gear and extra clothing—was mailed home during one of my resupply stops. My pre-hike fantasy was to stuff myself with freshly-caught trout every night. But the reality was I was too worn out from hiking each day to ever seriously consider wetting the monofilament. Eating, sleeping, and hiking was more than enough.

Another way to resupply

One of the more surprising things I noticed during my adventure was how ill-prepared (or maybe unlucky) some hikers seemed to be—especially considering how hard and expensive it is to get a permit, buy the required gear, and to arrange resupplies and transportation to and from the JMT trailheads.

One fellow I met bailed on Day 1, before 11,066-foot Donohoe Pass, because he was having a problem with the elevation. Another gentleman was getting off the trail after his partner had to be evacuated out by helicopter because the exertion was causing him to have severe asthma attacks. A younger couple, meanwhile, told me  they were quitting because they felt they weren’t in good enough physical shape and their packs were too heavy for them to enjoy the experience.

The most unprepared person I met was a Korean woman. I had just finished summiting Whitney and was taking a break at the Trail Crest junction 2 miles down the rocky path from the top when she approached anxiously.  I was in a hurry to get going because there was only an hour of daylight remaining to hike the 2.2 miles down the 99 switchbacks to the trail camp on the way to Whitney Portal. It was cold, and she was only wearing a light windbreaker. She had no backpack. The only gear she appeared to be carrying was a wadded-up Befree water-filter/bladder with maybe two tablespoons of water in it. “I separate my party,” she said. She meant that she was lost. She also asked for water. 

She spoke very little English, and I know zero Korean, so it took maybe five minutes to sort out. I finally determined that she was supposed to meet her friends at nearby Guitar Lake (she was calling it “Gitta Lake”), and I had noticed a pair of Asian hikers with packs heading down that way maybe five minutes before she arrived. So I put two and two together, gave her half of my water and got her started in the right direction. And then I headed in the opposite direction toward Trail Camp. Hope she caught up with her friends quickly. They looked worried, too, and now I knew why.

 

John Muir Trail

Happy to report that I summited 14,505-foot Mt. Whitney August 21, capping off a 208-mile hike of California’s John Muir Trail.

The JMT, which starts in Yosemite National Park and ends atop Whitney, was one of my most challenging backpacking expeditions ever, requiring more than 40,000 feet of climbing over 22 days. But the spectacular views along the trail were always more than reward enough for the effort.

One of the trail’s biggest challenges for a lifetime sea level resident like me was the elevation. Fortunately, I was able to acclimate before the hike during a three-day camping/fishing trip with my brother in Mammoth Lakes CA. The center of this mountain resort town is 7,800 feet above sea level, and the surrounding areas are higher.

Also fortunately for me, I scored a permit to hike the trail southbound from Yosemite’s Tuolumne Meadows. This enabled me to work my way up more gradually through some of the trail’s higher passes—including Muir, 11,955 feet above sea level; Mather, 12,068; Pinchot, 12,090; Glen, 11,926; and Forester, 13,153.

By the time I reached Whitney, its elevation was really not a problem.

One of my bigger blunders was to bring fishing gear. As it turned out, I was too tired to fish after hiking, and so I shipped the gear home during one of my resupply stops.

The closest I came to disaster was almost stepping on a timber rattler, which was apparently napping in the trail. I didn’t see it. Fortunately, the tapping of my trekking poles awakened the surly beast, which rattled and struck repeatedly in my direction but moved off the trail.

One of the more interesting people I met on the trail was Chris Haaland, an engineer whose company—Canyon Bridge Co.—was replacing a critical trail bridge across the South Fork of the San Joaquin River. The original bridge was severely damaged during the heavy snowfalls of 2023. By the time I passed by in August, Haaland and his crew had installed a temporary suspension bridge across the river, and the permanent bridge was being prefabricated in Bishop.

Haaland hoped the permanent bridge could be installed by early September, depending on the availabilty of a helicopter large enough to transport it.

Haaland

Two of the nicest people I met were Craig and Kathy, a father/daughter team that was preparing to summit Whitney. My tent was designed to be set up with two trekking poles, and I broke one of my poles on Whitney. They loaned me one of theirs for my last night on the trail.

Craig and Kathy

The most impressive duo I met during my adventure were Tom and Crazy Jack. Tom gave me a ride from Whitney Portal to my hotel, the historic Dow Villa, in Lone Pine. Both regularly vacation in the Whitney area. Tom says he has climbed Whitney 25 times, often via the Mountaineer’s route. Crazy Jack, who lives in San Diego, says he has done 212 ascents. On some occasions, according to Tom, Jack has done daily doubles from the portal. A single lap is 22 miles. So that means 44 miles in a 24-hour period. Tom told me Jack has also done laps starting from Lone Pine, which is 13 miles down the mountain from the Portal and is 4,023 feet above sea level. So one lap to the top of the mountain is 48 miles and climbs more than 10,000 feet.

Pretty amazing. I’m a slacker by comparison.

Tom and Crazy Jack

 

Traffic jam on Mather pass

Llama express

Via de la Plata

Early start for Laza

While hiking Spain’s 624-mile Via de la Plata pilgrimage route this spring, I loved visiting with other peregrinos and exploring the remote landscapes, medieval cities and Roman ruins along the way.

But if you are tempted to try this path yourself, be forewarned: It’s more challenging than the three other more popular caminos I’ve sampled—the Frances, the Norte and the Primitivo.

Indeed, I would describe the Via more as a quest than a long hike, requiring what my Finnish friends call sisu—the never-say-die, stoic determination that the Finns proudly say describes their national character.

Part of the reason that the Via is harder than many of Spain’s other caminos is it’s longer. The Camino Frances, Spain’s most popular peregrino route, by way of comparison, is more than 100 miles shorter.

The Via, which links Sevilla in the south to Santiago de Compostela in the north, also has fewer services on it than the other more-popular caminos, requiring pilgrims to carry more of their own food and water. The scarcity of services also requires pilgrims to hike farther between resupply points and the albergues or other places to sleep for the night.

Due to these features, relatively few pilgrims attempt the Via route, and the resulting lack of potential companions is a turnoff for some.

Santiponce

In addition, because the Via follows a less-traveled path, English speakers are harder to find on this route than on other caminos I’ve hiked.

But for me, the remoteness and unpopularity of the Via were positives. Although I’m not antisocial, I prefer to hike solo at my own pace. Besides, I often found plenty of company, including an English speaker or two, at the albergues I checked into in the evenings.

Among the things I loved about this ancient Roman trade route were the shadeless, barren landscapes that characterized much of it.

I also enjoyed exploring the beautiful Catholic churches along the way.

During a torrential rainstorm, I was the only visitor inside Zamora’s magnificent cathedral for an hour one morning, and I was moved by the experience, as a huge, 16th century Flemish tapestry hanging from the ceiling fluttered beside me.

Zamora cathedral

I also thought the 10th Century Romanesque church in Santa Marta de Tera was amazing. There, at 8 am on the spring and autumn equinoxes, sunlight shining through an oculus in the stone wall behind the altar illuminates a stone carving of what I was told was a martyred saint being carried to heaven by angels.

The rear exterior wall of the church also includes a stone carving of what is said to be the first depiction of Saint James, or Santiago, in Europe.

The Roman ruins in Santiponce, Caparra and Merida were simply awesome. I walked an extra 10 miles around Merida one afternoon and into the evening, just sightseeing. I also loved the castles and walled cities, and particularly those in Puebla de Sanabria.

In one of the odder coincidences of this trip, I ran into David Landis, a Facebook friend I had never met in person before, in a small bar in Campobecerros, a dusty little town in the middle of Spain’s remote, shadeless outback.

I was drinking an Aquarius (similar to Gatorade) con hielo (with ice)in the bar when David walked in, his short-billed cap identifying him as a cyclist. He ordered a burger and joined me at my table.

It was not until he told me he was from Harrisonburg VA, 120 miles west of my Virginia hometown, that I recognized him from his Facebook photo. I had been following him on Facebook because he and his wife publish camino guidebooks and he had developed a trans-Virginia gravel cycling route I was interested in.

Turned out that, while I was hiking the Via, he had been riding his bike north from Morroco and just happened to stop at this little Campobecerros bar while I was also there. What are the chances? Not sure how you would even begin to calculate the odds of this meeting happening.

Landis

One of the attractions to hiking Spain’s caminos for me is its affordability.

The pilgrim-only public albergues I usually stayed in this year, which offered a bunk and a shower and maybe access to a communal kitchen, ranged in price from €3 to €15 per night. The menu del dias served by many restaurants along the caminos—three-course meals that generally included a starter, entree, dessert, bread, wine and/or water—cost anywhere from about €10 to €15 (or a bit more in the larger cities). 

Among my favorite albergues this year were the Albergue de Peregrinos in Fontanillas de Castro, the Albergue de Castilblanco de los Arroyos and the Albergue Casa Leiras 1866 in Dornelas.

Southern Spain gets too hot to hike safely in the summer. So spring and fall are the go times on the Via.

I ate the whole thing

While I was walking between March 13 and April 24, the temperatures ranged from the low 30s in the mornings to the 80s in the afternoons. So fortunately I was carrying warmer layers for the mornings, including gloves (and a sleeping bag for the often-unheated albergues at night)and a broad-brimmed hat for the afternoons.

Alas, with my March start, I got caught in the tail end of southern Spain’s rainy season. In the early going, it rained off and on for more than a week, flooding parts of the trail and turning other sections into muddy quagmires.

At times, the trail conditions were so bad that I had to walk paved highways to get around the arroyos in the bottomlands and the worst of it.

Wading one crossing

Though English speakers were harder for me to find on the Via than on the more popular routes I’ve hiked, I was able to communicate adequately with my rudimentary Spanish. Other pilgrims who spoke little or no Spanish seemed to get along fine relying on the Spanish-translation apps on their phones.

During the trek, I took one rest day, in Zamora.

The farthest I hiked in one day was 23.6 miles, between Fontanillos de Castro and Tabara, according to my iPhone app.

One of the most exhausting sections for me was the 59.3 miles over three days between Puebla de Sanbria and Laza.

Relying on the route’s official mileage as the measure, I hiked an average of 15.3 miles per day.

In the Aesop’s fable about the race between the tortoise and the hare, the tortoise wins by proceeding slowly but surely. And the game plan I have used to complete all of my caminos thus far is to emulate the tortoise.

A lot of the hares—the overly ambitious folks who try to hike too far too quickly too early in the going—seem to end up dropping out altogether or taking taxis or the buses between stages due to injuries.

Blisters and other foot and leg injuries seem to be key problems that sideline them.

I had zero health issues on the Via, hiking mostly in my usual Chaco sandals. Butfor this camino, I alternated between the sandals and a pair of Altra Lone Peak running shoes, which offered more protection on the muddy trails and on the cold,rainy days.

This one was too deep to cross so we turned back

 

 

Santiago

Last supper on the trail

Juha's blisters

Juha has sisu

Gerard

Elizabeth

Pilgrim's blessing from Padre Blas

Dagmar

Roman arch at Caparra

Zamora castle

Merida aqueduct

Merida amphitheater

Merida's Temple of Diana