Reflections From the John Muir Trail 2020: Part iV - lost in Bear territory

I left Iva Bell Hot Springs mid morning with a spring in my step from a nice hot bath to start the day and the knowledge that the trail was an easy downhill for most of the way.

I may be able to push through the eleven miles back to Red's Meadow, I thought, as I oriented toward the northbound section of the Fish Creek trail. That would be a day earlier than planned. I was a week and a half into the trip and had gained my stride.

As I looked at and appreciated the last rock lined hot pool, the thought of loving awareness popped into my mind. That's all life seems to want from us is our loving awareness as it unfolds.

This will be my practice today--bring loving awareness to each moment.

What appear to be bear territory markings on a Quaking Aspen tree. Fish Creek Trail, John Muir Wilderness, California.

 The Fish Creek trail passes through the John Muir and Ansel Adams Wilderness areas. It's some of the most iconic scenery in the Sierras. I chose to backtrack to Red's Meadows on this trail rather than complete Section III of the JMT, as that section would drop me some five hours from my car with no public transportation options. So I opted for what I thought was going to be a mild path of glades and meadows, but it turned out to be a glorious forested trail at times replete with clear, crisp rushing water tumbling over large granite boulders and steep canyon walls of various shades of gray.

I took a snack break at the bottom of a small waterfall and watched the waving tails of the trout steady their position in a deep pool. At just the right moment, they would pop up out of the water, gulping an unsuspecting bug touching the surface.

As the canyon deepened and the sound of flowing water got louder, I could no longer hear anything in my surroundings but it. My fear kicked in--a bear or a cougar would not be able to hear me coming and I wasn't sure they would feel me either. And I certainly couldn't hear them.

At first I casually clacked together my walking sticks every now and again, but soon I added the sound of my voice in song and chant. Eventually, I let loose my small tin shovel so it could rattle against other metal objects on the pack with each step I took.

My next break was at a large pack animal camp site. The sound of the creek, which could be considered a river in our parts, was still loud enough to have me on high alert for movement. It was hard to relax.

A short distance back on the trail I pulled out the map to orient me and discovered that I should have crossed the creek somewhere back near the campsite. I had already had a situation where I missed the trail turn and instead veered off down the hill a mile or so out of the way.

This crossing made sense. There was a massive log across the creek near the campsite with what looked like a pack animal crossing next to it. On the JMT, the logs at crossings  usually had shorn tops with two tied together to make a nice sturdy bridge. I had already noticed that the Fish Creek Trail didn't afford the same quality of markings and upkeep, so wasn't surprised to have a solo log, albeit massive and unshorn, as the bridge.

Funny, though, I didn't remember seeing a sign. So, I backtrack a bit and eventually determine that the huge log across the creek must lead to the trail on the other side. I certainly wasn't going to take the chance of going  the wrong direction this time.

I tighten my pack and traverse the fallen tree to an opening, but no apparent trail. I see from the GPS tracker on my phone the trail was just a ways up ahead and so I cut through the forest knowing I would intersect it in about 50-75 feet.

The hovering and accuracy of a GPS tracker can be affected by reception and so when I didn't find the trail immediately, I just kept trekking in the general direction, knowing I would eventually meet it. I soon came upon another small creek and crossed along and up toward the canyon wall. This tributary was on the map, but still no trail.

Well shoot. Where is this trail?

Determined, I continue to scramble through brush and trees until I eventually came to a cairn--a human-made stack of rocks typically indicating a direction or path.

Okay. It's here somewhere.

I first went north from the cairn on a path and quickly hit a wall of brush and boulder so thick there was no way to penetrate it. Beyond the wall was yet another small side stream to Fish Creek. Definitely not the trail here.

Next, I headed west on a path toward Fish Creek and soon found myself in a somewhat open ground area surrounded by thickets of gray-green shrubbery with smallish trees keeping the area in the shade. There were numerous piles of scat--some clearly bear, given size and consistency, and others that could be coyote or cougar.

A bear den? Not a good sign.

Fresh bear scat and urine on the trail next to my camp site. Red's Meadow, Ansel Adams Wilderness, California.

It was easy to tell that the scat was not immediately fresh, like that I saw at Red's Meadow days earlier, but it was this season's and fresh enough to put me on alert knowing I needed to get out of the area as quick as possible.

Seeing no clear path out, I backtracked to the cairn and continued on logically going in each of the remaining directions to find the trail.

The sun followed its mid-summer trajectory to straight overhead. I was now hot, frustrated and getting nervous. Since I had scrambled off trail and bushwhacked through dense brush and forested areas, I discovered I couldn't find my way back to the fallen log by land. I was traipsing through stinging nettle, hurdling my now 25-pound pack over boulders and enormous fallen trees, sometimes to get a clearer view and others just to get somewhere. And yet I kept ending up back at the cairn.

Frustrated, concerned and shaky at about an hour in to this mess, I began to realize what a potential predicament I was in and emotionally gave up. I had to admit I was lost and couldn't find my way.

Damn! This was stupid!

I quickly saw the futility of beating myself up and thought to look for the phone number of the nearest ranger station to see if they could talk me through to the trail. My map and GPS tracker kept showing it nearby. I kept crossing back and forth over it, according to it, certainly, I hoped, they could help me orient.

There wasn't enough reception to use the internet.

Shoot!

I thought to call Jim and have him look it up. I dial. Silence. Not enough reception for even a phone call.

Shit!

Not only was I not going to find this trail--I was lost, for sure--but I was also running low on water and my efforts to get back to the creek were thwarted in each direction by the dense walls of bushes.

Should I make the 911 emergency call?

That seems like such a waste of resources; I really wasn't ready for that.

Okay, it's time to get serious about this. Stop trying to find the trail and get back to where I crossed the stream.

I headed back into the bear den area toward Fish Creek when something shiny caught my eye--it was a large and sturdy carabiner. My mind reeled with horrorific scenarios of how that ended up here.

I have GOT to get OUT of here!!!

I had started chanting help. help, help, on a steady beacon-like basis sometime after the first encounter with the scat. My hope was that a fellow traveler would hear me and pull me toward the trail with their voice. The chant got louder as my hope waned and softened when determination returned.

My legs, alive and tingling from nettle, pushed through thickets of bushes until finally I reached a large driftwood filled beach. I dropped my pack, took off my boots, stood in the cool running stream, filtered some drinking water and proceeded to eat lunch and take a break.

My adrenaline was high, but I was tired. Now, at least, I knew I had plenty of food and water. But I also knew I wasn't out of the woods just yet. I had to get back to where I crossed the river and figure out where I went wrong.

Portion of Fish Creek Trail heading toward Iva Bell Hot Springs. John Muir Wilderness, California.

So, off-trail hiking is a thing. In fact, I met a young graduate student at Red's Meadow who was trekking the Sierra High Route. (Never mind that he ended up spending the night in the shower room at Red's because a bear came up to his picnic table while strewn with his resupply food and it was the closest most protected place he could scramble with some food and his backpack. As the bear sniffed under the door, a worker from Red's encouraged him to just stay put for the night. He pulled out his sleep pad and bag and hunkered down.) This form of hiking takes every ounce of ingenuity, strength and agility to be successful and this was my indoctrination. It was a far cry from trail hiking!

I put on my hiking sandals, storing my boots on the pack and tucked my phone in a  plastic bag as I forged upstream on Fish Creek a good quarter-mile or so. Sometimes it was trudging mid-stream in thigh high water, carefully placing one foot in front of the other, once getting my foot caught between two large rocks and having to wrestle it loose. Other times it was hoisting myself and pack over an 8+ foot diameter log, of which one time I almost impaled myself on a broken branch because the pack got caught between two large branches almost pulling me over. I caught myself just as the pack weight pulled me near the sharp protrusion. Thank goodness for my yoga practice that keeps me flexible, for the strength in my legs and for the adrenaline that kept me stronger than normal!

After a few near mishaps, the gravity of the situation hit me again. I was in the middle of nowhere and an injury now could eventually be fatal. My attention honed and heightened, I became aware of every movement, of every option.

Once I took to traversing the creek, every now and again, when it was easy going, I would wake up to the freshness and beauty and experience a moment of pleasure. It was refreshing. In general, this was too serious of a situation for relaxed pleasure. (I can now tell these situations because after, there's no photos!)

A perfectly built bridge over Fish Creek. John Muir Wilderness, California.

I finally found my way back to the original crossing spot some two and a half hours later. I went a bit back up trail to see where I had missed the actual crossing or sign and nothing was there.

I decided then that I didn't care if I had lost the trail. I was going to continue straight on the main well traveled trail regardless of where it took me. I had wasted 2 1/2 hours of my energy and day and I certainly wasn't going to make it back to Red's. I would figure things out when the time came.

The prickly sensation of the stinging nettled lingered and made it difficult to rest. I started to think, where did I go wrong? Was I too ambitious? Too determined to the point of being stubborn? When should I have turned around?

A half-mile or so up the flat forested trail, I turned the corner. Hmmm...

There stood a perfectly built and new looking bridge crossing the creek. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Two men greeted me with a warning that I may want to rest up and stock up on water, as the next mile or so stretch was steep switchbacks up the canyon wall. I laughed and thanked them as I continued riding on the adrenaline wave.

There is a fine line between bravery and stupidity and that line isn't usually known until the outcome of the situation is fully known.

That evening, as I lay exhausted in the midst of the inevitable energy crash, I reflected how my mind and body rose to the occasion. I never would have pushed myself to experience those greater capacities. I never would have noticed and experienced these capabilities had this situation not pulled them out of me. It was an interesting reflection and brought to mind a passage in this essay by Shawnte Salabert reflecting  about the why of engaging in off trail hiking:

"...one leaves the boundaries of a trail in order to push their own. To engage well-practiced skills of navigation and route-finding. To gain perspective and feel small in wide, open spaces. To be fully present and immersed in the landscape. To contemplate big questions in places that have been impacted by little more than footprints. To go deeper, if you will." 

To the loving awareness that had been lost since the first wrong turn, I could understand this deeper calling and gift. But, doing it intentionally would be more apropos than coming across it haphazardly as I did!

Would I try it in the future?

Multi-day solo backpacking has been the challenge that I've taken on these past few years to help me learn, use and grow this aptitude. For now, I think sticking to the trails is enough.

There is a fine line between bravery and stupidity and that line isn't usually known until the outcome of the situation is fully known. In hindsight, for this time of being lost in bear territory, it seems a bit of both.

---

{Note: The online mapping application I used for this trail is Hiking Project, a crowd-sourced trail system through REI. I have since contacted them and entered a correction for this trail that I hope will keep others from making the same error in navigation.}

Author

JoAnn Saccato, MA is a mindfulness teacher specializing in disaster and trauma resiliency and learning the self through nature. As a mindfulness-based life coach, she helps others align heart, mind and body with their deepest values and intentions to live a deeply authentic life they can truly love.

JoAnn lives in the hills of Northern California and travels the world over with her curiosity and teachings. She is the author of Companioning the Sacred Journey: A Guide to Creating a Compassionate Container for Your Spiritual Practice and Mindful and Intentional Living: A Path to Peace, Clarity and Freedom.