An assault on Jacinto (1)

Picture of that day can be found here

It is said that when hiking, one carries their fears in their pack, and when we set out that morning to conquer Mount San Jacinto, we sure had to carry the extra weight of our anxiety. Two years prior, San Jacinto claimed the life of a young man who was supposed to receive his crampons just twenty kilometres away.

The steep slopes of Mount San Jacinto are the first real challenge of the PCT. It is a test that assesses our ability to traverse the High Sierra, a daily concern for every hiker. We had anxiously monitored the snow conditions and the state of the trail on a website called SanJacjon for months before starting. The plan was quite simple: climb a narrow mountain range, walk along the ridge, reach the summit, and then descend into the valley on the other side. We were about to gain and lose 4,000 meters of altitude in three days. Another challenge of this section is the absence of water sources directly on the trail, which forces detours that are tiring in addition to the steep slopes and the presence of snow.

I. The Ascent

On the first day, after climbing all day and deviating more than 2km to find water, we had to descend a few hundred meters to reach a camp large enough for all eight of us. We ate together next to the girls' tents, and after I left some crumbs again, Janick asked me if I wanted to attract mice into her tent and renamed me "Captain Crumbs." The wind swept across the plateau and knocked down Kiki's tent twice during the night.

The next day, following a routine that was becoming established, I set off after the others, having had a hearty breakfast.

I was alone, completely alone, in the mountains. I walked along a ravine. I passed a landslide, I jumped onto a lower ledge where there were a few footprints, and suddenly I found myself in the middle of a slope with no trail in sight. My heart started beating faster. I took out my GPS beacon and constantly checked my position. It showed that I was on the trail, but there was no sign of the beaten path.

Fear begins to engulf me as the slope became steeper and steeper. I feared for my ankles and the angle at which the slope forced them to bend, stretching them to their maximum. If I slipped, it was the cliff. Still no sign of the trail. I then decided to take a bold move and climb straight up. I dashed towards the summit, clinging to the branches of surrounding bushes, trying to secure each step and sinked my trekking poles as deep as possible for support. That's how I found the trail after fifteen minutes of struggle: the slope was so steep that even two meters away, the path, from below, was invisible. I was sweating, and my pulse showed no signs of slowing down.

I was only reassured when I joined the others, and Nick offered me some water for which he had to make an additional detour.

Finally, at a turn, there was snow on the trail! I felt like a child. It almost made me forget about all the tree trunks blow downed in the middle of the path, over seventy of them, which sometimes forced us to remove our backpacks and crawl underneath, sometimes requiring perilous climbs over them. During one of these acrobatics, Janick's backpack fell into the ravine, forcing her to retrieve it. In certain areas, the trail disappeared under landslides, and we spent a long time searching in thorny bushes to find it again.

In the afternoon, the soft snow quickly changed from exciting to exhausting. I was with Idaho, and we frequently sank into the snow up to our knees, slipping and falling. We were soaked in melted snow, accumulating beneath the hip belt of our backpacks.

We met the others by a river. As I leaned to get some water, the snow gave way, and I found myself sitting with my buttocks in the water. We laughed, and I say “I'm not so proud anyway”, Kiki replied "not anymore, at least".

The afternoon was well advanced, but we wanted to get as close as possible to the summit to witness the sunrise the next morning. Only 10 kilometres and a steep climb to go. We passed through forests of tall pine trees, and a realization suddenly struck me. This nature, so different from home, I knew it from Disney movies. These are the landscapes of Snow White, Bambi, all around me. We were close to Los Angeles, and there is no doubt that the artists drew inspiration from these places for their aesthetics.

Tonight, I had decided not to be the last one at the camp. For that, I had an advantage: I am the only one who could climb as fast uphill as on flat ground. As we ascended the sheer cliff, I turn around, and tears filled my eyes. The entire mountain that we had climbed in the past two days was beneath our feet, already so distant, so far below us, slamming me with vertigo.

“I may break my leg tomorrow, but I will have already accomplished something”. This place was magical. I have seen incredible landscapes during these five months, but that moment, facing the void and the height of my efforts, remains one of the most memorable.

At the summit, however, reality hit hard. We were faced with a field of snow. Cucumber and I were alone. We didn't know if the others would catch up with us. At the junction, where we had read that there were bivouac sites, two people hadalready set up their tents, and everything else was covered in snow. We were disheartened.

Luckily, at that moment, a young woman passed us; she was going to fetch water from a source below and told us that there was a free campsite just a little higher up. We dragged ourselves and found refuge there for the night, exhausted but fulfilled by the breathtaking view of the surroundings.

Throughout the night, the wind roared furiously above the summit, but my spot was protected, and I didn't receive any gusts.

It's hard to explain what this sound does to my mind; it's like hearing the rain when you're warm in your bed, with a touch of the trauma and unsecurity of so many sleepless nights.

Part II: The Summit

On the third day, we set off before dawn to reach the summit before sunrise. As I left, I saw the rest of the group getting ready. Nick seemed a bit annoyed; I think he waited too long for the others, as he wanted to be at the summit at dawn. But he was too kind to leave them behind. Not me. I went ahead with Idaho alone.

The sun rises, it's dazzling. We're not yet at the summit, and that's okay. You always have to weigh the fact that every moment, every exceptional view comes at the cost of discomfort, waking up in the middle of the night, getting out of the sleeping bag when the cold is biting, and knowing that the fatigue will be stronger the next day. The trail itself is often challenging enough for me.

The ascent to the summit of Jacinto was not very difficult, a few steeper sections but nothing really dangerous. I kept thinking about what Kiki had told me, that micro-crampons slip on rocks, and I spent my time putting them on and taking them off.

Finally, we were there, and we celebrated this victory with the two Alex's. Below us, the distant plain stretches out, where we will descend tomorrow, and like mirages, tiny wind farms. In the summit shelter, Evan was preparing a feast of mashed potatoes, melted cheese and summer sausages that urged me to go back down to the camp and enjoy myself a good meal. My food bag, hanging up, hadn't been devoured, which was a relief.