Beyond the Setting Sun

The Trans-Sierra Shuffle

'Up there's Mount Whitney... 14,491 feet straight up.  Up there's ten feet of snow... wind, cold, avalanche, rock falls.  But up there's Tioga Pass... and the way through The Sierras.  From Lee Vining to Yosemite it's 50 miles... and up to 10,000 feet at the pass.  You'll need to get snowshoes from Bishop... or maybe Mammoth Lake.'

I stood on the road, looking towards a wall of mountains to the west.  With me was Mike Scavo.  As he talked he held his hand to his throat.  Mike had survived throat cancer, but had been given a tracheotomy, so that he could breathe.  It had taken Mike two years to learn to talk again.  Once he learnt to talk, the first thing he did was to propose to his nurse, who was called Ella Mary.  But learning to talk wasn't enough for Mike.  Before developing cancer he had been a paratrooper.  Once he'd got fit, he trained to cycle across the States.  His plan was to raise money for the American Cancer Society.  At the age of 56 he cycled from Lone Pine, at the eastern edge of The Sierras to Atlanta, Georgia.  For the next three summers he did the same.

At nearly 70 years of age Mike still rode his bike, although he figured it was enough to have ridden four times across the States.  Mike's wife Ella Mary was involved with the hospice group at Lone Pine, and that was how I came to be standing with Mike looking up at the mountains.

'Colin... you make sure you get over those mountains.  Good luck.'  Mike shook my hand with a firm grip and waved me off.

The way was now set.  At Bishop more interviews were lined up.  On the other side of The Sierras there were hospices at Merced, Turlock, Stockton, Oakland, Contra Costa, San Leandro, Marin and San Francisco.  It was time for the last push.

It was Tuesday 16th February.  That day I walked until I reached the bristlecone pines up at Tom's Place.  I put up my tent amongst the old, twisted and gnarled trees.  Some of the pines in the White Mountain area nearby had been there for over four thousand years.  As I fell asleep it felt good, and reassuring, to be around the old trees.

Amongst the bristlecone pines remnants of snow were melting away, but up ahead the tops of the mountains showed up bright white in the sun.

Higher and higher, I headed up the Owens Valley... making for Mammoth Lakes and Lee Vining.  In Bishop no one had snowshoes.

As Mammoth Lakes appeared there were more patches of snow by the roadside.  The air temperature was warm when the day began, but a cold wind soon blew.  The weather changed in no time and a hailstorm blew down from the mountains.  As I walked on in my parka I was pelted by hard ice, the size of peas.  I struggled against high winds, trying to reach the town and shelter.  Up ahead was a Ranger Station.  I dashed inside.

'Ooh, get caught by the storm, eh?'  A Ranger sat behind the desk in the warm building.

'Yeah... lovely weather you got round here.  I don't know if you can help me... I'm trying to get hold of some snowshoes to head up into the mountains.'

'Oh, sure!  There are a couple of ski shops in town... just head down main street; you can't miss 'em.'

'Ok, thanks.'  I headed back out, relieved to see that the hail had stopped.  Staggering up the slushy street I passed several shops.  The town was geared up for tourists: skiers in the winte and hikers in the summer.  I spotted a shop with skis in the window and headed on in.

'Can I help ya?'

A bearded man was working inside, buffing the bottom of some skis.

'Do you rent snowshoes?'  I was ready to be disappointed once more.

'Yep.'

'Great.'  Quickly, I told the man what I was up to and that I'd walked all the way from New York for hospice.