Segment 6: Jim, Bruce Mary, and Annette. This was the most challenging and rewarding backpacking trip I’ve been on. Our segment has many stories, ranging from the scatological to the transcendent. One particularly strange experience on the trail I will share occurred at the “Bubbs” Creek campground, where the only tent-pitching flats were about 50 feet apart, with enough room for one tent each. At the end of the day we set up camp, explored the stream nearby, ate dinner, chatted and settled into our tents. This was somewhat early in our trip and I had yet to get a good night’s sleep. With the white noise of the nearby stream I was hopeful that this was going to be a good rest. I took this photo of my shoes from inside my tent before going to bed. 
Bubbs Creek Campground
Around 11pm or midnight I awoke to the faint clanging of pots and pans far away. It was a zombie-like rhythm of clanging cookware—clang-cling—clang-cling—clang-cling…, and it was getting closer and closer and louder and louder. I couldn’t talk to Annette or Jim because their tents were too far away to be heard to over the sound of the rushing stream. I didn’t know what was making that noise. I thought maybe it was a nearby camper chasing a bear away. But this made no sense because why did they clang-cling so calmly? Why weren’t they screaming in shrill terror as a bear was tearing their food apart? Why were they slowly coming nearer to our campground? Bears = adrenaline. So I was totally juiced as the clanging came closer and closer. Then I felt an almost sub-acoustic seismic wave of a big animal stepping just outside my tent. I could actually feel its footsteps through the ground (it’s actually a tarp, not a tent, so I was totally vulnerable), and I was out of communication with my fellow hikers. I was a little freaked and was ready to ultramarathon it back down the 20 miles of JMT we had just hiked. I found my headlamp and shined it on the creature—It was a mule! Standing right over my tent was a major cutie-pie innocent mule with eyes glowing silver reflecting back my light. My light scared him and he bolted away fast toward Jim’s tent, leaving showers of sparks as his iron shoes ground into the granite rock face. Sleep for me was now a total impossibility. Soon dozens of mules wandered through the campground right next to our tents. At one point I shone my light out into the darkness and a sea of silver eyes gleamed back. They were both scary and adorable.
All the while the mysterious clanging continued and continued and continued on and on for hours and hours. All night long. Sometimes it grew louder, sometimes faint. It changed direction and tempo. There were flashes of light from it now and then. I realized it must have been somehow related to the mules. I reasoned it was some mountain “muleman” with an eye patch and clothes dating from the 1850s patiently and lovingly clanging his pots together to gather his trained hearties in the night. He was trolling the JMT gathering mules. Pretty simple. That made sense to me. Sometimes his clanging grew so faint it was covered by the stream’s rushing sound, but he always came back to our camp. He clanged for them all night long until dawn.
In the wilderness night plays tricks on your better judgement. I could have walked over to Jim or Annette and asked them what they thought of the situation. I could have gone to the muleman and politely asked him to go clang somewhere else for his mules. But I would have to cross through the mules to get to him. What happens when you walk among a group of mules in the dark of night? Do they nuzzle you? Do they stampede, throwing up sparks and starting a forest fire? Do you turn your light on or leave it off? I don’t know the walk-among-mule-herd-in-pitch-blackness protocol. What seemed to make most sense at the time (but makes no sense whatsoever now) was to just sit there all night long and lie awake and “yawing” at the mules to get away from my tent, which didn’t work anyway. In the morning I found out from Jim and Annette the clanging came from a mule with a bell tied to his neck. I guess they all stuck to the bell mule. Poor thing. No bear. No mountain muleman with an eye patch. Just a herd of nice mules hanging out in our campground all night long. It makes for a funny story, and I will always remember that night and those mules. All three of us laughed about it for the rest of the trip.
It turns out there’s a bit of controversy regarding pack mules and hikers. The High Sierra Hikers Association has brought the issue to the courts in order limit the number of mules in the wilderness areas. Go here to read the article: http://www.highsierrahikers.org/essay_tosue.html.
Also, here are a few other photos I think are nice that show the incredible high sierra landscapes.
Thank you Annette for such a wonderful trip!
-Bruce G
Bubbs Creek Campground
Around 11pm or midnight I awoke to the faint clanging of pots and pans far away. It was a zombie-like rhythm of clanging cookware—clang-cling—clang-cling—clang-cling…, and it was getting closer and closer and louder and louder. I couldn’t talk to Annette or Jim because their tents were too far away to be heard to over the sound of the rushing stream. I didn’t know what was making that noise. I thought maybe it was a nearby camper chasing a bear away. But this made no sense because why did they clang-cling so calmly? Why weren’t they screaming in shrill terror as a bear was tearing their food apart? Why were they slowly coming nearer to our campground? Bears = adrenaline. So I was totally juiced as the clanging came closer and closer. Then I felt an almost sub-acoustic seismic wave of a big animal stepping just outside my tent. I could actually feel its footsteps through the ground (it’s actually a tarp, not a tent, so I was totally vulnerable), and I was out of communication with my fellow hikers. I was a little freaked and was ready to ultramarathon it back down the 20 miles of JMT we had just hiked. I found my headlamp and shined it on the creature—It was a mule! Standing right over my tent was a major cutie-pie innocent mule with eyes glowing silver reflecting back my light. My light scared him and he bolted away fast toward Jim’s tent, leaving showers of sparks as his iron shoes ground into the granite rock face. Sleep for me was now a total impossibility. Soon dozens of mules wandered through the campground right next to our tents. At one point I shone my light out into the darkness and a sea of silver eyes gleamed back. They were both scary and adorable.
All the while the mysterious clanging continued and continued and continued on and on for hours and hours. All night long. Sometimes it grew louder, sometimes faint. It changed direction and tempo. There were flashes of light from it now and then. I realized it must have been somehow related to the mules. I reasoned it was some mountain “muleman” with an eye patch and clothes dating from the 1850s patiently and lovingly clanging his pots together to gather his trained hearties in the night. He was trolling the JMT gathering mules. Pretty simple. That made sense to me. Sometimes his clanging grew so faint it was covered by the stream’s rushing sound, but he always came back to our camp. He clanged for them all night long until dawn.
In the wilderness night plays tricks on your better judgement. I could have walked over to Jim or Annette and asked them what they thought of the situation. I could have gone to the muleman and politely asked him to go clang somewhere else for his mules. But I would have to cross through the mules to get to him. What happens when you walk among a group of mules in the dark of night? Do they nuzzle you? Do they stampede, throwing up sparks and starting a forest fire? Do you turn your light on or leave it off? I don’t know the walk-among-mule-herd-in-pitch-blackness protocol. What seemed to make most sense at the time (but makes no sense whatsoever now) was to just sit there all night long and lie awake and “yawing” at the mules to get away from my tent, which didn’t work anyway. In the morning I found out from Jim and Annette the clanging came from a mule with a bell tied to his neck. I guess they all stuck to the bell mule. Poor thing. No bear. No mountain muleman with an eye patch. Just a herd of nice mules hanging out in our campground all night long. It makes for a funny story, and I will always remember that night and those mules. All three of us laughed about it for the rest of the trip.
It turns out there’s a bit of controversy regarding pack mules and hikers. The High Sierra Hikers Association has brought the issue to the courts in order limit the number of mules in the wilderness areas. Go here to read the article: http://www.highsierrahikers.org/essay_tosue.html.
Also, here are a few other photos I think are nice that show the incredible high sierra landscapes.
Thank you Annette for such a wonderful trip!-Bruce G
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