Day 2: Sometimes you gotta go through hell to get to heaven.

I woke again at 5:30 a.m., the temperature was still hovering around freezing and I was certainly not getting any warmer in my tent, so I decided to get up and get moving. I had a breakfast of squished poptarts and water, and we were back on the trail by 7:30, knowing we had a long day ahead of us.



We hiked up to the pass which had been looming above us since the previous evening (elev. 11,100 feet), then down about a mile and a half to Baker Lake, where we set up camp before heading off for the day. At 10 a.m., we headed back up the pass and began our day hike south along the ridge, hitting two 11,700+ ft peaks on the way. We were too tired to continue up to the shorter Mount Washington, but our primary destination had been reached.

On short ridgeline on the north-east slope of Mount Washington, over 11,000 feet above sea level lies an ancient grove of bristlecone pines, the biggest collection of such trees in the park.



I once pondered in unbeleif John Steinbeck's account of seeing the redwoods in California, recorded in "Travels with Charley."

"The Redwoods, once seen, leave a mark or create a vision that stays with you always. No one has ever successfully painted or photographed a redwood tree. The feeling they produce is not transferable. From them comes silence and awe. They are not like any trees we know, they are ambassadors from another time. The vainest, most slap-happy and irreverent of men, in the presence of redwoods, goes under a spell of wonder and respect. Respect -- that's the word. one feels the need to bow to unquestioned sovereigns."

I had always thought that he must be exagerrating for the sake of his literature, but know I know the truth. I have stood on sacred ground. I have trod where no more than dozens venture each year. I have sat in the shadows of these anceint trees and felt their majesty seep into my bones. These magnificent trees were ancient when the redwoods were sprouting. They were anceint when Christ walked the earth, and to be in their presence was to sit as a witness to the history of our world.



At this elevation, the life of a bristlecone pine is not measured in years, decades or even centuries, but in millenia. Prometheus, the oldest specimen ever found, was determined to be 4,950 years old, while many others in the park are between 3,000 and 4,000 years old. The trunks and branches of these strong, gnarled trees are so hard with resin that the wood does not decompose, it erodes, the wind-blown sand and ice making the exposed surfaces perfectly smooth. Even the needles on these wizened trees live for 40 years!

The long, hard hike to reach the grove and the veritable death march back to camp is a very small price to pay for such an experience. There are no trails to this place, and, with luck, there never will be.