On our way to Death Creek we hear marrow-freezing wails, as if someone, or something, were being horribly tortured. We pass with no sign of carnage. On the way up a ridge, we run into Betsy & Brad. We met them way back in the San Gabriels and have been reading their register entries since Mojave. They think we may have heard them screaming to scare off a bear earlier. We stand around with our packs on, chatting happily.