Dear Trail Friends,
So here I am, camped beside another lake. Oregon seems to be a great state for lakes and mountains and deep green woods. I continue to fall a little more in love with this state and this section of the trail everyday.
I woke not quite so early today and started hiking at 5:45am. The hike led me along the three rosary lakes, though not to either Maiden Lake or Maiden Peak. As it turns out those were separate trails I could have turned off on. And the ski/camping shelter that had intrigued me -/ which I did enjoy visiting -- did not seem to me to be on a peak. I suspect the whole area is referred to as Maiden Peak.
Photo 1. Looking back after beginning to climb on the three rosary lakes. If you look carefully you can see all three, side by side like beads on a rosary. I found myself thinking about the people who named them, Spanish priests probably and then the name got Anglicized. I reflect on my adolescent passion for the Catholic Church and all I learned from the church about the physicality of prayer. It isn't just words and thoughts it is kneeling, genuflecting, crossing yourself, beating your chest with a fist, bowing your head, putting your hands together. It is passing your fingers slowly from one rosary bead to the next. Did the Friars feel that, as they walked from lake to lake, that they were moving their entire being from one rosary lake-bead to the next, in prayer to the divine mother?
Photo 2. When I did stop at the shelter I was surprised to find a large group camped there. They turned out to be a Pacific Crest Trails Association volunteer trail maintenance team -- people come from all over the country to spend a week in beautiful country as part of a team working hard to maintain the trails. They get fed and only need to carry a day pack. Nice conversations--they were very appreciative of my hike and very interested in learning about my ultralight gear.
Photo 3. Love these designs created by nature.
Photo 4. This is how dirty my feet get after just two hours of hiking these dry dusty trails -- despite dirty girl gaiters and two layers of socks the dirt works it way inside and between the toes. It causes discomfort because of friction/rubbing, so I take my shoes and socks off whenever possible at rest stops and brush and shake off dust, and wipe the toes and feet clean with my towel-bandana.
Photo 5. Bonnie's wave. I was struck by the fluidity of this "flow" of rocks--maybe there was a rock slide, I don't know but the positioning of the rocks is so evocative of flowing water. Everything flowing--some things very very slowly others very fast.
Photo 6. I walked through a lovely burn area just before reaching my campground. I kept thinking "I love this place. I love being here." The trees were silvery --where they were cut or torn open they were gold on the inside. Flowers were blooming. Swallows swooping. Sun streaming down. (Though the day couldn't quite make up its mind, there had been thunder, a brief rain, big gray clouds). I didn't even think about destruction. The whole place just seemed beautiful and alive. I tried to remember - to quote for you- a poem by re Cummings with a line something like "death is s young man selling flowers" -- if I had internet access I would look it up for you. I am struck that in Oregon even the burn areas can feel gentle and soft and maternal.
Photo 7. Two of the three sister mountains, seen through the burn area. Continuing to hold my sisters and brothers in a special place in my heart and thoughts as I walk toward the three sisters. When do I get to see the third sister mountain?
I continued to think about the possibility of reaching the Canada border and letting that be the end of my big hike -- deliberately leaving a 157 hole in the center of my hike. I noticed how much time I spend mentally evaluating food and gear, planning what to change and improve for the next hike. What if there is no next hike? The idea of the next hike allows me to live in a myth of progress and improvement that is a kind of denial of imperfection and finitude. I feel what courage it would take to relinquish this passion, to just let it go.
But I think also of the Poincare Quote from the first day of the hike ( which the young man who majored in math reminded me of when we met in Mazama Village) about logic being able to prove things, but that it is through intuition that we discover. I had the thought that there is a way of clinging to a dream or a passion, and trying to extend it through logic (games, schemes, plans) that can be good fun -- but wondering if one must let a thing go, and feel the loss and emptiness, in order to be receptive to new discoveries, new dreams, new passions. Just reverie as I walk. How could I possibly know?
I do know that the thought of relinquishing the hike, and all the schemes and plans that extend it forward toward the next hike and the next one and the next one, leaves me with a deep sadness but also a different kind of presence. Here I am in this moment that really is passing. In this hike that really will come to an end. I'd better savor it while I can because in the blink of an eye it will have ended.
Freud in his transience essay refers to transience as "scarcity in time." Scarcity he points out tends to make things precious to us.
I think this is a total change of topic but I noticed that I missed John last night and tonight. How quickly I go from feeling crowded to becoming attached to conversation and companionship!
Which reminds me -- the story of the fire. I think maybe the manager at Shelter Cove had passed on a somewhat exaggerated idea of the fire. When I ran into Chickpea and I-Nominate, the young couple from Orcas, they told me they saw the fire and "helped put it out. ". They told me G and G (the couple I had dinner with in Mazama Village) discovered it, a fire from a fire ring (which are illegal right now) had started an underground fire (this I did not fully understand. ) The G's tried to put it out but couldn't so called 911. Some firefighters were dropped in, they seemed pleased with the chance to camp in such a beautiful place for a few days while they ensured it was fully out. So that was the big fire story. I saw the Orcas couple again today. We discovered that my friend John from Bend and Chickpea from Orcas are both originally from Anchorage Alaska and both have physician fathers. Small world, huh?
I am thinking of possibly challenging myself tomorrow to walk 23 miles. The incentive: to arrive at Elk Lake in time for a restaurant dinner. I had planned to camp 5 miles south of Elk Lake and hike in for breakfast (and possibly shower, do laundry, stay for lunch) but the idea of getting to have dinner too really motivated me. Not so much now -- having gone through my food bag for items I won't need because of doing the hike in slightly fewer days than planned (basically 5 1/2 instead of 6 1/2) and ate a chunk of cheese, a beef jerky, a breakfast bar and a protein bar all in addition to my dinner (black beans with veggies, coconut milk, and chicken - really delicious). So I am no longer voraciously hungry and no longer see why hiking 23 miles seemed like a good idea. We'll see what tomorrow will bring.
I got my first yellow jacket bite today. We are definitely getting more and more insects.
Hugs and live til tomorrow.
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