Total up/down (for the official 22 miles-- a bit more for the 25.72 miles I actually walked): +1661/-1973.
Dear Trail Friends,
I am actually writing this the morning after (very early Monday morning, 3:45am) sitting in my tent here at Elk Lake resort at my small hiker campsite listening to gentle Oregon rain fall softly on my tent, wondering whether I will stay for breakfast (not served until 9 am) or whether my restlessness will prevail and I will begin my hike earlier.
It depends partly on weather, I would imagine (it would be nice to wait until the rain stops and even until the sun comes out to dry my tent), and also on my cell connection. I finally had a strong enough connection to upload blogs yesterday from July 24 to 30. I would like to upload July 31, Aug. 1, and Aug. 2 before I leave, if I can.
Yesterday was a funny day. I got very focused on the challenge of walking 23 miles. I didn't take a single photo all day (except one of the trail crossing a golden meadow between tall trees on my way to Elk Lake Resort--taken when I realized I had not taken a single photo.)
Photo 1 and only. Crossing a golden meadow.
Probably my favorite highlight of the day was when I was hiking along making great progress and I ran into Chickpea and I-Nominate (the two young people from Orcas Island I am becoming so fond of). I was confused to see them hiking south. "You're going the wrong way" I said to them. "No," they said to me. "YOU are going the wrong way." And indeed I was. I had gotten up from my rest break near a lake and returned to the trail and walked over a mile south. Though I kept consulting my gps and was confused, I thought I was confused by the discrepancy between mile numbers on the two apps and didn't recognize that the mile numbers (on both apps) were getting smaller rather than larger.
I walked with them for awhile and they shared stories of getting lost. Once they hiked 10 miles on a trail more or less parallel to the PCT but not on their map. They were surprised to walk through so many spider webs (no one had been on the trail for a long time). They were so fascinated by the boiling mud pots and geyser at Lassen that they were less alert and didn't notice the turn-off they should have taken. (This made me yearn to hike through Lassen, which lies on the small stretch of trail I am considering leaving unhiked as my bow to finitude and the unfinished, incomplete nature of life in this world -- great ideas,but can they really compete with boiling mud pots and geysers?)
I-Nominate, who walks without poles, got out his thumb piano and played on it while he told the story of leaving it behind on a rock by the trail. He jogged back 3 miles to get it, while Chickpea stayed with the packs and wrote postcards. The thumb piano was so obvious he was certain someone would have picked it up and it would be lost forever. He asked every hiker he saw if they had seen it. None had, until the very end shortly before he got to it, a woman had seen it and almost picked it up. He said it was amazing how much hikers can not see. Playing his thumb piano the whole time while I contemplated my own not seeing that I had just been walking backwards on the same trail I had walked on before my test stop, not noticing a thing.
I thought the extra 2 miles would be a deal breaker and when I arrived at my third rest stop at a beautiful lake I thought I would probably camp there. But I wasn't sure. The campsite was on a tiny peninsula surrounded on both sides by this lake (named Dumbbell Lake I assume for its shape and not in honor of me and my morning misadventure). I clambered down large rocks to put water into "dirty water" pre-filter bag and started the filter going.
Then I tried to walk myself into dipping into the water--braving the deep squishy mud and all the tangle of branches on the lake bottom. I walked slowly in (shoes and socks off, clothes on), leaning on a large log for balance. I managed to dive in, paddle a bit in the rather murky water and clamber out. In those few moments the day changed from sunny to cloudy. I took off my shirt and wring it out and put it back on. I wrung out my underpants and put them back on. Both tend to dry quickly. I wrung out my pants and draped them on a for tree. I found even in a warm day that the sun going away and the wet clothes made me cold. I put on my jacket and felt a little bit fragile. Walking (to stay warm) and civilization (being served a hot meal) seemed infinitely attractive.
I asked the "foot soldiers" to decide whether we should do the extra 6 miles.
They informed me that they don't make decisions, that's the province of generals, they just follow orders. And so, after collecting and storing my filtered water, eating my early dinner (including an extra bar to give me the energy to go on, but deliberately not eating extra cheese and beef jerky that might spoil my appetite for dinner), I pulled on my semi-dried pants and hoisted my pack and set off. Very soon I noticed I was feeling really good. Inspire of everything the water had given me that clean,washed, fresh feeling. The pants just from being wet and squeezed out felt wonderfully clean against my wonderfully clean legs. I felt like "walk 25 miles? Nothing. I could do anything." Nice feeling. I did in fact make it to Elk Lodge and had a great dinner ( though I could only eat half of the pulled pork nachos and steak salad I ordered, I drank and loved drinking the local dark beer).
After dinner I asked how long the ice cream area stayed open --thinking if they were open another couple of hours I might regain enough appetite for ice cream. But the young man in dreadlocks and gorgeous tattoos (who had already told me that he loved OCT hikers, that the trail attracted people who inquired into the meaning of life and told great stories) told me that they were already closed but that he would love to give me an ice cream. For once I remembered "just say yes" and I was gifted with a huge to-go dish of strawberry ice cream, every bite of which I managed to eat and enjoy, while I sat on the front porch at the one available electrical outlet trying to get my battery backup a little bit recharged and my blogs to upload. There I had a wonderful conversation with a young man who teaches sailing on the Columbia River, who loved that I was hiking alone and spoke of a solo trip to South America and all the experiences he had and people he met (pointing out that if I had a hiking partner we two would probably not have been talking just then) that simply would not have happened had he not been alone.
Of course, you well know the paradox of my hiking alone. It works for me because I can also imagine that you are hiking with me. Thank you again for this companionship that allows me the luxury of solitude.
Happy Trails.
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