Thursday, August 6, 2015

Riv's 2015 PCT, Day 42, August 6

Day 42, Thursday, August 6. From Big Lake Youth Camp, (approx. 1.25 mile road walk from) PCT mile 1994.62, elev. 4686, walked  3.91 miles to Santiam Pass Trailhead (where I met Pam Wilson to "zero" in Bend), 1998.63, elev. 4839.  Total up/down: +264/-110. 

Dear Trail Friends,

Another day of doing less miles. Today I woke up and realized that an early start hiking would be silly since I would simply reach Santiam Pass trailhead hours before my rendezvous with Pam. So I rolled over and went back to sleep. When I woke up again I had a slow leisurely breakfast and watched the changing dawn light and the mist rising over the lake. I loved watching the other hikers eating breakfast and taking down their tents and I understood why some hikers --especially those who hike faster than I do -- so cherish their slow leisurely mornings.

My walk was a joy. Another hiker showed me how to get back to the trail by an alternate road walk that brought me to mile 94, instead of hiking back the way I had come to mike 92. I had my own (paper!) map out and had no difficulty finding my way. The map was clear, signs were clear, and I used my gps to verify that I was indeed on the PCT headed north. 

Speaking of which, I forgot to tell you about yesterday morning in the pre-dawn dark (I left at 5 am). I had camped some distance from the trail and although the way back seemed clear I daylight, in the morning dark I could not find the trail. I turned on the gps, pulled put my compass, and zigzagged around for 10 or 15 minutes before I stumbled onto the trail and beginning my hike. Which reminds me of something else I forgot to tell you. This is a long while ago, during the period when I saw the couple from Canada "the Gs" almost everyday (I wonder where they are now -- behind me? In front? I wonder if George got shoes that work for him and his blisters healed. I wonder if I will see them again). I was hiking along, checked my gps, and was told that I was .13 miles from the trail at a compass heading of 230.  I didn't remember a crossroads but knew I had been in reverie. I waited to see if the gps would change its mind-- it often says I'm off trail and then gets its bearings and says I am on trail. It didn't. I checked the other gps program and it seemed to agree I was off trail and by about the same amount. I figured .13 miles wasn't that bad, I would just bushwhack through the woods. Which I did. Guided by the gps I made my way to a place where it announced I was on the trail. Only one small problem. There was no trail there. I had no idea how to find my way back to the other trail. (Even if the wrong trail, it was at least a trail). I wondered a bit and soon the gps announced that I was off trail by 500 ft at an opposite compass heading which I guessed would guide me back to the original trail I had been on. It eventually did, and now it announced that I was in fact on the PCT. Shortly after that I ran into the Gs. Besides losing time, the only thing I had to show for my "wild gps chase" was several mosquito bites -- they were very thick in the woods and I was way too worried about my lost trail to put on a headnet or bug spray. 

Anyway. Back to today. What I not. I didn't so much hike as stroll through the woods, feeling a slow ease, inner peace and quiet, outer beauty. I took a long break, lay in my inverted pose a long while and thoroughly enjoyed myself. 

When I got to Santiam Pass I found some hot chili spiced dried mangoes, trail mix, and beef jerky which I nibbled at while waiting for Pam. I was almost an hour early. Another hiker sat at the picnic table with me and I gradually learned that he had been feeling unwell, had taken three days to hike 17 miles (this was a thru hiker who routinely did 30 mile days), that he was a vet who served in Iraq, that he had traumatic brain injury involving fluid in the brain (which he said if it got worse could lead to coma and be dangerous, but which they had originally thought was a brain tumor, leading him to want to put his affairs in order,which included paying off some debts with money he had saved to walk the Camino in Spain, so that he undertook the PCT on the spur of the moment without much planning or research, that he had lost over 50 pounds on the trail. Okay is my account a little incoherent? I got disoriented and concerned listening to him, and asked Pam if we could give him a ride. He was thinking of taking a bus home (Orange County) but we both thought he should get checked out medically which he also agreed so we took him to the vet clinic. Only they wouldn't are an out of town vet. So we took him to a hospital emergency room. There we waited a long time until it began to occur to us that maybe we had gotten a wee bit over-involved. We made phone calls to try to line up some resources for him--ride to Portland if he needed to go to the VA hospital there, a place to sleep for the night. Finally a bright young woman at Bethlehem house told me we were over involved, that the hospital social worker could and would take care of his needs, so we finally disentangled ourselves and headed home. 

In the midst of all this Pam and I were getting acquainted (since we had only met once through our mutual friend Joanie) in part through our shared urge to mother and protect this beautiful and fragile young man. 

So that was our day more or less. We came home, discovered that we still had Lucky's pack (his trail name was Lucky) do we drove back to the hospital and after much logistical challenge (I knew his first name but not his last) was able to hand it over to a security officer who took it to Lucky. 

We had a text later saying he checked out fine medically but was glad he had gotten the tests. I texted him the contact info for a trail angel who could arrange rides for hikers, he thanked us, and the drama was over. 

Pam and Cy her husband and I enjoyed a glass of wine, Pam and I went out to dinner and shared more good conversation ( and very good food (Bend seems to be a truly wonderful city ) and came home. Though some of my Amazon orders arrived, the boxes that weren't in Mazama Village (Crater Lake) and were to have been forwarded here had not arrived,nor had my resupply box which Chris mailed Monday (and was promised Wednesday delivery). So tomorrow could be a less than restful zero day if my resupply box does not arrive. Please join me in hoping it does!

Photo 1: view from my tent in the very early dawn light. You know how I love these reddish-pink dawn mountains. 


Photo 2: the view from my tent in the later early morning light. As you can see, the mountain was not "really" red. 


This could lead to recounting a whole reverie I had about the human discovery of "objects" -- things with objective and ultimately measurable and constant shape, size, location in a way that totally contradicted the constantly changing experience we s really have of them. (The self as an object is perhaps the consummate discovery). And thinking science is a kind of religious faith that believes in the reality of such abstract invented objects (and their ability to lead us to predict and control our world) as an ultimate truth. I thought about the war between science and literal religious faiths, and how those faiths don't hesitate to borrow the sacraments and liturgies of science to support their power and influence via information technology and weaponry. But I'm too tired to go into that now and it seems a bit silly though it seemed profound on the trail as I experienced all the changing shapes and sizes and positions of mountains and wondered at the invention/discovery of the mountain as an object with constancy. We've all heard the phrase "faith can move mountains. " but I was thinking about scientific, rational thinking (that passion for logic, abstraction, measurement) as a faith that can make mountains stand still. Okay, okay this is all part of the ongoing conversation with myself about what happened to Mary, that "self" I once was, when she walked into the river of her imagination and drowned and I emerged as a seemingly new self named River. 

When I became River, I saw the name as a reminder to identify with the changes in life and not with the constancy (isn't that in itself a renunciation of science, that faith that can make mountains stand still?). I imagined a cartoon of a river trying to cling to its banks -- assuming everyone would see as I did how ridiculous that would be. 

But now I spend a good deal of time every day in an inverted posture with my feet in the air, leaning against a tree, and my head on the ground. And though I see (and sometimes feel) the branches move, the trunk sway, I am also reminded that trees are firmly rooted in one place. That they stay. I'm much too tired to figure out why I wanted to tell you that. It's just that bring named River and being on a pilgrimage that involves continual movement, I am struck by the rootedness of trees as if they represent a different but equally important truth. 

Photo 3. The clear signs that made it hard even for River to get lost this morning. 


Photo 4. My rest stop. Here I sat and slowly ate my second breakfast and spent a good while in inverted posture. It was beautiful and peaceful. 


Thank you. Writing this -- even when it is a little bit chaotic and rambling --gives me a rich opportunity to reflect on my day and place it in perspective. I benefit enormously buy would not do he work for myself alone. It is your presence as listeners that makes it possible for me to reflect on the day and put it into words. 

An essential part of my journey. Sister Bonnie wrote "What a wonderful journey you've discovered hiking the PCT.   I'm so glad you share it with me and my fellow trail friends.  I can see us all trailing along with you through that beautiful golden field......"

Sigh. Am I lucky, or what?

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