From campsite at PCT mile 2018.48, elev. 5958, walked 18.39 miles to PCT 2036.87 plus .31 miles to Breitenbush Camp Ground, elev. 5524. Total up/down: +4096/-4495.
Dear Trail Friends,
It is hard to know where to begin telling about this day, which has been a big day for me. Let me just zoom in on the focal moment. I was hiking along, hoping to hike a 25 mile day and be able to sleep at the Olallie Lake Resort PCT camp area, and arrive before the store closed (7pm) in time for a cold beer. It is weird how motivating something as simple as a beer can be. I had no idea of the terrain I was facing or I would have known there was no way I could hike 25 miles by 7pm.
I was merrily hiking away, having decided to skip rest stops (I had stopped at 6 miles for breakfast) and power through to mile 18, at which point it should be clear whether I could make it in time or whether I should simply camp at the campground near mile 18 (which is what I in fact ended up doing).
The morning was a little rough. I had tummy upset, and generally felt "off"--weak, poor balance, poor coordination. But I consulted with myself about what to do and the answer was keep on walking.
I was approaching a creek called Russell Creek. It had a very deep canyon and it made a very loud noise. I flashed back on the glacial run-off rivers that Gerd and Sue and I encountered on the Wonderland Trail. Fortunately they had bridges or logs to cross them. I remembered a difficult crossing after I left the Wonderland, somewhere on my hike last fall, how terrified I had been, and how long it took to calm down from the adrenaline that flooded my system. I thought "I hope there's a bridge."
But as the trail began to wind down toward the creek it was clear there was no bridge. The water was silty, a muddy opaque white color, and it was rushing fast. It wasn't very deep or very broad but I sure didn't see any rocks I could step across safely on. Two young girl hikers were also there, and had been clambering over rocks climbing upstream searching for a safer crossing.
After awhile I saw one of the girls on the other side. She pointed to where she had crossed but I couldn't for the life of me make out a safe path. But I said to myself "I am going to cross this. I don't know how but I am going to cross it." Emotionally, it was as if I had to cross this rushing creek to meet Chrissy. Now, logically I could have turned back and figured out a way to meet Chris at Timberline even if I had to skip part of my hike. But that wasn't how I was thinking. Adrenaline tends to narrow one's gaze.
I took off my pack, put my iPhone and charger into ziplock bags inside my emergency dry bag. I put on my pack and started across, but simply had to turn back. Several times in different places I started and turned back. The water was really rushing. A slip or fall among those rocks and into that rushing current could result in serious injury. My heart was racing. I just kept thinking I am going to cross over this to go meet my Chrissy. I don't know how but I am going to do it.
Then the other young woman was on the other side. She had found a place way upstream where she was not afraid to wade across though the current was strong and up to her knees.
Then the other young woman came back. I couldn't hear her through the loud rush of the water but she called out and pointed and coached me to follow the route she had followed. Heart pounding, I did so. And believe it or not (of course YOU believe it, it was I who was scared out of my wits) I made it! I took down the girl's name and address to send a thank you note. She is Suzanna and she is 19 years old.
As I walked away from the creek, feeling adrenaline surge through my body like a herd of terrified wild horses, I realized the hike was no longer about trying to make a 25 mile day so I could drink a cold beer. It was about slowing down, being present, inquiring into the meaning of this experience which presented itself almost like a parable containing the innermost meaning of my pilgrimage.
I remembered that one of the earliest purposes of this pilgrimage was to prepare me for the challenges and hard work (and terror?) of facing my own aging, Chris' aging, and the aging of our relationship. I was struck by my willingness to risk my life ( it felt as if I was risking my life) to cross that glacier runoff--to meet Chris.
Memories came to mind. Years ago a voodoo priestess who was close to Chris' best friend told Chris that I would be willing to die for her. That never seemed true to me; I was much too selfish. But today it occurred to me it was true. I thought of a line from the poet Lucille Clifton: What is it you travel toward more than your own safety? And I thought of Martin Buber, one of Chris' important intellectual fathers, saying "all real living is meeting." (Quotes probably aren't perfect but they are how the words have lived on in me.) I thought of Chris' parents holding hands when she was born, vowing to love this child for who she is and not who we want her to be. I thought of aging, a person changing, shifting out of my idea of who she is and has been. Part of the challenge of aging is meeting. I love the idea that this experience showed me I have the strength and courage to risk everything in order to meet Chris.
This leads to a possibly lengthy aside. I thought s good bit about my host Pam and her world. I have been impressed by our mutual friend Joan's friendships formed as a flight attendant. (Joan is both s now retired flight attendant and a Jungian oriented therapist). What struck me was that people choose that career who love travel and adventure. And they serve other people involved in travel and adventure. And they develop consummate skill at tuning into people and making them comfortable. How very different for example from therapy, where I come together with people who are hurt or broken in someway and try to help them. Their work so accepts the works on its own terms and dives into it in search of adventure, people on their terms and seeks to provide them with what makes them comfortable. Really a career that promotes the kind of meeting that Buber thinks of as real living. No wonder that group seemed so alive to me.
Not sure where this is all going. But it felt very profound today as I walked. I put music on to calm my adrenaline system. Slow peaceful music. I hiked a tough ascent and descent (with loose rock and my first fall this whole hike, at least that I can remember) and ran into the girls several times. I sat beside a creek. I slowed down. I would say that I began to meet my surroundings and the moment of being, in a way that I can so easily slip away from as I set goals and count miles, fun though that may be.
Photo 1. The morning light on the mountains. The beginning of a brand new day.
Photo 2. Suzanna, 19, and Rose, 20. They hiked the John Muir earlier this year. Now they are doing a section of the PCT. part of the parable I think is that I need to be able to turn to younger people for help and assistance as I face this new challenging of growing older.
Photo 3. Looking back at Russell Creek and its rushing water. So relieved to have crossed it.
Photo 4. Mt Jefferson with what look like rain clouds gathering around it. In fact it rained, briefly and lightly, starting in an uncanny way just as I was loading everything into my tent. (I had meant to explore the campgrounds and learn the way out so I wouldn't get lost in the morning-- but instead I crawled into my tent.
Photo 5. The beautiful beautiful wave forms of the mountains. For Bonnie's wave today, not one wave but the whole unfurling curve of them; a wave of waves.
Photo 6. After trying so hard to hike to Olallie Lake and a cold beer, I find myself in an unexpected paradise. Breitenbush campground (actually on the land of a tribe of native americans who call themselves the Warm Spring People). This hill reflected in water is another candidate for Bonnie's wave of the day.
Thank you for being here with me.
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