July 5, 2016 Mile 1016.9-1038.3 21.4 miles Hiker time is different. Sleep with the darkness, wake with the light. It doesn’t seem like an unusual thing until we’re in towns or campgrounds with civilized folk. At 6am I am awake and ready to go, but last night our hosts told us breakfast was at 8:30. So I have two and a half hours to spend. I try to read, I try to go back to sleep, but all I can pay attention to is the horrible gnawing in my stomach. Finally 8:30 rolls around, and with it, mounds of pancakes and cups full of strong black coffee. We say goodbye to Renee and Mitch drives us back to the trail in his pickup. The trail is steep, but I am fortified with carbs and caffeine, so it’s fairly easy to keep up with Goat and Earthcake. Less than a mile in, two thru-hikers are using their cookpots to dig a hole in the snow next to the trail. “We’re building an igloo,” one of them says. “It’s on my bucket list to sleep in an igloo.” “Awesome,” I reply. I really do think it’s awesome, although I can’t conceive of spending a day doing that instead of making miles. We all have to get to Canada before winter. Of course, I still have three weeks of hiking to make up down south before I’m caught up. Maybe they feel like they have time to spare. “What else is on your bucket list?” Goat asks. “Push 3 people off a mountain,” he jokes. “Uh, I think I saw some day hikers back there.” He chuckles, and I’m pleased with my quick wit. Maybe it’s the trail, but I feel like my usual anxiety around people is starting to loosen. I spend the rest of the climb thinking about what’s on my bucket list. Hiking this trail has been on the top of it since I was 14, but what should be next? When we hit the top of the ridge, we have cell service. Earthcake continues on, but Goat and I stop to make calls. Then Goat is gone too. I call my dad to wish him a happy birthday, then my wife. By the time we get off the phone, it’s been an hour and I’m afraid I won’t be able to catch up. I haul ass along the ridge, then a long descent down a snowy slope covered with other hikers. I hike briefly with one of them, but he is too timid about the snow. I glissade briefly, but it’s too soft so I posthole most of the rest of the way. When I finish the slope, all of the hikers who started before me are still climbing down. I feel like I have superpowers. I’m in a canyon now, heading in a direction that feels like west but which I know must be north. Everything is vibrant again. There are waterfalls and bright sunny skies and yellow granite and wildflowers. I have superpowers, and I live in a super world. I am absolutely flying down the trail, thinking about how wonderful I feel and how wonderful coffee is when I suddenly catch up to Goat. I can’t believe it. He can’t believe it either when I tell him I was talking on the phone for an hour. We pass a strange looking mountain that resembles a big pile of dark rocks. It looks like nothing else around it. I suddenly wish I knew a lot more about geology The trail turns and starts to climb the canyon wall, steeply. I charge up it, pouring every bit of remaining caffeine into my muscles. I have superpowers, I think. Nobody can keep up with me. But Goat just stays right there behind me. Eventually there’s no juice left, and I have to let him pass.
Near the top of the climb my left calf twinges, then starts to hurt. Did I injure something? It’s still hurting when I reach camp seven miles later, just as it’s starting to get dark. There are a few campsites spread apart near the river, and Earthcake and Goat have already set up their tents. I have to hobble over some rocks and my calf lights on fire with each uneven step. After I finish setting up my tent, I join them for dinner. “I don’t think I can keep up with you guys anymore.” I’ve been thinking about it for the last few miles, and I know it’s the right decision, as much as I’ve enjoyed their company. “Really?” Goat says, “You were going so fast today.” “Yeah, it’s starting to take a toll on my body.” They both express regret, which makes me feel a lot better. Even after three days, I realize I’m still anxious about whether I’m an intruder, a tagalong. Their regret makes me feel welcome, even as I know we’ll have to part ways tomorrow. I go to sleep with the roaring sound of the river and the cozy feeling of being with friends
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Nick is a teacher, writer, and amateur adventurer. Archives
June 2020
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