July 12, 2016 853.3-862.6 (+.7) 10 miles I wake around 4:30am. I have always had trouble sleeping through the night. It’s usually better when I’m hiking, but shorter miles and yesterday’s nap have left me with a surplus of rest, and I can feel that there’s no chance I’m getting back to sleep this morning. I spend the time thinking about what I want to do for a career when I get back from the trail. I feel a little stuck, because a career change to one of the areas I know I’m interested will require more school and more debt, and I’m not sure I’m willing to go through that. I still enjoy music, but the high school gig was killing me: Marching Band rehearsals after school, football games on Friday nights, competitions and parades on the weekends. It got to be too much, and I was burnt out, short on patience with kids that deserved better. They deserved a teacher whose heart was in it. I cycle through my options and interests: Psychology, to study learning and mastery. Requires a lot more school, much of which would be outside of my interests. The jobs would mostly be in universities, which are difficult to get and could require moving away from California. Philosophy, to explore some of the big questions in aesthetics and theories of mind. More school, very competitive, not a lot of jobs. Not sure I’m disciplined enough, at least not in the way that philosophy schools would expect me to be. Writing? I love writing, people tell me I’m a good writer, and I love telling stories. I wouldn’t need to get another degree. On the other hand, it’s competitive, and I have barely scratched the surface of the craft. It doesn’t make for a lot of money. Maybe I could develop my craft on the side while I work another job. But what? I’m still as confused as ever about what I’m going to do for work, but I’m a little excited about writing. It seems like it can scratch a lot of different itches. Lindsey begins stirring just after 7. She tells me she’s been awake for a while, but she thought I was sleeping. We get moving without breakfast and follow along the San Joaquin River. We stop for water at a big bridge on the border of King’s Canyon—I have to climb down a slope and perch on a boulder that’s partially submerged to fill up my dirty bag. The water is strong and swift, definitely a larger artery than the creeks we’ve been following up to this point. We stop for breakfast a half mile later at a flat, sandy spot with some shade. There are hills that don’t fit with the erosion patterns in this valley, but they don’t look like moraines, either. The pattern-recognition software in my brain is registering an error, and it makes me uncomfortable. Throughout the John Muir Trail overlap, I’ve been surprised by how different some of these places are from my memory, but this is an area that I don’t remember at all. I try to drink it in as we eat our oatmeal, because it certainly has its beauty, dry as it is, and I love sharing it with Lindsey. In the late morning we turn off the trail to visit the hot springs near Muir Trail Ranch. This section is just as hot as I remember, and it is a relief to ford the icy San Joaquin. On the far side, either the trails have changed or my memory has failed me again, because I can’t seem to find the hot springs. We end up bushwhacking from one use trail to another, until we find ourselves next to a lake. I remember this lake! Now I am oriented, and I quickly lead Lindsey to the hot springs. The main pool is about the size of a hot tub, near the edge of a grassy meadow. The grass is trampled around the edges, but other than that, there’s no trace of human design or construction, just a water pit in the grass. We climb into the sulfurous bath and squish our toes into the mud basin. It feels a little icky, but I can feel the heat working its fingers into muscles that have been tight for over a month. The minerals and heat start to make me feel woozy and spaced-out after a bit. Another hiker greets us and joins us. He pulls pieces of plastic and metal out of his backpack and starts to construct a bong. He pulls a thick cloud of smoke through the plastic tube, expels a fit of wet coughs, then pulls again. He offers us some, but we feel relaxed enough as it is. He shrugs and smokes again. I feel some concern over the state of his lungs.
Lindsey and I head over to the lake to clean off. The water is cool, but some of the thermal water has seeped in with the snowmelt, so it’s not frigid. We cross back over the San Joaquin, which is frigid, and start our climb out of the valley. I am loose and limber after the hot and cold soaks. I check in with Lindsey—she’s okay with me hiking ahead up the switchbacks, so I charge uphill and get the endorphins pumping. I haven’t felt this good in weeks! In fact, I realize, for the first time in ages I don’t hurt anywhere. I wait for Lindsey at a junction near the top, and it turns out she’s not far behind. I feel a surge of pride: she’s getting faster. A JMT hiker asks us how far it is to Muir Trail Ranch. She has a popped air mattress and she’s hoping to get a patch kit. I imagine sleeping on the unpadded ground. On the junction sign, a cell phone sits orphaned. So many people, so many stories sharing this ribbon of earth. Each person’s adventure just as important to them as mine is to me. We continue climbing until we find a campsite near a small stream and a meadow. The mosquitoes are bad, so we take up residence inside our tent and read our books until dark. A short day, but a fun one.
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Nick is a teacher, writer, and amateur adventurer. Archives
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