June 25, 2016 Mile 750-766 (+2 to Crabtree Meadow) I’m talking with a recently retired botanist. His trail name is Second Breakfast and we’ve been commiserating on the difficulties of being away from our wives for so long. He doesn’t say how long he’s wanted to hike the PCT, but the hike is his first retirement adventure, and I get the feeling he’s been looking forward to it for a long time. He exudes positive feelings and the altruistic self-confidence of someone who has nothing to prove and just wants to enjoy the company of other people. I like him immediately. We move aside to let Breanna pass us, and I notice she’s wearing a panama hat. It really is distinctive. I hadn’t realized that I had already seen her at Kennedy Meadows and followed her for a short while the day before. When she gets about ten yards in front of us, she turns and asks us if we mind if she hikes with us. Of course we don’t, and so the three of us beat an allegro non troppo down the moderate decline. Breanna learns what I already have about Second Breakfast. When he tells her that he’s a retired botanist and his wife is a biologist she says “That’s two members of the dream team! The group I hiked with before, we were saying that a perfect hiking group would be a botanist, a biologist, a geologist, and a meteorologist.” We pick his brain over the next couple miles. He identifies foxtail pines, columbine, shooting stars. Breanna is right, it’s fun to have a botanist along. She hikes ahead of us and pauses to let us catch up, looking over her shoulder to talk with us. It seems like it must be awkward hiking for her, but I’m glad she doesn’t just disappear down the trail. Second Breakfast and I are talking about my mixed-up plans for finishing California (out at Bishop Pass, jump to Tuolomne Meadows and hike North to Carson Pass, jump back to Bishop Pass to meet my wife and hike to Tuolomne, then jump all the way back to Agua Dulce to hike the missed section to Walker Pass before taking a week off and then jumping back on at Carson Pass), when Breanna turns around and says “I’ve got a trail name for you.” I’m surprised and wondering what it might be. What has already made such a distinct impression that it already deserves naming? Do I have a weird quirk that I’ve never noticed before? Maybe it’s something to do with music—I told her that I used to be a music teacher, and that always seems to be easy pickings for a nickname. I just hope it’s not Mr. Holland. Please don’t let it be Mr. Holland (not that I have anything against Mr. Holland’s Opus, it’s a great movie, it’s just such an obvious choice for a music teacher). “Zigzag.” She says it over her shoulder as we continue hiking. “Why Zigzag?” I ask. “You don’t like it? That’s fine, I’ll keep thinking about it.” I finally get a trail name and I’ve accidentally rejected it in under three seconds. “Wait, but why? What does it mean?” “It’s okay, I’ll come up with something else.” “No, I don’t dislike it, I’m just curious how you came up with it.” “You know, because you have to go jump back and forth between different parts of the trail.” “Oh, okay. Zigzag.” I try it on for size. There are some other associations, of course. Trail switchbacks. Rolling papers. The former is perfect for a through-hiker. Oh, let’s be honest: so is the latter. It might be a little disingenuous for me to self-identify as someone who rolls a mean joint, but people can make whatever assumptions they want. The PCT isn’t a job application. In fact, that might be what I like most about it: that I don’t have to chafe against arbitrary social norms. “Yeah, I like it. Zigzag.” It feels like me. We stop at a large flat campsite with room for at least ten tents for Second Breakfast’s second breakfast. He explains that this is his real breakfast—he just snacks on some granola for first breakfast. It’s time for my oatmeal, too, but even though Breanna doesn’t eat, she stops with us anyway. It’s unspoken, but it feels like the three of us have created a hiking group. Aside from the first week with Lindsey, this is the first time I’ve hiked together with others for more than a few minutes on the PCT. After breakfast, we immediately start a steep climb. Second Breakfast falls behind and tells us to go ahead without him; he’ll catch up. Breanna and I talk on and off throughout the morning about movies, books, music. Her favorite books are “The Things They Carried” by Tim O’Brien and “Tiny Beautiful Things” by Cheryl Strayed. I haven't read either but the O’Brien sounds intriguing and I file it away in my mind. How consumerist this is. It is far easier to talk about what we consume—books, music, movies—than the things we create, even though the latter is far more relevant to who we are as human beings. Perhaps this is because most of what we create tends to be defined by our jobs, which most of us want to avoid thinking about. Or perhaps it’s because what we consume tends to be more common between us, whereas what we create tends to be what distinguishes us from one another. After the first giant climb, we head through a winding downhill section. The trail is steep and filled with roots, so my attention is focused on my next step, and something weird happens. While we’re talking, I see or imagine a swimming pool in the periphery of my vision, there among the trees. It happens several times, and always vanishes when I look up. I shake my head as if to clear my mind. In the afternoon we meet a group of hikers who tell us that they left Kennedy Meadows a week ago but have barely been able to hike because they have been ill. They got sick on their third day out and are just now feeling strong enough to hike again. Since today is my third day out of Kennedy Meadows, this worries me. Breanna and I talk about when to hike Whitney tomorrow. We both just assume that we will hike it together. I like the idea of trying to make a sunrise summit. She’s chagrined by the 2am start, but willing to make it happen. She tells me that she feels bad because she stole me away from Second Breakfast, but I tell her it was just a matter of time before I would have had to leave him to hike faster anyway. A good hiking partner needs to have a similar pace and a compatible personality. Both are important, but pace kills more hiking partnerships than personality ever does. We have another big climb and then a short descent to Whitney Creek. There are close to twenty hikers here, some in the river, some on either shore, all of them new faces. We cross and rest for a bit. A young girl called German videotapes her partner The Swede as he does a dance in the river. They have been videotaping this dance every day, and The Swede is going to combine all of the dances in a mashup for Youtube. Breanna tells me that she joined the dance in Kennedy Meadows with 40 others. He invites others to join him, but the cold snowmelt hurt my feet to cross. Other hikers seem to agree, so he dances on his own.
We make the short climb to Crabtree Meadow, where at least fifty tents are hidden among the trees. Breanna and I set up about halfway down and wander around, talking with other hikers. I give one hiker a pack of Ramen for his wife, who has been sick for a couple days. When did they leave Kennedy Meadows? Five days ago. Now I’m even more worried about getting sick. We turn in before dark and set our alarms for two in the morning.
2 Comments
Jeff
10/24/2017 01:33:21 am
The Things They Carried is an amazing book of interconnected short stories. Highly recommended. I've taught it from time to time, and it isn't unusual to have students teary eyed as they talk about it.
Reply
Nick
11/1/2017 10:45:07 am
Agreed. I read it later that summer, on the trail. I also read, per your suggestion, "In The Lake of the Woods". Also an amazing book.
Reply
Your comment will be posted after it is approved.
Leave a Reply. |
Author
Nick is a teacher, writer, and amateur adventurer. Archives
June 2020
Categories |