August 20, 2016 Mile 1343.8-1370.9 27.1 Miles I am the second person awake. I only know this because one person is packed up and gone this morning. I pack up and pad quietly away. I can see my breath. I watch the trees go by, study their bark for differences and similarities. I know next to nothing about trees, but I want to know more. Simple things, like what makes them grow close together or farther apart? I peel off five miles fast. There’s a side trail to terminal geyser, but I skip it. I feel like I can’t possibly take time for side trips. I pass Boiling Springs lake, steaming and thick with pale green porridge. I step over several runnels that reek of sulphur. I crouch down and put my hand in one to check the temperature—bathwater warm. There are buildings and split-wood fences here. An asphalt road, too. I haven’t been checking the maps, and I didn’t expect these things. I turn off near a campground to get water from a pretty little waterfall amongst blackberry brambles. Someday, I think while I pump water, I’d like to camp here with Lindsey. Maybe we’ll have a little family of our own, like the one I can see across the way. We can read our books while our kid—kids?—plays with the other kids in the campground. It all seems so pleasant. No time for reading and playing now, though. I gotta book it to Canada. A couple hours later, I am at Lower Twin Lake. There are dayhikers everywhere, picnicking, fishing, strolling about. I’m about ready for lunch, but this is where there have been bear problems. A cinnamon-colored black bear has stolen several lunches and terrorized some hikers. I decide to continue on. About an hour later I stop in a wide open field. There are trees spread out about every 20 yards, but many of them have been burned and provide no cover. I find one that provides a transparent covering of shade and lean against its trunk while I eat my lunch. Almost immediately after I passed the lake, the tourists disappeared and I haven’t seen a person since. I find it strange that there were so many people, and suddenly none. Everyone was fixated on the lake, it seems. We all stick to our destinations and our goals so strongly, leaving so little room for exploration and discovery. I am, of course, engaged in the same sort of destination-oriented thinking, and my spirit is poorer for it. I’m not ready to surrender my goal of finishing this trail, though. It looks unlikely that I’ll make it to Canada before winter, but I have to keep trying. I can always come back and explore some other day (but will I?). After lunch, it is oppressively hot. I work my way around to the North side of Mt. Lassen, where I get a good view of the mountain. It’s strange to think that I’ve already passed a landmark that seemed so distant just three days ago. Time passes strangely on foot. Traveling in a car, less time would have passed to cover the same distance, yet somehow it feels as if I am moving faster. Car time is measured by clock and odometer; foot time is measured by progress and absorption. I have covered less distance, but I have traveled more ground. The afternoon goes by in a blur. I finally enter the trees again, but the forest is dry and uncannily silent. Hours, and not a single soul, neither human nor animal. I can make it to Old Station if I keep going. Maybe I can pick up my resupply and get some junk food, maybe camp near other people. I’m a little embarrassed at how important camping near other people has become to me. I am not the brave, self-sufficient explorer I had hoped to become. Eventually I reach a dirt road that leads me to Old Station. Right near the end of the road I almost step on a tiny garter snake coiled into a circle smaller than a dime. What strange, unexpected delights I find on this trail. Every day is something new and surprising. I arrive at the Hat Creek campground, then find the post office on the far end. It is a tiny hut, barely large enough to hold packages. It’s already closed, but the lady who works there is a famous trail angel and she has graciously given my package to the convenience store next door so I can pick it up without stalling my hike. I buy an oversized bottle of beer and carry it and my resupply back to the campground to repack it.
It’s getting dark already, and I’m tired from 27 miles of hiking. Every campsite is filled with people, but I find a space at the end of one of the rows where I can set up my tent. It’s not officially a campsite, but there’s no vegetation and I’ll be out of here early. A few campers look at me suspiciously, but no one says anything. I make dinner, drink my beer, and repack my resupply. I fall asleep feeling safe and looking forward to breakfast in a restaurant in the morning.
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Nick is a teacher, writer, and amateur adventurer. Archives
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