August 27, 2016 Mile 1512.3-1543.4 31.1 Miles The days are shorter. 5 am is now firmly in the dark, and the first thirty minutes of my hike are just gradually getting light. Hiking in the dark is empowering—a reminder that we are generally safer than we think we are. The morning dark is palpably different than the evening dark, which probably has more to do with my shifting moods than anything inherent in the time of day. In the evening, it feels like I am asserting my personal power and banishing the dangerous animals with my noise. It is like I am dispelling danger. The pre-dawn morning feels refreshing, hopeful. It feels like there is no danger. All the predators are bedded down and I have the forest to myself. It’s a quiet, meditative time when I don’t have to be on alert. It’s all in my head, I’m sure—predators are as likely to be about now as any time—but I’m still grateful for the hushed, peaceful quality of my morning hike. As the light slowly rises and changes, Castle Crags is silhouetted in a number of ever-changing colors. I’m up high with big views to the south for a while, then the mountains turn southwest and the trail follows. I see the campsite where Hoot and Chocolate Milk were headed. It’s perched on a precipice with huge views to the east. Castle Crags contains the other end of the horseshoe basin, and Shasta peeks above the ridgeline to the North. Either they missed the site in the dark or they woke up early, because they are already gone without a trace. I haven’t encountered open ridgelines like this for weeks, and it is refreshing. I’ve heard many past hikers complain about Northern California, but I’m certain they were talking about the wooded tunnels of the last several days, not this colorful land. There’s always something new to look at: ever-changing rocks, distant layers of mountains, brilliant wildflowers, enormous basins with pristine lakes. This is a part of California that I never knew existed. Around 10am I catch up to Hoot and Chocolate Milk at Picayune Lake. They’ve already gotten their water, but they continue to break while I make the steep climb down to get mine. When I get back they’re talking about making a stop at Deadfall lake, a few miles ahead, for a swim and they ask me if I want to join. Sounds great, I say. We’re close to a dirt forest road, and a truck comes by. Someone leans out of the passenger window and asks for directions. Hoot heads over and chats with them for a bit. When he comes back, he says “They just offered me an envelope full of pot.” We laugh about the strange container, then Hoot and Chocolate Milk head on while I finish pumping water and rest a bit. When I arrive at Deadfall lake in the afternoon, I have had to go to the bathroom for hours. On these open ridges, there has been nowhere hidden, and now it’s getting to be an emergency. I hate to skip swimming in the lake, but it’s just not in the cards today. Tree cover or some other privacy is first priority. In the evening I hopscotch with a family a couple of times. I’m breaking a little more often this late in the day, with sore legs from a lot of miles, and each time they catch up to me the dad asks me a couple more questions about my hike. I ask him a few questions too, and it’s clear he’s passionate about hiking. He and his family have traveled down from Ashland to explore the area.
I pass them one more time, then I don’t see them for a couple hours. There’s a dirt parking lot at the top of a pass with plenty of cars. 26 miles today. Time to stop for dinner and maybe camp nearby. My Spanish rice is just starting to boil when the family shows up. The dad comes over and offers me a couple of mandarin oranges and wants to share a joint with me. I accept the oranges and we talk for a bit while he smokes and I eat. He only stays for a couple of minutes, but I’m appreciative of the company. When he leaves, the sky is starting to get some color. The solitude doesn’t pain me anymore. I focus on the flavor of my food and the changing colors in the sky. About ten minutes after the family leaves, Hoot and Chocolate Milk come through the parking lot. I’m in the process of cleaning up. “Do you want to play frisbee?” Chocolate Milk asks. My legs hurt. My feet hurt. I’m tired beyond belief. But it could be a lot of fun. In my tired stupor, I take entirely too long to try to figure out whether I actually do want to play, and I don’t respond for several seconds. Chocolate Milk is just staring at me, waiting for a response. I realize how awkward I’ve made this now, which means I’m not thinking about whether I actually want to play frisbee, and now my brain is like a skipping record, unable to make any decision. “Was that a hard question?” Chocolate Milk laughs. It’s enough of a shove to get me unstuck. “Yeah— I mean no— I mean, yeah, let’s play,” I stammer. “Sorry, I’m just really tired.” “We can just do easy throws. No big deal.” Hoot makes dinner for the two of them while CM and I toss the aerobie frisbee back and forth on the top of this wide open pass. Whispy clouds are lighting up in unusual colors. We start out with easy, fairly close passes, but it doesn’t take long before we’re making long, heroic throws and running to capture stray throws before the frisbee gets away. My legs strain to run, but I also feel the muscles begin to loosen again, grateful to be released from the monotony of a one-size-fits-all stride. The light begins to wane, and I am captured by the enormity of the scene, the ridiculousness of playing our little human game atop a glorious mountain in the sunset. This is a moment I will remember as long as I live. Hoot comes to join us for a bit while he waits for their freeze-dried food to rehydrate. Now there’s a pause between each catch and throw, and I notice that my legs have started to limber up. I’m astonished that they can still run after 26 miles of hiking, but if anything, they feel better than they did before. We play frisbee until it’s almost too dark to see. I stay with Hoot and Chocolate Milk while they finish their dinner, and they tell me they’re only heading about 4 and a half more miles in the dark; do I want to come with? If they had asked me before frisbee, I would have told them no way—too sore, too tired. But now? I feel like I have more energy and my legs are ready to go. They lead the way, our headlamps bobbing in the dark, and I can barely keep up. They have a pace that is only 1% slower than a fast jog. Can we still consider this walking? I might not be able to keep up this pace over 4 and a half more miles. Still, I feel good. Between wheezy breaths, I manage to say “my legs haven’t felt this good all day!” “Yeah, me neither,” Hoot says. “I have a second wind.” Chocolate Milk chuckles under his breath. I’m never sure whether he’s laughing with us or at us. We wind around a great valley. Am I missing something beautiful? It has its own beauty, though, here in the dark. The dropoff is so sheer that it seems like there should be stars below me, too. The ones above are so bright and piercing that the blackness between them seems to glow. There is no feeling of freedom quite like hiking in the dark under crystal clear starlit skies. No feeling of humility quite like it, either. On nights in the city, stars often seem like pierced holes in a great dome. Out here there is no dome to wall us off from the universe. The stars are in three dimensions, and we are but one location way off in a distant corner. Mostly, though, I’m looking at the trail and willing my body to move faster than it believes is possible. I just want to keep up. Mid-stride, Hoot stops suddenly and Chocolate Milk and I almost crash into him. He backs up a step and scans the side of the trail. “I thought I saw something,” he says. We look with him and find where someone has written “1542” in rocks. We’ve seen one of these every hundred miles, and some other special places too, like at mile 1111, mile 1234.56, and of course, mile 420. But none of us can figure out what special significance mile 1542 might have. I suggest it might be placed there as a joke, simply to make people wonder why it’s there. No matter. We plow onward at the speedwalking pace Hoot enforces on us. Finally we come to a small wash where there is supposed to be a few campsites. We search around in the dark and finally find a couple near the rim of the valley. Hoot and Chocolate Milk both cowboy camp, but I set up my tent to keep off potential condensation. “Hey Zigzag, what time do you usually wake up?” asks Chocolate Milk. “5,” I reply, “But I think I’m going to push it back to 6 tomorrow.” It’s almost 10pm. “Make some noise when you get up.”
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Nick is a teacher, writer, and amateur adventurer. Archives
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