PCT Day 95 – SoBo Flip – Work

Mammoth Lakes (mile 907) to Iva Bell Hot Springs on the Fish Creek alternate

Total PCT miles hiked: 1342

Due to our early start Keith (Starman) and I arrived at the Sierras when there was still a lot of snow, and decided it wasn’t safe to attempt a crossing given my skill level. We elected to flip up to northern California and hike southbound (SoBo) back to where we left off near Lone Pine – giving the snow a chance to melt out. During this flip the PCT milage will be counting down, but I’ll include a tally of our total milage hiked so that you can keep aprised of our progress in a linear fashion.

I can hear the distinct thack thack thack of the helicopter overhead as it angles towards the fire burning just one ridge away. The sky is white with smoke, hiding all but the sound of the airborne machines scurrying to and fro, their enormous buckets laiden with water from nearby lakes. Below the granite shoulder we’re traversing roars a white river, the volume turned down to a mere hiss of static by the hundreds foot drop. This normally dramatic landscape has been muted by the air thick with smoke. Correspondingly there are no other hikers on the Fish Creek trail heading south from Red’s Meadow. They must be smarter than us I think sourly as we tread along the trail, the normally compact dirt having been trampled into moon dust by the frequent travel of horse packers. At least it’s relatively flat—the thick, drifting smoke would make climbing unpleasant if not impossible. This thought does not elevate my mood, I’m not sure anything outside a prompt arrival in camp could. Despite leaving the comforts of town a few hours previous I hate everything. My pack is too heavy, it’s too hot, I’m tired, I’m bored and agitated and for some reason I’m not allowing myself to listen to my audio book because I got it in my head that I need to be more present in my discomfort so that I can think deep thoughts and figure out what I’m going to do with my life. I feel trapped by our schedule, knowing that I absolutely cannot quit this trail now because I would never come back. Making a second attempt at the PCT feels infinitely harder than just finishing the damn thing the first time. And I don’t even really want to quit the trail, just today.

I even hate that other people will read this, that they’ll worry and want to make me feel better. The idea of managing other people’s emotions in addition to mine makes me want to scream and at some point I dump my pack unceremoniously in the dirt, stalk off to a rock overlooking the valley and fire and start to cry. I feel overwhelmed with exhaustion. I hate that I’m not allowing myself to listen to stuff that would take my mind off this hike while at the same time hating myself for needing it. Can’t I just be endlessly happy walking through beautiful scenery every day? What am I really complaining about? Why do I feel like I should police my emotions? Just because other people have it worse doesn’t mean how I feel right here on this sharp rock in the too hot sun is invalid. Right? I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.

Before the trail I read that there will come a point in your thru hike where you’re going to hate it. The newness and romance will have worn away, replaced by all the daily tasks one must execute in order to keep making forward progress. In the desert everything was an adventure, unique and special. Even the long water carries and heat held a certain novelty. After we skipped to Northern California the dramatic change in scenery paired with the sudden removal of other hikers made our hike feel special and intimate. Now however, as we backtrack along the JMT – a route that we did less than a year ago – the trail feels like work. The deeply unsexy work that makes up so much of a thru hike and is fairly challenging to write about. In this dark mood the fact that I’m no special snowflake, that every hiker goes through this, is no consolidation. I want to be done, but not really. I want to rage and carry on, but I’m too tired. I want to be finished with all this crap but I don’t want to backtrack to town and have to do these dumb miles again. There is no easy solution in hiking, or in life, or in anything, is there.

Is there?

This day, this week, this place, these are the things that end up on the cutting room floor of our lives. The moments that maybe make us stronger, or maybe I’ll just look back and be glad it’s over.

We hike into the bottom of a canyon where the white ribbon of water turns back into a rushing creek as we get closer. Across the bridge is a lone camp chair, no owner in sight. I collapse into it and filter the cool but not cold water into my bottle and drink, filter and drink until some of my basic needs are met and it doesn’t feel so bad anymore. Then I get up and we hike on, because we’re not at camp yet, and as wonderful as this stray chair is, it’s not the solution to anything, is it.