Day 8 – July 11, 2014
Odometer Reading: 79.58 miles
Miles today: 6.38
Camped: Squaw Lake – elevation 10,331
Today’s Key to Success: Dr. Bronner’s Biodegradable Soap
We didn’t sleep again.
We never seem to anymore.
No idea why.
Even took Benadryl last night. It was cold. It was really cold. That’s usually good for sleeping. I got up in the middle of the night to put on my down jacket and my down hat. My down booties were already on. Wouldn’t miss a moment with those babies.
It seemed a little ridiculous. How is it possible to exercise all day, be out in the sunshine and fresh air, lay on a totally comfortable surface, snuggle with the most important person in the world, and NOT SLEEP.
I was a zombie, all slobbery and bleary-eyed.
My husband: “I just want four hours of good sleep. Just four.” I just laughed. It seemed like a stretch.
There was a little mouse or some other kind of tiny critter, just as we went to sleep, over there at our kitchen area, making little mousy kinds of noises. We shined a flashlight over there but didn’t see a thing.
“Nibble, nibble, little mouse, who is nibbling at my house?”
Aidan rummaged around in the bear canisters, pulling out consumable items for breakfast. Hummingbirds buzzed around our heads. I wandered around camp, losing track of what I was doing…repeatedly. Then I’d remember, oh yeah – I was taking down the tent – same as every day.
I got this. Focus. I pinched my own cheek. Gave it a little slap. C’mon. Get it together.
Through my haze, I finally finished putting away the tent, sleeping stuff, and separated and organized all the gear into whose was whats. Separation of duties. It’s what makes a marriage work. We each had our own tasks which contributed to a common goal. That way we didn’t step on one another’s feet. He handles food items and I handle house items. Tent items. Sleeping arrangements. I suck at cooking, so this works just fine for me. Just fine. Especially since I didn’t have to handle the nasty cheesy packaging on the items.
I dropped food things into my mouth. Chew. Swallow. Chew, chew, chew. Swallow. Then, my gluten-free toaster pastry. The one part of breakfast I was still super excited about. Maybe because I only had them every other day or so. I wasn’t burned out on them yet. Yum.
Me: “I found that little mouse’s home! I left the crumbs from breakfast outside his little door.”
My husband: “You know he shit on your plate, right? Four little turds right there.” He pointed at the center of my plate. “I washed it really good though. Didn’t want to tell you earlier.”
I was packing my pack when I saw a piece of a pocket coming loose. Upon further inspection, it turned out to be velcro. I pulled on it and it opened up into a giant water bottle holder! I’d had the pack for two years and just noticed this? What a find! I stuffed my Powerade bottle in there. It was perfect.
We headed down to the lake for some water. It was a mirror. No ripples, no fish jumping, no disturbances at all. Phenomenal. I watched it for a while and the world was at peace.
So far we’d hiked for a moving total of 37 hours. Not bad.
Rushing streams swirled into deep green swimming holes. We crossed a metal bridge while a cloud of blue butterflies flitted happily around my feet. I smiled. The skies were overcast. It was cool. I was grateful.
I was getting burned. I wished I had sun gloves. The sun was eating my hands alive. I swathed my hands in sunscreen, but the straps on my poles wore it right back off. I felt something touch my shoulder blade. I hated that. It was hard to tell if it was the corner of a strap touching me, a mosquito biting me, or the sun burning me. Until I slapped it. Then it was always suddenly clear.
We plowed past piles and piles of wildflowers, glorious perfumed air everywhere. Up chattering streams, my pack adding to the racket with its own song. ‘Reechy-reechy-reechy-reechy- squeak-squeak-squeak-squeak’. I didn’t mind. I sang songs in my head to the rhythm of my pack.
We were learning how to walk in an entirely new way. Heel, toe, heel, toe, heel, toe, gliiiiiide. Our new gait is helping tremendously with our knees. We’d had no knee problems, and surprisingly, not a single blister. Aidan’s toenails were no longer purple, so I had faith he’d be able to keep them attached to his feet for a while.
We also didn’t seem to be affected by the altitude at all. Our breathing was fine, no headaches, but the sun up that high was exceptionally brutal. It was vicious and hateful and scary. It cooked me from my bones out, UV rays blasting through my skin like a microwave. The skin on my fingers was only a light pink color, but terribly painful. There were raised bumps on my fingers and my hands. Not blisters. Just painful bumps. They are so burned they feel like calluses to the touch but threaten to peel away and take all the meat of my hands with it. Just touching sunlight is painful, and I didn’t have many options. Pain – we’re getting better at dealing with it. At least the pain alternates. It’s never the same day to day. And we’re getting stronger. The strength feels good. The strength in my body compensates for all the pain. Sort of.
This was our near-o. Almost a day with no miles. Not a zero. A near-o. It would have been a zero if we hadn’t miscalculated, if we hadn’t been slow, if it hadn’t been so freakin’ hard. This was hard. Hard.
We wandered around Squaw Lake. Aidan, as usual, found an amazing campsite with a stellar view and no one around. High on a shelf above the lake with an unobstructed view of heaven. We set up camp. We got water from the lake and went back to camp, washed our clothes and ourselves with a bit of Dr. Bronner’s. Aidan heated some water on the stove and I kind of washed my hair with some soap. It didn’t seem to help much. I combed it out. Aidan took a photo. He said I was beautiful.
We napped. We ate. We rested. Finally. This was the most beautiful camp we’d ever seen in our entire lives. And we were camped in it.
I spent a long time watching an ant carefully choose a little piece of grass. He carried it over tremendous obstacles, pushing, pulling, dragging it over treacherous terrain. He carried it fifteen solid feet through a maze of grass tufts, flowers, rocks. He was a determined little guy. I don’t know what was so special about that piece, but he sure made a huge effort to get it home safely. It’s hard to tell why anything is important to anyone, I guess. I just didn’t have a way to ask him. I watched him problem-solve. Time passed. Way to go, little man.
The storm clouds gathered, dissipated, did it again. We waited until we had a window of sun and went swimming for a few minutes. It felt so good to be a little cleaner. We had Chana Masala for dinner. Overall, we felt really happy with our food choices, except the cheese issue of course. The only thing I truly craved is the delicious gluten-free pesto pineapple jalapeno pizza Aidan is famous for. We get hungry fast these day. La-la-la-lalala OMG I’M SO HUNGRY I’M GONNA DIE STOP NOW AND GIVE ME FOOD! And then I get heartburn and then we carry on.
We were making a point to use everything we brought. Considering how cold it was last night, I busted out my silk sleeping bag liner for the first time. We watched the most amazing sunset we’ve ever seen. I leaned against Aidan. The birds sang across the water to one another as the mountains bled to purple. Fish jumped, catching their dinner.
We settled into our bag. The sun gave us a final kiss goodbye. I asked it to please not be so mean tomorrow. We gave it a little wave from behind the netting of the tent, then closed the rain fly to keep in some warmth.
We were the King and Queen of the Universe.
Aidan read about tomorrow. Tomorrow we see the ‘orange sneezeweed’. What a great name. I expect it will be my favorite plant ever.
Our world was perfect. We were alone. As it should be.