Day 9 – July 12, 2014
Odometer Reading: 88.67 miles
Miles today: 9.09
Camped: Junction to VVR – elevation 7,800
Today’s Key to Success: Long sleeves
The night was cold. Really, really cold. I put on all my long-sleeved whatevers and all my feathered things and squished myself against my husband, The Heater. My silk liner hugged me tight. I fell instantly in love. Aside from once when I woke up and it was all tangled up around me and I panicked a bit and couldn’t figure out what was strangling me. I thrashed out and freaked out for a while and then finally got my arms out of the contraption. Then my arms got cold so I calmed down and stuck them back in the bag. Then I was okay. Then I slept.
I slept!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
We woke in our perfect camp. It seemed so…forgotten. This place. Though the camp was lined with rocks and two ancient fire pits, the grass grew solidly in between each rock. Our tent was nestled in between masses of creeping snowberry bushes, my favorite plant thus far.
Squirrels circled us at breakfast, planning their attack. Sniffing out their prey. I felt watched. I could see them out of the corner of my eye. One here, another there. Aidan loved them. I kept a wary eye on them. They were up to something.
My fingers were still very tender from the burns on my hands. Aidan was so clever. He spread some ointment on the first finger of my right hand, wrapped a band-aid around it, put medical tape around that, then a final wrapping of duct tape.
“There,” he said with a satisfied smile. Extreme Sunscreen – Aidan Style.
I could now get my sunbrella on and off while I was wearing my pack, but I wasn’t able to store it by myself. That was okay though. It made me feel accomplished. Like a grown-up. I probably felt the same way when I was a little kid and figured out how to tie my own shoes.
Two birds yelled at each other across the lake. Marmots chattered back and forth in the cliffs over our heads. We heard all of this, but saw not a living thing save the chipmunks.
I kept my long-sleeved whatevers on, put up my sunbrella, and we crawled across the boulder field and back to the trail. Our muscles warmed up, climbing up-up-up and then up some more. I heard a raucous bird and stopped to look for it. He was there in a tree, with his buddy in another. I watched him sharpen his beak on a branch. I didn’t even know birds did such a thing. They cried out at our presence, asking us to leave in not so nice of a tone.
Pretty quick, it was hot. We stopped and took off all our long clothing. How could I be so hungry and so full at the same time? Such a strange sensation. Why was I so sick to my stomach and so hungry and so full? Nothing made sense. I dodged some horse manure and kept going up-up-up.
This land was so strange, with its granite, barren peaks. Reflections smeared all over deep clear lakes. So strange when no trees grow near water. Above the tree line and still going up. It was unbearably hot in the sunshine, but too cold in the shade. Hot-cold-hot-cold. There was no comfort. I felt like an alien. People don’t belong at this altitude. I put on my long shirt and my winter gloves. The sun was acid, burning through my flesh. I was too hot. I was way too cold.
We finally crossed the summit and headed down. Tiny, winding streams cut through strange meadows dotted with giant rocks. We took a break under one. It was too cold so we headed back into the blistering heat. Fields of purple paintbrush and alpine prickly currant. I was still nauseous.
Going down
Down-down-down-down. The trail hung on the side of another cliff. This trail was built for horses, not people. The steps were huge. Every step I put my poles on the next step down, then leaned heavily on the poles and eased myself down. Each step was at least as high as my knee. I went carefully. I didn’t want to wreck a knee. I didn’t want to fall on my face again. I didn’t want to fall off that cliff either. Seemed a reasonable desire.
Obviously before the cliff hanging trail part
We finally came to a good sized stream. The sun was still burning away, and the water was closer to ice than water. I sat on a rock in the middle of the stream with my sunbrella up and my feet in the water. I couldn’t get comfortable. I was still nauseous. We decided to eat. We mixed up a batch of chocolate PB2 with a few handful of cracker crumbs. Smashed it all up and ate it off a knife. Carefully.
A 65 year old PCT thru-hiker came by and pulled up a patch of earth. He declined to share our lunch with us, but told us about his life. He’d recently lost his son, then his wife. He wanted to do something new. Something that brought only new memories. Something he had never done with his family. He’d retired three months ago, and started the PCT two months ago. He’d never heard of the PCT until last year. He sat with us for two hours. My heart cried for him. He said the trail is healing him and giving him everything he needs. The Trail Provides.
Continued down our 4,000 foot descent over 5 miles. This country is so enormous. It’s hard to see. It makes it hard to breathe sometimes, it’s so beautiful. My breath catches in my throat. Then my chest shudders. So big. So beautiful.
The heat was intense. I dunked myself in the river. Clean and cool. Many more waterfalls twisting over and down, all headed somewhere. Really, really hot. So sick. Flies everywhere. Following me around by the hundreds. Making me crazy. Do we really smell that bad? Did we die and we just didn’t know it yet?
A sweet, jolly fellow was headed up. Talking to him allowed me to stop thinking about the heat. Stop thinking about the sun. Stop thinking about everything that hurts. Stop feeling so sick. Get me out of my head. His pack was huge. He was happy and wonderful, stocky with black curly locks and a genuine laugh. I wished we could hike with him. He dressed like he belonged in the Alps. In a Ricola commercial.
We camped in a nice open spot surrounded by arrow-leaved groundsel and many different kinds of trees. We were at the bottom of a really big climb, and we promised ourselves we’d hit it bright and early in the A.M…if we could get out of camp in less than two hours for once. Ants climbed all over our feet. They made me laugh. Cleaning their little antennae and poking around, checking out the new additions to their environment.
The flies finally chased us into the tent. We watched them try to get out of the rain fly. Still better than TV.
We were tucked away in our tent by 7:45 and out cold by 8:15. True Party People. Next time we’ll try to make it all the way to 9pm. Hiker Midnight.