Slack-jawed and mystified

Day 4 – July 7, 2014

Odometer Reading:  42.45 miles

Miles today:  13.05

Camped:  Rush Creek – elevation 9,952

Today’s Key to Success:  Pack Covers

Yip…yip…yip…yip-yip-yip-ahoooooooooo

We opened our eyes.  It came again.  A lone coyote singing his little lungs out.  Singing good morning to the world.  It was really early.  We lay there, all quiet and snuggly.  I put my head on Aidan’s chest and we listened for a while.  The most beautiful song on the planet.

After a while, the coyote’s neighbor down the way woke up and sang his own little good morning song right back.  We got up.

My toothbrush was shedding.  I pulled a bristle from my teeth and put it in the trash bag.  Leave No Trace.

There was still no cell phone service.  A rock slide had taken down Yosemite Valley’s cell phone tower as well as their regular phone lines shortly before the Fourth of July.  This was my last attempt before Red’s Meadow.  Zip-O.  Zilch.  Nothing.

We drifted through meadows, a woodpecker here and an overturned tree there.  Willows sprouted from the grass in large tufts, reminiscent of my poorly shaved cats.  The Tuolumne River ran as clear as Lake Tahoe with an greenish hue.  Water slipped over enormous rock faces, forming deep pools of water.  I pictured myself sitting in one.  Lovely.

A lady passed us, headed the other direction.  She had the largest, most unruly pack on the planet.  It was still early.  She looked pissed off.

Mamma marmots chirped at us while their roly-poly pudgy babies kissed each other and played tag.  Such happy little bundles!

Islands in the stream were chock-full of wildflowers.  We gaped.  The path was so well used, it was a trench.  Strange to feel so alone in a spot where so many thousands have gone before.  The meadow’s quiet was broken only by the sound of waterfalls.  We walked with reverence.

Aidan was ahead, capturing the magic of the morning, when a man leaped out of the woods and onto the trail facing me.

I jumped, startled.  Shock, I’m sure, written all over my mug.  He was wearing jeans and a tee-shirt.  He had a brown beanie on his head with a Forest Ranger insignia sewn into it.  Ranger Danger.  “Got yer permit?”  I nodded and pointed at Aidan, who hadn’t looked back and wasn’t aware of our interaction.  “Got yer bear cans?”  I nodded again, mute.  “Okay then, have a good day.”  He turned and disappeared back into the woods as quickly as he’d appeared.

We stopped for snack time.  The beauty of this place sucked me in.  I stared around all slack-jawed and mystified.  I picked up a peanut I’d dropped, rolled it around on my shorts to get the dirt off.  Ate it.  Wondered if maybe my shorts made it dirtier.  It was delicious.

We’d made 5.5 miles by 10am.  Couldn’t shake a stick at that, but somehow we’d miscalculated today’s miles.  We thought we needed to do about 12.8 today, but somehow the real number was 20.  I was quite certain that a 20 mile day wasn’t going to happen.

We started up Donahue Pass.  The stonework was exceptional.  A perfect staircase over the mountain.  The steps intricate and artistic, the flowers looking oh-so-placed.  Little waterfalls played across the path.  Penstemon and columbine peeked out at us.  The mountainside was covered in reds and blues, purples and yellows.  This was the peak season for wildflowers.  We rejoiced.

Lunch Spot

Just as we crested Donahue Pass, it started to rain. We were glorious.  Triumphant.  In love with the world.  We picked our way down the stone staircase on the other side.  My left ankle gave way.  I fell forward down the stairs and onto my face.  Aidan hauled me back upright.  We took another break to assess damages.  Surprisingly, I seemed just fine.  No injuries.

The only wood available was the sign.

We kept on down the stone staircase for hours, then crossed many small and magical meadows made even more spectacular and mysterious by the rain.  It never rained hard, just hard enough to make our day very special.  If I were a mythical creature, I would choose any of those meadows as my home.  This was the place poems were born.  Over and over I thought, ‘This place cannot be real’.  We were walking through a dream.

We walked until we found a perfect camp spot near the river.

Overexertion.  I was completely exhausted.  Aidan laid me down in a corner of camp and he set about cheerfully making dinner and did all the chores.  I was a bump on a log.  Worthless.  Wiped Out.  It was our longest day ever.  The mosquitoes had a particularly nasty chip on their collective shoulder, and they were vicious.  We wore our rain gear, head nets, hats, hoods, and gloves to keep them at bay.

Later, we lay in the tent and watched the little blood-suckers freak out, trying to find a way to get at us.  “I laugh at you.  We’re safe now.  Mua-hahaha.”  I watched them some more, a satisfied smile at the corner of my mouth.

Better than TV.