So instead of staying up with my fellow campers to watch the meteor shower (which apparently they didn't even see because it got too cold to sit outside waiting for it), I hit the hay at around 7 and probably fell asleep as it started getting dark around 8pm. My plan was to sleep as long as possible, and dare I say, it's the best idea I've had in a while. This whole time I've been pushing my body's limits and refusing to give it the break it needs. Granted, what it really needs is a long list of things including but not limited to a complete zero day, a cleansing in an alpine lake, and the company of a friend, but alas, here I camp with none of these.
I woke up and noticed my appetite marginally improved to the point that I could get down some oatmeal, a bar, and some perky jerky. I was pretty lazy and slow to pack up, still deliriously satisfied with my night's sleep. By the time I had my pack on, it was 10:30am, which would have been considered bad even by last year's standards.
So on I scooted, making the slow rolling climb up to Bighorn Plateau. This was some record setting uphill speed for me, as by the time I hit Tyndall Creek 4.4 miles later, only an hour and 25 minutes had elapsed. From there, I tried to choke a little food down before my big push up to Forester. Today was unique for this trip so far for many reasons, one of them being the presence of clouds. What started out as gently curling, wistful puffs of white soon aggregated into some--I won't say angry here--moderately perturbed-looking behemoths. They weren't thunderheads that would make you run for cover, but the speed at which they formed and my history with inclement weather told me to be watchful nonetheless. For this reason, combined with my steel headed determination to make it to lower Vidette Meadow despite my late start, I took very few photos on the way up.
On my climb, I did, however, meet some more NOBO hikers! I have a hunch given my pace I might not see them again, but even leapfrogging with them and engaging in pleasantries and trail chat has a huge boost on my morale. At the top I took a man's photo and I hoped I would be able to call people because he had Verizon, but despite 3 bars he was having no luck himself. Bummer. To add insult to injury, the smoke from fires in the north were already taking their toll, as I began hacking and coughing. To add an even meaner insult to injury, LeConte Canyon, one of mine and John's favorite places on earth, was laden with so much ash that one hiker told me the ranger was issuing health advisories not to enter the hazardous area. I've taken enough lung pathology in school by now to know that exerting myself at 25 miles a day for 3 days, with less demanding days on either end of those, is not doing pretty things to my insides.
One tediously long, but scenic downhill slog later, and I found myself ready to call it a day near the junction to head up to Kearsarge Pass, near Lower Vidette Meadow. I couldn't stomach making any dinner, so I choked down some jerky and bars as best I could before throwing in the towel.
It was on the famously long descent on Forester's north face that I took my earbuds out and dealt with some serious introspection. Why am I out here? It's not that the trail was unpleasant or that I was feeling too physically beat down (though the latter isn't entirely off-base) that made me ask this question. It was just the culmination of physical duress (and the thought of the impending physical punishment to get to MTR on time), the loneliness/isolation, my inability to eat, and more than anything the grief. I'm not sure that any grief counselor's first stage of treatment would be to suggest a physical gauntlet characterized primarily by total and complete isolation. Yes, the poetry of exploring the world that John taught me so much about, the world he cherished so much, is indeed significant. But I feel like I skipped the part where I get to surround myself with loved ones, those who can share this burden and vice versa. Who knows, maybe after a week of family love, I would be ready to come out here and honor his memory in this way or a similar fashion.
I've thought a lot today about how I miss my companion. I miss Maddie. I miss the person would would cozy up next to me on those rainy days and the one who would always be there to listen when I couldn't fall asleep. I miss having her to depend on me and me to depend on her. I miss how she didn't bat an eye lash when I let loose unforgivably disgusting trail farts into our shared transient home. I miss sharing my food with her. I could go on, we all have that person, a friend or significant other or family member.
And LIAM! Who am I to make incessant "I Love You Man" references to? After all this was truly meant to be his big trip, as he didn't get to do the whole thing with us last year. So in another way, his early departure marked yet another weakening of my will to continue on alone.
And don't get me wrong, solitude can be an amazing thing. Last month when I went for 4 days solo even through torrential rain/hail/snow/sleet I was happy as a clam. It is easy to get caught up in the romantic ideals of solo backpacking, but when it's thrust upon you, it's different. The timing just isn't right. Props to others who are able to resolve their issues by themselves out here, but I don't think that's for me. I've thought a lot about what calling this trip off would mean to me, or even cutting bits and pieces out of it. "I'm doing this for John," I keep telling myself when my morale fluctuates and dips. And sure, John would want me to go backpacking and exploring and spending time in all these beautiful places that he cared about so deeply. But today I really thought I heard his voice in my head, more clearly than I have since we last spoke a little over a week ago. If he knew what I was feeling, sure he wouldn't want his death to hinder my experience. But he also wouldn't want me to push through something I didn't feel really excited to do. And in the most matter of fact of John voices, he would just say, "the Sierras will be there next year waiting for you. It's not like they're going anywhere!"
Beside, this isn't even John's favorite way to experience the Sierras. He much prefers a method that I see myself gravitating toward more and more. His preferred method is to pick out a pleasant base camp somewhere and do day hikes out of that spot for a few days. It's all the beauty minus the heavy pack! In his last email to me a couple weeks ago, he listed some of his favorite recommendations, and I intend to visit every last one of them, on my time, and truly in his honor.
So, for those who might frown upon me for abandoning my original quest, for those who might consider me a quitter, those same machismo-oriented folks who, let's face it, no one really likes, I'm surprised you've read this far, or can read at all for that matter. To the rest of you, my supporters, family and friends, thank you for your unwavering support and understanding. As of this writing I am devising a way to skirt the smoke/ash ridden regions and re-enter at a pace more conducive to fun and relaxation in the wilderness. Or hey, maybe I won't come back until October, or next spring? Who knows?! The sierras will still be there.
