For my last meal before entering the wilderness, I opted for a breakfast burrito with avocado, and Anne, the blueberry pancakes. Indulgent, but not overly monstrous, it hit the spot and put me in a good spot to start the day. I would have snapped a photo...but I was too hungry. You know how it is.
Meanwhile, when we got back to the room, Liam was still under the weather, and I set about getting dressed and ready. It was in these final steps of preparation that Liam and i realized neither of us had packed our stove. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?! I take full responsibility for the gaff, but luckily a fully stocked adventure store had the stove, so I sucked it up and got a new one. Desperate times....
With a near-miss of a fiasco on our hands--well, maybe not fiasco, per se, but massive inconvenience--we finally headed up Whitney Portal Road to the trail head.
It was during our final hour in Lone Pine that my family notified me that John was being taken off life support within the hour. No amount of venting, thought, or crying will prepare you for that moment, when you realize the candle has been snuffed out. The metaphor and poignance of heading into the one place he would most want to spend his time is obvious. It should give me some sense of purpose, some extra boost of motivation to put one foot in front of the other and hike in his honor. Indeed, on a deeper level these things are true, and I do feel that this trip has taken on a more significant meaning. But right now it's just taking every ounce of energy I have to stem the flood of frustration and grief that just won't release its chokehold on me.
I told my family I love them, I promised to be safe, and I put my phone away as we ascended the switchbacks to the trailhead. It's all I could do. Fortunately, we came upon a friendly hitchhiker, clearly an outdoorsy guy needing a lift to our trailhead. Given the 90 degree heat and that the drive was well over 30 minutes and 4,000 feet, we happily brought him along and his company helped distract from the sorrow that had swallowed me whole. At the trailhead, we packed up, used the restroom, said goodbye to Anne, and were on our way. Simple as that. I have to take this moment to thank her for being so incredibly supportive and helpful. One of many great things about her is that in the throes of Liam's sickness, my sadness, and our stove mishap, she always stays positive and thinks of ways to solve problems. She's a calming presence, and I feel so grateful that she made the journey with us to see us off. So thank you!!!!
With the parking lot in the rear view, we trudged our way along the gently ascending path toward New Army Pass. The weather was extremely pleasant, and the scenery peaceful. We soon stopped so Liam could take a break and regroup. Our stop, however, turned into a rather extended one. The poor guy was suffering from what I'm thinking is a combination of 4 potential major factors: altitude (the most obvious culprit), nerves/excitement, side effects of his altitude medication (I forget the name, maybe acetazolamide?), and/or a brutal car ride up the countless switchbacks to reach the trailhead. Add in possibly inadequate hydration/nutrition, and the odds were stacked against him today. I tried walking him through a guided meditation to ease his discomfort after asking him numerous times if he wanted to head back and call his mom but he insisted that we just hang out, which was fine by me. His insistence alone was not the only thing that swayed me to stay the course. I know it can take anywhere from 24-48 hours for signs and symptoms to improve, so I promised him he had plenty of time to recover and continue on. Even if we left on Wednesday, we could skip Mt. Whitney and do the 45 miles to Kearsarge by Friday afternoon if we had to.
So we lounged around by the side of the trail, meandering occasionally to the creek nearby and moving back and forth between shady and sunny spots. It was admittedly a somewhat boring afternoon, but it was peaceful, and having someone else to worry about and care for took my mind off of everything else. I just want Liam to stay positive, and knowing him, he will.
The hours passed by until I decided to scout for some campsites. The area along Cottonwood Lakes Trail is quite pleasant to walk and to camp. No breathtaking vistas a mere mile into the trail, but it's really comforting. We set up camp and got ready for bed, and here I find myself doing the only thing that's helping me cope. I tried listening to audiobooks, but the beginnings of books are always the toughest parts to get into, and it just felt like rambling noise in my ears that couldn't drown out what I was really thinking. My hope is that by the end of this trip, I will have succeeded in making this not the mopy-est blog of all time. But right now I'm just at a loss for words...so naturally I'm doing my best and failing at finding the right ones to express it all.
I feel like I'm dishonoring him by letting his death negatively impact my trip. That is the absolute last thing John would have ever wanted. I know I need to be present in this moment and not stuck in moments that either were or never came to be. But grief is unavoidable, and I can't help but imagine the infinite number of ways our conversation could go when I get home to tell him about my hike. Contrary to what I expected, this kind of isolation has not bestowed any semblance of emotional healing. Granted, everyone is different, but I don't anticipate any Cheryl Strayed types of epiphanies here, no yelling into canyons, no introspective peace, at least yet. I long to be surrounded by those who share this burden, whose forlorn faces appear like a mirror's reflection. If misery doesn't love company, then misery doesn't love anyone at all. Instead I am bracing myself for the moment I stroll into Happy Isles and meet my dad's embrace, the moment I get home and curl up next to my mom, the moment I hear my brother's voice, and the moment Maddie squeezes me so tight I can barely breath. Until then, I'll continue to wonder what John's favorite part of each day would be. Today, I imagine it's a tie between the moment we left town, and a leisurely 20 minute nap by the creek.
Hoping tomorrow finds Liam in better health and myself in better spirits. Rest in peace, John.
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