I had a dream last night. Now, I know hearing about someone else's dream ranks right up there with what he/she had for breakfast and how his/her colonoscopy went last Thursday in terms of how many shits one gives, but here goes.
Skipping through the irrelevant and uneventful drag racing through Laguna Beach bit, I spoke with John. I'm not religious, but I suppose if someone were so inclined, one might also file this as some sort of supernatural communication with the beyond. As I said, that is not my spin on it, but I feel compelled to write about it because it was one of the most bizarre and surreal dreams I've ever experienced. And I do say experience, because it felt so real I woke up in tears. I woke up feeling exactly as though I had just given him a hug goodbye. I saw him standing on the beach in his Patagonia fleece, a pair of shorts, and some Tevas. It was nearing sunset, and when he turned to face me, I couldn't believe it. As I'm writing this the memory is etched as clear as any other in my catalogue of memories. Even the sense memories come alive as I think about it. We embraced. I smelled him. And we talked. For what felt simultaneously like hours and seconds, if that makes sense. I asked him many of life's existential questions. I asked him if he missed me, as if operating under the pretense I was, indeed, having this conversation in some heavenly context. And then he did something I never saw him do in life. He cried. It wasn't all about me. He simply wept. I am sure my own selfish egotism was projecting a lot of what I wish John could be here to witness and enjoy. Nevertheless, it felt so real, so raw. His breathing slowed, catching on the inhale, and finally a smile planted itself on his tear-soaked face. He told me it's okay. He told me he missed me. He told me I'm doing the right thing. I wasn't sure what he meant by this, but before I could ask, his orange bug pulled up, he hopped in, and said one last thing. He said, "don't sweat it." I'm not even sure why it ended this way. It's not as though that was his catch phrase or something. And then I woke up.
I'm still not sure what to make of this. I feel silly imbuing any dream with any great amount of significance, but then again, I can't shake the seeming reality of it. Regardless of its place in the canon of dreams that have stuck out over the years, his parting words could not have been more useful today.
In keeping with our theme, we woke up and packed up even later than yesterday, hitting the trail around 10:15. But we both felt pretty good, and the trail was supposed to be all downhill from here to Merced Lake ranger station. And what a glorious downhill segment it was!
The canyon combined features of Lyell and LeConte canyons, two of the prettiest sections of the JMT. We were intermittently swarmed by mosquitos, but not even a thousand buzzing blood suckers could dampen our moods.
When we made it to Washburn Lake, we were on cloud nine, ready to drop our packs and enjoy some well-deserved lunch. Before long, Maddie was taking a dip in the icy water, cleaning layer after layer of caked on dirt from her skin. I took her lead, but in a less modest fashion, plunging into the water stark naked, without a care in the world for who might pass by. Having seen a grand total of 3 people in 3.5 days, I felt fairly confident my indiscretion would go unseen. Damn was that water cold! One dunk, a quick scrub, and I was outta there, dressing myself before laying down on the sand to bake in the mid afternoon sunshine.
After nearly snoozing there on the tiny stretch of gravelly sand, we decided to pack up and head out. Luckily it was another prolonged, beautiful descent out of the lake because my muscles felt sluggish and stubbornly insistent that it was still nap time.
We took a quick break at the ranger station before commencing our climb back up toward Vogelsang. Maddie passed a young girl with her father who wishes her luck on the climb. Great. That bodes well. And the girl's rattled face said all we needed to know. It was a grunt of a climb, but we trudged and tripped all the way up. We set our sights on Babcock Lake, a couple miles and almost 2,000 feet up. It was ambitious, but we morale was high, and you always want to capitalize on that.
I'm having a hard time describing an account of today's climax without garnering an anxious wince from my mother as she reads this. But in the interest of full disclosure, I'll get right into it.
Around 5:30, we hit the turn off for the lake, and so navigated the marshy side trail until hitting the bank of a stream that fed the raging river we had paralleled on our way up. The stream was moving slow enough that crossing would not be an issue...so we thought. After some debate, we decided to take off our shoes so as not to end the day with drenched footwear. I took the lead aiming for what looked like the shallowest segment. What I failed to take into account was how incredibly slick the granite was. And just as I was turning to warn Maddie of said slickness, I felt my feet give way beneath me. With a tremendous splash, I was flat on my ass in the ankle deep water, drenched from head to foot, my shoes and poles slowly flowing downstream, Maddie fetching them.
In an instant I felt several things. My butt, and by transference of force with a heavy pack, my back, were in pain. As were my shoulder and elbow. As I struggled to lift myself out of the water, and onto the rocky bank, I looked down and noticed a pool of blood where I was standing. After a quick body assessment, I realized the ball of my left foot, just under the big toe was gushing blood, turning the small pool of water around it a cloudy red.
I scrambled to over to Maddie, whose calmness immediately put my rattled nerves at ease. And so, for the first time, I set about putting my first aid kit to good use. Without going into too much detail, the cut was by far and away the deepest I've had, and cleaning it took a fair amount of time--I'm still not sure I was able to get deep enough.
After cleaning and patching myself up, with Maddie's indispensable assistance, I found myself a frigid, throbbing mess, in what was essentially a swamp, with the sun minutes from setting behind the adjacent ridge. We acted and decided quickly to move onward and upward.
In an attempt to warm myself up, I hiked as fast as my hobbled foot would carry me up the next thousand or so feet to the meadow before Emerick Lake. I could feel the wound pulsing, oozing blood into the already soaked sock. But we finally made it, having chased our way back into the light, with 20 minutes of sunshine to spare. We quickly set up our tent on what looked like a good impacted site, albeit we camped closer to the trail and to water than we should have. But there was no better option really.
Soon enough we had dinner made and were in bed in time to catch the golden light wane on the mountains around us. I took a little medicine to dull the pain, so I might be more easily coaxed into slumber. And now I'm going to yield, and enjoy some sleep in what is easily one of the top 5 most beautiful campsites we've ever had.
I don't know what I would have done without Maddie. She's an angel, and the perfect companion on such a wild and crazy adventure.
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