One final night came and went, and the stars that had thrust aside the evening clouds dissolved into the gray light of morning. I rolled over and lit the stove for coffee before closing my eyes for a few more minutes thinking how, in spite of this being our last day on trail, it felt no different than any of the others.
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The Unfinished Symphony
To walk away now would be madness. Not unlike the mystery behind Franz Schubert’s Eighth Symphony—better known as the Unfinished Symphony—which remained unfinished for reasons that were known only to the composer himself, our own symphony of a CDT thru-hike remains incomplete but only for one more day. 12 more miles and it will be unfinished no more.
Donald Trump is Still a Clown
Four years ago, I walked off the Pacific Crest Trail on the fringe of the Mojave Desert and into the cool sanctuary of a hotel lobby. There on the television was a man giving a press conference so cringeworthy, so comically fraught with narcissism that it drove me to write this equally uncharacteristic and damning post about the state of one of our country's great political parties.
To the Boot Heel
While Lordsburg floated into the distance behind us, we were swallowed by the great wide open now surrounding us. Not a tree in sight, not a cloud in the sky, and not a breath of the wind that, until now, had been a constant companion to help offset the afternoon sun.
Entr’acte
In less than 5 miles, there's only so much excitement that can happen. In the hours before taking even the first step of those 5 miles, we tossed and turned in our little home on the windswept and sun baked sands of the desert outside of Lordsburg. Like a prison spotlight, the moon had bathed even the small hours of the morning with a bright, white light.
A Dream of Canada
August may not be an enjoyable time to find yourself in the desert, but November certainly is. Rather than boiling the water in our water bottles, the temperature topped out in the mid-seventies yet again. Combined with an unrelenting sun, it’s enough to remind you of where you are without forcing you to wring your shirt of sweat every hour.
A Farewell to Pines
There's an expression in sports, embraced by coaches and players alike, that can start to sound rehearsed, robotic even, if you listen to enough postgame press conferences: “It's a process. Trust the process.” Pick your favorite sport, collegiate or professional, and there's bound to be no shortage of coaches among its ranks that preach an emphasis on “the process.”
Trick or Treat
When I was a kid, Halloween was my fascination. No, obsession. Every year, I'd read the same Halloween-themed books and even dress up in the same Dracula costume. Every....year. There was something that drew me in about the season and about all things macabre, which was surprising considering how much it terrified me.
Rookie Perspective #5: Outside the Bubble
We finished our road walk from Doc Campbell’s to Silver City. As far as road walks go, it was quite pleasant. Well maintained, not busy, nice views. While Mountain Man and I were disappointed not to walk along the Gila River, a shady river valley with over 50 river crossings in 20-degree weather sounded like too much discomfort and too much cold.
This is Not the Gila
It wasn't supposed to work out this way. Watching the snow fall and the temperature plummet yesterday, we knew that our plans were about to change yet again. The adventure along the Gila River that we'd been looking forward to—tracing the river at the floor of the canyon and crossing it some 100 times or more—was about to meet an unfortunate end before it even began.
The Crucible
In 1953, when playwright Arthur Miller’s seminal work—The Crucible—about the Salem witch trials premiered, its parallels to the ill-conceived anti-communist crusades of Senator McCarthy were obvious. Like the real life protagonists of the McCarthy era hearings, those of The Crucible fight not only for their lives and livelihoods…
A Trail Runs Through It
By the time we'd laid our heads to rest last night, the official CDT was miles away. Turning away from the Black Range, we'd opted instead for an alternate that would take us along the course of the Gila River and today would grant us our first glimpse of it.
Priorities
I wonder about the world. Not the world of nature we've had the luxury of escaping to these past 4 months, the other one. The one hikers semi-jokingly refer to as the “artificial world.” Detachment from the cares and strictures of that world is a feature of thru-hiking, not a bug, but roiled by a pandemic, that detachment has grown exponentially.
On the Trail Again
At 6:15am, the sunrise is still just an idea. One that hasn't been born into reality yet. In the dark, I reach out to light the stove for coffee. Atop is a pot that I've pre-filled with water the night before. Through holes in the windscreen below, the blue flame of the stove glows and dances in the subtle breeze, the whole thing taking on the look of a tiny metallic jack-o-lantern.
Appreciation
Coming down the stairs from our room at the Toaster House, I could smell the coffee that I hadn't even heard Jefferson make while we were packing up. We stood in the kitchen enjoying a cup or two while admiring the convenience of it. No fuel to pour, no pot to fill with water, and nothing to pack up afterwards.
Destination: Pie Town
Contrary to popular opinion—including my own—it is sometimes very much indeed about the destination, the journey be damned. When the journey is along yet another hot and dusty road for miles on end, it's not hard to see why the old adage might begin to lose some of its shine.
Yellow and Blue
Hanging on our dining room is a framed print of what looks like one of the world’s simplest works of art. My colleagues at work have probably even noticed it a time or two in the background of a video call and wondered: “Why that?” Two floating blocks of color, one above the other, it is a reproduction of Mark Rothko’s Yellow and Blue.
Red Desert
The Red Desert of Wyoming is not a place you easily miss. At better than 9,000 square miles, you'd need only a pair of eyes to see it readily from space. And zooming down from space to ground level, you might have seen two specks ambling slowly across it.
Southeastern
Pancakes, coffee, sausage, eggs, pancakes, hashed browns, and more pancakes. That's the way you kickstart a day of hiking, and our breakfast at Wild Bill’s certainly delivered. I can already picture my own look of ambivalence when faced with tomorrow morning’s breakfast protein bar.
Wind of Change
As if bemused by the accelerating pace of our hectic lives, the natural rhythm of the world moves ever onward, inexorably slowly, one season slipping into another almost without our notice. It's one of the many small joys of trail life—the rare attentiveness to even subtle changes in the world around us that might otherwise go unnoticed.
Out of the Frying Pan
If cursing were an Olympic sport, we could have medaled. I wish I could say that rejoining the CDT meant that the blowdown of yesterday evening would be nothing but a painful memory, but to no one’s surprise and everyone’s chagrin, the forest around the first bend of trail looked like the same nuclear devastation.
Power Outage
Most every day on trail I wake up knowing that I'm right where I'm meant to be, but on rare occasions I barely wake up knowing where I am at all. Today was definitely the latter. Whether from a night of poor sleep or from the drain of yesterday’s roller coaster, I woke up with leaden legs and eyes that could barely manage to keep themselves open.
Mental Endurance
The moon was bright and clear in its corner of the sky as it rose above the shoulder of the mountain we camped high upon last night, but it didn't last--it too was soon swallowed by the clouds that cast a light but cold rain down on my tent overnight. When I woke this morning, little had changed and it was off again in full rain gear once more, hoping for the best.
Desolation
With Proton having left the house early this morning, Beardoh, Sweet Pea, Dreamcatcher and I enjoyed one final breakfast at the house before contacting a local trail angel named Sue for a ride back to the trail. Happening to be at the grocery store only a few minutes walk down the street, we met her in the parking lot…
Anticipation
Like a kid on Christmas Eve, my mind was distracted all day today with thoughts not of the present but of the very near future. Tomorrow, our little hiking band rolls into South Lake Tahoe for nearly three full days of rest that each and every one of us has been looking forward to for several weeks now. But far more than that, as much as I've been satisfying an enormous part of who I am with this trail adventure…
Detour
The day began just before sunrise at 5am, hoping to finish the marathon descent from Mt. San Jacinto and cross the 5 miles of desert before the heat of the day set in. As much as I've never been a morning person (Emily can attest), I love the morning light in the moments that both precede and follow sunrise.
John Muir Trail 2015
An image gallery of photos from the John Muir Trail—the jewel of the High Sierra, running 210-miles from Mt. Whitney to Yosemite Valley. Start Point: Yosemite Valley, CAEnd Point: Mt. Whitney, CATotal Length: 211 miles
Birch Run
Walked the day with Aussie today, whom I've walked quite a bit with over the last couple of days. Had the shelters (2 on one site) all to ourselves last night--the thru-hiker void continues. Another beautiful day of walking in PA--perfect cool weather, very nice trail, and an awesome nap this afternoon in Caledonia State Park next to a creek.