the Sierra Nevada
California
September 2016
Diane and Rod are faster hikers than Lisa and me, so they get to camp before us. When we arrive, Rod is still bouncing around. Their tent having been erected and organized, he and Diane go down to Trail Camp Pond to filter water for the four of us.
Me? I must sit down. We are at 12002 feet and I’m feeling funky.
Okay, full disclosure, I’m hurting. I have just come up this mountain carrying a backpack, something I have not been able to do comfortably for years. Seems that one of nature’s tricks is that, as you get to the years where you understand better what it means to climb a mountain, your body becomes less able to do it. Lisa, younger than me, must be shlepping a 60-pound pack, carrying most of our gear, while the meager amount of weight I carry would have embarrassed me some years ago. And still, the pack has taken its toll on me.
So I sit down for a while.
But because we’re here, and “here” is as magnificent as a place can be, I take a few breaths, muster up some vigor and get up off my ass to cook dinner. Um, um, freeze dried Pad Thai. It’s not as good as it sounds.
We eat comfortably, watching in the distance the tiny specks of the colored jackets of hikers coming down from the summit, zigzagging their way on the 99 switchbacks, like little slow moving colored bugs, back and forth, forth and back, taking what seems like all evening to get anywhere at all. The plan is for that to be us in the morning, zigzagging our way up as we climb to the top.
It’s the beginning of September; the darkness comes earlier every day. There’s not much light between cleaning up after dinner and full darkness. What’s to do but hang out. In Trail Camp, there are random flashlights bouncing around as backpackers do whatever they need light to do, or some not content to just be in the dark. Also the temperature has dropped so much it made a noise. We go to bed soon after. I guess it makes sense to say, we go to bag. So for now, good night.
Or not so good. Neither one of us sleeps well. It’s cold. Lisa’s new sleeping bag works well, keeping her warm. My brand new three-season bag sucks. I find myself shivering. My body aches, my mood plunges.
On the other hand, when I get up to pee — who knows what time it is — I see more stars in one glance than in a whole summer at home. I remember the Milky Way from my childhood, and there it is arcing across the entire sky, much brighter than it was when I was in my early years.
I look at the 99 switchbacks and still, there are little dots of light slowly moving back and forth like slow pendulums at all heights on the mountain slope. As planned, Rod and Diane’s tent is empty. They got the early start they wanted. 3 a.m. One of those sets of flashlights high up on the mountain is theirs, their progress smooth, their pace steady and strong.
I go back to bag and try again to sleep. Not much happens. I feel miserable, my head, my stomach, my attitude. Finally Lisa stirs, someone with whom I can share my misery. We have breakfast. I say quietly, “Today is not my day. I don’t have it in me to summit.” Dang, it hurts to say that.
Lisa says, “Well, okay. This is a great scouting trip though, isn’t it. Now we have an idea of how to summit next time we come out here.” She is almost cheerful. Lisa is quite a good balance for my sometimes melancholy mood. I’m sick, I’m depressed, she’s steady and pleasant. Now I not only hate myself, I hate her too.
No I don’t.
“Shit!” I think. “Shit, shit, shit.”
Shit? I already talked about WAG bags. In the scheme of my recreational life, this is one of the big disappointments. I feel hollow inside.
But we will be back.