noon: A grove of pine trees. Making slow progress. There is definitely no trail across the river. So it was puzzling to come across an old campfire which had a bail branch across two forked sticks. Maybe there was a trail long ago which the wilderness has reclaimed, or maybe the underbrush is not so thick in dry seasons or under snow. After making the last 10 am entry, I ate some gorp, reclining on my green poncho, wedged between some gnarly roots, outstretched feet nearly touching the swirling flood of water. My thoughts drifted back to memories of old friends. I have to learn to accept each day as it comes. Do I have to be in Cedar Grove soon? No, there is food for several days. So relax and remember to smell the wild onions.
4 pm: Somewhere further downstream, camped on another high ledge against the smooth granite canyon wall. Weary of alternating between thick underbrush and giant boulder landslides. But there is hope -- I can see another canyon downstream ahead -- maybe it is the Rae Lakes loop trail to Cedar Grove [it was]. Plant life has changed from quaking aspens to desert shrubs including thorns. My bare shins are scratched all over, and my left shin has a bruise from a fall caused by tangled roots. I crossed one snow patch which had a slippery veneer of ice in the deep canyon shade. I passed by a snow bridge across the river but I did not dare to go over it. Bothered mostly by a bladder irritation similar to the Kennedy Meadows symptoms of dehydration. Seems like I hear music in the distance all the time.
I'm asking myself what am I doing here. I'm so tired of these endless mental conversations that at time I feel inclined to chuck the whole religious/philosophy bit and just live a normal life and die when my time is up and let that be the end of it. The scenario that cheers me up lately is the Toyota pickup/trailer home plan. I've tried spiritual communes three times in my life and washed out three times: first with Swami Satchidananda for several years in New York City [4/68 - 2/72], then at the Chogyam Trungpa Tibetan Buddhist retreat in Wyoming, and lastly with Joshu Roshi at Bodhi Manda Zen Center in Jemez Springs, New Mexico. After one month at the Zen Center, including the very strenuous December Rohatsu sesshin, where I worked as a dishwasher because my back hurt too much to sit full time with the better conditioned participants, I asked the Roshi to accept me as a novice monk. But when he asked me a second or third time if I was really serious I guessed not. Instead I joined the Human Genome project in Salt Lake City and Chicago for the next three years. I fantasize this scene: my own 17' trailer home, all paid for, on a rented lot in Albuquerque in a tree-shaded, quiet neighborhood, within bicycle distance of the modern New Mexico University campus. A glass of rum and pepsi in my hand while I sit back and watch my computer running DOTS 9.0 on Windows NT or sequencing clones using my improved TOUR program, all funded by Argonne. So why don't I just cancel this hike and start doing this right away? Well I have committed to hiking to Oregon and moreover it has not been fun yet. I'd like to have some happy memories before this hike ends. Afterwards I may take a small vacation such as a Caribbean cruise or a trip to Mexico. Give up trying to be a hero. Give up these impossible dreams.
11 am: Further downstream, but not far enough to see if I will exit successfully. Otherwise I might build a smoke signal fire until someone comes and rescues me, at great expense probably. This might be an emergency solution if the river should drop over a hanging valley through an impassable gorge. Not many trees in this stony canyon except for some isolated groves of juniper, cedar and lodgepole pine. I am in such a grove now but there is a dense thicket of undergrowth due to the proximity of the river. Usually, mature evergreen trees suppress undergrowth -- forests of big trees are easier to pass through than little trees. Big black carpenter ants are crawling over everything. Lots of little flying insects except no mosquitoes because of no standing water. The sun is scorching while air temperature is cool. No other mammals have been seen since the giant bear except for deer tracks and marmot holes. The canyon has veered from westerly to southerly and I can see a mountain dead ahead where I suppose the river bends westerly again. My prayer is to intercept the Rae Lakes trail there. Maybe like in the movie African Queen, I might be almost out of this without realizing it. Remember how the camera pans up from their forlorn stranded position to reveal the great lake only yards away.
Day 97, Wed 7/7 dawn: In the shadow of the towering canyon walls no early moon or sun shines, which explains the paradox of snow patches on desert chaparral. The night air was heavy with the scent of sagebrush. I woke up in the middle of the night, stepped outside the tent, and looked up at an awesome sight. The moon had finally cleared the top of a pyramid-shaped 13K mountain almost directly overhead. The dark bulk of the mountain loomed in the moonlight. I tilted my head back to gaze up at it. A sound of music seemed to echo in the distance. I have reached a place people never go. No one in the world knows where I am now. Now in this early morning breeze, tiny flowers quiver delicately between slabs of stone. I'm going to improvise some shin guards out of nylon bags and adhesive tape.
2 pm: Just forded the most dangerous stream of my life, a feeder gushing down to the river 20 feet away. To slip and slide into the river would have meant certain death. The river has become whitewater of frightening intensity. Compounding the feeder crossing problem was a tangle of wet bushes on both sides. There were four separate gullies spanning about 6 feet, 5 feet, 6 feet and 4 feet. At each crossing I had to step into the cascading water, free myself and my pack from entanglements, then edge across using ice ax as tripod balance, then pull myself and the weight of the pack up a slippery bank against the grain of numerous branches pointing downwards. While in the middle of the largest gully I was drenched by a waterfall. The canyon slope has begun to angle downwards. There are larger slabs of slick granite instead of broken blocks. I am very worried that the reason that there is no trail is that there is a hanging valley ahead. I cannot face the thought of going all the way back. I might have turned back earlier if I had known what I was getting into, but it is too late now. In case I don't get out of this alive and this journal is found, I'd like to affirm my present Last Will and Testament. Regarding the list of specific bequests ... [transcription omitted]. Well, time to get going again. Pesky black ants allow no rest. Baudelaire's last words were "Je m'en vais chercher un gran peut etre."(I'm off to seek a great maybe).
pm: Evening of third day on South Fork. Much relieved to have gotten past that narrow gorge. Have camped near the river edge because too tired to climb up away from it, although the canyon is widening. There are more trees, and where they are close together there is less undergrowth. Continue inching towards the bend. There was an island in the river a little ways back which would have permitted a ford (I would not have thought so three months ago). However, without a compelling reason to cross I decided to continue down the west bank. Below the island there was a beautiful stretch of trees carpeted by pine needles, with empty space between the trees. Then came a swamp, then a one hundred foot climb up to a ledge to climb above another gorge, then a forest of pine and oak with thick underbrush where I have stopped for the night. I used my wide adze blade to level a camping floor in the dirt and chop off some low branches to hollow a cozy wood cave. Thanks to the protecting thicket I am not worried about big bears tonight.
Bushwhacking Tips:
1. Step on top of thorny plants and low-lying bushes, assuming you have shoes. For example, there is a lace-like plant with a network of woody thorns, acorn-shaped green leaves and clusters of dusty white or reddish or pale green flowers. Since the thorns form a broad mat, stepping on one part depresses a wide area, so this plant looks formidable but is actually a useful stepping stone.
2. Avoid thorny plants, if possible, otherwise make up-and-down crunching steps slowly, keeping your balance using ice ax or pole. There is a desert plant with round bright green leaves and smooth red twisting branches [manzanita] which snares your feet treacherously.
3. When entangled in a bush, use ice ax or a stick to keep your balance.
4. Take your time. Your movements should be a coordinated orchestration of four limbs and a staff, as graceful as a slow motion Tai Chi exercise.
5. Use shin guards for thorns or improvise something. I used nylon bags and duct tape.
6. Step over woody limbs that will not bend.
7. Push limbs up that cannot be stepped over or else hold on to them and swing around. I've actually done 360 degree pirouettes to swing backpack around.
8. When descending a steep slope, hold on to branches for support, since ice ax may not reach through the tangle of branches all the way to the ground. To climb against the grain is difficult but not impossible. It takes patience, coordination and strong legs, because you push your weight and your backpack up through stubborn branches one at a time.
9. Hold ice ax vertically to push small obstructing branches aside.
10. Bring a machete next time!
Day 98, Thu 7.8 10 am: Fourth day on South Fork, 8th day out, taking inventory of food supplies. One Rubbermaid 470 ml container of gorp left, some peanuts and dates, salt, 1-qt bags of graham crackers, pulverized Ritz crackers, pretzels, club crackers (2 bags, also reduced to crumbs), plus 2 or 3 reserve power bars. Estimate this could last a few more days if necessary. This cross-country canyon bushwhack is like a traveling salesman path-optimization problem where the distance cost matrix is not completely known, however I am learning the cost factors. The worst zone is near the river because of precipitous banks, thick bushes and intimidating river noise. It is also exhausting and hazardous to climb high up along the seams of the stony canyon walls where there is nothing to hold on to. Oak trees in the middle zone are very tough so the only course is to trample through or over thorny bushes. I don't see how a town could fit in the bend up ahead. There might not be an end to this today but there is nothing else to do but go on. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, so why worry? If I could only bear the cold water I would wade down the bank of the river without obstructions in the parts where it is wide. I tried to tape plastic garbage bags around my legs for insulation but the cold seeped through anyway.
noon: Happy, happy, happy. Rounded the bend into an east-west forest canyon. Came across a discarded aluminum chocolate bar wrapper, first sign of civilization. Thank you, thank you for NOT packing it out! Found a campfire site, a distinct trail and a tree bridge crossing the river. At this solitary camp by the river tree trunks stand up from the high water. Taking inventory of my physical condition: toothache gone, earache less, giardiasis quiet due to involuntary fasting, legs scratched up a bit and sunburned, but that's about it. Mental condition is joyful.
Day 99, Fri 7.9 Copper Creek trail, outbound from Cedar Grove. Today I am an outlaw hiding from the park authorities. Last night, after reaching Cedar Grove, an easy fifteen mile hike down a well graded trail from the Rae Lakes loop trail junction at Paradise Valley, and after enjoying a shower, a shave and a meal of turkey and dressing at the public cafeteria, and after buying enough food to get back to the PCT in the eastern Sierras and getting a sorely missed area map, greatly refreshed in body and spirit, I started up the paved road towards the Copper Creek trailhead, intending to camp somewhere in beautiful Kings Canyon park. Even though there was no motel in Cedar Grove I was not in the least disappointed by that. I was so grateful just to walk on level ground and drink a glass of clean water.
I had only taken a few steps when a police car pulled up alongside. The park officer wanted to know where I was going. I knew that the wrong answer was to camp in the forest instead of the designated campground in a national park. However, I answered truthfully that I was heading up to the trailhead to Copper Creek Canyon, the only feasible alternate route back to the PCT. He then proceeded to inform me that camping outside the campground was not allowed in a national park and furthermore the Copper Creek Canyon trail was closed due to a forest fire expected to sweep over it tomorrow morning and the dynamite crew preparing for action. He told me that if I wished to camp outside the park boundary I could walk west one mile to National Forest Service land. So that is what I did, and sure enough, he came along twenty minutes later to make sure of it. He also delivered the unwelcome news that the last possible alternate trail northward, except for walking 50 miles to Fresno, was across a 12K mountain pass which had not been crossed by anyone that season and was therefore not recommended. With these discouraging thoughts on my mind I pitched my tent just across the NFS boundary, drank a pint of rum with pepsi to celebrate my salvation and fell sound asleep.
But not for long. At 2 am I sat up rested and fully awake in bright moonlight. I packed up my gear in the dead still night air and started walking back to the closed Copper Creek trailhead, resolved to get past the forest fire and the dynamite crew before my last link to the PCT was broken. I walked in perfect silence eight miles along a level road up the wide canyon under a growing pall of smoke which began to obscure the moon. I passed a sign saying "Forest fire operations ahead. Do not report". Finally I arrived at the trailhead. Yellow police ribbons stretched across it at three locations barring passage. Signs nailed on trees warned about fire operations but the fine print was unreadable in the smoky moonlit air. There was profound silence except for murmurs from the tamed South Fork Kings River. Taking a deep breath, I stepped under the barriers and started hiking briskly up the switchbacks. At first the trail was only dimly visible but after a couple of hours I had climbed above the smoke and could see the forest fire working the opposite slope of the narrow canyon, what there was of it. In the still air only one tree blossomed orange. White tendrils of smoke rose from several acres of consumed underbrush (sweet revenge, thought I). Dawn overtook me sooner than expected because I had been estimating the time remaining by the position of the moon still high in the sky. Since the dynamite crew was scheduled to arrive at sunrise I did not take time to rest until I had climbed up and beyond the fire zone. The first rays of sunlight touched me at four thousand feet above the valley floor. The air turned clear, moist and cool as I kept on climbing while the river sounds and fire sounds faded to silence below. After another two thousand feet I reached the crest to the Granite Basin at noon. Echoes of dynamite blasts rumbled behind me. I hid under a tree from a patrolling helicopter. If I had waited until morning it would have been too late, so it was fortunate that the police officer met me after all..
Feeling sodden due to the residue of rum in my system, I plodded on doggedly through snow patches, pools of water and mosquitoes until I exited the basin at Granite Pass (11K feet). Beyond the pass I waded through knee-deep snow fields and swollen meandering streams of snowmelt. My long day finally ended on a smooth granite shelf overlooking an east-west valley seven miles to the north. I have had it with snow. I will skip Yosemite since two southbound backpackers at Cedar Grove told me about heavy snow there at only 9K feet and problems finding trail. Instead, will hike out by way of 12K Bishop Pass and walk up Highway 395 to Mammoth Lakes and beyond. Impatient to get to northern California and back into a daily routine. The high sierras are too stressful to my taste in these conditions, and constant soaking is hard on boots. This would be a great adventure if my goal were to have a great adventure. If only I could cherish the beauty of each moment without thinking so much.
Day 100, Sat 7.10 am: Slept soundly, woke to sun shining into tent. Mind clear, body stiff and sore. Numerous fords yesterday washed protective dirt cover off legs exposing dozens of cross country scratches. On standing up naked outside tent to pee did not recognize the shadow of my slim silhouette. It is too bad that I feel impatient with this hike because that thought makes me feel I am under pressure at a time in my life when I may be on the brink of great freedom. Maybe this is the beginning of boredom necessary for spiritual breakthrough. In spite of the novelties of each day hiking, there is an awful lot of boring repetition.
pm: Bluff over Middle Fork Kings River, beyond Simpsons Meadow, about 8 miles to PCT junction at Palisades Creek. Today I tried two new methods to ford a stream: by socks only, to save wear on boots (my Raicle Spirits are already wearing out), and by walking across a log, balanced by a long pole reaching down to the stream bottom. I am becoming attached to my ice ax as a walking stick. It took some will power not to use it while walking down a slippery trail, but I don't want to become dependent on a crutch. Used newly acquired bushwhacking skills to scramble up to this bench well above the trail. Did not want to camp in lowlands near fresh bear scat. A funny locked wooden gate barricaded the trail before Simpsons Meadow without any fence on either side. The Middle Fork is slightly larger in volume than the South Fork and just as unfordable. Might have to ford Cartridge Creek up ahead, worry about it tomorrow.
Day 101, Sun 7.11 am: Have thought of a possible method of computing a sparse distance matrix for one million overlapping clones in less than n-squared operations. Clones can be grouped by distance to arbitrary clusters, rather than by distance from each other. Cluster centers may be defined incrementally by clones which do not match prior clusters. After an initial assignment of clones to clusters, it may be possible to detect overlapping clusters by repeating cluster assignments on a second pass. The centers of new clusters would be perimeter clones from the first set.
noon: Estimate only one mile from PCT. This canyon is much like the South Fork canyon except that river is somewhat larger and the canyon more narrow and stony. At every step I am grateful to have a trail. The bridge over Cartridge Creek was very welcome because a ford would have been dangerous. A large broken tree trunk is lodged upstream of the wooden bridge threatening to ram it eventually.
3 pm: Just lurched across Palisades Creek. My gear is spread out in the sun and my body is still shaking from cold and adrenalin. I was unable to find a bridge, so assumed it must have been washed out. I first tried to ford the creek where the trail seemed to stop near its mouth to the Middle Fork river, a creek width of about twenty feet. But after taking a few steps I was quickly in to my waist and I realized I could not take another step against the overpowering current. In fact, I could not even retreat under control. There was nothing else to do but throw myself back at the near bank with all my force. My head was forced under the rushing water by my buoyant backpack. I groped for a branch blindly and was lucky to grab something before the current could sweep me into the main river. Fortunately my glasses were held on by croakies and my hat stayed strapped under my chin. Then I squished upstream until I found a narrow island which split the creek into two parts. It was still necessary to throw myself towards the farther bank to cross each separate channel. My knee was bruised on the last crossing but thankfully nothing worse than a good cold soaking. Now I have finally regained the PCT after a six-day detour around Mather Pass including four days bushwhacking ten miles of primitive wilderness.
pm: High bench over Dusy Branch. After my gear dried out, I continued up along the river past a peaceful stretch as wide as a lake swarming with hordes of mosquitoes. Just before the Dusy Branch bridge, a steel structure dented out of shape by falling boulders, I met a party of three hikers coming down from Bishop Pass. They described the trail up to the pass. They also told me that ski runs were still running in Tuolumne Meadows in July. I can't wait to get out of here tomorrow.
Day 102, Mon 7.12 midmorning: Bishop Pass is in sight. In one week I will have climbed five 12K passes (Kearsarge, Glen, Pinchot, false Mather, Bishop), one 11K pass (Granite), bushwhacked ten miles of primitive wilderness, eaten wild onions, met a 500 lb black bear, walked eight miles and climbed 4,000 feet before dawn to outrun a forest fire and dynamite, and survived drowning under an external frame pack while fording waist-deep rapids three times.
pm: Near a lodge in Bishop Valley on sagebrush hillside. A cold beer, a can of beans, a Butterfinger candy bar and dry land. Bliss. Who could ask for more? There was lots of snow on the northern face of Bishop Pass and I had to retrace my steps to find a safe way down. To kick steps in a twenty foot traverse I was scissoring my right leg inside the left while balancing on my ice ax. A short while later I met two ascending hikers who said they had been "admiring my technique" which of course flattered my ego. Zipper broke on left backpack water bottle pocket. Sewed it halfway to improvise a convenient quick-access pocket. Bishop is only 16 miles away.
Day 103, Tue 7.13 Arrived after lunch and got a room at a cheap motel. Made an appointment to see a doctor tomorrow for giardia.
Day 104, Wed 7.14 Changed to Sportsmans Motel, a comfortable, clean, reasonably priced unit. Doctor Robert Benton gave me a 10-day prescription for metronidazole with one refill. Replaced worn-out Raicle Spirit boots with a pair of Vasque nylon-leather hightops. Mailed ice ax home. Enjoyed a dill pickle and a heavy Mexican lunch and a long afternoon nap. Strange how much feet ache on a day they don't have to work. Weight 159 at doctor's office. Got new watch battery. Intended to go see Jurassic Park movie a second time but just went to bed early. Started a new Steno notebook.
Day 105, Thu 7.15 am: Feet don't hurt as much after a day of rest. Started Flagyl treatment now that alcohol is out of system -- three tablets per day for 10 days. $54 for the doctor and $16 for the generic medicine. Dr. Benton said that thirty days is only necessary for amoebic dysentery, three times worse than giardia. I am kind of reluctant to leave the comfort of this oasis for the exposed road walk ahead.
pm: Past Mill Creek Road, in a pretty grove of trees, far from houses and cattle. The near slopes of the Sierra fault block are covered with grass and trees and pasture. I am trying to avoid heavy opposing traffic on Highway 395 by walking off the shoulder where possible. New boots have already caused a large blister on the top of my left foot, the result of a stiff tongue breaking too far forward on the overly long shoe. Knocked off five Taco Bell bean burritos before leaving Bishop.
Day 106, Fri 7.16 North of Tom's Place on a side road. While walking alongside the highway up to Sherwin Summit, a modest two thousand foot rise from 5K to 7K feet, was passed by hundreds of bicycle racers wearing numbered jerseys and helmets and attended by police cars and supply vans and spectators stationed along the way. No one paid any attention to my parallel but solitary quest. Regret spending $25 on Superfeet liners, trusting the saleswoman who claimed they would correct pronation or supination [my feet supinate (outside heel wears down first) because of pointing feet straight forward Indian style -- there is good reason to hike like this -- it gives additional leverage to the calf muscle, like a swimmer's kick, for a more efficient stride]. These new boots have two major problems. First, their excessive length causes them to break too far forward. Secondly they are too tight. The saleswoman said there were no wide sizes available and that my feet were not much wider than normal (and I believed her!). She claimed that the flexible nylon/suede construction would expand in time. I don't seem to have much success communicating with women. Now I am trying various combinations of liners and socks. At least there is good news about the giardia problem. Thirty day symptoms are finally receding. At Tom's Place cafe I sat down at the counter and ordered a coffee (yes, a caffeine drink) and a cheeseburger (yes, a meat treat) to pick me up. It seemed odd to be walking through an unpopulated desert landscape and then suddenly come up to a cafe with someone to serve me food and drink. Maybe this is what European and Appalachian Trail hikes are like. It was a relief to find a parallel service road off the main highway. The stress of constant highway traffic slowly accumulates worse than river roar. One solution is to get going early in the morning before the drivers hit the road. New desert hat working ok now that I sewed a chin strap on it. It reminds me of Darth Vader's helmet.
Day 107, Sat 7.17 North of Mammoth Lakes Exit, almost to a highway rest area where I hope to find water tomorrow morning. First time I recall camping without any water. All three quarts were used up by mid afternoon. Did not turn into Mammoth Lakes resort because of the extra distance and the hassle of police checks. Today the police stopped me no less than three separate times while I walked north along Highway 395. It seems that a Yosemite park ranger was shot point blank in the chest a few days ago and now a massive manhunt is underway. The road to Nevada is closed. Anyone on foot is questioned even if they are entering the area from the opposite direction. One sheriff searched through my gear looking for weapons (fortunately he overlooked the illegal OC spray which I definitely plan to discard soon), and another armed ranger sneaked up behind me while I was resting in sight of the road and ordered me in a commanding voice to put my hands in the air and not make any sudden moves. My main problem today, however, was foot pain from blisters. Strongly considering surgery on left boot (boot, not foot). Next pair will be wide sneakers to follow Scott Williamson's example. Flagyl side effects: mild stomach cramps, sluggish feeling, some muscle tension. Ankle seemed sprained this morning for no reason at all but tenderness wore off after warmup. Some highway lengths stretch ahead for such an endless distance in a straight line they discourage a foot traveler, therefore I avoid looking far ahead.
Day 108, Sun 7.18 One mile south of Lee Vining. Performed a symmetry test on these boots sold to me by a woman. Matched sole to sole they are not the same! A 1/4 inch; difference in tongue position on these cheap Korean boots explains why the left is more painful than the right. Feet suffered all day. At morning rest stop cut a slot out of left boot to relieve major problem. Then relieved secondary tightness problem by slitting the base of the tongue on both boots to allow ball of foot to expand. The pain today was caused by fresh blisters caused by walking on hot pavement. Had to lance a deep blister buried in heel of right foot. When the burning sun sets behind the sierras I will enjoy an anticipated supper of bread and Rosarita refried beans bought at June Lake store at lunchtime. Worst problem after feet has been worrisome traffic all day on a road with very narrow shoulders. Constant exposure to hurtling missiles makes the thought of a comfortable, daily work routine seem attractive. Pity the homeless people of this world who have no choice. No police stopped me today. The local newspaper said that the manhunt ended unsuccessfully. Hope to find sneakers or sandals in Lee Vining tomorrow after a cafe breakfast. No stomach cramps today for which I am thankful.
Day 109, Mon 7.19, New Moon. am: Composed a letter to the shoe saleswoman to offer some constructive criticism in a polite tone. Slept behind some bushes near the highway concealed from view.
11 am: One mile north of Lee Vining, on the grounds of an abandoned restaurant/motel closed in 1986, according to a calendar on the wall of one of the unlocked cabins. Had a good breakfast in Lee Vining and bought groceries for a two-day walk to Bridgeport 24 miles. Resting now in the shade of some non-native trees. The trashy rooms of this ghost motel are littered with household junk and public welfare applications. Suddenly remembering that alcohol is not allowed while taking metronidazole, I regretfully left a cold unopened can of Budweiser on the doorstep of one of the cabins. I bought Peterson's Field Guide to Western Trees in Lee Vining to identify my shady friends. Trees are easier to observe than birds and I am intrigued by their branching fractal structure. Boot surgery helped. The nylon-leather combination is hotter than leather because of foam padding.
pm: One mile past Conway Pass (8126). If I continue to keep a journal after this hike, will the daily entries dwell so much on physical aches and pains? Previous entries in this journal might give the impression that I am bothered by them more than really the case. I may itemize them in boring detail and record their changes in this journal but during the day I don't think about them that much. If I were writing a travel adventure book to entertain readers, some of this repetition could be condensed and more space given to accounts of more interesting meetings with other people. In fact, as I relive this hike a second time transcribing it, I am more and more inclined to condense the redundant material. However, monotonous repetition was very characteristic of this hike.
My camp here is off the road in a shallow gully. There is no tree cover for miles and miles. Ate a heavy supper of canned lentils, chile and bread. Feet hurt more than usual, a sign of mounting stress. There is a new ache in the flat underside of the heels. It is a nice change to have a book to read at breaks even if there is no plot, just names and pictures of trees. The Lee Vining bookstore had another book about Piute Indian survival methods but nothing about their footwear. An old Indian in one photo was not wearing any shoes or moccasins at all.
Day 110, Tue 7.20 About five miles north of Bridgeport, at a good campsite 500' up a side canyon off highway 395. Stress from walking against traffic is mounting. The narrow shoulders constitute a real hazard, especially when cars pass other cars coming up behind me where I cannot see them. I rely on my ears to hear them coming. I witnessed one incident where a car was passing a long line of cars, when one of the cars in the line pulled out in front of the passing car which forced the passing car onto the shoulder where any pedestrian like myself would have been creamed. Beyond the safety hazard is a psychological problem with traffic noise more distressing than river roar. My domain of existence shrinks from an unbounded range of sky and mountains to the space granted me by other drivers. Most drivers will courteously move their vehicle away from a pedestrians, in the absence of opposing traffic, but others don't even seem to notice. I was never harassed by police in the wilderness. So now I am asking myself how soon I can get back to the PCT to escape the horrors of highway 395. One problem is that my new ventilated boots are unsuitable for wet snow, and they are causing blisters even on flat surfaces. One idea is to hitchhike from Sonora Junction up to South Lake Tahoe, get some Nike sneakers, then hitchhike back. These difficulties are wearing me down. I just hope I can weather them patiently and not give up. The main thing that keeps me going is a personal resolve to complete this hike at least as far as Oregon. I am not expecting an enlightenment experience, I just want to go the distance. Saw some interesting thong deck-shoes for $30 in Bridgeport but they did not look strong enough for heavy trail use.
Solo Hike 93 page 4 of 7
Previous Page Home Page Next Page