August 12: The Russian Wild

Ah, fate! Shifting sands of fleeting time and changeable weather! I have made a terrible decision. I have surely altered my life for the worse. I have chosen incorrectly and walked the wrong path at the fork in the trail. I have led myself, naked, into the hands of my enemy.

The other day when I opted to send home every last ounce of extra clothing that I had in an attempt to lighten my pack up a little, I must have underestimated just how important basic comfort was to me. I am long-sleeveless and full of regret. I have pants now, long underwear bottoms, and a tee shirt, and damn I am cold! Fingers crossed please for no freezing rains from here on out . . .

This morning, there was no water for 16 miles. The data book listed two sources which had dried up, so as we descended to Etna Summit pass we figured we might have to hitch into town just for a cold drink. However, we were blessed once again to find two green soda bottles full of clean, clear H2O waiting for us by the trailhead across the road. It would prove to be enough to bring us up onto the ridgeline again and down to the next water source five miles away.

At lunch, we were joined by One Gallon, whom we hadn't seen since Hikertown way back when. In passing up a stop in Etna it appears that we had missed his 25,000-mile party last night and somehow have today found ourselves out in front of the "wave" of flip-floppers that we've been trailing for the past two months.

We've entered the Russian Wilderness, the next in a whole series of brief wilderness areas we are to cross through in this section. The centerpiece, Russian Peak, is a white, chalky citadel, rising bluntly up out of the tree cover along a sharp, narrow ridge of watchtowers and spires. It is a striking sight to behold.

Again, the path has been difficult and wearing today. Unexpectedly steep, rocky grades have my feet pounding and my heart racing. Regardless of the ups and downs, however, we are trying to keep up a very swift pace through this extremely scenic and striking section.

It is exciting to have passed through the wave of hikers which has been barreling down the trail in front of us for the past 1200 miles since leaving Canada. As we have started crossing paths with the northbounders here it has been disappointing to fnd that already these champions of the high Sierra have tired of talking about their experiences. They seen too many flip-floppers and just want to go on their way. "There sure are a lot of you," they say, "maybe a dozen in the last day." Now, as we move out in front of this bunch, hopeflly we'll get a better taste of how people actually fared up in the high passes and down in the swift, icy fords.