The days are getting noticeably shorter. Darkness lingers as we rise each morning with our alarm at 5:30. A chill nips at our bare limbs as we set out on another day of walking.
This morning our trail took us on a slow ten-mile climb up out of the McCloud River Canyon. The cool air of pre-dawn was unusually heavy with an uncharacteristic and sticky humidity. The gnats, however, were relatively nonexistent. Perhaps later on they would have been out in more force. We were happy not to wait around for them. It is amazing how much effect these little factors have on the day's overall feel. Mosquitoes, gnats, overgrown brush, a cobble-strewn, uneven tread, poorly marked junctions, anything which makes the passing more of a chore -- these things can really dampen our spirits, I've found.
This morning we chanced upon a smallish, adolescent-sized black bear clammering through the brush to our left and above us off the trail. It lumbered down to the path about 25 feet off and still hadn't noticed us until the flash from my camera sent it barreling down the steep overgrown bank in a rush of panic. It crashed down and eventually disappeared all together. It was an exciting encounter.
Later, we flew and spirits were high. As we topped out on a scrubby, arid crestline around Grizzly Peak, we were deep in conversation, retracing all of the history we could, coming up with questions and incongruities, trying to note the basics of fact which surely must be looked up when the chance is had down the road. At points we felt pretty darned ignorant about things which surely we should know like the backs of our hands . . .
It was a great afternoon talk, however, and with our flowing, babbling stream of chatter, so too did the miles slip by unnoticed. We came to a spring at mid-afternoon and happened upon Billygoat once again. Billygoat is one of the PCT regs. His winters are spent preparing for next season's through hike -- preparing his home-cooked dehydrated meals, repairing and making new gear, living the pre-hike logisitics. What a life to lead. The guy must be 67 or so. Imagine retiring and deciding to last out your days in a constant state of physical challenge. Eliza notes that nonetheless it is a simple routine. Retirees seem often enough to be creatures of habit so in a way Billygoat's lifestyle may not be all that different from other folks'. I'd say it sure is. He says that he just couldn't take the transition back to ordinary life.
Billygoat says he doesn't care what Condoleeza Rice did today. I say, I wish I could see a newspaper right away. I guess part of me really looks forward to finding a new niche for myself out in the land of ordinary, of cities and people and work and routine.
On a side note, my feet are doing much better, having adjusted to the shoes as they've broken in a little more. The vitamin I helps too.
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