Long time...

It's been a long time since I last posted - nearly two years. I'll post some pictures from some more recent adventures. We are loving life here in California.

Here is Eliza a few weeks ago at the Cinder Cone on the eastern side of Lassen National Park.

Trinity mountian peak

rocky top

The crew at Lower Caribou

K Dizzle

Kevin and Meg and us near Caribou Lake in the Trintity Alps

after the walk

the finish line...snug in the hotel bed

Nearng the end

snowy scenes

aspens and eliza

mountain set

montage

Just north of Sonora Pass after a cold, cold night passed near Wolf Creek Lake.

October 20, filling in the gaps

And time flies by … The days of hiking have abruptly turned into days of sitting and resting, eating, wandering, wondering, etc. As we found ourselves off the trail, we found that most of the things that had made up our days for so long had, quite simply, changed. In conversation, at all hours, in our minds, the main concern each day was no longer when we might finish or how far to go today, but where we might lay our heads for a few days at a time, which highway we should take, and (gulp) in which direction? And, slowly, so subtly and slowly, the days turned to weeks and the weeks turned to more and all of a sudden here we are settling down again back into the hustle bustle of a sedentary life away from the wild of the woods. We came down off the trail, thumbed it back on down the road, headed south, then west, then north, slept on back porches and in guest bedrooms, in hotels and sprawled out secretly on damp, city beaches. Days to weeks and ultimately we made it back to a place called home.

October has really been a blessed month for Eliza and me. The transition from hiking to resting to vacationing to traveling and back to working (on getting work, in my case) again has been nothing but fun. A seamless flow. No Break.

Currently, Eliza and I are working on resettling in the Bay Area (in California). She’s already started a new job at East Bay Habitat for Humanity as their Volunteer Department Manager. She rented a studio in downtown Oakland. I hear it’s just perfect, but I’ve yet to lay eyes on it myself. She worked hard and saw maybe a hundred places before snatching this one up. It is in a nice neighborhood, close to Lake Merritt, within walking distance to work, conveniently close to public transportation and shops, has hardwoods, gas stove, etc…

I am currently back in New York, spending a little time with my brother, sister-in-law, nephews, planning on taking a couple of weeks to see the folks, catch up with my sister and her husband in Ithaca, aunt and uncle upstate. After the hike, I had thought about possibly continuing to travel some on my own. A trip to Portland seemed appropriate, perhaps a jaunt down to LA where I had been making tentative plans with an old college friend to work on some recording. But, then, arriving in El Cerrito last week (we spent the week with Eliza’s former housemate/landlord, Jan Schilling in the east bay), the drive to keep moving had completely evaporated. I was where I wanted to be and the only obvious thing to do was to start in on job hunting and apartment searching, make appointments and stay busy, ride the buses, see the streets, walk to avenues, meet prospective employers and neighbors. Every day for over a week, Eliza and I both set out from El Cerrito on buses, bikes, BART, together and apart, to search and meet and do all that we felt we could do in a day. It was good and busy and we both feel accomplished about things. The trail is in us in all of this. We are motivated to make the most of every day. Taking care of logistics, arranging schedules and time, getting things done—it all comes as second nature now. I think that I learned what it means to be goal oriented out there this summer. I can feel it as a sort of guiding sense now, an underlying focus and confidence that no matter what the hurtle, it is passable, it is temporary, it is nothing but time.

I wish now that I had kept on writing when we stopped hiking three weeks ago, instead of letting that part of my routine change as well. I wish, too, that I could have been taking pictures of all the places we stopped and saw, all the streets we wandered and the strangers we met along the way (my camera was dead and my memory cards full).

We stayed in Lone Pine with Pygmy and Mini-me for two nights. They were the hikers who decided along the way to stop and set up shop there in eastern CA. They have a little, dingy, dark, cozy apartment around the corner from the main drag where they were kind enough to let us lay our packs down and sleep the days and the end of the hard trail away after we left the hotel room at the Best Western that had been given to us on the evening of our finish. I recall that we felt somewhat bored and strangely fatigued during our stay in Lone Pine. Our hosts were most gracious and ended up inviting some other hikers who passed through town while we were there to come back and stay as well. We met Smack and Love Barge and a couple of other guys who were out to meet up with some other through hikers down in Kennedy Meadows. We had known the two girls’ names from the registers we had been signing in on for the past three or four months but had never once met either of them. It came as a pleasant and interesting surprise that they had both heard of us as well. Smack had hiked with Scrubs and Tomato up in Washington and recalled that Scrubs spoke of us frequently and with great affection. He apparently promoted this journal with enthusiasm as well. And both Love Barge and Smack knew right away who Koala was. It had apparently become a well known tale up and down the length of the pct. My dear Eliza was the girl who lost her shorts to the mighty Napeequa. We all shared stories and cooked a dinner together and later that night Pygmy and Mini-me led us through a series of invigorating Wing Chung postures. Pygmy put us all to sleep as the night wore on with tales of his past lives, of the days when he was a skid row tough guy in San Francisco and carried two pistols and wore a foot-tall, stiff Mohawk on his head, and his youth in a family of multi-millionare, made for TV product salespeople, and of his grandfather’s life as a Philipino man who changed his name to Sanchez (?) and moved to Tennessee, pretending to be a Mexican entertainer, to avoid persecution as an Asian during the second World War. It was all very interesting, but I was pooped. The next morning after coffee and pancakes, Eliza and I hoisted our packs once again and hit the road for Kernville, thumbs up, faces grinning.

We stayed in Kernville with Harry and Melanie, a kind couple on the verge of retirement, who we had met while northbounding in June and who invited us to stop back in after we completed our journey. So that’s what we did. They were very busy wrapping things up with their work (they work together from home as a sales duo in the seed supply business in the flower growing market) while we were there so Eliza and I pretty much did our own thing. We wandered around town, and hiked on a dusty southern CA horse trail near a creek and worked out on the equipment in their gym (!). We ate meals together, which Melanie cooked, and spent early evenings chatting about the news and local lore and our plans.

After two days super low key, we headed out to the coast and ended up staying with Harry and Melanie another two days at their summer cottage in Cayucas, just north of Morro Bay and south of Big Sur. We had an awesome time out there, did a bunch of beautiful walks on the coast, skipping down sand dunes, exploring the beautiful tide pools, sifting through the fog. I even got a chance to take a quick dip in the bitter cold Pacific waters.

We bid Harry and Melanie farewell at the Big Sur Jade Festival on Saturday after stopping to gape and gawk at the platoons of Sea Lions camped out on the shoreline by the highway. By the end of the day we found ourselves walking the streets of downtown Monterrey. We had a difficult time finding a place to camp and finally were fortunate enough to meet a couple of young guys who offered us a space on their back patio to pitch our tent. So, after a round of beers at one of the many local British pubs we headed up to their place and pitched our tent and slept wonderfully under the warm, opaque city glow in the sky.

In Monterrey the next day we wandered the streets all morning, walked with the tourists on Cannery row and checked out the other notable Steinbeck sites, watched SCUBA divers slip into the bay by a city park at a beach. At midday we checked ourselves into the movies and stayed for a double feature. Later we were back on the highway hitching north towards Santa Cruz. Our second ride was with a computer tech guy from San Jose who had been down in the Monterrey area sky diving. We had a nice time chatting with him and he agreed to go a little out of his way to get us down into Santa Cruz where we could enjoy the town before darkness hit and find a good place to camp. His name was Ken. He was 30 years old and he had recently been divorced from his wife. He had a 4 year old daughter living in a small town up in the mountains. As we drove around town looking for a place to hop out, he surprised us by offering our of nowhere to treat us to dinner at some seafood Italian place we were in front of. He insisted. We couldn’t refuse. So we sat and ate a nice meal at this upscale Italian place and once again couldn’t believe our good fortune. A lot of good folks out there.

That night we slept on the beach. It was gorgeous and the sea so powerful.

The next day after sitting through what I thought to be an absolutely ridiculous Bollywood flick at the Pacific Rim film festival and grabbing some cheap Mexican grub, we hit the road for the last time. We cut it close and just barely made it San Jose by dark from where we caught a bus to Fremont, where we got on BART and headed up towards El Cerrito. At 10:30 pm we sat chatting with Jan at Denny’s over burgers and pancakes. It was a sweet welcome home.


I am back in New York now. Trying to fill in the gaps. Eliza started her new job yesterday. I’ve got one at an outdoor store waiting for me after the first week of November when I head back out West.

October 1: Lone Pine, again. We're finished

It is 5:28am and neither Eliza or myself has gotten any sleep all night. Last night was the same -- tossing and turning, getting too hot or too cold, clammy, achy, etc. I can only think that we are both full of anxiety, our systems riddled with nerves as we close in on the end of this journey.

I am getting up now in these darkest, coldest last hours of night to get a jump on the day and rekindle our fire.

***

We had a roaring fire and a tin pot of chai tea along with our sparse breakfast before setting out one last time on this trail.

We passed a trekking party of about ten German guys within a half-hour and as we passed them, exchanged "g'morning"s and "where you headed"s, the usual set of pleasantries. They had just hiked Whitney, maybe yesterday, and, upon hearing that we didn't, one of the more boisterous of the bunch called out that we didn't have the balls to do it. I said we've been hiking for five months and ran out of food and he laughed back, "Oh, I've heard better excuses!"

What an ironic interaction to have on the day when we wrap up this gargantuan trip we've been on -- to have someone tell us we didn't have the balls to hike up a peak. All part of what is sure to be a bittersweet re-immersion into civilized society.

We're sitting up on some rocks aside the sandy trail, halfway through our day's hike, nibbling on the last of our rice cakes and prunes. I am deep in fantasy now about hot showers and huge, steaming pizzas, half gallons of ice cream, lying in bed watching TV . . .

But not for another 8 miles.

***

5:00 pm. We have returned to Lone Pine. The PCT is done. We are showered and clean and sprawled out on the double bed in front of the television at the Best Western. There are so many channels to choose from, yet, somehow, nothing seems to be on.

The final eight miles of trail flew by. After a while on dusty, rocky, steep and horse trampled tread, we found ourselves again on a comfortably graded smooth pathway for the final five miles following Cottonwood Pass. At the junction with the Cottonwood trail I tried to convince Eliza to cut down to Horseshoe Meadows early, but she wouldn't hear of it.

A half mile before we finished, on the north face of Trail Peak, we came upon a guy shaking out his shoes on the side of the trail. He said he had started a southbound through-hike in Canada earlier in the summer but had had to take a couple of months off, and was just down in CA doing a section hike. We mentioned that we were only a half mile from finishing and he very kindly and generously applauded our accomplishment, shaking his head, so proud of two people he didn't even know.

Within an hour we stood at the spot at Trail Pass where we had departed before flipping, which we had last seen over three and a half months ago, at a point less than 800 miles into our long journey.

We awkwardly kissed and tried to make a moment of it. It is a strange thing, standing there at the unceremonious end point at Trail Pass just SE of Lone Pine. It looked just as it had months ago; just a little less snow.

***

A funny thing happened later on. We were sitting at the trailhead for the Cottonwood and Trail Pass trails, cooking up a pot of mashed potatoes and tuna when down off the trail came a stream of German hikers -- similar to those we had seen earlier in the day. I immediately whisper to Eliza, "Go on, get us ride." So she approaches them and I hear congratulations all around. I look over and they are each hugging her in turns. "She finished the trail!" they applauded over and over again as more and more of these guys plodded off the trail.

Long story short, they give us a ride down from the mountains to Lone Pine. On the way, we come to an amazing realization -- this guy Heiko is the father of a girl we went to college with. She sang in the chorus and is best friends with Eliza's close high school friend Gillian. He loved to meet a couple of Cornellians and even called his daughter in Connecticut to tell her of the coincidence.

The Germans had just done a five-day trip up to Mt. Whitney and back and were incredibly boisterous and jubilant. Two vans-full met back in Lone Pine at the Best Western where they were meeting the trip coordinator to drink celebratory Heinekens and smoke cigarettes before heading out right away for Ridgecrest, whence they would each head back to wherever home happened to be.

And then, just as we were saying our goodbyes, the coordinator fellow says, "Hey, if you'd like, you can have our room for the night. It's paid until tomorrow."

So they all pile into their vans and wave goodbye and here we are, trail magic to the end . . .

Sept 30: Forrester, past Whitney

We slept fitfully last night, nervous I think about our plans to climb Forrester Pass at first light and then push ourselves all day to try and make 24 miles to a point where we will (for one last time) drop down below 10,000 ft and be able (one last time) to enjoy a campfire at the end of the day.

It was icy cold as we speedily packed up camp. Our route ascended steadily up and out of the last of the gnarly lodgepole and foxtail pines. Soon we were back in the now familiar glaciated, gouged moonscape of the Sierran high passes. Ahead, above and behind numerous lofty, looming plateaus, stood a sheer wall of gigantic peaks. Somewhere up there was our pass. The light of the new day gave a brilliant orange glow to the highest, easternmost facing peaks suddenly and slowly, irregulary, descended down to fill our great sprawling canyon with gold.

The pass took us three hours to overtake. Snow covered the trail completely for the second half of the climb and we lost the track a number of time. Fortunately one or two others had been over since the snow had fallen earlier in the week so we were able to follow their prints and avoid having to post-hole our own steps as we neared the pass and the snow became much deeper.

To sit at a pass, or at any point, I suppose, so high above the rest of the tiny, speckled world is an envigorating and peace-instilling feeling. We worked damn hard all morning and as we sat at the top at 13,200 ft, I felt just plain good. I felt accomplishment. Not just for the morning's effort, but for the whole summer, all 2600 miles of this trail which we've walked on since April. Looking over at Eliza, I am daily amazed with her strength and fortitude. She has impressed me out here.

Sept 29: Glen Pass

We are camped up high tonight, tucked away early in our bags, preparing for a good night of sleep before a long day tomorrow. Center Peak is reflecting the last orange rays of the sunken sun, its crown looming above the lodgepole and foxtail pines surrounding our secluded, cold campsite. We are above 10,000 ft and thus, have no campfire this evening. We've been getting used to having them as a matter of course out here -- a whole new backpacking style for us -- but at this altitude in Kings Canyon they are prohibited due to the fact that fires use up the wood at a much higher rate than it can be regenerated. We cooked early and did all our camp chores in daylight, so that now we could be cozy inside the tent as the sun disappeared.

The hiking was great today -- exhausting yet envigorating all at once. We broke camp leisurely at Woods Creek, taking time to boil up some hot apple cider and coffee and warm ourselves over the rekindled flames of the fire we had had last night. Our main goal for the day was to get over Glen Pass and push on to get into good position for tackling Forester early tomorrow. Forester is the highest point on the entire PCT at 13,180 and we'd like to break the climb up as well as we can between two days.

Glen Pass was a hard, but beautiful climb. After crossing the isthmus between the Rae Lakes we started climbng in earnest, soon following a nice set of big-booted footsteps through the well packed, melting snow. Looking up from the glaciated bowl at the foot of the final ascent the pass looked utterly inconquerable. There was no way we were climbing up that sheer, snowy face. One foot in front of the other, though, and soon we were topping out at the craggy pass, just behind our friendly big-booted footprint maker. We sat, the three of us under the sunny, clear sky admiring silently the vast open views on either side. To the south, the mountains were snow covered up high, but immediately before us the trail was much smoother than the stretch we had just ascended and completely dried of ice and snow. Soon enough we were bouncing down the trail, happy to have one more pass behind us, breathing easy in the fast thickening air.

Sept 28: Pinchot Pass, slow down

It was a frigid morning. Hiking up and out of the river canyon where we had camped was foot-numbing and icy, the trail snowbound without a break. We followed a lone set of footprints which had glazed over with ice overnight to help stay on the trail. Coming into the sunlight out on the highland basin above, we still weren't able to shake the chill. Even as our bodies heated up and we sweated like a couple of furnaces, the feet stayed frozen.

Pinchot Pass was visible before long but we trudged on towards that gap for well over three hours before finally making the summit. It was a difficult morning. This is how it will be then. The snow was drifted and cruster over. The switchbacks were steep and uneven -- very rocky and frustrating to get over.

Eliza sobbed over frozen toesies at the pass and I cupped them with my hands and blew whatever warm breath I could muster out onto her feet. We saddled up quickly and descended down the other side. More tundra awaited.