Day 11, July 24 - Part 2

Continued from Day 11, Part 1

I walked north along highway 89 searching for a place where cars could pull over (they were zooming by, and there was no shoulder). I was getting pretty discouraged. Then around 

7:40 am I found a little bit of a place where a car could pull off, and a place to stand where I could be seen from a distance, and the first car to come along pulled over. 

Then began one of the great adventures of the whole section hike. Armand, survivor of MS and Hurricane Katrina, massage therapist (who has gone to South Africa to offer therapeutic massage to people with AIDS), a man who lost his home, all his belongings and his entire community in the hurricane, was an amazing human to encounter. He was Italian, highly voluble, talked with both hands and turned his face toward me (and away from the road) often, as he talked (so I felt a wee bit nervous about our safety on the road.) His secrets to living with disaster seem to be service and humor. He doesn't go anywhere without round red clown noses, and showed me several pictures of himself with friends in clown noses. He even gave me a clown nose. 

 He showed me pictures of his South African trip, and of the hurricane destruction. His entire community was destroyed except for his neighbor's toilet. He showed me a photo of himself sitting on the toilet. On the back of the photo he had written "so happy I could just shit." Photo 7 is a photo of his photo - Armand enthroned on his neighbor's toilet where everything around him has been destroyed. 

 

 

Photo 8 shows Armand at the steering wheel driving and talking with both hands gesturing in the air. 

 

Armand kept saying over and over that life is an adventure. He made it clear how he transformed disasters into opportunities. So I think this is partly the universe telling me that this is the "take home" lesson from this section  of the hike. 

Armand dropped me off at the exit for Mt Shasta, where Chris' longtime friend Pam from Seattle ( who had also lived in Mt Shasta) picked me up. Pam is staying with her even longer-time friend Katie (they met at Willamette College in Oregon) and her partner Micah, at an amazing family "cabin" that includes a rebuilt old train station and a sod bale house (Katie's father was an architect and the whole family worked on bringing his designs into reality. This is a totally amazing place to visit at any time, and especially when coming off the trail. 

Photo 9 shows the ladder to the loft in the redesigned train station. Katie's father once told one of his daughters' boyfriends that the hardest thing about building the ladder was bending the wood. 

 

 

Photo 10 shows Mt Shasta through the picture window of the main cabin (right beside the sod bale house on this amazing family property, where I will stay tonight and Chris will join me tomorrow) and photo 11 shows the old Railway Express Agency sign (over the door) -- just in case any of us can't quite believe this is an old condemned railroad station that Katie's architect father had moved here, to restore and renovate and refurbish. 

 

 

 

POOP REPORT. A day free of seepage. We went out to dinner at a truly fine restaurant in nearby Dunsmuir that belongs to friends of Katie, Micah, and Pam. Delicious food and a wonderful small town atmosphere. (The people at the adjoining table both knew Katie from her nursery.m business. One was the librarian and Katie organizes the garden tour as a fundraiser for the library.  They all knew our waitress's parents and remembered her as a young girl. ) I followed my new tradition of eating whatever I damn well please. I think the fear of food, the avoidance, the attempts to figure out and control were doing me more harm than good. The new relaxed life "outside the law" allows me to enjoy food and eating and sure makes it easier to share food with others (and we did share almost everything we ordered. And I ate it all - gluten, dairy, whatever. ) 🎉😊

So let me end this section of my 2016 blog (I will be back in August for the final section from Stevens Pass to Manning Park in Canada) with another one of the silly but endearing jokes that a hiker offered at the register at Wild Bird Cache (the trail magic oasis just 7 miles before Burney Falls where they asked hikers to sign and write a joke). 

Question:  What did one butt cheek say to the other butt cheek?

Answer: If we stick together, we can stop all this crap. 

Thanks for sticking with me all this way on the trail. 

Happy adventures in your life. This ends the journal/blog for the July section. 

Day 11, July 24 - Part 1

Part 1  - Day 11, Sunday, July 24. From  PCT campground, mile 1415.87, elev. 2972, to Burney Falls state park entrance and to and around Burney Falls loop trail. Then hitch hiked to Mt. Shasta. 

Dear Trail Friends,

TRAIL JOURNAL. Got up with the sun, packed and walked toward the park entrance and the loop trail around the falls. I am glad I did. At 129 ft, these are pretty spectacular falls. (Niagara Falls are 165 ft, to give a little perspective. ). I got some wonderful photos but I would really like to upload a video to give you sound and motion. However, to do that I apparently have to first upload to YouTube or Vimeo, which I am not eager to do (or learn how to do) so we will stay with the photos (1-5). 

 

 

 

 

 

The falls made me think of that mysterious "force" we call gravity that keeps us connected to the earth and in some sense moves and choreographs the stars. When I am in inverted pose, my back and head on the ground, I often picture gravity as the "hand of God" holding me, and I just surrender and allow myself to be held. I thought of waterfalls as a river surrendering to and trusting gravity. In my 20s I read the book Gravity or Grace by Simone Weil. It was a major influence on my spiritual life. But now I think her distinction ( as I remember, grace is the downward tug of fear, anger, vindictiveness; grace the upward pull to love) and her polarizing of these two, may oversimplify the world. I mean there are these mysterious forces that pull us into our place in the larger dance. We divide them into good/bad and gravity/grace but they really are bigger than we are, or than we can wrap our words or science or theology around. I thought of the falls as representing the beauty of the world, when we are able to surrender to the forces greater than we are. In any case, the falls were beautiful. I also thought, maybe death, maybe all of aging can be like these falls. A beautiful, glorious falling into the arms of gravity/God/the Unknown. A beautiful, glorious place to celebrate the end of my section hike. I hear in the daytime these falls can be crowded, but I experienced them in total solitude. 

After the falls, I found my way to highway 89 (I realized that there was nowhere to go but I5, so everyone would pass by the city Mt Shasta, so I didn't need a sign about where I was going. ) hitch hiking is really casting on self onto the winds of the unknown (or falling into the hands of gravity?) and because I am far more afraid of the human unknown than the wilderness unknown, hitch hiking requires a lot of courage from me. Perhaps in part symbolically,  I was scared I wouldn't be able to find 89, or figure out which way was north (did I forget I had a compass? ) so was most relieved to see the sign (photo 6). 

 

To be continued

Day 10, July 23

Day 10, Saturday, July 23, from 1397.58, elev. 3689 feet,  to PCT campground, mile 1415.87, elev. 2972. (.7 miles from MacArthur - Burney Falls Memorial State Park. ) Walked 18.29 mi - total up/down: +671/-1388ft.

Dear Trail Friends,

TRAIL JOURNAL. Although I have a short walk tomorrow morning to go see the falls for which Burney Falls is named, and to the park general store where I will, I hope, get some help with making a sign for hitchhiking, basically this section of my hike is over. 

Last night I woke up and looked into a sky gloriously filled with stars. I wondered why it was so different from other nights and then realized that the (now waning) moon had not yet risen. The moon has been so bright that one could not see the stars. 

I have only one 190-mile final section to hike and I will have completed this Mexico to Canada trail astounds and heartens me. I am proud to have made a commitment and stuck with it in the face of numerous adversities. And of course grateful for all the luck and support that has made it possible. I fantasize about another hike. Hike the PCT again, but in 2 years? Or maybe I really could do it in 1 year? Hike the Arizona Trail? Who am I when this dream is completed? 

Lots of questions. No answers. 

I woke this morning early and began my walk at 5:15. I could see without a headlamp,but barely.  Photo 1 shows the moon above the predawn horizon, photo 2 that magical moment I so love when the mountains seem to turn red (blushing?) in the first horizontal rays of sunlight. 

 

 

I loved the landscape and textures and colors when I was hiking the rim on Thursday, but now on Friday I was delighted by how different it was. When I stopped for a test break I was mesmerized by the gold grasses in photo 3 and 4. Photo 4 shows the grasses up close contrasted with the volcanic rock and a small wildflower. (I feel as if I am a waiter describing some exquisite cuisine to you, hoping to tempt you.)

 

 

Then I crossed a bridge over river Rapids and found myself thinking "what's the hurry, river?" There had to be a photo to go with that caption, so here is photo 5. 

 

Most places though the river was very calm and smooth. It was fun to see so many people in canoes or kayaks or paddle boats? or fishing from shore, finding so much happiness being on or near the river. Photo 6 shows the quiet river and the colorful thistle in the foreground.

 

I had planned to walk til noon, rest through the hottest part of the day until 4, then walk to a tent site about 3.5 miles earlier than the one I ended up walking to. Just before noon I came across a trail magic oasis, where I drank a root beer (remembering the delicious root bear floats that trail angel Coppertone provided) and ate a fresh banana. There were umbrellas, hence shade, and I tried to stay for the afternoon. I autographed the table (as 100s before me, all 2016 PCT hikers, had done) using the colored sharpies provided. I signed in the register and provided a joke as directed. I read over the jokes other hikers provided for a few good giggles (eg Why did the elephant paint her toenails red? Answer: so she would blend into the strawberry patch ) I found a tree with a thin strip of shade and did inverted pose for awhile. By 2:20pm I was restless and bored. And hot. Despite the shade, there was no breeze and sweat was dripping down my back. I figured I might as well walk. 

And, in fact, walking felt good, the motion itself seemed to stir up breeze. I turned on music and walked with long strides and somewhere in there the idea of stopping before Burney Falls got lost and I got intoxicated with what felt like high speed walking. In fact I was walking over 3 mph which is quite unusual for me at this age even without a pack. I even - first time ever - passed a couple of genuine thru hikers. Which is when I started to wonder: maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I could hike the whole PCT in one year. A six month hike from spring to fall, all the way from Mexico to Canada. Can you imagine such a thing? Intoxicatingly even to entertain the possibility. 

Photo 7 shows my cowboy camp site near Burney Falls. 

 

Oblivious, a hiker I met back in Drakesbad, was there too and we talked quite awhile. Mostly he talked and I listened as his talk became more and more personal. His experience when his child had leukemia. How it was for his wife. How much he loves his wife who is a real soul mate. He even began to dream of doing the Camino with her during our conversation. Since several men hikers (and actually a young woman too) have spoken quite openly on the trail, I've wondered if there's something I learned to do in therapy -- listen for, look for, affirm, mirror and magnify the beauty in people. If that is part of what I have to contribute to the world, my kind of trail magic, my version of root beer floats. Realizing that it is hard work and exhausting sometimes to listen. That maybe it is something I give. I like thinking that. 

And I do seem to feel more at peace with my therapy career. 

This has been an important walk, and it's shortness did not detract from the depth and richness of the experience, though I thought it would. Thanks for walking with me. Writing these blogs, sensing you "with me" so deepens the journey. 

POOP JOURNAL. Some seepage, mostly (clear, odorless) liquid, though twice had to change pads because of visible stinky brown stuff. Ho hum. Becoming comfortable with the idea that I can't control or predict this, but simply hold the hope that it will get better with time. 

Day 9, July 22

Day 9, Friday, July 9, from tent site at Lost Creek Trailhead, mile 1383.01, elevation 4801 feet, to tent site at 1397.58,elev. 3672. Walked 14.56 mi to PCT mi 1397.58 - total up/down: +655/-1766ft.

Dear Trail Friends,

TRAIL JOURNAL. As you can see from the numbers this was the shortest and least strenuous day's hike of the section so far. I woke up at 4:30am and started hiking at 5:30am, with a brief pause to wake Pounder, the lovely disabled man from Quincy who leads a trail maintenance crew for this section and who is going back to school to train as a welder and hopefully go back to work. We have had several sweet encounters and conversations. He had asked me to wake him (and make sure he stood up) before leaving. 

I decided to hike until noon, then rest during the hottest hours (noon to 4), and then complete my hike --which I planned to be a relatively short one. 

Looking back at the day I really wish I had taken a photo of Coppertone,the trail angel who moves from location to location offering "trail magic" -- such as fresh peaches, bananas, cream cheese coffee cake, and root beer floats. You won't believe this: I ate two granola bars (which I dipped in a small container of jiffy peanut butter), a peach and a root beer float. A whole group of hikers sat around visiting and enjoying the magic. I asked Coppertone how he became a trail angel and he spoke of thru-hiking (in 2008 I think he said) and being offered so much generosity and wanting to give back. He also spoke of being a former missionary. There was some uncomfortable silence after he spoke a bit about teaching bible. And out of the silence I told this story:

I no longer believe in a conventional religious doctrine, but when I was in high school I was a Catholic briefly and I loved the ritual. When I was hiking the Wonderkand Trail around Rainier I found myself sitting resting beside a retired priest. I said to him "you couldn't, could you, just grant me absolution for all my sins, right here in the presence of the mountain?" And I burst into tears. "Well, " said the priest "it would be unconventional. You'd at least have to tell me your sins. " "I haven't been able to love the people I love as well as I wanted" I said, by this time sobbing. "I can see you are truly sorry, and I know you are forgiven, " he said. What moved me so much in this situation, I told them, was that even though he was part of a very formal organization with rules, he so wanted to be kind to me. 

"He did not have the power to forgive your sins, " Coppertone said. "Only God can forgive your sins. "

"I know that," I said. "But it was so beautiful that he wanted to."

It was a very sweet gathering of hikers and the root beer floats were unbelievably good. Even at 9:30am when I arrived there the day was very hot. It's supposed to keep getting hotter. I am very lucky to be finishing Sunday and not hiking on the hottest days, Monday and Tuesday.  

After all that trail magic, I saw the whole beautiful trail and all the hikers on it through the emerald glasses of a sugar high (and also a high brought on by human generosity and kindness, by amazing hospitality to strangers with no strings attached. )

Photo 1 shows the view of Mt Shasta from my breakfast stop (before arriving at the scene of the trail magic.)

 

 

Photos 2 and 3 try to share my delight in the colors and textures of this particular landscape. 

 

Photo 4 shows the shady spot -- in a landscape without much shade -- where I took a 4 hour rest stop and wrote my blog for yesterday. 

 

 

Photos 5-9 are more of the same; I love this landscape. The last part of this rim walk was particularly beautiful, the expansive view, looking down at trees and volcanic rock. There was a beautiful wind so the tree branches were dancing. Photo 5 shows how the trail at times looks like a pilgrimage to Mt Shasta (the mountain is dim in the photo but sharp and clear in real life). Photo 8 is the view from the place where I sat down to talk on the phone with Chrissy. 

 

 

 

 

I walked in the cool of late afternoon and early evening, pausing to talk with Chris and arriving at my tent site about 7pm. A section hiker I met earlier, a 52 year old man named Shamrock who has also hiked the AT (Appalachian Trail) and lots of others, suggested we eat dinner together. I think it was the first time I have ever eaten dinner with someone on the trail. (As opposed to at a restaurant in a trail town). It was kind of sweet. 

POOP REPORT. No leak all day despite rootbeer float and all. Go figure. If God meant for us to be rational brings, she would have created a world that made a little more sense, don't you think?

Thanks for walking with me. I am sitting in my sleeping bag, cowboy-camped, in the dark, and despite my head net the mosquitos are getting more aggressive. Bedtime. Sweet dreams. 

Day 8, July 21

Day 8, Thursday, July 21, from  Hat Creek camp site, pct mile 1367.17, elev. 4908, to tent site at Lost Creek Trailhead, mile 1383.01, elevation 4801 feet, Walked 15.84 mi, - total up/down: +1037/-1144ft. (Also walked 2 extra miles, backtracking & retracing after missing exit, and 1/2 mi each way into and from town of Old Station. Also a very very steep 1/3 mi, 500 ft trail down to get water and back up again with 6 liters which is 14 lbs). 

Dear Trail Friends,

TRAIL JOURNAL.  Yesterday (Thursday, Day 8) was the first day I did not take the time before going to sleep to write the day's blog. Although the hike was not especially uphill or long, once you add in the getting lost, detour into town, and trail down to Lost Creek, it was a substantial day. And, it was HOT. We have had a few days with a little less heat and cool breezes but yesterday the heat exhausted me. For that reason ( and because I am now only 22 miles from Burney Falls, the end point of this section hike, where according to my original plan I should be arriving Tuesday) I decided to break at noon today and rest until 4pm by which time I hope the day will begin to cool a little. I have found a lovely little cluster of trees with shade (in a part of the trail where there is little or no shade, as was true of yesterday's hike) and part of what I hope to do is write this blog. 

At the moment all I want to write about is today (day 9, Friday, July 22) and this moment: the buzz of a fly, the light breeze, the feeling of peace and quiet. The PCT's gift of being utterly entranced by the present moment combines with my memory problems to make it very difficult to imagine yesterday. 

But I did get up from my lovely cowboy camp beside Hat Creek (after listening to the robust music of its flow all night) and begin hiking at 5:30 just at daybreak. (What interesting language: day "break"). My fingers were painfully cold as I packed up and I missed the tiny amount of warmth the tent would have provided as I drank my morning protein plus coffee drink, and washed up the bottle. On the other hand, I appreciated that it took less time to pack up and get moving. It amazes me that my fingers still hurt from the cold at 6:30, yet by 7 or 8 I had not only taken off mittens and jacket but could feel that the day would be uncomfortably hot. 

My plan -- ah, what is a plan once one starts living the reality of a trail so filled with surprises? -- had been to go into Old Station (which I had somehow mis-imagined as a tiny town right on the PCT with a cafe beloved of hikers next door to a post office) and enjoy a famous JJ's breakfast and Mail my tent back to Z-Packs (its creator) to improve the chances I will get it back before I depart for the trail in August (to hike the north most part of the trail in Washington, so famous for its rainy day after rainy day, even in August, where I will really need the tent for both rain protection and refuge from insects. ) 

Alas, first I missed the exit for Old Station. Then I turned around and hiked most of the way back , when I met hikers who assured me the exit for JJ's was up ahead. So I walked forward again, walked the .5 mile off-trail road walk to JJ's, had a delicious steak and eggs breakfast (AND a salad) and good conversation with a hiker named Overload, whose red beard and kilt make me think of my Scottish fore-bears (this is an in-group family pun because we called my father Poppa Bear) and smile. My father, uncle, and grandfather were all extremely proud of their Scottish heritage. With Brexit going on, I'm awfully proud to be kin to the Scots whose politics seem refreshingly sane and humane in a (human political) world that sometimes seems hell-bent on destruction. Overload is the retired disabled military aeronautical engineer I photographed before. 

Unfortunately I discovered that the post office was a full mile away ( on a very hot day and an unshaded road,  of course). I for some reason did not feel up to hitch hiking. I sat outside JJ's for half an hour using their wifi to upload my blog and waiting for someone to come along and offer me a ride. Which did not happen. So I returned to the trail, my tent un-mailed. 

I returned to the justly famous portion of the trail called Hat Creek Rim, a hot unshaded 30 miles of trail that is reputed to have no water sources. In fact, Lost Creek is available 8 miles in, though a (for me) extremely arduous and sometimes slightly scary climb down and back up the very very steep 1/3 mile 500 ft descent. And I still needed to pack enough water for 22 miles (including an overnight in very hot weather. )

The first glory of Hat Creek Rim was realizing that I was going to be given some more stunning views of the increasingly southward and behind me Mt Lassen at the same time that I could see Mt Shasta in the north, ahead. Photo 1 shows Mt Lassen, photo 2, Shasta. I felt as if the great mountain guardian spirits were handing me over, one to the other, like that part of a square dance (not the docey-doe, right, but some move or other?) where partners are passed from one to the next. I love to dance with these mountains. 

 

Though trees were rare yesterday, I did manage a rest break or two in inverted pose (back and head on ground, feet and legs lifted up in air, leaning against a tree. ) I've taken a bunch of inverted pose photos the last few days but they so don't do justice to how it feels to lie upside down and look up at the sky through great trees. So you will have to use your imagination but I can't resist including at least one inverted pose photo for this section.  So photo 3 features my feet (who keep on keepin' on, carrying their heavy load of the backpack and me), who so love inverted pose, plus the gaze through a fine big pine tree up into the sky. 

 

 

The other great glory of yesterday's Hat Creek Rim hike was the visit to Lost Creek. No, I did not enjoy the steep hike down. I enjoyed huffing and puffing the steep hike up even less. Nor did I especially enjoy the careful feeling my way around the big rocks to get down to the creek and collect water again and again and waiting while my water filter gravity system slowly filtered two-liter bags of water. Nor did I enjoy all that much clambering over the great rocks to a place where I thought I might dip into a still pool -- only to find the bottom too rocky for my comfort level. But -- oh -- did I enjoy taking off shoes and socks and lowering my feet to mid-calf into the icy water of the creek! One of my feet had been hurting all day. After the icy dip, no more pain. Ahhhhh. 

Of course the trail itself had its own glory. A lovely panoramic view and an interesting open landscape. Photo 4 shows a scene along the trail. 

 

I had a fall yesterday, landed heavily on my left hip, but with apparently no lasting damage or pain. How lucky is that? Another fall today, but that's for another blog. I just discovered I have lost somewhere (since yesterday) my supply of insect repellant and green soap (what I use to treat insect bites). I was looking for them as the bugs buzzed around my little nap-camp and was most dismayed to find they are gone. Time for this section to be over I guess. 

Thanks for walking with me. See you tomorrow. 

POOP JOURNAL. Alas, the diarrhea returned after a morning of no seepage and I found my pad full of poop (after only one hour since the last pad change) when I stopped at a pit toilet near an overlook point at the beginning of Hat Creek Rim. The great thing was a garbage can where I could dump used pads and other trash.  After that, leakage was almost constant but turned out to be clear liquid rather than poop so not difficult to handle. However, I suspect my vulnerability to the heat and exhaustion are increased when the diarrhea is present, whatever it involves (inflammation, auto-immune attack, or ...?). I am however really happy with how matter of fact I have become. There are a lot of people outbhere on the trail with some kind of pain or disability. This is just something I have to deal with. Maybe it will go away someday. Maybe not. So be it. 

I don't know quite how but this seems related to the reflections these last few days on my imperfect un-brilliant career as a therapist, and the challenge of loving and accepting it as it is/was, not as I wished it could have been. To let go of the comparisons to my friend Rachel who is so passionate about the theory and practice of psychoanalysis, so engaged with her professional organization and mentoring a next generation of therapists, or Anne who has such faith in and mastery of evidence-based therapy (in her case dialectical behavioral therapy), or Cathy or Leslie who are so gifted that at times their waiting lists and referrals have been overwhelming. To let go of the longing for therapy to have satisfied all my desires for fame, fortune, contributing to culture, making a positive difference to others, generativity, etc. To be able to release all the unsatisfied dreams and longings, and call to mind and linger over the moments of great beauty and meaning and connection that were part of my un-brilliant career. Two clients who allowed me to be present at their deaths. Families I saw grow through stages of life. Individuals I saw survive and thrive against great odds. Many people -- even those whose names, stories, faces I might no longer recognize -- whose beauty I was able to witness -- and I suspect that when one witnesses great beauty one inevitably mirrors it and magnifies it. And that is no small contribution. 

Okay. I'm not saying (exactly) that I was a shitty therapist. But the poop trail along, with the PCT, is helping me to become matter of fact about the messes I may have made in my life. Like my horror at the harm I did to one or two clients. Just able to let it be. Messy, imperfect, but in no way cancelling out the beauty, anymore than my poopy pants cancel the presence of these two great mountains. 

Thank you for listening. Enough. And goodbye until the next blog. 

Day 7, July 20

Day 7, Wednesday, July 20, from Warner Valley Canpground,  pct mile 1347.78, elevation 5683, to pct mile 1367.17, elev. 4908.  Walked 19.39 mi -  total up/down: +1732/-2507ft.

Dear Trail Friends,

I am sitting in my sleeping bag, cowboy camping again despite the mosquitos. I guess I don't want to set up my tent and have the partially broken zipper fail completely. I may send it back to the company for repair from the town (Old Station) that I pass through tomorrow. 

TRAIL JOURNAL.  I woke up early - 2:30 actually wishing I could fall back to sleep but knowing I couldn't - so waiting impatiently for 4am so I could get up. I packed my gear (much quicker when camped cowboy style and no tent to take down and pack up). 

After my breakfast protein drink I began to hike. Unfortunately it is still totally dark at 5am. I decided in the future my earliest starting time will be 5:30.  I live the predawn partial light, but prefer not to hike on the dark. Still, walking up switchbacks with the full moon moving toward the west horizon and the sun approaching and turning everything pink and gold on the east horizon was a great treat. Photo 1 shows the moon. 

 

The hike started beautifully. I scrambled across two fairly challenging creek crossings (challenging enough to take photos of both: photos 2 and 3).  

 

 

Then, down the trail a bit I discovered I'd taken a wrong turn. After retracing my steps for a little more than half a mile, I discovered the real pct had s'more formidable crossing. On this one a fall could have been pretty serious. I decided not to practice my new sideways log walking skills and go back to playing horsey. I sat on the log like a horse and slowly scooted myself across. Photo 4 shows the log. 

 

 A major highlight of the walk was stopping to gather water at Twin Lake. First I was delighted with the kindness of some unknown trail angel who built a little raft that made it possible to collect water without getting your feet wet. Then I took off all my clothes and got not just my feet but every inch of me wet. What a delight to dip however briefly in the beautiful lake (photo 5). 

 

 

At a later rest stop a hiker named Pounder ( he and I were the original two to share the campsite before others joined he is also the organizer of the volunteer crew that maintains the trail in this section. ). He ended up telling me a lot about his disability, how it changed his life, and his dreams for the future. I'm omitting details to honor his privacy but was very moved he confided in me. Please join me in praying that his dreams will come true. That or, as they say, something better. 

 At my fourth and last rest stop of the day I looked up and discovered a glimpse of Mt Lassen through trees. First sighting all day. Down trail a little was the closest and most breathtaking view I've had of this great mountain (photo 6). From now on it will be getting further away. 

When I reached my hoped for campsite along the Hat River, I had the pleasure of a conversation with another thru hiker, Six Tacos. (Photo 7) When I learned she was in an interlude away from university but had been studying English at UNC, I mentioned Chris' son Eric who teaches German and Comp Lit at UNC. We had a wonderful and (for me) inspiring and thought provoking conversation, volleying ideas across the generational divide. I had been reflecting as I walked on my career as a therapist, the many disappointments and feelings of failure (that I didn't help clients enough, or tried too hard to fix and didn't accept them enough, didn't engage with a national organization and contribute to profession and next professional generation, didn't make enough income to truly pull my weight in relationship with Chris, didn't ever find a theory or practice I could believe in and feel passionate about, always suffered from doubts about my ability to help etc etc etc) and my difficulty foregrounding the precious experiences of transformation and connection (like the two clients who allowed me to be present when they were dying, the handful who seemed to radically transform their lives in ways I truly contributed too, the many I loved deeply and witnessed their beauty and struggle to be all they could be) and letting them be enough. As Six Tacos and I talked about the possibility she might have to leave the trail ( she has had steeped throat that has recurred) and I talked about the idea from the Camino that your Camino is your Camino -- whether you walk it start to finish or spend it in a little village nursing a sore foot. If only I could come to see my therapy career sant career-Camino. Today I thought that this whole pct hike is about learning to love myself - as I am, not as I want myself to be. Perhaps part of the work of retirement is to look at my career from the outside and learn to embrace and love it/me. 

 

It was a very special day. The creek crossings, the lake, the mountain, two soul encounters with other hikers. And now it is dark and here I am beside the lovely flowing music of Hat Creek. About to turn off my iPhone and go to sleep. 

Merry Trails to all and to all a good night. 

ps - POOP JOURNAL. Two seemingly normal poops. Each time an "urge" that gave me time to get to the toilet the first time, and get off trail and dig a hole the second time. So different from the seepage that just happens, no "notifications." In fact, I changed pads only once and that was for a pee accident! (So now I can celebrate urinary incontinence because bless it's heart it is not fecal incontinence. ) I am convinced that your prayers and my relaxed attitude have made a difference. However, I know how often I have hoped for a cure in what turned out to be the tides and rhythms of this problem.  But what a wonder to go all day with no worries about poop.  A beautiful day. 

Day 6, July 19

Day 6, Tuesday, July 19. ZERO miles walked. ZERO feet elevation change. 

Dear Trail Friends,

I rested a lot today and also picked up my resupply box, after a scare last night being told it wasn't on the list (of boxes received) --and then spending a good part night thinking how I would improvise if it had in fact gotten lost. 

I slept tent-free under the stars and moon -- as I mentioned when writing yesterday's blog. I had a breakfast of bacon and eggs, did my laundry, showered, sat around being still and listening to music, reorganized my resupply stuff and repacked my pack. I said goodbye to Prince and Mary Poppins, after exchanging email addresses. Still found it uncanny how much Prince reminded me of nephew Elliot. In one way Prince also reminded me of my brother Scott. He spoke of how a career making his living by music had nearly ruined his relationship with music. He decided he didn't want to mix the business of earning a living with music. "I believe in the separation of church and state," he said. "Render into Caeser was is Caeser's and unto God what is God's." I responded. We were having fun. My brother too found that the joy of making his beautiful pottery was contaminated by the business of making money.  Very few people (I think ) can combine their art/passion/play with their paid work without loss. Chris is one of the lucky ones. 

It is fun to talk with other hikers. The long walk is a time of reflection and many are in great transition, having give up one home and/ or job and not knowing where or what the next one will be. Not all have a conscious sense of pilgrimage, but some do. On a more mundane level, it's fun to talk about gear and strategies for dealing with long stretches without water. 

I notice that I am telling a lot of people that I am nearly done -- less than 300 miles to go, and that I am feeling very proud. I also notice how pulled I feel to hike the PCT again, maybe see if I can do it in two years. But we will see what comes. I feel like the bear hanging out with my mouth open waiting for whatever will jump in, or the salmon throwing myself upstream (from yesterday's photo in part 1). 

At dinner I met quite a few other hikers and I ended up having 6 or 7 young (and middle-aged) men sharing my campsite: a few small tents, others camping cowboy-style like me.  Leading them to the campsite after dinner, I felt like a den mother or Wendy (of Peter Pan). As we walked to the camp, one young man commented he had not seen a bear his whole hike. Having said that, he said "There's a bear." And sure enough there in the woods not more than 100 feet away was a lovely blond bear with a brown face, shyly watching us. 

By the time I went to bed (I am writing now the next morning at my breakfast stop) I realized I was restless and itchy to be walking, also for solitude. Zero days are alright but I have seldom discovered the joy in them that I find on the trail. (Though ironically one of the real joys of the trail is looking forward to zero days!)

I was surprised that I took no photos, made no short hikes to boiling lakes or sulphuric springs, did not make it to the hot springs pool (in my defense, it was being drained and not available until late last night, past my bedtime, or early this morning, and involves a third of a mile walk back, away from the PCT trailhead. But I am surprised by my lack of exploratory energy at this rest stops. And yet that seems to be what makes me happiest. Do the work I need to do at these stops. Then be still and do nothing. 

POOP JOURNAL. There really wasn't a trail journal this time since I did no miles and there isn't really a poop journal either. There was no dramatic consequence of my liberation-eating. No great worsening. No sudden cure. I think I had less seepage but certainly still needed pads -- 5 for the day not 10, better than some days, worse than others. I did have one overflow onto my newly cleaned underpants which annoyed me. The biggest change though is my own attitude. I am not worrying. I am much more relaxed about it. Ho hum. Poop again. When I was talking with Mary Poppins, she told me her acupuncture teacher told her he thought the greatest gift he could give his patients was not from the acupuncture points and treatments and whatever contribution they could make to supporting healthy body processes. The greatest contribution would be the small ways in which he helped them to love and accept themselves, whatever the outcome with their bodies. I think your prayers -- imagining so many people caring for me and putting out healing thoughts and energy on my behalf -- may actually have helped quiet down the inflammation in my innards. But whether it has or not, I am quite sure it has contributed to an even more important healing miracle -- me being able to feel love and acceptance for myself -- wherever the poop trail leads me. 

Thanks as always for walking with me. Please keep the prayers coming. I say to the trees as I walk by them, to the birds, a deer, the flowers, the wind -- and now I will say it to you: "I bless you, and I ask you to bless me. "

Happy trails. 

Day 5, July 18 - part 2

Continued from Day 5 -- part 1.

So, trail friends, I arrive for dinner just in time. The young man who passed me on the trail (who had checked for me on the time dinner was served to hikers, and whom I had told that I could not make it because I walked too slowly) told me he had planned to see if he could get a plate for me. Then he told me a story of accidentally leaving socks behind on a rock (after washing them) early in the long steep climb up from Belden (my day 2). When he reached the top and got cell coverage he called the bar down in Belden and asked if there were any thru hikers there. He spoke to a woman hiker, trail name Wonder Woman, and asked if she would find and carry his socks. He would wait for her in Chester and buy her a beer as thanks. Of course she did, as any hiker would have. Nice story. 

The dinner was served family style to hikers at outdoor picnic tables. Photo 7 shows hikers serving themselves. 

 

Photo 8 shows my plate with its generous portions of pork with fruit sauce, peas and polenta. Earlier we had salad and good bread with butter. I had prosecco. And yes I ate everything. I decided that my fear of food from the poop problems was taking the zest out of a whole dimension of hiking (looking forward to food in trail towns)and that I was just going to risk it. I even ate a chocolate chip cookie. Gluten dairy wheat alcohol --everything I might think I am sensitive to or might be hard to digest. Okay I know this belongs in the poop journal. Sorry for the seepage. Here's my gorgeous plate. 

 

Photo 9 shows the charming (trail names) Prince and Mary Poppins (not a couple, hiking friends --but they have been hiking together since the quarter mark south of Yosemite and we've now passed the halfway mark, so for almost 700 miles.) he's in transition from a first career as a musician in the military and will be studying clinical psychology. She is an acupuncturist, tai kwon do practitioner and teacher, surfer, dancer. Two interesting young people. (Not as young as I thought-/ he is 40, she 39. ). He was originally from Minnesota and reminded me a lot of my nephew Elliot. We had great conversation about the trail as "spirit walk" and what it meant in each of our lives. 

Last, photo 10 shows the whole group of hikers being fed (at discount rates and with generous portions) at Drakesbad. It also shows this beautiful place. 

 

I followed Prince the Musician and Mary Poppins the magical martial artist/dancer/surfer through the dark to the campground and an empty campsite we could all share. And here I am having difficulty falling asleep in the bright light of the full moon and so writing my blog to you instead. It was a full and wonderful day. Thank you world. 

POOP JOURNAL. Not too bad. A couple smeared poopy pads in the morning and semi solid diarrheas that made it to a toilet in one case, a hole dug off trail in the second. But after my noon rest stop there was little or no seepage. I didn't change the pad until bedtime. I assume these are the usual inexplicable fluctuations -- as complex and unpredictable as weather -- in inflammation, auto-immunity, and intestinal bacteria overgrowth. I have been talking with my tummy and big and little intestines and they seem as mystified as me, unsure if foods make a difference. Realizing that my fear and avoidance of possible culprit foods has really dimished my quality of life, I decided to give this a try. We'll see what happens. One never knows what will be around the next corner, over the next rise. 

I do feel a little like the bear in part 1 who opened his mouth and let the salmon jump in. The trail teaches me a new and happier way of relating to the unknown. The day leaves me feeling "I can't believe I ate the whole thing." The hike, the dinner, the meaningful contact with other hikers. A great big "yes" to whatever comes. 

Thanks as always for walking with me and giving me the motivation and energy to make this hike into a story. It's hard to explain how important this process -- and your presence that makes it possible --is to me. The thought came to me " it isn't a story if no one is listening. " I think in some sense stories "exist" in the space between people. Not that we can't tell stories to ourselves but it just is not the same thing. 

Goodbye for now. See you on the trail tomorrow. No. See you off the trail tomorrow. Tomorrow will be a genuine day of rest. I walked this long day chanting to myself: dinner, prosecco, massage, hot springs. I am going to do a good job pampering myself tomorrow. And as my trail companions, you have earned the right to a day of pampering too. 

Day 5, July 18 - part 1

Day 5, July 18, Monday, from hway 36, exit for Chester, CA, at mile 1328.82, elev. 5051, to 1347.78, elevation 5683. Walked 18.95 miles - total up/down +3146/-2514ft. 

Dear Trail Friends,

TRAIL JOURNAL. As the poet Robert Burns said "The well-laid plans of mice and men gang oft aglay. "(Or something like that. ) I imagined a very short day and sleeping at Feather River, where comments in my gps app led me to believe I would find nice camping and a swim-able  river. But alas the river was not swim-able, and at 2:15 when I arrived the tent site was in full glaring sun, no shade. It did not seem restful. Alas there were no tent sites listed until Drakesbad (in my original plan, the place I was to arrive for resupply on July 20). 

I made the more or less irrevocable choice and then walked as fast as I could, hoping to make it for dinner. I needed that to motivate what for me was a big physical challenge. A hiker who passed me checked and said the dinner for PCT hikers was served from 6 to 7. I didn't think I could walk the 9.6 miles between Feather River and Drakesbad in less than 5 hours, since I would need rest stops. But as it turned out, I turned on my music, lengthened my strides, sacrificed rest stops and arrived at 6:45. (And I got lost once and after considerable time spent finding my way back to the trail, proceeded to walk south for a quarter mile until I reached the park entry sign (photo 1) for the second time and realized I had been going backwards. I think I have dyslexia for spatial directions. 

 

I am writing by the way sitting up in my sleeping bag with both my (I forgot the name of the wool mask that covers my head and neck with a small opening for my face) and wool beanie on, as well as my wool-possum fur fingerless gloves. I am "cowboy"camped (no tent) here at Warner Valley Campground near Drakesbad Lodge. I came here after dinner and it was already dark so I decided not to set up my tent. 

I'm trying to decide if the narrative thread will be easier to follow if I now talk about dinner, which I in fact arrived in time for, or if I go back to the morning and how the day began?

I think I want to show you photo 2, a photo I took of a large framed photo at the Best Western, which I saw on my way out of breakfast. It reminded me of the time I saw salmon jumping into the nets Native American fishermen held out for them. It was such an amazing capture of an intense moment. But I also admired that bear. Just opening his mouth to receive whatever jumps in. The bear's courage to open to receive the unknown. The salmon's courage to leap into the unknown. I think this photo symbolizes my day for met, or at least set the mood for my day. (Sorry for the reception room light reflected in the glass over the photo. My photo can't do the original justice, but you get the idea). 

 

I did sleep late and wait for the trail angel to pick me up at 8am. I started walking at 8:30. I noticed an arrow-shaped rock I wanted to pick up (it seemed to capture one of the great lessons of the trail: just keep going on. ) Not wanting to actually pick it up and carry it home on my backpack, I decided to take a picture (photo 3)

 

And of course my urge to collect the arrow shaped rock made me think of all the heart shaped rocks I have collected. I like imagining that such rocks are a love message and blessing from the mystery. So photo 4 is the next heart shaped rock I came upon. 

 

Chris, who can't see the point in heart shaped rocks to begin with, never thinks the ones that I find are sufficiently heart shaped. I can almost hear her saying "That's not a very good one. " But I liked finding it (so there). 

The morning walk was beautiful and filled with wonderful  contemplation. I love how the rhythm of walking and the great open spaces (as well as the comforting presence of trees) all seem to nurture thoughts that are open and free. I thought a lot about my writing, that of others in my writing group, why we write -- and a lot about relationships, about giving and receiving pardon, and giving and receiving gratitude. Then Mt Lassen appeared again, getting closer, actually it appeared again and again and again. And I thought about the idea of a mountain as a kind of guardian angel, a spirit being with power to bless and protect. These mountains are such powerful presences that it isn't hard to imagine. 

 

Last but not least, when I got lost my wrong turn took me along a beautiful meadow so beautiful that I paused to photograph it. You can't tell but it's half meadow, half marsh. And in the marsh, water lilies float. So wrong turns bring their beauties and blessings, don't they? And I still made it to dinner. 

 

To be continued in Day 5, part 2. (Don't miss part 2, it's all about dinner!)

Day 4, July 17

Day 4, Sunday, July 17. From pct mile 1311.97, elev. 6343, to hway 36, exit for Chester, CA, at mile 1328.82, elev. 5051. Walked 16.85 mi, -  total up/down: +2199/-3542ft.

Dear Trail Friends,

TRAIL JOURNAL. Today, especially this morning, I felt unbelievably blessed. I awakened with energy and desire to walk, packed up and left by 5:20am. It was perfect. Enough light to see but still the feeling of predawn light and the world slowly waking up to the new day. There is a kind of quiet waiting that thrills me when I hike in this transition time. 

Photo 1 is just about how in love I am with this trail, this world. I love the chartreuse green of the moss on the tree trunks and how it contrasts with the purple wild flowers. I love that I get to be present walking through it at such a special time of day. 

 

As I took my first rest break a thru hiker passed (who I had met a couple times before including on that hot exhausting climb up from Belden on day 2). His trail name is Clinic so I asked if he was involved in a medical profession. He said he was a "nurse for animals" (a veterinary technician) that he started out as a paramedic working with people but he couldn't stand people and loved working with animals. So we chatted warmly about how little we liked people, and how much we preferred wilderness and animals, all the time ignoring the rather obvious fact that we were enjoying immensely sharing our dislike of people with another person. 

 

Lest we forget that she is the guardian deity overlooking this hike, Mt Lassen made her beautiful presence known from time to time. As for example in photo 3. 

 

Photo 4 is just one of those "I am so lucky to be here" moments. A perfectly ordinary scene in these perfectly lovely woods. That I get to be walking through. Almost too good to be true. 

 

In photo 5, you can see how the trail kept disappearing into the bushes on either side. While it's not real bush whacking, one definitely has to whack one's way through the bushes.  It was also near here that there was s huge panoramic view of mountains, with the mountains (as I often think) looking like waves on the ocean, looking as if they go on and on, to the horizon and beyond, for ever and ever. The  "going on forever" feeling I get when I look at mountains enthralled me as a child. I also loved that feeling when I looked up into a dark starry sky. I loved that about the ocean too, how it stretched out farther than my eye could see. The forever feeling is part of my love for mountains. 

When I was in high school I read a book called "1, 2, 3...infinity" and fell in love with mathematics and the idea that we humans could create in our own little brains an idea that seemed to go on forever like the mountains and the stars. (This got me to thinking of a poem I am working on about Tithonos, a Greek mythological figure who falls in love with the goddess of dawn. He is made immortal but not un-aging and I imagine him, as many others before me have, as a very very old but immortal man, yearning for mortality, for an end to the grueling on and on, on and on. Just thinking how often we hate the very same things we love. Ambivalence. )

Anyway, the photo below shows the bushes I had to whack through on the trail. 

 

By the way I know you've been waiting with baited breath for me to remember the name of the man whose mountain lion stories have managed to keep me awake several nights ( in the wee small hours when the wind seems to be circling my tent like some kind of a very silently stalking predator.).Anyway, his name was Rock Hound. And tomorrow I pass beyond the parts of the trail between the two mountain lion sightings. And tonight here I am at a Best Western in Chester, having taken a long hot bath and removed the dirt and dust caked onto my skin (how do my legs get that dirty under my pants?), done a laundry, and planned for a trail angel to take me back to the trail at 8am tomorrow...unless I decide to get up early and hitch a hike. 

Yesterday I noticed a very large lake in the distance and was puzzled. It looked bigger than Tahoe but I couldn't think of any big lake in California this far north. Then today I saw it again and realized that my lake was actually the Pacific Ocean!  It was my first glimpse of the ocean from the trail (which is mostly very far inland) and I loved the fact that it took me by surprise. That I wasn't expecting it, didn't know what it was. Here's the Pacific Ocean as seen from thePacific Crest Trail in photo 6. (Although right now I am confused again. This directionally challenged hiker thought the water was to her right. Unless I was hiking south at that moment, that would be to the east, right? And the ocean would be to the west? Thank the goddess for gps or I would be wandering lost somewhere at this very moment.)

 

It was an easy day, lots of downhill The later part of the hike I started hiking as fast as I could, worried I might arrive in Chester on a Sunday after the little local drugstore had closed. As it turned out, I did my shopping at a gigantic supermarket that keeps late hours, but I didn't know that then. It really made me realize how grateful I am not to be a thru hiker and needing to push myself to make the miles so I can get through Washington before the autumn snow falls. It's nice to move slowly and in reverie. 

My favorite moments often come when I am resting. There is such quietness and calm, all alone in wilderness, the sound of the wind, the stirring of fir branches in the wind. And of course the ants crawling all over me. 

Time for bed. See you tomorrow as we make our way toward a tent site where I hope I will be able to swim. 

Thank you as always for your companionship.

POOP JOURNAL. No news is great news on the poop front. Leakage all day was light, liquid, barely brown. A semi-solid poop in the evening ( in a toilet!). Only needed three pads. But I made the detour to Chester and now have all the pads and toilet paper I could possibly need. Sad how the joy of trail towns is diminished by my reluctance to eat foods that might trigger an increase in the diarrhea. Instead of going out for Mexican food and beer, or a burger and milkshake, I bought some yogurt and bananas and just ate my trail food dinner heated in the microwave. Which actually both felt like great treats. 

Good night for now and sweet dreams. 

Riv