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.
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