We left our train track campsite early. The trail led us up and down a windy ridge from which we could see the highway far below, semis like toys. We stopped at a wooden cupboard cached with jugs of water for hikers. We'd carried plenty from McDonald's, so we moved on, running into an elderly gentleman. He had come down from the nearby road to check us out; his wife was section hiking the trail with his support. After assuring him that we posed no threat to his wife, we began the long, slow climb. The trail climbed for 9 miles, zigzagging ever higher.
We took a break to eat Cheetoes in the shade of a switchback. A middle-aged man passed by. He looked familiar, but in a vague way that I couldn't place my finger on. Later, we passed a woman looking at her topographical maps. She introduced herself, appropriately, as "Topo". The four of us met up again at a gravel road, and I asked John some questions, fishing for a clue. He was from Pennsylvania, and like many thruhikers on the PCT, he'd hiked the AT too. Aha! I thought. "What year?" I asked. He told me 2007. Disappointed, I told him that I'd hiked in 2006. He lit up, telling me he'd hiked most of the trail in 2006, too. But was always more than a month behind me. Then it occurred to me, I too had hiked a big chunk of the AT in 2007: the state of Virginia. We still couldn't figure out where we'd met, if we'd met at all. The two of us and Topo had elected to follow the road parallel to the trail for a section. The water report listed this section as infested with a noxious post-fire specialist called Poodle dog bush. We had yet to see the plant but had googled photos of it at Cajon Pass, and the blistering sores it causes.
We met up with John at the trail confluence. "I figured it out!" he said. "We met at a shelter just north of Shenandoah National Park. Do you remember? The shelter with the porch swing?" It came rushing back. I said excitedly, "and there was a huge man from Mississippi there, with an accent so thick I could barely understand him?" He smiled, saying "I think it was Louisiana." Such a small community, us long distance hiking addicts.
We kept hiking past our goal, higher and higher. It was like climbing into the sky. We saw Water Bug again, leaving her and Topo to camp on a rare flat spot. We walked on ledges, little six inch wide trails carved into the steep sandy slopes. I was okay as long as there was vegetation growing on the slopes. But fear seized me every time I had to cross an exposed section with a hundred foot drop. We made it to a campsite, paved with pine needles, just as it began to snow lightly. We camped with Space Age and his friend Ninja, who was on his first ever backpacking trip. Can you imagine? Deciding to hike for five months without really knowing if you like backpacking? He's definitely loving the trip, regardless.
The next morning, we peered over the ledge next to the site, looking at the world far below cloaked in morning fog. We finished our hike to the top of the mountain (which did not have a discreet name on the map, despite the arduous climb), hiking downhill with a thruhiker from Oregon named Coaster. The three of us hitched to Wrightwood together with a woman named Dolores. We found a couple of trail angels to stay with, Ryan and Theresa. They've apparently hosted a ton of hikers this year, but gladly agreed to take us in too. They live on a hill on the edge of town, but luckily Wrightwood is very small. They meet doing field work in the desert and were delighted to hear that we, too, meet doing field work. Their house was full of plants and toys, from their daughter Sky, who was a delightful ham of a toddler.
We spent the next day at the library. The kind librarians let us have extra time on the computers when I explained that I was trying to complete my thesis corrections. When the library closed for the night, we ventured back to our hosts' house for a second night. Ryan lent me his laptop so that I could finish formatting my thesis late into the night. I am so grateful to Ryan and Theresa for their openness and kindness.
No comments:
Post a Comment