Top of the Contigs, baby

My room was violated last week. Someone came in through the window, left their footprints on the sill, walked past piles of laundry, photos, and poetry books, and took my laptop. They then crossed the threshold into my suitemate’s room and took her laptop and purse. When I walked into my room no more than an hour later, a cold breeze was whipping through the open window, causing the blinds to flutter violently. My laptop had vanished. My suitemate’s car keys lay on the ground, presumably having fallen out of her purse. Everything else lay intact.

On my laptop, I had stored my JMT photos and video diaries, dramatic retellings of my hiking woes and wonders. In them, I recounted daily encounters, great and terrible, and spoke despairingly about my blistered feet. The photos—you’ve seen them all. Beautiful as they were, they were missing my voice. I had planned to create a video/audio slideshow to tell my story, a final note of closure for a summer experience that will remain in my memory much longer than any object will remain in my possession.

I am sorry to deprive you and myself of this. The photos that follow, which I pulled off Facebook, are poor quality and the videos, nonexistent. I will rely on my first love, my ability to tell you a story through words.

For now, I return to the final chapter.

_______________________

“You should have seen my quads this summer.” “And your armpits?” —me and a friend, discussing the physical effects of hiking for 21 days

Day 18: Some junction to Vidette Meadow

When we woke up, the British guys had already left. Hiking with Andy and Rob was a nice change. They threw some Type B personality into our mix, encouraging us to enjoy the scenery and take longer and more frequent breaks. It was awesome. Up until then, I’d been reading short stories I had mailed to myself with each resupply. Each time I got a new installment, I tossed the old stories. Toward the end of the journey, I was running out of reading material. Some nights, I resorted to the guidebook. Luckily, Andy was hauling two books across King’s Canyon National Park. One was as thick as my fist. That night, I allowed the enchanting prose in Let the Great World Spin wash over me and spin me to sleep.

Day 19: Vidette Meadow to Lake South America Junction

Forester Pass’s bite was almost as bad as its bark. Everyone warned us about the formidable 3000 foot snowy elevation gain. Then again, everyone warned us about everything.

We scrambled and postholed, and at one point I postholed while scrambling. The trail was indistinguishable. Like with other passes, we took directions from footprints, landmarks, and of course our map and compass. Though this meant we could avoid several portions of snow by steering toward non-snowy sections, it also meant we then had to scramble over the boulders covering the non-snowy sections. At one point, just after crossing a cluster of boulders, I stepped onto the snow toward the footprint path. Oh yes, I postholed. My weight shifted forward and the snow under my foot collapsed. I sunk down to my thigh and my foot lodged itself under a nearby rock. When I tried to lift myself, I couldn’t. The snow had packed itself back on top of my foot. A good ten or fifteen minutes later, after much digging and heaving by John and Andy, I was finally back on both relatively steady feet.

At the top of Forester Pass, I met a solo-hiking female geologist. So of course, I asked her about the rocks. The type of rock in this region, she told me, is sparkly which means it was formed by slow-cooling lava. The only way lava can cool slowly is if it remains inside the volcano. This means that this area (highest point in the contiguous U.S. included) was once underneath an entire mountain range that has fully eroded. This thought blew my mind. “All of this was once under an entire mountain range?”

Apologies to my geology friends if this graphic is completely wrong. At least it’s cute.

The whole day, I was tired. My left knee started hurting so I tried to only put pressure on my right knee. It was refreshing to hear John, Rob, and Andy banter and talk about home. Physically and mentally, I was ready to go to my own home.

Daily discoveries: Peanut butter in oatmeal. Enough said. Also, my sleeping bag has a pocket you can stuff clothes into so it becomes a pillow. This would have been a great discovery on Night 1.

Day 20: Lake South America Junction to Guitar Lake

Dun dun duhhhhn… the day before the big one. We hiked past flat, grassy meadows, bare redwood trees, and a wag bag pick-up box. We arrived at camp hungry and early and made a feast with almost all the food we had left, after which I felt indescribably disgusting and happy. All afternoon, the strikingly beautiful Whitney beast towered over us. Every time I looked at it, it took my breath away. Tomorrow, I thought, I would be on that mountain. The boys and I tried to locate the summit and trail winding across the mountain, but it was nearly impossible. We would just have to see where it took us.

Day 21: Guitar Lake to Whitney Portal

We woke up at one a.m. and headed out of camp at 2:30, hoping to see the sunrise from the top. When I stepped out of the tent, I gasped. Whitney’s surreal face was completely white, lit up by an almost-full moon. As we began hiking, we quickly turned off our headlamps and let the moonlight guide us. We kept pausing to look around us. To our west, the moon shone brightly on wisps of incandescent blue clouds. The silhouetted mountain faces below the moon were draped in shadows, contrasting Whitney’s white face. Occasionally, headlamps bounced into and out of view below and above us. We weren’t the only ones who wanted to see the sunrise from the top of the world. As it got closer to five a.m., the waking sun began to brighten the eastern sky. I was going particularly slowly. In some places, the trail was precarious, requiring that climbers climb over boulders and navigate ledges next to steep slopes. I knew I wouldn’t make it to the top by sunrise, so I told the boys to go ahead. At one point, I saw them waiting. As soon as I neared them, there was a break in the mountain through which we could see the sunrise. I had already accepted the fact that I wouldn’t see a Whitney sunrise. I did not expect this small blessing. The sight took my breath away. It was fantastic. We passed at least two other sunrise views on our way up. It was eerie to see morning to my east while it was still night to my west.

When I finally neared the top, I saw people headed down the trail. They were our friends! First I saw one of the boys who I didn’t really know. He was very nice to me even though I didn’t recognize him. To be fair, he was completely covered except for a tiny hole for his face.  Then I saw Moody, then a boy who had offered to give his food to his friend if they ran out. Ines and Tim greeted me with huge smiles. I talked to them for a while. (They were my favorites.) Then came Kyle, who I again thanked for saving my life in the river, and the boy who told great campfire stories.

Ines and the boys had slept in the teeny tiny hut at the top of Whitney. They kept warm with body heat and woke up to watch the sunrise.

When I finally got to the top, five miles and 3,000 vertical feet later, the light was beautiful. John, Rob, and Andy had been there for a bit. I took my time and checked out the hut, then headed for the real summit. We had been referring to the summit as the “top of the contigs,” a term coined by Rob and usually followed by “baby.” As I sat there, on top of the world, this is the only phrase that came to mind. I looked around at all I could see, which was everything. To the west, I saw the “fake Whitney” that we had taken pictures in front of a couple days before. To the northwest, I recognized nothing but knew Yosemite Valley lay some 200 miles away. Then I laid down and stretched out my arms out. It was the best feeling in the world. We had done it, and it was beautiful.

We took our time on top of the mountain. Took lots of pictures. Just sat there. The geologist sat on a rock wrapped in her sleeping bag for warmth. She’d made it by sunrise. She pointed out someone’s frozen pee on top of a rock and I took a picture. It was disgusting. We ate tortillas and peanut butter and cheese. I froze and faced my body toward the sun, letting its growing warmth sink into me. Soon, some rowdy day hikers joined us on top and cracked open champagne bottles.

We sat in the graffitied hut for a while and signed a rock. I wrote my name and a lyric from my favorite Santogold song in the register. Eventually, I was ready to go down.

Now that the sun was up, the trail down was heavily trafficked with east-side climbers looking to summit and make it back down in a day. The ones I encountered were friendly, encouraging, and amazing. I tried to return the favor. We ran into our British blokes, who we thought had left camp before us. As soon as they saw us going down Whitney, they exclaimed, “You cheated!” We explained to them that we wanted to see the sunrise but they wouldn’t have any of it. They laughed and chatted, and we caught up and said our goodbyes as a line of hikers accumulated behind them. They very courteously expressed their enjoyment to have met us and shook each of our hands in turn. I was very sad to see them go, but I know the impatient hikers behind them weren’t.

If standing on top of Whitney was the best feeling in the world, going down it was one of the worst. My knee pain was killing me. It was 11 miles and 5,000 vertical feet down to the Portal. The trail is notorious for the number of switchbacks—nearly 100. It never ended, and I was slower than ever, dragging it out. Eventually Andy and Rob went ahead to the portal while John, despite my urging him to go ahead, was suspiciously slow and “took breaks” whenever I did. Again, as usual, I almost broke down, mostly from knee pain and partially because I was exhausted and ready to be eating a cheeseburger at the Portal. Every time I though we were close to the bottom, we weren’t. I knew we were close enough to civilization to not worry about running my iPhone battery down, so I finally asked to borrow John’s headphones. After three weeks of craving music, I can’t tell you what a difference it made. It took me out of my pain and my head.

I smelled civilization in the form of a recently-showered, well-dressed family. Their scent was too clean to be of our kind. Within minutes, I saw signs and cars and people. The café smell overwhelmed the clean smell. Like a madwoman, I trudged towards Rob, Andy, and Alex, a friend who had come to pick us up. I collapsed and ate a cheeseburger as we watched birds dive-bomb our food. I sat at the table—grumpy, tired, and sore— and then in the car as we drove back to campus. We listened to music, I read a book, and I awkwardly tried to sleep in the middle seat.

I decided to surprise the friend I’d been crashing with all summer. When I got to her room (on the third floor; my muscles were not happy) she was gone so I left a note on her door, threw my stuff in the hall, and took an exceptionally long shower. She was surprised. I spent the rest of the evening eating a freshly baked batch of cookies and recounting my summer tales to a hall full of friends. When I mentioned I had woken up at one that morning to climb Whitney, one of my friends, aghast, responded, “What? You were on top of Mt. Whitney today?” In less than 24 hours, we had climbed up 3000 feet to 14,500; hiked down 5000 feet; and then driven to a near-sealevel elevation. It had been quite a day.

My journey ended much as it began, eating my friend’s food, sleeping in her bed, and falling asleep to the sound of her chatter. Then waking up and realizing she was still chattering. I was back to what was familiar, what was comfortable— home.

“All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night, in the dusty recesses of their minds, awake in the day to find that it was vanity. But the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dreams with open eyes to make it reality.” —T.E. Lawrence

___________________

-Lauri

The day I ate all our peanut butter

When you walk, all you can do is think. As you know, for the first part of the journey, all I could think about was how miserable I was. So I tried to think of different things. John and I would recount stories, talk about our families and politics, list the movies we’d choose if we could only watch five for the rest of our lives. (Mean Girls, of course. The Philadelphia Story probably. Does Lord of the Rings count as one movie or three?)

By this point in our journey, my mind had accumulated countless random thoughts. (Duh.) Each time a clever or interesting one popped into my head, I would remind myself throughout the day in hopes of remembering that night so I could scribble it in my journal. Soon, my journal entries became a series of lists. Be proud, Rory Gilmore.

When John Muir was especially moved by “grand alpine vistas or the sight of firelight reflecting off lofty silver firs,” he would dance around shouting “Look at the glory! Look at the glory!” His friends refused to join in. (The Life and Adventures of John Muir by James Mitchell Clarke)

Day 15: LeCont Meadow to lower Palisade Lake

Things I’ve Noticed:

• Or, things I couldn’t help but notice: A deer kept circling our campsite last night. Deer as I drink my tea. Deer as I brush my teeth. Deer inspects tent; deer makes eye contact; deer walks straight towards me then turns away. Is it curious or domesticated? Can you domesticate deer? Oh dear.
• Many granite faces have black teardrops down the side. I suspect it’s from water runoff, but I think these mountains have had much to mourn over their long, long lives.
• Water flows so clearly here.
• I still haven’t figured out the right, “environmentally conscious” way to spit after brushing my teeth. (“You don’t spit. You spray.” -John)
• Flowers say hi to me as I pass. Sometimes I say hi back.
• I think I’m good at zoning out. This would explain my high pain tolerance, ability to ignore bug bites, and, mostly, ability to go down imaginary paths when the real one couldn’t be more obvious.
• I’ve lost weight. (Don’t tell my mom!)
• I miss music so much.
• I also miss my mom.

_______________________

I didn’t journal about Day 16 until Day 17 because Day 16, I wanted to die.

At 10:30 a.m. on Day 17, I lay on a rock under the scorching sun, solidified my tan lines (which would last until… now) and did nothing. It was a much-needed break—physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Day 16: Palisade Lake to some junction

The Golden Staircase: We’d heard stories from fellow hikers. The name says enough. This path, leading up to Mather Pass, was steep and seemingly endless, but we beasted it. The night before, we’d camped near Ines and the boys, who spent a good part of the afternoon trying to fish in Palisade Lake with a tent. They were unsuccessful—although they swear they almost caught one.

Originally, we had planned to cross Pinchot the next day and meet up at the junction with Andy and Rob, John’s brother and friend who were resupplying us and hiking the rest of the JMT with us. We crossed Mather Pass early and decided, spur of the moment, to take on Pinchot Pass and see how far we got. So we kept trekking.

As we went up Mather Pass, I kept thinking, this should not be as hard as it is. I mean, we just went up the Golden Staircase. This should pale in comparison. I couldn’t understand why I was trudging even slower than usual and needing so many breaks. Our friends were a happy sight at the top of Mather Pass. They were an excuse to dawdle at the top and enjoy an especially long break. We headed down before them and hiked and hiked, and hiked. I didn’t ask John how far the junction was out of fear that it was far. As we descended lower, I kept hoping to be happily surprised by the junction sign. It never came.

I was tired. Frustrated. I could only think about my misery and how much I wanted to lie down. Why did John keep hiking? What kind of sadist was he? Was he also a masochist or did he just feel no pain? The sun crept down to the west. The junction was always just out of reach. I tried so hard to hold my tears back. We would never stop. We’d be hiking in the dark. My poor, poor feet. I wanted to collapse, but I couldn’t get the courage to tell him that I was not okay. I was dangerously teetering on the verge of a break-down.

It was about 8 p.m. when I cracked. I demanded a break. I sat down on a rock, tried to stop the tears (stupid coping methods) and gouged gluttonous amounts of peanut butter straight from the jar with John’s spoon. I vented at him, told him how tired I was, complained that we never talked, told him to stop telling me to do things. Then he threw up his hands and said something about how he was flipping out because without warning, after two and a half weeks of no similar behavior, I broke down and started eating all our peanut butter. “We might need that peanut butter!” he said. I told him “sometimes I’m going to break down” and he said, “We only have four days left. How many more times do you plan to break down?” He told me I should let him know if I need a break or warn him if I’m near a mental/physical collapse.

… He was right. (About some of it.) As hard as it is for me to admit when I’m not okay, I realized it wasn’t fair to him.

I was so angry at him but I was glad he vented right back at me (with wildly waving hands). He put things into perspective. The situation was so ludicrous it was comical. I still think it was inevitable. About a mile later, we reached the junction and set up camp in the dark. The next day, I looked at the junction sign and calculated our previous day’s mileage: 20.3 miles.

Day 17: some junction, all day

A “zero day” is what they call it. A day where you don’t hike at all. I tried out several different rocks, on which I lay all day soaking up the sun, journaling, reading, and listing. Andy and Rob would arrive that afternoon. Ines and the boys hiked past us. We said our goodbyes, knowing we wouldn’t see each other until summit day.

Things I Crave:

• a milkshake, from Dairy Queen perhaps. I don’t know the last time I had a Dairy Queen shake but that is exactly what I want
• a massage from my friend Winona and her fingers of steel
• a cheeseburger and pancake at Whitney Portal. (The pancakes are supposed to be twice the size of your face.)
• music!!!
• friends
• a cold shower (right now, because it’s hot)
• a hot shower tonight when it’s cold
• the beach and its warm, lazy sand
• toilets, beds, and other such luxuries
• cheese and peanut butter. As if our diet for the past two and a half weeks hasn’t consisted of this.
• a peach
• just food. lots and lots of food

I wandered over to a nearby campsite full of tents and struck up a conversation with two British blokes. One of them shared my name—Laurie—and I’m sad I don’t remember the other one’s name. When I met them, they were making tea. How British is that. They were running out of tea bags and had begun to share one bag between them both. We talked about the passes we’d just crossed and Laurie showed me a huge gash covering his right calf. Going up Muir Pass, he’d postholed into the rushing water beneath the snow.

They’d both served in the British military and gone adventuring around the world. They told me about hiking in Europe, which apparently doesn’t require carrying such heavy packs. The JMT was quite difficult for their 50- or 60-year-old limbs, they explained. With all the weight from both their bodies and their packs (60 or 70 lbs each, they said), they postholed very easily, hence Laurie’s Muir Pass souvenir. We talked about healthcare in the U.S. and Great Britain, and about what I wanted to do with my life. They were sarcastic, chatty, and wonderful. I wanted to adopt them into my family.

Rob, John, and I eye-feasting off our food resupply. photo courtesy of Andy

I left them with a promise to return. When I reached our tent, I saw Rob and Andy had just arrived and brought with them an entire grocery store! It was Christmas! They had peanut butter and Honey Bunches of Oats and trail mix and tea and cheese and lots and lots of oatmeal. They even brought luxury food that would only last a few days. That night we feasted on sausage, potatoes, Ramen, hot chocolate, and marshmallows.

Things I am Happy with Here

• my sleeping bag (my cocoon!)
• nature noises
• brushing my teeth in front of a majestic peak every morning and night
• waking up early and not dreading getting out of bed. “Look at the glory! Look at the glory!” -JM

Hike Yeah interview

Alex interviewed John and I Friday on Hike Yeah. Check out the podcast here.