Day 20: Mile 238.6 - 253.1

So yesterday had been a big climb, from the Whitewater River around  2600 feet, up to my final campsite at 7400 feet, with desert temps in the low-to-mid 90s. All over a distance of 18.5 miles. Whereas today, having finished the climb, the trail was content to indulge its achievement and just wander at high elevation, never climbing too high or dropping too low, but keeping a rolling tempo with plenty of switchbacks. More inclines than climbs. And the weather!: temps in the 80s (according to my watch, although that seems high), a cold breeze that kept the sun at bay (ah, that's why), blue skies whitened only by high cirrus. These are near perfect hiking conditions: warm but cooled off on a trail wandering the upper mountains.

You'd think that'd make for a big mileage day.

Hmm, yeah. To be fair, I did get a later start, spending the morning planning out my itinerary for the next few days (especially how to arrange coming back into town to get my second vaccine shot). And I got signal--the trail is close to highways and small towns here--so I did the logistics of arranging lodging and transportation in Big Bear (the next big stop). But mostly the distance to Big Bear is only 28 miles, which I can't do in one day, but over two becomes 14 miles apiece.

See, a shorter day here is *optimal*.

The hiking really was pretty good, though. Up here, the landscape becomes one of boulder and pine and fir, and where they dominate, the ground is golden red with their shed needles. The trails wanders over this ridge and that, picking an indirect path as it roughly tracks north. This is the sort of hiking I enjoy: up here in the mountains, where you feel away from it all, walking up a single-track shelf trail, crossing the ridge and dropping down over the other side, only to repeat it over and over, doing all this not to get anywhere--the trail meanders too much to feel any sense of directed purpose!--but just to see what's there. And as I pass by the big trees and tucked woods, the world big and silent and old but still so alive, I am reminded that there are other senses of time in the world, and the time of boulder and pine and fir is one of them, and who's to say it isn't as valid and real and important as that of coffee and conference call and milestone. 

There were some other little stories from this part that I'll include in the notes below. But overall, a shorter day, but a good one, just wandering the woods with enough up and down to feel like you're doing something, but nothing too severe. And I'll conclude with this: about halfway through the day, I recalled a song lyric from Electro-Shock Blues, an album by the Eels. Ok, Electro-Shock Blues is a very depressing album which is *not* how I felt at all today, but I did keep remembering one line from the last song (and I'll quote some of the preceding lines for context):

    Laying in bed tonight I was thinking

    And listening to all the dogs
    And the sirens and the shots
    And how a careful man tries to dodge the bullets

    While a happy man takes a walk"

    -- from "P.S. You Rock My World", by the Eels

[Cue swelling strings.] That last line kept coming back to me: it's true, a happy man *does* take a walk! 

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Some notes:

-- Campsite > Mission Camp > Onyx Summit > Campsite

-- Today I met Doug, or rather, yesterday I met Doug, about 0.4 miles from my final campsite. But today I got to talk to him more extensively. Doug's a CalTrans guy--been working for them for 29 years. (I asked if there's some big gift you get at 30 years and he said, no, just at 25 and 40. What'd you get at 25 then?, I asked. Just $100 you can put to stuff--he got a vase with the CalTrans logo on it I think. It's a public company, he said, they can't splurge on big gifts!) Doug is doing the trail in sections: he's taking big blocks of time off from work (evidently at CalTrans they can "buy" time off by taking less salary?) to do each. He misses home, though, or most particularly his daughter, so couldn't imagine being away a whole 6 months, say. Plus he still has obligations at home: an ongoing re-financing, remodeling projects, that sort of thing. Doug was slow but that was fine: he does his miles and, while they're not big on any particular day, over time they'll add up.

-- Speaking of adding up, at one point the trail ascended over an open valley, and across the vale and over the next ridge I looked back and saw the hunch of Old Greyback--San Gorgonio--still covered in snow, far behind. And I thought, it couldn't have been more than a couple of days ago, starting the descent down San Jacinto, when I stood with Mark and we looked *forward* towards San Gorgonio, and I thought, man, but that's far and that's going to take a while. Sometimes when I look back, I'm amazed just how far one can go simply by putting one foot in front of the other!

-- In the morning, I hiked from camp and got water at the Mission Camp spring less than 2 miles up trail. The spring is a little cave--more like a hollow in a hillside--where water drips down from the ceiling. There's an old barrel there--the blue paint fading and piecemeal--that catches the water. It's easier to get from the barrel than from the drip--and you get less wet!--so I figured out a way to get water into the CNOC bag based on watching geese. [Disclaimer: I don't know if this is true, I may be completely misremembering geese.] But I recall that when geese drink, they get a mouthful of water, then they look up and straighten their necks and wiggle the water down. So that's what I did with the CNOC bag: cinch it midway with one hand, dip the front end into the barrel, then undo the cinch and raise the front to let the water flow into the backend "belly". Repeat until full. The spring water was good but *cold*--ice cold--and each time I had to fill the CNOC bag I'd have to psych myself up, usually by grousing to Doug (that's where we talked) about the cold.

-- Today I met Bill and Simon, Bill from Seattle, Simon from Germany, hiking the PCT together. Simon actually complimented me on my tripod setup--I was prepping for a shot--he thought the extra pole + gear tie was clever. I would leapfrog them throughout the day: they're definitely faster than I am, but also seem to take it easy with long breaks. They were also the ones drawing Z's in the trail where they saw rattlesnakes--they had seen the sign and presumed that's what it meant so adopted the practice themselves. Personally I haven't seen anything but little harmless snakes so far--certainly no rattlers!--but evidently they're out here! Bill and Simon seem pretty chill (maybe that's because I keep passing into them while they're resting in the shade), and I've heard tell of Simon on the trail (the "other" German, after Dennis), so it was good to meet them. They are heading into Big Bear tomorrow same as me: maybe I'll see them in town!

-- Yet again, today I'm camped, by myself, under a tree. Only whereas yesterday it was a dead tree, today it's definitely a live one: big and tall and strong, rising up to the heavens, while lowly me takes advantage of the clear ground beneath its eaves. I admit that I talked to both trees before camping: for the dead tree, I asked it to please not fall over tonight, and also that it ask the same of its brethren, especially those over Doug (who was camped just over yonder). For this live tree, I greeted it warmly--I like this tree, for some reason, it seems a very good-hearted tree--and gave it a friendly pat. Do these gestures do anything? Scientifically?, maybe not. Eh, but I do it anyway. 😋