Day 92: Mile 1069.7 - 1087.3
Today I just feel exhausted.
And I didn't even do that many miles: just 17 and change. I mentioned this to Outlast at dinner, his thought was that it was the cumulative effect of long days since Kennedy Meadows North. 10 miles the first day (but we didn't get back onto the trail until the early afternoon), then 20 miles the next two, then 18 or so today. That adds up, takes its toll. And I can see that argument, and worry about its implications (we're about to hit South Lake Tahoe, but after that, will need to ratchet up the miles to at least 20+ miles every day to make it). But I remember on the trail, yesterday night, waiting at the junction of the PCT and the road to the Lost Lakes campground, listening to another group talk about being tired. They had done more than 20 miles, had about 3.5 to go. And one of them commented that, hey, while we're not in the Sierras per se, we're still at elevation--8000-9000 feet--miles don't come easy up here. So maybe that's a factor. Oh, and I still have this cold, which has moved from my tonsils (didn't get that itchy feeling in the morning) into my chest (just dry, unproductive coughs now that I try to suppress since coughing hurts). So that's three possible factors to explain the fatigue: accumulation of distance, distance at elevation, and a cold.
And there is another possible factor.
This morning I woke and, as soon as I heard them stirring over there, went over to check on Uno. She was doing ok, had taken another couple tablets of acetaminophen, felt like she could hike out. I checked for dizziness and nausea--the two things I know to check for--but she was ok. We moved slowly in the morning, took it easy, but I was ok with that: today wasn't about miles--the whole hike at this point wasn't about miles--it was about making sure Uno was alright.
We got to hiking and did the classic formation: what the engineer in me might call lead-lag, what the detective in me would call front-and-follow. Put a healthy hiker in the front (that would be me), the injured in the middle (that would be Uno), and a healthy in the back (that would be Dylan). And go like that.
There are certain things you do in the lead position--learned by me, from Kyle (Stewart), when we brought Raymond down from Telescope Peak a couple years ago. First, as lead you set the pace. This includes being far enough ahead to be aspirational, but not so far as to be depressing (you don't want to remind peope of how slow they are). But you don't want to be constantly turning around to gauge that, so I'm always trying to watch the shadows of the group, or look off to the side and catch the group out of the corner of my eye. Second, you set breaks, and this again is tricky. You want people to get into a rhythm, but you also want to be sensitive that they're hurt. Third, you suggest a path. Usually I try to find the most mellow path--not the fastest, not the shortest, but the one that's most level and thus takes the least effort. You walk that path as a sort of subconscious suggestion, although if the hurt party takes another route, that's fine--if anything, you learn from that and choose those sorts of paths in future. Fourth, you look out for obstacles. If there's a bothersome rock in the way, you push it aside. If you find a tricky bit of footing, you go through then turn around and make sure the hurt party navigates it succesfully. And at one point, if the step up is pretty high, you offer a hand (and, luckily, I offered the hand to Uno's strong side rather than her hurt side).
Doing the front-and-follow, we made our way over Carson Pass. I didn't linger too long on the sights and scenery--just pointing it out when it was magnificient enough that I thought it would help raise her spirits--and mostly focused just on getting to Carson Pass and the ranger station there. And we did, and when we got there it was decision time for Uno. Should she try to stay on trail or go into town (i.e., South Lake Tahoe) and get checked out by a doctor. And by the time she reached the ranger station, I think she was ready to head into town. She was movingpretty slowly--usually Uno is as fast as I am, so I know her pace--and throughout the whole morning her pace was markedly slower, and she was dragging a bit, especially by the time we reached the top of the pass. And I think her head still hurt. So we looked for a ride into town and managed to get one from the volunteer ranger working there: her husband was coming up to bring more drinks and fruit for the hikers, and she was pretty sure he'd be able to give Uno a ride into town. Which he was, and so Uno and Dylan loaded up their packs and got in the car, and headed off. AC/DC and Outlast had caught up by then, so we all got to see them off, and the last I remember was standing at the exit of the parking lot, waving at them as they drove off.
I really hope she's ok.
As for the rest of us--AC/DC, Outlast, and myself--we had to keep hiking, and so we did. This part of the hike, in the afternoon heat, well, by this time I was simply dragging. Had trouble keeping up with AC/DC and Outlast; as I'm usually the guy in front (since I like to go and go early), I think they didn't notice that I was disappearing, just this time off the back instead of the front. And I'm not sure if it was the heat, or the terrain, or--and I suspect this was a bigger factor than I think--just the deflation from the worries of the yesterday night and this morning. I'm happy that Uno is off to see the doctor to get her concussion checked out, and I think now that that's in the bag, all the adrenaline and agitation just washes out of the bloodstream, and all I'm left with is a tired hiker, bringing up the rear, slowly pushing through the mountains.
-- Lost Lakes > Highway 88 > Showers Lake > Campsite
-- At one point, crossing over a higher ridge, Outlast looked back and saw a huge mushroom cloud behind us. That's the result of fire, he said. And a young one at that, I added. And after some checking online (with spotty signal) it seems that's likely a fire we passed a couple days ago, when it was just a thin line of smoke at the time--like a campfire someone had thrown some leaves on to make smoke, Outlast said--but now was evidently a huge conflagaration pushing smoke so high in the atmosphere that it forms white fluffy cloud tops. That look intimidating, to be frankly honest. When we got to the campsite, we got to talking to some other hikers who had caught up, and they said that when they had passed the fire, it had already grown to an actual fire, with flames licking at the trees, crossing over the ridge and spreading. It had been scary enough that they had doubted if they could get through that canyon in time--the trail goes on one side, the fire was across the canyon, on the other--but they booked it and managed to get through. But yeah, to go from a campfire, to high flames, to now a mushroom cloud, all within a couple days: it really brings home just how real--and scary--fire is out here! It's not a theoretical thing, not just a notice you read on the PCTA website, no, it's a huge thing that causes it's own weather patterns, and it's *right* *over* *there*!
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