Desolation. The wilderness where if you're not climbing up the side of a glacially-carved granite mountain, legs burning as you reach an indescribably lovely vista, your toes are likely screaming in agony as you walk down the other equally steep side.
Our August backpacking trip started innocently enough, with a ferry ride across Echo Lakes, where we began hiking uphill to the achingly beautiful and barren Lake Aloha. After a leisurely lunch on the south shore and a few more miles, we reached our campsite, a flat piece of granite on the water's edge. Let me tell you, napping on a warm granite slab in the sunshine is very comfortable when you've just carried 40 pounds of necessities over seven miles of terrain.
Backpacking is hard work, and of course there's a lot of second-guessing when you're actually on the trail. Add a couple of people who are inexperienced backpackers/hikers (my dear aunt and uncle) and you're likely to have a lot of stops and complaints along the way. Don't get me wrong, because I complain too - but I've been trained not to stop walking. When you stop constantly you never get a second wind and at the end of the day you're twice as exhausted. About nine miles into our second day, most of which we spent in mosquito-filled Rockbound Valley, our enthusiasm was waning.
Dad, of course, told us repeatedly that the GPS said it was only a little further. It turns out GPSs speak the language of distance as the crow flies. As the sun dipped lower in the sky we were so tired we would walk a couple hundred feet and stop to rest. And repeat, over and over again all the way from the bottom of the valley nearly to the top of another mountain. We were rewarded for our persistence. Just before sunset we reached mountaintop mini-Tahoe, Fontanillis Lake.
That night I was exhausted to the point of nausea. I took only a mouthful of dinner, which we ended up eating in the dark. The dogs lay passed out on the rocks. It's much easier to sleep on hard granite when you don't have an ounce of energy left.
Strangely, the exhaustion that tore at us the first two days didn't seem to affect us as much on the third day. I don't think it was just the fact that we knew we'd be able to go home, shower, sleep, and eat food that wasn't rehydrated. We were still hiking up and down the sides of steep glacially-polished mountains, but our bodies had finally adjusted to the abuse. Maybe our minds were equally tired and didn't have anything to say.
It's a much harder lifestyle on the trail, carrying your house on your back and peeing in the woods. It doesn't seem that extreme because we go prepared - but the hell you put your body through is something different entirely. Imagine you're a beginner skier and in the blink of an eye you're standing at the top of a double-black diamond. In terms of physical exertion, if you're an average person who works a desk job and exercises occasionally and lives a cushy life, you're throwing your body to the far reaches of its ability.
And that is why I think finally everything worked in unison on that third day. Throw me in the water and when I come up again I'll swim. Uphills weren't easy per se, but my legs weren't burning. Downhills were okay - the only thing to watch out for were Nala and Opie climbing over the sharp granite, ripped up dog booties duct taped back onto their feet. When we reached the Bayview trail into Emerald Bay we stopped for lunch - tuna, crackers, peanut butter. It was the best we'd ever eaten.
I lost seven pounds that weekend, and gained a better insight into how my body and mind work together. Of course attitude is [almost] everything; believe it or not some of it is physical strength too. It's a beautiful thing when mind and body are both so tired they start working together. Strangely enough, I'm ready and raring to do it again soon.
On the way home, we stopped at Izzy's for burgers and shakes in South Lake Tahoe. A final treat that held body and soul together.
No comments:
Post a Comment