The Final Day

HIking out

When we began planning this trip, in the comfort of our home, at the expanded oak dining room table piled high with food, maps, data books and laptops, it seemed perfectly reasonable to expect that we would be able to cover 15 miles a day.  After all, we have done long distance hikes where we have covered up to 20 miles a day without much trouble- but not for weeks at a time, and not over 13,000 foot passes.  The PCT Planner site suggested that for every 1000 foot of climb we should add an estimated 45 minutes to our normal hiking pace of 2.5 miles an hour. That seemed reasonable, but still it did not figure in fatigue, blisters, the need for a morning off, and general pokiness.  So here we were with the carefully planned hike, coming up short on our days.  It was late in the afternoon on day 12, Tuesday.  We needed to be in Old Station on Saturday, an eight hour drive.  In order to make it there we would need to hike out Friday morning.  With 45 miles left, that meant we must do about 20 miles for the next two days and five more on Friday, with the toughest pass still ahead.  Mark didn’t like the odds.  It was important to us to attend the memorial service on Saturday, and if we didn’t take the side trail out tomorrow we would not have another chance until we got to the car, so we had to make a choice.  I say “we” generously.  Mark made the executive decision that we would hike out Kearsarge Pass the next day, thus ending my hopes of actually completing what we set out to do.  I understood it, I agreed with it (for the most part) but I still felt like an athlete whose coach had taken her out of the game in the final quarter.  I so wanted to valiantly hike right back to our car and proudly boast that we had finally completed a hike!! Instead I gave in to caution and reason and marched along quietly, trying to absorb the last bits of wilderness. I glowered down at the little ragged empty spot in my ring setting.  Somewhere along the way I had lost one of the small diamonds. My heart felt that kind of emptiness too, but I was a little comforted, and maybe a little jealous, that a part of me would always be here.

I tried using encouraging glances and cute faces when we got to the trail head, knowing already that they wouldn’t work, and of course, they didn’t.  We made the turn off of the JMT and up the trail that would lead us to Kearsarge Pass and out of the mountains.  We were carrying a fair amount of water, knowing we would have to dry camp, that is, camp away from a water source, and we had already had dinner back at the pond, so we didn’t have to worry about water for dinner anyway.   Finding a nice, broad flat place to camp wasn’t very difficult in this terrain, so we didn’t have to hike very far down the trail to set up camp.  Mark put down the tarp, we got what we needed out of our bags and then stared at one another.  It was really too early to make camp.  There were no wildflowers here for me to collect and label, no beautiful scene to sketch or paint.  There wasn’t any easily gatherable basket material, and no creek to play in, no dinner to prepare.  I was bored. Going to bed would mean I would have to yield to the fact that tomorrow was our very last day, and I wasn’t ready to concede.  Gradually though, the sun went down, the stars came out, and I fell asleep under God’s beautiful canopy.

The last packing-up was pretty sad.  I stuffed my sleeping bag around that nasty Bear Can for one last time- wouldn’t miss that. I dug in the bottom of my pack for the one clean shirt I had left; I would put this at the top of my pack for easy access so that I wouldn’t be so filthy undesirable when it came to getting a  hitch into town. There were granola bars for breakfast and a little bit of snack, but we wouldn’t have to worry about lunch for today because we would hopefully be in town by then.  Not having a ride down to town was a little bit of a worry- we might have to wait in the campground parking lot for a while before we could hitch a ride down.  But right then our biggest concern was getting over the pass and on down the trail.  We hiked alone all morning, but when we got to the lakes area over the pass we came upon a few others. One couple was a mother/daughter hiking pair.  They would be right up behind us, then we would pull ahead, then we would have to rest and they would catch up, but they never caught us completely.  It was pretty exciting to get to the top of the hill and finally see the parking lot, but the trail ambled and avoided and rambled its way across and down the hill- obviously it was in no big hurry to get back to civilization either. 

I must admit that as we got closer and closer to the cars, flush toilets and running water the Novocain of civilization began to dull the ache of having to leave the trail too soon.  Thoughts of clean, white sheets, warm showers and soft beds enticed me, and I started to think less of the disappointment and failure of what I was hiking away from, and more of what I was hiking to. I had clean clothes in the car!  There was also shampoo, cocoa body butter and there would be fresh fruit!  Mark had tried to put a positive spin on it earlier-“ it’s not a failure,” “everyone hikes their own hike,” “think of what we did accomplish”- all of those were pretty empty words without the lure of chairs not made of stone and a heated pool at the hotel.  By the time (and it seemed to take a very long time) our feet hit the pavement I was actually kind of excited about talking to my kids, scrubbing off all of the dirt and riding in a car.  We made our way straight to the water spigot and washed our faces, our feet and any other skin that we could reach.  We filled our water bottles- civilized water does NOT taste as good as the real stuff (no wonder everyone drinks soda and juice in town) put on our clean shirts and staked out a good place in the parking lot to find a ride down.  The mother/daughter team came up behind us and we exchanged polite hellos.  When the mom found out we had just done the JMT she was very interested and wanted to know everything we could tell her.  She and her daughter (who “haves very bad with English”) were visiting here from Italy, and they wanted to see the Wild USA, not the cities and museums that most tourists choose.  They had a small rental car, but it was filled with gear, she said, or they would offer us a ride.  We sat on our curb and then began to visit with a hiker who had just gotten dropped off at the trail head.  He had several resupply boxes to sort through before he could head up the pass.  Pretty soon I began to notice the Italian ladies restacking and repositioning things.  I sent Mark over to see if he could help, and sure enough, they were trying to make room for us. We were very grateful that the ladies not only gave us a ride down the hill, but took us all the way in to the town of Lone Pine.

Hikers in town all pretty much do the same thing- they head to the grocery store or nearest pizza parlor.  Our first concern was finding a ride back up to our car, parked at the Horse Shoe Meadow trail head. We stopped in at the backpacker store, but they didn’t have a list of trail angels who might offer free rides.  She suggested we ask at the chamber of commerce.  We ambled over there, talked to the nice ladies for a while and got a short list (2) of names of people we could call.  Unfortunately for us, this was the chamber of commerce, not the volunteer bureau, and Bob, the one man I was able to get ahold of, was a fully insured and licensed shuttle service that charges $160.00 for a ride up to Whitney Portal.  Yikes!  Over a huge pizza lunch we talked about options, and decided we would try renting a car, which would be lots cheaper than paying for Bob to take us.  Also unfortunately, there are no rental car businesses in Lone Pine.  The girl at the hotel told us that Lloyd, over at the car repair, used to rent cars.  A quick stroll in the 100+ heat and we were face to face with Lloyd, who no longer rents cars.  But he asked Tom, whose head was under a hood, if he would be willing to take us Portal Road.  “Sure, as soon as I am done with this radiator.”  Mark raised an eyebrow, “how much would you want?”  Tom’s answer, “how does $30 sound?”  Mark offered $40.

I took a long, hot shower while Mark and Tom headed up to get the car.  I had already cleaned up at the faucet at the trail head, but you would never know by the way the water ran down my back and legs, causing a muddy river to swirl down the drain.  I am usually pretty water conscious and take short showers, but there are certain times in one’s life when it is important to splurge.  I sudsed up a second time, rewashed my hair, noticed my nice tan legs becoming a paler shade of brown- “hiker tan” often washes off- and reveled in the warm water, soapy smells and clean skin.

When Mark returned with the car we headed over to the pool and found a few other hikers.  We shared some beer and some trail stories.  It’s always good to spend time getting to know people with whom you share some common interests.  These three young men were no exception, and we spent a pleasant few hours visiting, swimming and sunning.  When we tired of that we went back and put on clean town clothes and had a nice dinner at a local grill, enjoying the friendliness and relaxed atmosphere of this small town.  Lone Pine was the site of many old Western films, and they still celebrate that with John Wayne photos on the walls of all the shops and eateries, wagon wheels decorating the lobby of the hotel, and cactus as the primary plant in the landscaping.  When I saw a display case full of DVDs and videos, I assumed that they were old Westerns that the tourists could rent to watch.  But they weren’t.  I was confused.  Heading back from the restroom I noticed some more shelves of movies- I guess in small towns you have to double up on things and the grill and bar was also the local movie rental store.

               Back in the hotel lobby there were people lounging about, visiting- being small town.  A couple that we had seen earlier in the day was on the lobby computer, trying to find rides back to San Francisco the next day.  I talked with them while Mark was in the room. They had just finished the JMT too, were from London, had met some of the same hikers we had, and needed a ride to catch a flight. We engaged another hotel guest in our conversation about the trail- he tried to convince the couple to catch a flight out of Reno instead, in which case he could give them a ride to the airport the next day.  I retired to the room before their problem was resolved, hoping we could maybe help them- but we didn’t know our schedule for the next day and Mark wasn’t ready to commit.

               A soft bed and clean sheets are wonderful things, and we woke up the next morning refreshed and ready to go.  After breakfast at the café we saw our friends Bill and Dave again.  They had made it the whole way, despite Bill’s awful blisters, and were picked up by their wives who had joined them for breakfast.  It was great to see that they had made it- they even summited on Whitney!  It was finally time to leave Lone Pine and move on to our next adventure.  I had a whole head full of memories, sights, sounds and emotions to keep me busy on up the road.  I was still sad we hadn’t finished what we set out to do, but I was glad about the 160 miles we did see.  I had spent 12 wonderful days in the wilderness, observing, sketching, writing, hanging out with my best friend and walking, of course.  There are memories and sounds and feelings I will fall back on in quiet or lonely moments for a long time to come.  I have enjoyed sharing this experience with all those of you willing to read about it.  I think I will miss writing about it too, so I will need to plan a new adventure soon.