Over the Mountains and Through the Woods

And so, the mountains handed us over to the trees where time was lost between shady groves of Fir, Spruce, and Pine. Each morning I awoke, packed up and moved onward and northward. From time to time the trees parted around nagging meadows of wildflowers or exposed us on magnificent rocky ledges. In these moments the world spread out and around into a seeming infinity of forested hills and mountains.
Somewhere in this time a fellow named Shannon joined Rif-Raf and me. He brought a new perspective and a keen wit. He also brought a knowledge of geology. As we passed from granite to mafic and onward. Rif-Raf and I badgered Shannon to dredge up recollections from his college studies. At one point we sat high on our crest trail at the head of a valley which fed into the plains around Mount Shasta. The soil and rocks faded between strips of red, green, grey, and brown. I knew we were blessed to be sentient and to behold such an awesome display, created over millions and billions of years.
Passing through each day, there was much to marvel at. Fluorescent bugs, digging bees, gnarled trees, shifting clouds. While I find no end in subject matter for my journal, in retrospect, it all blurs together.
A few endeavors do stand out; such as the evening when we left the Heitman’s home. They are a couple of trail angels with a wonderful cabin in Old Station, California. We had spent nearly 2 days caught in the vortex of their hospitality. Firefly, the husband, spoke of the days when he served in the Navy. I told him that sometimes when I hike, I get this old marching chant my Grandpa taught me, stuck in my head:
“Left, left, left, right, left
I left my wife and 48 kids
Crying in the rain, so step to the left
Left, left, left, right, left,”
Georgie, the wife and ring leader, taught me how to bake in a dutch oven.
Rif-Raf, Shannon, and I departed at 5 pm, planning to night hike through as much of the next 38, burned, waterless miles along the Hat Creek Rim. After 8 miles we crossed an overlook with a restroom and parking lot. It seemed a fine enough spot to make supper. A few minutes into the meal, Georgie pulled up in her minivan. She had needed to escape the house and only accidentally ran into us there. As she sat and chatted with us in her turquoise shorts, Hawaiian shirt, and conductor’s hat, I decided I want to be like her when I grow up.
The sun was setting as we moved on, walking along the edge of the rim. Sunlight cast orange over the red dirt. A sudden and familiar sound startled me out of an evening reverie. A herd of heifers stampeded across the trail in front of me. Possibly startled by a bear, or, just as likely, a fart (heifers are jumpy and curious like that). The cloud of dust they left, caught in the evening glow, created an idyllic instant which etched itself deeply on my conscious.
On through the night we hiked, kicking rocks, and stumbling along under the half moon. Shannon introduced me to the idea that it might be easier to hike without a headlamp. Once my eyes adjusted, it was.
We stopped for a break at dawn and when I awoke from my cat nap, the sun was drawing a dewy perfume from the flowers around us. By 10 am we had covered the 38 miles and hitched into Burney. We decimated an all you can eat pizza joint, slept in the park, shopped, and got back on the trail.
As we moved, I began to feel the miles clinging to me and wearing on me. At this phase of the trail, any long distance hiker faces this truth. My coming-to was exacerbated by shoes which had gone flat some hundred miles ago and were now resolved to drag my feet into the grave with them. I had a new pair waiting for me in Seiad Valley (another 160 miles away). Sometimes the pain was consuming. The skin on my soles was rubbed through and bleeding. At one moment I decided I could no longer dwell on it, so I made myself focus on the scenery; with the aid of Ibuprofen and a prolific foot bandaging session by Rif-Raf, I made it with no long term ill effects. I was, however, thrilled to reach Seiad Valley, retire my shoes, and eat a burger.
It was 500 foot climb out of the valley. A climb which we undertook early the next morning. By 9:00 am I was sitting at the top of Devil’s Peak, running from one ridge to the next, from one day to the next. And onward and onward; northward ever northward.