In the same way that dismal weather can make the distance between yourself and hope seem like an eternal expanse, a single day of sun obliterates the drear. To elucidate this difference, I must go back a bit and re-itterate some matter which I have covered in a previous post.

I had pushed through weeks of rain and loneliness, my first respite came in catching up to the boys. It had been a day of constant overcast and drizzling misery. I did not want to stop to fill my water bottles because, well, who wants to drink cold water when being drenched in it. Furthermore, my Aquamira solution needs five minutes to mix and sitting in the rain, waiting for that did not appal to me either. Against my better judgement, I just pushed on. Trudging through the pools of mud on the trail. It was really a crap-shoot whether to just walk right through the puddles on the trail or to tiptoe through the sopping grass and shrub on either side. I climbed, I dropped; I climbed, I dropped.
Going on five hours of hiking without a break, without drinking, trying to convince myself that the power bars I was eating were enough. I began ranting out loud; airing frustrations I had with middle school nemesis's, re-creating mighty feuds in which I was the only contender. These were not amoung my proudest moments on the trail, but they were very real and present and powerful. I learned that there are moments when you have to take the joy and power of your spirit and hug her small and tight into the deepest spot in your bosom and allow the storm to rage around it, so long as the winds of that storm are blowing you forward, maintaining momentum. Knowing that soon they will pass and your true self will take the helm again. I was absolutely focused on forward momentum because I knew I needed my family if I was going to make it these last couple hundred miles. Because I know I am not crazy but sometimes it feels better just to let yourself act that way, I did. I laughed defiantly at the skies, I got the joke and was not amused.
Yet another climb and I was looking down at the trail in front of me. Suddenly between my feet was a note in a plastic bag, it said "Fidget camped here." I was livid, there was another Fidget on the trail? What was she doing camped here. I looked over and the offending character even had the exact same tent as me. Wait, Shannon had the same tent as well. Wouldn't that make more sense? Reason began to seep back in to my thoughts. I hurried over and sure enough, Shannon's head popped out and smiled up at me. I grinned back and informed him that I had gone mad temporarily but as soon as I drank a liter of water I would be much better. He allowed me that space and quickly I brought myself back to a level of lucidity wherein I could rejoice at having caught up.
There is a reason these people are called trail family. It is something which goes beyond what words could ever hope to explain. They are your sanity when you just can't hold on. They are your motivation when you have lost sight. They are your sense of humor when you've gone flat. Because of them you are not alone. Because of them you know it is okay to struggle, because we all struggle and we all band together to pull ourselves through. Over these final weeks we have often discussed a truth which has become abundantly evident to us; that humans are social creatures. We band together and generate a strength greater than that which any individual could.
In fact, the weather gods smiled on Shannon and I's rejoining and we awoke the next morning to clear blue skies. By early that afternoon, we caught up to Frog and Rif-Raf along a beautiful ridge, looking across at the mighty Northern Cascades, mountains which struck a chord in each of us. A chord which ran as deep as the valleys themselves. From the forested gutter where the trees grew and the rivers ran, up the talused bowls carved out so many years ago (yet quite young in a geological sense) to the peaks which comprised the horizon. The range across the valley ran like the graph of a heart monitor.
We dropped down into the bottom of the valley and followed along the river down to a connecting road where we were able to get into Skykomish. There we rested at the Dinsmore's. I got to see LaDeana and the girls. We ate at the welcoming little cafe in the minuscule, once upon a time logging town, and hid from more dreary weather.
On the morning we had planned to set out, the boys were all packed and went to the cafe for breakfast; I felt uneasy and stayed at the Dinsmore's. All the other hikers were out and about so I had the garage space which was our turf to myself. I began to clean and it made me feel better. I also felt the tired weighing down. When Rif-Raf came back to see if I was ready to go, I informed him that I was not, that I would try to make it out that afternoon and catch them but I just couldn't bring myself to move. He left and then returned with Shannon. They had decided to stay with me. Frog pushed on, aiming to make his set finishing date and meet up with Nancy.
Shannon, Rif-Raf and I made it out the next day. We sat under a tree in a mountain meadow peering morosely out at drab skies. The will to push on was waning. The weary was heavy on us all but forward we pushed. As we never seemed able to make it out of camp before 7:03 am (no matter how early we awoke), we pushed late, often hiking into darkness.
It was difficult but there was such strength in being together.
The terrain continued to be challenging, especially as we came into a valley which had been washed out by a mud slide recently. While Yogi's guide waned us of hundreds of massive blow downs and no bridges, it seemed the forest service folk had been hard at work and the trail was mostly cleared and rebuilt, the only challenge was the Suiattle River, as there was still no bridge. I crossed quickly on a large log which swayed underfoot, Rif-Raf and Shannon thought more carefully and chose a log further upstream. I watched from the far bank as they meandered up along the water; I came to appreciate how minuscule we truly are as they passed behind massive trees which had been uprooted and thrown downriver like matchsticks in the flood which had passed.
During one of these days we sat high up along the mountain ridges, in the wind and again under threatening skies. We all felt beat up and tired. We took a miserable break in a little wind tunnel area of the trail and then moved on again, coming around into mountain bowls, patchworked with fall colors and berry bushes. As we came into the first, I looked uphill and saw a momma black bear and her cub. Five minutes later we passed above another field where three bears grazed lazily. It was such an affirmation of our efforts. A gift, encouraging us forward in our efforts.