I woke up to a clear blue sky over a valley leading West toward the mountains above Wrightwood (pictured). Sometime around midnight the winds had died out and the hiking today was smooth and easy. My feet ached a bit, and I realized that the cumulative effect of yesterday's downhill had taken a toll. I had also lost a toenail yesterday, and a blister had developed on my heel. Fortunately my plan was to hike only 14 miles, and stop for the day at Silverwood Lake. I got here by noon, which left a full afternoon to rest and recover.
After lunch I slathered on the sunscreen and sat out reading and enjoying some down time. I am reading a book called "The Other," by David Guterson. The main character is a half mile runner who ends up going off into the woods to build a cave and live as a hermit. The character chips away at a rock wall, with nothing but a pick, forming the cave he will eventually move into one chip of stone at a time. The work is brutal and backbreaking. His friend, the narrator, tries to help and come to understand his friend's compulsion. He says that the half mile is an event for masochists, and that there is a strange desire to purposely seek out and overcome pain. As a former half mile runner there is a lot of truth in the writing, and I wonder about the parallels between chipping away at a stone wall and hiking from Mexico to Canada.
After reading a bit I waded into the lake. I stood waste deep, watching the ducks and staring at the mountains to the East. With the sounds of water lapping and the occasional splash of a fish jumping, it was quite mesmerizing. I don't know how long I stood there with the sun on my shoulders, but it was long enough that the fish got used to me. A school of trout began swimming around me, probably trying to figure out what I was. They swam from left to right and back again, gathering in numbers with each pass. They stayed about six feet away, but it was close enough for me to count close to 20, and to see they were a good 10" each. The leader, a 16" monster, eventually swam to within 3 feet, before I decided finally to go for a swim.
Swimming in lakes is a weird compulsion for me. I don't really want to, but I usually force myself to do it anyway. You see I have two fears that I am aware of. I am afraid of heights, which stinks because I love rock climbing and views from high places. I used to be a pretty solid rock climber in college. I loved bouldering and was one of the better climbers in the gym. However, I rarely did top roping, and dreaded getting invites to go climb this or that mountain with the other climbers (I always made some excuse for why I couldn't go). My other fear, which is totally irrational and borders on phobia, is of swimming where I can't see what is below me. Of course, I get ashamed of the fact, especially as it flies in the face of the image I want to have of myself - that of a hardened outdoorsman. So I inevitably force myself to go swimming in lakes to prove to myself that I can. Of course, I'm self-aware enough to realize that the whole operation is purely for the sake of vanity. Furthermore, I know that after I'm done I'll still be just as afraid the next time. So it goes. Makes me wonder how many other stupid things I do in my daily life for similar reasons.
Anyway, after my swim I sun dried and began to make dinner (quinoa with dehydrated ham and fresh veggies). An asian couple was hiking by, and they meandered over to ask me what I was up to. I talked about the PCT, which they called the 2000 trail, and they told me in broken English about their experiences hiking in this region. Their input amounted to (1) I had some beautiful trail ahead of me tomorrow, (2) they had seen bears in this campsite before and if I stayed here I was likely to get eaten, and (3) in sections where hunting was allowed I would probably get shot by accident (assuming I wasn't already eaten by a bear). Still, they were very excited for my hike/impending doom, and they left me with some fresh water, a bottle of Starbucks iced mocha, and some hand squeezed orange juice. I thanked them profusely and watched them stroll of into the distance.
Despite the warnings of the little old couple, I set up camp here by the lake. I treated my blister, and just can't be bothered to hike another couple of miles. After two nights in the tent I get to sleep under the stars again. I didn't realize how much I miss sleeping out, seeing stars and waking to the rising sun. Tomorrow it's on to El Cajon Pass, where I should have reception again. If you don't hear from me then, rest assured there is a well fed bear - or Dick Cheney is lawyering up - either way.
