Last night's sunset was amazing. The sky above the distant hills lit up like a blazing fire. In the foreground Caples Lake reflected the last bits of light in shades of dull silver. The whole scene looked like the lake was lead, just beginning to cool in an odd shaped crucible, while the fire died slowly behind it.
This morning was windy and cold again. I woke and was completely wiped out. My body wanted sleep, so I gave myself an extra 20 minutes. The 16 miles from Carson Pass to Echo Lake Resort were relatively easy. Still, from the first mile I was struggling. I hiked five miles, to Showers Lake, where I stopped to filter water and eat breakfast. I was still carrying too much food, so I made a last ditch effort to lighten my pack. As I waited for my water I sat back in the hollow of a large tree, sheltered from the wind, felt the sun on my face, and listened to the water trickling out of the lake's outlet. The story almost ended right there. I was so tired and my seat was so comfortable that it was hard to get myself moving again.
Somehow I pressed on, climbing a few rolling hills before getting my first distant view of Lake Tahoe (pictured). Soon I joined the Tahoe Rim Trail and crossed highway 50. Then up over a small hill and down into Echo Lake. The lake is a neat side trip for anyone headed to Tahoe. It sits up at higher elevation and offers distant views of the Tahoe area. The resort itself is nothing much. Basically a boat launch and a small store. In the summer they do deli sandwiches and milkshakes. Apparently I missed that by one week. Still, I bought a coffee, coke, chocolate muffin, apple, lime, a can of beer and an ice cream sandwich. I also bought a few snacks for my last couple of hiking days. I took my prizes out on the dam and refueled (pictured).
I called home and found that my exhaustion was showing through in my voice. My mom broke the news that my rental condo had a leak in the washer's drain, which flooded my unit and the one downstairs. Now I was downright grumpy. Not the kind of news I wanted to hear after a long and hard section of hiking. After getting off the phone I reflected on my attitude. I checked emails, seeing an invoice from my property manager for the repairs. $2400 if my insurance doesn't cover it. A $500 deductible if it does. But I realized it's just money, and here I am being a grump, in the middle of this great adventure, to the people I love. I sipped some coffee, ate a little, and felt better. I called my parents back to apologize for my attitide. After lunch I hiked the long gentle grade out of Echo Lake. I felt better despite the bad news. I had talked to my parents and girlfriend, posted some blogs, answered emails, eaten a good meal, and gained some perspective. I still had what matters most, friends and family. I greeted other hikers cheerfully, my smile growing as I hiked on. The wind was dying out, the sun was high, and my day had turned around.
The infusion of calories from lunch got me to Aloha Lake (pictured), which is a huge and beautiful body of water studded with granite blocks. My hip had begun to bother me so I took a look. The sore is now the size of a silver dollar and swollen out about 1 to 1.5 centimeters. I squeezed it gently and got about a teaspoon of pus and blood. I hiked on but it began to hurt too much to keep my waist strap on. I decided to stop and do some tinkering. I figured I might as well make dinner, since nothing builds an appetite like amateur backwoods surgery.
I started by holding a needle over my lighter until the cooties (medical term) had mostly burned off. Next, I stuck the needle in the center of the sore. It sunk in about a quarter of an inch with no pain. I came to the immediate conclusion that I had developed a superhuman immunity to pain. Excited, I stuck the needle in another eighth of an inch and disproved my theory. Just to be sure I stuck the needle into another spot. Yup, no immunity to pain. I made note of the procedure in case any prestigious medical journals wanted the inside scoop. I then used the new holes to drain any remaining fluids. From here I was at a loss. I looked at my highly sophisticated medical kit (Daypack First Aid Kit from REI). I was missing all the cool science-ish stuff - like beakers and hacksaws and machines that go "BING." Sure, I could probably do something without them, but it wouldn't be as fun. I opted to swab the drained wound with an alcohol prep pad (verifying once more that I am not immune to pain) and wrap it in fresh gauze with Neosporin. I also prescribed pain killers to help with the remaining mileage. That reminded me, since my last experiment I no longer know what my yellow pills are for. Hmmm...
As it turns out, the yellow pills are also vicodin. I guess some ad exec must have seen an M&Ms commercial and figured they could lock the sad, lonely, single female demographic if only the pills came in different colors. Anyway, it was for the best, because I couldn't have used my waist belt without it. I still would have hiked, but my shoulders would be killing me in the morning.
Around sunset I had just reached Dick's Pass (pictured) to find it covered with snow. The other side was too, almost down to the lake far below. The slope was steep and, after slipping a couple times, I was trying to figure out a better route. I found a clear section of slope, no trees or rocks. Lightbulb. I looked at my ice axe. "You ready?" I asked? "Oh yeah," came the reply. Minutes later I was glissading down the mountain in my rain pants. Now I still say I am done with snow, but when you can drop 200 vertical feet in seconds, there are worse ways to travel.
As the last rays of light died out I hiked the last bit of my daily mileage, stopping on a rocky outcrop near a series of wood fringed ponds. From here I have a clear view of the stars, and am listening to the distant sound of frogs. I made 33 miles today, which leaves 49 to highway 80. I hope to make at least 30 tomorrow so that my last day isn't too bad.
