Last night I made it to camp, along Indian Creek, just in time to set up shop before the rains came. I lay in my tent listening to intermittent pattering of rain drops on the tent wall before finally drifting off to sleep. The rain continued at intervals all night, and I woke to the sound of the last sprinkles before the storm moved on. I lay back and relaxed, boiling water for coffee in the vestibule of my tent from the comfort of my sleeping bag. Eventually I dragged myself out of bed and sat sipping coffee when Nick hiked by. Nick is the other Australian, whom I hiked with briefly back in the desert. We chatted for a bit and I learned that the high Sierras had the same effect on him as they had on Andy and I. We're not alone either, every single hiker that Nick and I spoke with reported the same devastating fatigue.
I packed up and headed out, soon catching Nick, who was stopped to photograph a giant slug. I don't know if they are banana slugs - they don't have the bright yellow color of the coastal slugs, but the big guys are 5 inches long and 3/4 of an inch in diameter. I had to pry one off of my water bottle this morning and had a good look.
The hill was not terribly hard in and of itself. I've done worse, and at higher elevation. Still, my calves remembered the unnecessary 2400 foot climb from yesterday, and they did not approve. Mostly the hill was just long and draining. In total it was 13 miles to get 4200 feet up out of the canyon. I made it about 8 miles and 2000 feet up before I began to feel taxed. The smell of fresh rain, the dappled woods, and warm rocks by meandering streams were all calling to me. I wanted nothing more than to sit back in the sun and nap the day away. I knew, though, that I was in a precarious position. To stop now would be like a person struggling with hypothermia giving in to the urge to sleep. I had an nagging voice telling me it was crucial not to stop on this hill. After 1300 miles on the trail I trust my nagging voice, so I bucked up and kept moving.
As I neared the top I felt relief, but also wondered why I had felt so strongly about not resting. I think that hiking the PCT is like balancing on a razor's edge. Each day brings new decisions that will affect one's ability to maintain that delicate balance. It is critical to know when to rest and when to keep up the momentum. I think my subconscious was warning me that I was running on momentum, and to disrupt it would be a mistake. Not that it would be the end of the trail for me, but certainly enough wrong decisions could lead me down a path from which it might be impossible to return. At that moment I realized that my subconscious must be making millions of minute calculations each day. Those calculations then help to make thousands of tiny decisions that float at the fringes of consciousness. These decisions in turn define the conscious choices we are faced with, the way that a picture may be outlined in a child's connect-the-dots. I have been successful so far in my hike because my body and mind have become adept at making calculations, interpreting data, and influencing my conscious decision making process. The moment I stepped on the trail for the first time, my brain began to rewire itself. It needed to learn to interpret data in a new way, and to keep more precise oversight of my physical condition.
That was when it hit me all at once. My body had become a precision instrument, with every fiber of my being focused on the task of making it to Canada. For the first time in my life I have a single, all consuming purpose. In this one goal my body and mind are as perfectly tuned as they have ever been, or are ever likely to be. Every shred of mental superfluity has been deconstructed to allow my brain to rewire, and the worst offenders are bias, excuses, and ego. Because out here, ego has no function, and can be counterproductive to the survival instinct. I haven't been achieving insights through hours of thought, I have been getting glimpses of what lies beneath layers of crap that my mind is slowly and silently peeling away. I knew now why I had come on this trip. Humans aren't evolved for sidewalks and tv. The conveniences and distractions allow people like me to be constantly sidetracked from getting in tune with ourselves. I thought I wanted to come on this journey in part to find myself. Though I knew that it had a kernel of truth, I really wasn't sure what that meant. I think I was looking for a more intimate connection between the mind and the machine. To be physically and mentally in synch, the way I think humans are evolved to be. It probably took this long to finally see it because, let's face it, I had a pretty large ego to dismantle.
I felt like the last shreds of something were being ripped away. I felt elated and somehow cleaner. If only I could bring this level of focus into my normal life - anything would be possible. For the first time my life had clarity and meaning, and the future was a blank slate. After all, if I could deconstruct all the crap, I've got the other half of this trail to figure out how to build something better for myself.
Ok, moving on. I ran into Tick Tock on the other side of the hill. Apparently my detour yesterday allowed him to get ahead of me again. We hiked together for about 6 miles and chatted. Soon we realized we were on a jeep road when we shouldn't be. We put our heads together and did some orienteering cross-country to get back to the trail. Soon after, we arrived at a spring, where I stopped to eat my second lunch (because of my fast pace I now have about twice the food I need). Tick Tock hiked on but I soon caught up, just as the forest began to give way to carved volcanic ridges. We were treated to distant views of Mt. Lassen, two of which are pictured. I continued on ahead, finally stopping at the shoulder of magnificent Mt. Butt. Nope, no typo, just somebody thought Butt was a great name for a mountain.
The day ended with Tick Tock hiking into camp at sundown. We made about 31 miles today, and climbed about 5200 feet. Tomorrow, however, looks relatively smooth, and I look forward to my good mood carrying over and melting away some serious miles.
