Day 16: High Then Dry (mile 106/211)

There are patterns. Mostly, when I can, I’ll sleep at a lower elevation to minimise altitude sickies, and start the inevitable grinding climb in the “cool” of the morning. I spent a lot of this morning’s climb in a detailed fantasy about saving a patient who somehow needed all the supplies I’ve brought. The helicopter crew offering me a casual contract (their base and aircraft all consistently stocked with premium cheeseboards) and the patient (who is now basically fine) mentioning that they book for Caroline Rose, Aesop Rock *and* Sleater-Kinney, all of whom have consecutive needs for a touring drummer. The patient uses their non-tourniquet’d arm to call up said artists and recommend me for the gig… 

I think about preferences and choices. How in our front-country lives we can often get really specific with our first choices – custom-ordering a fussy Starbucks drink that is our Very Favourite on the menu, for example. In the back-country, anything that works is good enough. I don’t care what kind of phone I grabbed in the Fresno Walmart – it functions. Similarly, I don’t *prefer* digging myself a poophole in the cold dirt every morning (my first choice would be a lovely toilet, hot-running-water sink, fragrant handsoap and a nailbrush), but that’s the price of admission to these views, encounters, experiences. 

At a mere 10,898 feet, Selden Pass didn’t feel too scary. It was pretty. Down the south side of the pass, a heart-shaped lake entitled Heart Lake was sapphire-glittering in the sun. It immediately felt like the place of my heart. Swooping down from above, I was beaming at the water’s surface, the clear depths and lake-bed littered with boulders, its outlet dropping into the horizon like an infinity pool. I mentally sorted out my own lovelife, then thought about everyone I’ve ever loved. I thought about the one human heart I successfully defibrillated this year. I mentally traced the order of bloodflow through the chambers and vasculature of the cardiopulmonary system, a sort of warmup we’d recite at school. My own heart was pumping strongly. Over the course of this hike, my average resting heart rate has dropped to 50 beats per minute. I think this is good. 

A hiker I crossed paths with up north said the JMT isn’t a “fun” trail. He described it as a lot of hard work, occasional bits of fun, a small percentage of deep nature-bathing. Skirting Heart Lake, I had a semi-spiritual moment, an unusual combo of joy, contentment and peace-feeling. Then I passed the outlet, dropped down down into a new valley, pushing into the dusk once again. A family of soft downy grouse were sitting in the middle of the trail cooing; they scarpered as I rounded the switchback. My plan was to push on either to the Muir Trail Ranch junction, or MTR itself (where a 5 gallon priority-mailed bucket of food and supplies should be awaiting me). Looking at the topo map, it seemed to be about 4 miles to the MTR junction. I hiked and pushed, unexpectedly covering an extra 5 miles without reaching the junction. I was out of water.

The junction to MTR came up and I hurried onto the side trail. There were no water sources. I was very thirsty. A big red sunset was hovering in the haze. I didn’t want to hike on a steep downhill in the dark. I panic pitched my tent on a slope under a tree, crawled in thirsty and hungry, and slept jaggedly to the sounds of creature noises all around – the squeaks and creaks and squeals and foliage-crashings and Schrödinger’s potential-bear noises of the wilderness.