Moving slow; I accept that the pack weight is just the weight. I love these places I’m trekking through, and will be unlikely to come back here again. My friend K messages my satellite device, wishes me a serene day.
I see horses pack-training north. All morning I walk south through thousands of good-luck horseshoes, until they’re stamped over by the chevrons and brands of hiker shoes. I step off trail onto a rock to let another train through. “Ma’am, please stand further back – these mules ain’t too tame” says the literal cowboy riding the leader. I oblige.
I meet N who is backtracking north with a scratched cornea, eager to visit urgent care and get back to the trail. We offer each other unnecessary extra food and meds.
I ford a stream, left foot slipping on the first rock, totally wet. I don’t want to balance-beam across on a high log, so slosh through and get wet. Stop for lunch with shoes off in the sun. I have no blisters yet, which is unusual for me. My best fiend’s partner summed it up as, “Jane just has shit feet”.
I carry on, unhurried. Stop for water, watch fish parked in the current. If my sister was here we would swim. I try to remember the serenity prayer but – despite having mumbled it a bunch of times holding hands with strangers – don’t recall the words.
Today’s all fat dragonflies, chipmunks, a day hiker wishing to see a “piper” (another rodent). One of my forearms is pretty sunburned, bubbling. I’m feeling daunted by the length and height of this trail.
I switchback up out of the canyon, take in and let go of each singular view. I camp past a footbridge with one other girl going north. I overtension the tent on a pole, break it at the sleeve. Fix it with tape.
My whole body is tired and heavy, though my left leg is pretty chuffed. It’s preferring climbing big granite staircases every day to endless grumpy-clutch gear changes in my primary Subaru, for sure.
Early evening I do feel homesick through a hard late climb – thinking of my empty bed, dry shower, silent instruments. I’m missing quick threads of bants via WhatsApp and text, my sister’s voice, pinging friends with things we’ve seen today.
I want to hug all of my friends and eat a cheese sandwich and a crispy salad and a cold seltzer. I’ve been fantasising for entire miles about fluffy scrambled eggs on buttered sourdough toast. I’ve been carrying my stove and fuel tabs but haven’t felt motivated to fire it up.
I eat another plastic bag of cold soaked ready-meal, leave the tent door open to see the sunset over a high peak. The fetid familiars of t-shirt, bra, skort, bandana dangle from cardinal points inside my tent like a repulsive mobile. I hang each one in the same spot every time.
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