John Muir Trail Day 21 – Being A/part (mile 148.5/211)

Because I hadn’t tackled Golden Staircase the previous night, this two-mile stepped ascent out of the valley awaited me in the morning. I’m always moving forwards, but whether or not I make a double-digit mileage day seems to depend on the weather, my mood-energy, nutrition, hydration. As when I hiked the Long Trail, it seems there’s a natural push and pull to the days – one day I’ll feel well-fuelled and happy to keep pushing through miles with every available bit of daylight, the next I’ll feel more meandering and take more photos and look at more creatures and plants and maybe get into my sleeping bag while it’s still light outside, scribbling in my notebook and reading the 1970s trail guide I brought with me. 

I took plenty of treated water and ground my way up the switchbacked steps. It took a good couple of hours; I stopped to snack up top, facing a new forbidding crown of dark sawtooth crags. The trail would slither sideways past them. Three weeks ago I’d have been wowed at the harsh, singular landscape ahead of me. Today it felt like just another obstacle. I realised my remaining-food-to-mileage ratio meant I was definitely going to have to get off trail and resupply before the end. 

The glinting Palisades lakes were worth the climb, with the trail skirting right at the water’s edge of the lower lake. Climbing towards the upper lake I met an ex-Marine who was hiking with other veterans. He’d spent some time off trail with “really bad” altitude sickness, and was now looking to rejoin the group in a day or two. Above the upper lake we came across a tree-sheltered campsite with a cluster of sandy flat coves for tents. An Aussie was already pitched up; we decided to be done hiking and join him. A couple of dudes from New Jersey filled in the empty sites. 

I minced down rocks and grass to the edge of the upper lake, in flipflops and carrying only my Garmin and emergency whistle. I took off my shirt and inched into the icy water, chill soothing my blisters and rock-hard calves and pallid belly and sunburned arms. I swam out into the turquoise under the scree and peaks, sharp gasping. Put my dust-caked face underwater and let my hair out of its natty bundle to trawl the water. 

Cleaner than I’d been in days, I air-dried in the fading sun. Climbed back up the hill and heated water for another bag dinner. The other hikers and I sat on our cylindrical bear canisters and conversated about trails and trams and toilet paper and ballistics technology and, as at VVR, it was unusual and nourishing to be part of a temporary social group I’ll probably never see again.