Did you know?

Did you know that there is a push (by now, it may be a real deal in motion) to build a tram that will carry upwards of 10,000 people a day to the southern rim of the Grand Canyon? They will have a cantina and hotel (they hope), and they promise that this will not impact the aura, beauty and mystique of the canyon. They are claiming that such a plan will inject financial life and stability into the struggling home of the Navaho tribe and surrounding area. What I hear is the opportunity to capitalize on the race among the affluent to showboat indulgence supreme. Those who drool for grandeur might see a hotel stay in the Grand Canyon as peacock-premium, elite and the gold cup for the who-can-be-richer-bigger-shinier-faster race. And they may win it all. Personally, I can think of a handful of people, right off the top of my head, who might hear this news as wonderful! and perfect! and would plan a honeymoon stay in the Canyon; seeing as they love nature so much.

The boys and I first heard this report together on the radio. We all listened intently, and let our mouths gape a bit, but couldn't speak. My 8 and 10 year old boys were stunned. I was horrified. But our shock was met on a different plane. This had happened a few times since our return; a shared moment when we all feel something, different from our neighbors in Cambridge, but together between us three. This report sparked that together cloud, and was heard with new ears and complete clarity. We had come to, not only, respect and know the ground and the air and the planet, but we had fallen in love; a feeling most comparable to that of a child's love for his mother. Comforted, guided, somehow embraced, despite the hard, we were inexplicably weaved into the earth and it felt righter than right. Our whole perspective on everything had shifted, and this news was really hurting our brains, while pitting and hitting our bodies. Punch.

The Grand Canyon.    People.     Wear.    Words were not able to rationalize the discomfort that filled us all that day.

"Can we go to the Grand Canyon?" asked Nate. "We have to go," Max declared. There was no Disney yay in their voices, but more a deep resonance, like, "..before it's too late." They were scared for their loved one :)

This was about 2 weeks after our return, and enough time to objectively admit that we had been affected. We are changed. I am chAnged; like in the severe stress pound on the A and nG kind of way. I loved it. I love the change. I loved my summer. I love that after 40 years I have connected to what I always knew existed, but never knew in my bones, until now. The purpose, the survival, the witness to the delicate relationships and systems that make all of planet work. I loved being enveloped in energy, and I loved that it flowed like a dance, and that no one upset the flow by imposing, intruding or commanding any part of the choreography. I loved watching, and breathing it in, and feeling clean.

But now we are back. I feel really, really far from the clouds. I feel really, really self conscious that I am over dramatically holding onto what was our life in the Sierras. What IS our life. I am so confused as to how a connection so alive and contagious should be swallowed and brushed aside...and what's worse is I can't figure out how to maintain that synergy here, in Cambridge, among a people-driven land.

All I know for sure, is that I get it. I get it all now. I get the tear streaming down the Native American's face in that littering commercial so long ago. I get it, and so do my boys. We were guests, and walked among beauty in what felt like some giant's model play set. I get the feeling of being surrounded by life, and I get the sadness felt from the suffocation of too much, too many, too thoughtless, too selfish. And, well, the suggestion of 10,000 people...a day...in that great canyon...a cantina...it all sort of made me dizzy. Looking across the table, I saw that my nauseous head wasn't alone. My boys felt it too. We were changed.

I was sent an article from a friend about a woman who walked for 3 years. A headline that should have invoked a "What? She's crazy!" response from any one reading, had shined differently on me. I shit you not, I read this article's title, "The Woman Who Walked 10,000 Miles (No Exaggeration) in Three Years," and felt warmth and a little jealousy. My heart sunk a little to my belly, in a nostalgic melt, and my head sang, "Yes! That's what I should do! Why not just walk?! Walk until you feel done. Walk and learn and see and report, or just feel it all. Why not?" In Cambridge, I sit at a desk for 8 hrs inside a brick building. This summer I walked for 8 hours outside, through weather and woods. Instead of crashing at 7pm from physical drag, I am exhausted each day by a screen, and the mental battle inside, that fights and leaves me feeling uncomfortably misplaced. Both are my reality.

October has proven to be the last of my mental dissection an subsequent slumpiness. With November comes family challenges, tying of loose ends and the resolution and impending closed circle that this blog needs. This was written Oct 1, and published Nov 4. I have been a hunched mess, but I am back. And truly, this is the most important part. The return. Our return, the experiences of the last two months and what we have learned will be posted in the next week. Thanks for your patience! For now, sign this petition and stop the Hotel and Cantina and Tram and building on the Grand Canyon:

http://www.change.org/p/navajo-nation-president-ben-shelly-stop-plans-to-develop-the-grand-canyon?recruiter=164758964&utm_campaign=signature_receipt&utm_medium=email&utm_source=share_petition

Tom Ashbrook's show on the Canyon:

http://onpoint.wbur.org/2014/09/15/grand-canyon-development

I'm Decompressing Poorly

Promise, promise to write soon. I have a lot to say..it's just muddled now. 

Meanwhile, please take a look at some of the amazing people we met. I returned home to find these Whitney Success shots in my email. A world of thanks to all of you. I'm missing the trail.

Dan and Walt on Whitney, 27 days

Josh and Ryan on Whitney, 12 days

Will on Glen Pass

Carmen and Ann on Whitney

Us on Whitney, 30 days. I know, it looks like I either found them, or dragged them up Whitney. Truth be told, there was a fight over a giant chocolate bar and who gets to hold the camera, just before a kind sir took our photo. Rivalry at 14,000 ft can happen.

Float

Parents prepare as best they can for everything. Mothers, I believe, can feel the beat of the world, and build, scheme, burrow accordingly. Nevertheless, the mantra I live by remains only too true: expect the unexpected. Here is an unexpected ditty that played out, approximately 100 miles into the hike. It was one of those terror-blink-of-an-eye moments, that can haunt, cripple and bury a parent, if you are not careful. These dangers aren't specific to the mountains, but really do live everywhere; subways, streets, schools, hospitals..they are hidden underfoot and in the air. The defense lies in the intangible fortitude; growing and strengthening my foundation so that I, hopefully, can protect both my boys. Parent your kids, love them until they light up, hold your breath, and then..unleash them to the world. It's a rough job, and when the world attacks, every sound stops and hovers. The heart-pound of fear can erupt, and then even revisit and tear things up all over again, (especially when life seems still and unassuming). In fact, I was emailed photos from this far-away day, once back in Cambridge and safely at work. I was instantly pulled back into an emotional pool; my heart, once again, was in my throat, the day felt palpable and real, even though I was worlds away, staring at a computer screen. 

Here is our world attack, (I kept this one quiet until we were safely grounded, for the benefit of all our loved ones at home, who would lose weeks of sleep until our safe return). Please read the following, knowing that we are all ok. This was never light, nor joked about among us, but it did happen, and was our moment. Heads in the jaws of an angry mother nature, roaring over our wincing eyes and blown hair, with her hurricane wind. Warning us that we are small. Reminding us to respect.

Striped slabs of granite pop up in the middle of decaying forests. Large trees lay across them, lounging in the streaming water. One morning, Max and I went over to the level, flat rock to cool and clean our feet in the running water. We waved to Nate, who was taking pictures from the bank, put our feet in the water and Max ran across the rock. He slipped, and fell, and the water took him away. It happened, just. like. that..

I looked at him, calmly. I expected him to get up, I think. But he didn't get up, and in a half second, he was pulled over the rock and down the fall. Nate screamed from the woods, and I sprinted on the dry rock, alongside him, so he could see me. I went back and forth between screaming, "Ok baby ok baby ok baby..." to "Help him help him help him, please help me help him!"

He went so fast. Faster than thought. And I never felt so helpless.

There was another hiker in the area, who we saw taking pictures earlier, and I hoped (HOPED) that maybe he was near, and could hear me. I ran down to the last of the four drops, where Max had submerged, and then kicked above the water, washed into a small dugout in the rocks. The water ran across the rock and then fell down into pools of rushing water, over and over, on down the mountain. Max now sat about five feet across from me, knees to his chest, and shaking. I could leap over and grab him, but we were separated by fast, scary water. I grabbed a long log to stretch out to him, but I could feel that the water was too strong, and the branch would easily be torn from my hands. My head was suddenly slow, now that Max was sitting across from me, and I felt like time was sticking and my thinking was thick. So when the hiker/ photographer reappeared(!), I stared at him in shock, and totally without words. He brought us rope. We threw the rope to Max, he caught it after convincing, and we pulled him out of the cave, and into my arms. All tolled, Max was dragged at least 500ft, under and over water, with significant falls. Somehow, my little boy escaped this ordeal, with a single bruise on his butt.

What happened next was, I died. I die a little, often, as a mother, and this trip down the river just took a big chunk of my life. Max is fine. Poor Natey was terrified, but so happy to see Max. Max was cold, but suffered no injury that impacted his ability to walk. He was saved by an angel named Chris, who actually caught Max's slip on camera. These were the pictures I opened at work, on my computer, far away from the water and mountains. Max is very proud of the photos, but I cannot look at them. And in response to the man who saved my boy, I was speechless and humbled and grateful and embarrassed and scared all at once. I hope, despite my awkwardness, Chris knows how appreciative I am that he was there. That he had rope. That he helped and cared.

Unfortunately, this changed me, and my ability to look past heights, storms and rivers. This made the blink of an eye a reality, and I wasn't sure if I could continue. We were a bit more than a day away from our resupply, and once off the trail, we took time, ate food and really thought about if we would finish.

As you now know, we returned to the trail. Strong and happy. We did finish our hike. We are legend on the trail,

"I hear there's a family of hikers out here from Cambridge." 
"We ARE the family!" (Seriously, we say that almost daily). 

And now we have the additional, "Hey, who went down the river?"

Max has been given the trail name "Float" by an old hiking couple who heard the story, along the trail, from the man who saved us. The network of hikers commands that we all watch over each other, and so it seemed that nearly everyone who passed us, had heard about Max. Wonderfully, each hiker spun their own experiences with waterfalls and scares, as if Max was now initiated into the mountaineer club. This was my hardest day. This might have been our greatest lesson.
 

8. 19. 14 Six Miles Down

So we are done. Six miles to Whitney Portal where we will have completed our trip.

Happy Isles to Mammoth CA = 62.7 mi

Bishop Pass = 14 mi

Bishop Junction to Kearsarge Junction = 41.6 mi

Kearsarge Junction to Onion Valley (+ 2 mi detour down to Charlotte Lake) = 10 mi

Onion Valley to Kearsarge Junction = 8 mi

Kearsarge Junction to Whitney Portal = 44.7 mi

Total mileage = 181 miles (of 220 mi). Wow.

The entire hike was broken up so that we would almost always cross a pass and descend 2-3 miles before camping. There were a couple of exceptions, but I am pretty sure we never hiked six miles downhill, in one straight shot. Today we did. Today we had no choice and HAD to finish. There were burgers promised at the end, for god's sake! This pounding six was a fitting way to end, and we crossed the finish line sufficiently beat up and a little delerious. Someone took our picture and we stumbled into a small house to order food. There was little talk, much chomping and a lot of dazed people watching-- fellow JMT hikers were collecting and eating across the table from us. My phone was dead (which is why you are missing out on iphone pictures. I will soon download from me camera, to fill this void.), so I couldn't even call my mom for an exclamatory, "We are alive!" We sat still and ate and watched; backpack-less for a while. As our eyes and bodies adjusted, the phone charged up, and we eventually got through to our people and loved ones.

Soon after our round of calls, we were picked up by a tall cowboy with Mary-like twinkly eyes, a pick up truck and Border Collie. It was Don. Don is Mary's brother, and of course, is just as great as his sisters. He is a cowboy, a pilot and a mailman (sort of). He drove us through scenery that served as a backdrop for many movies, mainly westerns, and gave us some additional history about the area surrounding Independence. Mary's family ran a ranch, and we got to hear about the art of rustling cattle. Love this. Not surprising was the range in conversation; we talked about the world's state of affairs, Search and Rescue missions among local hiking trails, running, cowboying,  Rowdy the Border Collie and flying. We love this family.

Mary welcomed us back with a huge smile and warm hugs, and the boys and I began to work on filling our stomachs. Mary let us unravel and recuperate with books, TV and kindness, before we shipped out to Santa Barbara. We had a bus and two trains to ride around the mountains and to the beach. Sorting the logistics of the upcoming travel was super hard. My brain was a mushy paste after the hike, and the acclimation to society and reality was just slowing down my thought process. So the days in Independence felt as if they were in slow motion, and the travel to SB seemed to take more than a day. I think my re-entry to the world will be a bumpy one.

** I am writing from a laptop. I cannot tell you how insanely drastic the difference is between pecking in log entries on a phone, (words which only sometimes are accepted by the site), and typing them in, breezily on a keyboard. Night and day, mama. This log in particular was unedited and unfinished, and published--although I remember distinctly finishing and entering a clean version. Excuse the disarray, and I will tidy this blog page up, just as soon as I can. Thanks muchachos.

8. 18. 14 Whitney

Deep breath. Totally ready; my back has been kinked for a week, my heel is degrading and needs frequent icing (snow) or creek soaking, and I'm unsure if my body or head is breaking down. Totally not ready; I don't want to go back. At all. I don't understand and fear the drastic difference in people and life in these two realities. 
Nate and I decorated Max in a crown made of emergency blankets, and sang  a happy birthday song. He loved his cards and paper fortune teller, and was as excited about his gifts and oatmeal breakfast with a match to wish on, as he has been on birthdays past. Smiling. 
We woke early in the cold, which helped keep us quick and moving. Sadly we did not see Max's rock name, which stunk. Still, the boys will tell you that today was our easiest and most fun hike. We topped trail crest in two hours, and the sign for Trail Crest snuck up on us. We passed about five tents cozied right into the side of the mountain (which is where we would have slept had we forged on from Guitar). 
We excitedly dropped our backpacks and began the real climb up to Whitney's peak. Night and day. Backpack and backpack-free. The guys ran up some of the mountain, super happy. About halfway up, we hit some trickiness and real narrow paths. "Away from the edge" and "hold the mountain boulders" were repeated every other minute. I stood on the outside of Nate, and Max scaled with his strong arms and feet at all times. If any of us looked down, or away even from our feet, we would have dizzied. One foot in front of the other was never more true than here. We reached the top in two hours, and Max proudly told hikers, " I turned ten TODAY!"
The top was surreal, and we were stunned I think. Ate our promised Hershey bars and signed the great registry book at the Whitney hut. We were done.
Chatting the whole way down, we finished our day in Trail Camp. From here on out, our trip would be different from the preceding 30 days. This was our first yucky camp, filled with day hikers and less friendly people. Not less friendly, more that they were "normal" people. Litter, smelly, crowded, entitled. We were returning back to civilization.

Max and Nate enjoyed giant bowls of ramen, and went to bed full. Much to my amazement Max said,

"Best birthday ever."

8. 18. 14 My Max

Max outside of Swampscott, MA 2013

Today is Maxwell's 10th birthday. Too many flashes cross behind my eyes, when I think of the last ten years of Max; cheeks, will, enthusiasm, love. Happy birthday to my beautiful bat.

Max just under one year. First step, sort of.

Max age 6

Max age 8

8. 17. 14 Guitar Lake

Today we were faced with two choices: walk to Trail Crest, just below the peak of Mt. Whitney, (about 5-6 mi away) or walk to Guitar Lake, (2.7 mi away) and relax. We chose the latter.
Let me take a moment to clarify something. Any runners out there? Well hiking, for all three of us, is a lot like running in this one particular facet: it is always hard at the start. Waking up pumped and saying, "..yeah let's finish this!" and actually walking the grueling mileage needed to finish are separated by a gaping, hole of difference. A gaping hole filled with fog. After four weeks on the trail, I was still unable to predict our coming day's mileage. Mentality, terrain, weather and body conditions all are factors that tip in importance, and change throughout the day. Heat; o god, so heavy a factor. Downhill; so much harder to walk than it sounds. Uphill; always hard, although I found us to be more driven and focused when challenged with a hill. Rain; not as bad as you'd think, and worked to keep our bodies' temperatures more evenly regulated and often cool. Bad heads; this was the killer. A bad attitude going in cannot always be fixed, can last all day, and can ruin a day's mileage, experience and can skew everything.
We wanted to finish, but after a hot, hot 2.7 mi walk, we decided to stop at the lake. We met two great friends from Germany who recommended we crash for the night, on account of the lack of water available, the heat and the possibility of limited to no camping options beyond Guitar Lake. They told us that Max Reuter was the president of Mercedes Benz in Germany and a famous man. "Strong German name!" The rolling R of an emphatic German pronunciation, is tough to beat, I think. I also am a big fan of the german accent; specifically how it is categorized as sounding abrasive and stern, but is so encouraging and sincere when paired with friendly eyes and a warm smile. I have a handful of german friends who light my smile with such simple attributes; honest and solid in character, earnest and driven in word and action, and, often, they can erupt in rolling, contagious, belly laughter that fills my smile. They charmed us into staying, and we enjoyed our last night of quiet camping before climbing the tallest monster rock of all.
Before bed, Nate and I sneaked out and wrote Max's name with rocks, hopefully, to be seen from the mountain on his birthday. We made birthday cards and origami and giggled as we returned to the tent. Yay. Goodnight trail.

8. 16. 14 Crabtree

Samurai Nate

Crabtree. Described as "lumpy terrain" in my goofy JMT book, was lumpy, hot and semi-annoying. Long (with a hard "G"). Nothing to report outside of a hot hot day, with lots of up and down and rocks and roots and cones and poop. We saw a tree that looked like it was sitting down, but as we got closer, we realized it was not sitting at all, but sticking out his tree butt. It got a small laugh, since we were all pretty cranked out. We have pictures of the tree butt, on my camera (which I will upload soon), since my phone died around the 16th. 

The day dragged, and we fell sleep at 7:00p. Before conking, Nate whispered, "We are almost to Whitney!"

8. 15. 14 Above Treeline and River Crossing

We slept at the foot of Forester; above treeline and under a children's book sky. Every night, EVERY site, every sleep has been ideal. [note* I am presently filling in these lost log entries while sitting in a house, showered and sipping wine. I am still pecking away on a phone, but with stronger service..and I'm tearing up, feeling so far away from where we were. We were lying snuggled into the the earth, for thirty one days. If you know how that feels, your chest will heave a bit when I say, we were in it. I now have two worlds, and they are incomparable, and it's uncomfortable to analyze it. That night at Forester, and every night before it, we woke to miracles. Chattering creeks, turquoise clear lakes and rocks that pose as dinosaurs in the night. Sigh.]
We decided to take the next section slowly, both for sentimental and lazy reasons. The guys went marmot hunting, while I washed our clothes and treated water for our walk. Trying as the pack up/ set up is, I swear to you, it is better, it is better, it is better. We are better people out there. There are real people out there- society removed. Meanwhile, on the trail, an acknowledged love and kinship for people and good hearts exists. It is a world of introverts who look out for and care for fellow introverts. Or rather, just human beings looking out for human beings. Wonderful.
We rambled on through real sweet and easy trails toward Whitney, and I heard all about the boys' fav TV shows again and again. These TV relays carried us through many days of walking. A woman soon approached us saying "..people are telling stories about you.." and she went on. complimenting the boys, and expressing a real admiration for their courage and strength. She then warned us of three river crossings ahead. Nothing scares the boys more than rough river crossings. Everything dimmed and darkened behind the boys' eyes, and our leisurely day was wrought with anxiety and silence. I told bad jokes and tried to " look on the bright side of things," but the only consolation offered was found in proposed plans and strategies for the crossing. I tied ropes to my bag and set up a plan to carry them both if needed, and tried desperately to be as light and matter-of-fact in demeanor as possible. Shit.
As you might have guessed, the crosses were ok. The first two were like a doctor's visit, and the tears automatically came in anticipation of the worst, but these fears were soon squashed. We were assisted by a gentlemen who popped out of the woodwork (literally) to help us out. He had heard that we were coming, and was waiting for us with granola bars and a smile. Where else would something like this be sincerely amazing? The last two rivers we were helped across by three nice men (a son and dad team, and their friend). Max was completely over his fear by creek #2, and Nate was feeling confident at the third cross.  
We walked a bit further to camp by a mellow stream, ate some ramen and crashed early. Hey, listen to this: tomato sauce, mixed with pesto (freeze dried), mixed with Annie's cheese from Mac n cheese packets, mixed with ramen, tastes like pizza. True story. 
Tomorrow we hit Crabtree Camp.

Cast of Characters Part Deux

Cast of Characters

Brooke in Bishop
The amazing and adventurous mom who cared enough to take three dirty hikers from Kmart to the trail in Inyo. Thanks to Brooke, her best friend, her little girls and to Coco.

Josh, Ryan and Cracker
After individually meeting each of these guys along the trail, we found all three lunching atop Mather Pass. We destroyed their peaceful silence, I think, but enjoyed such a nice lunch with them. They generously donated food and chocolate treats to our pathetic food fund, and won solid gold stars in the boys' minds and hearts. My guys will never forget the chocolate, and will forever remember that "three cool guys" gave them TWIX! and HAZELNUT PEANUT BUTTER! All great boys, with good spirits. Hope you made it over ok!

Treehugger and Petunia
Traveling since May from Oregon (!) this couple gave us our trail names, and recommended Jenny's Cafe in Independence. Treehugger also told us some great stories from his camping and adventuring days as a boy. They are an inspiration, and I can only applaud such a mission as the PCT; whole heartedly in awe.

Mustache Man
Helped us along the River Path, and refers to our trip as legalized child abuse. In a supportive way. We saw him again on top of Kearsarge, and he was super happy to see that we stayed the course. Thanks to him for his encouragement and direction.

Judy Palmer
Judy met us on Pinchot Pass, and later became a dear friend. Eternally grateful to her. She stretched the kindness of the trail into real life, and introduced us to a new home in Independence. Independence definitely became the safe in-between worlds hide-out for me and the boys, and we have Judy to thank for showing us the entrance to its rabbithole.

Chris from Switzerland
An adventurer in his sixties, who had climbed 24,000 ft mountains in Pakistan, among many other challenges, and was walking the JMT South to North. He was our angel.

Troop 204
Best group of young men yet! These scouts and their fathers treated us like family and fed us the most delicious fajitas and brownies we have ever eaten. The boys have a new picture in their heads of what a grown boy should be, and I couldn't ask for better surprise mentors. Thank you!

The Llama Guys
Jack, Lord of the Llamas and Mike were sweet enough to let the boys meet their llamas, feed their llamas and learn to love these animals. Who knew llamas were so great?  

Super Strong Girls
Two friends, one from Seattle the other from Colorado, met each other to travel the JMT, and met us at Glen Pass. They were each carrying about fifty pounds when we met them, but started at 75 lbs! They were the symbol of strong for us this trip. 

Mary and Independence
Our newest and dearest: Mary, Nancy, Judy and Independence friends Annette, Linda, Jenny, Carma, Brian and Naiya (forgive the spelling). The boys cried missing you all, and love you very much.

Party on Kearsarge
Teachers, parents, rangers (one from Cambridge!) all lunched and shared stories on this peak. I don't have a particular person to thank, but I am grateful for the atmosphere created by this trail. The endurance, respect and enthusiasm found in these travelers, allowed for such impromptu parties and meetings, and the momentary connection is worth noting.

Paul
Heard about the boys from the hikers before us, and popped onto the trail just as we needed his help. He gave the boys treats, and gave the boys a hand and confidence to cross a tricky river.

Three Great Guys at Three Rivers Rushing

These guys kept us company through some barren terrain, and helped the boys cross the last of the anticipated, dreadful rivers. Thanks!

Sky

I snuck out and got the sky tonight. Tonight's sky is a dream of endless, universal night lites. I can't wait to get home to upload my real pictures. I got the night, over the mountains and  I will show you soon. I crept under a giant moon and froze; humbled and happily insignificant. Earth. Sun. Moon.

Patience

Camping, hiking and spending six weeks on top of my boys, has released a few notches on the angry zipper in my belly, via unexpected routes. Such that the rusted cynicism and paranoia I had grown for the future, and for people in general, has begun to crumble, albeit slightly. Here's how:
Every day I have to face patience. Every single morning, rrrgh, I fit these two sleeping bags into their six inch and twelve inch tall sacks. I have to make everything that is big, small, every day. I have to do his quickly and efficiently so we can get up and going, and so I do not have to do it again in five minutes, down the way. I must wait 15+ minutes for the water to be treated, I must wait for my portion of food to boil, I must wash each sock individually, sort through the bear canisters, dry the tent before stuffing it away, roll everything, organize and order everything, pack and repack and remove everything carefully, only to replace everything carefully, every day, all day. I can't remove my pant bottoms without taking off my boots (which means I must stop walking, take off my bag, untie, unzip, retie, pack the pant legs, reload and begin walking). Even my boots need careful attention; they must be laced slowly, correctly so I do not trip or need to retie any time soon. There are no short cuts.  I also have to pull this off without alerting the boys to any hectic or rushed air that screams through my gritted teeth, "comeoncomeoncomeon..."
Because here, there is no rush. Where I am anxious and eager to go is 
out,

and up. 

We are just going to walk. Walking one foot at a time.
We will get to our mountains, and usually with a bunch of stops to picnic and swim along the way. Accidentally, we stumble on caverns and caves and lakes and trees and just stare. Every day impatience gets laughed at, because there is no time for it. There is no place for it. We must remain in each moment, and are often rewarded for doing so. I have become an adage; without knowing it...while totally knowing all along.
I do have things to add to the Never Ever Board, for sure. I hate zippers. I roar quietly when rolling ponchos and sleeping bags and squeezing everything into mini cases. I hum and roll my eyes when I need to unpack the giant pack to get to a small sack that should have been strategically packed on top. I don't always like to slow down, and I do get aggravated. And I hate zippers. But hating them doesn't make it go any faster.
Boy wise: So far as I can tell, this has not marked Max yet, but maybe we will see after effects upon our return. Nate sees it, appreciates the lesson, but isn't amused by the hard work = results thang. Patience and deep breaths and appreciating it all and blahblahblah, I thought the boys might pick some of this up, this summer. But truthfully, I didn't expect the actual logistics of our day-to-day packing and walking to be the knock over the head teacher. Duh.

8. 14. 14 The Sign Says "Thirteen Thousand Two Hundred Feet"

Guess what we did today. We climbed the monster Forester. In my opinion, Forester Pass was by far the prettiest and fairest pass to date. The trail stretched without teasing or rambling, and every section was dream gorgeous. I liked it a lot. My pictures are for shite. My poor choice in lens aside, I couldn't possibly show you what we saw. I could maybe make something else, something beautiful from the snapshots we caught..but I could never properly represent to you what my eyes soaked up. You've got to see it all. You need to see this level of pretty.

We crossed forests and lakes and climbed behind white bricked rock walls and pointy fantastic peaks closed in all around us. And it was beautiful.
And we bested Forester.

And we are almost done.

8. 13. 14 Prettiest Path

The meteors were behind a wall of clouds last night, but I hope some of you got the chance to watch the show. Meteor showers are the best.

The boys and I took it easy this morning and leisurely enjoyed our breakfast and play time. We began our ascent toward the great Forester Pass, through a really lush and green wood. The forest still had some giant fallen trees lining our route, but the tall green overpowered any sad or dry forest. There was a rush of water to our right, all day, and sweet trickles of baby rivers crossed our feet sporadically. It felt cozier and lovelier than we had seen in a while, and it had a cheery effect on all of us. The walk might have been difficult, but I couldn't say for sure; we had a fun, light day. 

The boys played in an actual babbling brook, and soaked their toes while sailing bark ships down the waterfall.
As the end of the day neared, we could see the mountain we will cross tomorrow. The feeling is bittersweet. Our last mountain before Whitney.

8. 12. 14 Good to Be Back

To Be? to be? Capitalization question, mama..

After a day of rain, (and maybe even a little worry from friends in Independence, after seeing those clouds roll in), we woke to sunshine and a new day on the hike. It is unbelievable what a couple of days off can do mentally. Sure, it restored us a bit, and packed some pounds on our bones, but I found my head to be slightly off. There were a few winds and clouds this morning that spooked me, when such minimal weather would never have paused me before this weekend's break. Silly, I was a little softer than before.. 
I am hiking slower, thanks to a hefty (and necessary) resupply, so I need to go at a zen-like place. When I first started jogging in New Fairfield, there was an older Japanese man who would walk the same loop I ran. He kept a slow, even pace, and held his hands behind his back; never panting, never changing his stance, nor speed. I think of him when I walk sometimes, and today I tried to be him. Heavy buddy.
We topped Kearsarge, and had lunch with a party full of happy people. Teachers, rangers, all enjoying the view, as well as the great people. Actually, we found out that we have been on the ranger radio, which made me so happy.  Hikers have mentioned the 'family' to rangers, who, in turn, sent radio alerts out to each other as we passed their territory; creating an angelic look out chain, that followed us as we walked. "Oh! You're the family!" said three rangers on the peak of Kearsarge. So nice.
Kearsarge wound down to the junction with the John Muir Trail, and we rejoined the last leg of our path. We are camping now down by a pretty stream, and hoping for a clear night to view the meteor showers. Tomorrow, we head toward Forester; 13,000+ft. 

Onion Valley 8/11/14

Mom Notes

I am sure all mothers see this, but sleeping with my boys for the last few weeks has really thrown me down a time warp. Both boys revert to infancy in their sleep.
Nate's face IS the face I first met in 2006. His hands and mouth curl in the very way they did as a new baby. When wrapped up in a sleeping bag, he looks as peaceful as he did in the womb, and I watch silently to dissect and understand his every twitch. It's not a momentary thing, but a state; frozen in time and held there by sleep.
Max will be ten in a week. Asleep, his cheeks fall forward and his eyelashes rest, leaving a slight shadow- because they are so beautifully long. He doesn't need to be anything but asleep, and his body and face are happy and soft.
I used to watch them sleep from the doorway when they were babies, but laying nose to nose forces my mind from "isn't that sweet?" to "isn't that aMAZing?!" It's amazing. One of those amazing things. Look at your babies. You will see it too. It makes no sense, but its mesmerizing and will play with your mind.

8. 10. 14 Thank You Independence

I think short and sweet is the only proper way to do our Independence thank you justice, and I can detail more later, once we all are back on the trail.

Tonight was our last night in this deceptively big and pure-hearted town. As we lay to sleep, Nate and Max said, "Now we have family in California."

8. 9 .14 Small Town, Better

Mary is a dear, funny, super intelligent friend who coddled us all during our time in Independence. She gave the boys reign of her house, showed them her animals, and led them through her gardens and collection of books and games. We woke to bacon and breakfast, clean laundry and a sweetheart who seemed interested in everything the boys had to say. I had a great cup of coffee (despite the rumors denouncing Mary's coffee abilities), and  we felt perfectly welcome. This trust thing is new..but completely hopeful and inspiring to me. 
We met Mary's wonderful sister Nancy, who works as a librarian, and she welcomed us at her library, after visiting with us at Mary's house. I loved watching these two women talk, by the way. Every word between them had meaning and love and humor in it. Every sentence bounced. So smart and fun. The boys checked out library books under Mary's name, and then went to further gorge themselves at a diner nearby; lunch and sundaes. We will be heading back to Mary's for dinner tonight.

If you have a better humanity piece than the Reuter JMT trip, please forward it on. I am filling up with hope again.

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8. 8. 14 Kearsarge is a Breeze

Kearsarge was NOT a breeze. Boys are weary, mama's weary. We spent the night at Charlotte Lake and headed out from the JMT off trail, toward Kearsarge Pass and Onion Valley. We vowed never to curse switchbacks again, after climbing a sandy/pebbly path cutting straight up the side of an 11,000+ ft mountain. Kearsarge was not a breeze. On the way up we met two hikers who had introduced themselves to us back at the suspension bridge. They told us of a hotel and a diner in Independence, and cheered the guys on with their old hiking stories. They are called Treehugger and Petunia, and gave us trail names: Mama Goat, Float and Little Goat. 

We finished the pass and ate lunch surrounded by our mountain painting. It was five miles to the trailhead parking lot, which would mean a ten mile day for us (not likely). So we planned on trucking as far as we could, and crashing a few miles shy of Onion; breakfast at Independence in the morn.
I am not sure if it was the downhill, or the food incentive, but we made it to the lot by 5:30p! We could see the cars from the mountain, and looked over the city as if in a plane. Such a great concrete way for the boys to grasp just how nutty high we have been reaching (we climbed down at least three miles before seeing the tiny cars and roads).
Ok, so now we are in the parking lot, where the rangers told us we would find a safe ride, just sitting on our bags looking dirty and tired. Two campers strolled by an loved the guys (tough to beat two small boys with humongous backpacks, looking for help). They decided to advocate for us, snagging us a ride with a kind, Prius-driving couple (both were hikers, teachers, parents and good smiling people). They drove us into Independence, dropped us a half mi from a campsite, and outside a restaurant. The only restaurant, it seemed. Suddenly out of place, we announce our big-bagged selves to this quaint bistro, and slump down to a tableclothed four top.

"Danielle?"

Someone calling me?

No one knows me.
I've never been to Independence.
I am near unrecognizable with my cowboy face and orphan Oliver Twistish children.

I am delusional. But again it comes,
"Danielle?"
It was Judy. From the mountain! Let me be more specific; Judy with the GORP gift atop Pinchot Pass; all showered and looking civilized, with shining smile eyes. Judy was eating with a friend (with the same, great, kind eyes) and waving us over. I am not sure how it all happened, but before we knew it, we were invited to stay at Judy's friend Mary's home. Judy is a physician in Palo Alto, but has a home on the other side of Inyo County. Mary was the town's Court Recorder, and a well-known, well-loved, upstanding citizen of Independence. Going with the gut, and looking at the quickly falling night sky, we accepted.

8. 7. 14 Glen Pass

Early to rise, early to Glen Pass. We had a few lake and stream detours, but were walking strong by 9:00am; early for us. My camera went kaput and needs a charge, and my phone is nearly dead, so we have no pictures for you guys, but picture this:
To your right, mountains upon mountains; overlapping one another and drawing an orange zigzag peaked horizon. Below are enormous white and red boulders that look as if they were precariously piled by a giant child..and IN the middle of the piles are clear, shiny, turquoise puddles that look like swimming pools for Greek gods. To the left are more mountains, one puddle and a faint outline of sierra peaks to come. This is what we saw at the top of Glen Pass.
Glen Pass sucked. It was harder than Mather (we all agreed) and it combined the drawn out elements of some earlier passes, with an absurdly steep last mile up. Slippery sand, jumbly rocks, and a teeny top with little room to "wahoo!" and eat lunch. Hard. But the view, was tough to beat.
We meandered down an equally steep downhill, and yearned for the camp site we could see from so high up. Teasing and luring us, as we criss crossed toward and away from our hopeful site, the trail soon became called the "stupid JMT."

Nate was a superstar today, and Max continued to lead our pack up and down these monster wonders. We ended up at Charlotte Lake at dusk, just as my back and feet decided to give up, and we were soon cozy in tent-bed. 
Tomorrow we head toward Independence. Yum. Wish us luck...