My late exit from South Lake Tahoe meant I hiked until dark to reach camp. The storm clouds I had attempted to out run reached me as the sun dipped below the horizon and the temperature plummeted. I sat alone on rock eating an avocado and gluten-free bagel I had packed out of town. I exhaled into the frigid night air and my breath swirled in the amber glow of my head lamp. The world beyond the throw of my light was completely black and it seemed I was suspended in space.
I woke to a very light dusting of snow and I hiked quickly to fight off the cold. I was lost in thought while I walked. When I work and live in our modern society I crave solitude in the wilderness. However, my constant isolation over the last several months had taught me that I truly thrive when companionship and solitude are in balance. Sitting alone in the dark last night was a poignant reminder of this lesson. Little did I know I was about to find the balance I sought.
The sun was warming the mountain side as I rounded a switchback into a lakeside campsite. I spotted another hiker standing at the base of a tree starring at a bear bag suspended in its branches. As I approached she asked, “Can you help me?” The bear bag was stuck in the tree and she was unable to free it. I crafted hook out of a stick, an old trail marker, and a scrap of cord. As we worked, it struck me that this lady looked awfully familiar but I just couldn’t place her. We freed the bag and parted ways until we reached the cabin at Carson Pass. We were warming our hands by the wood stove when it hit us both. We had met almost three months ago on a rainy mountainside near the Canadian border. I chuckled as I considered coincidence of our reunion. After defrosting we packed our things and talked non-stop as we hiked south. We discussed our adventures on the trail. She told me all about her husband and home in Brooklyn. We walked quickly but stopped often to admire the sunset that pierced the clouds. At camp we ran into Play-Doh. He was an outgoing young man with an endless capacity for smiling. We all chatted as we hastily setup our tents to get out of the frosty wind.
The next day I hiked off and on with Play-Doh. I soon learned he was attending a university in the city where I was raised. We eagerly compared notes about home as we hiked. Next, I listened intently as he described his ambitious plan to finish the PCT, then complete a motorcycle tour of the southern United States, and finally cap it all off with a thru hike of the Appalachian Trail. As evening drew near we were soon reunited with our friend from Brooklyn and we camped together once more.
Morning brought a stillness and in the absence of a breeze, the sunshine’s warmth lingered on my back while I hiked. We traversed deep ravines and expansive forests. Cows grazed in the alpine meadows and the clang of their bells echoed through the trees. Play-Doh and I arrived at camp the following night and set about cooking our dinners. The Brooklyn lady soon arrived and handed Play-Doh the rain fly for his tent. He had spread it out to dry in the sun 10 miles ago and accidentally left this critical piece of gear behind. His relief was overwhelming and he excitedly dubbed our Brooklyn friend Retriever. Until this point, she hadn’t received a trail name and Retriever was the perfect moniker. Then out of the dusk came another familiar face. It was Wonderland! I hadn’t seen her in a month and we caught up while we pitched our tents.
I felt torn. I was climbing a 10,000 plus foot saddle and had turned around to gaze into the Carson River valley from which I had just come. The vista was magnificent and I wanted nothing more than to sit down and take it in. However, I was trying to catch Play-Doh and I needed to hustle. Alas, I powered on. We were attempting to reach Kennedy Meadows Resort and Packstation in time to get a reservation for the night. I found him nursing a nasty toe nail near the summit. I cut him a strip of kinesiology tape so he could patch the wound and keep moving. Play-Doh, Retriever, and I booked it to the highway at Sonora Pass. We stuck out our thumbs and eventually hitched a ride. Our driver was very understanding and didn’t seem to mind cramming our trio, two other hikers, and a dog into her tiny Toyota Tacoma.
We all piled out of the truck and thanked our driver. The resort was a cluster of rustic buildings nestled in a rocky crack between the mountains. The grounds were bustling with weekend visitors and we arrived just in time to reserve the last of the bunks. Showers were top of mind and one by one we meandered to the bath house to rejoice in the endless hot water. Finally, Retriever, Play-Doh, and I settled around a table in the restaurant. The golden afternoon sun streamed through the windows and there wasn’t a frown to be found as we chowed down and relived the week’s events.
