Day 17. Part 1. March 17. Mile 188.3, elevation 7424, to Mile 204.3, elevation 4083. Walked 16 miles, 1306 ft up, 4650 ft down. (Plus a little "excursion" from the trail when I missed a turn - another 2 miles, 600 ft up, 600 ft down.
A lot of my day was reflecting on the reality that I probably cannot keep pace with my plan and therefore probably cannot reach the goal of my pilgrimage (Ribbon Falls in the Grand Canyon) this year unless I skip part of the hike. This led to reflections on purpose and meaning - my need for them, how I cling to them. Might relinquishing the focus on destination (with its powerful connection to the purpose and meaning of this walk) not in some ways be in the spirit of the walk? So much of it seems to deal with the theme of detaching from outcomes. If the pilgrimage to Ribbon Falls is all about how attachment to outcomes keeps the people in darkness, unable to see each other, might not getting to Ribbon Falls be my way of getting to Ribbon Falls?
I am still stubbornly counting miles, wrestling with the possibility that my strength and pace may increase, that the terrain and trail tread may become easier. Obviously today was a lot easier than yesterday. It was mostly downhill and once I got down out of the mountains the trail tread was mostly good and I could walk with a stride and even tempo.
Related to nothing: I fell twice today. Each time it seemed as if my attention was not 100% focused on the trail. The same thing when I got lost. I listen to music. I fall into reverie about a trail angel. I try to eat a protein bar. Bam. I fall down. Or I walk a mile off trail. I get the feeling the trail is a jealous lover that demands my undivided attention every minute of the day. (I am very very grateful that my two falls. left me completely uninjured- very good luck. )
When I stopped for my first rest stop and meal I was disappointed I had hiked only 5 miles. I had hoped to hike 6 or 7. In fact, I had hiked 7 - only 2 had been off trail. So we had the usual conversation between the brain-general and the foot soldiers. "Just because you made an error of strategy, sir, doesn't mean the enlisted men should be deprived of the rest they need."
I stopped for lunch in a gorgeous spot. Photo 6 shows the view.
I was messaging Anne saying I could see what I assumed was Tucson, and waving at her.
Then along came these two equestrians (photo 6 and 7) - Marvin and Vinny the horse from Alberta (but they winter in Arizona) and Trisha and Tucker the horse from Arizona. They met (the two humans) online on a site for people with horses. Marvin talked about how the whole experience of a mountain is different if you climb it on foot or horseback, how you feel the height and you see it differently. I totally agree.
I realized I was torn between my interest in these people and where our conversation might take us and by worry about getting in the miles and possibly still being able to complete the pilgrimage. I felt conflicted between the destination and the journey. And if the meaning of the pilgrimage is people stepping into light, being able to see each other - what am I doing rushing past people (almost like in the story of the people in darkness stepping on, spitting on, urinating on one another) to get to a destination whose meaning is about seeing people?
Good question, River. But. It is what it is. And I am what I am. One who really really would love to complete the pilgrimage.
One of my headlamps is blinking on and off as I write. I need to put it on the list of things to do when I get to civilization. Go online. But a replacement.
My midday hike was not as hot and difficult as I thought. The downhill makes a big difference. I think my body has a tough time multi-tasking - cooling my body in the mid-day heat and mobilizing for cardiovascular exertion to climb uphill at the same time. Is this learnable? Might age be a problem?
Then after my afternoon rest stop (again conflicted between taking time to visit with Chris and charging forward to get in my miles) I realized "Dorothy I don't think we are in the mountains anymore. " We were in lower elevation, and desert. (Photo 8) Now I have always loved desert. I have not found it boring. And I didn't exactly find it boring today. For example I found another nest in a cholla (photo 9). and puzzled over how the birds good build it, let alone raise their young in it. And I studied the prickly pears (photo 10). wondering how deers could wrap bite off the fruit without having a needle pierce their lips or tongue. I noticed the fruit themselves do not have needles and even that the needles around the fruit seemed to dip and now as if the plant were offering its fruit to the world. I suppose that is how the seeds are spread. That they want their fruit to be taken and eaten.
But despite my love for and fascination with desert I had a different experience of desert this afternoon. It seemed all the same. It lacked the dramatic ups and down of the mountains that however daunting gave a clear sense of progress and change. The desert all seemed the same and the trail seemed to meander- turning this way, that way, giving me the feeling that I wasn't getting anywhere just walking around in a maze or labyrinths. I wondered if people who choose to wander in the desert for spiritual reasons experience this loss of a certain kind of orientation toward progress. I wondered if it had to do with my dilemma whether to plunge forward and try to complete the pilgrimage or relax and let it become whatever it becomes.
As the sun began to set I had still not found a tentsite. I turned down a lovely site in a wash - spacious level coarse sand - because (you guessed it) I wanted more miles. But then as the day dimmed I realized I would probably have to cowboy camp on the trail again. I felt that doing it once was one thing. Could happen to anyone. Doing it twice in row showed I was unfit to be a thru-hiker. There are rules after all about camping a certain distance from the trail - most hikers don't take them too literally if there is a site near the trail. But camping on the trail itself is a clear violation of the rules.
I remembered that this morning 20 minutes into my walk I came across all a lovely little tent site. I kept walking. And lo and behold I arrived at an open area with room for several tents. So here I am. Somewhere between ambivalence and trust in my luck. I thought I wanted to cowboy camp again and be under the stars but with such a great site I couldn't resist putting up my little tent.
Time to turn off the lights. Stay tuned - will River have to give up her dream of hiking all the way to Ribbon Falls and if so will she do so gracefully or kicking and screaming?
Thank you as always for walking with me. Your presence makes the solitude rich and a blessing.
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