Friday, April 21, 2017

Day 31. March 31. Mile 402.2 to 417.1

Day 31. Friday, March 31. Mile 402.2 elev. 5244 to 417.1 elev. 6006 ft. Walked 14.9 miles, 3068 up, 2474 down, total grade 371.4 ft/mi. 


Dear Trail Friends,


Today somehow the ascents were easier. The trail itself may be easier and maybe whatever is going on with my health is getting better. I have had long conversations between the general (my brain) and the sergeant (mediator between brain and the ordinary "enlisted men" - the foot-soldiers and other worker bees of my body). The sergeant says they are fighting an invasion, most of the troops have been called up and there's only a skeletal crew (makes me think of Day of the Dead art and costumes!) left to tend to my walk. He tells me they are winning and I'll feel stronger in a day or two. I suspect that the "invasion" may be harmless aliens/foreign bodies perceived as threatening (as in allergies and Trump's immigration policies). The sergeant agrees to call off all war against aliens who are not proven enemies - but still argues "health is war" against all the invaders. I argue most aliens are helpful or neutral, only a rare few do harm. The sergeant insists that they are fighting to protect me from some of those rare few. 


So maybe I have a cold? And the immune system got paranoid facing real invaders and began to attack allergens and perhaps my own body as well because everything seemed dangerous. 


The sergeant tells me "the boys" are risking their lives to defend "the homeland" and I need to let them know I believe in them. So I talk to them, praise their strength and valor, and start to feel better. Who knows?


Meanwhile the morning light on the mountains is beautiful (photo 1) and who wouldn't feel happy walking up into that?


 


 I discover a pair of sunglasses and pick them up, remembering the wonderful encounter with the cyclist whose glove I found. A bit later I meet three men doing trail maintenance, all volunteers of course.  From left to right they are Roger (trail steward for this passage of the trail), Joe and Tim. The sunglasses belong to Tim. He lost them when he fell on the loose rocks, he said. A kindred sprit for sure. 

We talk a little, and they tell me there is a very nice campsite almost exactly 15 miles from my starting point. What a relief to walk knowing there is a place waiting for me. I thank them for their trail work and they ask me to count trees down and estimate their width so they can plan the numbers and tools needed for the next project. 

 

I want to show you the beauty I was walking through today but what the picture will not show is that it snowed on and off all day. Not enough to stick alas so I have no photo of snow falling on cactus. It was amazing to sit at a spring while my water filtered and eat my bean soup while it snowed. A totally new experience. I was grateful for snow instead of rain - I didn't get wet and so not so likely to get chilled. 
This particular photo is looking what I thought at the time was forward but the switchbacks fooled me. I had wondered if I was seeing Mormon Lake (a future resupply stop) but actually i was probably looking back Roosevelt Lake yet again. 

I was hiking through the Mazatzal Mountains and they seemed even more full of color than most of Arizona.  So here's a collage of colorful rocks. 

 

Okay. So I arrive at my campsite at 4pm and I do not press on for more miles. I look forward to some time to relax. Setting up my tent I come across the stake whose tie (essential because I need it to pull it out) tore last night. So I get out the emergency kit and put in new tie. 

I toss the emergency kit into the tent on my air mattress and oh my god what have I done. The buckle has slashed a more than half inch tear into my air mattress. I search for my repair kit and can't seem to find anything but the instructions and the alcohol wipes for cleaning it. Can't find the patches. Try to repair with gorilla tape and duct tape. It leaks. I start shivering. Cold and scared. I find some "glue spots". They are for another type of air mattress (and I cut those instructions out). Did I accidentally toss the patches for my mattress and keep the glue spots for the other?  I try to use it. It doesn't want to stick. It's barely big enough to cover the slash. I stretch it. I press and press and press. I put duck tape over it. I blow up the bag. And so far - scary as it is - so far, it works!

I realize I probably would not die without my air mattress, just have some very uncomfortable nights until I could replace it. But I have to tell you, I felt scared to death. I am amazed it is working. I sure hope it keeps working. Feeling the mattress firm under me feels like a miracle. 

I had to talk to myself to stay calm. There wasn't much point in getting hysterical but I sure felt like it. Now I am very relieved but also keenly aware of the fragility of the situation. 

That's definitely enough for today. See you on the trail tomorrow.  As always, I thank you for walking with me, and making this the rich solitude that it is, rather than the painful loneliness it would be without your presence and support. As I write that I realize how true it is, at a deeper level than I have before. For all my love of solitude, I know we humans need each other. None of us can really walk alone. 

...but one more thing I really should mention. I have passed the 400 mile point, the halfway point between the Mexico border and Utah. Clearly I can't walk the full 800 miles this year (and fly home on April 25)  but I do hope to return next year to hike what I can't finish this year. I am becoming fond of this trail. It's an ambivalent affection. I'm often thinking why does it have to be so steep? Why do there have to be so many loose rocks? Why is it so confusing to find the trail sometimes? Why can't it be more like the PCT? (Which is of course my archetypal image for how a trail should be).

 I also remember a Pogo cartoon I loved as a girl: two characters climbing a mountain. One is saying "dad blast this blasted mountain" and the other says "now don't go cursing the mountain. How'd you like to climb this high without no mountain?" 

 I often say that to myself "How'd you like to hike Arizona without no trail?"  I also see the astonishing amount of work (everywhere I go I meet people who are trail volunteers - most recently the three men above, and a young woman at the Roosevelt Marina who said she'd done trail work with her father). So many tasks to do, fallen trees, encroaching brush, trails that erode or vanish in flash floods. The trail teaches so many lessons. 

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