[pct-l] Another trip moment...

[jjolson@uwyo.edu (Jeffrey Olson)]

In 1997 I hiked from Lake Tahoe to Tuolomne Meadows.  I met a number of
thru-hikers on this hike most of whom were in good
spirits.  Two fellows who started near Walker Pass in early June were
not in such good spirits.  They seemed to be dreading the section I'd
just walked, taking the "Guides" statement that there seemed to be more
vertical than horizontal hiking in the north boundary country of
Yosemite, to heart.  They were trying to decide what section to skip to
get to the Gorge by their planned date.

Earlier up above Sonora Pass before I dropped down into Kennedy Canyon I
met a group of five young adults hiking together. One woman was wearing
a "Mexico to Canada - 1997" billed hat.  We talked for a bit, but not
for long as they were anxious to get their miles.  I asked them if
they'd been hiking together long, and suddenly they all looked just a
little guilty, almost haunted.  All but two of the women had started out
hiking alone, intending to do the trip as a test and testimonial to the
dominance of spirit.  What one fellow said, shaking his head at the
memory, was that it was just too hard hiking alone.

The next day I met a fellow, Steve Scott of Arlington, Washington, who
was using the complete Jardine system.  I'm sitting by Falls Creek above
Grace Meadow rigging a rope replacement for the little arm on my
Jansport D-3 pack which had sheared off as I walked.  I noticed someone
hiking by on the trail not ten feet away and hailed out to him.

He stopped, a little surprised to have missed me, smiled and headed over
to me.  As he approached I noticed he was wearing a billed cap
supporting mostquito netting.  He had on a short sleeve, white polyester
shirt with long sleeves safety-pinned to it.  His pants were white
rip-stop nylong. His boots were Asics running shoes.  "A Jardinite", I
called out.

He smiled and we got to talking.  He'd run across Jardine's book in
February after deciding to thru-hike.  He said it all  made too much
sense to him so he "built" Jardine's system to the letter.  He had the
modified space-blanket umbrella, a two liter seven-up bottle.  He ate
muselix as we hung out by the creek.  He talked about having "stealth
camped" throughout the Sierra, and how his quilt was just a little on
the thin side, of being hypervigilant to noise and the possibility of
park bears, which he didn't encounter.  I assured him that once he left
Yosemite, bears were even less of a presence as they were hunted.

The day before it had rained intensely for three hours and while I'd
been near Dorothy Lake Pass and decided to bail, put up the tent, nap,
read and write, he'd put up his umbrella and walked through it.

But the most amazing part of this story, was he was a day behind the
group of five mentioned above, who left Campo on May 1.  he left Campo
on June 12.  He was on a schedule to finish in three months and three
weeks, shooting to arrive at Manning at the end of September.  He said
he didn't walk any faster than anyone else.  He "just" walked 12 hours a
day, and slept the rest.  I definitely was his cheerleader, as the group
of five I'd met the day before were all in their mid-early 20's, and he
was my age, 45.

As I jerked my pack in one smooth motion to my back, muscling it's 35
pounds, I asked if I could pick his up.  I did, and it was under 20
pounds, well under.  I got the sense that he wasn't a backpacker in his
other life, and that my questions and obvious awe were something he
wasn't used to.  I got the sense most people thought his use of the
Jardine system was a little strange, and hence, so was he.  But being
able to hold up that pack with one hand, with so little effort, struck
home how his "Trip" very well might be so much more enjoyable than the
two fellows worried about hiking "Yosemite's Canyons", or the group of
five who were depending upon each other to generate motivation to
continue hiking.  The group had talked about not doing the whole trail
that summer, and I got a sense of impending loss from them.

I'd been on the trail eight days or so and was just beginning to feel
the busyness filters of civilization dissipate.  I sensed from Scott a
feeling of what I called "The Trip" at a nonverbal level that I was
weeks away from feeling. As I prepared to continue my own solo journey I
could feel a sense of loss that I shared with him.  The group of five
had banded together to stave off what he was well into, and I only
beginning to experience - being alone.  The loss came from having made
contact, if only briefly, in realization I was alone, and that being
social with someone of like mind, is ultimately desireable.  To find it
and then break it off so suddenly is a powerful experience.

He said he was nursing a knee that threatened to get chronic on him.  I
gave him a bunch of Ibuprofen and some liner socks I hadn't used.  We'd
traded addresses and I anticipated a good long evening of his story
telling once his "Trip" is over.

Unfortunately I never called him or he me.  I often think of this figure
in white with green seven-up bottle in hand, walking his 2 and a half
miles an hour, 12 hours a day, for three and a half months, all alone.
I wonder if he made it...

Jeffrey Olson
Laramie, Wyoming