[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. They had grim
countenances and looked at the hike like I look at a bad job.

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, just too hard.

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 filters of civilization dissipate.  I sensed from him 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 - 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.

I never contacted him, or he me.  I wonder if he made it...

jeffrey olson
laramie wyoming...