[pct-l] Hiking with a lover...

[jjolson at uwyo.edu (Jeffrey J. Olson)]

I have to say that the richest and funnest hiking I've ever done was 30 
days I spent with my girlfriend hiking the PCT.  We'd been living 
together for six months and one evening over dinner in a small town east 
of SEattle, she said that we didn't have a couple project.  I inquired 
what she meant, cogitating as she said it was something that binded a 
couple, like having kids or remodeling a house.  I knew of the PCT and 
suggested we might spend a couple months hiking it.  Immediately she 
said, "Sure, what do we need to do?"   I did some figuring on a napkin 
and we spent the next half hour talking transition stuff, and decided we 
could hike for 75 days. 

She'd never backpacked before.  WE had to buy all her gear.  She fell in 
love with her boots.  Every evening after work that spring she would 
walk the mile and 700 vertical feet down the road to the store where 
she'd get a latte and walk back.  We told the landlord we were leaving 
at the end of May.  We boxed all our possessions up and slowly moved 
them into a storage unit.  I sold my extra beater car.  We went to 
Costco and bought infinite food and baggied it.  We went on day hikes on 
the weekends in the hills east of Seattle.  She made us both two sets of 
fleece, one 300 weight, the other 100 weight.  (This was pre-lightweight 
for me.)

I loved the whole planning process and the moving and preparing and 
dreaming and practicing.  The great joy of being in love is to work well 
with a partner when change is up.  We worked well together. 

We loaded up my little Toyota Starlet with gear and 75 days worth of 
food and drove down to the bay area and my folks.  We spent three days 
running around and boxing everything up based on our projected pace of 
10 miles a day. 

Finally, the big day came.  My dad and a friend of his were going hiking 
in the Warner Mtns of northeast california so they dropped us off just 
north of Lassen.  My pack was 72 pounds and hers was 55 pounds.  It took 
us only a couple days to get a routine down.  Because she'd never 
backpacked and so she fit smoothly into my style.  I was a morning 
person and she was an afternoon person.  Her dad was dying of cancer and 
she would spend part of each morning walking down the trail crying, 
wanting to be left alone.  After lunch I'd lumber to my feet and groan 
my way down the trail while she flew like the wind, up, feeling good, in 
her prime. 

There were memorable moments.  One of the most memorable was on a steep, 
north facing ridge.  We were hiking on hard snow, and kicking a foothold 
with every step.  At one point she slipped and began to slide down the 
ridge.  I went to the big picture and every option went through my mind 
instantaneously.  I leapt after her, grabbed her arm, and tried to stop 
us with heels and my free hand.  AFter about 20' we slid to a stop, both 
of us shaking with fright.  We let our hearts slow down and made our way 
back to the slight indentation we thought was the trail.  We'd been 
hiking on snow all afternoon, and were tired of it. 

We got to the top of the ridge, Grizzly Ridge??? and lo and behold, 
there was no snow on the south side.  WE walked for about a hundred 
feet.  I stopped and turned to face her.  She came into my arms and we 
just held each other and cried.  We were so relieved.  That experience 
had me think we had reached our ultimate bonding space - a place no one 
else could ever go, that we could always refer to. 

The 30 days we spent on the trail was filled with pathos - the first 
thing we did in every town or resort we came to was call her folks to 
see if her dad was still alive.  He didn't die until the following 
november.  It was filled with coffee driven morning arguments.  One 
morning we didn't hit the trail until 10:30.  We were both shaking from 
the passion of the points we were making, and agreed that we could only 
have one cuppa coffee in the morning, and that we couldn't talk about 
anything philosophical or political.  For 30 days I watched her walk, 
and her relatively unmuscled calves buff out.  I wish I'd had before and 
after pictures.  By the time we left the trail she would playfully get 
up on her toes and flex her calves.  The trip was filled with lust - I 
can't begin to count the times we'd stop, drop our packs, grab our butt 
pads and giggle our ways into the woods for a quickie.  I still have 
memories of memorable times we made love.  That was probably the third 
most enjoyable part of hiking with her. 

The second was sleeping with her.  There was nothing like finally 
crawling into the sleeping bags and arranging them so we each had our 
own  foot slots with the rest of the two bags laying over the both of 
us.  Those were some of the most peaceful and quiet times of my life - 
the ten minutes it took to fall asleep. 

The most enjoyable thing about hiking with Jane was listening to her 
talk as we walked.  Her voice had always been a source of joy for me.  I 
loved to hear her talk of her day after she came home from work.  
Sometimes I didn't hear "what" she was saying - I only heard the 
presence and quality of her voice.  ON the trail her voice took on a 
piping quality that totally enraptured  me.  It didn't matter how tired 
or energized I was.  When she talked I was in love.  My heart sang.  
When I was really tired at the end of a day, her voice was my 
doppelganger. 

I've hiked a couple thousand miles since then, and although I've loved 
most every minute, and those that weren't so fun when there were 
happening, I can enjoy now from afar - but never have I had the 
holistic, utterly wonderful experience I had with Jane.  Unfortunately 
the stresses in both our lives played havoc with our relationship and we 
went our separate ways a year later.  Nonetheless when my mood is right, 
single memories will waft through my world and I'll feel warm and 
peaceful. 

Jeff Olson
Laramie WY