Day 1. Thurs. Dec. 12. Boundaries. Cycles of Seasons.
December 12, Winter Hikeathon Day 1, Boundaries 18.25 miles, 3270 ft elevation gain.
I hiked West Boundary trail to North Boundary Trail, then looped around Twin Lakes, then up to Mt. Pickett, then SE Boundary Trail, back to Mt Pickett Trail, then to Cascade Lake (with excursions to Sunrise Rock and Cascade Falls), looped around lagoon trails, and returned to Cascade Lake parking area.
I have approached this hikeathon/pilgrimage with fear and ambivalence. Will the weather allow me to complete the hike? Will my own health and endurance be sufficient? Rain is predicted all week with temperature highs in the mid and low 40s. Not freezing cold winter weather, but challenging to for a long hike.
This picture of rain falling in Cascade Lake is my favorite from today. I have been aware all day of how different this is from summer. No blue sky, no sunshine, no brightly colored flowers. No lily pads on the lakes. Everything shades of gray - although there is a lot of green, and I feel grateful for the intensity of the green. But there weren't many moments of being awed by the beauty. It was more about putting one foot in front of the other and facing the hardship. I began at 6, over an hour before dawn, contemplating my fear of the dark, the cold, the wet...and thinking about how winter relates in some ways to growing old. There was something empowering about voluntarily choosing to walk through the difficulty, something that helped me to believe that I can face and live through whatever life requires of me in this last phase.
Dark as it was when I started, I was very happy to see the full moon in the sky.
I was worried about following West Boundary Trail in the dark. It's full of winding alternate trails - stunt trails for bikes - and I was concerned about the steepness and slipping in the mud. It felt like a blessing to come close to slipping but to make it up some of the really steep places. At one point I got confused and was walking the wrong way, but my Gaia program (and my track from last time) got me back going in the right direction.
With so few hours of daylight (sunrise 7:15, sunset 4:15) and knowing that I walk slowly and would need 9 hours plus whatever time I spent getting lost, peeing, tying shoes, taking off my pack (I knew there would be no rest stops on the wet ground in the rain) - I figured 10 hours minimum. As it turned out I made it in a little over 9 hours, arriving back at my car soaked and chilled and with fingers so numb I could barely turn the key in the ignition.
I am feeling sad as I write. I am not connecting to the magic that sometimes happen when I blog, when your presence as a reader becomes real to me, and my experiences hiking, both outward and inward come alive as I find language to carry them into the space between us. Somehow my hike gets richer and more alive, and I feel a real connection with you. That isn't happening now. My mind travels back to this morning when I went through my long distance backpacking gear to find my merino leggings. I thought about how I have kept all that gear intact, in a closet, embodying my hope that I will someday return to long distance backpacking. As I pulled out the merino leggings, I realized that I was letting go of the dream. It isn't going to happen, I thought. I have done with that. I felt sad, but also relieved to be letting go.
The blog magic has been faltering for awhile. When I noticed how few people were reading or responding to my hikeathon blogs, I felt sad. I told myself that numbers don't matter. Even if there is only one reader, even one imaginary reader, if I make that connection, if the hike comes alive in the space between us, that is what matters.
And I agree with that. I also think this winter hike is about hardship and difficulty, about aging, about shrinking abilities and shrinking activities. Its about letting go. I only met two people on the trail today. One was a woman I know and after we exchanged greetings out there hiking on a rainy day I said to her "Aging sure is interesting." "You're not aging," she said, "I'm not aging." I was thinking that people rarely say that it isn't winter. I think winter is easier to accept, with all its cold and dark and difficulty, because it is part of a cycle.
Maybe that's what makes grandchildren so magical. I saw my great granddaughter Cora George on my drive back from Santa Barbara to Orcas. She is almost two now, and she is walking and running and talking and talking. She is so aware of the magic of words, of naming, and also of human interaction. She points at things and names them, and lights up. She and I were pointing at things together, and then pointed our fingers together and touched. I felt myself light light up. My brother-in-law Gerd had brought a small slide into the living room. He climbed the stairs and stood at the top of the slide and held up his arms. Then he stepped down and looked at Cora George and said "Your turn now." She climbed the steps and held up her arms. How closely she watches everyone and everything. How attuned she is to human communication, to the magic of naming and of conversation both through verbal language and body language.
I am feeling frustrated because I am composing this on the computer (I usually do it on my iphone) and believe it or not I am having a harder time. I have a great iphone app that helps place the photos and I have not figured out the quirks of working with photos here - they keep jumping to the wrong places, and I don't have my app for making collages either.
And I think I used up all my putting one foot in front of the other energy on the trail. I'm tired and I want to go to bed. I feel sad that I am not touching the blog magic, but maybe this is life beginning gently to let me know that it is time to begin letting go. Not only of long distance backpacking, but of blogging my trail experiences too. It has been a wonderful ride. Maybe this hike through winter is going to help me accept the winter of my own life.
I hiked West Boundary trail to North Boundary Trail, then looped around Twin Lakes, then up to Mt. Pickett, then SE Boundary Trail, back to Mt Pickett Trail, then to Cascade Lake (with excursions to Sunrise Rock and Cascade Falls), looped around lagoon trails, and returned to Cascade Lake parking area.
I have approached this hikeathon/pilgrimage with fear and ambivalence. Will the weather allow me to complete the hike? Will my own health and endurance be sufficient? Rain is predicted all week with temperature highs in the mid and low 40s. Not freezing cold winter weather, but challenging to for a long hike.
This picture of rain falling in Cascade Lake is my favorite from today. I have been aware all day of how different this is from summer. No blue sky, no sunshine, no brightly colored flowers. No lily pads on the lakes. Everything shades of gray - although there is a lot of green, and I feel grateful for the intensity of the green. But there weren't many moments of being awed by the beauty. It was more about putting one foot in front of the other and facing the hardship. I began at 6, over an hour before dawn, contemplating my fear of the dark, the cold, the wet...and thinking about how winter relates in some ways to growing old. There was something empowering about voluntarily choosing to walk through the difficulty, something that helped me to believe that I can face and live through whatever life requires of me in this last phase.
Dark as it was when I started, I was very happy to see the full moon in the sky.
With so few hours of daylight (sunrise 7:15, sunset 4:15) and knowing that I walk slowly and would need 9 hours plus whatever time I spent getting lost, peeing, tying shoes, taking off my pack (I knew there would be no rest stops on the wet ground in the rain) - I figured 10 hours minimum. As it turned out I made it in a little over 9 hours, arriving back at my car soaked and chilled and with fingers so numb I could barely turn the key in the ignition.
I am feeling sad as I write. I am not connecting to the magic that sometimes happen when I blog, when your presence as a reader becomes real to me, and my experiences hiking, both outward and inward come alive as I find language to carry them into the space between us. Somehow my hike gets richer and more alive, and I feel a real connection with you. That isn't happening now. My mind travels back to this morning when I went through my long distance backpacking gear to find my merino leggings. I thought about how I have kept all that gear intact, in a closet, embodying my hope that I will someday return to long distance backpacking. As I pulled out the merino leggings, I realized that I was letting go of the dream. It isn't going to happen, I thought. I have done with that. I felt sad, but also relieved to be letting go.
The blog magic has been faltering for awhile. When I noticed how few people were reading or responding to my hikeathon blogs, I felt sad. I told myself that numbers don't matter. Even if there is only one reader, even one imaginary reader, if I make that connection, if the hike comes alive in the space between us, that is what matters.
And I agree with that. I also think this winter hike is about hardship and difficulty, about aging, about shrinking abilities and shrinking activities. Its about letting go. I only met two people on the trail today. One was a woman I know and after we exchanged greetings out there hiking on a rainy day I said to her "Aging sure is interesting." "You're not aging," she said, "I'm not aging." I was thinking that people rarely say that it isn't winter. I think winter is easier to accept, with all its cold and dark and difficulty, because it is part of a cycle.
Maybe that's what makes grandchildren so magical. I saw my great granddaughter Cora George on my drive back from Santa Barbara to Orcas. She is almost two now, and she is walking and running and talking and talking. She is so aware of the magic of words, of naming, and also of human interaction. She points at things and names them, and lights up. She and I were pointing at things together, and then pointed our fingers together and touched. I felt myself light light up. My brother-in-law Gerd had brought a small slide into the living room. He climbed the stairs and stood at the top of the slide and held up his arms. Then he stepped down and looked at Cora George and said "Your turn now." She climbed the steps and held up her arms. How closely she watches everyone and everything. How attuned she is to human communication, to the magic of naming and of conversation both through verbal language and body language.
I am feeling frustrated because I am composing this on the computer (I usually do it on my iphone) and believe it or not I am having a harder time. I have a great iphone app that helps place the photos and I have not figured out the quirks of working with photos here - they keep jumping to the wrong places, and I don't have my app for making collages either.
And I think I used up all my putting one foot in front of the other energy on the trail. I'm tired and I want to go to bed. I feel sad that I am not touching the blog magic, but maybe this is life beginning gently to let me know that it is time to begin letting go. Not only of long distance backpacking, but of blogging my trail experiences too. It has been a wonderful ride. Maybe this hike through winter is going to help me accept the winter of my own life.
To the winter of life, and the chi that you tend to in the midst of change. Indeed, we are all on this trail. Alone, yes. In communication whether palpable or not, nonetheless. I am rambling to say that you are such a valuable human and I wish you many blessings on the trail; even when it's cold and dark and a nose and two nostrils might be running...and a bird flits by to brush along with you, even for a moment. How cool, the radar of birds. How cool, that you can still do this, trail walking.
ReplyDeleteCheers to your courage and fortitude! Love and Blessings as you traverse, day by day, sunrise to sunset...step by step is what counts...how many shades of gray :) xo
Blessings back, unknown Susan...
Deletep.s. Susan S. here :)
ReplyDeleteThank you River. I always enjoy connecting with nature vicariously through your hiking blogs. But I don't often get around to leaving comments. Do you see how many people read your blog even if we don't comment?
ReplyDeleteThey post the number of views someplace (though I e forgotten where - probably the blogger site where I compose). Love to you.
DeleteRiver! I was thinking of you this morning! Outlined in vibrant colors. I thought I really need NEED to connect with you to assure you of my continuing hold on the thread of experiences that join us. I, too, have somehow lost the touch of the magic that fueled my art. But I think it has just gone underground. Maybe just for this winter I am in but maybe forever. Either way I am grateful for it and the time we spent creating! I often think of the prayer pictures I did for you about you starting your pilgrimages. The first one was comfortable with your cats. This second one had the wind taking you away and the third on out in the stars! Far from where you started. Awesome. Like you!
ReplyDeleteMichele
What a pleasant surprise to read your new blog! Thank you for sharing this with us.
ReplyDeleteHi River,
ReplyDeleteWelcome back to your walking blog. To me you are an inspiration. To meet aging head on by challenging yourself once again to climb another mountain trail in freezing weather is miraculous. 40° is too cold to go grocery shopping let alone walk 9 hours in the rain and fog.
I love following along your footsteps. Well, I followed in the footsteps of Freud now I get to follow in the footsteps of River. What a grand journey through our graying years. I wish we were neighbors because I would love to join you.