Smilestones

Time to pick up where I left off.

  It was shortly before six in the evening when I approached the Forest Service road.  I'd hiked about 600 miles so far and had been enjoying revisiting terrain that I had first seen last summer on my first attempt on the Pacific Crest Trail.  I had endured the heat and winds of the Mojave desert (again), climbed Mt. Whitney and all the high passes of the Sierra Nevadas (again) and made it back to this one road.  I had reminisced about old campsites, remembered difficult climbs, recalled terrain that lay ahead of me for the day and it all led me back to this one road.  I'd anticipated the road, looked forward to what it meant for me.  What I hadn't anticipated was my reaction when I got to the road.
  I moved energetically to the crest of the ridge, where the road was, and saw the sign.  It was a standard Forest Service sign marking a trail head, but this was Barker Pass and it also marked the place on the trail where I'd had to limp off the trail for good last summer.  It is mile 1,126 on the PCT and as I approached the sign I suddenly felt so much emotion boiling up in me that I hadn't realized was in me.  I knew that I was excited to see new stretches of trail, but the reality of stepping onto that road had me feeling like I had come full circle. There was not one part of me last year that believed that I was off the trail permanently when I decided I needed to rest my body.  I thought I'd rest for a few days, maybe a week, and would be merrily resume my hike to the Canadian border.  I thought I'd see that Forest Service road much sooner that one full year. And so, when I finally stepped in front of the big sign just shy of a year later I stood below it, wide-eyed and full of awe that I was finally indeed back where I'd left, and whooped and hollered with joy.  At the same time unexpected tears sprang from the corners of my eyes.  I mourned for the sad, limping girl of last summer, for a dream delayed, for the miracle of healing, for the support and understanding I've had along the way, for being hard-headed and dedicated enough to come back and make this happen.  I realized that I'm so happy I hiked back to that spot rather than just picking up where I'd left off;  the new steps I was about to take meant so much more because I'd retraced my path to get there.  I felt like I'd earned the unknown. The tears were brief and my smile was huge.  My hiking partner, Siesta, came to the road shortly thereafter and I said to her, "Ask me where the next campsite is." She did so.  I smiled and replied, "I DON'T KNOW!! I'VE NEVER BEEN BEYOND HERE!" All the steps past Barker Pass have been wonderful and unknown.
  The next milestone for me was crossing the midpoint mark of the trail.  This is in northern California and unbelievable that I've come so far (1,330 miles)....and have the same amount of miles yet to hike.  Yikes! But just knowing that I'm closer to Canada than Mexico is very exciting.  Closer to poutine than ceviche. Closer to "ay" than "aye aye aye!" Plus, it should be all downhill from there, right?
  Now I'm in Etna, California (PCT mile 1,606) only one town stop away from the Oregon border.  There are a lot of hikers here right now and the general feeling is weary.  People have been pushing big miles on the relatively "easy" terrain, it has been very hot (95-100 degrees around Hat Creek Rim), and California is one long freakin' state.  Crossing into Oregon will be an inspiration and energy change for everyone.  There will also be less than 1,000 miles left to the Canadian border! Triple digits! They will practically walk themselves! Well....
 Today I'm enjoying my first full day off since South Lake Tahoe.  My body is tired and thankful for the rest! My hooves are kicked up. My hiker hunger is in full swing and I definitely had a milkshake with breakfast. Only the first of the day, mind you.  I'm grateful for the milestones I've celebrated along the way and look forward to those to come.  I also look forward to my next milkshake.

Ray(s) of Sunshine

  *Attention Gentle Reader: There is a well-meaning, non-vulgar F-Bomb in this entry. Brace your tender selves.*

  The way I see it, when Death visits your life you can either think about Life or you can think about Death.  Some people probably begin thinking about mortality and what might happen to themselves after someone they know passes.  Unfortunately, I recently had the occasion to know that I am not one of those people:  Death makes me think about Life.
  Alaska contains a unique mix of people and we are very tight knit.  We are a Tribe.  And a month ago our Tribe lost one of its Elders, ending a life before its time.  I saw this news on the internet shortly before arriving in South Lake Tahoe and had no details of what had happened to Ray Garrity for the last 25 miles or so that it took for me to hike to town.  My mind reeled.  Ray had been in Alaska since the 70's and was part of the heart of its music community.  For years and years I've heard stories of the early days in Fairbanks and the antics of my Elders, who were not so "Eld" at that point, and wished that I'd been around for those days.  Rumors of a traveling Medicine Show.  People who now live in homes with flush toilets living in dry cabins with outhouses. Early music festivals.  These days seem wild and glorious and I feel lucky to hear these stories from friends of mine who see me as a "youngster" and have accepted me into their Tribe as one of their own.  Ray migrated down to Homer and has been an institution there for years.  He and his partner, Jen, host amazing parties full of decadent food and homemade music.  And though you may have been sitting in an unfinished house, tapping your toe on a plywood floor, and maybe even a window might get blown out, you never felt like you were anything less than in the company of the best people in the world.  And at the center of this, in his continually in-progress home, was Ray.  I can't claim that Ray and I were close, but I can tell you this:  Ray was the guy who brought life to a room without trying. People just wanted to be around him, to know him.  He didn't need to be the guy louder than everybody because people would quite down to hear what he had to say.  As part of the "younger" generation of Alaskans, I can confidently say that we all look up to him.  His talent playing music or playing host are talents we aspire to.  He was friendly and encouraging and interested.
  So as I sat in South Lake Tahoe, staring at a computer screen and trying to write a blog about my hike through the Sierras I just couldn't focus.  I couldn't stop thinking about Ray. My times with Ray. And my Alaskan Tribe. The simply amazing group of people that I have been lucky enough to not only call friends, but think of as family.  My hike seemed smaller at that time. I wouldn't say it felt unimportant, but my mind was in Homer, with my friends, mourning and celebrating the life of Ray.
  As I absorbed the news of Ray's accident and had hundreds of miles to think about it and what it means to me I inevitably thought of Life.  If I ever had an impact on my friends the way Ray has it will be a life well spent.  If I can be as welcoming and hospitable as Ray, I'll be glad.  I know I'll never be as good of a musician, but I sure can dance and celebrate and enjoy the music of others as well as play what I can in earnest and have fun with it.  I guess what it comes down to is that happy people make for great inspiration.  That is how I've tied this journey I'm on on the Pacific Crest Trail into Ray's life:  being content and happy makes for a better world, no matter what you are doing.  Ray was happy and spread that to those he encountered in his world and I'm fortunate to have been a part of that.  The PCT and the fact that I came back to it after a debilitating injury makes me ridiculously happy, therefore I'm doing my best to Be Like Ray.  I want to share his generous spirit in whatever way I can for his impact is lasting and he will be a part of our Tribe wherever we go. 
  Some called him Brother.  Many called him Uncle. We all called him King.  Our Tribe is missing an Elder, but we will all live out his spirit and his life will carry on in all of us.  Long live the King!
  There is a favorite, bittersweet event at the end of every festival or gathering of our Tribe that lingers in my mind and is a dear memory for me:  all of my friends, generally in a circle, arms around each other or holding hands. Some have their eyes closed, some are looking around the circle giving eye-contact and smiles.  All of us are shout-singing the chorus to our anthem, a grateful prayer to the Gods of Fun, emphatically meaning the words: "We are so fucking lucky." And we are. 
Go. Be Like Ray. It will make the world a better place.

Live life with your Fun Meter in the RED!!

 I just had to get that off my chest. Now, about the Pacific Crest Trail.....Life is grand!  I'm currently in Dunsmuir, California with only two more stops until I reach the Oregon Border!! I've logged over 1,000 miles on my tiny hooves and I'm feeling fabulous.  I'm hiking about 21-24 miles per day right now and still managing to have a 2-3 hour siesta to sit out the heat of the day.  Turns out Northern California is HOT.  I've enjoyed the views of the volcanoes, Lassen and Shasta, as well as the ever-growing forests...the trees are getting taller and everything is lush! I'm pretty much hungry all the time but have still managed to lose about 17 pounds eating nothing but Pop Tarts, Snickers, and Ramen. Go figure. All body parts are functioning and really the best I feel is when I'm walking.  When I crawl out of my tent in the mornings I'm pretty sure I look like a grandma/zombie, but once everything loosens up I'm all good. I've got a really fantastic hiking partner who I met and have been hiking with for about 950 miles and we laugh a lot and certainly help each other through the challenging moments.  Like when she dumped her just-cooked Ramen lunch on the ground. That was a rough one..... I'm happy, healthy, and headed for the border!!