Upper Paradise Lake to
Arrowhead Lake
I pensively ate a bear claw, which had been sitting in my food cache for two weeks, as we flew effortlessly up Mather Pass. At the top it was golden crystalline! The air seemed gin clear. We gazed south to Pinchot Pass, eight miles away. We would stand atop it in three hours. On the backside of Split Mountain we discovered a note a hiker left on a rock along side the trail with a contingency plan and time; it was for later that same day. Hope he made it back in time.
We looked upon the Woods Creek Bridge crossing with blessed eyes and threw middle fingers in their. Worn by the long day and high elevation gain, hiking up the last push to Arrowhead Lake I was in a fragile mood. For the first time on the trip we both pulled out our ipods to distract our minds. Perhaps it was the magnitude of the day, or the familiar ground we tread, but I felt elated and emotional. I could hardly sing along to Lord Huron without crying. I knew we were near the end, and perhaps I realized we would both complete our goal. It was the moment the cork in the bottle burst free, and it all came rushing out in a confused wave of tears and laughing and hiking hard. I was so weepy I couldn't imagine how overly emotional I would be on the summit of Whitney. What I didn't know is the tears would never really come, not like they did that evening. In retrospect, my emotional mood that evening reminds me of a study on goals and happiness, and how people who achieve a long time goal are happiest not at the finish line, but rightbefore they finish, at the first sign of guaranteed success. Perhaps somehow I knew it was all over.
The miles tick away. Digging deep for every last drop of energy, I chanted Jason’s mantra that he made up for this trip, and I swear it made every step easier. I never hit
rock bottom and therefore never employed my end-all mantra, 'Make it to morning'.
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| Always leave a note |
The approach to Pinchot’s summit seemed never ending. As I surpassed an older man near the summit he remarked he was breathless. I cheerily explained, ‘Well, we are at 12K.’ To which he grouchily remarked, ‘Not yet.’ At the top we met two jolly women, I forget their names, but I loved them. They were extremely funny and Jason quickly was throwing zingers with them like old friends. We would later learn that they were a couple who quit their jobs and were traveling for the year. Two days earlier when they were at Palisades Lake they witnessed the helicopter rescue, which we remembered hearing. A twenty something guy hiking with his father developed pulmonary edema. They humorously recalled how they were unknowingly bugging the backcountry ranger for the weather report as she was calling in a helicopter rescue for the half dying man a few feet nearby.
The descent from Pinchot Pass was the worst part of the trip, the worst section of the trail, and the most boring, hot, and endless stretch of morale-demoralizing descent. I don't even want to think about it.
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| Arrowhead Lake |
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| The Fin |
rock bottom and therefore never employed my end-all mantra, 'Make it to morning'.
That night at Arrowhead Lake we shared close quarters with campers by the only bear bin, and camped atop piles of – what else – horseshit. I saw a man’s bare ass. While Jason pumped water he watched a fisherman cast his line and pull in a fish six times in a row.
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