June 7
After picking up mail and some shopping necessaries, Lily helped me by driving my pack around an eight-mike piece of trail between two highways while I hiked the same section, light as a feather. Some people seem to judge slackpacking, as this is called, but if so, fine: I have been judgemental myself about others hitching, so I probably have the approbation coming to me. I can dish it out and take it. Anyway, my good mood was immediately spoiled by the wind again. It could feel it drawing the moisture out of me like a dehydrator, making the map hard to hold.
On the other side of the hill, I packed my bag, collected myself, and said goodbye to Lily. The next section started with a brutal ascent, like 2000 feet or something up over bare, rocky, and -- you know it -- very windy hillsides to a pocket of forest above.
I plugged in a new audiobook and went for it. Aimless dirt and dust finally resolved into trail a mile in, then the switchbacks began. Sun down, stars up, still hiking. I hiked more than an hour after dark, sometimes having to crabwalk sideways facing the crosswind just to avoid being blown over. I was pretty mentally torn down by the whole thing, but the map showed a campsite ahead, so I plugged on. Couldn't camp on a steep rock wall anyway.
It, the campsite, finally appeared. It was just a clump of trees providing wind shelter to a patch of dirt, but it was like finding a Four Seasons on the moon, as far as I was concerned. I stumbled in, murmured greetings to the two tents set up, just in case they were awake.
"TURN YOUR LIGHT OFF. SOME OF US HAVE ALREADY DECIDED TO TRY TO SLEEP " spoke one of the tents. It was, and I don't want to overplay this, but the voice was really aggressive. I responded that, yes sir, I would, and then I did.
"YOU HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO STAY HERE," the tent continued, "BUT WE ARE TRYING TO SLEEP. YOU SHOULD ALWAYS KEEP YOUR LIGHT DOWN."
"Yeah," I said, just wanting this to end so I could sleep. "Yes."
"JUST SO YOU UNDERSTAND." I don't know if he was hoping for an apology or what, but it was only 9:15 pm. Not really inexcusable, even for hikers. He would have to be satisfied with the noises of instant potatoes being rehydrated and wolfed down.
It made for a weird night's sleep. He didn't own that land, but I still felt very unwelcome. Too many people, I thought. In previous years, he could have counted on solitude. Well shit, I thought. Welcome to 2016, dude. We all are in the same boat, even if we're not happy about it. Guess we better learn manners.
After picking up mail and some shopping necessaries, Lily helped me by driving my pack around an eight-mike piece of trail between two highways while I hiked the same section, light as a feather. Some people seem to judge slackpacking, as this is called, but if so, fine: I have been judgemental myself about others hitching, so I probably have the approbation coming to me. I can dish it out and take it. Anyway, my good mood was immediately spoiled by the wind again. It could feel it drawing the moisture out of me like a dehydrator, making the map hard to hold.
On the other side of the hill, I packed my bag, collected myself, and said goodbye to Lily. The next section started with a brutal ascent, like 2000 feet or something up over bare, rocky, and -- you know it -- very windy hillsides to a pocket of forest above.
I plugged in a new audiobook and went for it. Aimless dirt and dust finally resolved into trail a mile in, then the switchbacks began. Sun down, stars up, still hiking. I hiked more than an hour after dark, sometimes having to crabwalk sideways facing the crosswind just to avoid being blown over. I was pretty mentally torn down by the whole thing, but the map showed a campsite ahead, so I plugged on. Couldn't camp on a steep rock wall anyway.
It, the campsite, finally appeared. It was just a clump of trees providing wind shelter to a patch of dirt, but it was like finding a Four Seasons on the moon, as far as I was concerned. I stumbled in, murmured greetings to the two tents set up, just in case they were awake.
"TURN YOUR LIGHT OFF. SOME OF US HAVE ALREADY DECIDED TO TRY TO SLEEP " spoke one of the tents. It was, and I don't want to overplay this, but the voice was really aggressive. I responded that, yes sir, I would, and then I did.
"YOU HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO STAY HERE," the tent continued, "BUT WE ARE TRYING TO SLEEP. YOU SHOULD ALWAYS KEEP YOUR LIGHT DOWN."
"Yeah," I said, just wanting this to end so I could sleep. "Yes."
"JUST SO YOU UNDERSTAND." I don't know if he was hoping for an apology or what, but it was only 9:15 pm. Not really inexcusable, even for hikers. He would have to be satisfied with the noises of instant potatoes being rehydrated and wolfed down.
It made for a weird night's sleep. He didn't own that land, but I still felt very unwelcome. Too many people, I thought. In previous years, he could have counted on solitude. Well shit, I thought. Welcome to 2016, dude. We all are in the same boat, even if we're not happy about it. Guess we better learn manners.
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