It was a cold, dry landscape. Huge distances revealed themselves, snowy peaks in the distance. The trail took us through green meadows without surface water, but also without anything to distract us from the innate stark beauty. Landscapes like this prompt one to ponder deep, probably fruitless philosophical questions, like: what constitutes beauty? How is beauty related to the hostility or fertility of a landscape? Green fields are beautiful; moonscapes are beautiful. Are we drawn to extremes?
I'll leave it to the philosophy majors, I thought.
The trail took me further and further up as the afternoon got deeper. As it leaked from afternoon into dusk, I approached Cottonwood Pass. In high snow years it can hold snow, making it the first test of what I'd see for the next few hundred miles. There was a wide, verdant meadow before the approach, and I paused to ponder whether I should just stay there. Hoops caught up to me, and I asked her what she planned on doing. We both pretended to consider the meadow, then hiked up to the pass. There's something so addictive about mileage; tacking on an extra three miles is hard to resist.
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| Some things find their greatest beauty in death |
The trail took me further and further up as the afternoon got deeper. As it leaked from afternoon into dusk, I approached Cottonwood Pass. In high snow years it can hold snow, making it the first test of what I'd see for the next few hundred miles. There was a wide, verdant meadow before the approach, and I paused to ponder whether I should just stay there. Hoops caught up to me, and I asked her what she planned on doing. We both pretended to consider the meadow, then hiked up to the pass. There's something so addictive about mileage; tacking on an extra three miles is hard to resist.
For some of us, anyway. In one of the switchbacks, I came on an odd couple. A young man with brightly colored glasses -- without lenses -- appeared to be comforting a young woman. On closer inspection, she was the woman who had driven the Ferrari back to Hikertown.
"We're having a hard time," the young man explained. The woman looked defeated.
Somehow, this inspired me to give a pep talk. A real classic/clichéd one, like something the Gene Hackman character in Hoosiers might have thought up. Lots of exhortations to never give up, and you've got this, and clapping my hands and saying "you've got this, all right, no problem!" (These are the phrases I use to regulate my own despair.)
I used to wish I could be a professional thru-hiker. Now I wish I could coach.
The pass had no snow, or just a few patches. My Groundhog Day was very auspicious. I tumbled down to Chicken Springs lake, where there were already a dozen tents. I cooked by starlight in the growing freeze of alpine night and tucked myself in bed.
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