The friendly confines

June 24

Unsurprisingly, we awoke well before the youngsters next to us. I was ferried back to VVR by Lily and Marcia, where we once again ran into He-Man and Zuke. Their maildrop had arrived, they said, so we were able to repossess most of the food they'd taken the day before. (I noticed the Twizzlers didn't make the return trip, though.)
I was pretty sad about saying goodbye, but I was also pretty excited about what was coming up: We were pretty much out of the snow, meaning the hiking would start easing up. What's more, there appeared to be some good lakes on the trail, meaning trout for me. I had scraped together a fishing kit from things Lily had in her Kia, and even added some olive oil, salt, and -- this was the big one -- a skillet. No more transforming beautiful mountain trout into gelatinous chunks of whitefish for me, I thought. Now I'll be cooking them like a real adult human.
So I waved goodbye to the little green Kia, sighed a deep sigh, threw a baleful glance at the cooler full of beer and ice cream in the store, and shouldered my pack. No beery ice cream afternoon for me. I was going to hike right out of there.
And I did, although I could not immediately figure out how to do so. I had hiked in on a side trail and now needed to find the side trail back out. I ended up just kind of skirting the lake for a while until I finally found the access trail.
As always, I was relieved to be back on the PCT. The "friendly confines," as I think of it; the phrase originates as a description of Wrigley Field, a quaint, green place to spend one's summer. It fits the trail perfectly -- the trail keeps you on a very predictable, narrow trajectory. But its limitations on autonomy are welcome. By virtue of keeping your travel restricted to one northward dimension, it simplifies life. Rather than a maze of choices, my thoughts toggle through profound essentials:

• Does it matter that we are motes in the eye of God?
• Should I eat all my candy right now? 
• Is it time to pee yet?

Also, when I was ten, why did I try to breakdance in public? I didn't even give myself the benefit of practicing first.
The trail took me up over Silver Pass, another non-event in terms of technical snow travel. It was just a place to get my feet wet in some snow. It then wended down past a series of lakes with darkly embarrassing names -- Squaw Lake, Chief Lake, Warrior Lake, and then of course the Lake of the Lonely Indian. Given that we white people tended to name natural features for Native Americans after killing or displacing them, I have a hunch as to why that last guy was lonely.
I ended the day at Virginia Lake, set in a granite moonscaped bowl. It was a weekend, so there was a haze of campfire smoke and a din of dog barks, but still plenty of space for a bearded emaciated weirdo like myself to set up camp. I rushed through setting up the tent and climbed down to the shore, put my trusty Panther Martin spinner bait on the line, and immediately landed the biggest trout I have ever caught.

not the biggest but one of the prettiest

I cast again and immediately caught another fish. And again, and again. It was complete fishing satisfaction. I cleaned a couple and started them frying while I caught more and released them. The evening cooled, my hands numbed, the light grew grey, and I kept pulling in and releasing beautiful rainbow trout. It was an immensely powerful feeling of being in the right place at the right time. Off to my right, I could see another angler with a fly rod. He too appeared to be executing his pastime to a degree approaching perfection. Because he was fly fishing, this meant he exhibited the grace of a swan in flight while casting and cursing softly to himself.
The fried fish was excellent, by the way.