On Pilgrimage: The John Muir Trail (Part 6)

The original plan was to stay at Vermilion Resort one night and catch the boat back the following evening. We'd just walk a mile or two inland and set up camp again, giving ourselves a good rest day.  Cold beer will change those plans in an instance.

Great Oregon beer served at Vermilion

Vermilion, an oasis to weary John Muir Trail (JMT) hikers, is a campground with a dynamite home-cooking cafe, a washer and dryer, a shower, and a big shaded porch.  Roaming around are dusty hikers, most of whom are JMT hikers but some of whom are Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) hikers with names like "Cloudkicker".

If we had all independently stumbled into a coffee shop or a restaurant in a city, we would never have spoken.  We would have put up our walls and talked only with those we're comfortable with.  At Vermilion, this diverse group got to know each other quick.  The high Sierra gave us an immediate bond, breaking through any social etiquette.  In fact, we wanted to talk and shout and hit each other on the back.  We wanted to grab our neighbor's backpack and compare its weight.  We wanted to clink beers and talk about the lakes and the bears.  The cafe was one big bustling scene.

Anita and I ordered an enormous dinner upon arriving.  We were shocked to find that we could only eat half of it.  Our waitress exclaimed, "That's a John Muir Trail appetite for you!"  Apparently, despite working out all day, every day, your stomach shrinks so much out there that after a while, you literally cannot eat half as much as you'd be able to eat being a couch potato in the middle of some suburb.  The waitress had the business sense, of course, to withhold that information until you ordered your expensive meal.

Heaven on the JMT

Stuffed for the first time in a week and a half, Anita and I slept.  In the morning, we again ordered big and ate small.  We were clean and our clothes were clean.  We spent time sitting at Lake Vermilion with our new friends, including "Token Asian" (he was named this shortly after meeting our fellow PCT hikers).   We felt great, and I started thinking about our plan to catch the boat back.  Anita, however, had different thoughts on the matter.  Dressed in white with soft, shampooed hair, her body repairing itself after carrying a heavy pack over so many passes, Anita was not budging.

Clean and Beautiful

"Token Asian" - a really strong, happy dude who was unemployed and thought he'd spend some time hiking in paradise

I pleaded - I begged - I thought that we were getting sucked in - that Vermillion would be a place we would not be able to leave - like it was inhabited with invisible sirens taking away our odyssey.  I made a deal, we would stay another night, but we HAD to leave the next afternoon (not much of a deal, just a final plea disguised as a barter).  Anita agreed and we put more beer into our bloated stomachs.

The next day was beautiful.  Again, we sat by the lake, looking out.  We didn't walk, our legs felt wonderful.  As the afternoon approached, Anita was still reluctant to go back to the trail, but she was moveable.  I knew if we said we'd leave in the morning, we would not get up early enough and we'd be out another day, spending more and more money in this black hole of wonderfulness.  Other hikers were planning on taking the morning boat in, but I knew we had to cross the lake this night.

The boat ride to and from Vermilion

We did.  Anita, depressed, followed her trail-hungry fiancé back onto the boat and we left the comfort of civilization.  It turned out to be an amazing boat trip: we saw an osprey dive into Lake Vermilion and come out with a huge fish.  The two guys driving the boat screamed with joy!  It was only the second time they'd seen that happen, and they take this trip twice every day.

In the morning, we woke up late as usual.  We watched the hikers, fresh off their morning boat ride, trek past our tent.  Once we got moving, Anita was again thankful for the solitude of the Sierras.

Lake Vermilion