On Pilgrimage: The John Muir Trail (Part 7)

After successfully luring Anita off the oasis of Vermilion Resort, Anita and I set off for the final half of our journey.  We were just days from our next food drop, Reds Meadow.  This campground was snuggled in Ansel Adams Wilderness, and Yosemite stretched out just beyond it.

There were a couple passes left, but nothing comparable in elevation to what we'd already crossed.  We were in great shape (a week and a half of trail will do that to you!) and the weather was perfect.  Things were wonderful.  Further, we knew that we wouldn't be too grimy before we hit the showers at Reds Meadow, just prior to drinking more beer.

Virginia Lake

One thing I noticed on the trail was how accustomed I became to expansive views.  All day, every day, I saw as far as the eye can see: long, expansive lakes, mountains off on the horizon, endless skies, stars millions of miles away - nothing impeded my vision.  It was always a shock every night to climb into the tent because the world shrunk so significantly!  It went from endlessness to the length of your body.  I was never claustrophobic, but experiencing this radical difference made me truly appreciative of open space.  I started thinking about life in San Jose - seeing only as far as the buildings surrounding me.  The city is a box that encloses you.  What a relief it is to experience the world going on forever.

The amazing views from Ansel Adams Wilderness

Anita and I made it to Reds Meadow without any problem.  We picked up our second cache of food, excited to have so many new choices.  Reds Meadow was great.  I got my treasured pancakes and Anita ate her eggs.  We had beer and coffee and life was wonderful.  We just stayed one night.

Cards at Reds Meadow

The next day was my biggest blunder on the three week hike.  To this day, Anita has not lost one opportunity to bring this up with me.  To get to Reds Meadow, you have to go on a side trail.  We exited the JMT south of Reds Meadow, and caught up with it again north of Reds Meadow, just past the breathtaking natural phenomenon: the Devil's Post Pile.

So, I will preference the next sentence by saying that, when we met up with the JMT, it was not at the same spot we left it.  Now the incriminating sentence: I directed us the wrong way on a North/South trail.  We headed south, back to where we'd come.  The problem was, it took us hours to realize it.

Things didn't seem right, but we kept walking.  We were in new territory, but it did feel like we were walking backwards.  I'm sure some social psychiatrists will have something to say about why we both kept going, even as we both questioned ourselves, but we did.  We put miles under our boots, and made an already-late departure that much worse.

I take responsibility.  I was in charge of the map.  If today we are driving in a car, trying to find a friend's house, Anita will distrust anything I have to say about the directions, saying, "You got us lost on the one-way John Muir Trail!"  And that's that.

Devil's Post Pile - an amazing natural phenomenon just outside Reds Meadow

We headed back, having lost substantial daylight.  We only made it out to Johnston Lake (2 or 3 miles from Reds Meadow).  To make matters worse, Anita wasn't well.

Johnston Lake

There's a term for people with inner-thigh fat that rubs together when you walk.  The term is "chub-rub".  Anita taught me this term because she was running into a very serious problem which she coined "anti-chub-rub".  It seems that she lost so much weight in her thighs from the constant exercise, that her pants no longer fit her.  Where they were snug against her inner-thighs, gracefully rubbing together as she walked, they were now loose and baggy.  This caused an anti-chub-rub rash.

A rash will take you out.  You cannot walk with a rash.  I had a feeling when I went to bed that night, hearing of her rash and helping her put cream on it, she wouldn't be able to continue.  In the morning, we ate breakfast quietly and mournfully.  I then looked up at her and asked if she could continue.  She nodded her head no, and wept.

We walked back the short, emotional distance to Reds Meadow.  We were just three days from completing our voyage - just three days from Tuolomne Meadows.  I knew that this was my chance.  It's not often you have the luxury of taking a month off of work to hike.  I knew I had to complete this, but I couldn't imagine it without my partner.  We'd gone through so much.

Still, as a violent storm rolled its way into Ansel Adams Wilderness, I had breakfast at Reds Meadow with Anita, and prepared for a tearful goodbye.  Another couple in the restaurant were opting out themselves because they didn't want to face the coming storm.  I had every excuse to leave the trail with Anita, but I felt a calling.  Yosemite was calling, and as I learned on the Camino de Santiago, a pilgrimage has to be your own.  It is a radically personal endeavor, even as you become profoundly touched by the ones you are with.

Anita secured a ride from fellow hikers to the nearest town where we agreed she'd get a rental car and head home.  She would pick me up with her Mom a few days later.  I threw on my pack and headed out alone against a fierce wind.  It was not long before the rain poured down on me.

Our last picture together, just prior to heading back to Reds Meadow, where we would mournfully separate