Today we saw a man fall down a mountain. No lie. This man is perhaps in his 60s, goes by the name "The Pensioner." All morning we had been climbing, climbing, climbing, which meant weaving around the ridge of a moonscape, mounds of loose rocks. We didn't have far to go to Sonora Pass, but the hiking was strenuous. At several points, snow encased the trail, creating a slippery and dangerous shoot down the steep side of the mountain. I'd say it was some of the most dangerous hiking we've encountered, and at one point I felt so unsafe walking that I agreed to glissade down a dodgy looking path to the valley. Boom went first, and as I followed, mid-glissade, he witnessed the Pensioner approach the snow-covered path up above, slip and fall/flail down the mountain. He said he actually had to look away because it was so terrifying. The Pensioner landed on a small cliff, having lost one pole and his water bottle but not injured. He picked his way down the mountain the best he could.
When we reached Sonora Pass, we expected to find our whole crew. We didn't, but Dayhike left detailed notes in the log book that gave us a few clues about when folks had arrived and left at the resupply station. Sonora Resupply is a company that you can order food from, and they drive a truck up to the pass with hikers' orders. We hung out there with Spear, Woodstock, and Hawkeye, enjoying the free coffee and collectively giggling at Boom who was having a small meltdown about the inaccuracy of our estimated food needs. As usual we had way too much food, and the stress of this caused Boom to pull at his hair; the more agitated he got, the bigger his hair got, creating great entertainment. We were all a bit slap happy anyway, making dark jokes about the life we had chosen at the moment. After using the gross park bathroom, I fell into more hysterics when I saw the informational warning sign about "the plague" which helpfully noted the symptoms and means of transmission, such as being "coughed upon" by an infected cat. Oh, parks service. We knew you live in the past, but the plague? Really?
Soon enough we decided we better head out because Tahoe was still 70 miles away. The hike out was another climb involving snow-covered parts of the trail. Spear, Woodstock, and Hawkeye could be seen up ahead, and I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that I can't keep up. For a couple weeks now, we've been in the back of the pack, which certainly isn't Boom's fault. I really want to hike with our friends, and every day I see them push themselves while I just feel more and more exhausted. When I slipped and fell on the snow, Boom helped me up and asked how I felt. "Done," I said. A few minutes later we sat together on the ridge as I proceeded to lose it. The sense of urgency that had overtaken the hike and my simultaneous hope to keep up and hyper awareness of my physical limitations had come at the end of the Sierra. By the time we reach Tahoe, we will have hiked 300 miles through the hardest section of the PCT without a day off. All of this came to a head for me in that moment.
Boom is a really excellent husband. I don't think the PCT will transform me into a competitive outdoor athlete enthusiast, but it has sure made us better at marriage. He has repeatedly shown extreme levels of patience and care, which is often commented on by fellow hikers. He takes care of filtering water, makes dinner, waits for me at every tricky part of the trail and watches to make sure I cross every stream safely, massages my feet and back at night, and constantly tells me how great I'm doing and even listens and calms me down in moments like this one. He knows this is hard for me; he knows I'm trying. I wouldn't blame him if he lost patience, got sick of going my pace, or wanted a day off from the camp chores. But somehow he doesn't. He seems at peace out here; he has a lot of capacity.
We ultimately camped early after ambling our way down the melty, slippery snow and loose rocks. By the time we made dinner we were laughing again. Tomorrow is a new day.
