05/06

Last night was cold. Turns out we may have jumped the gun sending our winter gear home. The new blanket is light and compact, but not quite up to the task of mountain nights in early spring. I spent most of the night shivering not sleeping. The days however, should only be getting warmer. I may just have to suffer for a bit. At least my pack is lighter.

This morning, my feet felt better than the day before, but I’ve learned not to celebrate too early. They do what they want, fickle little things. One day they’re fine, the next they’re raging like I owe them money.

I think I’m coming down with something. I’ve got a vague, achy feeling and a kind of chill that isn’t fixed by layers or moving. No real fever, at least not yet. Could just be the result of hiking miles on end, sleeping like garbage, and living outdoors. Or it could be the beginning of the plague.

Total mileage was about nine today, which should’ve been easy, but I was dragging. The climb up had its moments. Steep bits that wouldn’t normally get to me, but felt like a personal insult given my current state.

There’ve been a few moments lately when I’ve felt homesick. Not just for a bed or a hot meal, but for familiarity. I keep asking myself what I’m doing out here. It’s hard. I know I keep saying that, writing it, repeating it like a mantra, but it’s true. The physical exhaustion is only half the story. The other half is mental. The grind of waking up every day and willingly handing yourself over to the mountain. Over and over and over. Hike, eat, sleep.

I miss home. I miss the beach. I miss my family, my friends. I miss Charlie (my pet cockatiel), especially when I hear the birds. The sound makes me think of him, and makes me feel far from everything.

But I carry on. Doing my best to stay positive, even when my body and brain are somewhere else.

Then we reached “Max Patch” and suddenly, things didn’t feel quite so heavy. A wide open bald with nothing but wind and sky. Rolling grass. No trees to block the view, just miles and miles of ridgeline and valley. It was the kind of place that reminds you why people hike. We had a picnic lunch at the top, sitting in the sun, before hiking the last mile down to “Roaring Fork Shelter”.

Now I’m in my tent, listening to birds again, this time singing me to sleep. The moon, high in the sky, painting silhouettes of tree branches on the roof of my tent. Dark, beautiful, abstract lines framed in the silver light. Exhale.