On day 28 we hiked 28.5 miles, 22 of those miles were waterless. The night before we sat around a campfire and talked strategy - where was the last water source, how many liters should we carry, where should we aim to camp, how early should we start hiking? I watched the flames and scootched as close as I could for warmth, the air got cold as soon as the sun set and I was grateful for my sleeping bag already spread in my tent, waiting. I made myself stop eating cookies so I would have some left tomorrow after our long day.
The first six miles of that long hike took us past several abundant streams, making it hard to believe we wouldn't be seeing more for so long. I took advantage of the water, drinking three liters before 10 am. And then, I stopped to pee every half hour; once looking up to see a marmot couple watching from a ridge above. We crossed the first mountain pass of the day at 11,000 feet, the exposed area allowed us to soak in some morning sun before descending back into the trees and to our last water source. I forced another liter into my body, cameling-up for the dry stretch. My belly felt like a water balloon and the three liters I carried added 6 lbs to my pack, I wanted to ignore the number of miles ahead but started the walk anyway.
The trail that day weaved us in and out of trees, mostly traversing the sides of mountains but still offered views of ridges we'd walked in the last days, now blue and misty from the smoke of distant wild fires. Our views expanded to dark clouds, rain smearing out of them. Thunder does a wonderful thing in the mountain amphitheater, echoing between peaks. 14 miles into our "dry" stretch the rain found us. We dodged drops to roll various foods into tortillas for lunch, but spent most of the afternoon wet, moving just to stay warm. Evidence of bear became abundant, their musty stench mixing with the earthy smell of sloppy, slippery red clay. I watched footprints of those who trekked on ahead, man and animal.
The rain turned colder as we climbed to higher elevations and soon piles of pea-sized hail covered the trail. Tree line was approaching, I wouldn't miss the cold, wet branches brushing against my already clingy wet clothes, but being exposed in this weather didn't seem inviting. As I passed the last scrubby trees the rain stopped falling, but the trail turned to inches of slush. My feet numbed, not helping much in my stumbling steps to keep balanced as I slipped uphill in the snow. I smelled the fire, but almost slid my way right by, too absorbed in my freezing, miserable battle to hear friends call out to me. We warmed for a moment, joking with the strangers who had invited us to share their primitive warmth. The sun was getting lower, but we were more encouraged by the clearing of clouds than the diminishing of time and so we hiked on.
Three short ascents stood between us and Taylor Lake. Water, camp, rest. The long miles, dreary weather, and extra pack weight cemented my legs. The climbs before me would have been trivial on another day, but today I couldn't keep up. As we peaked the third and final climb I was the last to see the hazy sky reflecting the low sun's red and orange stains as it fell onto the piercing mountain tops beyond our summit.
On day 29 I went to sleep with these memories knowing the next day would bring the end of this journey and usher me to the next adventure already calling.
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