I awake and stare at the gnats that have collected on the outside of our tent between the rain fly and the mesh. There must be hundreds of them. It’s 6 am, the air is cool. It will be hot in a few hours.
The birds begin to sing, telling me the same thing, “It will be hot soon, better get moving. It will be hot soon, better get moving.”
Reluctantly, I rise and stuff my sleeping bag away. I’m hesitant to move but I know the time is now. I’m worried about seeing rattlesnakes, as I’ve heard there can be a quite a few, especially with the heat of the days rising.
It’s often a challenge to get out of bed as we hike in the desert because you’re tired from the previous days trek, so there’s a pull to lay still, to stay off your feet. Yet the logical, pragmatic part of your brain knows the heat is coming. With that heat is discomfort, sweat and physical strain. The longer you wait to rise, the harder and hotter the days hike will be. So you get up, tired.
This morning I notice my heels are stiff. I stretch them by raising my toes onto a rock and leaning into the stretch. I walk around to warm up my limbs.
It’s 6:50 am when we leave our camp. We start by climbing immediately. The trail winds upward interchanging between sun and shade. A segment of the trail is scorched. It’s a scene that’s become familiar. But there are no scorched trees, just a blackened hillside, where the yucca and brush have been singed as if a dragon had breathed down on fly-by.
We finish our 1,500 ft climb then stop for breakfast. Chef catches up with us and sits to talk for a while before continuing on trail.
After breakfast we’re reenergized for hiking. We hike for several miles and listen to a podcast as we go. We pass a group of hikers under the shade of some trees but we continue on. About a mile later Chef catches up to us again. I thought he was already ahead of us.
“Ya’ll didn’t need any water? ” He asks. It turns out he was under the trees and had called out to us when we passed, alerting us to water. We didn’t hear him, lost in trail. It’s 15 miles to the next water, but we’ll be okay. I still have ¾ gallon and Lupine has a couple liters.
Chef again passes us and we don’t see him until the end of the day. The day is hot. And long. We hike the remaining 15 miles, getting lost in the movement. Our feet hurt, my heels howl, begging for new shoes. I think I’ve worn down the padding and my feet are sore and stiff.
Before we reach the firehouse where there’s water, we spot Chef and Siracha along the trail, cooking dinner. They say the firehouse is windy so they’re camping here, plus there’s a water cache right here as well. We join them, and cook dinner. Siracha offers us a can of beer. It is so kind of him and tastes refreshing. We talk and laugh about the trail. We discuss the days to come. In about two days we hit the Mojave, which we all plan to hike at night. After fun and laughter, Lupine and I pitch our tent, settling in for the evening. Birds squawk as the air cools, and then quite as it darkens. Good night little friends.
Thanks for the trip down memory lane. I just caught up reading all your posts. I hiked from Mexico to where you are about now back in 1980, when there wasn’t much of a marked trail. I really enjoy living vicariously through your posts until I can finally finish what I started a long time ago. Also, I laugh every time you talk about people. I totally relate…some people are wonderful to be around and some are not. Groups of people are too stressful. Having meaningful conversations with one or two people are very enjoyable, especially on the trail. I am looking forward to “joining” you on this incredible adventure. Stay safe.
Thanks for reading Wayne! I’m glad you’re enjoying the adventure. I can only imagine how the trail differs from 1980. I’m sure there were far fewer points for resupply, and less community to provide trail support. What a very cool experience to have.