Mile 2200: I Found What I Came For

I know how your mind

rushes ahead,

trying to fathom

what could follow this.

What will you do,

where will you go,

how will you live?

You will want

to outrun the grief.

You will want

to keep turning toward

the horizon,

watching for what was lost

to come back,

to return to you

and never leave again.

For now,

hear me when I say

all you need to do

is to still yourself,

Wait

and see what comes

to fill

the gaping hole

in your chest.

Wait with your hands open

to receive what could never come

except to what is empty

and hallow.

A selection from “Stay” by Jan Richardson

The trail rarely gives to us what we think we deserve. It certainly doesn’t deliver to us what we think we want, no matter the ache or the intensity of the desire. In fact, at times the trail seems unconcerned with our most basic physical needs—water to drink, shade to rest in, manageable temperatures and weather. Though in her funny and merciful way, the trail unfailingly provides. She whispers to each of us secrets about ourselves. She meets our needs in creative and surprising ways. She bestows upon each of us certain insights and experiences we could not have known to hope for or imagine.

When I entered the most difficult section of the Sierra—and arguably of the whole PCT—I was weary. Disoriented and devastated by the fleeting nature of relationships formed on the trail. Longing for loved ones at home and the warmth of meaningful human connection. Fatigued by my overworked feet (several of my toes have gone completely numb but I’ve been assured the feeling will return eventually), insatiable hunger (have I mentioned I’ve gained weight? Who walks 30 miles a day and gains weight?), and increasingly depleted energy levels (seriously, sometimes I feel like a slug).

But my experience in the High Sierra surpassed my every expectation. The landscape unfurled to reveal a dramatic and exposed granite skyline. The jagged, disparate peaks glowed with every late morning sunrise. Hidden lakes would appear, their still and mirror-like surfaces reflecting inverted mountains into the bluebird sky. The distinctively ethereal Sierra setting unsettled the sense of monotony that had seeped into my long days of hiking. Although, as I reflect, the experience of the natural beauty pales in comparison to beautiful interior changes which took place during that time.

It’s impossible to recount this extraordinary piece of time without disclosing a bit about my companions—Cozy Cat and Pavlov. When I met Cozy and Pav, I was sunning on top of a boulder at a mid morning break. Having unexpectedly run into friends I hadn’t seen for many miles, I was in the middle of an impromptu reunion over cherry pie and slushy drinking water from still frozen water bottles. Cozy materialized, looking beautifully bohemian and glamorously dirty in signature thru-hiker fashion, and introduced himself in a sultry South African accent. Moments later, Pav bounded up to our spot with a sleek ultralight pack and stylishly ironic aesthetic. The two elicited some combination of intimidation, indifference, and intrigue. I wasn’t looking to make new friends—I was still grieving the parting of my previous ones dammit. Though somehow Pavlov and I found ourselves in a surprising synchronicity, walking and chatting as though we’d known each other for much longer than a few hours. Absorbed within a larger group, the three of us ended up spending a significant amount of time together between hiking over some of the highest Sierra passes in the moonlight and shivering through the night in our sleeping bags side-by-side.

At first, Cozy and I expressed little interest in getting to know one another. He, being a flipper, had already hiked the desert section of the trail northbound and only had the sierra section of the trail to complete since starting southbound from Canada. He saw himself as being in the final stages of his hike and had already begun to prepare himself for the transition from the trail back into his previous world. For my part, I was wary of forging a new friendship with such a quickly approaching expiration date. In fact, I was intent on remaining distant enough that I could split from him and the group at any moment. Though the trail had other things in mind.

As arresting vistas inspired a new appreciation of my surroundings, my interactions with Cozy began to shake something loose inside of me. Our first real exchange, the first conversation that held any weight, took place in the back of a hitch. A spacious white van belonging to a transient mountain biker, I made myself comfortable in the owner’s bed by laying on my back and pressing my bare feet into the cool metal ceiling. I was feeling sullen and withdrawn, less than thrilled about the prospect of going back to the mountains after the briefest of resupply stops. Cozy laid beside me on his back and dug into my obstinate silence. When he turned his face, inches from mine, I remember being surprised by the comfort of his mirthful mouth and warmth brown eyes. Surprised by his insightful questions and thoughtful responses to my words. From that conversation onward I was invested in sharing Cozy’s final days on the trail. Despite our respective intentions to remain aloof, he pulled me in. We pulled one another into something neither of us had expected, a rare and transformative kind of friendship as dazzling and fleeting as a star falling burning blazing through the atmosphere.

The days to come were glorious. The views unprecedented and well earned after incredibly demanding climbs. Daily dips into crisp sierra pools and streams, shrieking with the biting cold and feeling of being clean in the deepest sense of the word. Mounting the final passes of the High Sierra and releasing screams laden with many meanings. I could feel some callous softening within me and felt myself unfurling in the presence of friends who wanted to share these vivid moments with me.

One of my favorite days was climbing the highest peak in the contiguous United States before sunrise. We began to hike at 1am and started up Mount Whitney by the humble glow of our headlamps. I sank to the back of the group, craving solitude and feeling as though I was carrying some inexplicable sadness. As I rose higher along the endless croché of switchbacks, I found myself stopping to gasp for breath and released short sobs that surprised even myself. By the time I crested the final climb the sky was a lovely, dark red which foreshadowed the sun’s imminent rise and the start of another day. My friends were tucked into various rocks, buried in their sleeping bags, and just beginning to stir in order to watch the changing sky. As I sat between Cozy and Pav, I struggled to take in the earth’s vastness and marveled at our vantage point so high above even the most formidable mountaintops. I stared intently at the sun’s laborious arch, swelling and pouring over the mountain ranges like golden mist. We passed tea between our cold hands, lit incense, and committed ourselves to lounging on our granite chaises for hours as other hikers came and went. In that moment I was overcome with love and gratitude for these friends I’d known for an improbably short time. I had that strange sense that I could recognize the significance of our time together, the significance of that very day, which meant something profound and profoundly different to each of us. As I sat on top of Whitney, I felt myself coming to greater terms with so much of the relational complexity I had experienced throughout the trail. I felt the tangled knots of anger, desire, longing, and love ease themselves into a new shape—one marked by gratitude and grace.

The next few days, Cozy’s final days on the PCT and in the States, were characterized by both debauchery and sentimentality in equal measure. The last of my days with Cozy were absolutely precious to me. He and I undertook the bizarre task of sharing important parts of ourselves, racing against time, becoming close even as we had already begun to slip away from one another. In this process, of exploring Cozy’s mysteries and elucidating mine in return, I found an opportunity to relearn certain aspects of myself. I realized, I found what I came looking for all those months ago when I decided to hike.

I discovered within myself the ability to feel a remarkable depth of loneliness and yet know I am never truly alone. I cultivated an ability to delight in the company of the trees, the animals, the sun. To speak to babbling brooks and respond to whispers uttered by wind. I found a knowledge and understanding of God so vast no person or thing is excluded from such a force of all encompassing love. I received respite from imagined attachments and conventional expectations. I learned how to allow sorrow in and then out and to not be overcome by it. To hear the voice of my own desires for peace, connection, and transformation. To be afraid and befriend my own fears, walking with them rather than against them. I resolved to be a force of light—a barefooted soul walking lightly through this world. To become a lover and dissolve as Rumi described. To trust the grains of the universe to continue to conspire to help me, to help us all. And I learned lessons more ancient than knowing itself. How to be animal, crouched in soft grass, sipping from the stream, moving over the earth in the dimmest light of dawn, trusting my feet to find solid ground.

I am a new creature—my old self coming undone as a new shape emerges with intricate knots and tangles all her own.

After Cozy’s departure, Pavlov and I became hiking companions. We grieved the closing of one chapter and formed patterns that would characterize the next as we started into the desert. As the terrain shifts in a monumental way, so does my approach to the thru. After moving rapidly through 2,000 miles of the trail—hiking diligently through pain and setbacks—I’ve earned my victory lap by way of moseying through the desert. This funky and bizarre environment has already brought more laughter, astonishment, and magic than I could have anticipated. It’s going to be a trip, y’all.

Let the good times roll,

Snap

P.S. There are a few people whose words and kindess have sustained me—no, delivered me—through the past few weeks. I just want to give my sincerest thanks to Lachlan, to Megan, and to Doug. My heart is so full at the very thought of each of you. Thank you to Sara, to Dominique, and to Vanesa for your thoughtful gifts. You, dear ones, make this adventure possible.