Day 49: Weminuche Take Three

Mileage: 16.3 miles (796.8-813.1)

We started off early again. Before sunrise is my favorite time of day. It was  a bit steep and icy as we skirted the slopes around the divide, so as we popped over a pass, I decided to follow the ridge as the trail met back up with it after a mile or so. Karma stayed low. I was treated to 360 degree views and an incredible sunrise. I had a steep enough descent that I was happy I had my ice axe, but nothing that we hadn't tackled before. I was able to stomp my heels in as I descended the slope, so it wasn't too bad. 

As the day pressed on, we reached another knife's edge, but this one was much longer and sketchier. I still don't understand how information passes the way it does and how one part of the trail becomes so infamous, while others are still unknown, despite their difficulty. It probably comes down to the name. As I came down the spine, I noticed Elk footprints spattered with blood. I felt sad for him and hoped he was okay. It wasn't until later that I realized it was the razor-sharp ice he broke through as he post-holed that likely caused his wounds. 

Coming over a saddle and into a slight decline, I noticed some dainty bobcat tracks, the circular prints hardly sunken into the snow. The cat must have been there earlier in the morning. He probably smelled us from miles away. As I walked I thought more and more how I wished I could just be alone. I was in the middle of 500,000 acres of wilderness but it's been hard to find alone time. Just me and the mountains, without worry of if I was going to fast or slow. Or looking back or forward wondering when Karma might come out of nowhere yelling his own name or just out of frustration or glee. 

This morning, I was able to hike out in front for about four miles. It was wonderful. I thought about my life and what I wanted to do after the trail. So many other hikers I meet just want to continue hiking these trails - whether it's the Pacific Crest, the Appalachian, or another overseas. Their goal is to hike trails. That's not me. Although I love being out here and find it incredibly beautiful and satisfying, I know that I need a greater purpose - to help others, to teach, and to learn. Right now is a respite from the real world - a calm before another storm. I hope I can find how to bring the wilderness and the feelings of joy and wonder I have to others - to help others discover solitude in the mountains and come to trust and rely on themselves - to heed their senses of sight, sound, touch, and smell. 

As I wandered alone I discovered a beautiful waterfall, tucked away below the actual trail near Snow Creek. Near there I noticed some succulents, typically a desert plant, somehow clinging to life at 11,000 ft. I was knocked out of my reverie when I heard I ear-splitting scream from above. At first, I thought it was an animal, but then I realized it was Karma. He was letting out frustration about post-holing. He'd followed my tracks all the way down - I'd assumed he would have followed the trail.

As we kept going Karma set off a pretty big slide climbing just above the trail, but luckily it was under him. I had actually thought about using the same slope to cut up to the trail so I'm glad I didn't. We have to be more careful. 

I was feeling the heat of the midday sun and was anxious for the sun to fade away so we could sleep. It felt like all we did was walk, eat, and sleep. Walk, eat, and sleep. We were knocked from the monotony as we both fell down face first on probably the least sketchy slope we went down all day. It was hilarious. This changed the mood, as did eating two packs of spicy ramen. Turns out I love Ramen. Five packs for a DOLLAR? And they are soooooo f-ing good. I love them. And I'd never had them camping before. This discovery of Ramen is just like how I arrived to Instagram five years after it was cool.

As we descended over the purple and pink Alpine Coraldrops (alpine besseya), a small plane buzzed overhead. And then again and again. Below the tallest peaks in the valley. He wasn't search and rescue or the park service - probably a hunter scoping out some illegal terrain. I yelled, "Get the **** out of here!" The din of the plane freaked the shit out of me, so I know it does the same to the animals, whose habitat we are protecting with the wilderness.

There's an idea I've been reading about called '3D wilderness.' It's from Doug Peacock, one of the leading Grizzly experts in the world, and also the person who Edward Abbey based the character Hayduke off of in The Monkey Wrench Gang. The idea is pretty simple - wilderness boundaries should not stop at roads and machines on the ground. Planes, helicopters, drones, and whatever other flying machines we invent also should not intrude on the wilderness - especially if it makes enough noise to scare an 800 lb Grizzly. Sure, we might not be able to keep commercial airliners from flying over wilderness at 30,000 ft, but couldn't we say that hunters, trappers, and recreational pilots can't fly within a few thousand feet of these areas? At the very least not within 5,000 ft. of the tallest peaks? It seems a mild compromise to ensure the well-being of the singular islands of biodiversity we have left in our mountains, deserts, and streams.

Later on we saw a Grey Fox off in the distance. He ran swiftly to get away. We tracked a bear, but somehow his tracks disappeared into thin air. We also saw a chipmunk - they are very curious, but never intrude. As we descended down to 11,000 ft. the snow faded away and we hiked on our first bare ground in weeks. We heard the chirp of the marmot fade away into the hills and setup camp early by the river under an Engelmann Spruce. As I drifted off to sleep, I marveled at how quickly we went from the bone white snow and dead of winter to the green flowing grass and promise of spring.