At the Coast, Among the Redwoods, and in the Applegate—Still Training

     I had a very good time visiting my friend on the Northern California coast last week. I enjoyed Luffenholtz Beach

and did a lot of hiking, with a backpack, as I was still training for my upcoming, strenuous, two-day backpacking trip in Mt. Rainier National Park. I hiked through the  beautiful redwoods, up hills and down.  

On my way home I stopped at Jedediah Smith State Park to hike the five-and-a-half-mile Boy Scout Tree trail, with my backpack.

   It was early morning as I drove the curvy, one-lane, gravel road through the redwoods at the park, brushing so close to the giant trees I might have stroked them in passing and passing no cars at that hour. The only other people at the trailhead were a carful of young Asian men, who started on the trail while I was still putting on my backpack. I soon passed them, as they were stopping to take pictures and walk up logs and generally cavort in the forest. For the next hour and a quarter I walked through the prehistoric redwoods, alone in the forest. I sank into the scale of massive trees and enormous ferns, of vast silence and ancient eras. After an hour and a quarter I came to the hand-carved sign, "TREE" with an arrow pointing to the right—like some kid who was being a wise-ass: "In case you can't see a tree, here's one"—but I knew to climb up the hill where it was pointing to the Boy Scout Tree.

    It was as I remembered: astonishingly huge. I took off my pack, sat down, and contemplated the tree, remembering when Mike and I had come here two years ago so I could hug this tree, as part of my 75x75 project. Remembering the pictures he took of me hugging it all the way around and the photo-shopping my son did to turn that picture into one.

Remembering Mike. Reading a poem I had written when we hiked through the redwoods on our honeymoon in Trinidad two years ago. Spreading a small vial of his ashes at the foot of the Boy Scout Tree. 

    I was lucky with those few minutes of solitude, as I met quite a few hikers on my return to the trailhead. One woman asked why I was carrying such a heavy pack. I told her I was training for a backpacking trip at Mt. Rainier National Park. I said I hoped I was ready. She said, with great confidence, "You'll do fine."

    Now, how would she know that? She had no idea how many miles I would be hiking, how steep the trail was, how fit my hiking partners were, or, as far as that matter goes, how fit I am. It was a statement of false confidence that had me shaking my head in puzzlement all the way to the car. 

    Yesterday I made the last training hike. With my friend Margaret, I climbed, with my backpack packed as for Mother Mountain Loop, the Horse Camp trail, the steepest trail in the Applegate, four miles, with 3500 feet of elevation gain. Up and up and up we went, relentlessly up, Margaret said. I kept on climbing. I didn't stop till we got to Echo lake, where I took a well earned swim,

Swimming in Echo Lake

and we had a bite to eat. Then, with my pack lightened by the weight of one cucumber and a bit of cheese, we hiked another quarter of a mile up the cliff to the Pacific Crest Trail. From there it was an easy two more miles to Cook and Green Pass, where Margaret's husband had kindly left us a car so we wouldn't have to make the horrendous hike four miles down the Horse Camp trail.  

    Somewhere along the PCT, in view of Mt. Shasta and the surrounding mountains, I did another ashes ritual for Mike. As it's my practice to bring a rock back from each place I spread ashes, I picked up one here. Margaret picked up another for me and said she would carry both rocks. That was so kind! I was happy enough not to replace the weight of the cucumber with even heavier rocks. 

    I left the trail well satisfied with my last training hike. This much I could do. Now for Mother Mountain.    

Just before the end of my last training hike