Well, my brilliant idea to use my ground cloth like a blanket and stay dry failed miserably. I’m dry under the quilt, but condensation built up underneath the ground cloth. Not as wet as yesterday, and nothing frozen this morning.
I pack up and notice the sticky mud adhering like glue to my stakes. I’m here in prime time. It’ll all be gone in a few weeks.
I decide to give a small bit of road a try and copy Snack. There’s still a raging torrent of muddy water flowing at me, but as she pointed out, there’s more choice where to walk.
It really has gotten more beautiful, tall ponderosa more tightly packed in, meadows and lichen-covered rock. The sun cuts at an angle and everything has a warm glow, even if covered in frost. The birds sing with gusto from every tree. I am in a much better space on this glorious morning.
I pass a mole tunnel revealed under melted snow. I still have drifts to cross and my feet crunch the crusty top. Other feet have been on this road. It’s definitely easier walking than the trail. I remember a wise person telling me to enjoy good things while they last. Nothing lasts forever, but that goes for bad things too, and the good will return.
I reach a tank and see Joey high up on its bank in the sun. I decide to leave him to his reverie as the trail moves away. I find a stump to sit on at a sunny spot a little further on where I collect water from the run off spilling out of Maxie Tank. The only major benefit for us hikers is water is plentiful to collect.
Joey catches me in the forest crossing a drift – thank the goddess I can simply place my feet in someone else’s posthole. I assume he’ll blast by, but either he slows down or I’m moving fast enough and we walk together through the forest chatting.
It’s funny that I prefer to hike alone and yet with a good conversationalist, hiking with a friend is the best. We talk about yesterday and he tells me he also struggled but just set his mind to taking things as they come. We talk about long hikes and how it might be a bit too much, as well as speed and how silly it can be to always go fast.
I move happily along, a different person from yesterday. It’s prettier and not quite so horrible, even if we come across a few nasty spots.
Our conversation takes us all the way to Lake Mary Road where a camper is parked right at our cross. Of course I ask if they might have a beer they can sell me and Billy pops in the back to produce two. ‘Ballpark Beer’ at 10 am, nothing goes down smoother for a thru-hiker.
Billy tells us this land used to be in his family but is now a nature preserve. It’s loud with frogs and birds and we walk on a raised dirt road, moving easily as the beer takes effect. I tell Joey about the amazing whisky tasting I had in Scotland after hiking to Cape Wrath. He tells me he quit smoking after losing his pack on the trail.
And just like that, we miss our turn and take the wrong road. Checking the map we see we can parallel then join the trail if we just cross this meadow. And just like being in Scotland, it’s jumping from one grassy tussock to the next to avoid bog, sometimes splashing straight through water. I find it the most fun all day.
It’s a little over a mile on relatively decent if spongy surface that takes us to private property. We need to meet another side road inside a locked gate and figure with all this snow, the place has got to be empty.
Joey throws over his pack, but me? Well I may have new hips and getting a bit creaky, but I’m still a good climber and pop right over.
This side road is covered in water and mud and we miss the trail, needing to search in the woods to find it. Once on, Joey starts moving fast. It’s only a few miles to a junction with a resort and he’s skipping it to get home faster.
I lose him on the uphill, so just take my time on the final bits before heading to civilization. Just before the turn, I meet a couple coming in with their dog. Stamps walked the AZT last year but skipped this section. I tell her and Isaac the mud is epic, but they’ve planned a leisurely six days and will likely have a better time of it, though I wonder about squat little Bella. They tell me this is her training hike. At least it’s pretty flat!
I hit the turn to Mormon Lake, a natural body of water that grows and shrinks over time. It’s the home of the Zane Grey museum as well as camping and a small store. The restaurant opened for the season yesterday and I want a steak.
It’s only a mile down, but as if a reprise, all things return – deep postholed snow drifts, water-as-trail, sticky mud and rocks the size of basketballs. As if that’s not enough, one overgrown thorny patch is thrown in for good measure.
The water’s a puddle, but the place is hopping. I buy some food and have a huge meal then decide to skip camping with loud car campers and head back up my reprise trail in reverse to camp at the junction.
I find a gorgeous spot still in sunshine, on top of pine needles and next to a stream. Just as I begin to set, a young man carrying the smallest backpack I’ve ever seen with no waistbelt comes down the trail. He’s not even using walking sticks and is about as minimalist as they come.
Waldo is English and, in spite of his extra, hyper, ultra light gear, is relaxed and easy going. He thought nothing of the mud in the last section and after I snap his picture, saunters on hoping to get to Flagstaff tomorrow. Perhaps he’s a fell runner and used to extremes – England is very wet, as we all know. But how can he traverse this countryside and stay safe with so little?
As for me, I’ve gone as ‘ultra-light’ as I dare – a single-wall, trekking-pole style tent; an ultralight quilt and pad (the pillow is a luxury); and no cooking stove or fuel. Still, I take flipflops and a change of clothes for bed. I have a large battery to charge my phone because I can write every day and take thousands of pictures. I have a sit pad and a bag of wet wipes, but other than that, not much else. Doesn’t sound over-the-top, does it? Yet it all adds up and would never fit in that bookbag-sized pack.
Birds hoot and a duck quacks loudly as he flies over the meadow. I’m cuddle in as it goes quiet except for the gurgling stream. I’m warm and cozy and so grateful for a fun day walking with a friend, even if we did take a wrong turn, a great meal at a funky place and my good health to do this.
At the moment, everything is just right.
