Monday, July 21. Red's Meadow. 7,950 feet. 18 1/2 miles.
Up at 4:00 AM, I began stuffing dew-wet sleeping bags and tents into their respective sacks while hollering wakefulness into a reluctant Drew. But there was special compensation watching the birth of this crystalline day over Thousand Island Lake and Ritter and Banner.
By 5:00 we were underway hoping to cover most of today's long walk while the day was cool and our bodies were fresh. Only a handful of the brightest stars remained as the eastern horizon hinted at daybreak. We had camped midway down the shore of Thousand Island Lake some distance from the John Muir Trail that touches the lake only at its outlet. Walking along the lake's edge, we watched the day begin. Slate gray light in the east began to warm to an orange hue. We walked, stopped, looked, and photographed Banner and Ritter, their aspect changing moment to moment above the peaceful lake. Not a breath of wind. It was like the first morning ever.
We walked a full hour along the lakeshore to reach the trail. After crossing the lake's outlet, we quickly began climbing the divide that separates Thousand Island Lake from Garnet Lake. The sun was now up but the day was still new and fresh. Garnet Lake was breathtaking - a mirror reflecting Banner and Ritter from a new angle.
Climb a ridge, descend to a lake was the repeating pattern until a forest of red firs closed in and we began a steady ten mile descent toward Red's Meadow.
Early on, we both felt strong. I followed Drew and admired his aggressive strides. No ballerina, Drew takes a big bite of trail with each step and plants his boot with youthful strength and purpose.
I felt a diluted version of Drew's strength in the morning, but half way through the day, our energy waned. We were both footsore - our soles getting hotter and more tender with each descending, pounding step. Aching shoulders and hips, fatigue, and heat poisoned our mood.
We became downright angry as we approached Devil's Postpile near our destination. The trail was deep loose sand, multiplying the effort of every step. Why doesn't the trail drop down to firm footing along the South Fork of the San Joaquin River a few hundred feet below us instead of needlessly climbing higher above the river we knew we would ultimately join?
Drew began hobbling from foot pain, and I developed a blister from a bunching patch of moleskin I had put on my heel to prevent a blister. The sandy footing, the heat, our soreness and fatigue, the purposeless aspect of the trail all created a frustration that crescendoed when we couldn't find the short trail spur to Red's Meadow. The maze of unsigned trail intersections gave no hint of which way to go. It's right here somewhere, but where?
Finally, a day hiker pointed the way and we were there. We dropped our packs and guzzled Gatorade from the general store. Then over to the restaurant. We apologized for our appearance, but the waitress was unconcerned. After a double cheeseburger, tuna melt, and a vanilla shake our spirits rose and our disgruntled mood passed.
Now, we're here at backpacker camp, a $5 a night designated site here at Red's Meadow. We took a long hot shower in water from a local hot spring. A good meal and a hot shower have lifted our spirits, eased our pains, and restored our enthusiasm.
This is the kind of evening I had hoped for on this trip - reclining in my camp chair, under the stars. Good weather and no bugs. This will be our first night out of the tent and under the stars.
We chatted with other John Muir Trail hikers here at this campground. Two men from Scotland are doing the trail together, and an English woman is doing the trail solo. Bravo! All three of these people are middle aged, not spring chickens. Folks like this renew one's faith in our species. The fact that they have come so far to walk this trail reminds those of us who live nearby what a special place this is.
Drew and I are like children on Christmas Eve anticipating the arrival of Renee and Vanessa tomorrow. Beautiful familiar faces will remind us that we have a loving family and a soft cozy home waiting when we return.
More than eighteen miles today. No wonder it hurt.
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