Tuesday, July 22. Duck Creek Crossing. 10,200 feet. 12 miles.
As if we were planning our rendezvous with military precision, Drew and I arrived at the parking area near the restaurant just as Renee and Vanessa pulled up. Based on the joy I felt at seeing them and the warmth of our greeting, you'd think we hadn't seen each other in years. But it was genuine all around.
We had breakfast at the restaurant, then returned to our campsite to sort gear. Pack the new food, the fresh film, toilet paper, insect repellent and the rest. Leave the exposed film, the finished book and the like behind.
Family dynamics this morning were a pleasant contrast to life at home lately. The frequent parent-teenager tensions and sibling battles were replaced with good humor and kindness. Where was the sarcasm and bickering? Teasing, you bet, but spoken with a smile and received the same way. It's nice to know that if we get away from the battlefield with its parent-mandated responsibilities and limits, we can be a loving family. Renee and I can take heart. Maybe there will be sunlight at the end of the teenage dark time.
Near noon, we shouldered our heaviest-yet packs (nine days of food), said a difficult good-bye, and turned south toward the remaining eighteen days and 170 miles of walking still ahead.
Drew and I walked in silence for a long while, each of us alone with our thoughts. The country immediately beyond Red's Meadow is an eerie open forest of black-burned snags, remnants of a devastating 1992 fire that extends down to the Middle Fork of the San Joaquin River and beyond. It was desolate and cheerless - scenery that matched our mood as we left behind smiling, loving faces for a trail, the end of which, seems so far away.
Finally, Drew broke the silence. "Dad, I'm not sure that meeting Mom and Vanessa was a good idea," he said, acknowledging the melancholy we both felt after leaving them. I agreed, but I was glad to see our sometimes indifferent and tough-talking 18 year-old express those feelings about his mother and sister.
Our attention turned to the steady, pitiless climb through more soft volcanic ash up and along the Mammoth Crest. We left the fire's devastation and entered a thriving forest of red firs and lodgepole pines. The grade eased and we began traversing the crest as much as climbing it. Seven miles out we reached Deer Creek knowing that it was five miles to the next water at the outlet of Duck Lake where we are now.
I had hoped that the clear weather of the past two days meant an end to the rain, but the sky grew more threatening and thunder constantly rumbled in the distance. A hard rain hit a mile before camp casting a dreary veil over the views across Fish Creek two thousand feet below toward the peaks of the Silver Divide beyond.
Hurried by the rain, we have set up camp in a marginal spot not far from the trail next to the unnamed outlet creek from Duck Lake. We met another Scotsman on the trail today who is our neighbor for the evening. Moments ago, he came by with a friendly offer to share some hot chocolate he had made. Too warm and comfortable to emerge from the tent, I politely refused. Drew felt the kind gesture deserved a kind response. I can hear them getting acquainted in the wet darkness.
Legs are sore, but our strength continues to grow. I dressed my new heel blister in a Band-aid secured by a cover of duct tape, but it slid off. It looks ugly, but did not hinder today's walking. Likewise, the Bridalveil Falls injuries on my left foot still look bad but have not been troublesome. Other than that, we only have the normal peripheral aches and pains - nothing that hampers us.
9:00. Good night. Miss you, Renee and Vanessa - warm and dry in a motel somewhere just over the hill. Damn rain.
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