As I sit at High Creek in the shadow of San Gorgonio in the twilight of early evening I cannot help but think of backpacking adventures past. Dinner is finished, the gear is stowed, food has been hidden from night time bear visits, the sun has dropped behind the mountain and the air is taking on the chill that makes for such great sleeping in the high country wilderness. The birds have mostly stopped singing and the only sound is a slight breeze in the trees and the gentle hiss and bubble of the water flowing in the creek a few short steps away.
I camped in this very area almost exactly forty years ago, and I have been reminded of it all day as I fought my way up Vivian Creek Trail. I knew it was steep, but I had forgotten, although my good friends Denny and Mary have often reminded me of the torture they say I put them through that day so many years ago. It was their first, and probably last, backpacking trip. I can only give thanks that our friendship survived that weekend, for it could easily have been a victim of my poor judgement.
Adventures in the wilderness seem to have that binding impact on people, an experience shared that is hard to explain to those who have never ventured up a mountain trail with a heavy pack. And yet if you share that with someone the memory never fades, whether an easy journey or one fraught with unexpected challenges, calamities and problems. And it forms a link, unbreakable over time, which is what my mind is filled with tonight, forty years of those links.
But I am going solo this summer for the first time, and it has taken a bit of getting used to I must admit. It is a metaphor for my life right now, going solo, after thirty years of marriage, now finished, three sons successfully launched into their lives, I sit here alone tonight on a rock surrounded by trees, wondering what is coming next.
Backpacking alone gives one a freedom I have never experienced on the trail, for I have always ventured out with others. Go when you want, set your own pace, take breaks when you feel the need, eat when your stomach is empty. And think, a lot. The downside is no one to share the beauty of the experience with, the upside is the wonderful solitude. Still working out how I feel about this, and I sense that I will not always be going solo from now on, in fact I somehow know this is a unique time that I must embrace.
My mind drifts back through those forty years of memories...what my good friend Dick calls an outdoor resume...
Racquet Lake, the Adirondacks...being caught in a snowstorm on snowshoes with heavy packs and spending the night surviving the blizzard.
Mt. Marcy, the Adirondacks...waking up with snow covering my sleeping bag after spending a night in an open lean to with a person who became a lifelong friend. And then hiking out through mud like quicksand.
Yosemite, my first long trek of twelve days...during which we saw almost no one for days, but a friendship was forged that lasts to this day, and a memory for me and my now eighty-something friend, whose eyesight is dimming but the smile on his face tells me the vision of the Sierra is strong in his minds eye.
Mt. Whitney, highest peak in the contiguous US...scaled top to bottom in less than 24 hours. And then I went back and did it again the next year. Crazy? No, just the energy and abandon of my twenties, when none of us can conceive of the day when it may not be possible.
Philmont Scout Ranch, New Mexico...twelve days of complete joy on the trail with a wonderful group of young men, including two of my sons.
Half Dome, Yosemite...starting out in the pitch darkness of early morning, fighting back my fear of heights as I pulled myself up the cables to the top. The experience of a lifetime, again with two of my sons, perhaps my greatest adventure of all.
And many, many others that make me smile tonight in the growing darkness.
I cannot explain why I want to do this, why I feel drawn to tackle the JMT just two weeks from now, but I know that it is something inside of me that is a gift, for it has given me a window into nature that I treasure and friendships I cherish. I hope I can continue to put on a pack and go into the woods for many more years, but when I no longer can the memory of the people, places and experiences will remain to nurture me.
© 2015 James McGregor Gibson