In the morning I cried some more and then I went to chat it out. The mosquitoes were ferocious and I paced around Caiti’s tent while I explained how I was feeling and why it wasn’t just my feet that were holding me back, I lost a callus and they were blistered. I explained how I knew a lot of that was probably just old fear from foot trauma echoing up (if you’re new here, I lost all my toenails in 2019 after I hiked a lot of miles with my toes so swollen I could wiggle my toenails around in the bloated skin and caught a really lucky hitch into town after falling behind. At the small Big Bear, CA ER they told me they could lance and drain them or I could slow down and walk through the pain). I told her how mostly I was concerned that if we went on and things got worse I would get worse at being able to regulate my emotions and lose composure again and the terrain was just too risky to not have my head right. I wouldn’t have the option to go my own way, hunker down or bail out. I had shown up tired and weary and this was not the trip I needed or wanted and I hadn’t realized that and felt in over my head. I knew I could physically do it… but didn’t know if I could or wanted to mentally and emotionally.
As I paced and wove around her tent and through the trees, choking out my thoughts through tears, some hikers passed by us and the humor of the scene wasn’t lost on me. I felt hemmed in but I also knew … this just isn’t a novel scene for this endeavour. I voiced my frustration at how crowded the trail felt and how I couldnt hide away and just let my feelings pour through and out of me and I was not just unsure of the new tools I’ve gained to process my emotions but that i felt utterly faithless in my ability to use them before I found myself in crisis.
We went back and forth on options with breaks in between. Sometimes with her crouched outside my tent and sometimes with me pacing around hers. I bargained for four 10mile days, and let her raid my mostly untouched food but she didn’t have enough food for it. She said it had to be three 13 mile days. She explained that she didn’t want to go it alone in such difficult terrain and that she wanted to do this with me. We’d go back together and could do a leisure trip instead if this just couldn’t work for me. She would be disappointed of course, and I shared that sentiment. Goat Rocks has been a goal for many years.
I took a little time to think, feeling bouyed by her affirmation of my concern and her desire to be in this together.
Ultimately I decided to give a two mile test run after retaping the blisters only partially where I knew the friction had started and changing into a new pair of socks.
So we set off. It was a soft forested incline and my tape job held up. We had discussed the fact that there weren’t any bail out points where we would have the resources to get help or to bunker down and rest. It was three days forward or a half day back.
“I am afraid to be seen struggling, I am afraid to show that I’m struggling before I’m overwhelmed or to fumble with my ability to hold myself in discomfort in front of someone else” I said (though I’m sure not as eloquently). “You’re the only person I could stand to do it with but I’m still scared.”
At two miles we turned to eachother to make the call. “I want to go forward. If you can trust me to show up and buckle down and keep pace with you, I can trust you to see me fumble and struggle before its an emergency and still hold it together, deal?”
And we were off, we crushed the first incline with relative ease. The ridge views opened up as we climbed and we got our first sight of Rainier and a clear view of the smoke blanketing the entire horizon. Huckleberries lined the ridge edge as well as wildflowers and crushed rock.
We came down the other side to meet three miles of a long narrow lush forest floor and broke for lunch before our next climb. As we ate I opened up about some of the things that were coming up for me and how my capacity to handle upset was feeling spread thin. Caiti offered me tools I’ve applied to other stressors that could help ease that load and I felt a little more capable of bringing the fever pitch of fear and stress down whenever they came back up. I cleaned my socks and checked my tape work and then we were back on trail.
We kept pace for a while and as the incline stretched on we gained some distance between us but met to filter water.
I munched on huckleberries as I caught my breath “They only get better on the other side!” A SOBO hiker declared as he passed.
Onward and upwards we went, Caiti outpaced me as I slowed to mind my footfalls and eat a bar. The last half mile up felt long and hard. The last two miles rolled up and down and down to a flush of wildflowers around a small rocky creek bed and a small camping spot where I found Caiti. My feet were numb. My muscles were tight and my control was shakey. We contemplated the last .7 mile slog up the next hill to a lake as she pointed out a small frog and a pretty yellow orchid in the creek bed.
We’d made a perfect 13 mile day and I was bone tired despite wanting to prove I could push on. In protest of my best efforts to keep aligned, the right side of my body was tense and hard from walking the steep ridge line. I needed to stretch and rest. And eat.
A dark cloud foretold hard weather and I also wanted to pitch and settle in before we got any rain. Finally free of the clouds of mosquitoes and flies I hobbled around taking my time to pitch for poor weather, my old routines finally coming back online. I cooked water, sat dinner to rehydrate and nestled in to clean and foam roll my feet and ankles, stretch my legs and hips, salve and massage my tight aching shoulders.
From our tents we chatted over the days ahead. They would be increasingly challenging climbs.
“The first go round there were a lot of hard lessons in the pain, but good ones, and there was enough rest and beauty to integrate them. I’m open to the idea of a bigger investment in the pain if it feels like something else unexpected opens up from it but I’ve also been working hard all year and I will need it to be beautiful and enjoyable as well in some measure.” I shared from my bed as I poured over our the map.
“Oh god don’t look ahead” she joked.
I did.
“Well I’m glad I haven’t been complaining on the internet yet over a 800ft climb without realizing we have friends who have already done the 3000+ ft sections I hadn’t even looked over yet.” I chuckled
“It has to be worth it though right?! …. There is a real possibility with the wildfires we won’t be able to see any of this though…” – CH
“I know. I’ll have a better idea of what I’m up for after these next two days.”
The wind howled in and the sky darkened and we hunkered down for the night.
Tomorrow: a longer 800ft+ climb followed by the 1200ft approach to Knifes Edge.
If the weather doesn’t pass it’s going to be a very long hard couple of days out.
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