It was a simple concept, really: retrace the steps of a trip that led to my falling madly and deeply in love with the Sierra Nevada, brought me to pick up my life and start anew at the foot of these magnificent mountains.
Not so simple a concept: how to convey adequate thanks to all of those who have taken the time to teach me so much over the past five years.
The only thing that felt the same was the pack, resting heavy on my hips and shoulders. I guess I'll never learn that trick of going light. "What the hell have you got in here, Laura?" Rob demanded as I flopped the Beast on the floor of the Crabtree Ranger Cabin.
A 15 day walkabout, following my route along the High Sierra Trail to the west, north into Kings Canyon via Elizabeth Pass, then back to the Kern via Colby Pass over the Great Western Divide. No resupply, despite the offers of friends to meet me. I needed my time alone, I thought.
I was wrong.
Friendly faces of those I passed on the trail, a few minutes of conversation. Getting a new trail name on day two from another tall, strong woman striding solo through these tall and thin places. Learning the touching story of a mother and son trekking slowly to Precipice Lake: she living her "pipe dream" by putting one foot in front of the other and her son making it come true by hiking his pack half a mile up the trail, then returning for hers. Receiving trail telegrams from good friends half a day ahead, and catching them at Colby Lake, only to be introduced to another Sierra legend and his family as well, then laughing under the full moon late into the night.
Cautiously stepping up loose slopes to reach slabby and broken faces, the occasional cairn to keep me in the right chute. Sand between boulders for sliding back down fast to outrun a storm that never came. Dunking and swimming out into deep, sapphire waters with a gasp and laughter, then melting into afternoon rocks, spreading my hair to dry in the light breezes. Trading glances with a young buck, antlers still in velveteen; watching the baby bear trundle across the rocks and wonder where mama is hiding. Jumping clear of the trail at the rattle of one big snake, then cautiously turning at the warning hiss of the next.
When I returned from this trip five years ago, Ken insisted I was a mountaineer. "All I did was walk a trail, Ken. Mountaineers do SO much more…" I couldn't bring myself to allow that title to be bestowed. I was too new, I had no idea what I was doing.
It was the start of an incredible ride, and it doesn't seem to be slowing down.
Thank goodness.
My journal is full of notes and pages of wandering thoughts. Slowly, I'll weave them together into the [url=http://moosetracksca.wordpress.com/]story[/url] of my journey. There are entirely too many [url=http://www.flickr.com/photos/moosepics621/collections/72157631311288912/]pictures[/url] from the two cameras I took along (not taking any chances this time).
I gave myself the gift of time, and used it roaming what is now sacred ground for me.
"To lovers of the wild, these mountains are not a hundred miles away. Their spiritual power and the goodness of the sky make them near, as a circle of friends. ... You cannot feel yourself out of doors; plain, sky, and mountains ray beauty which you feel. You bathe in these spirit-beams, turning round and round, as if warming at a camp-fire. Presently you lose consciousness of your own separate existence: you blend with the landscape, and become part and parcel of nature."
John Muir (1838 - 1914)
As I say at the end of the video, I can't wait to see what this road has in store for me next.
From the luckiest girl in the world,
Climb Hard. Be Safe.
-L
Laura's Grand Adventure: The Return from Laura Molnar on Vimeo.
