July 28
28 miles
We wake up groggy, each blaming each other for the poor night of sleep. "It sounded like you were doing somersaults in your sleeping bag last night," Barrel chides me, as we slowly start the process of getting up and moving. "Well, it sounded like you were doing WWF body slams on the floor every time you turned over," I retort. We are used to our own spaces, where the rustling of our sleeping bags and mats are drowned out by the vastness of the forest. But our foray into a civilized shelter is disappointing only when it comes to sleep. I enjoy getting to make breakfast on a real table, instead of hunched over in my tent, and I make us both a cup of hot cocoa to help in the transition of leaving the cabin.
The family who camped here last night is just beginning to stir as we head out and make our way back to the trail. (Good bye solar lights!) We meet a South bound section hiker a few miles away, who tells us there is a beautiful lake and campsite about 27 miles from where we are now--that would put our day over 30 miles, but we consider it. She tells us she's been doing about 8 miles a day, but is trying to get up into the double digits before her hike is over in a few days. I remember back to when I first started, and how 13 miles was a long day. It's amazing how your body changes over the weeks and months, and how your perception of "long" expands to fit you in your present moment.
Barrel and I have a similar pace, and we like to take breaks around the same time, so we settle into our routine easily. We walk together for a few miles, then apart, then together--we talk easily until we have nothing more to say for the time being, then drift apart to our own worlds, coming back together at breaks and telling more life stories.
Nearing the end of the day we walk back into the swarms of mosquitoes, and have to once again suit up in our rain gear and head nets, even spraying some 100% deet (UGH!) lightly on our hands to keep the bastards from biting our only unprotected skin.
It doesn't take long after first meeting Barrel to realize he's a fan of rap, and is particularly fond of Minnesota rappers--especially our most famous rapper, Slug, from Atmosphere. During our breaks he recites lyrics pertinent to the situation or topic we've been talking about, and I never have anything to reply in return. So, as we're finishing the day, and have separated so that he's further ahead of me, I decide to come up with a rap/spoken word piece that I can recite to him at our next break. I've included it in this post simply for posterity and laughs.
I come up with random lyrics, repeating them over and over again, until I've memorized my little rap, and when I see him sitting down on a log up ahead, I run over and say "Okay, I've made a rap for you! Wanna hear it?" He laughs and says, "Do it, shorty."
Here's Waldo
"Walking through the Waldo Wilderness,
but instead of Waldo, I'm searching for my sanity.
These bugs are berating me;
agitating my animosity.
I've got one trouble left;
it's the one that's on my back.
But every step is a step forward not back.
We go forward, not back.
In this self-imposed torture,
we walk for hours or more;
we go for days without cities.
But it's not the cities that gets me,
it's the loneliness.
The trees the only sentinels to our misery
in this openness.
But it's that one moment:
cresting the peak,
or watching the sunset.
Physically, I'm spent,
but emotionally,
spiritually,
I'm where I'm supposed to be."
He claps when I'm done, and I make a mock bow, laughing. We do two more quick miles and come upon a campsite at a lake a few miles short of our intended destination. There are tents set up here--three college kids, a girl and two guys, who were planning to section all of Oregon, but are now only doing a portion due to scheduling issues. They say we are welcome to camp with them, as it's already 8:30. In order to get to Dumbbell lake, we would have to do another 5 miles, but we could do 2 more and get to another lake campsite, probably one without other hikers. I am half inclined to keep going, feeling crowded here, but Barrel has already taken off his pack, and as a hiker, I know this means he's done. We decide to just set up camp here and call it good. We count up the miles we've done as 28, and high five. We clear a couple spots, and make camp, Barrel telling me again how much he liked the rap I made him. Our tents are close together in the crowded space, and we can hear everyone adjusting and moving around in their spaces--another rustling night--and Barrel whispers, "Hey, Pip, are you doing somersaults again?" (chuckle) And I tell him to shut up and go to sleep (chuckle), and this is how our night ends. And I am tired but happy.
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