As they say, all good things must come to an end. This series of blogs has been like the War in Iraq: I got myself into it with no real idea of how I was going to get out of it! But now I am running out of stories (at least ones that I can share with this broad of an audience!). For the really good stories you will have to pay me, or at least buy me a beer or three. Who knows...even then I may not talk!
In a way, it is a lilttle sad that this is all coming to an end. Much in the way that walking down the trail for what we knew would be the last time was. We had had some pretty cool experiences, and you wait all year for a really awesome time away from the real world stresses of work and life. So no matter where it is you travel, be it Disneyland, The Eifel Tower, or the JMT, the end is never as fun as it should be.
But with that said we had alot of fun that last night and final day. Perhaps we were just slap happy. As we hiked deeper and deeper into Yosemite, the more crowded it got. Our campground of choice was full of people by the time we arrived and we were forced to camp next to a large family of people.
The sun went down and our neighbors, a really cool man who told us stories of building his own ultra-light airplane, teaching himself to fly it, and then nearly crashing and killing himself, and his eighteen year old daughter were sleeping out on a tarp. It was the coldest night of the trip by far and noone could sleep. My hiking partner and I were up telling stories of our journey and our freezing cold neighbors listened with piqued interest. Before long they had joined in on the fun and we stayed up half the night telling whoppers. It seemed as if we had now become as seasoned as the employees of Vermillion Valley Resort, telling stories of unbelieveably huge German Brown Trout that would take spears to kill.
We broke camp pretty early the next morning, feastiing on the remainder of our rations. I was glad that we at least had a little apple cinammon oatmeal left. It's amazing what you take for granted when you have access to Denny's on a regular basis!
I didn't realize how close to Half Dome we actually were, but the trail was incredibly crowded with foot traffic. Hundred of people were storming up the mountain, even at that early hour, and this was a testimony to how close we really were to the end.
The last day was also a testimony the the remarkable difference in hiking styles my partner and I exhibited. Getting across the finish line seemed to be his goal, while mine was to soak up as much experience as I could those final fleeting hours. I think I must have stopped and talked to everyone I passed, delaying the inevitable return to civilization I dreaded.
Perhaps the most interesting group of people I met were a bunch of middle aged men who were resting comfortably on a rock near the Vernal Falls junction. It was easy to break the ice with them because they all had the same backpack as me.
"Oh I know you are cool!" I said, as I approached.
"Why's that?" The especially cantankorous member of the group replied.
"Because you all know how to pick out a really great pack!" I said, turning around to show them my blue and gold Kelty.
This really got them excited and we began to exchange stories from our respective journeys. It was a real pissing contest that I ultimately one, but we had a good time doing it.
One of the men was eating a baggie full of trail mix and, since we were so close to the valley floor we were surrounded by varmits that had no fear at all. The local squirrel population was paying a visit and trying to get some trail mix. One especially brave squirrel crawled up the mans leg and tried to get some peanuts right out of the bag. It happened so quickly that he hardly even noticed, that is, until it came too close to his very sensitive body parts!
The man squirmed and squealed like a little girl before tossing all of his trail mix down the escarpment. Half a dozen squirrels began to fight over it while all of the people had a good laugh.
"I guess that one really likes nuts!" Someone excaimed.
Indeed.
The first beer is always the best. And even though we put a few back on the patio down at the Valley floor, it is the first that I will always remember. By that time we had showered and made arrangements to be extracted. It was time to reflect and time to rest. Our minds were filled with good memories and the knowledge that these heavy packs would not have to be worn again. We had accomplished what we had set out to do and that felt pretty...darn...good.
And now, there is only one thing on my mind...
When can we go back and do it again!
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