Finally finally FINALLY! So tired and sore, but so worth it--at least my outsides feel exactly like my insides for a change. The test was a mix of ridiculously easy and quite awful. I feel ok about roughly 75%, but you never know. I've been driving myself off a cliff ever since agonizing over stuff I already know I got wrong, etc. so it has been nice to keep non-stop busy. I had hoped that yesterday's monster (for being on the couch, so to speak, for about 3 months straight) hike would wear me out so I would finally sleep, but not so much. After tonight's full moon paddle I feel quite spent however...something about the water always makes me tired.
And I didn't even have to go alone! I had partners in this grime--friends of my neighbor were possibly more enthusiastic than I was to go on this crazy outing, and they are some of the most consistently funny and entertaining guys around. Plus Chris climbs and promised to take me to run some slots this fall and begin my canyoneering addiction in earnest. My time here is fast drawing to a close and it was high time I got out and did some new trails, so I decided to cross one off the list I've wanted for a long time: Mt. Baden-Powell, jewel in the boy scout Silver Mocassin Trail crown. Most people climb from Vincent Gap, the shortest and therefore steepest route. However, with the 2 closed at Islip and no one wanting to go around through Palmdale, we decided to start at Islip and make it a 16 mile day. Brock and Chris told a funny story about being "chased" by a bear near the trail on their hillbilly piñata camping excursion. The weather was perfect--warm but not baking, breezy but not too windy, and pretty clear unless you tried to look too far in the distance. The firesmoke from Baldy must have been blowing the other way. It was gorgeous!
About a mile in we passed a scout troop, all resting except for two who hiked stubbornly on and would NOT be caught. The kid who was following kept asking the leader to slow down who kept telling him to keep up. About 2.5 miles in we passed a couple with large packs coming the other way...and I had a feeling so I asked them if they were coming from Campo, and they were! It turns out that they were from the same small town in Michigan (still lived there) where Brock grew up, and they knew someone in common. We ran into a few other groups of PCT-ers, and I was instantly envious and inspired and maybe I'll do that next year too...or the AT...or the CDT...or heck, make it a Triple Crown!
From there we began running into small snowfields on the north-facing sides of the mountain, which provided some ammo for ambushes and slip'n'slide and fall-on-ass fun for every one of us on the way back down. The last 3 miles or so it seemed like we slogged straight up the ridge to stay out of the snow, and suddenly the monument was in view and we were at the top (or so it seemed...the return trip seemed like it took forEVER.) There was a cool pair of dogs at the top, one who enjoyed playing in the snow and getting dirty and the other one who kept running over when his humans weren't looking to eat at a spot by us where someone had scattered some penne in marinara. The 3rd time someone came to carry him away he growled as he was picked up. A pair of birds and a pair of gliders circled overhead, playing in the thermals. Other than the sound of wind in the trees there was silence. We all marvelled at how awesome it was to be out, just out. The sun was warm and the bone-dry air smelled like dirt and pine bark, and I reflected that this is what life is for.
The sleepy monster began to attack, our cue to start back down before we wanted to hike back even less. We signed the register, the guys credited me with breaking the metal box that contained it but it was SO already broken long before I got there. Climbing registers are always good reads, and this one did not disappoint. The first half of the descent was fun, but I think by mile 12 we were all beginning to feel it. By mile 14 we were openly barn-sour and practically running to get back to the car. Then it was down the mountain to Pasadena for the mandatory recovery meal at Doña Rosa's, and home to clean our dirty, stinky selves and rest up for a follow-up trip another day.
Today was another review class, of which the biomed module was pure, unalloyed crap and the afternoon formulas module was test prep gold. Even so, when my friend Jason called and asked if I wanted to come out and paddle with him and some buddies to Venice Pier and back and watch the full moon come up I was all over it. I've missed paddling a lot too--this was going to be the year I raced outriggers too! Oh well. If I don't leave Cali (or if I go to Hawaii) there's always next year. Being out on the water at night is another kind of magic, another kind of peace. I wish it were the sort of thing I could do solo. I have fantasies of someday owning a folding boat and backpacking and paddling all over the world, or at least parts of it that would be suited to that sort of thing.
It's good to have goals, right?
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