Sticky's Epilogue. July 6.

Weight: 123 (That's right. I gained weight)
Base Pack Weight: 15.5

Before leaving the PCT in Tuolumne Meadows, Happy JO and I spent several hours in front of the general store, opening our final packages, eating lots of food, and chatting with incoming PCT hikers. We split a few cans of tuna, artichoke hearts and olives (Thank you, Debbie!), as well as a bottle of wine (Thank you, Kelly!) with the French guys, Joshua and Dorian, and The Graduate (there are two of them, "The Graduate" is from Portland, and is a tall guy. Graduate is the pint-sized New Jerseyite in the previous blog's video). We ate tortilla chips (Thanks, Peter!), gummy bears, chocolate, bread, cheese, and a fresh tomato. I smeared on some insect repellent, since the melting snow meant the arrival of the nasty, infamous mosquitoes to the Sierras. I remarked that the store and its parking lot were bustling with tourists, kind of buzzing around like bugs, too. The Graduate told me to wait until I hit Yosemite Valley....July 4th in Yosemite was like a wilderness amusement park.

We said goodbye around 4pm and started our final stretch along the John Muir Trail down to Half Dome. I was equipped with a new map and I was in charge of leading through the snow. This was my final test. It didn't help that the French guys were with us, and Dorian works as a mountain guide in Chamonix. It doesn't matter how old we get, boys never stop picking on girls.

The worst part of navigating was the beginning--no snow, just lots of tourists, road intersections and cars to avoid getting hit by. I will admit that I was guiding us toward a horse camp, not the PCT, when Happy JO asked coyly "Is this where the trail goes?" They were all trying to hold back smiles. Ok, ok, they caught me.

Once, however, I was on the snow in the trees I did a pretty good job of following the trail, despite the fact that it was not visible. We climbed on snow for about five miles, and pitched our tarp tent just under Cathedral Peak. The sun was low in the sky, there were no more thru-hikers nearby, and I finally realized that with each mile I walked away from the PCT, I became more mortal, less thruhiker. I was beginning to shed my superhuman status, and I wondered what it was going to feel like when my "I am hiking" dissolved to "I hiked."

The following morning, we scooted down toward Half Dome, passing clumps of hikers attempting the 211 miles of the John Muir Trail, most of which we had just completed. We knew that they were in store for some incredible hardship in the Sierras, so we took turns guessing how many days they would last. (Aren't I allowed to retain some ego for walking from Mexico?)

At last I saw Half Dome and the trip seemed so incredibly close to completion. Only problem was the hundreds of parking lot hikers hanging off of its cable ladder, ruining the vision I had of a solo ascent of Half Dome. (How did I become so selfish over the last two months?) We passed the trail junction for Half Dome, and encountered swarms of cotton-wearing day hikers, already beat after the 7 miles from the car. There was a lot of complaining, screaming, arguing among couples and families. The climbing was too hard, too many bugs, too hot, too hard on the knees. We equipped ourselves to blast off through the climb as quickly as we could, tuning out the people, and focusing on the task at hand.

Rather than struggle on a rock slide teaming with minions, we set up shop under a tree just 15 minutes from the summit, and ate lunch as we watched the drama unfold before us. The cables were packed with people until 4pm that day, and at last I thought I heard the final mortal peep. We packed up and headed toward the finale.

I was brazen with pride and smitten with elitism as we followed the steep steps to the cables. I had walked 650 miles in the desert, climbed over eight passes in the Sierras in one of the worst snow years ever, I was the fittest I have ever been in my life. This was going to be a blast. I suited up with work gloves at the cables, took one step and started hoisting myself with my arms over the steep polished granite. Whoa, that was kinda hard. I moved up a little further. My arms started cramping, and the incline became steeper. Wait a minute. This was harder than I thought. I looked up at Happy JO who had scurried ahead of me. I wasn't hiking anymore. I was scaling a steep granite monolith. Thruhiking had not prepared my arms for this.

I eventually came up with a system, hoisting about five feet at once, sliding one arm up and then the other, then resting on a wooden step. Hoist, step. Don't look down until you step. Hoist, step, then look. After twenty minutes or so, I finally crested over the the round dome and at last I was staring at the Yosemite Valley views I had heard about since I was a child. There were only two others at the summit, so I took the pleasure of meandering around the top naked, posing for photos, and heading out to the famous diving board for my finale shot. It was pretty much what I was dreaming of.

The next two days in Yosemite were spent as tourists, eating buffets, travelling by shuttle bus, gazing at the rock climbers' sinewy bodies. Rose, Happy JO's sister, and her friends, Meredith and Lisa, drove four hours from Sacramento to pick us up, and we happily lounged in the back seat as they drove us four hours back the same day to clean toilets, hot showers and Meredith's collection of wonderful smelling bath and body lotions.

Where are my fellow hiking friends now?
After Boston's ingrown toenail surgery in Mammoth, Boston and Cubby continued from Red's Meadows and decided to complete the JMT into Yosemite Valley. They topped out on Half Dome on July 4th and spent Boston's birthday in the Valley. I hope to see them again in Oregon.

Half Ounce is recovering well. He turned 40 while we were in Mammoth, and left Red's Meadows with Team Zero, still taking Diamox for altitude effects. Half Ounce is from Oregon, so I look forward to seeing him when he completes the trail. In the meantime I will just taunt him with stories of my breakfast excursions to The Blue Pig.

The Kern received all the rest of his replacement gear in Mammoth, including a new debit card. Cha-ching! He also left with Team Zero, rocking his new "dude, man" look, as we like to call it. He conquered his fear of crossing logs while in the Sierras, and we are very, very proud of him!

Green Tortuga, the most famous letterboxer in the world, was last seen by me doing a 30+ day into Kennedy Meadows. I thought we would connect and do the Sierras together, but he was just a day or so behind, and that amount of time can never be made up in the snow. Team Zero said they ran into him after I left.

(Little) Graduate was last seen by us breaking the sound barrier toward Vermillion Valley Ranch in the quest for a cheeseburger. Good thing. That guy is tiny. He is supposed to start law school in the fall...but is on the trail to decide what he really wants to do. I hope he figures it out.

The Walking Sisters left Mammoth the day after we arrived. Sayo was pivotal in distracting Boston during her toe surgery. Aya described the same gnawing hunger pangs through the Sierras. Both finished their colossal plates at our 11-hiker-strong Mexican dinner in Mammoth. I am always stunned by their eating abilities. We fully expect that their dad, Nobody, won't be able to resist providing trail magic to them through Oregon and Washington. Hope to see him, too.

I can't fully cleanse my soul of the trail just yet. My plan is to head to Ashland and hike 109 miles to Crater Lake in early August, in order to meet up with everyone, possibly hike with Boston and Cubby if I can keep up with them. Or, I might spend one weekend doing trail magic at near Mt Hood in mid-to-late August.

Kudos to Jake for doing such a fantastic job at rehab during the last two months! We could see a significant improvement in his core and arm strength since then! Onward and upward!

Stay tuned for a few more installments including my gear review and some more good trail video!