June 11, 2013
20 miles today
Mile 761

Woke up warm and danced a prone jig. The plan hatched, delivered on to higher altitudes. Slithered out of my shelter and found a rock in the sun with just the right meadow view and wrote down the events of yesterday. Slack accused me of being a modern day Thoreau. If only. Wrote my two pages and slipped them into a Ziploc, along with the last nine days. AT&T is not fanatical about blanketing the PCT with cell phone coverage. Without which I can’t scan the pages and send them off to Cirina who types and posts them. Maybe from the top of Mt. Whitney, though an unfortunate wind would render memories lost.

Fell into the automatic rhythm of the morning-breakdown, oatmeal and pack and walk. Left a note for Doc. MIA as to future plans. What could have happened to him? He was leaving Kennedy Meadows right behind me. Maybe he had patients to attend to. Always the mysteries.

The trail passed through miles of a landscape of granite sand interspersed with boulders and bizarre pines, seeking purchase in the sand. Their root patterns so shallow that a good shove would seem to tip them. Their weathered color beyond my words, but within reach of a great painter. I was fascinated by the fallen pines with their twisted core nude to the world. I stopped repeatedly to stare at the tree ruins, no two ever alike. Lost in my inner world, it took awhile to register the snowballs whizzing past my head. Orbit, Slack and Red Beard had waited in ambush. Their aim questionable, their arms more so. I was uninjured.

Arrived at an alpine lake for a long relax on the grass banks, followed by a dive into the freezing water. No rush as the day’s miles were not long. Met Lunch Box, a dentist to be, who would later catch us a trout for dinner. Off again, and quite clean from the dip.

My pack singing and talking as I went. When heavily laden, a pack makes noises that sound amazingly human. Constantly I search for who called out only to realize I am alone. Conversely and perversely when someone actually does call out, I ignore them because they are my backpack.

Came across a stream that was thickly bedded with wild onions. Dinner perked up. Pulled into yet another meadow camp from a dentist’s office poster. You know the ones that inspire calm before the torture. The thought of dentists bringing to mind the tooth that is yet again in my pocket. The talk around the fire that night was of an ambitious plan for climbing Mt. Whitney and Forester Pass on the same day. To the night.