Awoke to grayness and rain that still hung around unwanted like a headache. Struggled to leave shelter but an exit into the elements is eventually mandatory. Packed away damp and headed for the post office/breakfast. The breakfast shack opened its doors first And I had a bland, overpriced breakfast saved by a large bottle of fiery Thai cock sauce. As the postmaster slumbered I ran into Billy Goat, a through-hiker with a full gray beard, he has hiked the PCT more times than anybody bothers to count. Well-known and easily recognizable, he is quite the celebrity and hiking circles.

Finally the window rose to package world and the USPS came through once again. Both packages were there and soon we were stuffing brownies and caramels down our gullet in the drizzle. Thanks Cirina. Finished the bounce box shuffle in record time as plans were finalized around me. Then my bounce box began its journey to Sierra city and I down the Yosemite Valley. Two options ride or walk. The walk was 20+ miles, the ride 45 minutes. Always ride, when you don’t have to walk, especially when 2600 miles of footwork shadows you. Thumbs out, a short interlude, and a ride all the way into the valley from a couple of fellow hiker trash.

The entry into Yosemite Valley is an experience rather than a sight. Immensity, monster falls, sheerness and tourists, tourist everywhere. The combination is reasonable due to the charisma. Our destination was Camp Four also known as Climbers Central. There we found Max, Slack’s friend who had driven down from San Francisco, loaded with slack line gear. Slack lining is the modern cousin of tight rope walking. The difference is slack lining involves walking on a 1 to 2 inch strap rather than a rope. Some slack lines were rigged up in Camp Four and us newbies gave it a shot. I was quickly convinced that I did not, nor would ever, possess the requisite balance.

A plan cracked the egg. The five of us piled in Max’s Prius hybrid and climbed 4000 feet above the valley floor to Taft’s Point. A short hike brought us to the lookout and a sheer drop. There Slack and Max began the process of improvising a slack line short of a variety of required bits and pieces. The slack line was minimalized to functionality. Taking advantage of pre-existing bolts the slack line stretched 100 feet between two rock juts on the same cliff. From fall contact point to slack line was 1500 feet in altitude.

The crowd that gathered was small due to the lateness of the day. The mood was similar to NASCAR with its risk/destruction fascination. My heart raced as Max and Slack rigged the line without safety harnesses. Standing inches from the edge, they went about their business, oblivious to doom. I practiced wincing at a safe distance.

The first step out onto the line and Slack was home again. From my valley experience, I understood the challenge and was that much more impressed. Eyes forward for scale, hands out and up in a Shiva dance, Slack made his way across, then a 180° turn and back again. The most non-dangerous, dangerous looking thing I’ve ever seen. Also it was very interesting from a sport angle. There was nothing aggressive about it, it was almost feminine in its beauty. As comfort levels improved, tricks appeared. Eventually Slack took a purposeful dive to check his safety harness. It held, as the alternative was unthinkable. (Some slack liners enjoy free soloing without the safety harness. To each his own). Back and forth went Slack and Max, the latter trying out a horizontal plank for giggles.

Eventually the sun took a dive and we tried to pick out the headlamps of the climbers making their way up El Capitan on the other side of the valley. The goal: To beat 24 hours, though the record is two hours five minutes, which is analogous to the marathon record. Found a spot back in the trees to savor civilization as Max is a tea importer. There, around the fire, we were treated to a Chinese tea tasting. Cup, after sample cup, as I tried to detect the highlighted subtleties. It was the obvious ending to an unusual day.

Slack was on top of the world, as not only had he indulged in his passion, but also his twin brother Elliot had brought a reunion. Recently returned from a stint in Afghanistan, and still in the Marines, they had not embraced in over a year. Having driven from Washington, Elliott was obviously in pain as he watched his brother over the chasm and wondered just how truncated the reunion would be.

The conversation centered around IED explosives and tea which blended well. Sleep came easy as the rivers of China coursed through my veins. And through the night the slack line waited in anticipation of the mornings efforts.

Steve Halteman
On the Pacific Crest Trail
Hiking the PCT for the Kids of Escuela Verde

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