Wallow in the Moments

The other day I was listening to "1812 Overture" by Tchaikovsky and it brought me to tears. What beautiful music! I was so moved by it. I know that God was in the notes and tones himself. The overture was written by Tchaikovsky in commemoration of the Battle of Borodino between the Russian defenses and Napoleon's advancing armies. I've heard this song so many times but only the "best" part which is the last 4 minutes, where the cannons fire and the feel of patriotism is overwhelming. Until that day, I've never listened to the "1812 Overture" all the way through. When I did it made the best part of the song much better. It made the cannon fire that much more intense. I started to understand that even though you may not like all of the song, you realize, while listening, that undeniably all the parts come together to set a certain tone that prepares you for what is to come. Why can't we always just listen instead of going for what we want all the time.
So many times we compromise in the journey, the excitement, the depressing moments, and the uncertainty of life with all of its twists and turns. We continually never listen to the "Song of Life". We want just to listen to the good parts; parts that don't make us feel uncomfortable. Our natural inclination is to fast forward through the bad so we can get to the good. Life on fast-forward is what has become commonplace, and understandably so. No one wants to be stuck on bad moments.
I desire that you may know you took the journey through the bad and the good and dealt with it the best you knew how. Don't desire for life to pass you by, because it gets shorter with every passing day. Wallow in the moments good and bad and learn to love this life God gave us. Understand the time you're in right now may be confusing but is a natural fact of life . And the song you're singing, whether happy or sad, needs to be sung and finished in order for you to move on. A man once told me to embrace my uncomfortable feelings and stay in them for awhile, because they will teach me much. Mourn, then find peace.

Shouldering the Pack

I crawled reluctantly out of my sleeping bag as the sun was just creeping over the granite domes of Yosemite National Park and checked my watch. "5:30 AM." I said out loud to myself as if I was waking someone else up. I know that the earlier I wake up in Yosemite the more mileage I can get in before I have to start fighting the 20,000 people coming up the trail that decided all at once to come see the beautiful sights of Yosemite. How could I blame them. The views are spectacular and you can get a huge juicy burger at the trail head concession stand after a long days hike. Who wouldn't want to hike in Yosemite.
It takes me a little longer to get packed up the earlier I wake up, but before long I shoulder my pack, grab my morning breakfast bar, and saunter stiffly down the trail picking up speed as my muscles loosen and warm up. After an hour of hiking I round the corner out of a beautiful meadow and the aroma of hashbrowns and eggs hits me like I just stepped into IHOP at the height of the morning rush. I also hear voices. Off to my right is Sunrise High Sierra Camp and they are rollin out the meal wagon for all the overnight day hikers who've forked over the green to be catered to in the backcountry. I walk up the granite cut steps to the camp and proceed to fill my waterbottle from the spigot while watching patagonia ladened Californians and Europeans sip their morning coffee that was brought in on mule back. I am slightly jealous that Juan Valdez didn't bring me my coffee this morning and I find myself devising a secret plan to steal some breakfast from these wealthy mountain goers by sneaking around the back and trying to look like I am a paying customer. My water bottle overfills onto my hand and I come back to reality as the ice cold liquid runs over my wrist. Are these people missing out on a whole different experience in the backcountry? I don't know, I couldn't really say because everyones comfort level differs. I chatted with a woman for a minute and learned that she enjoys the Sierras, just not the sleeping on the ground thing. Before I made any stupid moves to snag one of the luscious donuts that were sitting out, down the steps I went and back onto the trail.
Two hours later I was standing atop of Clouds Rest Peak. The view of Yosemite National Park was absolutely breathtaking. You could see almost all of the major mountains in the park. Coming down, as I got lower and lower the crowds grew thicker and I had bad thoughts remembering getting lost at Disneyland when I was 6. I raced down to Yosemite Valley on the paved trails and after a quick jump in the Merced River to cool off I got on the YART transit system down to Merced, CA. I'm pretty tired of hiking. After almost 400 miles it starts to not be super fun anymore. I've met a lot of people who are dead set on getting to Canada, but I realized that I can't make it at my current pace before the snow hits. Time for a new plan. See you in Oregon.

Easy Street?...Hardly.

I thought that I could do it. I thought that I could quickly finish this project that I started. But as I've heard before, anything worth having, does not come easy. I don't think that I've ever endured something as mentally and physically taxing as hiking the Pacific Crest Trail. And I've only hiked 95 miles of it! Pisses me off that I get on the trail and experience all the good times and good people and what takes me off is a stupid infection from an abrasion in my leg that I didn't take immediate measures to clean. I received the wound while dodging a rattlesnake who I'm pretty sure, in my mind, was about ready to pump all his juicy venom into my sweaty, dirt covered leg. It was a large diamondback rattlesnake which are very plentiful in the Anza-Borrego Desert in Southern California. The manly thing was that before he could sink his seething fangs into my leg meat, I grabbed his head and looked him in the eye as he hissed, rattled, and squirmed to get away. I said, "You may have venom and fangs but I have balls and brawn. " I growled at my attempted murderer and threw him into the ravine where the coyotes would feast upon him.
Ok...maybe I exaggerated just a tad. To be honest I pretty much ran like a little girl (or boy, for my sexist brothers and sisters), lost my footing, stumbled and fell. That snake freaked the crap out of me. I won't lie. The sad thing is that you get abrasions at home from falling playing with your dog and it is not big deal, but when you haven't showered for 4 days and you clean the cut with dirty hands because you're trying to conserve water in the desert, you are just asking for a bacteria potluck. Remember that when your lower leg swells to the size of a cantaloupe you should probably stop hiking, see a doctor, get a shot in the butt, grab the bottle of anti-biotics, and ice that swollen limb. That is precisely what I did.
I've had a blast hanging with Melinda Hebbel in Loma Linda, CA. I've almost convinced myself to move down here to where the sun shines 340 days out of the year. The missing 25 days are due to smog, brush fires, and the black clouds that hang over the city when the Lakers lose. But, Bend, OR is calling my name. It's pristine mountains, streams, and lakes are a little more inviting than the scorched landscape of Southern California. Sure, there may be lots of surf to ride, rocks to climb, and the possibility of meeting a sugar momma attending medical school here in this Adventist Mecca of Loma Linda is exponentially higher than the rugged landscape of Central Oregon where some women struggle shaving even the hairiest of legs. Their claim is that they have to wear jeans all the time.
Why did I start the Pacific Crest Trail? I don't know...Maybe to get away and deal with a little bit of life that came at me too fast. I'll think about it and get back to you.