August 6
I could title this day ladders, ladders, and more ladders. I am not exaggerating. And for an inexplicable reason I feel very, shall we say, uncomfortable climbing. I suppose the feeling isn't strong enough to label as fear but I never liked climbing trees as a kid and an hour on the climbing wall in the university gym almost reduced me to tears. Again I was profoundly grateful it did not rain this day as it would have made the ladder rungs slippery and terrifying.
There were all sorts of ladders but the worst were the series of long, vertical ladders, the integrity of which came into question while I was climbing, when my mind would flood with images of the poorly maintained, rotting wood boardwalks Dad and I had witnessed in other areas of the trail. The vertical ladders also gave me the feeling that if I leaned back to look upwards my pack would me pull back off the ladder. Dad's least favorite was a nearly horizontal ladder. His pack was heavier on the left side where his tent was strapped and since the ladder was tilted that way he would get sucked off as he tried to climb down it. It looked pretty comical but it wasn't very entertaining for him so we both ended up pretty much sliding down a steep hill on that part.
Than after an hour lunch break on the beach at Cullite Cove to rest our aching feet and backs, we continued the ladder marathon until we reached the Logan Suspension Bridge. I gained a newfound appreciation for bridges on the trail. Minimal energy expenditure + almost non-existent risk of plunging to untimely death. I love bridges.
This part of the trail went through muddy quagmires and I marveled at how other hikers we passed kept their clothes so clean. I had mud and dirt all over the cuffs of my sleeves, my hands, the butt, knees, and hems of my pants. My hiking boots were caked in earth. I suppose my fatigue gave me a sort of stomp through it all attitude. Some people would daintily hop from board to stump to rock to cross muddy patches where I would march through ankle deep sludge.
There was about an hour on the trail each day that really tested my determination, positive attitude, and strength. This day it occurred during the last kilometer before Walbran Creek where Dad and I camped. My hiking boots felt like torture devices and each step made me wince in pain. In desperation I actually tried a tip I heard my mom share with someone on the phone once that I made fun of her for. I purposefully fixed a smile on my face (in actuality it probably appeared more like a pained grimace) to see if I could trick my brain into positive thinking. I think the thought that I must look ridiculous cheered me up more than anything. I couldn't help but laugh at myself.
Almost as soon as I had reached the campsite, I tore off the torture devices and soaked my feet in the cold ocean water. The sand felt like a massage on my feet and my good spirits were instantly revived. We camped at a beautiful beach location where I washed my clothes, and enjoyed a hot meal and fire (Dad takes all the credit for cooking and making fires). The height of luxury! (Actually I remember thinking this day among others on the trail that if all I had was Matt to hold me, a hot bath, and something warm to eat I couldn't ask for any more. It's amazing how simple my wants were when I had so little. Equally amazing is how fast my wants have multiplied since returning to a more comfortable lifestyle. I love how backpacking reduced my life down to the bare essentials, what I needed to survive, and stripped away the excess wants that usually clutter and complicate my life. It reminded me that I need to re-evaluate my priorities, to determine what things are absolutely essential to my happiness and well-being).
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