I actually sleep okay on the tiny couch, having alternately put my legs up and stretch them out as necessary through the evening to keep comfortable. Still, I’m up early – normal hiker time, 5:30 – but not a creature is stirring in the house, so I doze for a little, then sit up and write. Might as well be productive. The brave souls who slept outside are hankering to get in, but respectful of everyone’s sleep.
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The wind howls and makes my sleep fitful – I’m up several times just to watch the tent bow over onto my legs. Nothing to be done about it at this juncture, so I roll over, again and again, until the sun rises and it’s time to go.
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I have the most vivid dreams – about bollywood marriages and impromptu a capella battles and chasing down a kid who stole another kid’s stuff and parkouring like a boss and almost getting shot in the stomach for my trouble1. I wake shortly after that bit, breathing quick – and muscles aching from yesterday.
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We’d agreed, Sasha and I, to be out of camp by 5:30, though Sasha had suggested 6:30. 4:30 rolls around, and my first reaction is “aaaabsolutely not”. She starts to rustle, I weakly say “6:30?” The rustling stops immediately. Oh good.
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We’re up and out by 5, which is good – we’ve got a peak to bag and a thunderstorm to avoid – plus, we’ve got to actually get back to the trail. At 5am, there aren’t exactly cars around to give us a hitch, so it’s walking to the Ernie Maxwell Trail, which will take us to Humber Park, where the Devil’s Slide Trail is, which, finally, will put us back on the PCT.
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I wake up in a bed – sheets and everything! And still dark at 8:30, given the curtains! The miracles of modern technology.
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I wake several times during the night – a few times to the sounds of Saturday night revelry, another time to silence, during which I take out my earplugs. I regret this when, during the hour of 4am, the family in the site next to ours starts up the party again. Loudly. In Spanish, which, not understanding, my brain tries really, really hard to decipher, keeping me awake. I fumble for my earplugs, but once I get them in, it seems like my 5:30 alarm goes off pretty immediately. Continue reading
When 4am rolls around, a pickup truck rolls up to Paradise Valley Cafe, lights off – so I assume he knows there’s a smattering of hikers sleeping on the porch. But he and his buddy pop out of the truck and, I shit you not, one of them starts giving a tour to the other. And not like an inebriated tour, with slurring and overly annoying attempts to keep quiet, which would’ve almost been forgivable. Nono, these two sound stone cold sober. Apparently, I just need to get up, so I do so, refraining from throwing dirty looks in the direction of the tour, though only just.
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I enjoy cowboy camping, with the swirling stars and the traveling moon and the warmish evening. I’ve got my alarm set for 5, but someone walks past me at 4:30 and then again at 4:45, headlamps in my face1, so I just start getting up. It’s easier to pack when you’ve been cowboy camping, so I’m out basically by 5:30.
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It’s less freaky than I expect it to be, sleeping in my shelter without the rain fly – even when a person walks by after an undisclosed amount of time, my anxiety about the whole thing just seems unfounded. This is the most normal thing, even when I wake in the middle of the night and see the stars instead of a roof. Continue reading
Brown Girl on the NST 