I have a habit of wishing every hiker we meet “Happy trails!” This habit was acquired during our American Discovery Trail journey, in defiance of the conventional “safe travels” we consistently received all across the country. No one who was kind to us, or to strangers in general, practice what they preach. You are not putting safety,security or caution first when being kind even to a known friend.
I note the reactions of hikers when I wish them “Happy trails!” Some react the same way as they would if I said “Safe travels.” They smile pleasantly and wish us the same. However, most respond with glad surprise, adding an emphatic “You, too!” No doubt some of this glad response lies in the relative uniqueness of “happy trails” v the same ol’ “safe travels'” yet I also suspect that deep down human nature rejoices more in the thought of being happy rather than being safe.
The outdoors has been my playground, playing in the wilderness is not an inherently safe or cautious hobby. Yet recently I suspected my own nature was changing on this hike, becoming a hypocrite when wishing others “happy trails.” I have a compelling cause to be more cautious these days, keeping Cindy from harm. However, I fear at times that this is spilling over into my own very nature. I’ve yet to go swimming in a creek or lake on this hike, I used to break the ice off of an alpine lake for a (very) quick dip. Even more serious: I’ve wondered during this journey if I’m still cut out for long distance hiking.
I felt this all the more keenly after our most recent change of plans. Charissa had a cold as we were about to start a six day stretch into spectacularly beautiful High Sierra country. While camped at the breathtaking trailhead, all ready to proceed, I called that off in favor of doing some shorter stretches. The pertinent reason was avoiding a scenario where Cindy catches a cold two days in with four days of misery ahead.
Colds are a part of life, including the long distance hiking way of life. You catch a cold, normally you just deal with it and hike on. Indeed, I’ve found I get rid of colds easier while hiking as long as I don’t hike with a fever or allow myself to overheat. Exercise is good for more than just regenerating brain tissue. Yet on the mere possibility, not likelihood mind you, of Cindy catching a cold during a long stretch I backed away from something I normally would be drooling to do.
As Cindy’s caregiver I made the right speculative decision, there are no regrets in that matter. The regrets come, once again, in wondering if my nature has been changing in the process. Fortunately, there came a time of redemption for me soon after that decision.
Even now I wonder what possessed me to make my most recent decision, despite the desirable outcome. I suspect something about my subconscious nature to be happy was striving to bust out, seizing upon an opportunity before my conscious could overrule. We had just finished a 15+ mile day hike with dusk not far off. There remained a three mile stretch in order to reach Highway 40 at Donner Pass. I sensed Cindy was doing well and suggested, as if something inside me had taken control of my mouth, that we go for it. Cindy readily agreed.
On the one hand three miles is a piddling distance for a long distance hiker, yet anything could still happen with evening approaching and a person whose disability could change her mood at anytime. Because we were packed for a day hike we went on without even a headlamp, though as for that I knew that Charissa and/or Mike would back hike in to the rescue as dark approached. In addition to the potential dark there was the certain, intermittent rain to contend with, after we successfully avoided the rain for much of the day.
The decision was not a cautious, safe one to make, perhaps causing a shiver to any caregiver out there. I doubt I would make that decision again. For the first of the three miles my mind continually played back “What are you thinking?!?!” Yet for that same mile Cindy was in good spirits. For the second mile I gave in to the moment and together we boasted about how we were “lean, mean hiking machines” that were going to reach our destination before dark.
The last mile was rocky, the worst trail conditions of the entire day, even as dusk approached. Cindy now became fatigued, as always happens when the trail conditions become challenging. Yet by this time we could see the road that would be our destination. We knew that the “lean, mean, hiking machines” succeeded in our quest. We gave each other a high five as we approached Charissa’s car at the end.
Cindy has yet to catch a cold, yet foregoing the six-day stretch was still the right speculative decision, just as choosing to go those extra three miles was the wrong decision despite the right outcome. I trust I would not make that decision again as Cindy’s caregiver, but perhaps the subconscious purpose of that decision was served, to momentarily free and confirm my nature as a happy camper.
Donner Lake, as dusk approaches
