Glacier Creek (2512) to 2526
The tape on the hammock held last night. One hole repaired, one problem solved for now. But this success is soon forgotten once hiking begins. The rain and cold are the only things that matter on this hardest day yet.
|Jan in her poncho cape|
|Milk Pass rocks, rain, and glaciers above|
|What causes the milky-white ribbons that stripe the rocks?|
Mica Lake jolts me out of my plodding singleminded focus. Even cloaked in clouds, the deep blue waters beckons. Jan and I huddle by the shore braced against the rain shoveling food into our mouths fighting the cold clouding our brains for enough energy to soak in the beauty.
|Mica Lake reflections|
The rain keeps coming all night. I hear the roaring train of wind approaching and brace for gusts to send my stakes flying and drive the soaking rain through into my down quilt. Will the patch in my hammock fail and send me falling to the ground? Will my blood of my finger wound soak through my bandages and soak me with blood?
Please stop raining please please please. Please let me make it through the night.
After I found my site I went back and told Jan where I set up "down the trail a ways and up the slopes and over a bit into a big grove of trees." There is no way she'd find me. Jan seems so far away. Everyone is far away. I am utterly alone. There is only rain, wind, cold.
I decide I no longer believe it will ever stop raining. But somehow I start to get warm in the shelter I have made. The wind blows over me. I stop the bleeding. I decide the only things that I believe in are the patches I have made with my tenacious tape and leukotape. I have discovered I cannot expect the conditions to ever change or be easy. But I have to power and ability to patch holes in the universe. That is all that I need, all that is real out here.