Anne Elizabeth O’Regan
In Deep: from Mexico to Canada, Anne Elizabeth O’Regan, July 2020.
The north fork of Mono Creek has a reputation for being difficult to cross this time of year. The water has tremendous force, but we manage to cross without issue. I forded five creeks yesterday and now Mono is out of the way. My creek-crossing confidence is returning. We walk up and over Silver Pass with its endless views of snow-capped peaks, then slide our way down the snowy slope to Squaw Lake. Alec and Sarah decide to spend the afternoon at the lake. We say good-bye and I set my sights on Red’s Meadow, 21 mountainous miles away.
For the next few hours, I walk under tall trees that shield the sun, keeping the snow firm and cold and easy to walk on. The trail drops into a lush green meadow with a long curling stream, to a place called Tully Hole. I stop here for an early dinner and make a point of drinking two full liters of water mixed with electrolytes. I’m going to night-hike to Red’s. I have a cup of coffee to prepare myself for the climb up to Virginia and Purple Lakes. I know I’ll hit snow again and it will be slow-going, but I want out. I want out of these mountains as soon as possible. I pack up and climb a long series of switchbacks that lead to the alpine lakes.
At twilight the air cools, I dig into the side pocket of my backpack for a hat to pull over my ears. I walk as the sun sinks below the horizon, casting a purple hue upon the snow. I walk until the sky is black and the mountains disappear into the night. I walk until a hundred thousand stars appear. I walk sensing wild things behind rocks and trees. I can hear them breathe. I walk and walk and walk without ever stopping. I walk on snow at times, but thankfully, I walk mostly on dry trail. The night is very black. With every step I take, my pack thumps the tender area on my lower spine, causing a sharp pain to shoot through my body. I adjust the rolled-up shirt wedged under my pack as padding, this helps somewhat.
At 10 pm, it’s back to deep snow. A short while later, I cross and re-cross the same narrow creek many times, from one snowy bank to the other. A part of me marvels that I can creek- cross at night just two days after being swept into a wild raging creek. Another part of me wonders if I’m being foolish, wonders if I should stop. I keep moving. I’ve been moving for seven hours straight, focused on only one thing: getting out of here. I’m hungry to get out. I want to rest and re-think my plan. I’ve hiked almost 900 miles. Do I really want to finish this trail and walk another 1,650 miles to Canada? I nearly died in that water. I’ve alive, but I nearly died. All I want right now is a soothing warm bath and a bed, a real bed, with sheets and a pillow. I want to heal my body. I want to take care of the wounds on my leg and my aching spine. I want out.
The moon rises and guides me the last few miles. When I arrive at Red’s Meadow, I peer through the store window at the round-faced clock. It’s midnight. I hiked 27 tough miles today with a sore body and a mind that couldn’t stop thinking about getting swept into Bear Creek; couldn’t stop thinking about getting smacked up against rocks. I can’t believe I’m alive. I can’t believe I made it here. I toss my sleeping bag onto the ground and get in. Unable to sleep, I wait for dawn and at first light, I go to the cafe. When it opens, I order pancakes and shovel them into my weary body, then take a bus into town.
Anne Elizabeth O’Regan
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