TO THE DREAMY PALISADES

DAY 11 - August 18, 2010: Up the stairs

Did I dream, last night, now? Indeed. Most interesting dreams they were, too. Nothing you might expect on a long hiking trip, such as being caught on an endless treadmill, talking to coyotes, or falling off a cliff. No, these dreams took me completely out of the wilderness and into highly improbable dilemmas in at least one big city. Two connecting dreams, or one dream with tenuous connections to another, anyhow very colorful. First, I’d somehow become part of a convention of real estate developers. Most of the attendees were yuppie women, and for some reason they’d decided that I would star in the convention’s evening entertainment as an Elvis impersonator. I tried to beg off, but they were insistent. However, it never actually happened, they found someone else. This was, I believe, because I couldn’t make the rehearsal, as one of the women had asked me to pick up a fancy dress for her which was for some reason at a Greek Orthodox church. I drove to the church, and for some reason my 23-year-old son Mike was along, in a stretch Citroen deux-chevaux, vintage circa 1963, white with two red racing stripes around the body. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a stretch deux-chevaux outside of this dream, but that was what it was, stretched-out and with a hatchback trunk. Anyhow we picked up the dress from the priest, it was stylish but a conservative grey, with a big red ruby-like stone set in the belt. On the way back we were stopped, ticketed for some minor traffic violation and harassed by a portly, late middle-aged Chinese cop. Had to leave the car while he took us into the station. When we came out again, the car was missing. Everyone was Chinese, and the area looked like some neighborhood in Hong Kong. Someone directed us around the corner, and we saw the deux-chevaux in an open garage, engine running and hatchback (!?) open, with two long racks of barbecued pork fitted into it where the rear seats had been. There were Chinese caterers in white scurrying all around. The new CCC: Carjacking Chinese caterers? I got really pissed off, found their boss, and was reading him the riot act, asking where the hell they got off thinking they could just grab someone’s car and use it for their business. He was very defensive, saying that the car was just perfect for their needs . . . I was still ranting when I woke up to the pre-dawn grey of the 5AM sky.

“What is that dream doing in this blog?” you may well ask. Well, it happened outthere. Go figure. The Great Spirit playing one of his/her funny impractical jokes. And maybe my mind was looking for some entertaining relief from the daily grind. And today was a grind. As probably most people who’ve climbed the “golden staircase” will tell you, it’s one of the steepest and roughest stretches of the trail. In retrospect, it wasn’t all that bad, mostly because the trail itself was generally well-maintained and the really steep part wasn’t all that long, but it was a toughie. When you get close to it, though, you find yourself looking straight up at a cliff, over the right side of which tumbles a powerful waterfall. I could only think, “now how can a trail possibly get up that?” And again, after an all-downhill day, this was all uphill. About 2300 feet (750+ m) elevation gain. Again, most of it was a relatively comfortable grade. The problem for me, I am realizing, is endurance. Generally I’ve been hiking eight hours a day with a 45-pound pack. Just a couple of hours of that, especially uphill, takes a toll on this old body. I’d like to pretend the body isn’t at all old, but this experience is definitely letting me know otherwise. Hangin in there, but as me sez, after two or three hours, can feel it for sure.

But then, there’s good support from other hikers. I remember meeting a young couple going up to Silver Pass. When I mentioned my age the gal said, “That is really great. I’m 29 and this is kicking my butt!” I need to hear stuff like that. Of course, most of the time I’m by myself, or rather on subjects like these my only companion, the Great Spirit, is conspicuously silent. Today the scenery is back on the spectacular side, especially going up the staircase. The rest stops I take provide me with plenty of visual treats.

At the top, it really gets nice. Palisade Lakes are worth the visit, even if the ways in aren’t all that easy. Just as I pulled out my camera to take pictures, Mark and Julia, the St. Louis musicians, came up and passed me. Good to see familiar faces. This section, like the other more beautiful sections of the trail, attracts a lot more people than some of the other places. Most are up here just for a loop of a few days, then out again; At this point I’m only occasionally running into the JMT through-hikers.

At the same place I saw my friends were seated a bunch of young guys who’d just come down over Mather Pass. It was early enough in the day that I thought I might still go over it today. “It’s right over there,” they said. I thought they were pointing at a fairly low ridge behind the lakes. “Wow, doesn’t look that high,” I said. “Naw, not bad,” they said. “But it is another 1600 feet up.” Didn’t look that high to me. But I decided to camp at this beautiful spot and go up rested, in the morning. Wiser, no?

There was no easy way to get down to camp near the upper lake: the trail ran high above. But I found a place with a beautiful stream nearby, rushing parallel to the cliff before twisting off to cascade down below. Near the trail on the lake side, but hidden by some scrub pines, was a sweet little sandy spot just big enough to pitch the tent and have room to cook. Set up, relaxed, and enjoyed the view. Feeling pretty good, all things considered. You generally have to be pretty rich to fall asleep looking out at views like this.
















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