We packed our gear and said our goodbyes to Regina. She was hiking down to the ranch to get rid of her and our garbage and donate some unused gear and food to the hiker bins. Then, she was heading toward Muir Pass to summit the next day. She had decided to get off the trail at Bishop Pass. Prior to her departure, our camping buddy ” Where do people poop around here” offered her some sage advice regarding which trail to take. She asked him if he had hiked the suggested trail and he said no. She turned to him and said “I will take the trail that I am familiar with”. What a wise woman.
After hours of email tag with Terry, we had determined that divine intervention would guide our next move. If the universe wanted us to continue, then Terry would arrive with gear ready for the next section. If he arrived sans gear then the universe delivered a clear message that we had done enough. So we headed out surrendering our next steps. We would catch the 11:00 am ferry, but didn’t expect Terry until 5:00 PM because of the long drive up.
Without threatening weather and an easy downhill six mile jaunt with light packs, the return seemed uncermonious. At 10:20, we had the lake in view below us and we began the trek down over rocks and boulders.
For some unknown reason the trail disappeared before our very eyes. We looked to each other for guidance but all we could do is hike toward the lake. This hike in many ways was more challenging than other trails. Why you may ask? Because there was absolutely no trail and we crossed, climbed, crawled through brush and rocks. To our credit, we did not panic and continued moving forward, until we ultimately arrived at the landing for the ferry across Florence Lake.
The boat pilot was waiting for the appointed time to leave. We were the fourth and fifth passengers. The other three had followed the yellow bricks down. It was apparent how clear this path was marked at the landing, yet we never saw one brick at trailhead. Although the lake was low, it was still pretty in the sparkling light. The huge billowing cumulus clouds forming into whipped cream peaks over the mountains were just starting to show the dark edges that suggest storms. We didn’t care. We were across the lake in no time, where high on the rocks stood a man in shorts. Once he began to walk, we both recognized the gait as Terry’s.
The store at the top, which belonged to MTR as did the ferry concession, offered a wonderful selection of junk food. Donedidit even got a soda, Joaquin got chocolate milk and chips for all? We talked non-stop as we headed down off the glorious mountains into the Valley of the Shadow of Drought and the hundred degree heat. With no extra gear the universe guided us home.
Home. There is no place like home, Dorothy said over and over again. Max from the Wild Things just wanted to go home and be with people who loved him most of all. Max surrended being the King of all the wild things to return to his home. It was time for us to reconnect with our people and resupply the love associated with the home and heart.
Perhaps the divine will summon us to the wild things once again, and send an email attachment to you.