Lessons in trail zen
As expected, the first challenge today was finding an alternate route that would let us stay as close as possible to the PCT, despite the missing bridge over the San Joaquin River. We knew it would be part exploration, part adventure: with only an untested GPS track to guide us, we had to improvise the actual route by reading the terrain and using our digital map. It was challenging but also fun. I even dusted off my (admittedly limited) climbing skills—a hobby I’ve since shelved and may never return to. (Maybe someday I’ll write about why I made that decision, but that’s a story for another time.)
After rejoining the trail post-detour, we followed the river to another bridge—this one, thankfully, still intact—and officially re-entered the John Muir Wilderness. Despite the heat (we were below 2,500 meters, which is unusual), the forest provided all the shade we could ask for. Towering pines, massive junipers unlike anything we have in Europe, and other ancient trees—some likely over a century old—offered respite as we hiked. Still, we knew the day wouldn’t be over until we climbed back above 3,000 meters.
When we arrived at the designated spot, it seemed perfect: a few lakes, scattered forests that looked as though they’d been placed there deliberately. But there was one issue—the usual one: wherever there’s water, mosquitoes thrive. Swarms of them descend on you the moment you stop—and even as you walk, once they’ve found you. Ravenous for the blood they need for their precious eggs, no repellent lasts more than a few hours, sometimes less. There are simply too many. Some you find on your skin before you even realize where they came from. And it was in this kind of environment, near the end of the day, that we had to find a spot to pitch our tent.
I lost my temper more than once. Frustrated by the rocky, uneven ground and relentlessly attacked by the mosquitoes, I reached a breaking point and kicked my trekking poles—essential for setting up the tent. Then I told myself: there’s no point in venting anger and frustration into the wind—it’s a waste of energy and time. What can I do to make the best of these exact conditions? So I put on my rain jacket and pants, pulled out the head net, and went back to figuring out how to pitch the tent. I don’t know how many mosquitoes were on me at that point, but it no longer mattered. I was effectively impenetrable to their attacks, and that gave me the calm I needed to finish the job.
I still have a long way to go to find an immediate state of acceptance and inner calm—one that allows me to act rationally and effectively, without wasting energy tilting at windmills. When it comes to river crossings, I’d rate myself as a zen master at level eight (out of ten), but against these miserable insects that will plague us for a while yet, I’m barely at a level two. I’ve still a lot of work to do.
Tomorrow, we’ll tackle Selden Pass (an easy one), the Bear Creek ford (the second and toughest one together with the Evolution Creek—we’ll look for an easier detour rather than taking it “head-on”), and then, finally, we’ll reach Vermillion Valley Resort for dinner. Finally.
