I just had this brief encounter. It's got me thinking.
I usually get up too early. This morning I woke especially early. It was a crummy sleep; I couldn't really catch my breath. I figured I get up and move around. I grabbed my gloves and the new cheerleader-blue coat. It debuted at dinner last night. Lilalee lead a heavy razzing to the delight of Ann and her most interesting friends. It was all in the spirit of fun, but I probably had the least fun. I'll say this: it's warm.
I tried to slip out the tent cabin quietly, but that cursed squeaking screen door probably woke everyone this side of Tioga Pass. No one else was about. The sky above was still bright; bright all the way down to the 4th magnitude. You could make out Andromeda; even with my bad eyes. It was cold. I was steaming breath, tearing up, dripping snot. I needed to move around. I pounded my hands to generate some heat. I needed coffee.
The lodge doesn't put out their coffee till 6. Slackers! The nearest Denny's is 100 miles away in Bishop. The wilderness! I had well over an hour to kill. I decided to walk over to the Tuolumne Meadows Store in the vain hope they were open.
I took the back route via the bridge that crosses the Dana Fork. I paused to gaze on the reflected stars that coursed down the creek with the current. I turned west on the JMT and slogged towards the store. The trail here is wide, worn and sandy. Sandy as a beach. Soon I passed out of the trees and the full dome of the sky was above: Gem-like Pleiades, tawny Saturn, red-beaming Betelgeuse. This is how I imagined it would be on the heights south of Donahue Pass.
The walk was warming, but the store was closed. Doesn't open till 8. Sunrise was still an hour away; coffee 45 minutes. I decided to detour through the Tuolumne Campground. I passed gigantic RVs and 8-sleeper trailers the size of rocket boosters. These people may be campers, but they never really need to go outside. I crossed the amphitheater and circled the perimeter of the backpacker's camp. There was some activity there. No doubt there was coffee all around me, but it might as well have been on Mars.
Time to head back. I'd had enough of marching in the sand. I walked The 120 shoulder over the River toward the Wilderness Center. Aside from a few speeding delivery trucks, there was no traffic. A lone insomniac duck was quacking somewhere out of sight. A buck in the meadow watched me at a distance.
When I arrived at the dining hall, there was still 10 minutes till coffee. Other guests, almost all men, are huddled expectantly by the door. A guy wearing pretty much the same clothes I am wearing catches my eye. He's got the pants with the zip off legs, the wool cap, the cross-training jersey and the down coat. We're all hikers here.
"Member of the earlier risers club?" he says.
"Card carrying. Came with my AARP membership." I say.
"Along with the right-of-passage?" he says.
Proctology jokes are standard fare among guys who are old enough to have grown kids. In no time we'd rehearsed the 'where you froms' and 'what you dos' which nicely killed the minutes left till the dining room was opened. He was from Napa-someplace. He sells doors and windows. Doesn't plan to retire. Ever! He knows his wines and his coffees. He thinks this coffee is shit. He says it used to be better. This is his third visit.
Then the doors open. Two dozen of us file in as orderly as you please. Coffee at last. I queue up behind the guy. "Have you been to Glen Aulin?" he says. "You must see the Falls. Have you been to Elizabeth Lake. You must see Elizabeth Lake. What about Glacier Lake and Gaylor Peak. That you must see." All the while I'm thinking he's more interested in sharing his expertise with the other guys in line who are also dressed like me.
We get our coffees and he suggests I join him at one of the tables with checkered table clothes.
"How long are you here?" he asks.
"Just 3 nights."
"Too bad. Great crowd here."
"Interesting people," I say.
"Well not everyone."
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"Just yesterday," he says, "I was talking to this younger guy. Probably in his 40s. He tells me he's hiking this John Muir thing. You know what that is?"
"Yea."
"Well, it's 500 miles or something. He's says he's going to hike that in a week."
"Pretty amazing," I say. No point in messing with the facts.
"Well I don't get it," he says. "I would never, ever, in a million years want to do that. Who would? It's insane. What's this guy think he's gonna prove to himself?"
There it was again, out of the blue, like a punch in 6th Chakra.
We talked a bit more, but I recall none of it. Then the sky started to brighten, and I came back to jot these notes.
Lilalee will be up soon. I don't think I'm going to bring it up.