Thousand Islands Lake to Random Camp Near Tuolomne Meadows
I wake feeling like absolute garbage, the sun pouring into the tent. The morning has come too early and I dread pulling myself from my warm cocoon of down and crinkly sleeping pad. But wait, no, not the sun. The brightest moon I’ve ever seen, filling the valley with it’s piercing blue light. I snatch up my phone; oh sweet baby cheeses it’s 2:30am! I pull my hat down over my eyes and crinkle into my quilt. I sleep the sleep of those who know they don’t have to get up for a few more precious hours.
When I wake again it’s actually morning and it’s already 7:45. Oops. Keith appears to have been awake for some time and has been kind enough to while away the morning hours on his phone while I snoozed on. With the knowledge that we have a relatively easy day on the trail we spend the morning attempting to dress up our breakfast eggs.
My introduction to Mountain House Breakfast Hash was on my first ever solo backpacking trip and it was soooo good that it immediately claimed a spot on my top three backpacking breakfasts list. Now, 2 years later, and 6 days of this stuff on the JMT and Keith and I can barely look at it. Luckily, we’re armed with cheese, sausage, and cheetos – all gifts from our over-packed friend back in Red’s Meadow. With some effort and patience (entirely on Keith’s part) we manage to turn our sad little breakfast around. While we eat we watch hikers stream out from around the lake, at least 50 people merge onto the trail heading north or south. Who are all these people? It’s so easy to imagine we’re out here on this unique adventure, but really we’re just part of the conga line.
Today we’ll climb 2,600 feet up towards Island and Donahue Passes and enter our third and last national park: Yosemite.
As we climb through the splotchy afternoon rain, and later crossing a creek going in the opposite direction of I share a smile and a nod to several female hikers and I realize there is some deeper connection there, a phenomenon that has connected all of the smiles and nods I’ve shard with women on this trail, an intimacy shared across time and space, visible for the briefest of moments: The Lady Nod.
The Lady Nod says: hey girl, I see you. And: it’s ok, you’re doing it. And: more importantly: you’re stronger than you know. Because any woman who has spent time in the outdoors knows that they’re a unique breed, fighting against the tide of white, male, able-bodied ego that is prevalent in both outdoor media and on the trails themselves. From online social forums where posts from women are met with derision and dismissal, to gear that isn’t fit or made for our bodies and where ‘unisex’ is about as close as it gets, to the countless outdoor media brands that splash their covers with white thin male faces, men who concur and own nature as though it was something to be claimed by birthright.
The Lady Nod acknowledges all of this and more. It is the soft, unspoken agreement of sisterhood mixed with the thrill of seeing yourself represented in these wild places. Even if it is only for the briefest flash of time, as you pass each other on the trail, smile, go your own way.
Evening finds us descending through the trees towards the flat expanse of Tuolomne Meadows, the river meandering and broad as it cut’s a wandering channel through the tall grass.
The smoke fills the valley, permeating deep into the trees, creeping up towards us. A silent, luminous pall – we walk right into it, and stop soon after. The smoke is too unpleasant to walk through.
5:30pm and we’re calling it a day. 7pm and we’re in our tent. What to do. What to do? We’ve reached an impasse where physical adaptation lags behind mental motivation. Meaning, we haven’t yet grown our hiker legs yet, but we’d rather be hiking that sitting in camp. Meaning, truly, we’re tired all the time.