I woke at 3:00 am to the sound of a mountain quail. The night had been rife with screaming wind gusts. Now it felt calm and mild. Perhaps it was as warm as the low fifties. I lay until I fell back to sleep. As far as I knew when I woke at 5:19, Robin hadn’t moved all night. I imagined our rock platform and the long view down our ledge had been there for centuries mostly in this same state of repose. This peace was ours.
We had just enough water for breakfast, which is as it should be. Don’t carry unnecessary weight. Despite things seeming as they should be, we didn’t know what we were headed toward.
The looming of crossing that roaring creek, a river really, was a haunting menace. We knew we must get on the other side. We hiked higher over rocks, big ones, often rolling them unexpectedly. We were almost exhausted of water. All this uncertainty plagued us. Until I turned a corner and there it was: A Bridge. The most exquisite bridge. Cheers. Our trail ended and we walked over raging waters on our first bridge on the John Muir Trail, JMT. Accessible water awaited us. The terrain seemed almost flat. And real camps with totally flat tent sites were along the waterside. We chose a beautiful four site camp to ourselves.
Mountain Peace 