”
I hid some notes in your stuff. Enjoy them,
”
Vanessa yelled to Drew and I as we carried our re-supplied packs
out of Reds Meadow.
“I hid some notes in your stuff. Enjoy them,” Vanessa yelled to Drew and I as we carried our re-supplied packs out of Reds Meadow.
My wife Renée and my daughter Vanessa had driven all the way to Mammoth Lakes to meet Drew and me at Reds Meadow, the last point at which the John Muir Trail touches a road and the last convenient chance to refresh our supply of food, film, toilet paper, etc. For the next two weeks and 170 miles, we would be deep in the backcountry and at least a day’s walk from any trailhead.
After leaving Renée and Vanessa, we walked in silence for the longest time, each alone with our thoughts. The landscape matched our mood. A devastating fire in 1992 left behind an eerie open forest of black-burned snags that stretched as far as we could see down toward the Middle Fork of the San Joaquin River and beyond. It all looked desolate and cheerless, just the way we felt at the prospect of leaving smiling, loving faces and the comforts of home for more walking.
Walking through that forest graveyard, I thought not just about missing family and home, but I reflected on the time the four of us had spent together that morning. It was conspicuous by how much fun we had all had together, how nice we all were to each other, and how unusual it all seemed.
If you have “normal” teenagers, you understand the ambient tension that can exist in a household. We parents, of course, are screwing up our kids’ lives with chores, restrictions, requests and other “stupid” limits that cause teenagers’ eyes to roll in their heads. In turn, they drive us nuts with orange hair, body piercings and their no-respect, no-appreciation, give-me-money-and-go-away attitude. Sometimes, it seems like an impossible feat to have a friendly dinner together.
Not to mention the sibling rivalries. I have heard that siblings can be the best of friends, but my kids haven’t read that book.
As I walked the trail, I contrasted our day-to-day trials at home with the beautiful morning we had spent together. We were like a scene from a 1950s sitcom. If Renée had worn a pleated dress and pearls and I had worn a suit and a fedora with a newspaper tucked under my arm, the picture would have been complete.
Drew and Vanessa never exchanged a harsh word. We all spoke to each other with kindness, respect and a sweetness that I am not used to. Any minute, I was expecting Andy and Aunt Bea to walk up with a picnic basket.
Where was the sarcasm? Where was the impatience? Where was the edge that can taint family togetherness?
I walked and I thought. Circumstances made the difference, I suppose. A week spent apart with a two week separation still ahead, some concern for our welfare during the hike, being away from home, these changes allowed us to see each other fresh and behave outside our usual habits. Whatever the reasons, it was heartening to see the four of us openly care for each other and to know we could still do it.
Eleven miles and 2,500 vertical feet later, we set up camp. Thunder, lightening and rain had returned and would follow us for more than a week. Drew was fiddling with his equipment. “Hey, Dad,” he said, “Look at this.” He handed me an open jar of PowerBait, a Play Dough-like fish bait product. Spelled out in hand rolled PowerBait strings was a message from Vanessa to her brother: “DIE.” We laughed and laughed and laughed.
