Hero Day (May 13th)
There are lots of unique words and phrases that you’ll only find out here on the trail. Ways of describing things that just don’t apply to the real world. From “tramily” (trail family) to “trail angels” (folks who go out of their way to support hikers) to “cat holes” (a term for the holes you dig to do your business in the wild) - it’s a whole new lingo out here. People even award each other special trail names, based on a certain attribute, habit, or disposition, which can be accepted or rejected as one sees fit.
One of the new terms I’ve adopted into my trail vocabulary is “Zero Day” - which simply describes a day in which you don’t hike any miles. It can be in town or on the trail. As a play on words, “Nero Days” are when you’re only doing a couple miles off or back to the trail after a stop in town.
Last Saturday, we had the opposite of a Zero Day on the trail. We hiked all day, from 4:30am to 6:30pm, only to go backwards into Idyllwild. We decided to call it: Hero Day.
Here’s what happened...
Back in Idyllwild (the first time), our tramily decided to make a potentially temporary split so that everyone could have the experience they wanted as we reconnected to the trail.
Gabrielle took off solo to hike the Black Mountain Road trail, an alternate route back to the PCT that would safely bypass the snow in the next section. Serena decided it was important to her to complete as many of the miles on trail as possible, so she hitched back to the junction at Paradise Valley Cafe (PVC) where we had all come off the PCT to rest in Idyllwild. With a threat of a storm moving through in a few days, the rest of us (Grace, Michael, Ben, Max, Tom, and me) took the Deer Spring trail straight from Idyllwild back up the mountain to the base of San Jacinto with hopes of summiting from the north side and carrying on, skipping a few trail miles from PVC to Strawberry Junction (the last stop before the opportunity to summit San Jacinto and continue in the snow over the infamous Fuller Ridge).
Because we skipped the miles preceding this endeavor, we didn’t properly adjust to the experience of hiking in the snow, having only the few miles on the ascent to the summit junction to assess our skill and comfort levels. We left camp around 4:30am to maximize the cool morning hours that would provide nice hard icy snow beneath our micro-spike-clad boots. We developed a little bit of premature confidence during those first morning miles, despite a foreshadowing scare when Ben had a small fall through a patch of ice into a creek running just below. He was cold, wet, and embarrassed after the misstep but, safe and unharmed, the slip didn’t inspire concern about the conditions ahead.
When we arrived at the summit junction, we had a group discussion about the best path forward. It was a little after 7:00am, and we knew we had to choose between completing the summit and camping back at the junction that night, or continuing forward on the trail and crossing the snow covered ridge. We only had a few hours of safe conditions before the snow became too slushy on which to safely tread.
We waffled a bit on what would be the best path forward, even at one point suggesting that we let it be decided by the flip of a coin. We had some divided perspectives, but our collective priority was to do whatever we chose in a way that was safe and stay united as a team no matter what. In the end, we chose the summit, motivated by the fact that we had skipped the prior miles to do so. We determined that we would give it a try and if at any point it required expertise outside any of our comfort zones, we would turn back together.
It wasn’t long before we had already reached that conclusion. The trail was buried under at least 6 feet of snow, and there were meandering footpaths in every direction. At one point Ben and Michael went off on one track to search for the proper path while the rest of us kept on trying to blaze our own way up the mountain. But it wasn’t going to be easy, or straight forward, or - most importantly - safe. So we decided to abort the summit. Actually, both groups decided eerily at the exact same moment, although we were temporary apart, that we should best head back down together.
And that’s when it happened...
Max took a fall. He slid out of control on the ice and his foot caught beneath him. His ankle twisted and he heard an audible pop as he slid further and eventually caught himself on a tree. We saw it happen. We all knew before he spoke that it wasn’t just a harmless slide.
“Ouch.” He said calmly but loudly.
“Ouch.”
Then quiet.
“Ouch.”
He was in shock.
“This isn’t good. My ankle. Ouch...”
Slow, measured statements.
We urged him to wait where he was and be still until we could get down to him and see what damage had been done.
He was about 20 feet below us but I could see his face. I could see his eyes welling up, fighting back tears. I watched the future of the trail flash before him, devastated that this might be the end for him. He quietly, privately, grieved what he was sure to be a hike-ending mistake - one tiny misstep that would send him home only 3 weeks into an adventure he had been planning for years.
Tom, cool under pressure and the most skilled in the snow, carved out a path down to Max with my ice axe while Ben and Michael came back to meet us as quickly as they could safely return. Ben (a doctor) and Tom (who had previously suffered a similar injury) assessed Max’s pain and mobility and immediately taped up the joint to stabilize it for the hike down. They determined it was likely just a sprain, which allowed us all to take a deep breath for a moment. Grace and Michael offered their sit pads to cushion Max and keep him out of the wet snow while his wound was tended to, and I made sure everyone had an ample supply of Starbursts to take the edge off while we prepared to somehow safely, slowly get Max down off that godforsaken mountain.
And then, at around 8:30am, we began the longest decent of our lives back down to Idyllwild.
It would be easy to spend the next thousand words describing in detail just how terrible that next 6 miles - descending approximately 6000 feet over nearly 10 hours - was. How we could barely keep track of the trail, how the snow continued to melt and provide treacherous obstacles, how fallen trees and icy switchbacks brought us to the brink. But that’s not the story worth telling.
The real story is so much better.
The real story is one where a group of tired, scared, defeated humans showed up for each other. Every single one of us brought their best, in circumstances that could have, probably should have, brought out their worst. We took turns carrying the weight of the optimism. Ben and Tom literally took turns carrying Max, the three of them in a row, arm in arm. We navigated as a group, finding the best places to help him slide down the snow, seated on a sit pad, with a rope tied to his pack to keep the descents in control.
Ben took the lead for most of the miles, motivating the group to keep carrying on while meticulously forging and finding the safest path for his wounded friend. Tom was exceptionally caring and attentive to Max’s needs as he hobbled down, helping hoist his pack on and off, handing him his poles, and fetching fresh water for him from the stream. Michael picked up the lead as the day dragged on and cheerfully called out any perils like post-holes along the trail so we could all walk with greater confidence. Grace kept a quiet, grounded calmness and patience that reassured us over and over that everything was going to be okay. And Max, the true hero of the day, walked the same frustrating, long, treacherous path that absolutely wrecked the rest of us, in complete agony, and never once complained.
I am humbled and grateful to have lived this day with these people.
We didn’t become short with each other. We didn’t let the defeat overtake us. We didn’t allow the fatigue to make us ugly.
But we did laugh. A lot. Even in the midst of the torture. We laughed together. And that is what made it a Hero Day for me.
After finally hitching into town from a car park at the Marion trailhead with a group of day hikers from San Diego, Max and I sat on the curb of a corner market while I called every inn in town to sort out last minute accommodations on a Saturday night. Several phone calls (and a ridiculous nightly fee that we were more than willing to pay after the day we’d had) later, and I had booked us a cabin and secured transportation. The others were still waiting for a hitch down to meet us.
Max reached into the plastic bag of treats he’d acquired from the market for himself and the group and handed me an ice cold Coca Cola.
“Thanks for everything you did today,” he said.
I brushed it off a bit and deflected to admire everything the rest of the group had done, especially him in all that fear and pain.
“I’m glad you were there today,” he said. “You definitely lived up to your trail name.”
My trail name, the one the boys had given me, is: Sunshine. ☀️
This evening, the whole tramily is reuniting for an evening in Big Bear. Max has been resting in Idyllwild and is on the mend - he’ll be carrying on with the group after our Zero Day in town tomorrow. Serena completed the miles she wanted and caught up with us again in Cabazon. Gabrielle took a little break during her hike and ended up just being one day ahead of us. And Ben and Tom took two days to rest with Max and then crushed big miles the next few days to catch up. We’re all thrilled to be back together again, for now.
I am so grateful for all the twists and turns and miles and lessons on this journey. I’m so lucky that I get to do this. But I consider myself the most lucky that I get to do this with these amazing humans.
They’ve brought my sunshine out again.
Yoo-hoo!