Peru Chronicles: Mountains, Mysteries, and Herzog’s Aguirre

Peru Chronicles: Mountains, Mysteries, and Herzog’s Aguirre

By Armando Ortiz

Inca Trail - Part One: Reflections on a Film:

My first glimpse of the Inca Trail came through Werner Herzog’s film Aguirre, the Wrath of God. Back then, as a regular at the local video rental store, I often noticed the film’s striking cover: Klaus Kinski’s crazed expression as the titular character, Aguirre. Eventually, I rented the movie, drawn by its exotic imagery. At the time, I saw it as a surreal fable, a tale of conquistadors in helmets juxtaposed with indigenous people in vibrant beanies. Kinski played the crazed soldier gone mad, seeming out of place in the lush green environment, his demeanor almost alien. The setting- a humid, swampy jungle– didn’t quite align with the costumes, and I struggled to make sense of it.

As I grew older, the film’s premise became clearer: the pursuit of gold and glory for the Spanish Crown. Yet, as someone whose education revolved around North American, U.S., and Meso-American history, I hadn’t connected the story to the Inca civilization or life under Spanish rule. My understanding of geography and human environment interaction was limited. One of my university classmates once mentioned that the rapper Tupac was named after Tupac Amaru, a Peruvian leader, but even then, Peru’s history felt distant and unfamiliar.

Before leaving for Peru, I revisited the film, watching the first 15 minutes. This time, the mist-shrouded green mountains and narrow trails carved on to sheer cliffs captivated me. The imagery was haunting yet magical- a line of soldiers and enslaved men snaking precariously along the trail, their journey echoing the danger of the llama that slipped and fell into the abyss below. As the train carried us to the trailhead, the eerie resemblance between Herzog’s landscapes and the unfolding reality stayed with me.

The train ride itself evoked an odd deja vu. Herzog’s original German dialogue was poorly synced with the English dub, resulting in voices that didn’t match the actors. A performance by the crew in our train car echoed the film’s mismatched dubbing: English voices floated from hidden speakers, out of sync with the actors’ lips. It was as if Aguirre himself were speaking in an unsettling, borrowed voice.

Later, I learned that Herzog had filmed parts of Aguirre at Machu Picchu, on the Huayna Picchu trail, and along the Peruvian Amazon. His main character, based on the historical Lope de Aguirre, led an expedition to conquer Peru via Panama. Defying orders, Aguirre sought to rewrite history in his favor. But his rebellion ended in 1561 when he was captured, dismembered, and executed. Herzog also drew inspiration from Gaspar de Carvajal, a Dominican friar who chronicled a similar journey along the Amazon two decades earlier.

The film, released in December 1972, immortalized these landscapes and themes of ambition, madness and conquest. Revisiting it before my journey added a surreal layer to my anticipation. As I prepared to walk those trails, the film’s haunting imagery lingered, merging history and myth with the undeniable pull of the Andes. For the first time, the Inca Trail felt less like a distant fable and more like a real, living connection to the past I was about to experience.

Anza-Borrego State Park: Road trip and Camping

Anza-Borrego State Park: Road trip and Camping

By Armando Ortiz

Introduction to Area and Road Trip

Anza-Borrego State Park lies in Southern California’s central interior, bordered by Ocotillo to the south near the Mexican border, Julian and Ramona to the west, the Salton Sea to the east, and the Palomar Mountains to the north. Once submerged under water, this region holds evidence of human presence dating back thousands of years.

The best time to visit is in Spring or Fall, though Winter can also be pleasant. Summers, however, bring intense heat. From downtown Los Angeles the drive takes about four hours, including potentially heavy traffic on I-15 South. My preferred route from Temecula winds through diverse landscapes, from chaparral to desert vistas, offering a peaceful escape from the busier highways.

Background of Anza Borrego

For centuries, Indigenous groups lived in this region, leaving behind mortar sites used to process seeds like juniper berries, and agave. The Kumeyaay are the group most closely associated with the area, though others, such as the Cahuilla, traveled here seasonally. The park takes its name from Juan de Anza, who traveled and explored the area in the 1700s, as he was heading northwest into California’s interior. Today, the desert landscape attracts permanent residents and visitors alike from across Southern California, drawn by its stark beauty and natural wonders. 

Activities in Anza-Borrego

Hiking is popular in and around the park, best enjoyed during the cooler months of winter and spring. Summers can be dangerous due to the extreme heat. Trails vary in difficulty; some are accessible by sedan, while others require high-clearance, four wheel drive vehicles. Off-roading is another common pastime- you’ll often see caravans of Jeeps, Tacomas and 4Runners, as well as campers being hauled by full size trucks.

Ancient Native American sites can be reached by combining hiking and off-roading. An all-wheel drive vehicle can shorten hikes, but most sites are accessible via trails of up to two miles. The park is also known for its unique iron sculptures, scattered across the desert landscape around the town of Borrego Springs. These artworks emerge on the horizon, though reaching some may require navigating unmarked trails to reach. The night turns magical as you observe the Milky Way stretching across the sky. 

Ending and review

Anza Borrego feels less desolate as other California desert parks, thanks to its nearby eateries and hotels. To fully enjoy its unique offerings, plan an overnight stay- either camping or at a local hotel. The landscape features agave, ocotillos, barrel cacti, and desert palm give it a distinct charm. Spring, especially after a wet season, is another excellent time to visit.

On our way home, we often stop in Julian, CA, a charming mountain town known for its apple pies, really good burgers, and rustic ambiance. Located at higher elevation, Julian offers a cool, green contrast to the desert’s stark beauty, with pine and oak forests. 

Drive along Highway 78 to Julian, the scenery transforms from barren, rocky mountains dotted with cactus to chaparral, then to lush woodlands. The sudden transition highlights the unique microclimates of the area, making Julian feel like a cool retreat after the desert’s intensity. 

John Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath: Book Review and Reflections

John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath: Book Review and Reflections

By Armando Ortiz

Is the migration of people a phenomenon that exists during one generation or is it something that has taken place hundreds of times for thousands of years? John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath, published in 1939, captures the plight of Oklahoma farmers who lost their lands during the Great Depression. Steinbeck’s novel is one of the best novels I’ve read recently, resonating deeply with current migration issues as it explores the hardships faced by people displaced from their homes. 

I started reading Steinbeck’s novel a week before leaving for Peru and was completely engrossed by the plot. Once in Peru, the parallels between the Joad daily’s journey and the struggles of families migrating to the United States today became strikingly clear. This resemblance deepened my engagement with Steinbeck’s portrayal of resilience in the face of displacement. This review not only examines the novel but also reflects on its relevance on today’s migrants to the U.S.

The novel centers on the Joad family, particularly Tom Joad, as they struggle to survive in a rapidly changing world. In addition to chronicling the experiences that his characters go through he also describes the forces of nature over the American Southwest. The Joad family’s deep connection to their land is tested by unforgiving nature and relentless economic forces. During the Dust Bowl- a devastating drought in the mid-1930s Midwest- they struggle to maintain their home, only to be uprooted by banks prioritizing profit over people.

The banks and business interests of their property are not concerned for the wellbeing of people there. Locals in the countryside continue to lose their land to mechanized agriculture and are left with two options: try to get employed by those businesses or move somewhere else. The parcels lost by the families are the places they’ve called home for at least the last three generations. The uprooted family is forced to make tough decisions that will take them to California. 

The Joad family’s deep connection to their land mirrors the universal bond that many have with the earth- a bond often cut by forces beyond their control. As their fight against the banks becomes futile, this connection becomes a painful memory, pushing them toward a new hope in California. During my trek on the Inca Trail in Peru, a guide spoke of the spiritual connections people have with the earth, a sentiment that echoes in Steinbeck’s portrayal of Jim Casy and the Joad’s family’s bond to their land.

Ultimately, the Joad family abandons their fight against the banks and sets off for California, lured by pamphlets promising plentiful farming jobs and the hope of prosperity. For the Joads, the food, grapes and oranges, and the possibility of affording a home together draws them West. 

As the Joads journey west, their story eerily parallels the experiences of many Latin American migrants heading to the U.S. today, driven by similar hopes and hardships. People who decide to head North to where the myth of finding pennies on the ground or picking up used televisions on the corners is alive. 

Tragedy soon follows the Joads westward: their dog is killed, Grandpa Joad dies and is buried by the roadside, and eventually, Grandma Joad passes away. The family’s journey is marked by loss and abandonment, reflecting the harsh realities of displacement. Little by little the family loses members, and they abandon their material possessions.

The trials endured by the Joad family- loss, displacement, and the struggle for survival- are not relics of the past but living realities faced by countless migrants today. These scenes are poignantly mirrored today by the perilous journeys of migrants from South America to the U.S., who face immense hardships along routes like the Darien Gap. In South America, I witnessed first hand the strength of family and community ties, echoing the Joads’ experience of unity and loss. 

Just as Oklahoma served as a departure point for Dust Bowl migrants, towns in Colombia act as staging areas for those embarking on the perilous journey through the Darien Gap. Like many migrant families, the Joads family begin their journey united, but overtime, their cohesion erodes under the weight of tragedy and hardships.

In the midst of their journey, families like the Joads, are sadly separated by tragedy or necessity. Blood ties are not as strong as they once were. By watching videos and reading about the Darien Gap one learns that people begin to lighten their load once the weather, and terrain begin to take a toll on their bodies. Familial unity either becomes stronger or weakens. People get swept away by the rivers or get robbed by locals. The worst experience being one survivor of a five person family unit making it to the Panamanian refugee camp. 

Tragically, as Steinbeck illustrates, the hope of a  new beginning often demands a baptism of suffering. The renewal that comes with their move West has strings attached. Just as the Joad family faced discrimination, exploitation, and verbal abuse by the locals. Today there are politicians that blame our nation’s ills on illegal immigrants and asylum seekers. These new immigrants have become the new scapegoats for all that is bad in the country. 

Despite facing oppression from legal systems, neighbors and religious groups, the Joad family perseveres. They quickly adapt to their way of life and what keeps them moving forward is having a warm meal, but also a place to call their own. It is in their desperation, like immigrants today, where they find the strength to keep moving forward. 

Dispossessed and driven by necessity, today’s migrants, like the Joads, embody humanity at its rawest. Steinbeck’s novel compels us to recognize the enduring struggles of the poor and dispossessed, highlighting the shared human experience of seeking a better life amidst adversity.

Though written over 80 years ago, Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath remains a timeless exploration of forced migration and the universal quest for a better life. It shows us that there will always be a reason why people decide to put their lives at risk as they hold on to promises that are only that and that along the way they will have to find new ways to adapt and push forward towards a new and better life.

A Quiet Retreat: Free-verse Reflections

 

A Quiet Retreat: Free-Verse Reflections

By Armando Ortiz

I sit here along the coast after a thirty minute drive on Pacific Coast Highway, lying on the sand, watching the waves roll in, each one bringing solace.

The crashing waves blend with memories of hiking the Sierras, where a cool breeze touched my skin as I prepared myself to enter the alpine lake. In the deepest silence, as the waters pulled back, a tiny mosquito pierced my skin with its sharp bite. 

Lost in thought, the crashing waves transform into a gentle rustle of aspen, pulling me back in time. The memory intersects with the present, where the sounds of water and breeze become a delight. 

No need for kegger parties or psychedelic nights; just nature’s embrace heightens the senses, offering deep insights. This mid-July heat wave intertwines with every other summer breeze and every tiny insect that takes flight. 

A single mosquito stands as a buzzing reminder, its bite added to my life's itchy welts. Palm trees and cottonwoods wave gently at the endless stream of people, serene spectators to the flow of life.

If only my tent could transform into a permanent retreat, a place to watch sea lions surfing the dawn’s first light. Or a home nestled among oaks and pines, their gentle shade shielding me from the afternoon’s oppressive heat.

High on a hill, where no buzzing mosquito will dare to exist, a refuge of tranquility. Back at the coast, the sand scorches beneath my feet, but the ocean’s blue embrace offers a cooling reprieve. 

Who needs a retreat when nature’s wonder is just a few minutes away?

John Steinbeck’s The Pearl: Review

Standing Against the Waves - John Steinbeck’s The Pearl: Review

By Armando Ortiz

In John Steinbeck’s novella The Pearl, a young couple named Kino and Juana face a crisis when their baby, Coyotito, is bitten by a scorpion. Desperate for medical help, Kino seeks assistance but finds none due to their lowly status.

Determined to find a solution, Kino heads to the sea to hunt for pearls to pay for his son’s treatment and discovers the largest pearl anyone has ever seen, which seems like a blessing soon turns into a curse as news of his find spreads throughout the town.

The pearl’s discovery attracts the attention of everyone, including those who previously ignored Kino’s family. The entire community becomes obsessed with the pearl’s potential, yet they overlook the dire condition of Coyotito, who lies at death’s door.

Kino dreams of the changes his newfound treasure will bring, envisioning his son attending school, buying a rifle, and purchasing new clothes for the family. Yet, selling the pearl proves difficult as local dealers conspire to undervalue it to maximize their profits.

The pearl soon becomes a source of danger, bringing violence during the night and suspicions in the morning. Kino faces attacks from those who wish to steal it. The same doctor who once refused to help his family now shows up. Though the doctor supposedly saves Coyotito’s life, his true intentions remain suspicious. 

Juana, realizing the pearl’s destructive power, hopelessly attempts to throw it back in the sea, but Kino stops her. The drama by the coast worsens as Kino is ambushed by mysterious figures. Despite the mounting tragedies, Kino and Juana remain determined to persevere.

  Throughout the narrative, Kino confronts the challenges head on. Just when things look bleak, there is a flash of hope and a solution. Nonetheless, this brings even more challenges, and the relentless pressure of his responsibilities weigh heavily on him. Steinbeck skillfully portrays Kino and his family’s struggles, as if standing still against the metaphorical waves that threaten their existence.

Kino is aware of his low position in his community, but the pearl’s discovery emboldens him to seek a better life. When the townspeople refuse to offer a fair price for the pearl, he decides to journey north, hoping for fairer opportunities. However, this decision leads to more violence and the tragic death of Coyotito.

Steinbeck’s novella highlights the plight of those marginalized by society’s power structures. The narrative illustrates how the ruling class in the story relentlessly obtains valuable resources at the lowest cost, often at the expense of the poor. Kino’s refusal to sell the pearl cheaply attracts dangerous attention from those eager to profit from his misfortune.

The setting of The Pearl reflects Steinbeck’s profound understanding of the Sea of Cortez. His vivid descriptions of the tide pools and the desert boulders that Kino climbs to find safety reveal his intimate knowledge of the Baja California region. By immersing the reader in this environment, Steinbeck extends his narrative of California into Mexico, showcasing the unique lives and experiences shaped by the contours of the coast.

Nevertheless, the story remains relevant today. As we scan the news about faraway places and the precarious lives of the poor, we realize that this narrative is universal and powerful. It unfolds daily from the highlands of the Andes to the jungles of the Congo, from coastal fishing villages to populous megacities. Ultimately, The Pearl is a timeless story of human perseverance amidst formidable challenges, resonating with audiences across cultures and eras.

Ascending Mount Langley: Reflections from the High Sierra - Part Seven

 

Ascending Mount Langley: Reflections from the High Sierra - Part Seven

By Armando Ortiz

Final Reflections:

Did you ever cram for a test the night before? Long hikes and backpacking are quite the opposite. They require time, effort and thorough preparation. After my backpacking trip, I realized how crucial preparation is for long treks. This involves consistent practice and training. You must work out regularly. You can’t decide that you will hike Mt. Langley the day before- it can be dangerous.

 Before this trip I’d been hiking 4 to 6 miles on the weekends, regularly increasing the distance and elevation as summer approached. Each hike included carrying a 15 to 17 pound pack, building my resistance and endurance. During the weekdays, I took daily walks and lifted light weights twice a week. The week before trekking up to Mt. Langley, I completed a 15-mile hike up White Mountain Peak with a 3,400 feet elevation gain, which indicated I was ready for Mt. Langley- a two-day trip with an additional 5-6 miles and double the pack weight.

Looking back, my clothing was sufficient, but I’d make some minor changes. A long sleeve shirt, and windbreaker provided good sun protection, but a long sleeve hoodie, a good cap, and a rain jacket would be perfect for high elevations. This setup gives me cover from the sun, wind resistance, and insulation. While my sun hat worked well, using the hoodie in windy conditions covered my ears, affecting my peripheral vision and muffling sounds.

The water filter worked fine, and knowing that there was a source near the camp to fill two liters of water was convenient. Using a light dayback for the summit gave me more freedom of movement and allowed me to just carry the bare essentials, making the climb faster. However, my main pack, over 20 years old, couldn’t distribute the weight evenly. The straps loosen up, and the shoulder straps dug into my shoulders. A new pack is needed for better performance.

I brought more food than necessary, adding weight to the pack. The extra food provided an option to stay another night and rest after the summit, though I didn’t take advantage of that opportunity. I carried energy bars- blueberry and lemon. Interestingly, my taste changed slightly at higher elevations. The spiciness and saltiness of peanuts were nourishing, but the lemon snacks were tastier, with their chewy tartness providing an extra kick of satisfaction.

Monitoring my hiking app for trail updates and tracking the weather conditions online helped me to choose the best route. Before the trip, I read that New Army Pass, though longer, was safer. Knowing as much as possible about the trail conditions is always helpful. Dedicating time to study the topography of the wilderness area helped me anticipate sections along the trail. I knew that reaching High Lake would be moderately easy, with 400 feet elevation gain. By studying the map I was able to identify water sources, with High Lake being the last one before going up Mt. Langley. The toughest section of the trail was near the summit, with eroded terrain, but the cairns facilitated navigation.

Choosing a better location to camp that was less strenuous to the body could have spared unnecessary energy expenditure. Staying one or two miles further down the trail would have reduced the burden of carrying a heavy pack. The one lesson learned was to take down camp and leave everything packed for the return if not planning to stay the night.

Rushing and trying to race the sun gets you in trouble. My arrival was delayed due to the drive, and I started later than expected. Lunch was rushed because I wanted to reach High Lake before sundown. The next day, after a full day of hiking, I quickly packed up to beat the sun. Pushing my body to its limits was risky. My knee, already bothering me before the trip, worsened due to the rush. Being well rested is essential for a successful trek, especially before covering many miles in a day, but also pacing yourself and being aware of time.

Finally, car maintenance is crucial for any long trip. Although I checked the oil before leaving, inspecting other parts like air filters, tire pressure, and the radiator cap could have prevented potential issues. Ensuring your vehicle is in good condition contributes to a successful trip.

Preparation gives you mental space and physical endurance to make informed choices. During a trek, if you feel like you’re disoriented physically or mentally, you can take a moment to pause, breathe, and reflect before making the next decision. At the summit, I wondered how Covid-19 might have affected our physical endurance. Yet, I successfully submitted Mt. Langley. Fortunately, my body persevered, and I made it back to my car. This experience reinforced the importance of preparation and planning for any endeavor, ensuring a successful summit, hike, backpacking expedition or trip into the wilderness.

Ascending Mount Langley: Reflections from the High Sierra - Part Six

Ascending Mount Langley: Reflections from the High Sierra - Part Six

Ascending Mount Langley: Reflections from the High Sierra - Part Six

By Armando Ortiz

Almost there:

The last two miles were slow going and the rolling mounds were more like long slow steady climbs. Although the trail was well defined the ground was annoyingly unstable. It wasn’t sand what I was walking on but tiny bits of granite which were both airy and not compacted. My breathing and keeping an internal rhythm were the only things on my mind. The weather was much warmer than it had been at the top with my skin feeling sticky. 

I found myself taking breaks every ten minutes. Finding a rock the height of my waist made a perfect seat to take a few moments of rest. There was a sense of relief that the air I was breathing was warm and earthy. Some areas in this section had open spaces that looked like they might have been seasonal villages for the Shoshone. From this section to the lakes it is less than 4 miles away, which could have provided fish and game for people. Along the edge of the lakes I couldn’t help but wonder if some of the flat and slick boulders were used to process meat and seats.

It looked like a perfect meeting point where people for thousands of years gathered in the summer and trekked into the mountains to hunt and collect food. Many of the lodgepole pines on this last stretch were far enough apart that numerous temporary shelters could have been built. The area provides enough shade from the sun which would make it ideal for a summer’s stay. The weather is slightly cooler to the hot Owens Valley. Then again their meadows could have easily been created recently. The lakes could have been an excellent source of water to the first peoples that called these mountains home. Although I was moving like a tortoise and found myself pondering how the first peoples lived in these areas, I knew that I was nearing the end of my trek.

I could sense that I was nearing my last few meters. On the last turn of the trail I finally descended towards the left and could see a sign. I had made it back, relief and accomplishment filled me. My car was close. As soon as I reached my car I took a long gulp of water, and attempted to send a text. There was still some light, though the sun was quickly beginning to set. I quickly changed clothes while I boiled some water on a portable stove.

Dinner- shrimp ramen with chili and a packet of jalapeno tuna fish. The meal was comforting, the broth savory, and salty liquids would replenish me of the fluids I’d lost throughout the day. The vapor touched my face and the condensation mixed with my skin.

 After the quick meal I opened the hood. All the coolant in the reservoir had either evaporated or leaked. I turned the radiator cap, it was broken, but there was liquid in there. I searched for residue of coolant salts along the engine hoses and below the car and didn’t see any. There was some residue under the reservoir which made me conclude that coolant had escaped from there. I did not have to put water in the reservoir. The broken radiator cap could have been the source of the car losing the coolant. I returned to the drivers side and hoped I was right with my final inspection, the car could at least get me to Lone Pine.

The engine quickly turned on and began to hum as if nothing had happened. Good old reliable Toyotas. I returned to check the engine, and all was clear. I decided to drive down towards Lone Pine and from there I’d see how the car was doing. It would not be as taxing on the engine as it had been coming up and the weather would be slightly cooler. As I left the campground the forest seemed to merge with the darkness. I drove slowly down the winding road.

Arriving at the Lone Pine intersection the car seemed to be humming along without a problem. I pulled to the side and sent a few quick texts, made a right and merged with the 395 South bound. Family was glad to receive my messages and I was glad to have made it down to the valley. Everything was surprisingly fine. The drive home was smooth, with a stop at the town of Mojave where I filled up on gas and bought some snacks. 

Ascending Mount Langley: Reflections from the High Sierra - Part Seven

Ascending Mount Langley: Reflections from the High Sierra - Part Five

Ascending Mount Langley: Reflections from the High Sierra - Part Five

Ascending Mount Langley: Reflections from the High Sierra - Part Five

By Armando Ortiz

Approaching the Final Stretch - Initial Reflections:

The trail changed as I descended. Rockslides had been cleared, and people had taken shortcuts. The way along the canyon face didn’t seem as stable as it had earlier in the morning when I climbed up. Now High and Long Lake looked like big rain puddles in the sunlight. Though it was a bit past three in the afternoon, it felt directly overhead, casting minimal shadows. I kept looking towards the boulder where my tent was, wondering if marmots had entered or nibbled a hole into the backpack.

Around that time a group of three or four were ascending the pass. We greeted each other and continued on our way. After about an hour the trail began to even out slightly. New Army Pass now seemed like a canyon of hightowers. More and more patches of green mossy grass came into view the lower the elevation it got. My steps going down were slow, but my body felt light. I scanned the trail below when suddenly my eyes saw wildflowers moving with delicate excitement as the breeze blew. Things were looking good. After reaching the foothill, I searched for my tent.

The tent was missing. As I approached the granite boulder, my green backpack came into view. Vexed, I stopped and looked around. It was packed, and under it was the tent. My eyes scanned the scene in confusion. Under the bag was a note that read, 

“Hello, From the top of Army Pass, we saw your tent getting blown away down the mountain. We retrieved it 9000 years from your site and also found your sleeping bag a distance from your tent. We collapsed our tent and secured all your stuff (that we could find) with rocks. Your tent is damaged (torn a bit) I hope you didn't lose anything. Take care” - Jim

A sinking feeling inside hit like a flash as I simultaneously wondered, “why didn’t I pack my tent?” It could have taken 5-10 minutes at most getting everything packed. In the rush to summit the peak as early as possible, the tent not being as secure and anchored as it was supposed to be didn’t cross my mind. 

This was a valuable learning experience. If I’d been on a multi day trip and had decided to summit a peak I’d be in trouble. Discovering that the tent was in tatters, the sleeping bag torn, and being 20-25 miles away from the car would have been trouble. My bear canister was where I’d left it, so I pulled it out and used it as a seat. 

I reflected a bit on what had happened. As late afternoon approached, I scanned the area to ensure that nothing was missed by those that recovered my tent. Two aluminum stakes were still on the ground where I’d jammed them into the earth the night before. After making sure I’d scanned my area carefully, I paid attention to quickly inspecting the damage.

As I held the rainfly in my hands it looked like it had been attacked by an angry feral cat. The bottom of the tent was torn and scratched a bit, while the mesh area had one or two holes- it was no longer usable. The footprint was pretty much done. It was made of some type of flimsy plastic. The sleeping bag was ok, no visible sign of damage, maybe superficial scratches, but none that had gone through. 

This set back definitely had me thinking for a bit, but my attention immediately went to reaching my car. I took a short break and gathered my thoughts. Everything seemed calm and quiet. I sat there, eating a granola bar and glanced at my watch. I could still get to my car with the afternoon light that remained. At a distance a marmot stood up to inspect the views. The lake was like a mirror and I was an audience to the sky. Looking around I realized I had set up camp in a place with lots of marmot activity. There were burrows and feces all around the boulder. 

Reflecting on the situation, I realized that packing up the tent before leaving could have prevented damage and loss of stakes, ultimately avoiding a failed attempt to repair the damages. With these thoughts lingering, I ensured the area was clean before resuming my descent. 

The pack felt heavy, and uncomfortable. I wanted to make it back to my car. Afternoon light was slowly turning into late afternoon shadows. The walk was steady, but I kept leaning slightly trying to give myself an impulse forward. I zigzagged my way through a foxtail pine grove with knotty branches. The gnarled trunks made them look really ancient. Red bark of these pines was contrasted by the evergreen bristles they held. I reached the Cottonwood Lakes around half past five in the afternoon.

 Passing by the lakes different campsites were spotted. I thought of the two miles I could have saved in carrying the weight. My backpack kept loosening up. I stopped several times to adjust the straps. At times I’d wiggle my thumbs in between my front shoulders and the straps to relieve some of the pressure. 

As the descent grew increasingly uncomfortable, I failed to realize that I had already hiked seventeen miles. The next five miles were slow, grinding and potentially dangerous. As I got closer to my destination it felt like I was carrying more than what I had started this adventure with. My pace was much slower, but the trekking poles kept their constant ticking sound.

Reaching the last five miles was a bit of relief, but at the same time began to feel greater discomfort. Here the air had seemed heavier and earthy. You could almost breathe in the greenery. Around six in the afternoon, a bit past mile twenty, and a few meters past the John Muir trail I ran into two backpackers that were beginning their week-long trek through the mountains. “Do the lakes have water?,” one of them asked. “Yes, but they were half full.” We all continued on our way. A tiny bit of jealousy did creep up while talking to them, hearing that they’d be up here much longer than I had. Their carrying load was definitely much more than mine. These encounters reminded me of the journey’s camaraderie, but also of the remaining distance ahead. 

Despite nearing my car, the remaining three miles still seemed daunting. The trail was gradually flattening, but the ground was now soft, bordering on squishy. Every step I took seemed to make my feet sink into the fine gravel. I was tired. I’d stop, lean against a lodgepole, and the pack on its trunk. Its shiny bronze bark was rough. It was a relief to my back even if for a few seconds. 

With each break there was a quick sip of water, and wiping the sweat from my eyes, and occasionally checking my watch. Then the trudge would resume. Although the air was still, the atmosphere was warm. I was sweating more. With every streak of sweat a thin white crust would build along my temples. 

Things did get serious at one point. I began to have a dull pain in my knee, but I continued trugging. I struggled to stay synchronized with the poles and my steps. In the rush to get back to my car I pushed myself so much that by the time I was two miles away it became a trudge. 

Although I still had the energy to continue my body had reached a point it had never experienced before. Yet, looking back now, all the hikes and training that took place can never prepare you for the challenges that an almost twenty one mile trek can take on the body. This is why it's important to never take long hikes that are considered difficult or strenuous lightly, but that one has to continuously train the body for those types of challenges.

Little by little, the loose ground made the last section uncomfortable and turned the sense of satisfaction into a restless desire to reach my final destination. As I traversed this flat section, it felt the most treacherous, with reaching my car looming as the biggest challenge at that moment. The trees were slowly being covered by the shade of the mountains, and the forest shadows were beginning to blend with the lifeless fallen trees. With determination fueled by the challenges overcome, I pressed onward towards the final stretch.

Ascending Mount Langley: Reflections from the High Sierra - Part Six

Ascending Mount Langley: Reflections from the High Sierra - Part Four