[Day 30] (In)significance

Things started rough. Immediately, at 8am, I was trudging through snow in trees, post holing to my mid thigh. Through more mud and snow patches, I made my way down to Rio San Antonio for a knee high stream crossing.

Following the theme of the past few days, trail was tough — snow, mud, wet feet from dawn to dusk. I tried my snowshoes out for a few miles where I could. The trail often flipped between snow and rocky, wet dirt landscape. The snowshoes proved effective, and I felt I gained some benefit despite their added weight to my kit. Postholing was greatly reduced.

Over the past days, I’ve noticed a sweet small in the wet forests — a smell reminiscent of the rainy forests of Washington along the PCT when I was there in September of 2021. I looked this sensation up after the PCT, and I found it had a name: petrichor. Supposedly, a combination of wetness, plant oils, soil bacteria, and ozone from recent lightning might provide this intermittent fragrance. This seems to agree with my experience, as I’ve noticed it in wet climates with exposed soil. I haven’t noticed this phenomena in the thin, rocky, granite soil of the Sierras.

It was a tumultuous first 12 miles of walking. Initially, I was annoyed with the snow progress. Around 1pm, lightning and rain rolled in, so I pitched my tent to wait it out for an hour; it passed rather quickly, but the gloom hung around. Surprisingly, this break lifted my spirits despite the slow going. I suppose my excitement for the Rockies ahead makes the Carson National Forest similar to purgatory — an odd transition between the desert and mountains.

The state border is of insignificance. Similarly, my journey is of relative insignificance. I am of insignificance in the scheme of the world. But, I sense something grand is ahead — I’ve seen glimpses of the San Juan mountains in the distance for a little over 50 miles now. Those mountains instill an indifference to significance. Is this a positive perspective? I don’t know, but it certainly is unmindful and privileged. At least, the experience of my journey is immeasurably inconsequential to the spin of the world around its axis.

Ahead lies a landscape like the Sierras. The mountains ahead are a Garden of Eden. I indescribably meet my maker. I gain a view of Earth from the moon, and I have realizations of my additions and subtractions, my attachments and estrangements, my significance and insignificance. Existence feels frivolous, yet never more genuine and nonfiction. I haven’t eaten any forbidden fruit, at least not yet.

I called it at 7pm; I was not up for the seven miles of postholing to the border. I crossed my fingers that the night will harden the snowfields. The early camp was a blessing. I need to do this more often. I inspected my surroundings for a the best flat spot, took my time with a quality tent pitch, and ate my food at a relaxed rate while warming up my sleeping bad.

Signing off,

Zeppelin