Aww, I just had a flashback to "The Never Ending Story" as I wrote that title. Don't you just love a good childhood memory? Had another one the other day when I encountered one of Life's faculty members flipping through the book "The Giver". Maybe it's on the summer reading list... :)
Okay, back to the trail and the story at hand. After the spending the night in Little Yosemite Valley (a night for which we had been told to "prepare for bears" according to the rangers on hand - we didn't see any) we headed out around 9am in the direction of Merced Lake - the farthest point out on our trek.
I was prepared for a relatively flat, easy day, and I had my expectations set accordingly. Problem? I had expectations. Shouldn't have had any in the first place; it's a recipe for disaster! The first few miles were awesome - we even stopped by a great cascade for a break (see pictures). Legs strong, dressed for the day, gumption still flowing - for a few more miles at least. We made our way through a narrowing canyon as granite shot up farther and farther on either side of us - the Merced River always leading the way.
We stuck our feet in the water a few times and I thought of my mom - she always has to stop and "dip her toes" for a while, no matter how frigid the water temperature. So I pulled a "mom" a couple of times - venturing out to my ankles until I couldn't take the cold anymore (this was snow melt, mind you!) and then ran squealing back to dry granite slab.
It was at the second "toe dip" stop that we were passed by a man who looked all too comfortable in the "wild" - heading in the same direction as us. Crazy hair and beard, backpack pretty beat up - he could have been out there for weeks. Drew and I exchanged a look - how many times had we been told that the most dangerous animal in the park could be a human!? This guy looked like he played the part. He passed us with a nod and a grunt but we would see him again later on that day, several times, as we played leap frog along the trail. For all I know he could be the nicest man in the world - but we never got to find out, and I'm okay with that.
We leap-frogged this guy (he passed us, we passed him, he passed us, etc.) all the way to Merced Lake on the trail that never seemed to end. Over hot granite slab, up a vertical climb that according to Drew was "not on my map - at least not like this!". Herein lies the problem with expectations - they're never spot on.
About two miles out from camp we came across signage with our distance on it. It was about at this point that I realized - I like checkpoints, progress, status reports. I like to know how I'm doing, people! I think this is where the expectation part comes in. Tell me there's a mountain to climb, and I'll climb it. So long as afterward there's something to tell me "Good job, you climbed a mountain and it was this high, this far, this big, and now you have this far left down the other side." Pretty sure this weird tick extends into other parts of my life, too.
After several (a few too many) false starts as we came round the bend to yet another view of the Merced RIVER, we finally found Merced LAKE at over 7000 feet elevation - home for the night.
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