Log0013

A Junction Under Water

After the worst mosquito filled night you could imagine, we’d broken camp early and now were standing not quite at the junction of the JMT to Charlotte Lake. A fork that split this ever popular and well-trodden thru hike, with its entirely overgrown prior self. Rerouting the cohorts of people over Glen Pass was no small feat. But it did ensure the Gardiner Basin remained a certain kind of wild. A kind of wild that had left the Rae Lakes many decades prior.

This was all beside the point however. The junction was entirely under water. So I was taking the opportunity to fill our bottles for the day ahead. You could make out the top of the trail junction sign, spotted right in the middle of this temporary lake.

Everything was especially sodden, not a problem in itself, but more that the mosquitos loved it. And I hated the mosquitos.

Two hikers had begun to approach us, as they circumnavigated this large puddle.

“How are the bugs down there?” I heard myself ask.

“Horrible. Really bad in the afternoon and mornings, but not too bad here,” one of them responded, “that’s why we’re not wearing these face coverings anymore”. He looked at his friend who agreed, though still wearing his own mosquito net.

The one still wearing the net explained how he’d intentionally not packed one. It was a huge mistake. But somehow, somewhere, some poor hiker had dropped one on the trail. Only for him to pick up their misfortuned gift.

My own body was entirely covered but for my hands and face. Though it was not obvious how well my bug shirt actually worked, given my shoulders were covered in hives of the little fuckers. I’d even taken to wearing gloves, to keep both the sun and bugs off my hands. But the thin, black running gloves, absorbed the sun’s heat and the mosquitos had no problem biting through the fabric.

We chatted for a bit about the bugs, I told them that next time I’ll get one of those head nets myself. At first I had thought the coverings looked ridiculous, but the more time I spent in the mountains, the less I cared how I looked.

The guy still wearing his covering seemed the more experienced of the two, and if I had to guess, he was leading his friend on his first trip. My guess came from the new looking gear. It was pricey, and there was a lot of it. Honestly, I couldn’t tell which of them carried the scent of freshly sprayed deodorant, but my bet lay with Inexperience. It felt like he’d been convinced by his friend to take some time away from the cluster of LA and spend it out in the Sierra. Their final night had been on the shores of Charlotte Lake and outside of the bugs, it seemed to be a much needed excursion.

The man with the new gear had taken his pack off as we continued to speak to his lead. He was fishing around looking for something inside it. Eventually, he pulled out a new looking bug hat, the one he’d talked about taking off earlier that morning. He tossed it to me.

“Here, keep it.” “You need it more than I do.”

“No, thanks but I can’t.”

“Yeah, seriously. We’re heading out today.”

His friend, seeing what Inexperienced had done, slide his own newfound net off his face and tossed it to my partner.

“You really don’t need to,” we refused, while we simultaneously thanked them.

“Yeah. Of course. That’s what it’s all about.”

And he’s was right, that is what it’s all about. It doesn’t take years of experience and hard won insights out here to know that. This guy, green perhaps, but he knew a thing or two. Small acts of kindness, paying it forward. A reminder I needed.

We thanked them again. For the brand new net and the one found on the ground. Had we known how necessary these would become in the coming days, we wouldn’t have tried so hard to turn down the gesture. Our gratitude only grew with the mosquito numbers.

And as we split off to go our separate ways I thought. I wouldn’t say I was the new owner of a bug screen hat, more I had this head net in my possession, at least until I passed a hiker out there who needed it more than me.