The Big Sort: 16 - Yosemite
Yosemite, California
2016.08
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I was all packed up to go on a camping trip this weekend. In my backpack: waterproof trousers and jacket, mess tin, spoon, fork, hat, borrowed sleeping bag, sleeping pad, camera wrapped in 2 plastic bags, rolls of ultramax, ektar and portra, platypus, sunglasses, gloves, wool socks, down jacket, torch. The typhoon — the second in recent weeks — didn't even deter me. But it was the two purplish bags under my eyes that made me think a 6 hour trip to Toyama followed by a 10 hour hike might not be the best idea.
The last time I went camping with people I barely know was in 2016. My new roommates and I left the Mission before sunrise and drove to Yosemite to camp near a lake for a night. I had 1.5L of water in a small day bag, which was enough to last me up to the entrance of the hike. When we reached an expansive arid plain with no clear path, they passed around Nature Valley Crunchy Oats and Honey granola bars and one of those orange transparent pill bottles that I’d only ever seen in Homeland.
They dropped acid, I picked up the slack. I soldiered on at the front, but I felt like a child in the backseat of a car constantly wondering, are we there yet? I looked at my phone — no signal. I hadn’t downloaded any maps. In fact, having assumed I'd just be tagging along, I hadn't even checked our course. Hours passed. Our shadows grew longer, my thirst grew deeper. I started muttering prayers with pursed lips to try to prevent any extra moisture from escaping my mouth and turned to my camera to help me focus moment by moment.
When I finally caught a glimmer of water between the pines and firs, I thought I was hallucinating. It truly felt like a miracle.