The Last SOBO in the Sierras
I do not want to rush through the Sierra. This is one of the most beautiful and amazing places I’ve ever been. Yet, I wake at 5 AM. I think I am taking my time, relaxing and enjoying my coffee and packing up slowly, but I’m out of camp at 6:15, and it’s just barely light enough to hike without a headlamp. I tell myself I’m enjoying sunrise as I hike, it will be just as beautiful as if I had stayed at the high camp and watched the golden rays light up the granite cliffs bit by bit. I have always enjoyed hiking in the early morning hours, and my body has better energy early in the morning when it’s cool. This is one reason I get up early even when there’s plenty of daylight. But interestingly, last night I was camped with a friendly group of young people, sharing in easy conversation and enjoyment of the beauty surrounding us. We talked about how beautiful sunrise would be in this high alpine meadow. Still, I was out of camp before any of them even unzipped their tent.
Today I am hiking up Pinchot Pass, another 12,000 foot pass and after this there is Glenn Pass, over 11,000 feet, so today will be another 4,300 vertical feet. I am hiking all alone through a breathtaking alpine meadow speckled with beautiful lakes. I stop to admire the beauty, drink some water and take some photos, but soon I am moving again. What is this force that keeps driving me forward?
I like to see myself as spontaneous and playful, the one who invites others out into the wilderness to hike, enjoy and play, the one who dances in the kitchen, the one who is brave enough to dream up and take on this adventure. But here on the PCT, I have noticed that I am being followed closely by a secret dread. It is the dread that this might be the day that I cannot do it anymore, the day that I can’t get over that pass, that I can’t hike the distance, that I can’t carry my own pack. Today as I hike alone in the early morning hours, I am beginning to recognize this deep seated, silent fear that even on day 93, I still might fail. What if I can’t get up and over Forester Pass? What if I can’t do Mount Whitney?
I am sheepishly acknowledging that the other reason I get up early is to get a head start, not ahead of anyone in particular and not out of any sense of competition. Rather, to give myself more time to get the job done, a chance to not get passed by 20 year olds too early in the morning which can feel so demoralizing even if I am able to rationalize it, justify it and be proud of myself for being out here. To not get left behind. Choosing to be alone out front feels preferable to being alone at the back. I don’t want to be the last SOBO in the Sierras.
I am seeing that the threads or parts that make up the tapestry I call ‘me’ include this driving force that will prevent me from being left behind. It has gotten me places in life. It has helped me do hard things. It is easily mistaken for being “type A“ or highly competitive, but actually, it is just trying to protect me from failure and ending up all alone. As I hike along, I find myself acknowledging the poignance that this pusher, the one who protects me from being left behind is part of the reason for my aloneness on the trail, and I wonder how this metaphor applies to the rest of my life.
And just like that, I am at the top of Pinchot Pass with more than plenty of time to spare, more water than I needed and with no other hikers in sight. Perhaps this is how I roll, a little bit on the hyper prepared side, uber-responsible because the margin of error is thinner when you’re 57 than it is when you’re 25. I am at 12,000 feet enjoying a magnificent view and feeling grateful for all the parts of myself that managed to get me here.
