As I spend time as a volunteer in the Desolation Wilderness, I get to meet a lot of really good people. There are families, sharing the experience with the third or fourth generation of Desolation hikers. There are fearless groups of young urbanites, full of energy, setting forth to experience the mountains for the first time.
There are veteran backpackers who have their favorite spots away from the crowds, and thru-hikers on the Pacific Crest Trail who might well be hiking through the whole area in a single day. They are universally friendly, helpful, and happy to chat with me about their experiences, their concerns, and any questions they might have about wildlife, trail mileage, or anything else.
But every once in a while I meet someone who makes me stop and rethink the whole thing.
On my last hike up Ralston Peak, I struggled against old age and a brutal climb to make it near the top, where I was planning to eat my somewhat overdue lunch. And that's when I ran into them: two young women, possibly sisters, who were as fit and lithe as gazelles. They were hiking in short shorts and sports bras, with only trailrunners on their feet, and one carried a tiny day pack. The would not have looked out of place in a city park, out for a stroll.
I greeted them and asked them where they had hiked, expecting to be able to congratulate them for making it to the top of the peak. But no. They had hiked over the peak, back down along the PCT to Lake of the Woods, and were now on their way back over the peak to their car at the trailhead. All of this before lunch. And they didn't look a bit tired, or have a single hair out of place.
I am a grumpy old man.
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