The Other Side of Lost

by Jessi Kirby

  “Pretty amazing, huh?” Josh says next to me.

  I nod without looking at him. “The light . . . it’s . . .”

  My voice breaks, and I don’t have words for the wave of emotion that hits me as I stand there, completely taken with the beauty in front of us. No wonder she wanted to be here for this. It’s in this moment that I understand what my aunt Erin meant about finding Bri in nature. I can feel her in this light on the mountains, and the clouds stretched across the twilight sky. Even the breeze is full of something I feel but can’t describe.

  “Alpenglow,” Josh says softly.

  “What?” I wipe a tear from my eye, hoping he doesn’t notice.

  “That light. On the mountains. It’s called alpenglow.”

  I look at him. “Did you just come up with that?”

  “No,” he says. “I think maybe John Muir did, actually.” He gestures at the glowing rose mountains in front of us. “He was the one who called these mountains the Range of Light.”

  “What a perfect name,” I say.

  He smiles. “Yep. I think it’s one of those things you have to see for yourself to really understand how awesome it is.”

  “Yeah,” I whisper. “I know what you mean.”

  I think of how many millions of things there are in the world like that—small, perfect moments just like this that you have to see for yourself to believe and appreciate. Surely more than any one person could see in a lifetime. We stand quiet, watching the alpenglow slip like silk from the mountains as the sun sinks, and I’m sure that Bri saw as many unforgettable moments as she could during hers. I want to keep doing the same.

  “Is that why you’re out here?” I ask Josh. “To see things like this?”

  He thinks about it for a few seconds before answering. “That’s a big part of it,” he says, glancing down at the ground. I stay quiet, hoping he’ll elaborate because I can see in his body language and hear in his voice that there’s more.

  Instead, he looks at me. “Is that why you are?” he asks.

  I think of how when I left, I just wanted to run away from the life I’d created for myself. I didn’t give a single thought to what I might find, or see, or discover. And then when I began, I made it about Bri, and honoring her plan. Now I can see there’s so much more to being here—that it’s not only about making my way over the miles of the trail that she was supposed to travel, but starting to face up to and sit with the most difficult parts of myself in the process—which is something I’m not ready to talk about right now.

  I look at Josh. “Can I get back to you on that? When I figure it out?”

  He smiles. “Fair enough.”

  We watch as Vanessa, Jack, Colin, and Beau make their way down toward the lake to find a camp spot, and I wonder about each of their reasons for being here. For stepping out, and making their way over the trail, day in and day out. For taking on the challenge of doing something out of the ordinary. I fell into it by accident, but each of them chose to do this.

  Their silhouettes with their headlamps are dwarfed by the landscape all around, and I have a feeling that’s becoming familiar, like we’re incredibly small and inconsequential in the face of the towering mountains, but somehow we belong here too. We have a place in all of this wildness.

  We find a campsite some distance off from the water. After the tents are pitched, water is pumped, and our nighttime clothes are layered on, Jack, Vanessa, Josh, and I all sit in a tight circle around a lantern, since campfires aren’t allowed at this elevation. Beau and Colin have already retired to their tents for that same reason.

  Josh sits next to me, the light from his headlamp shining down on the guidebook that details tomorrow’s route and destination, which turns out to be the same stop Bri had planned. Not surprising, since it’s one of the main resupply stops JMT hikers use. Earlier in the day, we’d all spent a good couple of miles talking about getting there, and fantasizing about what we plan on doing when we arrive, but now we settle in to listen like kids at story time anyway.

  He clears his throat. “Ready?”

  We nod, and he bows his head again, shining his light onto the pages covered in words and maps. His finger traces the line of the trail.

  “Okay, I’m not gonna lie. We’ve got a long day tomorrow. I’m not even gonna tell you how many miles we’re gonna cover. But we’re gonna do it because at the end of those miles is a magical place called Red’s Meadow Resort.” He pauses for effect, then reads in a TV commercial voice: “Where hikers may retrieve food parcels, eat at the café, take a shower, fill water bottles, buy additional supplies, or even sleep in a bed for the night.”

  We all give a tired cheer.

  Jack shoves a forkful of noodles into his mouth. “Man, I wish I was there right now and that this was a burger.”

  Vanessa twirls a forkful of noodles from the cup in his hand and takes a bite. “Same.”

  “This time tomorrow night, I’ll be three burgers and just as many beers in,” Beau says from his tent. He burps like he already is. “Sorry, ’scuse me.”

  There’s the sound of a zipper and Colin pokes his head out of his tent door. “I’ve been thinking about this all day, you guys. I’m going with one of everything on the menu.”

  Josh laughs. “Right. You’re way too cheap for that.”

  “No way, not this time,” Colin says seriously. “There are some things worth spending your money on, and if this trail has taught me anything, it’s that food is one of them. Real food. I’m sick of frickin’ granola bars.”

  I look at the one in my hand, the only thing I could muster enough energy to eat, and I have to agree. Real food sounds like heaven. A shower too. But what I’m most excited about is the little asterisk on the Red’s Meadow page of Bri’s journal—the one that designates it as a spot for picking up her first resupply box.

  Today on the trail, while everyone else was fantasizing about what food the café might have, I was thinking about the box Bri sent herself to receive 59.3 miles into her journey, wondering what might be inside. Just the idea that she packed it herself, like the backpack that I’ve been carrying, makes me emotional. I try not to get my hopes up too much, but I keep thinking of it like another gift from her. Maybe something that will show me what it is I’m doing out here. And fingers crossed that the box will also have a new supply of Snickers bars.

  “So here’s what I think we do,” Josh says, switching off his headlamp. “Up, eat, and break camp by seven so we hit most of the climbing in the morning, before it gets too hot. We’ll take a lunch break at one of the lakes, and then if we make good time, we can hit up Devil’s Postpile before we head into Red’s Meadow. Sound like a plan?”

  A loud snore comes from the boys’ tents.

  “Yeah, that works,” Vanessa says. She grabs Jack’s arm. “Come on, babe. Let’s get our dishes washed and go to bed.”

  He nods, and they stand slowly, grimacing at their sore muscles.

  “Night, you guys,” Josh says.

  “Night,” they answer together, and then they wander off into the dark, and a few seconds later, Josh and I are alone, with just the light of the lantern between us.

  He looks at his watch. “Nine o’clock. Hikers’ midnight,” he says.

  “What does that mean? We turn into pumpkins if we don’t go to bed?”

  “Pretty much.” He yawns and stretches.

  “I could fall asleep right here,” I say. I’m so exhausted that the walk to my tent seems almost as insurmountable as today’s pass.

  Josh reaches out and switches the lantern off, leaving a momentary blank space between us. Neither one of us moves or speaks, and in the silence I lean back on my pack and look up at the sky above.

  “Wow,” I breathe.

  “Best part of the day,” Josh says.

  My eyes adjust, and I can see he’s leaned back on his pack like me, head tilted skyward. I look up again, and let my eyes wander over the stars spilled across the night like sparkling dust.


  “This is the first time I’ve seen this since I’ve been out here.”

  He sits up a little. “What do you mean?”

  “Until today, it’s just been me, and I’ve been so tired I’ve gone to bed by sunset every night. I haven’t seen”—I gesture at the sky—“this.” I laugh, embarrassed. “God. I can’t believe I haven’t seen this.”

  “It’s a good thing you caught up to us then,” he says. I can hear the smile in his voice. “You might’ve made it all the way to Mount Whitney without looking up at the stars.”

  “And what a shame that would’ve been,” I say.

  We both fall quiet, long enough that I wonder if maybe he fell asleep.

  “Josh?” I whisper.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For today. I wouldn’t have made it over that pass on my own.”

  “Yeah, you would’ve,” he says. “Eventually.”

  I laugh. “Well, I wouldn’t have learned about the efficiency of trekking poles, or the Ass Pass, that’s for sure.”

  Now he laughs. “True. You do owe us for that.”

  “And I’d be holed up in my tent already, missing this again. So thank you—for inviting me to tag along with you guys.”

  “You’re not tagging along with us,” he says.

  “No? What am I doing then?”

  “You’re hiking the John Muir Trail. Seeing where it takes you—it’s what we’re all doing, right?”

  I think about it for a minute. “I guess so.”

  Josh stands. “Good. Then we better get some sleep. So we’re ready for wherever it takes us tomorrow.”

  “Right,” I say. “I’ll just be out here a little longer.”

  “Take your time, soak it up.”

  “I will,” I say. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” he answers then disappears into the darkness. I hear the zipper of his tent open and then close. And then it’s quiet again.

  I look up at the sky. Imagine Bri somewhere out there, looking back at me. “Thank you for bringing me here,” I whisper.

  Shadows in the Forest

  I LIE IN my tent in the morning quiet, looking at today’s page in Bri’s journal:

  I honestly can’t wait to wash my spirit—and my entire body—clean. Never in my life have I gone five days without a shower, and while Corrie’s methods for rinsing myself and my clothes in the lakes and creeks is something, it’s nothing compared to what it will feel like to use soap, and put clean clothes on my clean body.

  The rest of the tents are still quiet, so I take the opportunity to slip out of mine before everyone else wakes up. I want to take a picture of Bri’s boots here at the lake to mark that they made it like she planned. I slip my feet into the sandals then tiptoe down to the shore carrying Bri’s boots. The light is dim, with the sun still hiding behind the mountains, and the air has that fresh smell I look forward to every morning—a mix of everything that’s out here—the trees, the wildflowers, and even the dirt. It makes me feel calm and happy as I set the boots at the edge of the perfectly still water. I fish my phone out of my pocket and back up a few steps to make sure I get the mountains and the lake in the background, then crouch down to catch a sliver of the sky too.

  “That’s a pretty shot,” Vanessa’s voice says from behind me.

  I jump, and spin around to face her. “Oh . . . I was just—I wanted to—”

  “Take a picture of your boots by the lake?” she says with a smile. “Artsy. I like it.”

  I glance at the boots sitting on the shore, and almost tell her that they’re not mine, and that I’m not trying to do anything but get a shot of them. But behind her, I see the boys emerging from their tents, and I know now isn’t the time.

  “Thanks,” I say as I scoop them up. “Thought I’d get a picture before we go.”

  She glances over her shoulder, to where the guys have all sprung into action, rolling up sleeping bags, and breaking down tents. “Better hurry,” she says. “Looks like they’re raring to go today. Cheeseburgers await.”

  I smile. “And showers.”

  “YES!” she says. “Most definitely, showers.”

  We get packed and moving earlier than I have been on any morning here, motivated by our destination and all that it offers. Our pace is fast, and the trail takes us up. Up through dry hillsides dotted with pale yellow and periwinkle wildflowers. Up beyond one lake, and then down, over sandy switchbacks along another whose shore is lined with tall crimson blooms that I learn are called red paintbrush. They’re striking in the morning light. I snap a picture in my mind as we pass them by without stopping.

  At the bottom of a thousand-foot descent, we drop back into forest thick with pines and a network of small creeks and streams to cross. There we come across two bearded, middle-aged men coming from the opposite direction. They introduce themselves as Doc and Captain, and after a few minutes of trail talk, we find out they started in Mexico and are thru-hiking all the way up to Canada on the PCT. They tell us about Bear Creek, and how the water’s so high they had to use ropes to cross it, and we tell them about the snow in Donohue Pass, and then we wish each other luck and continue on in opposite directions. I’m learning it’s what you do out here on the trail, and it surprises me how much I like and look forward to these brief meetings with other hikers. There’s a mutual respect and natural camaraderie there that makes it feel like we’re all in it together.

  Our group stays together through the flats. I bring up the rear, and have to push to keep up, but the effort gives me something to focus on besides how much my body hurts. It’s my blisters that nag at me the most today. This morning, when I realized I was out of bandages, Colin had offered me duct tape to use instead, but I didn’t know what to do with it, and couldn’t stomach the thought of sticking it to the angry raw skin on my heels, so I’d declined, saying it was no big deal and that I’d be fine. Now that I can feel my socks rubbing and clinging to it, I wish I’d swallowed my pride, asked him what to do, and taken him up on his offer. Lesson learned.

  “How you doing back there?” Vanessa asks over her shoulder as we start to climb again.

  “Okay,” I manage. “You?”

  She laughs. “There are three things keeping me moving right now—the prospect of food, a shower, and the ibuprofen in my resupply box.”

  “That sounds about right,” I say as I almost trip over a tree root. “Do you guys always keep up this pace?”

  She shakes her head. “No, thank god. They’re just excited to get there today.”

  I watch the four heads of the guys bobbing along the trail as they start to pull ahead of us. Every so often one of them laughs or shouts something, and though we’re now climbing in earnest, they’re clearly enjoying themselves. Which they seem to do no matter what, and it makes the whole thing feel lighter and more fun—a nice change from being so in my own head.

  “Have you all been friends for a long time?” I ask Vanessa.

  “They have—since elementary school. I met them last year, when I started dating Jack.”

  “Are you the only girlfriend, or the only one willing to do this with them?” I ask.

  We walk a few paces before she answers. “Only girlfriend on the hike,” she says. “There was supposed be one more, but she and Josh had a big blowup right before we left, so she bailed.”

  “Oh,” I say. “That’s too bad.”

  We round the corner of a switchback, and Vanessa glances over her shoulder. “Not really. It was for the best, even if he didn’t see it at the time.”

  She doesn’t offer anything else, and I don’t ask. I don’t want to seem too curious about, or interested in Josh, especially now.

  It doesn’t surprise me that he had—or maybe still has—a girlfriend. What does surprise me is the tiny sting that I feel at the mention of this. Like I’m somehow jealous of this girl I don’t know. And it’s not even about Josh. Not really. It’s this old, unwelcome feeling
, one that I haven’t felt out here at all, but it springs back, out of nowhere, and the comparing begins.

  I wonder who she is, and if she would’ve been a better hiker than me, and if she and Vanessa were friends, and if Vanessa wishes she were here instead. I wonder how long she and Josh were together, and if he loved her, and what the fight was about. Whose fault it was, and if it was big enough to break up over. I can’t stand that I’m doing it, but I keep going. I wonder what she looks like, and if she’s prettier than me. I wonder how many ways the girl a guy like Josh would fall for is better than me.

  And then I wonder what is wrong with me.

  I hate the pit-in-the-stomach, not-good-enough feeling that it gives me to think about all this, but it happens involuntarily, without my permission. A reflex, after years of seeing other girls as competition, constantly trying to measure up, and feeling like I never could.

  “So what’s your story?” Vanessa asks, interrupting my crazy-spiral. “Josh said you were supposed to have someone with you, but she had to bow out?”

  “Yeah,” I say, trying to figure out how to veer away from this topic.

  The trail turns us sharply, up the next switchback, and Vanessa catches my eye for a moment. “What happened?”

  It’s a normal enough question, but my throat goes dry, and my legs feel instantly heavy. I look down at Bri’s boots on my feet. “It’s complicated,” I say, and all of a sudden I want to go back to being alone, and not having to field questions, or worry about what other people might think about the answers.

  Ahead of me, Vanessa keeps moving. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think it’s pretty gutsy for you to be out here on your own. I admire it.”

  I can’t take credit for being gutsy, and there is nothing she should admire about me, but I don’t say either of those things. Instead, I slow my pace to try to put some distance between us.

  She glances back over her shoulder. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m just tired. I think I need to slow down a little—but keep going. I’ll catch up with you guys in a bit.”