by Jessi Kirby
Beau nudges Josh with his elbow. “What’s your problem? You’re being kind of a dick right now.”
Josh puts his hands out in a question. “What? All you did for the last five miles was complain. About everything.”
“That’s what we do when we hike,” Beau says. “We bitch about how much it sucks, then we see something awesome and decide it doesn’t suck so much, and then we do it again, over and over, until we make camp. Then we start again the next day. It was your genius idea, we’re all just going along with it.”
Josh gets up. “Nobody said you had to come.”
“No,” Beau says. “I guess not. I just came because that’s what friends do.”
Josh unzips the front pocket of his pack, takes the book out, and tosses it on the ground in front of Beau. “Take it,” he says, then zips his pack up and hefts it back onto his shoulders. “I’m gonna go. I’ll see you guys at the lake.”
Everyone is quiet as he turns and we watch him walk away. It’s not until he disappears around a corner that any of us speak.
“Wow,” Vanessa says. She turns to Beau. “What did you say that got him all twisted up like that?”
“Nothing.”
Jack, Colin, and Vanessa all give him a look.
“Nothing,” Beau repeats, but even I can see there’s something they all know about that I don’t. Something Beau probably brought up.
I keep quiet.
Vanessa’s still looking at Beau. “You mentioned Nicole, didn’t you?”
Beau doesn’t say anything.
“I thought we agreed not to unless he did.” She looks at the other guys, and they nod.
Beau shrugs helplessly. “I know, I’m sorry. I just . . . It was just us, and we were moving at a pretty good pace, and he seemed happy, and I just told him it was good that we were out here without her, and that we were glad because she always treated him like such crap.”
“You said we were glad?”
“No, no, no. Not that we were glad it happened, just that he’s better off without her, that’s all I meant, but as soon as I said it I could tell he was pissed. I could barely keep up with him after that.”
“Oh man,” Colin says. “Now you done it.”
Jack shakes his head. “We’re screwed. For probably like, a couple of days. Nice one, Fireball.”
Beau laughs. “You know how much more screwed we woulda been if she’d actually come?”
Vanessa tries to hide her smile.
“You know I’m right,” Beau says, looking at her. “What was it you always called her? A vapid bi—”
“Never mind,” Vanessa says. She looks at me. “You need the whole story. Josh’s girlfriend of three years broke up with him right before the trip. Basically, she told him that she was over it, they had no future, and that his best would never be good enough for her.”
I wince. “Ouch.”
“Yeah, she was pretty awful—none of us liked her, but Josh loved her—at least in the beginning. Then he just kept trying to make her happy until he couldn’t anymore.”
I nod slowly, not sure what to say.
“Anyway, it was his turn to pick the summer adventure, and I think he had the idea that somehow this trip would bring them closer . . .”
All three of the guys laugh out loud at this. Vanessa ignores them.
“Like if he could get her away from all the superficial stuff she was into and show her something different, that might help. None of us thought it would work, but we were all gonna go along with it because, well, that’s what we do.”
“What do you mean? What superficial stuff was she into?” I ask.
“Herself,” Beau scoffs.
Colin nods. “Yeah. She was one of those girls who thought she was a model because she took a bunch of duck-lipped selfies all the time.”
“Oh,” I say quietly.
My cheeks grow hot as they go on to describe how wrapped up she was in her appearance, and how much they all hated that every place they went, it was all about photo ops and how cute she looked. How she was supercompetitive with other girls, especially Vanessa. Every word they say and every jab they take feels like it’s a jab at me. At who I was, and I can’t listen anymore. Part of me wants to stick up for her. Wants to tell them that maybe they don’t know the whole story, or maybe she’s not as shallow as they think, or maybe she thinks all those same things about herself but doesn’t know what to do or how to change. But they’re so sure of what they think of her, and now I’m absolutely sure of what not to share with them.
I need to get away, need a little alone time to clear my head, so I pick up my lunch as quietly as I can while they keep talking, zip it into my pack, and then excuse myself.
“Hey, guys,” I say, forcing a smile. “I think I’m gonna get a head start before my legs get too stiff. See you out there? I know you’ll catch me before the lake.”
They nod their various responses, and I turn to go, but before I can, Vanessa stops me.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“All right. If you catch Josh, don’t tell him we told you about all that.”
“Of course not,” I say.
She gives a little smile. “And maybe try to keep up with him. He seems to like your company. It might actually cheer him up.”
I try to ignore the little flip my stomach does when she says it, and I go, but I don’t catch up to Josh, and even after a couple of miles, no one catches up to me. It’s just as well. It takes about as long to stop replaying everything they were saying about his ex and making it about me instead, and some distance beyond that to find something else to think about.
I stop in the middle of the trail and close my eyes. I try to give myself permission to just be, like Bri wrote about. To not think about anyone else, or what they think of me, but just enjoy being in my own presence, like she said. But that conversation, about Josh’s ex, has stirred up too much of my old life and triggered so many insecurities, I can’t find my way to that quiet, peaceful place. I open my eyes and take a deep breath and try to send out all the noise from my mind on the exhale.
And then I remember something Bri taught me one summer: three deep breaths.
She’d said that’s what made her brave any time she was scared of something, and so I’d practiced it on our adventures together, any time she led me out of my comfort zone.
I can’t believe I forgot, but I’m so glad I remembered.
I take my three deep breaths, and almost immediately, I feel the sun on my skin, and I can hear the birds high in the trees like they just arrived. I notice the bright red and periwinkle splashes of the wildflowers along the trail, and the way the rock has transformed from granite to a darker volcanic rock woven into the mountainside. I start walking again, and soon I find a new place—one without words or thoughts, where I am not so much moving through the landscape, but a part of it.
I thank Bri for that, and then I let myself sink so deep into it that I lose track of time and distance, and even the aches and pains of my body, so it’s a surprise when I come up a gentle rise to a mirror-smooth sapphire lake tucked perfectly into the rocky basin. On its shore is a tent I recognize, but I don’t see Josh anywhere nearby.
Still marveling that I somehow made it here already, I pick my way down to where the tent is as quietly as I can, just in case he’s sleeping inside.
“Hello?” a voice calls in response to my footsteps.
When I reach the tent, I see Josh stretched out on a rock in front of it, shirtless in the sun. He sits up when he sees me, looks over my shoulder for the others, then back at me. “Hi,” he says with a smile. “This is unexpected.”
“What? That I got here before everyone else?” I take my pack off, smiling at the relief.
He nods. “Yeah. Did they . . . ?”
“They said they were gonna take it slow, and I was feeling good, so I just kept going, and this . . .” I look around at the mountains framing the lake that re
flects the sky. “This is so worth it.” And then, carefully, I add, “One of those parts that doesn’t suck so much.”
He laughs. “Yeah. Listen, sorry I was a jerk back there. I just have a lot on my mind, and sometimes Beau knows exactly what buttons to push.”
I sit down on the rock next to him. “It’s okay. Like Vanessa said, everyone’s got their stuff.”
He takes a sip from his water bottle and looks around. “Yeah, I guess we do.”
We sit there in the quiet you can only find high in the mountains, a silence that feels more profound than anything else, and Josh looks at me like he wants to say something, but just then we hear the familiar voices of the rest of the group coming up the rise behind us. I stand up and wave, and they all come down over the rocks looking ragged and worn.
They take off their packs nearby but don’t say much, and I can feel the tension in the air between them and Josh. I watch quietly, curious about who will speak first. None of them do. They all take a few moments to stretch then Vanessa and Jack pull out their tent and get straight to work putting it up, and Colin and Beau do the same a short distance away.
For a few moments, the only sounds are of nylon and poles snapping together. But then one of them starts humming. It’s a song I recognize, but can’t place at first. I tune in, realizing that it’s Beau. When he sees me looking, he adds the words.
“Blue jean baby, LA lady . . .”
“Here it comes,” Colin says with a smile.
Beau walks toward where Josh and I are sitting, singing a little louder now. “Seamstress for the band . . .”
Josh drops his chin to hide his smile and shakes his head. “Don’t.”
“What?” Beau says, getting even closer. “I totally saw it work in a movie one time.” He winks at me.
And then, without warning, he drops to his knees next to Josh and wraps his tattooed arms around him so he can’t move. Then he hits the chorus—hard: “Hold me closer, tiny daaancer . . . Count the headlights on the highway . . .”
I can’t help but laugh, and neither can Josh.
Beau stops his singing long enough to grab Josh by both sides of his head and pull him in close. “Can I get a little backup here?” He repeats the chorus, then laughs. “Dude, those are the only words I know.”
Josh pushes him off, but he’s laughing, and now so is everyone else, except Beau. He rises, his face in serious serenade mode, and keeps singing the chorus, over and over, until Josh finally puts him into a half-headlock, half-hug, and joins in.
And then we all do. There on the shore of Purple Lake, we sing our own little moment of solidarity, and the band is back together.
After, we find a good campsite and get our setup tasks all done, then head down to the rocky shore of the lake to soak our blistered feet in the icy water and wash up a bit before the sun starts to sink and the temperature falls. I take my boots off and set them on the rock next to me, then peel each sock off as gingerly as possible, afraid to look at the day’s damage.
I feel it the second I dip my feet in the water, and everyone else does too, judging by the winces and moans as we wade into the lake. After a few seconds, the initial sting of the cold water against raw skin dissipates, and a prickly numbness takes over.
“Ahh, that’s nice,” Beau says. “Doesn’t even feel like I have feet anymore.”
“Look how clear it is,” Vanessa says, swirling a foot in front of her.
I look down into the blue-green water that’s so clear I can see all the way down to the rocky bottom. It almost makes me want to dive in. Then I remember Bri’s plan for the day—the one thing on the agenda—and before I can think about it too long, or change my mind, I stand up and dive in, clothes and all.
The cold is electric—a shock to the system—but I hold my breath and glide as far as I can. I hear a muffled splash behind me, and then another and another, and when my head breaks the surface, I see everyone has followed me.
Josh’s head pops up out of the water, followed by Vanessa’s and the rest of the guys.
“Holy shit, that’s cold!” Colin yells.
Vanessa squints. “I think I just blacked out for a second.”
“You’re crazy, BA!” Beau yells.
I laugh. “You didn’t have to follow me!”
Josh swims over to where I’m treading water, too cold to catch my breath. He stops right in front of me, close enough that our legs brush beneath the surface. He smiles. “I didn’t see that coming,” he says.
I push away the tiniest bit, putting a little more space between us. “Neither did I,” I say, breathless from the cold. “It was kind of an inspired moment.”
“Those are the best kind,” he says. And we linger there for a second as the sun begins to sink behind the mountains.
“I almost forgot,” I say, making for the shore. “There’s something I need to do.”
Josh swims after me, and when we reach the shore, I run to my pack and grab my phone, then scoop up Bri’s boots. When I set them on the sandy edge of the lake, one of the boots falls over on its side, but I leave it because the sun is sinking faster by the second, and I want to be sure to capture the light on the water.
I crouch down and snap one, two, three photos just as the sun disappears, and then I sit there a moment, shivering in the evening air.
The sky is a palette of pastels, and when I look up, I spot a single star, already shining.
“We made it,” I whisper.
Girl, Be Brave
THE NEXT MORNING, we rise early in preparation for another long mileage day and set about the tasks of filtering water, making breakfast, and then breaking camp as the soft light lifts from the mountains and the day opens up in front of us.
We hit the trail ahead of schedule, all of us happy that the first section is slightly downhill. Soon, we reach Lake Virginia, another small alpine gem surrounded by a meadow bursting with wildflowers. Yellow and red and purple shine bright beneath the cloudless sky, and the day feels full of possibility.
I feel strong today, like I’ve finally got my trail legs. We pass through another flower-covered meadow and descend down into a canyon along Fish Creek, which is dotted by big slabs of granite that create deep blue swimming holes. The sun is up, and the heat of the day is rising, and though it’s tempting to stop and take a dip, we’ve all agreed to make as many miles as we can today.
We didn’t come across any other hikers yesterday, but today we meet two middle-aged men and their wives at our first creek crossing. They’re friendly and talkative and after the standard exchange of where each of our parties is headed, they seem surprised that “such young people” are out here, particularly Vanessa and me. One of the wives, a slight woman with short brown hair pulls the two of us aside.
“I so admire you girls for hiking this trail. I wouldn’t have thought to do it, let alone been allowed to, when I was your age.”
We smile and nod.
“It’s just wonderful, just so good to see young women out here doing this. You girls should be proud of yourselves.”
Vanessa glances at me before she answers the woman. “Thank you. And we are proud—right, Mari?” She bumps me with her shoulder.
“Right,” I say, and it makes me smile.
We’re about to part ways when one of the men speaks up. “I wish you guys all the best. And listen, Silver Pass Creek is running high right now. Really high. Usually, there are three boulders you can use to cross, but this year only the tops are showing.” He eyes the sandals hanging off our backpacks. “Leave your shoes on for that crossing. The water’s turbulent, and the creek bed is rocky. Hard to get your footing if you fall in.
“And be extra careful with your food. Lots of bear activity being reported from all over the trail. They’re out and hungry.”
“Got it,” Josh says. “Will do.”
“Thank you, sir,” Colin answers.
We say our good-byes, then cross over the bubbling stream on a footbridge and the JMT winds its wa
y deep into a dense forest—the first we’ve been through for a little while. The trail follows the creek through the thick woods, and we start to climb toward Silver Pass. By the time we reach the top and descend to Silver Pass Lake, it’s noon.
After a quick stop for lunch, we’re back on the trail, full steam ahead, pushing through the alternating sandy flats and rich green meadows, where two squirrels stand on their hind legs and stare like mini-sentinels as we pass by. When the trail dips back into the forest, it takes on an almost magical quality. Granite slabs push up through the ground again, and clusters of bright, rose-pink flowers dot the crevices between them. We cross Silver Pass Creek a few times, but it’s more of a stream at this point, meandering peacefully through a meadow, and I can’t help but think that the man had maybe exaggerated about the danger. It’s easy to see how it happens—it’s much more interesting to tell about a wild river crossing than a bubbling stream in a field of wildflowers.
As soon as I have the thought though, we round a corner and the trees give way to a view of the valley that drops steeply in front of us. To the left, water rushes over a sheer granite cliff in tumbling cascades before it joins the creek below in a frothy explosion of whitewater on rocks. The view is breathtaking and dizzying at the same time. We all stand there a moment, taking it in.
“Wow,” I breathe. “It’s beautiful.”
Vanessa steps up next to me. “It’s dangerous,” she says, pointing down the slope, past the rocky switchbacks, to where the trail ends at the roiling river. Sure enough, the tops of three boulders peek out from the swirling water.
“Those guys weren’t joking,” Josh says. “Come on. Let’s go check it out.”
We get moving again, and I stumble more than once on my way down because I’m not looking where I’m going. I can’t take my eyes off the river and the way it rushes and churns around the rocks where we’re supposed to cross. My mind goes again to the four hikers the man in the permit office told me about, and I’m sure at least one of them was swept away here. I have a bad feeling about this, and it’s made even worse when we get to the crossing and I can see that farther down, the river disappears over another ledge.
