Day 4: All the reasons to hate section 4

Last night was rough. We shared a dorm with Steve, who went to bed well before 9. It seemed cozy enough, but I kept leaping into consciousness with every noise—and the hiker cots would complain loudly at the slightest movement. And Steve had a sudden, bugling snore. Granite headed out to the porch, where he slept barely at all, and I put in pink foam earplugs and cuddled with my phone playing a gentle white noise by my head. I barely slept.

We were up before 6 to pack and prep our things. We're carrying 5 dinners, which I suspect is overkill for this section but I think Granite wants the flexibility to go slower.

I won't lie: section 4 is a drag. Thick pine woods on either side of a lumpy jeep road for miles and miles, climbing for a few thousand feet with no views. I wish we'd skipped this section.

I start to bonk 7 miles in, when we are nearing 11,000 feet in elevation and we're both confused because we should have hit our trail junction a while back. Cranky, slow, I suggest we give it 15 more minutes and then stop to rest and eat. But then I am light headed and blinking and feeling suddenly awful, and so we plunk down and eat immediately. I shouldn't be so hungry —I destroyed 2 pancakes, hash browns, 2 eggs and toast this morning at breakfast with Steve and Granite. But I chew down poptarts and almonds and 2 slices of cheese and a tortilla, because I can't think of what else to do.

Thankfully the climb is just about over over. I finish eating and stand up. I still feel terrible. I zombie walk behind Granite, losing him immediately because I'm so slow. I wonder about getting lost out here, dense forest and no markings, my GPS struggling. My phone is low on battery because I ran it last night but didn't recharge it before we left.  I start to freak myself out a bit. But then I try to practice self soothing, telling myself I won't get lost, I'll be fine. It's a trail and I just have to stay on it. And if I lose the trail and can't find it again, I just wait. I have food and water and warm clothes and I'll be fine.

Bugs are supposed to be awful in this section, and they start appearing more and more as we move off the jeep road. We find piles of what we suspect might be moose poop. I'm dying to see a moose.

The campsite we planned to spend the night at is a bust: the creek is dry and we've got only a bit of water. But that turns out to be fine because the trail wraps down into a wildflower-dotted meadow bordered by pine trees in every direction.

I still feel lousy. Head achy, light headed, and just awful in ways I can't describe. Like I'm on strange drugs? Or is this altitude sickness? So we mince slowly to a group of campsites under some wide pine trees near the meadow. I watch worriedly while Granite selects a spot and sets up the tent. Normally I have lots of my own camp chores—gathering water and cooking—but today I just crawl into the tent without doing anything. I yank out my sleeping pad and bag and curl up, making a pillow out of my waterproof sack.

I feel beyond awful. Granite joins me in the tent but I wince away when he curls up with me. Thunder has been grumbling above for an hour and it starts to rain, pattering against the rain fly. I have an app with sleep sounds and one of my favorites is rain on a tent. I wonder about comparing the two, but I don't want to do anything. I swallow 2 ibuprofen and curl up to sleep. For the first time, the sleeping pad isn't torturous. I am so thankful to be lying down and safe from mosquitoes and rain, on a soft sleeping pad, nowhere to go.

Two hours later I'm still headachy and groggy but I feel human again. Granite has refilled the water and he says there's a herd of cows roaming about. He has treated the water but it's still yellow tinged. We eat a quiet dinner on a fallen log, watching the meadow, and then crawl back to bed to read and sleep around 7. We keep all of our things in the tent or under the vestibule because the sky is still roiling with dark storm clouds.

Outside, the herd of black cows edges closer, bellowing occasionally and chomping clumps of grass. I watch them gather around a fire pit in a well-developed campfire under the pine trees nearby while I rub Granite's calves. It looks like they're camping too.