Epic hike

Although I first experienced the twinge in my knee somewhat early on in our hike out to Murietta Falls, I didn't suspect it would be a problem until we reached Schleiper Rock, where, bending low to keep the branches and sweet-smelling leaves* of a clutch of bays out of my face, I stalked forward on crooked leg to reach and climb the rock behind Schleiper's, going with, evidently, evident enough care that I elicited some advice from my companion: don't fall to your death. I assured him I wouldn't, and didn't, this being, though it is not widely known, the sort of thing one can avoid simply through the mind's appropriate set. Nevertheless, I could not but note that the fluency with which I would normally have ascended the squat if mossy outcropping was diminished, and I could not attribute this to the sympathetic influence of my diminishing verbal fluency, which had led me, a day or two earlier, to substitute "person forecasts" for the unremembered "horoscopes". Having taken our rest among the laurels and descended, we set out again for the falls; with only one small ascent in our path, and only gradual elevation changes most of the rest of the way, the complaint in my leg found its way to my voice only occasionally, and I was able to convince myself that although it wasn't pleasant, and would render the return, which would involve several steep descents, yet less pleasant, it wouldn't be unendurable.

I didn't know that we actually had a steep descent before reaching the falls themselves: the trail goes above the top of the falls, and one must go down a tortuous, not particularly maintained path to reach the bottom. Here I really did have to go slow, wincing and pausing regularly, unwonted gingerness in my staggered gait's steps. The going down was of course worth the trouble: despite the fall's force being less than that of a kitchen faucet's flow, the scenery down at the base was beautiful, and, because the stream was running so mildly and shallowly, we were able to walk back up its bed to the trail (I nearly fell into a pool getting around which proved more difficult than anticipated). Before we did that, though, while we were still beneath the falls, I managed to find something that could be turned to use as a walking stick, without whose yeoman service even getting back up to the main trail would have been significantly more difficult. But we were wrong to think that it would furnish all the assistance I turned out to require.

The same knee-twinge had cropped up earlier, on an insane overnight walk in New York, which, by the end, covered 29 miles in just under fifteen hours, ending at the East River where, as if by design, a 60s-looking man asked us what we thought of the first five minutes of the new … well, I can't remember that, exactly. Suffice to say that it was fitting that we should have wound up there, since we were travelling without a preëstablished route, moving from one spot to the next rather according to a catalogue of goals we had formed before setting out, a new one drawn as an old was fulfilled: hospital; playground; someone's favorite something; burger; crazy christmas house; gravestone; stained glass window; Japanese gummy candy; sledding hill; top of stairs; maze; tangerine; have a beer in a bar; misspelled store sign; tall church; eat a taxi stand; karaoke; free jazz jam session; an island that is not an island; the projects; amusement park; dancing; the heights; cactus shop; beach/waterfront. Trudging across the snow-covered sidewalks (only some areas had had the snow cleared when we were there), I believe that I began walking funny on my left to compensate for something on my right, and that it was in the thirteenth hour that I began to notice something amiss with my left knee—though only in the last hour was it really separable from the general leg-soreness that was concentrated now here, now there, and, unsurprisingly, everywhere, by the end—"concentrated everywhere" is not in this case solecistic. By that point we were in Manhattan, not known for its hills. I got back to the apartment where I was staying and consumed ibuprofen in quantity. I was still limping pathetically whenever I had to walk more than a block or three at a go later in the evening, but by the time I arrived back home the next day, everything seemed to be in good working order, and by the time I hauled myself out of bed to go first to Oakland and then to the trailhead yesterday morning, the lack of incident since the solstice ensured that the earlier-exhibited creakiness (what a thing it is, to grow old!) was far from my thoughts.

The trail to the falls doesn't mess around, beginning with a steep incline with only occasional, and short, flat sections, and hardly a switchback, until one reaches Rocky Ridge; it may have been on this initial section, or perhaps it was down in Williams Gulch, that I arose from the squat in which I had sat eating some bread and a clementine and commented that I oughtn't have rested in such a posture—bad for the knees. It was that which recalled the earlier misadventure to mind, but, as noted, I didn't yet have confirmation that the healing (if it was a matter of healing, and not simply the same thing, caused again) was not complete. That would have to wait until the next major landmark.

After making it back to the trail it was obvious that I was walking increasingly slowly. Part of it was just that I hadn't yet figured out the optimal use of the walking stick; part, that the stick was simply not an adequate solution. After a descent or two we reached a steep enough one that I simply couldn't walk down it and scooted along most pathetically for a bit. Eventually it was discovered that simply by locking my knee I could at least move, though it looked funny; this was the impetus finally to take up Craig's suggestion that we fashion a splint of some sort and see if that help. After perhaps fifty feet of walking we had two likely sticks, and something to tie them on with: a pair of long underwear. (Why did I have some with me? It is perhaps best left undiscussed.) This worked, if you can believe it, shockingly well, a sign that even those who can't pronounce their own names can still be a source of practical knowledge. The splint let me bend my knee a little, and even a little bending helps a lot when the alternative is keeping the leg completely straight, and would then bend it back automatically. I could tootle along at something like speed on the flats. The rises were difficult to get up but few, if steep, on the return. The descents elicited a variety of strategies. One of the difficulties of walking with one leg more or less locked is that since the other will be bent, one must either go up on tiptoe to move the locked leg in a straight line, or swing it around in an arc; otherwise, it hits the ground. The latter strategy is not viable on a narrow enough path, and some of these paths were quite narrow; at those points I found that walking crabwise was both moderately comfortable and moderately convenient. I could move my right foot just past the left and then move the left out itself, the path conveniently falling away beneath it. However, it turned out in the end that the fastest and easiest way to go downhill was simply to walk backwards (I, the Ginger Rogers of hiking), and I spent much of the last two or so miles leaving the falls facing the same direction I had during the approach, my perspective literally unchanged.

Pictures.

*Like, fer serious. Dried bay leaves have nothing on them. I may or may not have taken a few small branches with me.

Comments

[Sifu Tweety]

By that point we were in Manhattan, not known for its hills.

Not lately, anyway:

To Mr. Sanderson, the meticulous portrayal of the island's original topography evoked Manhattan primeval. He began to imagine the trees that thrived on north-facing slopes; he could see where black bear lumbered and wolves hunted elk, where fish spawned. He could envision what Henry Hudson saw in 1609 as he sailed along Mannahatta, which in the Lenape dialect most likely meant "island of many hills."

[Tom]

Welcome to the exciting world of complaining about your knees! I wouldn't presume to rob you of the fun of figuring out exactly what makes them hurt and how to best attenuate that pain. I will suggest a varied approach, though: any appropriately diversified knee complaint portfolio will include laments about your genetic predisposition to the condition; strongly-held opinions about what stretches and exercises must or must not be performed in order to avoid exacerbating the situation; and several quack remedies (personally, I'm partial to glucosamine/chondroitin/MSM capsules, which continue to seem to work no matter how much I tell myself I don't really believe in them).

[Ben Wolfson]

personally, I'm partial to glucosamine/chondroitin/MSM capsules, which continue to seem to work no matter how much I tell myself I don't really believe in them

Well, it's like horseshoes, you know; they work whether or not you believe in them.