Into The Wild

A Short story from five days and fifty miles spent wandering through the northern wilderness of Yosemite in late June of 2025.

And into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul.

- John Muir

Near the end of June, I left a weekend stint in San Francisco heading directly east towards a town called Sonora, California. Sonora was to serve as my basecamp for a few days as I prepared all my gear & supplies for a five day and fifty mile backpacking trek into the northern Yosemite Wilderness...Completely alone.

Backpacking is something I had yet done up to this point. I have had my fair share of longer day hikes (15-20 miles), but carrying an entire camp on my back miles deep into the mountains to spend a few nights with the bears protected only by a paper thin tent and a few prayers was something I was a little more hesitant to do. 

Looking back, I can't believe I waited this long. 

After gathering everything I believed I needed in the lovely town of Sonora, I headed up California 108 towards Bridgeport. Bridgeport was the last town I passed through on my way to the trailhead, so like any rational human heading into the mountains for a few days alone, I stopped at a local bakery (High Sierra Bakery) and bought one glazed donut, one chocolate with sprinkles donut, a large drip coffee, and a jalapeno, ham, and cheese stuffed croissant that I saved for lunch along Barney Lake. Any time you go into the mountains could be your last, so it's only right to enjoy some of the finer things civilization has come up with. I can't think of many more better than donuts, coffee, and that damn croissant (I still fantasize about it quite often).

With my last supper enjoyed and nothing but anxious fear standing in my way, I headed towards the trailhead which was located at Annett's Mono Village along the Twin Lakes just inside the Hoover Wilderness. Keep in mind this is California, so I had to pay a $15 parking fee at the hiking trailhead. Make sense? No. But if California is good at one thing, it's stealing your money. 

Whatever.

I was too excited and ready to hit the trail to fret over what little money I had left and where it was being spent. All I knew was that the next five days or so would cost me nothing but some sore muscles & a few rough nights of sleep. I parked Ophelia, hopped out, and was immediately swarmed by mosquitoes.

Welcome to the Sierras in the early summer :)

I thought the mosquitoes would be bad only at the trailhead, and as I walked further into the woods, they would slowly dissipate. I was wrong. So wrong.

For the entirety of the five days I was in the wilderness only a few moments were spent mosquito free.

In the mind of the average person, this sounds like Hell. 

For me, this sounds like Hell.

Yet, for some reason, I fell ever more in love with the experience. 

And this brings me to my first "epiphany" on the trail:

Perfection is the illusion keeping you from pure happiness here & now.

How much of our lives are spent delaying happiness for some other time or set of circumstances in the future that we believe will bring us happiness?

We wait and wait and wait to be truly happy like it's some sort of prideful accomplishment to delay all of our gratification for all of our experiences in our existence.

And maybe there's an argument that it is. 

But what about the argument that it isn't.

What about the idea that all of this waiting to be happy is the hoax most of us abide our lives by?

What if we've been conditioned, for whatever reason, to take for granted the many blessings & miracles we have in our day to day existences and through this overlooking discontentment is bred?

What if it's not about perfect circumstances, but allowing any & all circumstances to be just the way that they are that makes them perfect?

It's hard to say. Everyone has a unique story and challenges presented to them at any given moment. There is no denying that.

But amidst the wilderness with mosquitoes swarming me from every angle and the pain in my traps from carrying a 30+ pound pack up mountain passes & through the forest only to sleep in a tent on the cold, forest floor and eat a packet of Kodiak Cakes instant oatmeal for dinner and Folger's shitty instant coffee for breakfast and to do it all over again & again brought me immense joy & gratitude.

None of this was perfect, but none of my time was spent trying to make it any other way than the way it was. I found peace in allowing things to happen as they did and through this surrendering I was greeted with happiness on the other side of it.

Maybe what we want isn't perfection. 

Maybe what we want is to be able to accept whatever experiences life throws at us with open arms and to allow that acceptance to inevitably fill us with peace and happiness.

From there and only there should we move forward towards our desires & goals otherwise we will continue this pursuit as "Hungry Ghosts"... Never appreciating. Never happy. Constantly looking for more and more and more. An insatiable & hollow existence.

Day two of the trip was expected to be the most challenging day. 

With 13 miles or so over two mountain passes covered in snow and down a majestic canyon that followed a jubilant, spring-time creek; day two was painfully bliss. My muscles ached and feet began to blister. I lost the trail a total of three times and you'd be surprised how fast panic sets in when you have no idea where you're going in the middle of the forest or along a steep mountain pass. Especially when you're completely alone and have no satellite device to summon any rescue hellicopters. Every way looks like it could be the right way. It's an eerie feeling. Needless to say I got pretty good at following my map. I found the trail and carried onward each time. The serenity of the natural environment provided relief to the pain of rucking around a big ol pack. I was out there. All alone. For 13 miles in the Yosemite Wilderness. Everywhere I looked dropped my jaw and widened my eyes. From the snow capped peaks cutting through the bluest of skies to the sound of the flowing creek to the giant pine trees towering in the air and the divinely appearing fields of wild flowers. Heaven was within the reach of my fingers. My phone died. I lost track of the time and any hope of contact with the outside world. It felt as if reality shifted, and I was on my own timeline in my own world. It was pure ecstasy. Nothing mattered except staying alive, refilling my water, and making it through the 13 miles I had mapped out for the day and the three packets of instant oatmeal waiting for me to consume for dinner.

In comes epiphany number two:

One clear purpose. No distractions. You will find a way.

In hindsight, I think those statements above are one of the biggest factors for the purity I felt amongst the trails in the Yosemite Wilderness. 

We live in a time and age with instant access to all the world's knowledge and news within our pockets. It's overwhelming. We have so many options and not enough priorities because the moment we select one option as priority another possible priority pops its head out promising financial freedom or a life of no stress or whatever you may fancy and on the cycle repeats itself. 

On the contrary, there was only one, clear cut purpose in the wild: Survive (and enjoy it along the way). On top of that, there was no access to the internet and therefore no bombardment of information about how the weather is being manipulated or which town got blown up in the Middle East or how the food is poison and this is why I'm not rich yet and do this to be happy. For a few moments in time, my senses were able to decompress and finally open up to the natural world around and within me. Like a friend said to me in recent conversation, "Staying in touch with yourself is the point of it all. When the static and noise gets in the way, you gotta tune out to tune back into yourself." 

We are surrounded by nothing besides static. Each of our minds are filled with muddy water, so it's no wonder why so many of us lack meaning in our lives! We're being persuaded by so many voices-too many voices-we lose touch with the one that matters most. The one that knows the true direction. Our true direction. And which will graciously guide us along if we slow down, tune out, and tune back into it.

It's amazing what we are willing to put up with when we know exactly what it is that we want. 

"He who has a why for which to live can bear with almost any how." -Friedrich Nietzsche

But you have to know what it is that you want. As clear as day. No doubts. No hesitations. That's the beauty of the wild. All there is to do is to survive. Everything else is gravy. 

To know where you want to go is much more valuable than how you will get there. 

Tune out to tune in. 

It's in there. It always has been.

Day three marked the midpoint of the trip with a luxurious reservation on the large, sand beach of Benson Lake calling my name. To get there, though, was no easy feat. Ten miles of walking with 2,5000+ ft of elevation gain from the canyon up and over Benson Pass on a body that was just beginning to get calloused from life on the trail. Growing pains are indeed real. Up with the sun I awoke. Breakfast was the usual meal of three oatmeal packets and a cup of Folger's instant coffee that I consumed perched upon the bear cannister that is required when overnight camping in the backcountry of the Sierra's. I downed the oatmeal like it's the first time I've eaten in a week, and savored the coffee as best as one can when drinking dirt water...Sorry Folger's. Anything before Starbucks, though. After breakfast, I pack my ruck in the most efficient manner I know possible and begin walking. I forgot to mention that day two resulted in extremely soggy and wet boots which did not happen to dry through the cold mountain night. Shocker. "Go backpacking", they said. "You're gonna love it!", they said. 

I began my trek towards Benson Lake in a pair of socks and sandals. Yup. Bringing back socks and sandals. My toes were too cold to forgo the socks and my boots too wet to consider over the sandals. The trail doesn't care. You either suck it up and left foot, right foot away, or sit there basking in your own misery. I chose the left foot, right foot method. Truthfully, it wasn't as bad as it sounds. I only stubbed my toes a handful of times, and nearly rolled each ankle in half once. You eventually get to the point where you start to see pain as a sign of being alive, and instead of trying to avoid it, you sink into it and make friends with it. I also have come to realize that things hurt the more you think about how much the thing that hurts, hurts. Mountain logic. Do not try in the city or suburbs.

The hike up from the base of Matterhorn Canyon to Benson Pass was euphoric. Gushing streams that dropped off into serene waterfalls amidst delightfully aromatic pine trees of some variety (I wanna say Jeffrey Pine, but I am too unsure to know). Birds sang their morning songs as the sun and I moved our way up in elevation. I cleared Benson Pass with much more ease than I anticipated given all of the circumstances. It really is fascinating how determined one can be when one knows what one must do.

Any hoo, I made it to the halfway point for today along Smedberg Lake where I devoured a vanilla Honey Stinger. Quite the delicious snack when every cell in your body is fighting for its nutrients. If I had access to more than one per day, I would've eaten ten easily without even thinking. A refill of my water sources courtesy of Smedberg Lake, a dozen more mosquito homicides to add to my tally, and back to the trail it was as the soft sand beach of Benson Lake was patiently awaiting my arrival. 

The trek from Smedberg Lake to Benson Lake was just under five miles, yet it felt like it took five years. Perhaps it was the screaming trap muscles, the heat of the high summer sun, or my high expectations for this alpine lake. Regardless, it was yet another stretch of absurd beauty that my half baked words won't do any justice describing. This part of the hike consisted of more descending than ascending which I was grateful for that even though the joints in my young body begged to differ. I reached a clearing about a mile or less from the lake which is where I got my first glimpses of it and may have shed a few tears. Whether out of pain or joy is besides the point. Benson Lake was huge! And tucked strategically between a few granite crests as if someone decided to place it there themselves. That's one of the thoughts that lingered in my brain throughout this whole walk...Was nature intended to look so dang beautiful or did it just happen this way? And is that the same thing? The mind wanders to great depths in the wilderness. All sorts of things hold fascination that the overly stimulated mind tends to overlook.

Getting down to Benson Lake wasn't as easy as I expected it to be reminding me that it's best to expect the unexpected and you'll never be let down. I walked back and forth on the trail a few times until I came to the conclusion that I just had to keep walking in the direction I already was heading. Eventually I reached a trail junction where some lovely people get paid to hammer in some signs depicting which way leads to what landmark next and how far away it is. How reassuring to stumble upon one of those things after wandering through the forest in a direction that one only hopes to have been the right direction. A real dopamine spike I must say.

I followed the trail that pointed to Benson Lake and a half mile later, maybe more, I was trudging through sand and ready to lay down and not move for the rest of the day. A big weight had been lifted off of my back. Literally. I took my pack off and marked my territory for the night. From there, I headed to the lake where I wasted no time jumping in to degrease my oily skin for the first time since Sonora. Nothing like a cold bath in an alpine lake thirty miles deep into the wilderness. With only one other person around, I basically had the whole lake to myself not that I needed it all or anything like that. I made my traditional dinner, wrote in my journal, and read some Alan Watts. For a moment it felt like I was on summer vacation, and I swear this was the longest day of the year. The sun takes much longer to go down when you sit there watching it go down from three quarters of its way through the sky. As it tucked itself in behind one of the granite peaks surrounding Benson Lake, I thought about doing the same for myself. There isn't much reason not to wake and set with the sun in the wilderness. I put together a small fire in a designated fire pit and stared at it primitively. It was great having the scent of smoke on my clothes as opposed to sweat, mosquito guts and repellent. I crawled into my tent, burried my entire body, head and all, in my sleeping bag, and drifted in and out of sleep for a few hours. On one occasion I decided to take a peek outside at the night sky because something in me told me it'd be quite magical. 

Intuition never leads you wrong.

I stepped out of my tent, slapped on my boots, and took a few steps out from my campsite onto the open sand beach and looked up.

This is the part where things get tricky because I have no idea how to describe what looking into a truly dark night sky is like for someone who's never seen it. The best thing I could say is that it's something you should absolutely see before you die. There is something incredibly calming about the vastness of what we refer to as space. The stars glisten and shimmer. Every now and then one zips across the sky. And right through the middle of the granite peaks and above Benson Lake was the Milky Way. Cutting open the sky like a portal to another world. It was psychedelic. And for that tiny speck of time I felt that no thing was out of place because for something that seems incredibly random yet intricately designed how could any thing be out of place? 

Ladies and gentlemen, epiphany number three:

Existence is the miracle itself.

I've talked about this idea before, but as I was gazing into the infiniteness of the uninterrupted night sky those five words echoed through my brain. Existence. Is. The. Miracle. Itself. 

How could it be any other way?

And shame on us for allowing anyone or anything to convince us otherwise. 

I believe this life to be a gift, and to treat it as anything less than such only makes me feel disgusted and sour inside.

And you can say, "Easy for you to say Logan, I'd think life was a gift if I lived like you too."

Of course, as I mentioned already, we all are in different circumstances and are going through different experiences and all that other stuff we point our fingers at so we can continue playing the victim. The truth of the matter, though, is that all of that is apart of the limiting story you are telling yourself. 

So you can continue telling yourself that story. You can continue limiting yourself. You can continue looking at life as a drag and this terrible thing that happened to you.

OR

You can awaken to the possibility-to the truth-that life happened for you.

You can "look at every little detail of life in a new way, saying, 'Oh, look at that!'" (Alan Watts).

You can lean into the possibility that existence is the miracle itself.

I sure believe it to be.

Day four was pretty similar to day three in terms of the hiking aspect of things. Another ten miles up 2,500ft of elevation through a mountain pass, around some small lakes, within the forest, along a rushing creek, into the high canyon, back to the forest, across a meadow, and eventually to the would-be campsite at Peeler Lake. I took a slower morning at Benson Lake as I enjoyed the same three packets of oatmeal and instant Folger's coffee like it was the first time I've ever had it. It was a very tranquil experience at the shore of the lake as the rising sun cast its alpenglow along the faces of the granite peaks all the while fish were jumping in and out of the lake in hopes to snag a little breakfast on the surface of the water. I just sat there and took it all in. All the other hikers had left by now, so it was just me, myself, and I burning a memory into wherever it is that memories go within my brain.

When morning mass finally ended, I got up, packed my gear, and said farewell to Benson Lake. I was greeted swiftly by a steep ascent over the last mountain pass of the fifty mile lollipop loop that this trip was. It was a great relief knowing I wouldn't have to be doing any more ascents for the remainder of the hike, but a small part of me was starting to enjoy the burning sensations that these climbs aroused in my quads, calves, and traps. The rest of the hike was quite pleasant as I only saw one other person which was at the very beginning. The rest of my time was spent alone again similar to how day two was. Complete isolation in the deep wilderness is a unique experience to say the least. Part of me loves it. Part of me enjoys the comfort of another person's presence. The beautiful oscillations of life.

Peeler Lake was far more epic than I even considered it would be. Likely the purest blue water of any of the lakes I spent time at. A whisper in my brain said I could drink it without a filter, but you don't have to listen to every whisper that your brain utters.

Finding a campsite at Peeler Lake was a challenge because most of it was marked off with signs saying "NO CAMPING."

That's great and all and abide I did, but I wish it would at least say why one cannot camp in said place.

Is it because of recent bear activity? A homicide? Ecosystem preservation? I feel like one deserves to know such details when spending a night in the area. Call me crazy.

I landed on a spot not too far away from the lake, but not too close to where it wasn't "campable." Eager to enjoy my last night in the woods at such a beautiful place I stripped down to hop into the enticing water that filled Peeler Lake. As soon as I took off my clothes I was gang-banged by mosquitoes and little fleas of some variety. They bit me in every conceivable place. The only safe spot was under water and this water wasn't exactly a comforting bubble bath where you're soaking in some lavender epsom salts and sipping champagne. This kind of water takes your breath away and shrivels up things that prefer not to be shriveled up. The bugs left no choice. I went in, under, soaped some vital areas, under again, and dried off so fast I don't even think I got my back or my legs but then again rarely do I ever dry my back completely even when I'm not getting mauled by mosquitoes. All of a sudden the "NO CAMPING" signs started to make sense. I evacuated the area as if it were on fire. I proceeded along the trail another quarter mile to another site that I hoped to be a little less mosquito ridden.

It wasn't.

Checkmate Logan. The mosquitoes won tonight, but I wasn't going to let them ruin my last night in the wonderful Yosemite Wilderness. I lathered myself in my all naturale mosquito balm, put on my long pants, rainproof jacket, and mosquito head net, and enjoyed my solitude atop a rock overlooking Peeler Lake. I finished reading Alan Watts, wrote in my journal, and ate two Perfect Bars and another vanilla Honey Stinger for dinner...Oatmeal allowed the mosquitoes too much time to attack.

Completely unaware of the time, the day felt as long as a day could ever feel. It really makes for a good argument of abandoning all devices with time keeping functions, but that doesn't jive too well with the whole idea and way of society. 

Here's a short excerpt from my journal near the end of day four that flows with this current concept:

    Here I sit at Peeler Lake getting gang-banged by mosquitoes...hahahaha. The soreness that my body is in feels delightful. Both my toenails and fingernails look as if I've never heard of a shower or nail clippers. I haven't seen a reflection of myself in a mirror in days. Simplicity. I understand the need for conveniences, but man, living like this is soothing at times. It's not easy, but it brings you into the Here & Now. The one place where time ceases to exist.

Life lived without a clock pulled me into that golden place we all know as the present. I had nowhere else to be besides where I was, and that my friends is a feeling we all deserve to experience at least once in our lives. 

Time ceases to exist in the present because time is a construct representing a part of reality and the present is reality...

Now is all that there ever truly is. 

The future that you long for only exists Now.

The past you miss only exists Now.

There is no where else we could ever be besides where we are Now.

We just happen to forget this truth amidst the chaos and busyness of our lives and that is ok.

It makes for a fun game of remembering the truth.

And as this fourth sun set on my wonderful Yosemite extravaganza, I felt a resonance of truth deep within my being.

Day five was the final day of the adventure. It was a bittersweet moment as I enjoyed my last breakfast of oatmeal and coffee as the morning sun delivered its alpenglow on the mountains across the lake yet again. I felt eager to get back to the world and let my worrisome loved ones know that I was alive, but a large part of me was thriving in the wilderness. I loved being out there, away from it all. I loved the physical and mental challenges that each day brought, and the clear purpose that carried me through those challenges. I loved not knowing what time it was and all the dirt under my fingernails and the oil that accumulated on my skin and hair. I loved how dark and quiet it got at night, and I loved being in the high altitude sun all day long. Yeah, the mosquitoes were beyond annoying and my body was aching in places it's never ached before, but I came to understand early on that those are just some minor inconveniences apart of several, incredible experiences. The driving factor that urged me to get moving was the possibility at eating one of those croissants from the delectable High Sierra Bakery back in Bridgeport. Hunger conquers once again. 

I packed up and began walking the eight miles back to the trailhead at Annet's Mono Village. Most of this section of the trail I had already done on my first day, so the only difference was in perspectives of walking towards the trailhead as opposed to away from the trailhead. I traversed a creek and crouched under a tree that had fallen over the path. I strolled through Aspen groves filled with butterflies of magnificent size. I listened to the orgasmic sound of my boots connecting with granite similar to the sound of metal cleats on concrete. I swatted at mosquitoes and marveled at Barney Lake and the transition from dense forest to wide open canyons with high Sierra peaks pertruding in the blue, July sky. I waved hello to fellow hikers and felt grateful to share this beautiful world with others who are really not much different than me and you and all that's in between. I sat under a massive Jeffrey Pine (I think) and soaked in the few moments I had left. I caught myself looking ahead and reminded myself that right here is where it's at and noted it in my journal:

    There will always be a reason to be somewhere else, and there's no shame in that. But that is the hoax you have been led to believe. You, in your entirety, is the thing you have been looking for. It's imperative to slow down and be with it. Whatever it is. These are the moments you will long to be able to experience again one day...And you just might not be so lucky to do so.

And as I finally made my way back to the campgrounds surrounding Annet's Mono Village, tears began to leak out of my eyes from an origin I'm not quite sure of. Maybe it was the proud feeling of completing such a surreal and challenging task by myself with no prior experience. Maybe it was the sadness my soul felt for leaving the place of its purification. Maybe it was the gratitude for being able to hop back into the exhaustingly, entertaining and enjoyable, human game. Maybe it was a combination of all three. All I can say is thank God for the wilderness of Yosemite.

See ya soon.

-Logan

P.S. It's ok to be afraid of things that also excite you. My suggestion is to learn to pursue them anyways and watch that fear transform into buckets of peace and love. Godspeed.