#Yellow Meadow-Rue

[faguscarolinensis]

Thalictrum flavum ssp. glaucum / Yellow Meadow-Rue at the Sarah P. Duke Gardens at Duke University in Durham, NC

[vandaliatraveler]

Photos above are from a trip into the mountains yesterday. I managed to get out to Lindy Point in the Blackwater River Canyon before the overlook was swarmed with sightseers (top two photos). The rhododendron is blooming now - the drive in from Blackwater Falls State Park is magical this time of year. As it descends through the canyon, the Blackwater River transforms into turbulent whitewater, but just above the canyon, where it turns out of Canaan Valley (5th photo down), it's a gentle, serene stream perfect for floating. I also tried out some different trails in Yellow Creek Natural Area and Canaan Valley National Wildlife Refuge. The lowbush blueberries are ripening now - a sweet little snack to improve the hiking experience. :-)

[henwilsons]

I turn to Rue's family. “But I feel as if I did know Rue, and she'll always be with me. Everything beautiful brings her to mind. I see her in the yellow flowers that grow in the Meadow by my house. I see her in the mockingjays that sing in the trees. But most of all, I see her in my sister, Prim.” My voice is undependable, but I am almost finished. “Thank you for your children.” I raise my chin to address the crowd. “And thank you all for the bread.” — Catching Fire, Suzanne Collins

[mockingjay-sings]

“But I feel as if I did know Rue, and she'll always be with me. Everything beautiful brings her to mind. I see her in the yellow flowers that grow in the Meadow by my house. I see her in the Mockingjays that sing in the trees. But most of all, I see her in my sister, Prim.” ― Suzanne Collins, Catching Fire

[thebrickinbrick]

Preliminary Gayeties, Part 2

"Besides, Laigle de Meaux, that bald-head, offends my sight. It humiliates me to think that I am of the same age as that baldy. However, I criticise, but I do not insult. The universe is what it is. I speak here without evil intent and to ease my conscience. Receive, Eternal Father, the assurance of my distinguished consideration. Ah! by all the saints of Olympus and by all the gods of paradise, I was not intended to be a Parisian, that is to say, to rebound forever, like a shuttlecock between two battledores, from the group of the loungers to the group of the roysterers. I was made to be a Turk, watching oriental houris all day long, executing those exquisite Egyptian dances, as sensuous as the dream of a chaste man, or a Beauceron peasant, or a Venetian gentleman surrounded by gentlewoman, or a petty German prince, furnishing the half of a foot-soldier to the Germanic confederation, and occupying his leisure with drying his breeches on his hedge, that is to say, his frontier. Those are the positions for which I was born! Yes, I have said a Turk, and I will not retract. I do not understand how people can habitually take Turks in bad part; Mohammed had his good points; respect for the inventor of seraglios with houris and paradises with odalisques! Let us not insult Mohammedanism, the only religion which is ornamented with a hen-roost! Now, I insist on a drink. The earth is a great piece of stupidity. And it appears that they are going to fight, all those imbeciles, and to break each other’s profiles and to massacre each other in the heart of summer, in the month of June, when they might go off with a creature on their arm, to breathe the immense heaps of new-mown hay in the meadows! Really, people do commit altogether too many follies. An old broken lantern which I have just seen at a bric-à-brac merchant’s suggests a reflection to my mind; it is time to enlighten the human race. Yes, behold me sad again. That’s what comes of swallowing an oyster and a revolution the wrong way! I am growing melancholy once more. Oh! frightful old world. People strive, turn each other out, prostitute themselves, kill each other, and get used to it!”

And Grantaire, after this fit of eloquence, had a fit of coughing, which was well earned.

“À propos of revolution,” said Joly, “it is decidedly abberent that Barius is in lub.”

“Does any one know with whom?” demanded Laigle.

“Do.”

“No?”

“Do! I tell you.”

“Marius’ love affairs!” exclaimed Grantaire. “I can imagine it. Marius is a fog, and he must have found a vapor. Marius is of the race of poets. He who says poet, says fool, madman, Tymbræus Apollo. Marius and his Marie, or his Marion, or his Maria, or his Mariette. They must make a queer pair of lovers. I know just what it is like. Ecstasies in which they forget to kiss. Pure on earth, but joined in heaven. They are souls possessed of senses. They lie among the stars.”

Grantaire was attacking his second bottle and, possibly, his second harangue, when a new personage emerged from the square aperture of the stairs. It was a boy less than ten years of age, ragged, very small, yellow, with an odd phiz, a vivacious eye, an enormous amount of hair drenched with rain, and wearing a contented air.

The child unhesitatingly making his choice among the three, addressed himself to Laigle de Meaux.

“Are you Monsieur Bossuet?”

“That is my nickname,” replied Laigle. “What do you want with me?”

“This. A tall blonde fellow on the boulevard said to me: ‘Do you know Mother Hucheloup?’ I said: ‘Yes, Rue Chanvrerie, the old man’s widow;’ he said to me: ‘Go there. There you will find M. Bossuet. Tell him from me: “A B C”.’ It’s a joke that they’re playing on you, isn’t it. He gave me ten sous.”

“Joly, lend me ten sous,” said Laigle; and, turning to Grantaire: “Grantaire, lend me ten sous.”

This made twenty sous, which Laigle handed to the lad.

“Thank you, sir,” said the urchin.

“What is your name?” inquired Laigle.

“Navet, Gavroche’s friend.”

“Stay with us,” said Laigle.

“Breakfast with us,” said Grantaire.

The child replied:—

“I can’t, I belong in the procession, I’m the one to shout ‘Down with Polignac!’”

And executing a prolonged scrape of his foot behind him, which is the most respectful of all possible salutes, he took his departure.

[thewriterlyowl]

Random but at the end of Mockingjay when Katniss says she needs "the bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction", and that "only Peeta can give [her] that", she's specifically talking about Peeta as opposed to Other Guy.

Because, fun fact: rue, (evening) primrose, and dandelions are all yellow flowers. All three of the characters associated with them are explicitly linked with hope throughout the series.

Peeta is the obvious one. He's the one who gives her the bread at the beginning that not only physically feeds her in the moment, which in turn inspires her to remember that she is capable of survival, but its probably the first act of kindness remembers since her father has died. The book specifically shows how everyone has abandoned them and there's nowhere to turn. Nobody gives her hope until Peeta does, both as at the beginning of and the end of the story. In addition to making a good salad, dandelions are considered pioneer plants because after a land has been destroyed in some way they're the first ones to colonise it. Just like when Peeta comes back to 12 to help rebuild it.

Then, there's Prim. Prim frequently reminds Katniss that there's beauty in the world. She's the reason Katniss fights throughout the first Games, and you can see that she makes Katniss softer. In CF, she specifically mentions that Prim is one of the reasons she's supposed to keep fighting, because she wants a better world for her. And then in MJ, she feels that hope reignited when Prim says they're training her to be a doctor when she says "this is the sort of future a rebellion could bring". She wants Prim to be reborn into a different world where these things can happen, and she wants to fight to make that world a reality. Yes, evening primrose wilts quite quickly after it blooms (iirc), but it also blooms several times a year, so Katniss will always be reminded of her sister.

My personal favourite, however, is Rue. In the arena, Rue reminds Katniss of Prim, which brings out her protective nature, but also of herself, which is one of the reasons they relate to each other. Both are older sisters who are protective of their siblings. Katniss says it's a bad idea to ally with Rue but she does it anyway for these reasons. But I think the reason Rue represents hope for Katniss is because of how she protects her in the arena. She warns her about the tracker-jackers and draws the poison out of her body. When Peeta describes the Games, he says that the world around you and the people in it become your final reality. Katniss - and anyone else, for that matter - would not have expected a singular act of kindness from the moment they entered the Games. They know the time for kindness is over. I know Snow must have been screaming, crying and throwing up during the 74th because between Katniss volunteering, Peeta protecting her, then Rue protecting her, then Katniss singing to her, and then Peeta and Katniss protecting each other and refusing to live without the other, the rebellion was already starting. Rue could have left her to die, and didn't, which Katniss acknowledges. Instead, she saved her life and lost her own. This is the act of goodness that spurs her on in the Games, and together with Prim, in CF when she considers running away. In sleep, she sees Rue reborn in the same world as Prim, safe in dreams where nothing can hurt her. Dancing in the meadow. Katniss helps create that world for her children, where they play in a field of yellow flowers, likely including Rue. And while the meaning of the name Rue is significant because Katniss regrets not saving her, it's likely significant for Snow and the Gamemakers as well, who likely regret her entering the Games in the first place; the plant (not the flower; the Everlark babies are safe!) Rue is poisonous to the touch, and as soon as Rue enters the Games, it's the beginning of the end of Snow's Games. Rue poisoned the Games with hope! And helped make the Mockingjay.

So anyway, I do think Peeta gives Katniss the most hope for rebirth. They are in love, after all. But Rue and Prim definitely gave her that bright yellow, too.

(Apologies to Katniss because buttercups are also yellow 😂)

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

My Garden Flowers Part 9

All photos mine.

In order of appearance:

241. Wild Yam (Dioscorea villosa) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

242. Nodding Wakerobin (Trillium flexipes) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

243. Moss campion (Silene acaulis) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

244. Great White Trillium (Trillium grandiflora) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

245. Yellow Wood-Sorrel (Oxalis stricta) Small yellow flowers. You often find them growing as weeds, but they're native at least to the northern USA bordering southern Ontario. The leaves, flowers, and fruits are a very lovely snack, with a tart refreshing flavour.

246. Horseweed (Erigeron canadensis) A fairly common garden weed, but native so she can stay where she pops up from time to time. Not pictured as I haven't got pictures.

247. Stiff Goldenrod (Oligoneuron rigida) Not pictured as I haven't got pictures yet.

248. Fourflower Loosestrife (Lysimachia quadriflora) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

249. Smallflower Forgetmenot (Myosotis laxa) At least I think. Her flowers are certainly much smaller than the European pink and blue species I see around. Not sure what else she'd be.

250. Bearberry (Arctostaphylos uva-ursi) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

251. Tall Meadow-Rue (Thalictrum pubescens) Yet more lacy white flowers! I imagine if you preferred white you could have a full native garden of such.

252. Northern Bog Violet (Viola nephrophylla) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

253. Wool Grass (Scirpus cyperinus) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

254. Prairie Milkweed (Asclepias sullivantii) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

255. Square-Stemmed Monkeyflower (Mimulus ringens) More leggy than her yellow cousin, but still very attractive flowers that look a lot like snapdragons. She needs things moist.

256. Pawpaw (Asimina triloba) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

257. Meadow Sundrops (Oenothera pilosella) Not quite as intensely yellow as her cousins, Oenothera biennis and Oenothera fruticosa, but still very bright.

258. Wood Lily (Lilium philadelphicum) We don't have a ton of red or orange flowers native here as compared to yellow, white, or pink/purple flowers, so each one is a treat.

259. Virginia Waterleaf (Hydrophyllum virginianum) Yet more lacy white flowers! Not complaining, though, I think they're lovely in the garden. You find these growing in shaded woods.

260. Woodland Strawberry (Fragaria vesca) Unlike her cousin in the front, this one produces lots of berries...but they're white! That's not usual for the species but not unheard of. It's kind of fun to pick little white strawberries each year from that patch.

261. Pickerelweed (Pontederia cordata) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

262. Bog Rosemary (Andromeda polifolia) This is a cultivar. I will have the wild type one day.

263. Strict Blue-Eyed Grass (Sisyrinchium montanum) Her cousin in the front prefers things dry, but this one, like many members of her family (irises), prefers things moist. It was actually easier to get her to take than the dry one, though, which I had three failed attempts at before the one I planted last year.

264. Downy Yellow Violet (Viola pubescens) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

265. Purplestem Angelica (Angelica atropurpurea) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

266. Wrinkleleaf Goldenrod (Solidago rugosa) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

267. Purple Giant Hyssop (Agastache scrophulariifolia) Not pictured as I haven't got pictures yet.

268. Buffaloberry (Shepherdia canadensis) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

269. Silverberry (Elaeagnus commutata) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

270. White Lettuce (Nabalus albus) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

[agentem]

Passage from the Hunger Games series that never fails to make me cry

“I want to give my thanks to the tributes of District Eleven,” I say. I look at the pair of women on Thresh's side. “I only ever spoke to Thresh one time. Just long enough for him to spare my life. I didn't know him, but I always respected him. For his power. For his refusal to play the Games on anyone's terms but his own. The Careers wanted him to team up with them from the beginning, but he wouldn't do it. I respected him for that.”

For the first time the old hunched woman — is she Thresh's grandmother? — raises her head and the trace of a smile plays on her lips.

The crowd has fallen silent now, so silent that I wonder how they manage it. They must all be holding their breath.

I turn to Rue's family. “But I feel as if I did know Rue, and she'll always be with me. Everything beautiful brings her to mind. I see her in the yellow flowers that grow in the Meadow by my house. I see her in the mockingjays that sing in the trees. But most of all, I see her in my sister, Prim.” My voice is undependable, but I am almost finished. “Thank you for your children.” I raise my chin to address the crowd. “And thank you all for the bread.”

-- Katniss's memorial to the Tributes of District 11, Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins

tldr, the victory tour is definitely a punishment

[silverior968]

Brother of mine (1/2)

[Image ID: A digital two-page Skulduggery Pleasant fancomic. In the first panel Saracen Rue, a white man with brown hair, stubble and green eyes is pictured in a medium close-up, looking solemnly at the ground. He is wearing a brown suit with a white t-shirt. It is nighttime and the palette is blue. The next panel is much the same, except Saracen is now looking up. The third panel has him facing away from the camera in a mid-shot, looking over a stone fence at a crescent moon. The text “I hope that you are free now” is written in white above him. The fourth panel is split into three sections. The section in the top left corner has jagged edges, and features a close-up of a bloody hand in a puddle of blood. The palette is gray and red. The section in the middle has a younger Saracen, aged around 11, and a younger Anton, a tall man of Irish and eastern asian descent with long black hair, standing in front of a stone fence. Saracen can barely reach it but Anton towers over it. Saracen’s hair is chin-length and he is smiling, looking at Anton. He’s wearing a simple white tunic. Anton is wearing a simple brown tunic with a rope for a belt, his face obscured by his hair, blowing in the wind. There’s a large scar on his chest.The palette is purple, with some yellow highlights. The sky is cloudy and it is raining. The last section is in the bottom right corner, with wobbly edges, featuring the same hand from before, in a green meadow filled with flowers. The fifth panel is of Anton, pictured in a medium shot. He is wearing a Dead Man uniform, which is black with silver details and embroidery in the shapes of deadly nightshade plants. It also has tassels on the shoulders, and a belt with embroidery. The environment is a field with a dark pink palette, and trees in the distance. Anton is facing away from the camera, looking at a pink light in the treeline. His hair obscures his face. In his hands he holds his double barrel shotgun, Daisy. There’s white text near the top of the panel, which reads “from the chains that”. The sixth panel continues the sentence “were placed upon you”. This panel has a medium close-up of Anton’s gist, with blood splattering up at and on its screaming face, pictured from the side with hair obscuring its face. It has sharp, feline-like teeth. It is wearing the same uniform as Anton and is pictured in front of a blue and red night sky. The text near the bottom of the panel reads “And the chains”. The last panel of the first page is much wider than the rest, an extreme wide shot of the Midnight Hotel’s interior. Anton is standing in the middle of the room, seeming small compared to the empty hotel, with a broom in his hands. The text near the top left of the panel reads “that you built” and the text near the bottom right reads “for yourself”. The palette is mostly dark cyan, with a yellow light beam shining on Anton from somewhere off to the top left. The room is pictured through a doorway, and it is empty, except for a staircase leading up and an elevator next to it. Anton is wearing a white shirt and black trousers, shoes and a long jacket. His face is obscured by his hair. / End ID]

[heavensbeehall]

Yellow Flowers

Yellow is associate with hope in The Hunger Games. In the upcoming chapter 4, Katniss will remember eating dandelions and it giving her hope. The dandelions are linked to Peeta in Katniss' mind. He was looking at her when she saw them. (This will come up again in Mockingjay, if we get there.)

The yellow flowers come up again later. "Rue is a small yellow flower that grows in the Meadow. Rue. Primrose," Katniss thinks, explicitly linking Rue and Prim together.

Rue is a yellow shrub that can be decorative or used as an herb. There is "common" primrose and "evening" primrose. I believe Prim was named after evening primrose. It is also yellow and has some medicinal uses which is apt for Prim who wants to be a healer.

It's worth noting that katniss is white but has a yellow center. It's a flower but also edible, making it a bit more functional than rue or primrose (although rue can be used as an herb) to someone like our Katniss who is looking for food always. (Aren't we all?)

There is also one other character who is a yellow flower that Katniss will never explicitly link with hope but has a symbolic function in the novels: buttercup.

Buttercup the Cat is Prim's guardian. He and Katniss never get along but I always thought it was because they were too similar, both prickly and overprotective of Prim. He also prefers the Everdeen's old house in the Seam, like Katniss does, over the house in Victor's Village.

Buttercup is also a survivor. He doesn't die when Katniss attempts to drown him. He makes it through the firebombing of District 12. He somehow makes it back from District 13 to appear in 12 at the end of Mockingjay. Compare this to what Katniss goes through in the novels, how often she escapes death and her own difficult, winding road back to the house in the Victor's Village.

Anyway. TLDR, there are a lot of flower names in THG. I haven't even gotten to Posy (a "posy" is a bouquet of flowers) or Snow's unnatural, genetically engineered roses that are in opposition to the wildflowers like rue and evening primrose.

[flowerishness]

Thalictrum (meadow-rue)

Meadow-rue is a member of the buttercup family, Ranunculaceae. Unlike other members of the buttercup family (such as, delphiniums and clematis) meadow-rues don’t have petals. Some meadow-rues are wind-pollinated, others are insect-pollinated and many species swing both ways, whichever method is more convenient.

The fluffy things that look like petals are actually long stamens (the male part of the plant), in the center is the pistil (the female part) and she’s handing out the nectar as per usual. But by dispensing with petals, pollinators get right down to business - no need for pretty clothes for this genus. Meadow-rues come in white, yellow, pink or pale purple and produce conspicuous dense inflorescences.

[faguscarolinensis]

Thalictrum flavum ssp. glaucum / Yellow Meadow-Rue at the Sarah P. Duke Gardens at Duke University in Durham, NC

[siriusly-amazing]

You Can't Catch Me Now is so Rue. Like wdym ''Everything beautiful brings her to mind. I see her in the yellow flowers that grow in the Meadow by my house. I see her in the Mockingjays that sing in the trees. But most of all, I see her in my sister, Prim.''

[dandelionlovesyou]

If THG's characters are a fanfic writers/readers, what do you feel would be their AO3/ffn account name and icon?

Also, what would be their preferred read (example : rating = K, T, G, M, E; type = canon, canon-divergent, modern AU etc.) and what kind of comments would they leave on a fic?

You can include as many characters as you can or want.

Thank you so much 😊

@curiousnonny

Hi @curiousnonny!

Thank you for sending this ask to the fandom world =) I super enjoyed everyone's answers. Here is my take =D

Katniss - I’d say she’s mostly a reader of Prim’s and Madge’s fics. She didn’t even make her account, Madge made it for her at the library with her phone using the school’s free WiFi. Madge named her account ineedAwarmaHug0508 and Katniss was totally mad about it, but she didn’t know how to edit or delete the account so she just scowled at Madge the whole week. One day, Madge showed her a black and white fanart sketch of her OTP made by Whatsyourfavoritecolor314 and she decided to subscribe to it. She didn’t know the whirlwind she was in for because this account updated regularly and posted impeccable works. At night, she would end up reading the fanfics that Whatsyourfavouritecolor314 made the fanart for. Rating limit: M. But writers often rate their stories lower so …

Prim - Writes mostly fluffy stories. Those with cats and dogs, warm hugs, flowers, and the meadows. Loves modern AU and travel fics. She lets her ship kiss in the third chapter because she can’t stand slow burn. Madge always tells her to wait and to build things up even more but she doesn’t like it. If they’re meant to be then they’re meant to be. Her OTP likes holding hands, smiling at each other with the biggest and goofiest smiles, and making chicken soup and hot tea when one is sick. They always get married at the end. Toastbabies are a must in every epilogue. Her account would be lifeisbeautiful. Her icon would be a yellow flower.

Peeta - Of course a fan artist! But he also dabbles in writing because he is very good with words. He’s Whatsyourfavoritecolor314 and he supports all kinds of fan artists out there. He would leave a lengthy comment that you would reserve reading last because you want to take your time savoring his praise and replying to his comment. His writing is mostly dark and he writes every time he has a nightmare. It helps him sort out what’s real and what’s not real. His writing account is under a different name: nobodyneedsme. Finnick and Rye are the only two people who know his writing account. He often gets fic recs from people in the fandom.

Johanna - Definitely a chili pepper in her writing. She loves writing threesomes, narrating all the bodily fluids that get released and sucked by whoever in the tangled mess of limbs and hair. Invents words for body parts that leave everyone wet and blushing. She uses languages from her heritage and loves making things spicy hot (hot! hot! hot! ) Only writes angst, and canon-typical violence, and there is no assurance of a HEA. Read at your own risk. You don’t like it? Don’t read. Never skip the trigger warnings in her fics. She couldn’t care less about hits and subscribers. She has a gazillion followers though, because of her smutty fics, and she rolls out drabbles faster than you can send an ask. Account name: JoMason07

Rue - besties with Prim. They do a lot of collab during the weekends and have an actual notebook where they write their ideas. They switch between chapters and plot the whole story together while giggling like crazy for their OTP. Rue makes a playlist for all of their fic and they listen to it while they write for inspo. Account name: ihavewings. Writes K to T, but she and Prim are thinking of writing up to M after they graduate from high school.

Effie - fandom mom. Organizes writing sprints, book rereads, and challenges. Checks up on everybody. Runs an impressive archive and posts like clockwork. She invests in setting up prizes for challenge writers, fan artists, and readers. Reads all fics. M are her faves. 

Haymitch - reader of historical AUs. Leaves drunk comments which Plutarch Heavensbee has to rationalize. His icon would be his goose.

Gale - reader. And he only reads because he found out from Prim and Rory that Katniss reads fanfiction. He loves historical AUs and multi-chapter dark fics. He leaves comments that create an uproar and he gets into a heated exchange every time. His icon would be a black and white wolf with piercing eyes. Account name: SilentHunter

Annie - ships extraordinary ships. Super loyal to her extraordinary ship, writing stories that go up to 70+ chapters. She writes until her characters are senior citizens, living peacefully and loving each other just like when they were teenagers. Icon: a lady with her back to the camera, staring peacefully at the horizon by the beach. Name: lovingstories

Finnick - loves dragon fics and fairy tale/ Greek/Roman-inspired fics. He doesn’t write but leaves lengthy comments that give writers ideas to research and integrate into their stories. Name: anysecretsworthmytime. Icon: A photo taken from behind of him hugging Annie during their afternoon walks by the beach. 

Cinna - reader, gif, and fic aesthetic maker. He helps you leave an impression. Icon: eye with gold eyeliner. Name: eyeforbeauty

I suppose that’s it. This was fun and hard at the same time. Lol.

Take care, @curiousnonny

[saladstuff]

Signoffs below cut

Endo systems, their supporters, and lesbian exclusionists dni

-Wyvern/Asriel 🩹 [he/her]

-Nightlock/Rebel/Brutus 🍄 [night/they]

-Clovis/Dex/Hazel 🍀 [🌻/it/she]

-Tallulah/North/Elle 🫶 [she/zhi/egg]

-Shroud 🛝 [he/they]

-Mulberry/Blue/Mercy 🫐 [berry/berrys]

-Michael Beloved 🖍 [he/him, hi/hem]

-Tex 🐔 [he/pog]

-Vex/Anika 🪄 [zy/zyr]

-Birdie/Budgie 🐦 [she/fluff]

-Cass/Cassidy ⚠ [ey/xem/theirs]

-Mary/Clara 🦇 [blood/tomb/zhi]

-Charlie Emily ☔️ [xey/it]

-Chayanne 💀 [he/she/nor]

-Clem/Mia 👁 [ce/hir]

-Elizabeth/Lizzy 🎂 [it/🎉/lush/cake]

-Ezzie/Esme/Mimi 🍓 [she/they]

-Evan Afton ☎️ [he/him]

-Kid/Mono 📺 [xe/xim]

-Nyx/Leslie 📞 [ce/cir]

-Six/Yellow 💛 [ey/em]

-Sunny/Meadow 🌻 [sun/rain]

-Frankie/Cas/Castiel 🌺 [moo/moos]

-Theseus/Zelda ❄ [he/him]

-Ansel/Tom/Tempest 🌄 [any]

-Delilah/Dani 🪴 [any]

-Rue/Liana [fai/fairy/🌙/☀]

[trailjunctionarea52]

This climber I connected with on Instagram posted a 50k run in the Eastern Sierra mountains for fun, so I knew I had to message him. After all, maniacs recognize maniacs. I invited him to hike a 40 to 50-mile stretch, which he jumped on like flies on shit.

We agreed to meet and start on Tuesday at 0430 at Pine Cree Trailhead. I stealthed just across the way in a no-camping zone, and when I woke up at 0400, all I had to do was the basics because I had prepared everything the night before.

After a short cruise to the trailhead—which also doubles as the Pine Creek Pack Station—I gathered my gear, jumped out of my truck, and that’s when Anthony rolled on up.

Until now, I have only briefly met him and his wife, Rue, a prolific climber in the Bishop area. So, this was an excellent opportunity to meet and make friends with someone new who also enjoys suffering through pain caves!

After saying our hellos and with our headlamps glowing red, we made our way through the pack station and to the trail. The initial climb starts at 7,400ft AMSL for about 5 miles and tops out at around 11,100ft at Pine Creek Pass. On the way up, the trail parallels Pine Lake, Upper Pine Lake, and a waterfall so long it appeared to have no end! And when we looked east to watch the sunrise, the Whites were blanketed with shades of orange, red, and pink—it was awesome!

After the pass, it’s a long, cruisy descent down French Canyon Trail. And just like many other times before, the views of this otherworldly place were spectacular! As we cruised down trail, it was a granite fest with towering white mountains and trees so perfect they looked synthetic. The meadows beautifully peppered with yellow, white, and lavender-colored wildflowers and what looked like perfectly manicured grasses with running tributaries made us stop a couple of times to appreciate it!

The trail parallels Pine Creek, which is always a bonus for keeping the water monster at bay. We stopped a couple of times to enjoy the water, and everything else nature has to offer! But on our way down, a little voice whispered to me, ‘You have to hike this back up.’ I do my best not to think about shit like that because THATS FUCKIN’ HIKING, so I tend to shut that voice down quickly when it happens.

We carried on to Piute Canyon Trail. This five-mile stretch drops ~1,400ft to Piute Creek Bridge, PCT mile 857.1 NOBO. The trail follows the mountains' south-facing aspect and is more exposed, steeper, and rockier, but we made quick work of it!

We were 17 miles in when we arrived at the bridge. A few other hikers were there, and they appeared to be JMT'ers, but we didn’t chat with them. We dipped for water and kept hiking northbound on the PCT toward Muir Trail Ranch, or MTR. We passed some memorable spots that teleported me back in time to 2022, but this time I wasn’t getting gangbanged by mosquitoes, so that was a plus!

Up trail, the water situation was bleak, and it was around 1300 by then, so we decided to turn around at MTR and break back at the bridge. The miles back were easy and fast, but we were hungry, and by then, I was ready to change my socks. This time, there were many more hikers than before, and I remember thinking to myself, ‘Where in the hell did these people come from?’ because I don’t remember crossing paths with any of them. It didn’t make any sense. Simulation theory, anyone?

We chilled in the shade under some trees near the bridge and watched people hike in while we took care of ourselves. As my feet dried, I snacked on maple almond butter and Doritos and cameled on water. We chilled for about an hour before gathering our things to start the long ascent back to the pass.

As we started hiking back and keeping a quick pace, the steepness plus the heat suddenly punched me in the gut! Feeling pukey and like total ass is entirely normal and part of the process, especially when I push it and go big double-digit miles, but it always sucks, and it will always pass—keep moving!

Continuing our way up trail, It was around 1500 when Anthony mentioned he had lost his shades, so he slacked-packed down trail to find them, which gave me a reason to cool down, puke a little, and take a short nap. I did all three. I woke up after what seemed like 20 minutes, but it was probably only 10 minutes tops, to Anthony saying he couldn’t find them, which was a bummer. But at least his eyes weren’t getting fried by the sun because, by now, it was to our backs and going down.

After what seemed like an eternity, we were still quickly hiking up to Pine Creek Pass, and looking at the time motivated me to hike as fast as possible before feeling pukey again. And when I felt like pure-ass, Anthony would take the lead to keep pace—it worked well.

As the day progressed into the evening, we were still climbing up to the pass when I decided to check Gaia, and to my disappointment, I took a wrong turn at Hutchinson Meadow onto Piute Canyon Trail. Luckily we were only a mile into our fuck-up before noticing. Bonus miles, anybody?

We decided to trail run the mile back to the junction, and in our hurry, I accidentally dipped my feet in a water crossing, which meant I had to stop to change socks. It was a quick change because the mosquitoes were out, and it didn’t take long for the little blood-sucking-fucks to feast. After changing my socks and about fifty mosquito bites later, we continued as the evening progressed into the night.

I can only speak for myself, but holy shit, that climb up to the pass was relentless… just fucking RELENTLESS. I’ve had my share of false summits and long days, but this was a total mind-fuck! It sucked, and I LOVED IT! And I’m pretty sure Anthony did, too!

Embrace the suck!

Throughout the night, we walked through a tunnel of darkness and up over the pass until we finally arrived at Upper Pine Lake and Pine Lake, which signaled that the end was near! By then, both of us were done; we were now on the descent! It was long and steep, and the trail was rock-slidey, so it was important to watch my footing, especially with a glucose-depleted brain.

It was midnight, and we were 42+ miles and 19 hours into this hike. All we could think about was finishing! As we hiked into the abyss of darkness, I could hear the waterfall to my left. A little later, we stopped one last time for water at a pipe someone had pounded into the mountain. Whoever pounded that pipe into the side of that mountain was a fucking genius! Does the pipe have lead in it? Probably, but so does my brain, so whatever! After we watered up one last time, it was time to wrap this bitch up!

We finished with ~47 miles, 20 hours, and a metric-fuck-ton of vert. Since both devices failed us, we can only estimate numbers based on our last data points. But after a day of excellent hiking through the pain cave, all that mattered was the experiences and lessons learned from the liminal space between the miles.