September 30
Gear
It is always fun to list gear. And so here is what I used on my PCT hike.
Packs
GoLite Pinnacle, 25 oz frameless pack
I had no idea how t pack it, so it failed and was miserably uncomfortable.
At Idyllwild I switched out to a much larger internal frame pack, the GoLite Odyssey. It was huge, but light, and carried weight well. I used it until Donner Pass where I shed my winter gear. I then switched to a GoLite Jam2. With a roll up foam pad, it was perfect for my newly found love of all thing ultralight.
Pad
3/4 length Thermarest Z-Rest
I used this up to Donner summit with no complaints. At Donner Pass when I switched packs to a Jam2 I switched to a half length Ridgerest. This was all I needed for the rest of the trail.
Sleeping bags
Mountain Hardware Phantom 32 sleeping bag
I used a Phantom 0, zero degree bag in the sierras which was completely overkill, but I stayed very warm. I switched back to the Phantom 32 and didn’t zip it up once for the rest of the trip.
Tent
Shires Tarptent Rainbow. 32 ounce, single wall. It did have some condensation issues, but all single wall tents do. It kept out the bugs and worked well in the torrential rain of Washinton.
Cooking
I used a soda can alcohol stove made by Frankosaurus. He had a few extra. I had made my own, but it didn’t work well. I used a giant 1.3 liter titanium pot for cooking. I gave up cooking in Old Station, near Lassen, and began hydrating food in a peanut butter jar. This worked great! I would go stoveless again.
Hydration
I used a pump filter. Hiker Pro. 11 oz and fairly reliable. I was never ill, and I did drink straight from many water sources, especially high up. I drank out of soda bottles, and carried four liters for the driest sections. That dropped to one or two in the sierras, and Washington.
Clothes
For the most part, I wore long sleeves and pants. Light hiking pants and a button up violently orange shirt. My favorite other layer was my Marmot Driclimb Windshirt. It was warm, and I think I wore it every morning. I used it as a pillow, and as an extra layer of warthm at night if it was that cold. There were a few icy nights in Washington. I also had a puffy down jacket in the Sierras. The long sleeves saved me from the scorching sun. I mean, how many people do you see who live in Asian, and African deserts wearing shorts, huh? I think THEY know what they are doing.
Raingear
I used a $1.99 poncho until central Oregon where I switched out to a heavier nylon poncho, and used Dryducks rain gear for Washington. They are not very durable, but very cheap and worked better than any raincoat I had ever used. I think that I would simply use a poncho next time. Coats are too cumbersome, and don’t ventilate very well, even classy expensive ones.
Shoes
I started with Salomon light hiking shoes from REI which had no support.
In Idyllwild I was shipped a pair of cheap Nevado hiking shoes I had worn at home very happily. With Insoles they were tolerable. They were trashed within 250 miles.
In Agua Dulce, I switched to Merrell Moab Ventilators which were comfortable and minimally supportive. I wore two pairs of those between Agua Dulce and the end. I used a new pair of them for my mop up tour, and still use them for wrk. They are very durable, but not fast drying, and not very supportive.
Baseweight
I never accurately measured. But here are some rough estimates.
Campo to Idyllwild: 12 lbs
Idyllwild to KM: 13, Bigger pack
KM to Donner Pass: 17 lbs, ice axe and bear canister add a lot
Donner Pass to Shelter Cove Oregon 9 lbs, small pack and more careful packing
Shelter Cove to the end:10 lbs, added rain gear
Ashland to road 17: 7 lbs, bare essentials
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 15, 2008
I Didn’t Know Marble Was This Flammable.
September 15
Ashland to Etna, sort of
I was hosted in Seattle by extended family. They treated me to my favorite northwest ice cream, Tillamook Mudslide. Very good stuff for a half gallon container. Normally a thru hiker has to watch their diet very closely upon finishing a hike. They still feel as if they need 5000 calories a day, even though they are not burning that much. But in my defense, I still have 150 miles to go. I have more, but I have decided to hold off on the stretch from Sierra City to Chester. Due to fire, that section was closed for nearly all of this year’s hikers.
I left Seattle with a giant turkey sandwich in my possession, arriving by train in Salem to visit more family. I must have ate 20 pounds of cherry tomatoes before leaving by bus the next day en route to Medford, where I hitched to Ashland to start hiking south.
After nearly a week of zeroes, it felt great to be walking again. What am I going to do with myself when I get back home? I thought.
After 15 miles, I found a cooler stocked with sodas! I don’t recall whether I have discussed “trail magic.” This is when a hiker finds something unexpected n trail such as a cooler full of sodas, fresh fruit, a guy making sandwiches, a guy giving rides and letting hikers stay at his house. People go out of their way to support hikers which gives us much needed morale boosts. I could have survived the 75 degree late summer day without a root beer, but is was a bonus.
I camped high up, under a stout pine tree. With clear skies and views of lights from distant towns, I “cowboy camped” under the stars.
I wanted an early start so I could knock out as many miles as possible the next day. It was now late in summer and daylight had decreased. I was up at dawn, about 5:30 and walking 15 minutes later. From my camp above 6000 feet, it was a long mellow descent to Siead Valley, home of the famous five pound pancake challenge. The trail was easy and the weather was pleasant. I made highway 96 at about 7:00, 43 miles into my hiking day. I had hoped to get this far, not expecting to go further. But with a little daylight left, and nothing but road to walk on, I decided to go further. It was another 8 miles to Grider Camp, near the northern border of the Marble Mountains.
And so at 9:30 pm, in the dark I arrived at my destination, sore and tired after about 15 hours of hiking and a 51 mile day. I laid down my tyvek ground cloth , pulled my sleeping bag out and fell asleep quickly.
Feeling refreshed in the morning, I moved futher south, gaining elevation into the Marble Mountains. About 10 miles in, I reached a bit of a clearing with a view south. Ahead of me was a plume of smoke reaching thousands of feet in the air. I took out my compass to check how close to the trail it might be, and quickly turned around and jogged back to highway 96.
Upon reaching Etna by way of hitching, I received news that that a controlled fire had jumped and exploded into an inferno, somewhat close to the trail. It is not in the cards for me to hike the Marbles this year. I tried twice!
So with two full days to go until being picked up by family in Yreka, I jumped on trail just south of the Marble Mountains and headed further south. The views in the Russian Wilderness are rather like northern Washington, just slightly more arid. The terrain is steep, but the trail traversed the ridges pleasantly.
On the third day, early in the morning, I was done. I now had continuous footsteps from Chester to Etna, and the Northern Marble Mountains to Canada. This, I told myself, was enough. This was the trail this year.
In total, I walked nearly 2500 miles.
If I encounter closures the next time I hike the PCT, I will find alternate routes to connect my steps. But I have no regrets for this year.
before I started, I had never been out for more than five nights, and had never hiked more that 50 miles in a single trek. I had never had to resupply in a town between sections of trail.
I met a lot of great people out there this year, hiking sections with Zoner, Frankosaurus, Zorro, Lei Low, Tarzan, Zelda, Ninja Tortoise, Scratches, Oasis, The Sheik, Lumbar, Voyageur and Forrest. I met many more, too many to mention.
So I am hooked. I thought maybe this would break up the time in between years and years of school, but I feel like more. I spent the last 700 miles planning on future treks.
So what is on the docket for the next few years? Appalachian Trail, Continental Divide Trail, Northern Forest Canoe Trail, Te Araroa (the longest trail in New Zealand,) Sendero de Chile (Length of Chile) GR10, GR11, Sail around the world? It will be exceedingly difficult to settle down. Stay tuned for more!
Ashland to Etna, sort of
I was hosted in Seattle by extended family. They treated me to my favorite northwest ice cream, Tillamook Mudslide. Very good stuff for a half gallon container. Normally a thru hiker has to watch their diet very closely upon finishing a hike. They still feel as if they need 5000 calories a day, even though they are not burning that much. But in my defense, I still have 150 miles to go. I have more, but I have decided to hold off on the stretch from Sierra City to Chester. Due to fire, that section was closed for nearly all of this year’s hikers.
I left Seattle with a giant turkey sandwich in my possession, arriving by train in Salem to visit more family. I must have ate 20 pounds of cherry tomatoes before leaving by bus the next day en route to Medford, where I hitched to Ashland to start hiking south.
After nearly a week of zeroes, it felt great to be walking again. What am I going to do with myself when I get back home? I thought.
After 15 miles, I found a cooler stocked with sodas! I don’t recall whether I have discussed “trail magic.” This is when a hiker finds something unexpected n trail such as a cooler full of sodas, fresh fruit, a guy making sandwiches, a guy giving rides and letting hikers stay at his house. People go out of their way to support hikers which gives us much needed morale boosts. I could have survived the 75 degree late summer day without a root beer, but is was a bonus.
I camped high up, under a stout pine tree. With clear skies and views of lights from distant towns, I “cowboy camped” under the stars.
I wanted an early start so I could knock out as many miles as possible the next day. It was now late in summer and daylight had decreased. I was up at dawn, about 5:30 and walking 15 minutes later. From my camp above 6000 feet, it was a long mellow descent to Siead Valley, home of the famous five pound pancake challenge. The trail was easy and the weather was pleasant. I made highway 96 at about 7:00, 43 miles into my hiking day. I had hoped to get this far, not expecting to go further. But with a little daylight left, and nothing but road to walk on, I decided to go further. It was another 8 miles to Grider Camp, near the northern border of the Marble Mountains.
And so at 9:30 pm, in the dark I arrived at my destination, sore and tired after about 15 hours of hiking and a 51 mile day. I laid down my tyvek ground cloth , pulled my sleeping bag out and fell asleep quickly.
Feeling refreshed in the morning, I moved futher south, gaining elevation into the Marble Mountains. About 10 miles in, I reached a bit of a clearing with a view south. Ahead of me was a plume of smoke reaching thousands of feet in the air. I took out my compass to check how close to the trail it might be, and quickly turned around and jogged back to highway 96.
Upon reaching Etna by way of hitching, I received news that that a controlled fire had jumped and exploded into an inferno, somewhat close to the trail. It is not in the cards for me to hike the Marbles this year. I tried twice!
So with two full days to go until being picked up by family in Yreka, I jumped on trail just south of the Marble Mountains and headed further south. The views in the Russian Wilderness are rather like northern Washington, just slightly more arid. The terrain is steep, but the trail traversed the ridges pleasantly.
On the third day, early in the morning, I was done. I now had continuous footsteps from Chester to Etna, and the Northern Marble Mountains to Canada. This, I told myself, was enough. This was the trail this year.
In total, I walked nearly 2500 miles.
If I encounter closures the next time I hike the PCT, I will find alternate routes to connect my steps. But I have no regrets for this year.
before I started, I had never been out for more than five nights, and had never hiked more that 50 miles in a single trek. I had never had to resupply in a town between sections of trail.
I met a lot of great people out there this year, hiking sections with Zoner, Frankosaurus, Zorro, Lei Low, Tarzan, Zelda, Ninja Tortoise, Scratches, Oasis, The Sheik, Lumbar, Voyageur and Forrest. I met many more, too many to mention.
So I am hooked. I thought maybe this would break up the time in between years and years of school, but I feel like more. I spent the last 700 miles planning on future treks.
So what is on the docket for the next few years? Appalachian Trail, Continental Divide Trail, Northern Forest Canoe Trail, Te Araroa (the longest trail in New Zealand,) Sendero de Chile (Length of Chile) GR10, GR11, Sail around the world? It will be exceedingly difficult to settle down. Stay tuned for more!
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Dim Sum and Den Some!
September 4
Bridge of the Gods to Manning Park
After two beautiful days of sun in Skykomish I returned to the PCT and once again torrential rain. I made 23 miles under the protection of my poncho and camped with a couple people who had llamas.
The next day was closer to 30 miles, crossing several of the infamous northern Cascades’ creeks. I cannot recount views, as I had none. I ate Huckleberries and met one southbound hiker.
Day three was more of the same, but as the afternoon progressed, it got much more interesting.
I dried out my gear in the first sun I had seen since Skykomish when I was met by more hikers, Mapman and Robin, as well as Serpico and Chris. After drying my gear I climbed the 2000 feet with Serpico and Chris to the higher wildflower fields on the shoulders of Glacier Peak.
Coming up was the infamous seven miles stretch of 400 blowdowns, 400 trees crossing the trail. This included old growth monsters, ten feet wide. It is said to take up to seven hours to make it through.
The three of us started down toward the the equally infamous Suiattle River, more to come on that momentarily. “I thought it would be trees wrapped by vines, cris-crossed into a torturous pattern, impassable… no, not even close. It took us about two hours! I thought of it as a sort of obstacle course like the TV program Ninja Warrior! We vaulted small logs and ducked under monster dead spruce logs.” ~ San Gabriel’s journal dated August 26, 2008.
Then came the Suiattle. This is also from my journal from August 26.
“I have been warned about the treacherous and possibly fatal Suiattle River. There is a scene in Mel Brooks’ Robin Hood Men in Tights when Robin, Achoo, and Blinken must cross a river guarded by Little John. Achoo in his infinite wisdom points out “This ain’t exactly the Mississippi.” I felt a bit like Achoo upon reaching the Suiattle. Though the water was silty and swift, it was shallow and had a very stable log across it, which I walked without much of a thought to the danger gushing by below me. It wasn’t that bad.
There is something that I have learned on my voyage this year: Don’t believe what people tell you! I was told Apache Peak was dangerous, so I took the alternate. After that I vowed to look for myself. The sign at Santiam Pass was… foreboding but hilarious! The area turned out to be safe and navigable. And the Suiattle River was an easier crossing than most of the Sierra rivers and MUCH easier than the gushing torrent I faced before Steven’s Pass.”
The next morning I awoke early and made 21 quick miles to the nearest road. This happened to be the road to Stehekin, an isolated one way gravel number with access between the PCT and the hamlet on the northern end of the fjord-like Lake Chalan.
Here I found Voyageur and Forrest, who had arrived at noon, on the earlier shuttle. I crammed my tent into a nook between trees on the steep grade in the free camp ground.
“The little hamlet exists out of time on the northern shores of dramatic fjord-like Lake Chalan, a glacial fed 50 mile waterway that feeds the Columbia River. The elevation here is about 1500 feet but the mountains tower above the icy deep water, disappearing somewhere in the omnipresent clouds. In the town, a few buildings are scattered along the shore, a post office, restaurant, inn, and a considerable number of residences. There are also a fair many cars, but I have no idea where they get gas! It’s a 50 mile fairy ride to the nearest stoplight!” ~ Me, 8-27-08
“There is much hullabaloo about the Stehekin bakery. The three of us went to said bakery for breakfast, sharing rolls, scones, coffee cake… I must say I am impressed! For a small town Bakery it was very good! The scones were top notch. And the rolls were exceedingly sticky and flaky, simultaneously! I left overly full with a bag of bagels for less than $10. That is less than I would spend on a stack of pancakes and orange juice at any restaurant! I will make a similar return tomorrow before trekking out for the final 88 miles.” -~ Me again, 8-28-08
Delayed by an unfortunate backpack mixup, Forrest and I left after Voyageur on the afternoon of the 29th. It rained several times, but not for very long. We camped in a huckleberry field.
Voyageur was still ahead of us on the 31st and were given news of this several times during the day. Forrest and I awoke, south of Hearts Pass with an inch of snow on the ground. With my hands tucked into my pockets, we paced quickly along the grassy alpine hillsides. We were met by a Hiker named “Phew” So named for the sound she made. “Are you San gabriel and someone else?” She asked Forrest, who was 50 feet in front of me. “Well he is San Gabriel and *I* am someone else.” I think Forrest earned a trailname.
At about 3:00 after fairly ridiculous mileage we finally caught up with Voyageur. We had decided to finish together when we were in Stehekin. And so now we could. We camped early after descending from our last bit of trail above 7000 feet.
From Hopkins Lake, our last camp, it was a mere seven miles to the border. We all had our celebratory border food. Voyageur had prepared a no bake cheesecake which he planned on topping with Huckleberries. Forrest had some classy chocolate, and I had kippered hearing and crackers, in honor of my Norwegian heritage.
On the last switchback with views of the border swath we descended to the border monument. 2650 miles separate the two nearly identical monuments, though the one at Campo was significantly more sun-bleached.
We took an hour at the monument eating our various treats and taking photos under partly cloudy skies. I was overjoyed to be there, but several hundred miles of burned forest in California nagged at me. “gotta finish, gotta finish, gotta finish gotta...” a mantra continued in my head. But for now, I would celebrate.
We were joined presently by Mapman and Robin.
In all, seven hikers left Manning Park en route to Vancouver the next morning. The five of us, accompanied by Lumbar, with whom I had hiked in the Sierras, and Lucky, who I had met in Old Station and Cascade Locks, rode into the bustling metropolis of Vancouver in the early afternoon.
Voyageur and Forrest had made a contact in Leavenworth. That contact had a loft in Vancouver! So we base-camped out of said loft. We enjoyed Indian food our first evening. Voyageur left the next day. Now to find Park Lock.
Vancouver has one of the larger Chinatowns. In 1996 or so I had eaten the most incredible Dim Sum at a restaurant in this very town. I had an address. From the loft it was only 10 blocks to my destination. I looked across the street to the windows on the second story of a dilapidated structure. There it was. I had walked 2500 miles to dine here... Or that’s what I told myself. Racks of clothing blocked the entrance. I looked longingly into the windows for signs of life. The woman who was peddling clothing blocking the entrance shook her head apologetically at me. I circled the other block, only seeing the hours listed in Chinese. I tried again the next day.
I also visited the University, where I had once thought of attending should I pursue a doctorate. I made a pilgrimage to the Olympic village, under construction on the waterfront.
Heartbroken, I left Vancouver with the second best Dim Sum I had ever had in a cardboard box. I had eaten a dozen steamed buns, “Bao” and numerous other dumplings.
One day I will return. For now, I am satisfied and headed to Northern California after I visit family in Seattle and Salem.
Bridge of the Gods to Manning Park
After two beautiful days of sun in Skykomish I returned to the PCT and once again torrential rain. I made 23 miles under the protection of my poncho and camped with a couple people who had llamas.
The next day was closer to 30 miles, crossing several of the infamous northern Cascades’ creeks. I cannot recount views, as I had none. I ate Huckleberries and met one southbound hiker.
Day three was more of the same, but as the afternoon progressed, it got much more interesting.
I dried out my gear in the first sun I had seen since Skykomish when I was met by more hikers, Mapman and Robin, as well as Serpico and Chris. After drying my gear I climbed the 2000 feet with Serpico and Chris to the higher wildflower fields on the shoulders of Glacier Peak.
Coming up was the infamous seven miles stretch of 400 blowdowns, 400 trees crossing the trail. This included old growth monsters, ten feet wide. It is said to take up to seven hours to make it through.
The three of us started down toward the the equally infamous Suiattle River, more to come on that momentarily. “I thought it would be trees wrapped by vines, cris-crossed into a torturous pattern, impassable… no, not even close. It took us about two hours! I thought of it as a sort of obstacle course like the TV program Ninja Warrior! We vaulted small logs and ducked under monster dead spruce logs.” ~ San Gabriel’s journal dated August 26, 2008.
Then came the Suiattle. This is also from my journal from August 26.
“I have been warned about the treacherous and possibly fatal Suiattle River. There is a scene in Mel Brooks’ Robin Hood Men in Tights when Robin, Achoo, and Blinken must cross a river guarded by Little John. Achoo in his infinite wisdom points out “This ain’t exactly the Mississippi.” I felt a bit like Achoo upon reaching the Suiattle. Though the water was silty and swift, it was shallow and had a very stable log across it, which I walked without much of a thought to the danger gushing by below me. It wasn’t that bad.
There is something that I have learned on my voyage this year: Don’t believe what people tell you! I was told Apache Peak was dangerous, so I took the alternate. After that I vowed to look for myself. The sign at Santiam Pass was… foreboding but hilarious! The area turned out to be safe and navigable. And the Suiattle River was an easier crossing than most of the Sierra rivers and MUCH easier than the gushing torrent I faced before Steven’s Pass.”
The next morning I awoke early and made 21 quick miles to the nearest road. This happened to be the road to Stehekin, an isolated one way gravel number with access between the PCT and the hamlet on the northern end of the fjord-like Lake Chalan.
Here I found Voyageur and Forrest, who had arrived at noon, on the earlier shuttle. I crammed my tent into a nook between trees on the steep grade in the free camp ground.
“The little hamlet exists out of time on the northern shores of dramatic fjord-like Lake Chalan, a glacial fed 50 mile waterway that feeds the Columbia River. The elevation here is about 1500 feet but the mountains tower above the icy deep water, disappearing somewhere in the omnipresent clouds. In the town, a few buildings are scattered along the shore, a post office, restaurant, inn, and a considerable number of residences. There are also a fair many cars, but I have no idea where they get gas! It’s a 50 mile fairy ride to the nearest stoplight!” ~ Me, 8-27-08
“There is much hullabaloo about the Stehekin bakery. The three of us went to said bakery for breakfast, sharing rolls, scones, coffee cake… I must say I am impressed! For a small town Bakery it was very good! The scones were top notch. And the rolls were exceedingly sticky and flaky, simultaneously! I left overly full with a bag of bagels for less than $10. That is less than I would spend on a stack of pancakes and orange juice at any restaurant! I will make a similar return tomorrow before trekking out for the final 88 miles.” -~ Me again, 8-28-08
Delayed by an unfortunate backpack mixup, Forrest and I left after Voyageur on the afternoon of the 29th. It rained several times, but not for very long. We camped in a huckleberry field.
Voyageur was still ahead of us on the 31st and were given news of this several times during the day. Forrest and I awoke, south of Hearts Pass with an inch of snow on the ground. With my hands tucked into my pockets, we paced quickly along the grassy alpine hillsides. We were met by a Hiker named “Phew” So named for the sound she made. “Are you San gabriel and someone else?” She asked Forrest, who was 50 feet in front of me. “Well he is San Gabriel and *I* am someone else.” I think Forrest earned a trailname.
At about 3:00 after fairly ridiculous mileage we finally caught up with Voyageur. We had decided to finish together when we were in Stehekin. And so now we could. We camped early after descending from our last bit of trail above 7000 feet.
From Hopkins Lake, our last camp, it was a mere seven miles to the border. We all had our celebratory border food. Voyageur had prepared a no bake cheesecake which he planned on topping with Huckleberries. Forrest had some classy chocolate, and I had kippered hearing and crackers, in honor of my Norwegian heritage.
On the last switchback with views of the border swath we descended to the border monument. 2650 miles separate the two nearly identical monuments, though the one at Campo was significantly more sun-bleached.
We took an hour at the monument eating our various treats and taking photos under partly cloudy skies. I was overjoyed to be there, but several hundred miles of burned forest in California nagged at me. “gotta finish, gotta finish, gotta finish gotta...” a mantra continued in my head. But for now, I would celebrate.
We were joined presently by Mapman and Robin.
In all, seven hikers left Manning Park en route to Vancouver the next morning. The five of us, accompanied by Lumbar, with whom I had hiked in the Sierras, and Lucky, who I had met in Old Station and Cascade Locks, rode into the bustling metropolis of Vancouver in the early afternoon.
Voyageur and Forrest had made a contact in Leavenworth. That contact had a loft in Vancouver! So we base-camped out of said loft. We enjoyed Indian food our first evening. Voyageur left the next day. Now to find Park Lock.
Vancouver has one of the larger Chinatowns. In 1996 or so I had eaten the most incredible Dim Sum at a restaurant in this very town. I had an address. From the loft it was only 10 blocks to my destination. I looked across the street to the windows on the second story of a dilapidated structure. There it was. I had walked 2500 miles to dine here... Or that’s what I told myself. Racks of clothing blocked the entrance. I looked longingly into the windows for signs of life. The woman who was peddling clothing blocking the entrance shook her head apologetically at me. I circled the other block, only seeing the hours listed in Chinese. I tried again the next day.
I also visited the University, where I had once thought of attending should I pursue a doctorate. I made a pilgrimage to the Olympic village, under construction on the waterfront.
Heartbroken, I left Vancouver with the second best Dim Sum I had ever had in a cardboard box. I had eaten a dozen steamed buns, “Bao” and numerous other dumplings.
One day I will return. For now, I am satisfied and headed to Northern California after I visit family in Seattle and Salem.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
The Great Prophet, BS Billy
August 24 2008
Bridge of the Gods to Skykomish
The warm mostly sunny weather from Oregon changed dramatically on the northern half of the Bridge of the Gods. The minute I stepped into Washington, it started gently sprinkling. Aside from three beautiful days between the Goat Rocks and south of Snoqualmie Pass, it rained on me every day. Prompting the pun, albeit slightly lame pun, “Washaton” and “Washing tons of hikers since 1972!” And likely long before that.
Days tend to blend together when you can’t see anything. I split up the long stretch from Cascade Locks to White Pass with a stop in Trout Lake.
Out my thumb went on the road on a remarkably sunny afternoon after heavy morning rains. Three cars later I was in a car. I didn’t have much of an idea where I would stay, knowing there was a hostel above the outfitter. But my ride, interested in what I was doing offered his unused spare room. I surprised my self by accepting the offer. Not only did I get a room, but I was fed. He just happened to have a few giant free range fully organic steaks in the fridge. AND! I was given a job offer after my host learned of my music education. As the job started on August 23rd and I was set on finishing the PCT and NOT moving from California yet, I politely declined.
The next day I was dropped off in town where I dropped by a local eatery looking for the ubiquitous huckleberry shake. Huckleberries are everywhere up there. After finishing I went to the rest room for a moment, leaving my pack at the table. Upon returning, two people sat in my place. Two... familiar people. “What are you doing here?” I asked to Tarzan and Zelda. They had skipped a little bit and happened to staying in a local hotel.
They introduced me to a couple who were climbing Mt. Adams. That couple dropped me off at the trailhead before going on their way.
I had also seen Voyageur earlier, who I had not seen since northern California.
Trout Lake was a great stop, and while I don’t think the exact lucky circumstances could be repeated, I recommend the town. It is cozy and friendly with everything a hiker needs.
---
With fair weather, I slept with my tent set up, but with the flaps open. Sometime around 2:00 am I awoke to thunder. I looked outside and saw clear skies and stars. The thunder persisted as I slowly regained consciousness. Then it dawned on me that a herd of elk had just passed. The next morning that theory was confirmed as I walked in the hoof prints of a large herd, just 20 feet from my tent.
I was moving early and quickly, not determined to get anywhere in particular, but my short rest in Trout Lake rejuvenated me and the fair weather inspired me. I passed three heavyweight hikers at a jog, climbing a gentle slope toward Sheep Lake. By 3:00 I was having a second lunch, just Over a pass, in a grassy bowl with a view of Mount Saint Helens. I had made 28 miles. I continued in the clear afternoon. Near Packwood Glacier in the Goat Rocks, I spotted a tiny spec on the snow field ahead of me. As I got closer, and closer still, I realized t was yet another familiar hiker, Sheik Olivier. We continued together, with outrageous views of Mount Adams, Saint Helens, and Rainier. We made our way along the precipitous knife edge. As we walked into the shadow of the ridge the temperature dropped dramatically. It dropped from the 70 degrees plus of the afternoon to near freezing in the arctic grassy tundra, north of the Knife Edge.
At White Pass the next day, Olivier and I again parted as he was taking a couple weeks off to see his girlfriend, who was flying to Seattle from France.
Other Hikers I saw at White Pass included Voyageur again, and Lei Low. As I had not seen Lei Low for a while, we hiked out in the evening. We camped two nights together before I decided to undertake a goal I had, to hike 50 miles in a single day.
From Sourdough Gap, it was just under 70 miles to Snoqualmie Pass. I awoke before dawn and packed up quickly. By 11:00 I had 22 miles under my belt, but it was getting downright hot. After Passing Voyageur, I slowed. He caught up with me on a roller coaster of rolling hills near sizable clear cuts. I slowed further and we hiked together, seeing the well known perennial PCT hiker, Billy Goat. Voyageur set up camp on a flat spot with views south. Unsure whether I had even reached 40 miles, I continued on into the evening, camping on a old road, just over 43 miles from my starting point.
After reflection and analysis, I know my faults on my 50 mile attempt. I didn’t eat enough. I would need more snacks for another attempt. I didn’t drink enough water. I should have drank all I could find. After I camped, I downed a good two liters without trying. On a hot day like the day in question, and without any previous hiking day exceeding 40 miles, I thought a couple short breaks may have helped. With better conditioning and a lighter pack, a fifty mile day is well within reach. I could have hiked another two and a half hours, but I wanted to make a daylight attempt.
The next day it began raining and I arrived at Snoqualmie Lodge, soaked through, seeing Forrest, Disco, and P.O.D. Later in the day Voyageur arrived. As thunder shook the building, I was happy to be spread out in a hotel room, three hikers’ gear hanging on every available hanger and door.
Despite the rain, We set out the next day, each at different times. I met up with Forrest later that day and we camped together. The next day, we found Voyageur and the three of us camped together near some horse campers. Late in the evening under one of the heaviest torrents I have ever seen in my life, I heard Forrest, a ways away talking to another hiker. The hiker had forgotten a pole for his tent resulting in being absolutely soaked. The hiker left early in the morning, leaving a mountainous pile of granola bars at Forrest’s door.
If we were on a short trip, we might have enough spare gear to help the hiker, but thru hikers carry very little. We rarely have room in our tiny shelters for more, very few spare clothes. Barely anyone even carries one of those reflective blankets. We only have enough gear for ourselves. The best option when in danger, is to backtrack, or go to the nearest road. We hoped that this wet hiker could find his way to a road the next day and NOT have to endure another rainy night.
So powered by free granola bars, and carrying out the trash we left. (please pack out your own stuff, don’t dump it on others. Or at least ask first, I would probably take it to help someone in need)
In the late morning we approached a creek, but upon getting closer, it sounded more like a dramatic waterfall. Water cascaded down the barren rocks from thousands of feet above toward the valley below. The sodden figure of the hiker we had met at 1:00 am stood, recovering in thoroughly sodden Frogg Toggs on the other side. So there was a way across.
Voyageur, Forrest and I made our way down the steep slope to a slightly less fatal looking ford. The water was slower, after descending hundreds of feet to a relatively flat stretch. Voyageur was first. Without poles, (he doesn’t hike with them” he balanced precariously as water rushed past his ankles, then knees, then thighs. Facing downhill with his hands on a wedged log he side stepped carefully through the deepest and fast part of the current, and let out a resounding “Woohoo!” which echoed across the valley.
I was next, and trudged, painfully slowly to the log, wedged between a few rocks. As I slid my leg into the current, I could feel it wanting to descend the rest of the way down the mountain. I fought fiercely, mule-kicking backward into the current, struggling for footing on the slippery river bed. With one foot up hill and my hands on the slick log, I side-stepped slowly as water rushed past me at hip level.
Once on the other side, we were joined by Forrest, who took a break on the near side, thigh deep, looking as if the swift current had no effect.
Video evidence exists! Check out Voyageur’s video on YouTube
Through continuing rain we made our way to Mig Lake, seven miles short of the road, and a hitch to warm dry lodging.
At the road, our soaked party parted, Voayageur and Forrest heading east to Leavenworth and me, west to Skykomish. Within minutes of sticking out my thumb, a Prius loaded with obvious hikers pulled up, rescuing me from the relentless moisture. The three hikers got out, obviously frightened by my severe wet dog smell. Rabbit and Tumbleweed, two southbounders who had borrowed the vehicle drove back to the Dinsmore’s A trail Angel couple residing in Skykomish.
I was surprised to see a dry version of the hiker who, just the previous day had went swimming in his own tent during the night’s torrent. Apparently he had hiked out an alternate trail to a road, and escape. I was happy to see him warm and dry. Along with Rabbit and Tumbleweed at Dinsmores’ there was a fifth hiker. A clean shaven, short haired guy, a rarity in the hiker community. I recognized him as the same guy who had jogged past me near Big Bear, Eric D. He had already tagged the border and was heading south.
I stayed a second zero day in Skykomish as the Dinsmores needed help with the annual car show that they hosted in the tiny town of Skykomish. So Eric D, Captain Bivy, and I donned orange and acted as parking attendants, guiding cherry Cheveys, Fords, Studabakers, and even a Dalorian, with a personalized license plate “BK2D80S”
As we ate around a bonfire at Dinsmores’ that evening BS Billy struck up a conversation with me. I had not said a word to him until this moment. He bragged about being “good at reading people” So he asked me what my favorite cars was. “Wait don’t tell me...” He said, tapping his chin, squinting. “That Studabaker with the...” He said, “Or the Dalorian.” My two favorites out of the 110 parked in the fairgrounds. He even picked out a future career, not knowing anything about my interests. “You are tough to read... I could see you in a house up in the mountains.” Ok that is vague. But he continued “Making fine instruments out of wood.” I had not told him I was a musician. I had not told him that I wanted to build instruments. I was speechless and sat back, feasting on roasted animal carcass shaking my head.
Now I am typically skeptical of this kinda hocus pocus. And I credit BS Billy’s years as a car salesman for giving him a skill which rivals many psychologists with doctoral degrees. Though the Great Prophet BS Billy’s... prophecy has not yet come true, it was already on my bucket list. “Live in the mountains and make Renaissance musical instruments” It will come to pass!
If you end up in Skykomish, have BS Billy give you a reading.
Bridge of the Gods to Skykomish
The warm mostly sunny weather from Oregon changed dramatically on the northern half of the Bridge of the Gods. The minute I stepped into Washington, it started gently sprinkling. Aside from three beautiful days between the Goat Rocks and south of Snoqualmie Pass, it rained on me every day. Prompting the pun, albeit slightly lame pun, “Washaton” and “Washing tons of hikers since 1972!” And likely long before that.
Days tend to blend together when you can’t see anything. I split up the long stretch from Cascade Locks to White Pass with a stop in Trout Lake.
Out my thumb went on the road on a remarkably sunny afternoon after heavy morning rains. Three cars later I was in a car. I didn’t have much of an idea where I would stay, knowing there was a hostel above the outfitter. But my ride, interested in what I was doing offered his unused spare room. I surprised my self by accepting the offer. Not only did I get a room, but I was fed. He just happened to have a few giant free range fully organic steaks in the fridge. AND! I was given a job offer after my host learned of my music education. As the job started on August 23rd and I was set on finishing the PCT and NOT moving from California yet, I politely declined.
The next day I was dropped off in town where I dropped by a local eatery looking for the ubiquitous huckleberry shake. Huckleberries are everywhere up there. After finishing I went to the rest room for a moment, leaving my pack at the table. Upon returning, two people sat in my place. Two... familiar people. “What are you doing here?” I asked to Tarzan and Zelda. They had skipped a little bit and happened to staying in a local hotel.
They introduced me to a couple who were climbing Mt. Adams. That couple dropped me off at the trailhead before going on their way.
I had also seen Voyageur earlier, who I had not seen since northern California.
Trout Lake was a great stop, and while I don’t think the exact lucky circumstances could be repeated, I recommend the town. It is cozy and friendly with everything a hiker needs.
---
With fair weather, I slept with my tent set up, but with the flaps open. Sometime around 2:00 am I awoke to thunder. I looked outside and saw clear skies and stars. The thunder persisted as I slowly regained consciousness. Then it dawned on me that a herd of elk had just passed. The next morning that theory was confirmed as I walked in the hoof prints of a large herd, just 20 feet from my tent.
I was moving early and quickly, not determined to get anywhere in particular, but my short rest in Trout Lake rejuvenated me and the fair weather inspired me. I passed three heavyweight hikers at a jog, climbing a gentle slope toward Sheep Lake. By 3:00 I was having a second lunch, just Over a pass, in a grassy bowl with a view of Mount Saint Helens. I had made 28 miles. I continued in the clear afternoon. Near Packwood Glacier in the Goat Rocks, I spotted a tiny spec on the snow field ahead of me. As I got closer, and closer still, I realized t was yet another familiar hiker, Sheik Olivier. We continued together, with outrageous views of Mount Adams, Saint Helens, and Rainier. We made our way along the precipitous knife edge. As we walked into the shadow of the ridge the temperature dropped dramatically. It dropped from the 70 degrees plus of the afternoon to near freezing in the arctic grassy tundra, north of the Knife Edge.
At White Pass the next day, Olivier and I again parted as he was taking a couple weeks off to see his girlfriend, who was flying to Seattle from France.
Other Hikers I saw at White Pass included Voyageur again, and Lei Low. As I had not seen Lei Low for a while, we hiked out in the evening. We camped two nights together before I decided to undertake a goal I had, to hike 50 miles in a single day.
From Sourdough Gap, it was just under 70 miles to Snoqualmie Pass. I awoke before dawn and packed up quickly. By 11:00 I had 22 miles under my belt, but it was getting downright hot. After Passing Voyageur, I slowed. He caught up with me on a roller coaster of rolling hills near sizable clear cuts. I slowed further and we hiked together, seeing the well known perennial PCT hiker, Billy Goat. Voyageur set up camp on a flat spot with views south. Unsure whether I had even reached 40 miles, I continued on into the evening, camping on a old road, just over 43 miles from my starting point.
After reflection and analysis, I know my faults on my 50 mile attempt. I didn’t eat enough. I would need more snacks for another attempt. I didn’t drink enough water. I should have drank all I could find. After I camped, I downed a good two liters without trying. On a hot day like the day in question, and without any previous hiking day exceeding 40 miles, I thought a couple short breaks may have helped. With better conditioning and a lighter pack, a fifty mile day is well within reach. I could have hiked another two and a half hours, but I wanted to make a daylight attempt.
The next day it began raining and I arrived at Snoqualmie Lodge, soaked through, seeing Forrest, Disco, and P.O.D. Later in the day Voyageur arrived. As thunder shook the building, I was happy to be spread out in a hotel room, three hikers’ gear hanging on every available hanger and door.
Despite the rain, We set out the next day, each at different times. I met up with Forrest later that day and we camped together. The next day, we found Voyageur and the three of us camped together near some horse campers. Late in the evening under one of the heaviest torrents I have ever seen in my life, I heard Forrest, a ways away talking to another hiker. The hiker had forgotten a pole for his tent resulting in being absolutely soaked. The hiker left early in the morning, leaving a mountainous pile of granola bars at Forrest’s door.
If we were on a short trip, we might have enough spare gear to help the hiker, but thru hikers carry very little. We rarely have room in our tiny shelters for more, very few spare clothes. Barely anyone even carries one of those reflective blankets. We only have enough gear for ourselves. The best option when in danger, is to backtrack, or go to the nearest road. We hoped that this wet hiker could find his way to a road the next day and NOT have to endure another rainy night.
So powered by free granola bars, and carrying out the trash we left. (please pack out your own stuff, don’t dump it on others. Or at least ask first, I would probably take it to help someone in need)
In the late morning we approached a creek, but upon getting closer, it sounded more like a dramatic waterfall. Water cascaded down the barren rocks from thousands of feet above toward the valley below. The sodden figure of the hiker we had met at 1:00 am stood, recovering in thoroughly sodden Frogg Toggs on the other side. So there was a way across.
Voyageur, Forrest and I made our way down the steep slope to a slightly less fatal looking ford. The water was slower, after descending hundreds of feet to a relatively flat stretch. Voyageur was first. Without poles, (he doesn’t hike with them” he balanced precariously as water rushed past his ankles, then knees, then thighs. Facing downhill with his hands on a wedged log he side stepped carefully through the deepest and fast part of the current, and let out a resounding “Woohoo!” which echoed across the valley.
I was next, and trudged, painfully slowly to the log, wedged between a few rocks. As I slid my leg into the current, I could feel it wanting to descend the rest of the way down the mountain. I fought fiercely, mule-kicking backward into the current, struggling for footing on the slippery river bed. With one foot up hill and my hands on the slick log, I side-stepped slowly as water rushed past me at hip level.
Once on the other side, we were joined by Forrest, who took a break on the near side, thigh deep, looking as if the swift current had no effect.
Video evidence exists! Check out Voyageur’s video on YouTube
Through continuing rain we made our way to Mig Lake, seven miles short of the road, and a hitch to warm dry lodging.
At the road, our soaked party parted, Voayageur and Forrest heading east to Leavenworth and me, west to Skykomish. Within minutes of sticking out my thumb, a Prius loaded with obvious hikers pulled up, rescuing me from the relentless moisture. The three hikers got out, obviously frightened by my severe wet dog smell. Rabbit and Tumbleweed, two southbounders who had borrowed the vehicle drove back to the Dinsmore’s A trail Angel couple residing in Skykomish.
I was surprised to see a dry version of the hiker who, just the previous day had went swimming in his own tent during the night’s torrent. Apparently he had hiked out an alternate trail to a road, and escape. I was happy to see him warm and dry. Along with Rabbit and Tumbleweed at Dinsmores’ there was a fifth hiker. A clean shaven, short haired guy, a rarity in the hiker community. I recognized him as the same guy who had jogged past me near Big Bear, Eric D. He had already tagged the border and was heading south.
I stayed a second zero day in Skykomish as the Dinsmores needed help with the annual car show that they hosted in the tiny town of Skykomish. So Eric D, Captain Bivy, and I donned orange and acted as parking attendants, guiding cherry Cheveys, Fords, Studabakers, and even a Dalorian, with a personalized license plate “BK2D80S”
As we ate around a bonfire at Dinsmores’ that evening BS Billy struck up a conversation with me. I had not said a word to him until this moment. He bragged about being “good at reading people” So he asked me what my favorite cars was. “Wait don’t tell me...” He said, tapping his chin, squinting. “That Studabaker with the...” He said, “Or the Dalorian.” My two favorites out of the 110 parked in the fairgrounds. He even picked out a future career, not knowing anything about my interests. “You are tough to read... I could see you in a house up in the mountains.” Ok that is vague. But he continued “Making fine instruments out of wood.” I had not told him I was a musician. I had not told him that I wanted to build instruments. I was speechless and sat back, feasting on roasted animal carcass shaking my head.
Now I am typically skeptical of this kinda hocus pocus. And I credit BS Billy’s years as a car salesman for giving him a skill which rivals many psychologists with doctoral degrees. Though the Great Prophet BS Billy’s... prophecy has not yet come true, it was already on my bucket list. “Live in the mountains and make Renaissance musical instruments” It will come to pass!
If you end up in Skykomish, have BS Billy give you a reading.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
“You’ll Never Make It!”
Ashland to Washington
It was a fresh start and I was determined to maintain unbroken footfalls all the way to Canada! Hitching out of Ashland was surprisingly easy and I was dropped off at the trailhead in the late morning. Each day I increased my mileage slightl, careful not to exceed 25. This is a difficult thing to do in Oregon as the trail is relatively flat. Ancient laval fields, now produce endless Lodgepole Pine forests. birds are scarce and the soil is sandy, not particularly rich. As Olivier and I neared Crater Lake, we began to see more Spruce, but still the terrain was flat.
It is amazing how hikers seem to collide in towns and at outposts. At Crater Lake, we ran into a sizable group of hikers, a “regular hiker-trash jamboree” as one hiker pointed out.
Even wreathed in haze from California’s fires, Crater Lake is a sight to behold. The cliffs of the once mammoth volcano crash hundreds of feet to the deep fjord-like like below. The trail around the lake, however, is difficult. There are many PUDs (pointless ups and downs) We could have walked the road that hugs the cliffs and had plenty of views.
After we left the rim, it was over 20 miles of flat pumice desert dotted with pines before water. At least it was flat, and Olivier and I, now accompanied by a third hiker, Forrest made excellent time to our early camp below Thielsen Peak
Days later, nearing McKenzie Pass, the weather began to turn. It began sprinkling in the evening and the three of us began looking for a camp. We passed several acceptable spots, but decided to continue. As the mist began to fall and blow harder we clambered up onto the lava rock path across the much less ancient lava field. One can feel every step on the sharp aa, Into the darkness we trudged. It would have been impossible to sleep on any of this terrain, but one of us, I can’t remember who spotted something, a structure. “We could always sleep in the public restroom at the pass”
We found something better. I would hazard to say that ANYTHING is better than sleeping in a public restroom however. But we found one of the most memorable camps of my entire hike. I didn’t see where Olivier and Forrest were going until we were on the stone path, circling upwards into lava ramparts. The McKenzie Pass Observatory. We hung our food to keep it away from rodents and huddled into the corners of the rock structure
It wasn’t exactly my most comfortable or warmest night, but we were well sheltered and it was fun to stay in such a structure. The early morning sunlight beamed through holes in the wall. WHile one could certainly fire arrows out of said holes, they were actually aligned to see surrounding mountains. Plaques on the wall said things like “Black Butte, elevation 7800 feet, 11.2 miles.” I don’t recall exact numbers, so please forgive the error if you happen to know it.
---
“You’ll Never Make it!” was drawn in sharpie on the bottom of a sign warning hikers of the snow levels near Mt. Jefferson. And so five hikers ignored the sign, and I believe many more. Forrest and I, sans Olivier, were now accompanied by Disco, P.O.D. and Hearsay. The first 20 miles came easily, but as we crested the shoulders of Mount Jefferson, the snow became heavier. Fog rolled in obscuring all views. As evening descended we gave up looking for the trail and settled into a cluster of spruce for the evening.
In the morning, Forrest could be heard several hundred feet down the hill shouting “Found it!” Presently we were joined by two other hikers, Truant, and Sweetfish. The seven of us traversed the slope, downward and finally stood on trail. There wasn’t much of it, but we had found it. From here we were able to traverse downward. Eventually the trail was more defined and easy to follow... really all the way to the end. But I am not there yet. An epic glissade met us on the north side of The View, where both Jefferson and Hood could be seen. in the now cloudless conditions.
---
Timberline Lodge was the setting for The Shining. The outside of the lodge might strike fear into some. It is a massive old ski lodge on the shoulders of Mount Hood, right at treeline. They have a very well known all you can eat breakfast buffet that hikers lust after for miles before and after. I got my 12 dollars worth in fresh juice alone! Forrest and I even shared a pizza before we staggered onward.
---
THe PCT splits near Eagle Creek. The official route is higher up and descends somewhere into Cascade Locks while the Eagle Creek route descends more quickly to... well Eagle Creek. This is a very scenic section of trail.
As the elevation dropped, the vegetation became increasingly moist. Berry vines, shrubs, and other flora were everywhere! But, alas the berries were either picked clean or unripe. Down the trail, paralleling Eagle Creek, views could be seen of the creek, and through the canopy of trees, the ridges above. The trail was apparently carved and blasted into the cliffside.
As I rounded a corner, Tunnel Falls could be seen, dramatically cascading from the cliff above. The trail actually tunnels into the rock, behind the falls! I can see why this was a popular spot for my family’s outdoor adventures when they lived in Portland.
It was a fresh start and I was determined to maintain unbroken footfalls all the way to Canada! Hitching out of Ashland was surprisingly easy and I was dropped off at the trailhead in the late morning. Each day I increased my mileage slightl, careful not to exceed 25. This is a difficult thing to do in Oregon as the trail is relatively flat. Ancient laval fields, now produce endless Lodgepole Pine forests. birds are scarce and the soil is sandy, not particularly rich. As Olivier and I neared Crater Lake, we began to see more Spruce, but still the terrain was flat.
It is amazing how hikers seem to collide in towns and at outposts. At Crater Lake, we ran into a sizable group of hikers, a “regular hiker-trash jamboree” as one hiker pointed out.
Even wreathed in haze from California’s fires, Crater Lake is a sight to behold. The cliffs of the once mammoth volcano crash hundreds of feet to the deep fjord-like like below. The trail around the lake, however, is difficult. There are many PUDs (pointless ups and downs) We could have walked the road that hugs the cliffs and had plenty of views.
After we left the rim, it was over 20 miles of flat pumice desert dotted with pines before water. At least it was flat, and Olivier and I, now accompanied by a third hiker, Forrest made excellent time to our early camp below Thielsen Peak
Days later, nearing McKenzie Pass, the weather began to turn. It began sprinkling in the evening and the three of us began looking for a camp. We passed several acceptable spots, but decided to continue. As the mist began to fall and blow harder we clambered up onto the lava rock path across the much less ancient lava field. One can feel every step on the sharp aa, Into the darkness we trudged. It would have been impossible to sleep on any of this terrain, but one of us, I can’t remember who spotted something, a structure. “We could always sleep in the public restroom at the pass”
We found something better. I would hazard to say that ANYTHING is better than sleeping in a public restroom however. But we found one of the most memorable camps of my entire hike. I didn’t see where Olivier and Forrest were going until we were on the stone path, circling upwards into lava ramparts. The McKenzie Pass Observatory. We hung our food to keep it away from rodents and huddled into the corners of the rock structure
It wasn’t exactly my most comfortable or warmest night, but we were well sheltered and it was fun to stay in such a structure. The early morning sunlight beamed through holes in the wall. WHile one could certainly fire arrows out of said holes, they were actually aligned to see surrounding mountains. Plaques on the wall said things like “Black Butte, elevation 7800 feet, 11.2 miles.” I don’t recall exact numbers, so please forgive the error if you happen to know it.
---
“You’ll Never Make it!” was drawn in sharpie on the bottom of a sign warning hikers of the snow levels near Mt. Jefferson. And so five hikers ignored the sign, and I believe many more. Forrest and I, sans Olivier, were now accompanied by Disco, P.O.D. and Hearsay. The first 20 miles came easily, but as we crested the shoulders of Mount Jefferson, the snow became heavier. Fog rolled in obscuring all views. As evening descended we gave up looking for the trail and settled into a cluster of spruce for the evening.
In the morning, Forrest could be heard several hundred feet down the hill shouting “Found it!” Presently we were joined by two other hikers, Truant, and Sweetfish. The seven of us traversed the slope, downward and finally stood on trail. There wasn’t much of it, but we had found it. From here we were able to traverse downward. Eventually the trail was more defined and easy to follow... really all the way to the end. But I am not there yet. An epic glissade met us on the north side of The View, where both Jefferson and Hood could be seen. in the now cloudless conditions.
---
Timberline Lodge was the setting for The Shining. The outside of the lodge might strike fear into some. It is a massive old ski lodge on the shoulders of Mount Hood, right at treeline. They have a very well known all you can eat breakfast buffet that hikers lust after for miles before and after. I got my 12 dollars worth in fresh juice alone! Forrest and I even shared a pizza before we staggered onward.
---
THe PCT splits near Eagle Creek. The official route is higher up and descends somewhere into Cascade Locks while the Eagle Creek route descends more quickly to... well Eagle Creek. This is a very scenic section of trail.
As the elevation dropped, the vegetation became increasingly moist. Berry vines, shrubs, and other flora were everywhere! But, alas the berries were either picked clean or unripe. Down the trail, paralleling Eagle Creek, views could be seen of the creek, and through the canopy of trees, the ridges above. The trail was apparently carved and blasted into the cliffside.
As I rounded a corner, Tunnel Falls could be seen, dramatically cascading from the cliff above. The trail actually tunnels into the rock, behind the falls! I can see why this was a popular spot for my family’s outdoor adventures when they lived in Portland.
Friday, July 18, 2008
“Hide your nethers”
Donner Pass to Ashland
I dropped my giant pack, I cut my pad in half, lost the ice axe, bear can. Out went a few clothing items, and I stuffed it all in a 3000 cubic inch frameless pack. In one hour, my base weight dropped by almost 10 pounds. After a four day break at home I was excited to get back on trail. Though I was never heavyweight, at about 17 pounds, being closer to eight pounds makes a huge difference.
My uncle dropped me off at Donner Pass at 6:30 AM saying “Watch your top knot” It took months for me to figure out that was paraphrased from the movie Jeremiah Johnson. I don’t think I’ll have to worry about getting scalped.
With a light pack I made 29.6 miles my first day back on trail, and it felt great! The next morning I arrived in Sierra City to hear news that the trail was on fire to the north. We could either hike a few miles, then get detoured on a road to Quincy, where we could road walk or hitch to Chester. Most hikers were hitching all the way to Chester. So that is what I did. I caught a ride in a small old convertible with two other hikers: A guy named Adam, who I had not yet met, and a familiar face, Dragon-Ant. Since we all had relatively small packs, cramming in a small car was not a problem. One ride later we were eating ice cream in Quincy. Two more rides and a meal later, I was solo, heading north from Chester, unable to contact the post office in Old Station to tell them to give my package to the Trail Angels. So I decided to take it easy and do four painfully slow days.
Its a good thing Drakesbad Guest Ranch exists! Here, Hikers can indulge in fantastic meals at a bargain, and hot springs. Hikers I met here included Cam and Pedro, a duo from the splintered quartet “Chicago Four” I met Alden and Trekker, also Voyageur and his nephew. I had seen them near Sierra City but had not yet talked with them.
The next afternoon Voyageur, Kyle, Alden and I set out towards Old Station and the Heitmans I don’t really know when the others left, I think earlier.
The Heitmans have a tree fort. And I’m not talking about some little piece of ply wood nailed into a crook in a gnarly oak. I am talking about a 300 square foot luxury skybox framed and sheltered with beds and a TV. As I pulled in, a veritable army of hikerish looking types swarmed like insects, gardening, and cooking. Team Washington, Naughty Eyes, Voyageur, Alden, myself and I am sure others were there to partake in Georgie Heitman’s policy of leaving no leftovers and hiding our “nethers”. It’s written on the wall above the dining table. I was careful to keep my legs together.
I took a zero day here preparing for a dreaded section, Hat Creek Rim. Miles of razor sharp rocks! The rim is an old lava field, strewn is “aa” WHich as Georgie pointed out is named for the noise one makes when they stub their toe on it, “Ah ah!”
So, it being July and forecasts for 110 degree temperatures, I waited until after dinner to leave. 12 after 6:00 brought me up on the rim, amid the moaning of cows. I set my alarm and slept for less than six hours, getting up at 4:00 am to get as many miles as I could before it got really hot. As it was, I slept in my shorts without my sleeping bag. By 8:00 I was at the cleverly named “Cache 22” a water cache along the rim. At 11:00 I took a brief, or so I thought to be brief break. I awoke at 12:30, too tired and hot to continue. With the temperature in the shade pushing 105 I set up for a long afternoon break. At 2:30 four stalwart, shirtless individuals trudged through the afternoon heat seeing me under the only substantial tree for miles.
I must have passed team Washington in the evening as I made my way in the relative cool of the evening and into the night. They passed me again the next day while I took a afternoon break at Rock Creek. And once again, energized by a long break, I sped onward in the evening, catching Team Washington within a mile of their camp. Despite the possibility of camp stove made pastry, I continued into the darkness again. I was on a mission to make friday mail at the post office.
I don’t believe I have discussed this, but logistics when shipping food to one’s self can be challenging. Should I do 35 mile days and make the post office on friday, possibly risk missing it and have to wait for two whole days? Or should I take it easy, maybe walking as few as 15 miles. I found myself counting days and miles quite often, trying to keep some sort of semblance of a schedule.
---
As I got up from a break just to the west of the Trinity Divide, my knee suddenly flopped, bringing me right back to the ground. This again? I struggled to keep the muscles engaged, and somehow kept up with Cam and Pedro, whom I had caught at Castella.
After seven painful miles the next day, I hitched to Etna. At least I could catch the baseball all star game.
And that was all the hiking I did between Tahoe and Ashland. I would have something to go back for. Five zero days later I felt healthy having spent a considerable amount of time icing, stretching, reading, eating, and watching garbage on TV. Due to the continuing fires, the Marble Mountains were closed and the area to the north was extremely smokey. Sheik Olivier had caught up and we decided to start fresh in Ashland.
I dropped my giant pack, I cut my pad in half, lost the ice axe, bear can. Out went a few clothing items, and I stuffed it all in a 3000 cubic inch frameless pack. In one hour, my base weight dropped by almost 10 pounds. After a four day break at home I was excited to get back on trail. Though I was never heavyweight, at about 17 pounds, being closer to eight pounds makes a huge difference.
My uncle dropped me off at Donner Pass at 6:30 AM saying “Watch your top knot” It took months for me to figure out that was paraphrased from the movie Jeremiah Johnson. I don’t think I’ll have to worry about getting scalped.
With a light pack I made 29.6 miles my first day back on trail, and it felt great! The next morning I arrived in Sierra City to hear news that the trail was on fire to the north. We could either hike a few miles, then get detoured on a road to Quincy, where we could road walk or hitch to Chester. Most hikers were hitching all the way to Chester. So that is what I did. I caught a ride in a small old convertible with two other hikers: A guy named Adam, who I had not yet met, and a familiar face, Dragon-Ant. Since we all had relatively small packs, cramming in a small car was not a problem. One ride later we were eating ice cream in Quincy. Two more rides and a meal later, I was solo, heading north from Chester, unable to contact the post office in Old Station to tell them to give my package to the Trail Angels. So I decided to take it easy and do four painfully slow days.
Its a good thing Drakesbad Guest Ranch exists! Here, Hikers can indulge in fantastic meals at a bargain, and hot springs. Hikers I met here included Cam and Pedro, a duo from the splintered quartet “Chicago Four” I met Alden and Trekker, also Voyageur and his nephew. I had seen them near Sierra City but had not yet talked with them.
The next afternoon Voyageur, Kyle, Alden and I set out towards Old Station and the Heitmans I don’t really know when the others left, I think earlier.
The Heitmans have a tree fort. And I’m not talking about some little piece of ply wood nailed into a crook in a gnarly oak. I am talking about a 300 square foot luxury skybox framed and sheltered with beds and a TV. As I pulled in, a veritable army of hikerish looking types swarmed like insects, gardening, and cooking. Team Washington, Naughty Eyes, Voyageur, Alden, myself and I am sure others were there to partake in Georgie Heitman’s policy of leaving no leftovers and hiding our “nethers”. It’s written on the wall above the dining table. I was careful to keep my legs together.
I took a zero day here preparing for a dreaded section, Hat Creek Rim. Miles of razor sharp rocks! The rim is an old lava field, strewn is “aa” WHich as Georgie pointed out is named for the noise one makes when they stub their toe on it, “Ah ah!”
So, it being July and forecasts for 110 degree temperatures, I waited until after dinner to leave. 12 after 6:00 brought me up on the rim, amid the moaning of cows. I set my alarm and slept for less than six hours, getting up at 4:00 am to get as many miles as I could before it got really hot. As it was, I slept in my shorts without my sleeping bag. By 8:00 I was at the cleverly named “Cache 22” a water cache along the rim. At 11:00 I took a brief, or so I thought to be brief break. I awoke at 12:30, too tired and hot to continue. With the temperature in the shade pushing 105 I set up for a long afternoon break. At 2:30 four stalwart, shirtless individuals trudged through the afternoon heat seeing me under the only substantial tree for miles.
I must have passed team Washington in the evening as I made my way in the relative cool of the evening and into the night. They passed me again the next day while I took a afternoon break at Rock Creek. And once again, energized by a long break, I sped onward in the evening, catching Team Washington within a mile of their camp. Despite the possibility of camp stove made pastry, I continued into the darkness again. I was on a mission to make friday mail at the post office.
I don’t believe I have discussed this, but logistics when shipping food to one’s self can be challenging. Should I do 35 mile days and make the post office on friday, possibly risk missing it and have to wait for two whole days? Or should I take it easy, maybe walking as few as 15 miles. I found myself counting days and miles quite often, trying to keep some sort of semblance of a schedule.
---
As I got up from a break just to the west of the Trinity Divide, my knee suddenly flopped, bringing me right back to the ground. This again? I struggled to keep the muscles engaged, and somehow kept up with Cam and Pedro, whom I had caught at Castella.
After seven painful miles the next day, I hitched to Etna. At least I could catch the baseball all star game.
And that was all the hiking I did between Tahoe and Ashland. I would have something to go back for. Five zero days later I felt healthy having spent a considerable amount of time icing, stretching, reading, eating, and watching garbage on TV. Due to the continuing fires, the Marble Mountains were closed and the area to the north was extremely smokey. Sheik Olivier had caught up and we decided to start fresh in Ashland.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Through Fire and Ice
Kennedy Meadows to Donner Pass
“Is that smoke? Someone must have a big campfire.” Were the responses to seeing a plume of white smoking coming from a cluster of trees close to Monache Meadows. Pac-Man and I tied bandanas around our faces and grabbed our Ice axes. We dropped our packs and headed cross country to the source of the smoke. There was a small sage field, ablaze and several dead trees. I wold like to think that if we had a larger party than four, we may have stood a chance at extinguishing the mysterious fire. On later reflection, It was unstoppable. Rather than retrace our steps to Kennedy Meadows, 12 or so miles, we chose to press onward and look for a cel signal higher up in the mountains. Dragon-Ant made a heroic push for a summit, making 12 miles in three hours and calling out to report what we had found.
Despite early warning The Clover fire burned some 16,000 acres and detoured many hikers in the next week. Lumbar, Sheik Olivier, Ninja Tortoise, and the Waffles who caught up with us at camp reported the fire had grown noticeably. Side note: This was my largest camp party. Nine hikers.
---
“My batteries are dead. I have to get replacements if I am going to climb Whitney!” I told Lumbar, Dragon-Ant and Sheik Olivier. Two hours later I found my self at what I thought was Guitar Lake, looking up a drainage toward the spires of treeless 13,000 and 14,000 foot peaks. I scrambled up boulders to find a frozen lake. “This must be Guitar Lake” I thought. I picked my way through the sun cups and rocks on the shoreline. By noon I was looking up the north face of Whitney. I had gone up the wrong drainage and was debating climbing the steep slope. I thought I could really surprise the trio who had gone ahead of me.
Ice axe out and crampons on I started up the slushy slope. Passing 13,000 feet easily. I found a gently sloped chute and climbed diagonally up and right. I looked at my altimeter, 13,500 feet. 1000 feet to go! But as I climbed higher, I found the snow dangerously unstable. six inches of slush sat on a frozen layer and the slope was getting steeper. Several loose rocks sat in the snow fields and at close to 13,700 feet I finally came to my sense. “This isn’t safe!”
Altitude can do weird things to people. Some get headaches, some get nauseous, I get delusions of grandeur. Though I still think I could have climbed it. I now have a tumultuous relationship with peak bagging. It doesn’t seem important to me, but part of me regrets not having bagged Whitney.
---
Between Kennedy Meadows and Yosemite, the PCT rarely descends below tree line and crests numerous 11,000 foot passes: Forester, Glenn, Mather, Muir, Pinchot to name a few. I celebrated Forester Pass with an Apple, and Muir Pass with an Orange. I had to keep up my fresh fruit tradition.
I hiked from Kearsarge Pass to Mammoth with Lumbar and Olivier, stopping at Vermilion Valley Resort (VVR) for a brief rest. The southern Sierra Nevada was one of the most spectacular places I have ever visited. In early June, it is still wintery. Snow covers every north facing slope. Every pass is covered and many lakes still have thick ice. Runoff is high resulting in swift cold creeks and dangerous crossings. Water pools everywhere it can and forms small creeks on the trail. It is impossible to keep one’s shoes dry. Some people pack shoes specifically for creek crossing, but this rarely works out well. Most hikers find that having quickly drying shoes is the best remedy. An hour of hiking will get them mostly dry. I followed this advice and stayed warm, mostly. Only a couple mornings did I find my shoes frozen solid.
---
From Mammoth to Echo lake I hiked solo. This was the most solo hiking I had yet done. It was also through the area where Yosemite's problem bears are sent. I didn’t see one.
After the Southern Sierra, this area was somewhat less remarkable, though still beautiful. I found that I preferred the sparse, stark, icy, arctic landscape above treeline.
The trail in Yosemite is poorly marked and maintained in an interesting sort of way. There are stairs, and it seems that the trail is always built in a drainage. I couldn’t go more than 100 yards without marching through a puddle.
On June 21st Lightning struck. It struck again. Hail fell and I tossed my poles aside and crouched on the ground like the books say to do. Just south of Ebbet’s Pass and almost at the highest point, I had to make it over. I grabbed my poles and made the pass on a dead sprint, glissading the north side. I wish I had video of that one!
Two days later I awoke to smoke. I was camped just south of The Elephant’s Back near Carson Pass. Inquiries at the Carson Pass ranger station revealed no news about fires. Through thick smoke, I made 12 miles to Echo Lakes where I met my cousins Dylan and Billy. I marched up wearing my salt stained red shit, dirty bandana and a frayed straw hat I had bought at Red’s Meadows to replaced a hat I had lost a day earlier. Billy greeted me with the words. “You smell homeless”
Dylan, Billy and I hiked to Tamarack Lake and set up camp. I had to return to Eco Lake the next morning to retrieve my resupply box from my parents. I packed up much of my cousins’ unneeded gear and set off to retrace my steps. It was only a three mile hike, but I just so happened to meet two northbound PCT hikers, Disco, and P.O.D. with whom I had camped after Forester Pass. Satisfied with my explanation as to why I was hiking south, they went on their way.
I returned to Tamarack Lake with fresh food, and my parents! Two miles later at Lake Aloha, My dad fished out of his pack two four packs of sausage, two loafs of bread and a head of cabbage. With three differing cook sets, a Whisperlite, a canister, and my alcohol stove, we cooked and ate sausage by the smoke shrouded lake. That was the best trail meal to date. While all three stoves cooked similarly, everyone was interested to see my soda can alcohol stove spitting out hot blue flames. No wonder many hikers use those!
My cousins and I parted ways with my parents and camped at Gilmore Lake. The mosquitoes had gone from being almost non existent even in Yosemite to being a major force. Our evening’s activities such as diner and fishing were cut short thanks to the pesky insects and we crawled into our respective tent, Billy and I into our tiny one man shelters and Dylan into a palatial three man tent.
The next day we made decent miles and camped at Richardson Lake, just outside Desolation Wilderness. The cousins were thoroughly spent and decided to bail out on a road to Meek’s Bay, where my uncle’s sailboat is kept. I caught up with the hiker Stilts who had passed us in Desolation and we hiked to I-80 together.
---
There were almost 2000 separate fires in June of 2008 in California, one of the most destructive fire seasons ever. Most were started during the lightning storms around June 21st.
“Is that smoke? Someone must have a big campfire.” Were the responses to seeing a plume of white smoking coming from a cluster of trees close to Monache Meadows. Pac-Man and I tied bandanas around our faces and grabbed our Ice axes. We dropped our packs and headed cross country to the source of the smoke. There was a small sage field, ablaze and several dead trees. I wold like to think that if we had a larger party than four, we may have stood a chance at extinguishing the mysterious fire. On later reflection, It was unstoppable. Rather than retrace our steps to Kennedy Meadows, 12 or so miles, we chose to press onward and look for a cel signal higher up in the mountains. Dragon-Ant made a heroic push for a summit, making 12 miles in three hours and calling out to report what we had found.
Despite early warning The Clover fire burned some 16,000 acres and detoured many hikers in the next week. Lumbar, Sheik Olivier, Ninja Tortoise, and the Waffles who caught up with us at camp reported the fire had grown noticeably. Side note: This was my largest camp party. Nine hikers.
---
“My batteries are dead. I have to get replacements if I am going to climb Whitney!” I told Lumbar, Dragon-Ant and Sheik Olivier. Two hours later I found my self at what I thought was Guitar Lake, looking up a drainage toward the spires of treeless 13,000 and 14,000 foot peaks. I scrambled up boulders to find a frozen lake. “This must be Guitar Lake” I thought. I picked my way through the sun cups and rocks on the shoreline. By noon I was looking up the north face of Whitney. I had gone up the wrong drainage and was debating climbing the steep slope. I thought I could really surprise the trio who had gone ahead of me.
Ice axe out and crampons on I started up the slushy slope. Passing 13,000 feet easily. I found a gently sloped chute and climbed diagonally up and right. I looked at my altimeter, 13,500 feet. 1000 feet to go! But as I climbed higher, I found the snow dangerously unstable. six inches of slush sat on a frozen layer and the slope was getting steeper. Several loose rocks sat in the snow fields and at close to 13,700 feet I finally came to my sense. “This isn’t safe!”
Altitude can do weird things to people. Some get headaches, some get nauseous, I get delusions of grandeur. Though I still think I could have climbed it. I now have a tumultuous relationship with peak bagging. It doesn’t seem important to me, but part of me regrets not having bagged Whitney.
---
Between Kennedy Meadows and Yosemite, the PCT rarely descends below tree line and crests numerous 11,000 foot passes: Forester, Glenn, Mather, Muir, Pinchot to name a few. I celebrated Forester Pass with an Apple, and Muir Pass with an Orange. I had to keep up my fresh fruit tradition.
I hiked from Kearsarge Pass to Mammoth with Lumbar and Olivier, stopping at Vermilion Valley Resort (VVR) for a brief rest. The southern Sierra Nevada was one of the most spectacular places I have ever visited. In early June, it is still wintery. Snow covers every north facing slope. Every pass is covered and many lakes still have thick ice. Runoff is high resulting in swift cold creeks and dangerous crossings. Water pools everywhere it can and forms small creeks on the trail. It is impossible to keep one’s shoes dry. Some people pack shoes specifically for creek crossing, but this rarely works out well. Most hikers find that having quickly drying shoes is the best remedy. An hour of hiking will get them mostly dry. I followed this advice and stayed warm, mostly. Only a couple mornings did I find my shoes frozen solid.
---
From Mammoth to Echo lake I hiked solo. This was the most solo hiking I had yet done. It was also through the area where Yosemite's problem bears are sent. I didn’t see one.
After the Southern Sierra, this area was somewhat less remarkable, though still beautiful. I found that I preferred the sparse, stark, icy, arctic landscape above treeline.
The trail in Yosemite is poorly marked and maintained in an interesting sort of way. There are stairs, and it seems that the trail is always built in a drainage. I couldn’t go more than 100 yards without marching through a puddle.
On June 21st Lightning struck. It struck again. Hail fell and I tossed my poles aside and crouched on the ground like the books say to do. Just south of Ebbet’s Pass and almost at the highest point, I had to make it over. I grabbed my poles and made the pass on a dead sprint, glissading the north side. I wish I had video of that one!
Two days later I awoke to smoke. I was camped just south of The Elephant’s Back near Carson Pass. Inquiries at the Carson Pass ranger station revealed no news about fires. Through thick smoke, I made 12 miles to Echo Lakes where I met my cousins Dylan and Billy. I marched up wearing my salt stained red shit, dirty bandana and a frayed straw hat I had bought at Red’s Meadows to replaced a hat I had lost a day earlier. Billy greeted me with the words. “You smell homeless”
Dylan, Billy and I hiked to Tamarack Lake and set up camp. I had to return to Eco Lake the next morning to retrieve my resupply box from my parents. I packed up much of my cousins’ unneeded gear and set off to retrace my steps. It was only a three mile hike, but I just so happened to meet two northbound PCT hikers, Disco, and P.O.D. with whom I had camped after Forester Pass. Satisfied with my explanation as to why I was hiking south, they went on their way.
I returned to Tamarack Lake with fresh food, and my parents! Two miles later at Lake Aloha, My dad fished out of his pack two four packs of sausage, two loafs of bread and a head of cabbage. With three differing cook sets, a Whisperlite, a canister, and my alcohol stove, we cooked and ate sausage by the smoke shrouded lake. That was the best trail meal to date. While all three stoves cooked similarly, everyone was interested to see my soda can alcohol stove spitting out hot blue flames. No wonder many hikers use those!
My cousins and I parted ways with my parents and camped at Gilmore Lake. The mosquitoes had gone from being almost non existent even in Yosemite to being a major force. Our evening’s activities such as diner and fishing were cut short thanks to the pesky insects and we crawled into our respective tent, Billy and I into our tiny one man shelters and Dylan into a palatial three man tent.
The next day we made decent miles and camped at Richardson Lake, just outside Desolation Wilderness. The cousins were thoroughly spent and decided to bail out on a road to Meek’s Bay, where my uncle’s sailboat is kept. I caught up with the hiker Stilts who had passed us in Desolation and we hiked to I-80 together.
---
There were almost 2000 separate fires in June of 2008 in California, one of the most destructive fire seasons ever. Most were started during the lightning storms around June 21st.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Watch Out for Mobile Meth Labs!
Agua Dulce to Kennedy Meadows
Why is it called “Casa de Luna?” I asked my self over a mountainous pile of taco salad in the evening, then an equally substantial stack of pancakes in the morning. The eight hikers who stayed posed for a photo in front of our hosts’ garage, amid bags of recycling, mostly beer cans. Our hosts stood in the drive way, one holding a camer, the other with thumbs placed in her pants waistband. “One, two... three! All eight of us turned in horror as the “Luna” part was revealed. So that’s why the pictures of hikers are so... awkward.
---
Won’t you take me to? Hikertown? Won’t you take me to? Hikertown...
I have now validated my thru-hiker permit, having passed mile 500. I made my way along a fence line in the quickly darkening evening on my way to Hikertown. Coming up was one of the more feared PCT sections. 16 miles of violently exposed desert. Hikers who tread this far must walk dusty sandy roads avoiding green Mojave rattlers and mobile meth labs with taped over headlamps.
So as the vehicle approached, headlights dimmed my duct tape. I dove off the side of the road, hiding behind a rather unsubstantial creosote bush. Poor Ninja Tortoise was left to talk to himself and face the van alone. His stitched together 20 year old REI pack slapped against the back of his thighs as the van lurked closer.
However much I would like to relate a dangerous or interesting incident, to do so would be a lie. 16 miles passed in five easy night hiking hours. Ninja Tortoise and I camped under the stars at Cottonwood Creek, a generous name for a dry wash under a bridge.
As Zoner, who I caught up with climbing out of the desert, and I lay under a Pinon Pine passing the hot afternoon, three hikers came wheezing around a corner. Determined to make the road by evening. All three had blisters. It is difficult to NOT sound like a bossy, know-it-all, but hikers shouldn't do this. It is not wise to hiker in 90 degree plus temperatures. you WILL get blisters, you WILL be in pain. This is why I hiked the aqueduct at night and this is why Zoner was well known for taking considerable breaks in the afternoon. 20 before 12:00 and 10 after 5:00 will get you to Canada very quickly!
---
The Tehachapi Mountains are tough. There are lots of ups and downs, it’s hot, tiring. Well. That's what people tell you. Challenging miles become significantly easier when the temperature doesn’t peak above 60. Zorro and I, who were in Mojave at the same time made our way through the mountains under partly cloudy skies and a persistent wind. Other hikers we met along way included Scratches and Oasis, Ninja Tortoise, Lei Low, and Suntan and Waffles, a duo of prolific drinkers from Chico. They packed a 32 ounce water container full of something resembling paint thinner mixed with lighter fluid. The “Rum dummies” which they mixed, one part Gatorade and ten times that of the lighter fluid, resulted in a drink that caused my eyes to bleed with a mere sniff. I didn’t get any closer to it than a sniff. One hiker got too close to it and ended up with a Rum Dummy mashed potato bacon smoothie covered sleeping bag in the morning.
I can’t imagine mixing alcohol with hiking. Thought I don’t mix alcohol with anything personally.
So Suntan, Waffles, Scratches, and Oasis were slightly subdued at camp that eevening. Those four, Ninja Tortoise, Lei Low, Zorro, and I shared a campsite and fire. My first fire on trail. This was also the largest group I camped with to this point. And was only exceeded by a group in the southern Sierras.
The next morning it actually snowed. I was an interesting sight making my way along the trail wearing a $1.99 clear plastic poncho.
Farewell Zorro. We will miss your trekking pole slashed “Z” in the trail and snow.
Scratches, Oasis, Zorro, and I shared pizza in Lake Isabella before Zorro made his way off to other things. With a two month visa, he was unlikely to make the Sierras in his allotted time. He will return to take on the entire PCT.
I Left Walker pass with a hiker whom I had met a couple time, and seen braving 95 degree temperatures at 3:00 in the afternoon near Mojave. Sheik Olivier and I ended up hiking together quite a bit! We arrived after two nights and 50 miles at Kennedy Meadows.
KM, as It is called signals the beginning of the Sierras. This is where ice axes, crampons, puffy jackets, and bear canisters are sent. The tiny outpost is set on the edge of a sage meadow at the 7000. Hikers gather, talk, and team up to face the still snowy mountains.
Why is it called “Casa de Luna?” I asked my self over a mountainous pile of taco salad in the evening, then an equally substantial stack of pancakes in the morning. The eight hikers who stayed posed for a photo in front of our hosts’ garage, amid bags of recycling, mostly beer cans. Our hosts stood in the drive way, one holding a camer, the other with thumbs placed in her pants waistband. “One, two... three! All eight of us turned in horror as the “Luna” part was revealed. So that’s why the pictures of hikers are so... awkward.
---
Won’t you take me to? Hikertown? Won’t you take me to? Hikertown...
I have now validated my thru-hiker permit, having passed mile 500. I made my way along a fence line in the quickly darkening evening on my way to Hikertown. Coming up was one of the more feared PCT sections. 16 miles of violently exposed desert. Hikers who tread this far must walk dusty sandy roads avoiding green Mojave rattlers and mobile meth labs with taped over headlamps.
So as the vehicle approached, headlights dimmed my duct tape. I dove off the side of the road, hiding behind a rather unsubstantial creosote bush. Poor Ninja Tortoise was left to talk to himself and face the van alone. His stitched together 20 year old REI pack slapped against the back of his thighs as the van lurked closer.
However much I would like to relate a dangerous or interesting incident, to do so would be a lie. 16 miles passed in five easy night hiking hours. Ninja Tortoise and I camped under the stars at Cottonwood Creek, a generous name for a dry wash under a bridge.
As Zoner, who I caught up with climbing out of the desert, and I lay under a Pinon Pine passing the hot afternoon, three hikers came wheezing around a corner. Determined to make the road by evening. All three had blisters. It is difficult to NOT sound like a bossy, know-it-all, but hikers shouldn't do this. It is not wise to hiker in 90 degree plus temperatures. you WILL get blisters, you WILL be in pain. This is why I hiked the aqueduct at night and this is why Zoner was well known for taking considerable breaks in the afternoon. 20 before 12:00 and 10 after 5:00 will get you to Canada very quickly!
---
The Tehachapi Mountains are tough. There are lots of ups and downs, it’s hot, tiring. Well. That's what people tell you. Challenging miles become significantly easier when the temperature doesn’t peak above 60. Zorro and I, who were in Mojave at the same time made our way through the mountains under partly cloudy skies and a persistent wind. Other hikers we met along way included Scratches and Oasis, Ninja Tortoise, Lei Low, and Suntan and Waffles, a duo of prolific drinkers from Chico. They packed a 32 ounce water container full of something resembling paint thinner mixed with lighter fluid. The “Rum dummies” which they mixed, one part Gatorade and ten times that of the lighter fluid, resulted in a drink that caused my eyes to bleed with a mere sniff. I didn’t get any closer to it than a sniff. One hiker got too close to it and ended up with a Rum Dummy mashed potato bacon smoothie covered sleeping bag in the morning.
I can’t imagine mixing alcohol with hiking. Thought I don’t mix alcohol with anything personally.
So Suntan, Waffles, Scratches, and Oasis were slightly subdued at camp that eevening. Those four, Ninja Tortoise, Lei Low, Zorro, and I shared a campsite and fire. My first fire on trail. This was also the largest group I camped with to this point. And was only exceeded by a group in the southern Sierras.
The next morning it actually snowed. I was an interesting sight making my way along the trail wearing a $1.99 clear plastic poncho.
Farewell Zorro. We will miss your trekking pole slashed “Z” in the trail and snow.
Scratches, Oasis, Zorro, and I shared pizza in Lake Isabella before Zorro made his way off to other things. With a two month visa, he was unlikely to make the Sierras in his allotted time. He will return to take on the entire PCT.
I Left Walker pass with a hiker whom I had met a couple time, and seen braving 95 degree temperatures at 3:00 in the afternoon near Mojave. Sheik Olivier and I ended up hiking together quite a bit! We arrived after two nights and 50 miles at Kennedy Meadows.
KM, as It is called signals the beginning of the Sierras. This is where ice axes, crampons, puffy jackets, and bear canisters are sent. The tiny outpost is set on the edge of a sage meadow at the 7000. Hikers gather, talk, and team up to face the still snowy mountains.
Monday, May 12, 2008
What Am I Doing Here?
Campo to Agua Dulce
“I wanted to go to Vancouver to eat Chinese food, but was too cheap to buy a plane ticket.” This entry can be found in the trail register at Campo, the southern terminus for the PCT I left April 12 2008.
----
May 12 signaled my one month anniversary. One month? It took my cousin three hours to drive I-5 from this point to San Diego. It took 30 days to hike back. It was an amazing 30 days. If it weren’t would I have continued? One day one I was lost. On day 30 I felt strong and experienced, not exactly a grizzled grey bearded veteran, but like I deserved to be there. Complete entries can be found at www.trailjournals.com/gpramuk
---
Day one was a shock to the system. As I turned northward, the southern California desert stretched before me. Three people were present to hear me ask “OK Now where do I go?” Three miles in I saw my first on trail snake, not a rattler, six miles in I ate my first fresh fruit, a mango I packed for a celebratory snack. Fresh fruit would become a tradition I would endeavor to maintain throughout my hike. I struggled up my first big climb at mile 16. I even at an MRE, an experience I would not duplicate for the rest.. lets say ever! I saw other hikers but hiked alone and camped alone, something to which I would become very accustomed I can not stress the word “very enough” for more read about my CDT journey.
Day two brought my first actual contact with other hikers. Hiker Dave, who quickly became “Sits on Yucca” thanks to an unfortunate incident involving a pointy desert shrub and the poor guys rear end. I also met a hiker named Argentina, and another named Zoner. His name will appear several times during this entry.
I must digress to discuss trail names. Hikers adopt names which they go by on trail. A trail name can be chosen, but is often earned by doing something unique, or downright stupid. One might be named for a piece of gear or a snack they often eat.
On day four Zoner called me San Gabriel. It is not because I liv in Southern California, or have anything to do with the mountain range. My name is Gabriel and... and... It just sort of rolled off the tung. I adopted it quickly fearing I might be named after my numerous pieces of orange gear.
By Warner Springs at mile 110 I was feeling rather disabled. I barely manage the relatively short walk from Barrel Springs to Warner Springs. One day of hot springs and icing didn’t stop the pain, but it did dull it. My knee no longer flopped like metal chain in a tube sock. As long as I kept my knee somewhat bent and engaged I felt like I could walk. I wasn’t about to go home after a mere 110 miles. I set out in my typically quixotic sort of way, KNOWING that THIS is what I wanted to do. 110 miles was already more miles than I had ever done in a single backpacking trip. On later review, it is twice that of any previous trek. This is not as uncommon as one might think. I have heard of hikers who’s first ever backpacking experience is a thru-hike.
Anyway, The next 50 miles came more easily. Despite knee pain I trudged toward Idyllwild. (the knee pain turned out to be something related to repetitive stress and complicated stuff involving terms such as “overpronation” stemming from a poor choice in shoes and a heavy pack. I highly recommend going to a quality running store and having one’s feet looked at thoroughly. I now have shoes more suited for my bone structure.
Though I didn’t get new shoes in Idyllwild, I did get insoles. This helped a lot. They kept my feet aligned which helped the knee pain considerably.
Idyllwild was a fantastic trail town. I stayed with Zorro whom I had met in Warner Springs. I dined with Many hikers including the aforementioned Zoner. There was also Tarzan and Zelda, who I had met at about mile 55 and seen in Warner Springs. I finally met the infamous Frankosaurus. There was also Cactus, Blackfoot, So Far, Indiana Red, Slow Jo, Martin (Lei Low) I am sure I am forgetting a few.
We were warned about Fuller Ridge. I had an image in my mind of an exposed, windswept icy arctic ridge with cornices and avalanche fields; cliffs and chutes where falls resulted in fatal 8000 foot slides to the desert floor. So like some sort of expedition Six intrepid hikers set out, Ice axes attached to our packs, crampons for some. A hotshot kid wearing day glow mountaineering boots passed us on what seemed like a run. He was headed east of the trail. But the six of us trudged through melting spring snow toward the ever more daunting sounding Fuller Ridge. Snow! Ice! Deadly!
So where is it? I thought as evening set in and we camped with a view of interstate 10 to the north. We had spent several hours traversing a snow covered hillside with a possibly dangerous but likely not fatal slope. Trees were close together. I fell once, sliding into the well of a pine. That was Fuller Ridge?
---
Don’t go off trail. Don’t try to be clever. Just watch for blazes and you will make it. I giant log blocked my way, having fallen across the trail near Onyx Summit at about mile 250. I thought I would be clever and cut off a switchback, also avoid the dead tree. I hit a trail 100 yards up the hill and proceeded on my way. The path narrowed and eventually turned into a game trail. This emerged onto a dusty red dirt road. I tried to retrace my steps but found the trail forked many times. Well... the road has to go somewhere! I thought. after an hour and a half of walking on the dirt road I saw several buildings. Several very familiar looking buildings. It was the campsite that Zorro, Frankosaurus, and I had shared the previous evening. I stayed on trail the rest of the day and was passed by clean shaven guy (rare for hikers) with a laundry bag over one shoulder. “Day hiker? Here?” I thought It was Eric D. perennial PCT hiker capable of massive daily miles and a very rapid pace.
---
I don’t know when it happened, but I felt like a thru-hiker. I had been on trail for three weeks, and 300 miles. I had resupplied, summited Mount Baden Powell, changed gear, changed shoes, adopted new strategies which I had never used in my previous hiking experiences. Though I never exactly had doubt, I felt as if this recent obsession would be completed. By The end of the summer I would have the PCT checked off on my life list.
Miles suddenly seemed to fly by. My daily average soon passed 20 and long days pushed, but never exceeded 30. As the one month point neared. I pulled into Saufley’s In Agua Dulce. Zorro, Zoner, Frankosaurus, Lei Low, and I celebrated with a barbecue. And I bought a new pair of shoes, a pair which would last for almost 1200 miles!
“I wanted to go to Vancouver to eat Chinese food, but was too cheap to buy a plane ticket.” This entry can be found in the trail register at Campo, the southern terminus for the PCT I left April 12 2008.
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May 12 signaled my one month anniversary. One month? It took my cousin three hours to drive I-5 from this point to San Diego. It took 30 days to hike back. It was an amazing 30 days. If it weren’t would I have continued? One day one I was lost. On day 30 I felt strong and experienced, not exactly a grizzled grey bearded veteran, but like I deserved to be there. Complete entries can be found at www.trailjournals.com/gpramuk
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Day one was a shock to the system. As I turned northward, the southern California desert stretched before me. Three people were present to hear me ask “OK Now where do I go?” Three miles in I saw my first on trail snake, not a rattler, six miles in I ate my first fresh fruit, a mango I packed for a celebratory snack. Fresh fruit would become a tradition I would endeavor to maintain throughout my hike. I struggled up my first big climb at mile 16. I even at an MRE, an experience I would not duplicate for the rest.. lets say ever! I saw other hikers but hiked alone and camped alone, something to which I would become very accustomed I can not stress the word “very enough” for more read about my CDT journey.
Day two brought my first actual contact with other hikers. Hiker Dave, who quickly became “Sits on Yucca” thanks to an unfortunate incident involving a pointy desert shrub and the poor guys rear end. I also met a hiker named Argentina, and another named Zoner. His name will appear several times during this entry.
I must digress to discuss trail names. Hikers adopt names which they go by on trail. A trail name can be chosen, but is often earned by doing something unique, or downright stupid. One might be named for a piece of gear or a snack they often eat.
On day four Zoner called me San Gabriel. It is not because I liv in Southern California, or have anything to do with the mountain range. My name is Gabriel and... and... It just sort of rolled off the tung. I adopted it quickly fearing I might be named after my numerous pieces of orange gear.
By Warner Springs at mile 110 I was feeling rather disabled. I barely manage the relatively short walk from Barrel Springs to Warner Springs. One day of hot springs and icing didn’t stop the pain, but it did dull it. My knee no longer flopped like metal chain in a tube sock. As long as I kept my knee somewhat bent and engaged I felt like I could walk. I wasn’t about to go home after a mere 110 miles. I set out in my typically quixotic sort of way, KNOWING that THIS is what I wanted to do. 110 miles was already more miles than I had ever done in a single backpacking trip. On later review, it is twice that of any previous trek. This is not as uncommon as one might think. I have heard of hikers who’s first ever backpacking experience is a thru-hike.
Anyway, The next 50 miles came more easily. Despite knee pain I trudged toward Idyllwild. (the knee pain turned out to be something related to repetitive stress and complicated stuff involving terms such as “overpronation” stemming from a poor choice in shoes and a heavy pack. I highly recommend going to a quality running store and having one’s feet looked at thoroughly. I now have shoes more suited for my bone structure.
Though I didn’t get new shoes in Idyllwild, I did get insoles. This helped a lot. They kept my feet aligned which helped the knee pain considerably.
Idyllwild was a fantastic trail town. I stayed with Zorro whom I had met in Warner Springs. I dined with Many hikers including the aforementioned Zoner. There was also Tarzan and Zelda, who I had met at about mile 55 and seen in Warner Springs. I finally met the infamous Frankosaurus. There was also Cactus, Blackfoot, So Far, Indiana Red, Slow Jo, Martin (Lei Low) I am sure I am forgetting a few.
We were warned about Fuller Ridge. I had an image in my mind of an exposed, windswept icy arctic ridge with cornices and avalanche fields; cliffs and chutes where falls resulted in fatal 8000 foot slides to the desert floor. So like some sort of expedition Six intrepid hikers set out, Ice axes attached to our packs, crampons for some. A hotshot kid wearing day glow mountaineering boots passed us on what seemed like a run. He was headed east of the trail. But the six of us trudged through melting spring snow toward the ever more daunting sounding Fuller Ridge. Snow! Ice! Deadly!
So where is it? I thought as evening set in and we camped with a view of interstate 10 to the north. We had spent several hours traversing a snow covered hillside with a possibly dangerous but likely not fatal slope. Trees were close together. I fell once, sliding into the well of a pine. That was Fuller Ridge?
---
Don’t go off trail. Don’t try to be clever. Just watch for blazes and you will make it. I giant log blocked my way, having fallen across the trail near Onyx Summit at about mile 250. I thought I would be clever and cut off a switchback, also avoid the dead tree. I hit a trail 100 yards up the hill and proceeded on my way. The path narrowed and eventually turned into a game trail. This emerged onto a dusty red dirt road. I tried to retrace my steps but found the trail forked many times. Well... the road has to go somewhere! I thought. after an hour and a half of walking on the dirt road I saw several buildings. Several very familiar looking buildings. It was the campsite that Zorro, Frankosaurus, and I had shared the previous evening. I stayed on trail the rest of the day and was passed by clean shaven guy (rare for hikers) with a laundry bag over one shoulder. “Day hiker? Here?” I thought It was Eric D. perennial PCT hiker capable of massive daily miles and a very rapid pace.
---
I don’t know when it happened, but I felt like a thru-hiker. I had been on trail for three weeks, and 300 miles. I had resupplied, summited Mount Baden Powell, changed gear, changed shoes, adopted new strategies which I had never used in my previous hiking experiences. Though I never exactly had doubt, I felt as if this recent obsession would be completed. By The end of the summer I would have the PCT checked off on my life list.
Miles suddenly seemed to fly by. My daily average soon passed 20 and long days pushed, but never exceeded 30. As the one month point neared. I pulled into Saufley’s In Agua Dulce. Zorro, Zoner, Frankosaurus, Lei Low, and I celebrated with a barbecue. And I bought a new pair of shoes, a pair which would last for almost 1200 miles!
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Introduction
Welcome to the travel log of Gabriel Pramuk, or San Gabriel, the "trail name" I earned on the Pacific Crest Trail. Here you will see abridged journal entries and summaries of my time hiking, canoeing, biking, skiing, and whatever else I think of doing.
Obviously this entry is written later than it says.
After this entry, 2008 entries are for the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT), 2009 entries will be for the Continental Divide Trail (CDT), and 2010 entries will be for the Appalachian Trail (AT) and Northern Forest Canoe Trail (NFCT) and so on.
Obviously this entry is written later than it says.
After this entry, 2008 entries are for the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT), 2009 entries will be for the Continental Divide Trail (CDT), and 2010 entries will be for the Appalachian Trail (AT) and Northern Forest Canoe Trail (NFCT) and so on.
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