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.

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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?

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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.

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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!