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.
Monday, June 30, 2008
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.
----
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!
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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