6/11 788-811(23 miles)
6/12 811-833(22 miles)
6/13 833-853(20 miles)
6/14 853-878+1.5mile side trail(26.5 miles)
6/15 Vermillion Valley Resort. Zero miles
6/16 878-898 (20 miles)
6/17 898-906 (8 miles)
6/18 Mammoth Lakes! Zero Miles
This will be a strange post. I did not write any note during any of these days, and am writing all of these journals now. Sorry for the strange format. You will soon see why.
I awake in the morning after the storm and emerge to clear blue skies. Perfect conditions. After losing two days of food from my sickness and the storm, I now only have 3 days of food left. I estimate that it will take me four days to make it to my next stop. I think it over. I could turn around and head back down to town, losing days in the process, or I can push it and try to hurry to my next stop. My old reptilian inner brain tells me to run run run! Go for it! While my frontal lobe says, "Be rational. Do you really want to go through the most difficult section of the PCT with a limited amount of food?" As always, the lizard brain wins.
So begins my continued hike through the heart of the Sierra Nevada mountains. Every day I hike up and over 12,000 foot passes of ice and snow. I climb from the valleys with their trees and grasses and lush green, up into the world of the alpine with its rock and snow and sterile wind. This is some of the most difficult hiking I have ever done, and it was magnified by my lack of food. I should have been carrying extra, when instead I had less than normal. These days were a blur. I would arrive at the base of 3-4,000 foot climbs, and then I would eat a bunch of quick burn carbs and race up as fast as I could while I still had food energy. I would arrive at the top, drenched in sweat, gasping in the thin air, and then zombie walk down, my brain foggy from lack of food. I climb up and over Glenn pass. Mather pass. Pinchot. Muir. Selden. I write nothing. All of my brain power is focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Climb, descend. Climb, descend. Ford river. Climb, descend, ford river. A pattern emerges. I could feel my body shrinking. I could feel my pulse in my stomach when I lay for bed at night. The only thing that kept me enlivened was the endless beautiful vistas I had at the top of every pass. This place is perfect and beautiful and a backpacker's paradise.
Each day cannot be differentiated from the next. My mind is blank. I experience true hunger for the first time in my life. My body is eating itself. Regardless, I feel endlessly strong. I fly up every climb, feeling like I could walk forever.
At last I make it to the turn off to a backcountry resort called Vermillion Valley Resort. It lays in the edge of an enormous man made lake, or what was once an enormous man made lake that is now half the size it once was. A ferry exists to shuttle hikers from one side of the lake to another, but I miss the final ferry of the day. I camp on the dry lake bed, next to the shuttle pick up point and eat the last of my rationed food: bacon bits and prunes.
In the morning I awake and am shuttled by boat into the resort. Even with my brain so foggy I enjoy the boat ride immensely. I laugh as I am hit with spray from the water as we fly over the still lake. The boat makes it to the shore, and I stumble up to the restaurant at the resort and order two breakfasts. Before eating, I notice a scale next to the door of the restaurant. I stand on it and look at my weight: 173 pounds, twenty pounds down from my starting weight of 193 pounds.
Over the course of the afternoon and evening I eat five enormous meals. I pour food and drinks into my stomach. I come back to life. In the evening I step back on the scale and find that I now weigh 185 pounds. I was like a dried out sponge that was now once again full of liquid. My mind returned. I was back.
Unfortunately, my recovery ended up costing me over 150$ in under 24 hours. All of it was on food. Backcountry resorts can be mighty expensive.
I decide that I need to make some changes in my diet. This last section was far too hard on me. So far on this trip I have been hiking without a stove. With the bulk of my calories being bars, and nuts, and dried fruit. For dinner every night I was eating cold, dried mashed potatoes, mixed with tuna or bacon bits. I have gotten so sick of mashed potatoes that I eventually would just pour the powder in a bunch of water and gulp it down. I vow to never eat mashed potatoes ever again in my entire life. Thanksgiving? None!
I depart Vermillion Valley Resort and head back onto the trail with my body heavier, but my wallet much lighter. I rush through the next bit of trail until I reach the town of Mammoth Lakes, California, where I currently am. In town I buy a stove, and a new means of purifying my water- chlorine dioxide drops. I suspect that my filter was ruined during a cold night when it froze, and that is why I became sick. I take a much needed rest in town. I eat a ton of pizza, rest and regain my strength. I buy pasta and tortellini and plan to make elaborate trail dinners.
The deer in the Sierras have NO FEAR of people whatsoever. They have been walking through my campsites and have tried to chew on my backpack(presumably for the sweat residue). Another hiker had his socks stolen by a deer. If deer do not fear us, what will stop them from taking our place on the top of the food chain?! Oh yeah, their stupid little hooves.
I am feeling great after a little bit of rest and ready to hit the trail. I will soon be done with the Sierra Nevada mountains and will race my way though Northern California where the trail gets easier.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
6/7 mile 774-788+ 7.8 mile side trail(21.8 miles)
Last night I camped six miles from my first big hurdle of the Sierra Nevada range: 13,200 foot Forrester Pass- The highest point of the Pacific Crest Trail. What can I say about Forrester Pass? It holds a tremendous amount of symbolic value for me. For years, when I thought of the PCT, Forrester Pass was on the front of my mind. This pass was representative of all of my doubts about whether I could actually do something like this.
Near the top of the pass is a notoriously dangerous avalanche chute that hikers must cross. Envision if you will a greater than 45 degree slope that is covered with a sheet of rock hard ice, and imagine the bottom of the slope littered with enormous jagged boulders. Now, picture tiny foot holds cut into the sheet of ice, where foolish hikers can place tentative steps and work their way across. What would stop you if you fell here? Nothing! What would be your fate? Death or disfigurement! Therein lies the challenge of the Forrester Pass ice chute.
The morning started with a long climb up to the pass. I quickly climbed beyond the trees into a world of snow, and rock, and ice. Partially frozen crystal blue lakes lay all around me, and tiny streams of water cascaded everywhere, a byproduct of the summers attempt to melt the remaining snow and make us all forget about the winter.
Eventually I climb into the enormous flat expanse of rock below the towering wall of granite that is Forrester Pass. I look up at the enormous ridge of rocks, unbroken except for a small V in the middle of it- where the pass was. Now, I need to have a discussion with whomever named this place about what constitutes a pass. A tiny notch in a towering granite wall? Not a pass!
The trail was blasted, with dynamite, into the enormous wall of stone and switch backed up up up the face of the wall. I climb until I reach the avalanche chute: the place that I had been dreading for years. I was alone and feeling anxious as I looked at the sheet of ice. I stared at the rocks below and imagined my bones splintering as they crunched into them. I swallowed hard and took step after uncertain step as I made my way across the ice chute, hoping that each footstep would hold true. I made it across, at last, and quickly climbed up to the top of the pass.
I looked at the peaks of the Sierra Nevada stretched out in front of me like a fanned deck of cards, appearing endless. The wind was still. All was silent. I made it. This enormous psychological hurdle was behind me and every doubt or worry I had about my ability to complete this trip was erased. Pride. Joy. Euphoria. My body felt strong, and without limit. My mind no longer possessed the control over it as it once did. It was the best I have ever felt.
I was soon joined by a few other hikers, including one who did not have sunglasses or a hat(critical in the high mountains, especially on snow). His eyes were swollen and watery. I made him a pair of makeshift eskimo glasses from a strip of my sleeping pad, which protected his eyes and made him look like a teenage mutant ninja turtle, much to my chagrin.
After lingering for an hour, I made my way down the pass into the valley below. Away from the still and cold and sterility of the high alpine and back into the world of trees and life and green. I posthole through a few snowfields on the way down, and walk along rivers of snowmelt. Towards the end of the day, low on food and supplies, I take an 8 mile side trail over Kearsarge Pass and down to a trailhead above the town of Independence, California. I eventually get a ride into town, book a motel room, and look everywhere for something to fill my empty stomach. Nothing was found. All of the stores and restaurants in this small town closed early. I return to my motel room and eat an unsatisfying dinner of protein bars and dried plums.
6/8 no miles!
Staying in town today. This place is only at 5,000 feet, on the desert floor below the mountains, and it is boiling hot. 106 degrees. I eat and sleep and eat and sleep and eat and sleep and eat and sleep. Taking a break from eating and sleeping, I take a swim in the motel pool where I try to test out my newfound lung strength by swimming the length of the pool underwater. I succeed, but slam my face into the concrete wall of the pool's edge. Crawling out of the pool with a bloody nose, scrambled brain, and shattered ego, I am shamed by my hubris.
6/9 (4 mile side trail)
After a frustratingly long time trying to hitchhike back to the trailhead, I get a ride with a local biologist. Once on the trail I start to feel a little queasy. I only make it 4 miles up the trail before I camp out. I have, without exaggeration, numerous periods of 30 second long flatulence, and feel weak and have very poor morale. Recognizing that I may be experiencing some initial signs of Giardia (a stomach infection contracted from drinking from backcountry water sources), I take some medication and go to bed early.
6/10(3 miles along side trail)
I awake early, feeling strong and recovered from my illness, and climb up and over Kearsarge pass to return to the PCT. The weather, however, is completely indifferent to my plans. The morning started with 80 degree temperatures and clear blue skies, but within an hour the sky darkens, and the temperature drops to near freezing. Sleet and snow begin falling, and playing it safe after my recent illness, I decide to hunker down for the day and wait out the storm. I was at 11,000 feet as the wind whipped around me and snow and rain and hail pelted my shelter. I was alone and had no other source of entertainment, so I watched the videos I had recorded of the trip so far on my camera. It was like watching television, but far more lonely.
Last night I camped six miles from my first big hurdle of the Sierra Nevada range: 13,200 foot Forrester Pass- The highest point of the Pacific Crest Trail. What can I say about Forrester Pass? It holds a tremendous amount of symbolic value for me. For years, when I thought of the PCT, Forrester Pass was on the front of my mind. This pass was representative of all of my doubts about whether I could actually do something like this.
Near the top of the pass is a notoriously dangerous avalanche chute that hikers must cross. Envision if you will a greater than 45 degree slope that is covered with a sheet of rock hard ice, and imagine the bottom of the slope littered with enormous jagged boulders. Now, picture tiny foot holds cut into the sheet of ice, where foolish hikers can place tentative steps and work their way across. What would stop you if you fell here? Nothing! What would be your fate? Death or disfigurement! Therein lies the challenge of the Forrester Pass ice chute.
The morning started with a long climb up to the pass. I quickly climbed beyond the trees into a world of snow, and rock, and ice. Partially frozen crystal blue lakes lay all around me, and tiny streams of water cascaded everywhere, a byproduct of the summers attempt to melt the remaining snow and make us all forget about the winter.
Eventually I climb into the enormous flat expanse of rock below the towering wall of granite that is Forrester Pass. I look up at the enormous ridge of rocks, unbroken except for a small V in the middle of it- where the pass was. Now, I need to have a discussion with whomever named this place about what constitutes a pass. A tiny notch in a towering granite wall? Not a pass!
The trail was blasted, with dynamite, into the enormous wall of stone and switch backed up up up the face of the wall. I climb until I reach the avalanche chute: the place that I had been dreading for years. I was alone and feeling anxious as I looked at the sheet of ice. I stared at the rocks below and imagined my bones splintering as they crunched into them. I swallowed hard and took step after uncertain step as I made my way across the ice chute, hoping that each footstep would hold true. I made it across, at last, and quickly climbed up to the top of the pass.
I looked at the peaks of the Sierra Nevada stretched out in front of me like a fanned deck of cards, appearing endless. The wind was still. All was silent. I made it. This enormous psychological hurdle was behind me and every doubt or worry I had about my ability to complete this trip was erased. Pride. Joy. Euphoria. My body felt strong, and without limit. My mind no longer possessed the control over it as it once did. It was the best I have ever felt.
I was soon joined by a few other hikers, including one who did not have sunglasses or a hat(critical in the high mountains, especially on snow). His eyes were swollen and watery. I made him a pair of makeshift eskimo glasses from a strip of my sleeping pad, which protected his eyes and made him look like a teenage mutant ninja turtle, much to my chagrin.
After lingering for an hour, I made my way down the pass into the valley below. Away from the still and cold and sterility of the high alpine and back into the world of trees and life and green. I posthole through a few snowfields on the way down, and walk along rivers of snowmelt. Towards the end of the day, low on food and supplies, I take an 8 mile side trail over Kearsarge Pass and down to a trailhead above the town of Independence, California. I eventually get a ride into town, book a motel room, and look everywhere for something to fill my empty stomach. Nothing was found. All of the stores and restaurants in this small town closed early. I return to my motel room and eat an unsatisfying dinner of protein bars and dried plums.
6/8 no miles!
Staying in town today. This place is only at 5,000 feet, on the desert floor below the mountains, and it is boiling hot. 106 degrees. I eat and sleep and eat and sleep and eat and sleep and eat and sleep. Taking a break from eating and sleeping, I take a swim in the motel pool where I try to test out my newfound lung strength by swimming the length of the pool underwater. I succeed, but slam my face into the concrete wall of the pool's edge. Crawling out of the pool with a bloody nose, scrambled brain, and shattered ego, I am shamed by my hubris.
6/9 (4 mile side trail)
After a frustratingly long time trying to hitchhike back to the trailhead, I get a ride with a local biologist. Once on the trail I start to feel a little queasy. I only make it 4 miles up the trail before I camp out. I have, without exaggeration, numerous periods of 30 second long flatulence, and feel weak and have very poor morale. Recognizing that I may be experiencing some initial signs of Giardia (a stomach infection contracted from drinking from backcountry water sources), I take some medication and go to bed early.
6/10(3 miles along side trail)
I awake early, feeling strong and recovered from my illness, and climb up and over Kearsarge pass to return to the PCT. The weather, however, is completely indifferent to my plans. The morning started with 80 degree temperatures and clear blue skies, but within an hour the sky darkens, and the temperature drops to near freezing. Sleet and snow begin falling, and playing it safe after my recent illness, I decide to hunker down for the day and wait out the storm. I was at 11,000 feet as the wind whipped around me and snow and rain and hail pelted my shelter. I was alone and had no other source of entertainment, so I watched the videos I had recorded of the trip so far on my camera. It was like watching television, but far more lonely.
6/2- Today I did nothing related to hiking a trail. I ate a hundred hamburgers and watched the movie The Road House. It was exactly what I needed.
6/3 Mile 702-709(7 miles)
Lets talk a little bit about leaving towns: after eating cold, less than desirable food, sleeping on the ground, enduring relentless attacks from ants and ticks, being constantly either too hot or too cold, and dealing with all of the other realities of trail life, it is an absolute revelation to get into a town.
In town every woman you see is flawless, perfect, and the most beautiful woman in the history of women. They all appear to be akin to Helen of Troy. All of the men appear strong jawed, muscular, and menacing. Patton Oswald transforms into Channing Tatum. Never before has everyone else appeared so well groomed, and attractive, and never before have you felt so undesirable.
Every meal seems to be prepared by an award winning chef. Every drink is a magical elixir. Every comfort is magnified. Ever pleasure is heightened. Considering all of this, leaving town requires a tremendous effort. Luckily, I feel an almost magnetic pull North, and I get antsy if I stay in one place for too long.
After a welcome rest, I left Kennedy Meadows, a back country resort located right at the edge of the Sierra Nevada mountains, and returned to the trail. The change in scenery was both dramatic, and startlingly subtle. The soil was still sand, but now enormous trees sprouted everywhere instead of sage and chaparral bushes. It looked almost like the desert was putting on a forest disguise. The big change though, was the water. Water. Water! WATER! Water everywhere! There are rivers and streams and creeklets running everywhere, a by product of snow melt. Water is flowing in all directions. It feels hard to accept that it is real. After over a month of scurrying from water source to water source, sweating under the weight of a gallon (or more!) of water on my back, there is now an overabundance of water. To celebrate I pour liters of water into my mouth, swallowing only a fraction of it in a gluttonous orgy of excess. I deliberately get my feet wet. From now on I will most frequently carry only a liter of water at a time.
Towards evening I set up camp in a meadow(!), by a creek(!). Black bears become a concern in this next stretch of trail. Bear hunting is obviously not allowed in the parks of the Sierra Nevada, and bears, clever as they are, have realized that people are not a threat to them here. They know you have food, and they want it. They want it very badly. In most places if a bear gets into your camp you can yell at it and chase it away. Not so here. To combat this, hikers must, by law, carry a bear canister to store their food in( think oversized nalgene bottle). I picked mine up in Kennedy Meadows and am reluctantly carrying it with me. It is heavy, and cumbersome, and fits awkwardly inside of my pack. The comfort of having my food safe in a very remote area puts me at ease, but carrying it will still take some getting used to.
6/4 mile 709-731(22 miles)
The morning started with a climb up towards an enormous meadow. It is really feeling like we are in the mountains now and my morale is sky high. This next stretch will be physically more difficult than the desert, but psychologically much easier, and with a far greater reward in terms of scenery. Throughout this stretch of trail I will most frequently be between 10-12,000 feet in elevation, with brief trips below 9,000 feet and brief trips above 13,000 feet. The air is noticeably more thin. When I eat or drink or hold my breath I feel a desperate urge to gasp for air. I am acclimatizing well, and remain to feel strong during the climbs as long as I am conscious about my breathing.
Throughout the day the sky morphed from perfectly clear blue, to sporadic clouds, to enormous thunderheads. Thunder boomed all around me as I walked along high mountain ridges. Apparently this is a very common phenomenon this time of year in the high mountains. Afternoon thunderstorm patterns occur frequently, and it will be something I will need to keep track of. Somehow being up above 10,000 feet in a thunderstorm feels decidedly unsafe. At night I camped in in a place called 'Death Canyon' after collecting water at 'Poison Spring.' Lovely.
6/5 731-751(20 miles)
The location that I am at seems to be directly in the flight path of a local air force base. Throughout the day, fighter jets scream past right overhead. The noise is deafening. I am up so high, and the jets are so close, that it is a tremendous shock to my system every time they pass, shattering the tranquility of the high mountain scene. I am again right between 10-11,000 feet today, which is right below tree line here. In Washington, trees become sparsely distributed anywhere above 7,000 feet. Due to the elevation, the forests are bare, with very little undergrowth. The trees appear to be the only living thing. There are very few signs of life otherwise(other than ants. Ants are everywhere. Always.)
Today is especially memorable in that I arrived at the first natural lake of the trip. After over 750 miles, I have finally come to the first natural body of water. About time! It felt so good to be at the lake, that I decided to set up camp. At sunset I sat on the bank of the lake and watched the sun sink below the enormous walls of white granite towering all around me, and reflected on my trip so far. The first phase, my journey through the desert, is unquestionably over now, and a new chapter begins. I went to my tent, closed my eyes, and fell asleep, looking forward to next step in my journey.
6/6 mile 751-774(23 miles)
Snow levels are extremely low this year. The only snow that exists is above 11,000 feet. On the south side of slopes, there is essentially nothing, with more accumulated on the north side. It is so different from Washington, where anything above 5,000 feet is buried in snow right now.
At midday I approached a rickety wooden gate across the trail. There were no barriers on either side of the gate. Nothing was stopping someone, or something, from simply walking around it. Next to the gate was a sign that said "Please keep this gate close to protect the wilderness." What?! Is this supposed to be symbolic? I laughed for 20 minutes at pitiful barrier that this gate provided. Who put it here?
I am definitely spending too much time alone. I have between 8-10 hours per day of solitary thought, which is both a blessing and a nightmare. I have already relived my entire life in my head five times over, examining every action and word spoken. I also spend a lot of time singing. The size of my obscure song lyric vocabulary is a little disconcerting. I wish I could put the storage space and brain power to use elsewhere.
6/3 Mile 702-709(7 miles)
Lets talk a little bit about leaving towns: after eating cold, less than desirable food, sleeping on the ground, enduring relentless attacks from ants and ticks, being constantly either too hot or too cold, and dealing with all of the other realities of trail life, it is an absolute revelation to get into a town.
In town every woman you see is flawless, perfect, and the most beautiful woman in the history of women. They all appear to be akin to Helen of Troy. All of the men appear strong jawed, muscular, and menacing. Patton Oswald transforms into Channing Tatum. Never before has everyone else appeared so well groomed, and attractive, and never before have you felt so undesirable.
Every meal seems to be prepared by an award winning chef. Every drink is a magical elixir. Every comfort is magnified. Ever pleasure is heightened. Considering all of this, leaving town requires a tremendous effort. Luckily, I feel an almost magnetic pull North, and I get antsy if I stay in one place for too long.
After a welcome rest, I left Kennedy Meadows, a back country resort located right at the edge of the Sierra Nevada mountains, and returned to the trail. The change in scenery was both dramatic, and startlingly subtle. The soil was still sand, but now enormous trees sprouted everywhere instead of sage and chaparral bushes. It looked almost like the desert was putting on a forest disguise. The big change though, was the water. Water. Water! WATER! Water everywhere! There are rivers and streams and creeklets running everywhere, a by product of snow melt. Water is flowing in all directions. It feels hard to accept that it is real. After over a month of scurrying from water source to water source, sweating under the weight of a gallon (or more!) of water on my back, there is now an overabundance of water. To celebrate I pour liters of water into my mouth, swallowing only a fraction of it in a gluttonous orgy of excess. I deliberately get my feet wet. From now on I will most frequently carry only a liter of water at a time.
Towards evening I set up camp in a meadow(!), by a creek(!). Black bears become a concern in this next stretch of trail. Bear hunting is obviously not allowed in the parks of the Sierra Nevada, and bears, clever as they are, have realized that people are not a threat to them here. They know you have food, and they want it. They want it very badly. In most places if a bear gets into your camp you can yell at it and chase it away. Not so here. To combat this, hikers must, by law, carry a bear canister to store their food in( think oversized nalgene bottle). I picked mine up in Kennedy Meadows and am reluctantly carrying it with me. It is heavy, and cumbersome, and fits awkwardly inside of my pack. The comfort of having my food safe in a very remote area puts me at ease, but carrying it will still take some getting used to.
6/4 mile 709-731(22 miles)
The morning started with a climb up towards an enormous meadow. It is really feeling like we are in the mountains now and my morale is sky high. This next stretch will be physically more difficult than the desert, but psychologically much easier, and with a far greater reward in terms of scenery. Throughout this stretch of trail I will most frequently be between 10-12,000 feet in elevation, with brief trips below 9,000 feet and brief trips above 13,000 feet. The air is noticeably more thin. When I eat or drink or hold my breath I feel a desperate urge to gasp for air. I am acclimatizing well, and remain to feel strong during the climbs as long as I am conscious about my breathing.
Throughout the day the sky morphed from perfectly clear blue, to sporadic clouds, to enormous thunderheads. Thunder boomed all around me as I walked along high mountain ridges. Apparently this is a very common phenomenon this time of year in the high mountains. Afternoon thunderstorm patterns occur frequently, and it will be something I will need to keep track of. Somehow being up above 10,000 feet in a thunderstorm feels decidedly unsafe. At night I camped in in a place called 'Death Canyon' after collecting water at 'Poison Spring.' Lovely.
6/5 731-751(20 miles)
The location that I am at seems to be directly in the flight path of a local air force base. Throughout the day, fighter jets scream past right overhead. The noise is deafening. I am up so high, and the jets are so close, that it is a tremendous shock to my system every time they pass, shattering the tranquility of the high mountain scene. I am again right between 10-11,000 feet today, which is right below tree line here. In Washington, trees become sparsely distributed anywhere above 7,000 feet. Due to the elevation, the forests are bare, with very little undergrowth. The trees appear to be the only living thing. There are very few signs of life otherwise(other than ants. Ants are everywhere. Always.)
Today is especially memorable in that I arrived at the first natural lake of the trip. After over 750 miles, I have finally come to the first natural body of water. About time! It felt so good to be at the lake, that I decided to set up camp. At sunset I sat on the bank of the lake and watched the sun sink below the enormous walls of white granite towering all around me, and reflected on my trip so far. The first phase, my journey through the desert, is unquestionably over now, and a new chapter begins. I went to my tent, closed my eyes, and fell asleep, looking forward to next step in my journey.
6/6 mile 751-774(23 miles)
Snow levels are extremely low this year. The only snow that exists is above 11,000 feet. On the south side of slopes, there is essentially nothing, with more accumulated on the north side. It is so different from Washington, where anything above 5,000 feet is buried in snow right now.
At midday I approached a rickety wooden gate across the trail. There were no barriers on either side of the gate. Nothing was stopping someone, or something, from simply walking around it. Next to the gate was a sign that said "Please keep this gate close to protect the wilderness." What?! Is this supposed to be symbolic? I laughed for 20 minutes at pitiful barrier that this gate provided. Who put it here?
I am definitely spending too much time alone. I have between 8-10 hours per day of solitary thought, which is both a blessing and a nightmare. I have already relived my entire life in my head five times over, examining every action and word spoken. I also spend a lot of time singing. The size of my obscure song lyric vocabulary is a little disconcerting. I wish I could put the storage space and brain power to use elsewhere.
Sunday, June 9, 2013
Sorry folks, these are from a quite a while ago. It just took me a while to put them up. These entries shall be entitled 'the forgotten days.'
Day 7, April 29: Mile 105.5-115.5 (Agua Caliente Creek to Eagle Rock)
Woke
up early and took obligatory pictures at Eagle Rock, which is a rock
formation that looks shockingly similar to an eagle with its wings
spread ready to take flight. Quick hike through pastures with lots of up
close and personal cow encounters led us to Warner Springs, CA where a
temporary store was set up for hikers. Ate a few meals there (my hunger
is becoming very impressive), took a shower (with my clothes on, double
duty) and then got ready to head back out onto the trail. Side note:
the soap that was provided at Warner Springs was Axe body wash. No
discernable effect on my attractiveness to the opposite sex. Met a girl
who was carrying a small foghorn at the request of her father. I could
sympathize. If I carried everything that my father requested, my pack
would weigh 100 pounds and would include hundreds of rounds of
ammunition, a rifle, a flare gun, an emergency fire shelter, and a
loggers saw. I love you, Dad. I know you are just worried about me.
About gear: My shelter is a tarp with netting attached to the
bottom of it to protect against tics and ants. All included with ground
sheet, stakes, and poles, it weighs right under 1 pound. Sounds great,
yeah? One drawback: the material is translucent. Completely see
through--which of course provides me with zero privacy and also forces
me to wake up at 0630, when the sun starts blazing. Often I have not
even bothered to set up my tent and have just laid down on my
groundsheet and pad ie: cowboy camping. The base weight of my pack
(everything I am carrying minus food and water) is a hair under 12
pounds. I am carrying 1-4 liters of water at a time, and with food I am
never carrying more than 35 pounds, and most often a lot less than that.
After leaving Warner Springs I hiked up a long ridge and camped next to
a creek. After an hour or two Jason, a guy from TX and Jim, an older
gentleman from San Diego caught up and camped as well. Jess made it to
camp after dark and we all sat around eating and talking before calling
it a night.
Day 8, April 30: Mile 115.5-135 (Caliente Creek to Pike Gate after Trail Angel Mike’s house)
Spent
much of the day hiking with Foghorn (previously mentioned girl). Jess.
And Jenna, a girl from Olympia. Jess spent an hour or so telling crazy
stories about growing up with horses and running away from home riding
bareback on a horse and her kinship with horses and other generally
weird horse people type stuff so we have started to call her Horses. We
are all starting to look pretty filthy. The men’s beards are starting to
look wilderness worthy, the women’s leg hair is sprouting, and we are
all covered in layers of grime. The water sources in the desert are
typically giant horse troughs full of some nightmarish array of
dissolved poisons and tasting like rusty pipes. And the water is
limited, so baths are few and far between. I am wearing breathable
minimalist running shoes and thin liner socks, which has paid great
dividends with avoiding blisters, but when I take my shoes off, my feet
are black. The thinness of my shoes forces me to be very careful with my
steps, which others have noticed, so I have been nicknamed Bambi for my
“dainty little Bambi steps.” Could be worse I suppose. A few years ago a
hiker was named “Crap Bag” for attempting to go poop in a zip lock back
in their tent to avoid going outside with a driving rain storm. They
missed the bag and ended up getting poop all over their sleeping bag and
gear. I have had some pretty great camping mishaps so far. Top 5: 1)
Sleeping on an ant hill and waking up covered in ants (ants are
EVERYWHERE out here!) 2) Laying my backpack on an ant hill. When I put
it on It felt like grass was stuck to my back. I scratch and look at my
hand: covered in writhing any bodies. 3) smearing poop on my knuckles
while squatting down and wiping. 4) Endless bloody noses from picking.
Desert hiking: dust boogers. 5) There are limited places to cover and go
#2 in the desert, so one day I headed off into some manzanita bushes ti
use their cover to poop. Upon getting into the bushes, I witness
another hiker squatting down and actively shitting. Not wanting to be
noticed, I tried to kneel down and hide. While doing that, I rustled
some bushes and he looked back at me and made eye contact. I looked like
a dook watcher. I have seen him on trail numerous times. Neither of us
have spoken of it. Easy hiking. Stopped off at the house of Mike Herrera
who is a local guy who helps hikers to pick up water. Let me paint you
this scene. We come up over a ridge and are greeted with hand painted
signs saying “Water! This way! Come here hikers!” and arrows pointing to
a side trail we headd down it and see what looks like an entire flea
market condensed into a small lot. Stero equipment left and right.
Hundereds of grain mills, and enough exercise equipment prepare a
country’s Olympic team. We are greeted by a guy named “Cushie” who has
the glazed eyes of a long time stoner and an enormous black bong in his
left hand. He says he is the caretaker of Mike’s property. Very nice
guy, but if Mike trusts him to be he true care taker, he must be a very
eccentric guy. We are treated to burgers and water and hike on for a few
miles before camping.
Day 9 May 1st: Mile 135 Pike Gate to Mile 152 Paradise Cove
Easy
hiking today, but we had to deal with water haul to avoid some of the
murkiest trail water yet. Wait until you see the pictures. In one of the
cases I come across what looks like an abandoned parking lot in the
middle of the desert. Upon closer inspection I see a hump on one side of
it, about the size of a commercial propane tank, and with numerous
cracks and holes in it that were makeshift covered with pieces of fiber
glass. Next to it was a long spool of barbed wire attached to a gallon
milk jug with the top cut off. To help aid fishing water out of the hole
in the tank..
I fished some “water” out, and I use the term water very loosely here,
and found a sulfur smelling slurry that was
closer to the color of cheap domestic beer. The rest of the day was
spent walking alone imagining food I would be eating if I was in town,
singing songs to myself, and coming up with interesting things to say
for the next time I ran into another hiker. At the end of the day the
trail bisects a highway and thes is a café a short distance away. In the
desert, hikers are like roaches: search around any place with shade or
where food is left out and you are certain to find some. I walk up and
spy on some hikers to sit with. My tally for the evening: three meals,
plus a large side of sweet potato fries. Sweet. Sweet. Hiker hunger. At
night, the owner of the café let six of us camp on the porch of the
restaurant. Sounded nice, but I was next to a few snorers and 40mph
winds were blowing constantly throughout the night.
Day 10 May2md Paradise Valley Cafe(Mile 151.9- Mile 170.9)
Some
thoughts from the hobo camp out last night: Hiking in the desert just
like hiking anywhere else except that it is very hot, there is no shade,
and all of the water is terrible and very scarce. Today I am climbing
up onto the San Jacinto mountains, which rise some 10,000ft above the
desert floor. I climbed up from chapporal and sage up to cedar and pine.
Once on the ridge you could look thousands of feet below and see Palm
Springs. It is the most bizarre mental gymnastics to be up in the
mountains, being cold and whipped by wind and looking thousands of feet
below into the scorching, Blank, desert floor. Getting temporarily about
the desert provided me some time to thikn about my experiences so far: I
can feel myself getting mentally much stronger, knowing how to match
small herdles or adversities. I feel a greater closness to my body:
exactly how much food I need, how much water, when to rest. I have never
felt more connected to the present, probably since all thinking is done
in the present. When I can eat, when I can drink, where is more water,
when I can buy food, ect ect. One of the most memorable guys I have met
on the trail so far is a 72 year old man with the nickname “Ice Cream
Man.” His secret for hiking from Mexico to Canada? Daily Yoga. I am in
the mountains, everything is nice, blah, blah. I am tired and all out of
words.
Day 11 (170.9-179--Devil’s side trail to Idyllwild)
Town
today! Woke up early and hiked a quick ten miles into town. Shower.
Pizza (an entire 16” pizza to myself) Laundry (Wore my rain gear while
the rest of my clothes were washing. Do you know how hot it is in the
Southern California sun with rain gear? REALLY HOT! All of the
other laundry people look at me like I am from another planet as I sit
here profusely sweating. Tonight will be more food. Hanging out with
hiker trash, and buying supplies for next day.
Monday, June 3, 2013
5/29 Mile 630-651.3(20.4 miles)
With the extra effort needed to fight through the wind, I have been burning even more quickly through my food. With 20 miles to town I ran out of food completely. The only edible things in my pack were fish oil capsules. So I ate those. 50 of them. Surprisingly, I could actually feel the energy boost that they gave me. They were the equivalent of 500 calories. One of the really neat things about being out here is being able to see the kind of energy that different foods give you. I can definitely feel a difference when I am ingesting more wholesome, nutritious things.
I was mostly in a mental fog for the hike into town and remember very little of it. At the road crossing I ran into another hiker that I am friends with and we hitchhiked into the town of Lake Isabella together and shared a motel room. In town I performed some seriously gluttonous acts, rested in my motel room, and made some calls home. The next day I was once again ready to hit the trail
5/30 Mile 651-670
After leaving town late, I hiked with a couple other guys into the night and camped at a stream fed by a spring. We ended up cowboy camping in a tiny clearing, rubbing shoulders to fit in. In the middle of the night a strange thing happened to me that has happened throughout my life: I woke up screaming. My fellow hikers were shocked by being awoken this way, and I felt a bit embarrassed about what I will refer to as my night terrors.
5/31 mile 670-693
Another day of hiking. Spent time with the same dudes again. The Sierra Nevada mountains are only a few days away, and there is a dramatic change scenery. More trees. Less cactus. Good good good. At night, I once again camped with the two guys. In the middle of the night a mouse jumped on my shoulder. I batted it away, and turned on my headlamp. When I looked around I saw numerous tiny pairs of glowing eyes. More and more mammalian life is around. Many hikers have been spotting bears.
6/1 Mile 693-702
Kennedy meadows! I am now at the gateway of the Sierra Nevada mountains. I got my bear can here, and my ice axe, but unfortunately not my maps or the food i sent myself. Luckily, my great friends Nicholas and Megan sent me a fantastic care package full of all sorts of great things. Thank you so much guys! It made me feel really great to read the notes and feel your support. I am amazed at your knowledge at the trail bartering system. I will spend today and tomorrow resting and then will head off into the Sierras on the 3rd of June, where I will face 13,000 foot passes, food aggressive bears, river fords, and loads of adventure.
With the extra effort needed to fight through the wind, I have been burning even more quickly through my food. With 20 miles to town I ran out of food completely. The only edible things in my pack were fish oil capsules. So I ate those. 50 of them. Surprisingly, I could actually feel the energy boost that they gave me. They were the equivalent of 500 calories. One of the really neat things about being out here is being able to see the kind of energy that different foods give you. I can definitely feel a difference when I am ingesting more wholesome, nutritious things.
I was mostly in a mental fog for the hike into town and remember very little of it. At the road crossing I ran into another hiker that I am friends with and we hitchhiked into the town of Lake Isabella together and shared a motel room. In town I performed some seriously gluttonous acts, rested in my motel room, and made some calls home. The next day I was once again ready to hit the trail
5/30 Mile 651-670
After leaving town late, I hiked with a couple other guys into the night and camped at a stream fed by a spring. We ended up cowboy camping in a tiny clearing, rubbing shoulders to fit in. In the middle of the night a strange thing happened to me that has happened throughout my life: I woke up screaming. My fellow hikers were shocked by being awoken this way, and I felt a bit embarrassed about what I will refer to as my night terrors.
5/31 mile 670-693
Another day of hiking. Spent time with the same dudes again. The Sierra Nevada mountains are only a few days away, and there is a dramatic change scenery. More trees. Less cactus. Good good good. At night, I once again camped with the two guys. In the middle of the night a mouse jumped on my shoulder. I batted it away, and turned on my headlamp. When I looked around I saw numerous tiny pairs of glowing eyes. More and more mammalian life is around. Many hikers have been spotting bears.
6/1 Mile 693-702
Kennedy meadows! I am now at the gateway of the Sierra Nevada mountains. I got my bear can here, and my ice axe, but unfortunately not my maps or the food i sent myself. Luckily, my great friends Nicholas and Megan sent me a fantastic care package full of all sorts of great things. Thank you so much guys! It made me feel really great to read the notes and feel your support. I am amazed at your knowledge at the trail bartering system. I will spend today and tomorrow resting and then will head off into the Sierras on the 3rd of June, where I will face 13,000 foot passes, food aggressive bears, river fords, and loads of adventure.
5/28 mile 602-630.8 (28.8 miles)
Today I awoke to a strange scene- the sky was covered in a thick blanket of fog. It was eerily reminiscent of mornings on the Washington coast, which is my favorite place to be, and it gave me a tremendous psychological boost. I thought about home all throughout the morning.
Ok, lets talk about the wind- from mile 550-mile 700 the wind is a constant, malevolent presence. For this stretch there is a 30mph constant wind, with gusts up to 75 miles. Wind complicates everything out here. Eating becomes a nightmare. A lot of hiker food turns into a fine powder from the constant jostling of trail life, and powders have a tendency to blow away in high winds. When your caloric demands are as high as ours, any impediment to eating is an instant nemesis. Peeing is also very difficult. For all of my male readers I suggest an experiment: have a friend drive a car at 60 MPH, roll down the window and try to pee out the window. What happens? Your healthy stream of urine, turns into a misty cloud of piss that saturates everything. Shelters are a no go in this section. The wind will blow them down immediately. To sleep, one must tuck themselves into a bush.
So here we are, urine soaked, underfed, and sleeping in bushes. During this stretch, all of us have been running at a low level of insanity. Nearly everyone has lost their temper and screamed profanities into the wind. I am finding it really hard to work on being a better thing in conditions like this. In summation: the wind is never here when you need it (like when you are being chased by hornets or have to escape somewhere via sailboat) and always around when you don't (all other circumstances).
Today I awoke to a strange scene- the sky was covered in a thick blanket of fog. It was eerily reminiscent of mornings on the Washington coast, which is my favorite place to be, and it gave me a tremendous psychological boost. I thought about home all throughout the morning.
Ok, lets talk about the wind- from mile 550-mile 700 the wind is a constant, malevolent presence. For this stretch there is a 30mph constant wind, with gusts up to 75 miles. Wind complicates everything out here. Eating becomes a nightmare. A lot of hiker food turns into a fine powder from the constant jostling of trail life, and powders have a tendency to blow away in high winds. When your caloric demands are as high as ours, any impediment to eating is an instant nemesis. Peeing is also very difficult. For all of my male readers I suggest an experiment: have a friend drive a car at 60 MPH, roll down the window and try to pee out the window. What happens? Your healthy stream of urine, turns into a misty cloud of piss that saturates everything. Shelters are a no go in this section. The wind will blow them down immediately. To sleep, one must tuck themselves into a bush.
So here we are, urine soaked, underfed, and sleeping in bushes. During this stretch, all of us have been running at a low level of insanity. Nearly everyone has lost their temper and screamed profanities into the wind. I am finding it really hard to work on being a better thing in conditions like this. In summation: the wind is never here when you need it (like when you are being chased by hornets or have to escape somewhere via sailboat) and always around when you don't (all other circumstances).
5/27 mile 583-602(19 miles)
Today I hiked with a few other guys through another apparently endless stretch of wind farms. The wind(which I will talk about in more detail later) was once again relentless and infuriating and a major annoyance, but the miles flew by quickly due to the company. It is amazing how much easier it is to hike with others when compared to hiking alone. Your mind is less attuned to the noises surrounding you, and to potential dangers, and you just glide along. It is a sort of walking rest.
I really enjoy asking questions of other hikers about what is motivating them to be out here. The responses I receive are as varied as the hikers. One hiker told me he was out here because he believed that we are nearing end times, and that this trail would help prepare him for the challenges ahead. Another is using the hike as physical preparation for enlisting in the military. I can think of far more effective exercise regimens to prepare for enlistment. Thruhiking makes you good at one thing: walking up hill, and nearly useless at everything else. Yet another hiker told me that he is hiking the PCT as a first step towards becoming a better role model for his daughter. Others talk of fun, or of adventure, or of a search for meaning. We are all out here for differing reasons, yet it is easy to feel a kinship with other hikers.
As for me, I am out here to become a little less like the man that I am, and a little more like the man that I want to be.
Today I hiked with a few other guys through another apparently endless stretch of wind farms. The wind(which I will talk about in more detail later) was once again relentless and infuriating and a major annoyance, but the miles flew by quickly due to the company. It is amazing how much easier it is to hike with others when compared to hiking alone. Your mind is less attuned to the noises surrounding you, and to potential dangers, and you just glide along. It is a sort of walking rest.
I really enjoy asking questions of other hikers about what is motivating them to be out here. The responses I receive are as varied as the hikers. One hiker told me he was out here because he believed that we are nearing end times, and that this trail would help prepare him for the challenges ahead. Another is using the hike as physical preparation for enlisting in the military. I can think of far more effective exercise regimens to prepare for enlistment. Thruhiking makes you good at one thing: walking up hill, and nearly useless at everything else. Yet another hiker told me that he is hiking the PCT as a first step towards becoming a better role model for his daughter. Others talk of fun, or of adventure, or of a search for meaning. We are all out here for differing reasons, yet it is easy to feel a kinship with other hikers.
As for me, I am out here to become a little less like the man that I am, and a little more like the man that I want to be.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)