I spent a little too long on my first two updates and I am almost out of computer time at the library so this post will be very rushed. All bones. No meat. Sorry guys. I will hash them out more when I have some time.
May 21st mile 485-496 (11 miles)
In the morning I enjoyed a shower and pancake breakfast at the Andersons and started back on trail with warnings from Terri that there was still significant snow in the Sierra Nevada mountains, and that I should slow my pace a little bit. It was a pleasant yet unremarkable day. I set up camp on a ridge overlooking the Mojave desert and was soon joined by a few other hikers. Cowboy camped, and fell asleep to a display of shooting stars.
May 22nd mile 496-517.6(21.6 miles)
Most of the day was spent circling around ridges overlooking the vast mojave desert. At night I descended into the desert to a place called 'Hiker Town.' Hiker Town is a mock desert town that looks like a movie set that was created by an wealthy hiker friendly property owner. For a modest fee, hikers are allowed a shower and a place to sleep indoors. It was a very welcome respite, since the area is known for relentless winds.
May 23rd mile 517.6-541(24 miles)
Today I entered the Mojave. Started the day walking along the LA aqueduct, which was endlessly bizarre. A massive, stolen, river running through an area that is starving for water. Along the route today I ran across what I can only describe as 'outposts' of people living in the middle of the desert. The scene was quintessential american desert. Rickety barbed wire fences surrounding a trailer in ill repair. I have no idea what kind of person lives in this Godforsaken place, but everytime I imagine them they seem sinister. The day ended walking through an enormous wind farm. My straw hat fell apart around me, and I battled up hill against gusts of wind that were 50mph. I eventually found refuge in a small canyon with a lovely water source and the company of a group of hikers that I like very much
May 24th 541.6-558.5(17 miles)
While walking along this morning I realized that I had not brushed my teeth in 3 days. THREE DAYS! What is happening to me?! Just when I felt like I had lost my last scrap of humanity, I came across a water cache set up by some local property owners. The cache was complete with lawn chairs, bottles of water, and green apples. I sat in the chair and felt like quite a fancy man. Ended the day by hitching into Mojave, California where I booked a cheap room in a Motel 6 and went looking for the library so I could update this journal. Unfortunately the library was only open 2 days a week, and I was unable to get any of my internet chores done. From my limited time in Mojave, I can tell that the citizens of this windswept town do very little reading. Tomorrow I will go to nearby Tehachapi which has more in the way of services.
Saturday, May 25, 2013
May 20th. Mile 471-485 (14 miles)
I awoke in the morning still high off of my wildlife encounter from last night. I told the other hikers camped nearby my story, and we all noticed the unusual amount of cat prints in the area as we hiked throughout the morning. Before noon, we came to a road crossing which lead to the house of The Andersons, an infamous group of trail angels. The Andersons, a married couple in their mid 50s, have been supporting and aiding hikers for nearly 15 years, offering a place to stay and food(taco salad every night and pancakes every morning). The Andersons are true eccentrics, referring to their home and what they do as 'hippy daycare.' Terri Anderson, the wife, is known to flash her breasts and butt(both can be described as sizable), engage in pudding wrestling matches with hikers, and participates in various other debaucherous acts.
Thinking that it was too eadly in the day for drinking or pudding wrestling, and feeling well rested from my recent day off, I decided to skip the stop and continue heading up trail. After a few miles I began to sincerely regret my decision. I felt as if I owed it to myself, and to this journal, to experience all of the strangeness that this trail has to offer. At 14 miles into the day I came across another road crossing and attempted to hitchhike back to the Andersons.
I had been standing along a lonesome stretch of rural road, unsuccessful in my attempts to hitchhike, for around 30 minutes when I spyed a while minivan racing down the road towards me. I waved it down and was sprayed with gravel as the van skidded to a stop next to me. The tinted front window of the minivan lowered and I met the gaze of an older man with a heavy white beard, long white hair kept in a ponytail, and eyes shaded behind a pair of surprisingly modern styled sport sunglasses. "Whats yer name?" growled the man.
"Bambi," I replied.
"Sissy name, Bambi. I am Joe Anderson, wanna come home with me?"
"Yes, sir. I would like that very much"
And so I was whisked away, flying down rural roads as Joe yelled out at tail gaters and perpetrators of any other traffic automobile faux pas.
"Fuck you man! Yer gonna kill someone!" Yelled Joe as he stormed down the road in his white minivan.
We arrived at his house where I saw many familiar faces sitting in lawn chairs in the driveway. Everyone was wearing a hawaiian shirt. One of the shockingly few rules at the Andersons is that all hikers must adorn themselves in a hawaiian shirt, chosen from a giant rack of shirts also located in the driveway.
I spent the night drinking and hanging out with a motley crew of hikers. I punished myself with two heaping plates of Terri Anderson's famous taco salad and engaged the other hikers in rumors about the trail ahead. Apparently many other hikers had encounters with, or sightings of, a mountain lion in the same area that I spotted mine. One hiker awoke to a mountain lion standing mere feet away, watching him as he slept. Terri reported that a local forest ranger had released a mother lion and her cub in the area a few months previous (thanks a lot forest service!)
For all their eccentricities, the Andersons are endlessly welcoming to hikers, one and all. I was astounded by their generosity and kindness. After feeling orphaned for so long on this hike, I finally felt as if I was home.
I awoke in the morning still high off of my wildlife encounter from last night. I told the other hikers camped nearby my story, and we all noticed the unusual amount of cat prints in the area as we hiked throughout the morning. Before noon, we came to a road crossing which lead to the house of The Andersons, an infamous group of trail angels. The Andersons, a married couple in their mid 50s, have been supporting and aiding hikers for nearly 15 years, offering a place to stay and food(taco salad every night and pancakes every morning). The Andersons are true eccentrics, referring to their home and what they do as 'hippy daycare.' Terri Anderson, the wife, is known to flash her breasts and butt(both can be described as sizable), engage in pudding wrestling matches with hikers, and participates in various other debaucherous acts.
Thinking that it was too eadly in the day for drinking or pudding wrestling, and feeling well rested from my recent day off, I decided to skip the stop and continue heading up trail. After a few miles I began to sincerely regret my decision. I felt as if I owed it to myself, and to this journal, to experience all of the strangeness that this trail has to offer. At 14 miles into the day I came across another road crossing and attempted to hitchhike back to the Andersons.
I had been standing along a lonesome stretch of rural road, unsuccessful in my attempts to hitchhike, for around 30 minutes when I spyed a while minivan racing down the road towards me. I waved it down and was sprayed with gravel as the van skidded to a stop next to me. The tinted front window of the minivan lowered and I met the gaze of an older man with a heavy white beard, long white hair kept in a ponytail, and eyes shaded behind a pair of surprisingly modern styled sport sunglasses. "Whats yer name?" growled the man.
"Bambi," I replied.
"Sissy name, Bambi. I am Joe Anderson, wanna come home with me?"
"Yes, sir. I would like that very much"
And so I was whisked away, flying down rural roads as Joe yelled out at tail gaters and perpetrators of any other traffic automobile faux pas.
"Fuck you man! Yer gonna kill someone!" Yelled Joe as he stormed down the road in his white minivan.
We arrived at his house where I saw many familiar faces sitting in lawn chairs in the driveway. Everyone was wearing a hawaiian shirt. One of the shockingly few rules at the Andersons is that all hikers must adorn themselves in a hawaiian shirt, chosen from a giant rack of shirts also located in the driveway.
I spent the night drinking and hanging out with a motley crew of hikers. I punished myself with two heaping plates of Terri Anderson's famous taco salad and engaged the other hikers in rumors about the trail ahead. Apparently many other hikers had encounters with, or sightings of, a mountain lion in the same area that I spotted mine. One hiker awoke to a mountain lion standing mere feet away, watching him as he slept. Terri reported that a local forest ranger had released a mother lion and her cub in the area a few months previous (thanks a lot forest service!)
For all their eccentricities, the Andersons are endlessly welcoming to hikers, one and all. I was astounded by their generosity and kindness. After feeling orphaned for so long on this hike, I finally felt as if I was home.
May 19th Mile 454.4-471.3 (17 miles)
I left the Sauffley's in the early afternoon, enjoyed a breakfast at a local bakery and returned to trail. The day started out with a few mile road walk, with traffic zooming by, dogs barking at me through rickety fences, and the sun reflecting off of the pavement. Unpleasant. I soon returned to a typical southern california stretch of the PCT: a meandering trail looping up and around medium sized hills with low bushes everywhere. The day began heating up, and since I was not carrying much water I decided to take a break during the heat of the day. With limited options of shade, I walked a few hundred yards off trail, draped all of my gear and clothing on the bare branches of a low shrub, and crawled inside of it in my underwear. I spent the next few hours looking and relooking at maps, and trying to start text message conversations with everyone I possibly could. (Thanks to those I talked to for keeping me company!)
While I was in Agua Dulce I forgot to pick up toilet paper, and so, back on trail I was faced with a crisis: an urgent need to have a bowel movement and nothing to use to clean up afterwards. I considered my options. Could I drag my hindquarters on the ground, like I see my dogs do? Probably not. Dog butts are unlike my butt, and the desert floor is littered with ants and things with the potential to spear things I do not want speared. What if I just did nothing, and 'walked it off' so to speak? Possible, but it seemed as if I had not yet devolved to quite that level of derangement. So I laid out every item of gear I had in my pack and considered each for their potential as a toilet paper substitute. I quickly decided that my best option was cutting up a pair of dirty socks in strips and using that. The results were positive.
Eventually the heat of the sun died down and I returned to trail to knock out a few more miles, with the intention of hiking into the night(joyfully using my new headlamp!). After nightfall, I found myself in the midst of a canyon densely packed with desert plants. Often times while hiking alone at night I can work myself up and give myself the creeps, but the feeling passes after 30 minutes or so. Tonight, the feeling lingered. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I could not shake the feeling that I was being followed. I studied the ground and saw TONS of big cat tracks and predator scat. I tried to talk myself down, seeking to calm myself with the impossibly low chances of mountain lion attacks, but the feeling remained: I was being hunted. I quickened my pace, and started to shine my headlamp behind me at regular intervals. I stood still, silent, and listened. Did I hear a rustling on the trail, or was it the imaginings of a frightened mind? Only silence now. I continued walking for a few minutes, came around a bend in the trail and then turned my headlamp off, waiting and listening for anything following me. Again I heard a soft sound coming up the trail. I turned my headlamp on, and pointed it up the trail where I heard the noise. My light was reflected in a pair of green eyes, standing nightmarishly high on the trail. I see a long tail, and a feline shape.
Alarms bells start echoing in my mind. COUGAR! THAT IS A MOTHER FUCKING COUGAR! I hear some sort of loud, gorilla like bellow, and quickly realize that it is coming from my gaping mouth. My body took over. "Chill out mind, I know what to do," it seemed to say to my brain. This is what it knew to do: continue yelling, throw my water bottle, and run at the cougar. "A gutsy bluff, body, hope this works," my mind responded to my body.
It worked fabulously. The cougar ran off trail, retreating into the dense desert scrub brush. I continued hiking for a few minutes, before I came upon a group of hikers camped out on the side of the trail. Hoping to avoid any further excitement I camped next to them, and fell asleep surprisingly easily. In the morning I asked the group if they had heard me yelling. None of them had. Another exciting day on the PCT.
I left the Sauffley's in the early afternoon, enjoyed a breakfast at a local bakery and returned to trail. The day started out with a few mile road walk, with traffic zooming by, dogs barking at me through rickety fences, and the sun reflecting off of the pavement. Unpleasant. I soon returned to a typical southern california stretch of the PCT: a meandering trail looping up and around medium sized hills with low bushes everywhere. The day began heating up, and since I was not carrying much water I decided to take a break during the heat of the day. With limited options of shade, I walked a few hundred yards off trail, draped all of my gear and clothing on the bare branches of a low shrub, and crawled inside of it in my underwear. I spent the next few hours looking and relooking at maps, and trying to start text message conversations with everyone I possibly could. (Thanks to those I talked to for keeping me company!)
While I was in Agua Dulce I forgot to pick up toilet paper, and so, back on trail I was faced with a crisis: an urgent need to have a bowel movement and nothing to use to clean up afterwards. I considered my options. Could I drag my hindquarters on the ground, like I see my dogs do? Probably not. Dog butts are unlike my butt, and the desert floor is littered with ants and things with the potential to spear things I do not want speared. What if I just did nothing, and 'walked it off' so to speak? Possible, but it seemed as if I had not yet devolved to quite that level of derangement. So I laid out every item of gear I had in my pack and considered each for their potential as a toilet paper substitute. I quickly decided that my best option was cutting up a pair of dirty socks in strips and using that. The results were positive.
Eventually the heat of the sun died down and I returned to trail to knock out a few more miles, with the intention of hiking into the night(joyfully using my new headlamp!). After nightfall, I found myself in the midst of a canyon densely packed with desert plants. Often times while hiking alone at night I can work myself up and give myself the creeps, but the feeling passes after 30 minutes or so. Tonight, the feeling lingered. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I could not shake the feeling that I was being followed. I studied the ground and saw TONS of big cat tracks and predator scat. I tried to talk myself down, seeking to calm myself with the impossibly low chances of mountain lion attacks, but the feeling remained: I was being hunted. I quickened my pace, and started to shine my headlamp behind me at regular intervals. I stood still, silent, and listened. Did I hear a rustling on the trail, or was it the imaginings of a frightened mind? Only silence now. I continued walking for a few minutes, came around a bend in the trail and then turned my headlamp off, waiting and listening for anything following me. Again I heard a soft sound coming up the trail. I turned my headlamp on, and pointed it up the trail where I heard the noise. My light was reflected in a pair of green eyes, standing nightmarishly high on the trail. I see a long tail, and a feline shape.
Alarms bells start echoing in my mind. COUGAR! THAT IS A MOTHER FUCKING COUGAR! I hear some sort of loud, gorilla like bellow, and quickly realize that it is coming from my gaping mouth. My body took over. "Chill out mind, I know what to do," it seemed to say to my brain. This is what it knew to do: continue yelling, throw my water bottle, and run at the cougar. "A gutsy bluff, body, hope this works," my mind responded to my body.
It worked fabulously. The cougar ran off trail, retreating into the dense desert scrub brush. I continued hiking for a few minutes, before I came upon a group of hikers camped out on the side of the trail. Hoping to avoid any further excitement I camped next to them, and fell asleep surprisingly easily. In the morning I asked the group if they had heard me yelling. None of them had. Another exciting day on the PCT.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
I tried to upload some photos but it takes 30 minutes or so for each picture, and I have very limited computer time, so it will have to wait for a while. I have been asked by numerous people where they could send me things, and now I have a list and when I will be there! These are the addresses that you would theoretically send to. Packages should be sent via Priority mail, or there is a good chance they will be lost. I find that the priority mail flat rate boxes work very well. What would I like to receive? Food, all kinds, and letters, all kinds. If you do send me something, please send me a text message at (253)278-8367 letting me know where you sent it, otherwise I will not know that I have anything to pick up.
Chris Scaniffe
c\o General Delivery
Tehachapi, CA 93561 I will be here may 24th
Chris Scaniffe
c\o General Delivery
Lake Isabella, CA 93240 I will be here may 29th
Chris Scaniffe
c/o KENNEDY MEADOWS GENERAL STORE
96740 BEACH MEADOW RD
INYOKERN CA 93527 I will be here June 2nd
Chris Scaniffe
c\o General Delivery
Independence, CA 93526 I will be here june 9th
Chris Scaniffe
c\o General Delivery
Tuolomne Meadows
Yosemite National Park, CA 95389 I will be here June 18th
Chris Scaniffe
c\o General Delivery
South Lake Tahoe, CA 96150-9997 I will be here June 26th
Chris Scaniffe
c\o General Delivery
Tehachapi, CA 93561 I will be here may 24th
Chris Scaniffe
c\o General Delivery
Lake Isabella, CA 93240 I will be here may 29th
Chris Scaniffe
c/o KENNEDY MEADOWS GENERAL STORE
96740 BEACH MEADOW RD
INYOKERN CA 93527 I will be here June 2nd
Chris Scaniffe
c\o General Delivery
Independence, CA 93526 I will be here june 9th
Chris Scaniffe
c\o General Delivery
Tuolomne Meadows
Yosemite National Park, CA 95389 I will be here June 18th
Chris Scaniffe
c\o General Delivery
South Lake Tahoe, CA 96150-9997 I will be here June 26th
May 18- mile 454.4 Zero miles hiked
Today I got a ride to REI where I picked up a Bear Can( a large hard plastic can that protects your food from bears. I will need this for the Sierra Nevada mountains which are quickly approaching), a new head lamp, and some new shoes. Ate at In-n-out burger for the first time. My totals(please note that this is after breakfast #1 and breakfast #2): 3 double cheeseburgers animal style, 3 orders of french fries, and a vanilla shake. Disgusting, but also kind of awesome.
Tonight I will rest, and gear up for the final stretch of the desert. I am feeling great, and am very happy about where I am.
Today I got a ride to REI where I picked up a Bear Can( a large hard plastic can that protects your food from bears. I will need this for the Sierra Nevada mountains which are quickly approaching), a new head lamp, and some new shoes. Ate at In-n-out burger for the first time. My totals(please note that this is after breakfast #1 and breakfast #2): 3 double cheeseburgers animal style, 3 orders of french fries, and a vanilla shake. Disgusting, but also kind of awesome.
Tonight I will rest, and gear up for the final stretch of the desert. I am feeling great, and am very happy about where I am.
May 17- Mile 444.2-454.4 (10.2 miles)
In the past two days I have walked over 60 miles. 60 miles. One hour of driving in an automobile on the interstate. In a car, mountains, rivers, and shade are all abstractions. On foot they are obstacles earned in sweat, life sustaining sources of water, and a respite from the unrelenting sun. Every day out of town my body becomes more and more soiled. Dirt clings to me. My clothes are stained. I have never been more filthy. Yet every drop of sweat seems cleansing. In contrast to my dirty physical state, psychologically and spiritually(whatever that means) I feel cleaner than I have ever felt.
I watch with a sort of detached interest how my body is changing to better suit the rigors of the trail. My skin has darkened and become more thick to protect against the sun. The muscle mass from my upper body is shrinking. I am becoming more thin. I am becoming harder, feral almost. These changes will all (hopefully) be temporary, and I have to sort of suspend my sense of vanity to enjoy them, but it is kind of nice to see a change with my body to match the change that I am feeling internally. Hopefully my psychological changes will be more long lasting than the physical ones. I am becoming more confident. More comfortable in my skin. More forgiving of my flaws and failures and mistakes. I feel happy, and at peace with where I am at.
I wake up early and hike a quick ten miles to a place called the home of Jeff and Donna Sauffley, also known as Hiker Heaven. Jeff and Donna Sauffley are legendary on the trail. Every year they open their home to scores of hikers. They make their computer's available to us(how I am posting this now), allow us to shower and do laundry, and have tons of cots set up for hikers to sleep on. This is an amazing place. I fraternize with the other hikers, pick up a resupply box that I had mailed here, and ride a bicycle(they also have 15 bicycles to assist hikers in getting to town) to town to eat a restaurant meal.
My appetite remains tremendous, and I am pouring food into my mouth constantly. I have lost less than 5 pounds so far, which I am very happy with. If I can continue eating at this pace, I hopefully will continue to not lose very much more weight. Tonight I will hang out with the rest of the Hiker Trash, eat more meals, and get a good nights sleep.
In the past two days I have walked over 60 miles. 60 miles. One hour of driving in an automobile on the interstate. In a car, mountains, rivers, and shade are all abstractions. On foot they are obstacles earned in sweat, life sustaining sources of water, and a respite from the unrelenting sun. Every day out of town my body becomes more and more soiled. Dirt clings to me. My clothes are stained. I have never been more filthy. Yet every drop of sweat seems cleansing. In contrast to my dirty physical state, psychologically and spiritually(whatever that means) I feel cleaner than I have ever felt.
I watch with a sort of detached interest how my body is changing to better suit the rigors of the trail. My skin has darkened and become more thick to protect against the sun. The muscle mass from my upper body is shrinking. I am becoming more thin. I am becoming harder, feral almost. These changes will all (hopefully) be temporary, and I have to sort of suspend my sense of vanity to enjoy them, but it is kind of nice to see a change with my body to match the change that I am feeling internally. Hopefully my psychological changes will be more long lasting than the physical ones. I am becoming more confident. More comfortable in my skin. More forgiving of my flaws and failures and mistakes. I feel happy, and at peace with where I am at.
I wake up early and hike a quick ten miles to a place called the home of Jeff and Donna Sauffley, also known as Hiker Heaven. Jeff and Donna Sauffley are legendary on the trail. Every year they open their home to scores of hikers. They make their computer's available to us(how I am posting this now), allow us to shower and do laundry, and have tons of cots set up for hikers to sleep on. This is an amazing place. I fraternize with the other hikers, pick up a resupply box that I had mailed here, and ride a bicycle(they also have 15 bicycles to assist hikers in getting to town) to town to eat a restaurant meal.
My appetite remains tremendous, and I am pouring food into my mouth constantly. I have lost less than 5 pounds so far, which I am very happy with. If I can continue eating at this pace, I hopefully will continue to not lose very much more weight. Tonight I will hang out with the rest of the Hiker Trash, eat more meals, and get a good nights sleep.
May 16, Mile 417-444.2 (27.2 miles)
At night I sleep so deeply that it is difficult to differentiate my sleep from death. In the mornings after a long mileage day I awake stiff, and spend the first 20 minutes of the day limping around. It feels as if I die every night, and that my corpse is reanimated in the morning and I must reteach myself to walk (the dead do not walk, only float). Looking at a thru-hiker in the morning, one would wonder, "how can this person possibly be walking 20+ miles day after day?!" We are hunkered down, limping, and moving at a glacial pace. After 30 minutes, we start to fly, and really begin to look like hikers.
I spent much of the day walking through the remains from the 2009 Station Fire, the 10th largest wildfire in Californian history. Towards mid-day I crest a mountain and find what looks like a burnt down town. I later find out that this was the site of a former prison camp where the prisoners were put to work fighting wild fires. The inside of all the concrete structures were all burnt out. Metal fences were warped into unrecognizable shapes. The only thing alive seemed to be Poodle Dog Bush, a poisonous plant similar to poison oak that thrives in burn areas. It looked like some sort of alien invasion. The plant is very tropical looking, and seems completely out of place in arid Southern California. Endless fields of Poodle Dog Bush, which causes painful blisters and rashes upon contact. Endless fields of Poodle Dog Bush, that I had to walk through. I later found, that this bloom of Poodle Dog Bush was the largest ever seen.
Poodle Dog Bush. The bane of my existence. I now hate Poodles(all of them), Dogs(all kinds), and Bushes(all kinds) for even having a name associate with this wretched plant. I spent the next few hours, winding my way through fields and fields of the poison bush, contorting my arms and legs to avoid all contact.
Finally, I make my way through the worst of the burn area and into more clear terrain. Right before dark I come upon a very kind young couple who offer to take me to a local Subway. I could not resist. Upon talking to them, I find that they are looking to thruhike the PCT next year, so I answer many of their questions and they make me feel like a minor celebrity. At Subway, I eat 2.5 feet of sandwich. My most yet. Soon, I will conquer 3 feet.
I camp in a small campground, after the couple drive me back to the trail.
At night I sleep so deeply that it is difficult to differentiate my sleep from death. In the mornings after a long mileage day I awake stiff, and spend the first 20 minutes of the day limping around. It feels as if I die every night, and that my corpse is reanimated in the morning and I must reteach myself to walk (the dead do not walk, only float). Looking at a thru-hiker in the morning, one would wonder, "how can this person possibly be walking 20+ miles day after day?!" We are hunkered down, limping, and moving at a glacial pace. After 30 minutes, we start to fly, and really begin to look like hikers.
I spent much of the day walking through the remains from the 2009 Station Fire, the 10th largest wildfire in Californian history. Towards mid-day I crest a mountain and find what looks like a burnt down town. I later find out that this was the site of a former prison camp where the prisoners were put to work fighting wild fires. The inside of all the concrete structures were all burnt out. Metal fences were warped into unrecognizable shapes. The only thing alive seemed to be Poodle Dog Bush, a poisonous plant similar to poison oak that thrives in burn areas. It looked like some sort of alien invasion. The plant is very tropical looking, and seems completely out of place in arid Southern California. Endless fields of Poodle Dog Bush, which causes painful blisters and rashes upon contact. Endless fields of Poodle Dog Bush, that I had to walk through. I later found, that this bloom of Poodle Dog Bush was the largest ever seen.
Poodle Dog Bush. The bane of my existence. I now hate Poodles(all of them), Dogs(all kinds), and Bushes(all kinds) for even having a name associate with this wretched plant. I spent the next few hours, winding my way through fields and fields of the poison bush, contorting my arms and legs to avoid all contact.
Finally, I make my way through the worst of the burn area and into more clear terrain. Right before dark I come upon a very kind young couple who offer to take me to a local Subway. I could not resist. Upon talking to them, I find that they are looking to thruhike the PCT next year, so I answer many of their questions and they make me feel like a minor celebrity. At Subway, I eat 2.5 feet of sandwich. My most yet. Soon, I will conquer 3 feet.
I camp in a small campground, after the couple drive me back to the trail.
May 15, Mile 383.8-417 ( 33.2 miles)
No bears last night! Due to an error with my pre-hike planning, I had no maps for the section between Wrightwood to Agua Dulce, a nearly 85 mile stretch. It makes sense then, that this would turn out to be the most confusing section of trail to date. I woke up early, hoping to make really good progress today after many consecutive days below 20 miles. My lofty goals were squashed after I got lost (LOST!) mid day. After a unremarkable morning of hiking, I came upon a road crossing where signs and an arrow pointed, apparently, to the Pacific Crest Trail. Without maps, I listen to the signs, and follow this trail up up up to the summit of a peak. While following this trail I get a feeling in my gut that this is not the right trail, and I think to myself, "this doesn't seem right. This is far too steep to be the PCT." A sensible man would listen to his gut, and turn around. Unfortunately, I have never been accused of being a sensible man. Eventually the trail I am following dies, and I am left on the top of an unnamed peak. My internal monologue starts screaming at me, "YOU ARE LOST! LOST! LOST! YOU ARE LOST AND YOU HAVE LITTLE WATER, AND NO MAPS! LOST LOST LOST LOST!"
I pace around a bit, find a clear area at the summit of the peak, and look at the surrounding areas for anything recognizable. Far below me in a valley, I see a very clear trail with the sort of wooden posts that traditionally mark the PCT. I head cross country down to this trail (LOST LOST LOST), and after thirty minutes of bushwacking, get back to my beloved trail. I look in both directions of the trail, take a compass reading(essentially useless without a map since the PCT does not take a direct North/South route) and end up heading in a direction that I think is assuredly right.
I was wrong. After a few hours of hiking I get back to a small campground that I had passed in the morning. I look at my watch. I had been in this same spot, 4 hours earlier (NO! GOD, WHY?!) I take stock of my situation, cursing myself endlessly. The next thing I decide to do is very strange, and I am not sure I can explain it why it helped, but it sure made me feel much better: I go into the backcountry privy, strip down completely nude, and sit with my head resting on my knees. Oddly, after about 15 minutes, I start to feel a lot better. I laugh at what I am doing, get dressed, and head back onto the trail. After a few hours I pass many of those that I had already passed in the morning. "What happened to you, Bambi, I thought you were ahead?!" "LOST!"
I eventually make my way to a campsite right at dark, well before where I had hoped to camp for the night. I lay down for a few minutes and then start to smell smoke. Wildfire smoke. I stand up and notice that the valley that I am above is rapidly filling with smoke. I think back to all of the wildfire burns that I had passed through during the past few days, of all the dried grass and arid lands that are laying all around me, and I decide to GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE.
I hike for a few more hours, well into the night. Around midnight I crest a ridge, in the midst of a burn area, and I can see the lights from the Inland Empire ( a large metropolitan area in Southern California) below me. The only sounds are of my breath and of the crunch of my footsteps on the charred ground below. My flashlight illuminated only a small sliver of the darkness. I was the seemingly the only living thing on this burnt ridge. I felt a profound loneliness, and imagined that I was feeling very similar to an Astronaut on a space walk, looking down at earth. Alone, a sole bastion of life surrounded by death, and staring down at the lights of the metropolis below me, knowing that down there is companionship, humanity, brotherhood. I will remember how I felt upon that ridge for the rest of my life.
I hike on for a few more hours and eventually lay down, fully clothed, alongside a forest service road, too exhausted to set up a proper camp. Considering all of the time I walked in the wrong direction, I am sure that I have covered over 40 miles today.
No bears last night! Due to an error with my pre-hike planning, I had no maps for the section between Wrightwood to Agua Dulce, a nearly 85 mile stretch. It makes sense then, that this would turn out to be the most confusing section of trail to date. I woke up early, hoping to make really good progress today after many consecutive days below 20 miles. My lofty goals were squashed after I got lost (LOST!) mid day. After a unremarkable morning of hiking, I came upon a road crossing where signs and an arrow pointed, apparently, to the Pacific Crest Trail. Without maps, I listen to the signs, and follow this trail up up up to the summit of a peak. While following this trail I get a feeling in my gut that this is not the right trail, and I think to myself, "this doesn't seem right. This is far too steep to be the PCT." A sensible man would listen to his gut, and turn around. Unfortunately, I have never been accused of being a sensible man. Eventually the trail I am following dies, and I am left on the top of an unnamed peak. My internal monologue starts screaming at me, "YOU ARE LOST! LOST! LOST! YOU ARE LOST AND YOU HAVE LITTLE WATER, AND NO MAPS! LOST LOST LOST LOST!"
I pace around a bit, find a clear area at the summit of the peak, and look at the surrounding areas for anything recognizable. Far below me in a valley, I see a very clear trail with the sort of wooden posts that traditionally mark the PCT. I head cross country down to this trail (LOST LOST LOST), and after thirty minutes of bushwacking, get back to my beloved trail. I look in both directions of the trail, take a compass reading(essentially useless without a map since the PCT does not take a direct North/South route) and end up heading in a direction that I think is assuredly right.
I was wrong. After a few hours of hiking I get back to a small campground that I had passed in the morning. I look at my watch. I had been in this same spot, 4 hours earlier (NO! GOD, WHY?!) I take stock of my situation, cursing myself endlessly. The next thing I decide to do is very strange, and I am not sure I can explain it why it helped, but it sure made me feel much better: I go into the backcountry privy, strip down completely nude, and sit with my head resting on my knees. Oddly, after about 15 minutes, I start to feel a lot better. I laugh at what I am doing, get dressed, and head back onto the trail. After a few hours I pass many of those that I had already passed in the morning. "What happened to you, Bambi, I thought you were ahead?!" "LOST!"
I eventually make my way to a campsite right at dark, well before where I had hoped to camp for the night. I lay down for a few minutes and then start to smell smoke. Wildfire smoke. I stand up and notice that the valley that I am above is rapidly filling with smoke. I think back to all of the wildfire burns that I had passed through during the past few days, of all the dried grass and arid lands that are laying all around me, and I decide to GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE.
I hike for a few more hours, well into the night. Around midnight I crest a ridge, in the midst of a burn area, and I can see the lights from the Inland Empire ( a large metropolitan area in Southern California) below me. The only sounds are of my breath and of the crunch of my footsteps on the charred ground below. My flashlight illuminated only a small sliver of the darkness. I was the seemingly the only living thing on this burnt ridge. I felt a profound loneliness, and imagined that I was feeling very similar to an Astronaut on a space walk, looking down at earth. Alone, a sole bastion of life surrounded by death, and staring down at the lights of the metropolis below me, knowing that down there is companionship, humanity, brotherhood. I will remember how I felt upon that ridge for the rest of my life.
I hike on for a few more hours and eventually lay down, fully clothed, alongside a forest service road, too exhausted to set up a proper camp. Considering all of the time I walked in the wrong direction, I am sure that I have covered over 40 miles today.
May 14, Mile 369-383 (14 Miles)
A quick note about trail culture: Most PCT thru-hikers are given a trail name, some moniker that reflects upon their personality or appearance, a mistake they have made, or some other inside joke. If someone has a really cool trail name, like Spitfire, or Dragon Heart, you can rest assured that they came up with it themselves. No thruhiker is going to give another hiker a name that bad ass. My trail name, Bambi, was given to me because for the first 450 miles of this hike I was wearing minimalist running shoes and had to sort of prance around rocks and walk around like a baby deer when the trail tread was very rough, hence, Bambi. Not the toughest name out here, but I think it is bad form to choose your own name.
Beautiful hiking today. I spent the morning finishing my town chores in Wrightwood, updating my blog, picking up final food items, ect., before heading back onto the trail. The trail dropped to a low saddle, and then climbed up, with endless switchbacking, up the slopes of 9,400 foot Mt. Baden-Powell. There is an alternate trail that lead to the summit of the mountain, and I could not resist climbing it. At the summit you could see the massive expanse of the Mojave Desert, which I will soon be crossing, far below, along with the LA skyline. After spending a few hours on the summit, I marched my way down the ridge to my camping spot for the night at Little Jimmy Springs. Another hiker, who lives in the area, told me that the last time he was at Little Jimmy Springs he had 4 black bears (count em: 1, 2, 3, 4!) try to get into his campsite at night. So, tonight was the first night that I had to worry about anything getting into my food. I peed in a circle around my campsite (does this work? Who knows?) to mark my territory, hung my food in a tree, and went to sleep.
A quick note about trail culture: Most PCT thru-hikers are given a trail name, some moniker that reflects upon their personality or appearance, a mistake they have made, or some other inside joke. If someone has a really cool trail name, like Spitfire, or Dragon Heart, you can rest assured that they came up with it themselves. No thruhiker is going to give another hiker a name that bad ass. My trail name, Bambi, was given to me because for the first 450 miles of this hike I was wearing minimalist running shoes and had to sort of prance around rocks and walk around like a baby deer when the trail tread was very rough, hence, Bambi. Not the toughest name out here, but I think it is bad form to choose your own name.
Beautiful hiking today. I spent the morning finishing my town chores in Wrightwood, updating my blog, picking up final food items, ect., before heading back onto the trail. The trail dropped to a low saddle, and then climbed up, with endless switchbacking, up the slopes of 9,400 foot Mt. Baden-Powell. There is an alternate trail that lead to the summit of the mountain, and I could not resist climbing it. At the summit you could see the massive expanse of the Mojave Desert, which I will soon be crossing, far below, along with the LA skyline. After spending a few hours on the summit, I marched my way down the ridge to my camping spot for the night at Little Jimmy Springs. Another hiker, who lives in the area, told me that the last time he was at Little Jimmy Springs he had 4 black bears (count em: 1, 2, 3, 4!) try to get into his campsite at night. So, tonight was the first night that I had to worry about anything getting into my food. I peed in a circle around my campsite (does this work? Who knows?) to mark my territory, hung my food in a tree, and went to sleep.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Monday, May 14th Mile 352-369 (17 miles)
Woke up early this morning and set off to finish the remainder of the climb up the ridge line. Once I crested the ridge I noticed that there was an enormous field of Poodledog Bush, a poisonous plant related to poison oak, growing right on the trail for about a quarter mile. I tiptoed my way through the field, trying to avoid any contact with my skin and my gear. Later into the day I met a hiker named Monk who is carrying a collapsible didgeridoo with him and was treated to a back country didgeridoo concert. Eventually I made my way down to the small mountain town of Wrightwood where I spotted a bunch of other hikers scurrying around town. Spotting a thruhiker in towns is very easy: look for sweaty guys with beards and inappropriately worn rain gear. Most of us are carrying no spare clothes, so we disrobe and walk around in rain gear while our laundry is being washed. It is miserably hot in the Californian sun wearing rain gear, so we are all pouring sweat. In town, I stop into the post office where I received a fantastic care package from a lovely day hiker named Melissa that I met in the San Jacintos. Dried fruit. Kale chips. Tons of great things. It was unbelievably kind of her to send me, a relative stranger, the package, and I am very much indebted to her for it. Thanks again, Melissa!
I split a room with a fellow hiker, enjoy a huge amount of town food and go to bed.
Woke up early this morning and set off to finish the remainder of the climb up the ridge line. Once I crested the ridge I noticed that there was an enormous field of Poodledog Bush, a poisonous plant related to poison oak, growing right on the trail for about a quarter mile. I tiptoed my way through the field, trying to avoid any contact with my skin and my gear. Later into the day I met a hiker named Monk who is carrying a collapsible didgeridoo with him and was treated to a back country didgeridoo concert. Eventually I made my way down to the small mountain town of Wrightwood where I spotted a bunch of other hikers scurrying around town. Spotting a thruhiker in towns is very easy: look for sweaty guys with beards and inappropriately worn rain gear. Most of us are carrying no spare clothes, so we disrobe and walk around in rain gear while our laundry is being washed. It is miserably hot in the Californian sun wearing rain gear, so we are all pouring sweat. In town, I stop into the post office where I received a fantastic care package from a lovely day hiker named Melissa that I met in the San Jacintos. Dried fruit. Kale chips. Tons of great things. It was unbelievably kind of her to send me, a relative stranger, the package, and I am very much indebted to her for it. Thanks again, Melissa!
I split a room with a fellow hiker, enjoy a huge amount of town food and go to bed.
Sunday May 12th mile 342-352 (10 miles)
Took it easy today to give my ankle a break. Hung out with other hikers in a patch of grass in front of a gas station, and filled my stomach with bad food. As a collective, sitting in the grass, the group of hikers all looked much like a refugee camp. I met a few of the more talked about colorful hikers that I had been looking forward to meeting, including a duo collectively called 'the swedes' and individually referred to as Laptop and Feather. These two Swedes came onto the trail doing very little research and showed up at the border with mountaineering boots(which are not necessary at any point of the trail) and enormous 75+ pound packs. Laptop was carrying a full size laptop, along with charger and neoprene case. They were unsure about water availability so they had 17 liters, or over 4 gallons, of water each. Unsure of food, they both were carrying upwards of 20 days of food supplies. It is only necessary for us to carry around 4 days of food at this point, as the resupply opportunities are frequent. One of the Swedes collapsed 6 miles into the hike, from the heat and the weight of his pack. Later in the first day, they set up camp in an enormous field of poison oak. There were signs surrounding the plant, warning people to avoid the poisonous plant, but the Swedes assumed that they just meant to not ingest it. A few other hikers went up to them to warn them and they responded with, "We know, we read the sign," much to the chagrin of those who were warning them. They are great guys, and have obviously made some changes in their gear, but they have still built up quite a reputation. They are keeping up a good pace, and are both very strong hikers.
I also met a duo who have been deemed "The Wildboys." They are brothers who are carrying a crossbow with them and spend hours each day setting up traps for animals. So far they have only caught, and eaten, a few snakes. They walk barefoot on the trail. Interesting dudes to say the least.
Eventually I pulled away from the crowd and left town towards early evening and hiked into the night to avoid the heat in the surrounding hills. We were faced with a long, 15 mile climb from 2500 feet up to a ridge at 8500 feet. I cowboy camped on a logging road, after only 10 miles into the day. My ankle is feeling much better.
Took it easy today to give my ankle a break. Hung out with other hikers in a patch of grass in front of a gas station, and filled my stomach with bad food. As a collective, sitting in the grass, the group of hikers all looked much like a refugee camp. I met a few of the more talked about colorful hikers that I had been looking forward to meeting, including a duo collectively called 'the swedes' and individually referred to as Laptop and Feather. These two Swedes came onto the trail doing very little research and showed up at the border with mountaineering boots(which are not necessary at any point of the trail) and enormous 75+ pound packs. Laptop was carrying a full size laptop, along with charger and neoprene case. They were unsure about water availability so they had 17 liters, or over 4 gallons, of water each. Unsure of food, they both were carrying upwards of 20 days of food supplies. It is only necessary for us to carry around 4 days of food at this point, as the resupply opportunities are frequent. One of the Swedes collapsed 6 miles into the hike, from the heat and the weight of his pack. Later in the first day, they set up camp in an enormous field of poison oak. There were signs surrounding the plant, warning people to avoid the poisonous plant, but the Swedes assumed that they just meant to not ingest it. A few other hikers went up to them to warn them and they responded with, "We know, we read the sign," much to the chagrin of those who were warning them. They are great guys, and have obviously made some changes in their gear, but they have still built up quite a reputation. They are keeping up a good pace, and are both very strong hikers.
I also met a duo who have been deemed "The Wildboys." They are brothers who are carrying a crossbow with them and spend hours each day setting up traps for animals. So far they have only caught, and eaten, a few snakes. They walk barefoot on the trail. Interesting dudes to say the least.
Eventually I pulled away from the crowd and left town towards early evening and hiked into the night to avoid the heat in the surrounding hills. We were faced with a long, 15 mile climb from 2500 feet up to a ridge at 8500 feet. I cowboy camped on a logging road, after only 10 miles into the day. My ankle is feeling much better.
Monday, May 13, 2013
Saturday May 11th- Mile 310-342 (32 miles)
This was the biggest mile day of my trip so far, and I paid for it. Very high heat today, as I was at low elevation. I pushed too hard during the heat of the day and felt burnt out (literally and figuratively) by nighttime. I reached a confusing junction in the trail as I reached town (a pull out on the interstate) and I ended up having to bushwack through thick brush and climb my way through a barbed wire fence to reach the hotel I planned on staying at. In the process I got covered in biting ants (too many ants everywhere!), and looked like a maniac walking into the hotel lobby covered in brambles and slapping at every newly discovered ant. Not much to say about today. It was hot, and long and tough. My ankle swelled up towards the 20 mile mark, and downhills were agonizing. When I got to my room, I sat for a long time in the tub, and then turned off my brain by watching television.
This was the biggest mile day of my trip so far, and I paid for it. Very high heat today, as I was at low elevation. I pushed too hard during the heat of the day and felt burnt out (literally and figuratively) by nighttime. I reached a confusing junction in the trail as I reached town (a pull out on the interstate) and I ended up having to bushwack through thick brush and climb my way through a barbed wire fence to reach the hotel I planned on staying at. In the process I got covered in biting ants (too many ants everywhere!), and looked like a maniac walking into the hotel lobby covered in brambles and slapping at every newly discovered ant. Not much to say about today. It was hot, and long and tough. My ankle swelled up towards the 20 mile mark, and downhills were agonizing. When I got to my room, I sat for a long time in the tub, and then turned off my brain by watching television.
Friday, May 10- mile 285-310 (25 miles)
I woke up to sunny skies, a stark contrast to the night before. The weather was warm and I could feel myself become reinvigorated by the sun. I missed the warm weather very much. Great spirits today. I hiked on and off with a few other hikers, and spent a pleasant, if unremarkable,morning walking in the foothills of the mountains surrounding Big Bear. Around the 20 mile mark I made it to a natural hot springs in the middle of the desert where I was confronted with one of the more bizarre scenes I have ever seen.
The hot springs consist of a large complex of stone pools next to a creek in a small canyon. One of the first things I see upon entering the complex is a group of 5 topless girls,who look to be in their twenties, soaking in one of the pools. They are all sitting around a man in his mid to late 40's, impossibly tanned, with a flowing mane of thick blond hair. Upon seeing me he gets out of the pool, exposing his nightmarishly large genitals. He slowly(far slower than necessary) wrapped some sort of loincloth around his aforementioned genitalia(also impossibly tan), walked towards me, and introduced himself as 'Hippy Dave.' I greet him and he shrugs his shoulders, looks back at the girls and says, "Chicks, man." I say, "yeah," as if I have some sort of idea what he is talking about and can sympathize with him (I can not). I take a quick dip in the hot springs, and then head back to the trail. I camp on the side of a ridge on a clear, warm, desert night, on a ledge overlooking the twinkling lights of the inland empire.
I woke up to sunny skies, a stark contrast to the night before. The weather was warm and I could feel myself become reinvigorated by the sun. I missed the warm weather very much. Great spirits today. I hiked on and off with a few other hikers, and spent a pleasant, if unremarkable,morning walking in the foothills of the mountains surrounding Big Bear. Around the 20 mile mark I made it to a natural hot springs in the middle of the desert where I was confronted with one of the more bizarre scenes I have ever seen.
The hot springs consist of a large complex of stone pools next to a creek in a small canyon. One of the first things I see upon entering the complex is a group of 5 topless girls,who look to be in their twenties, soaking in one of the pools. They are all sitting around a man in his mid to late 40's, impossibly tanned, with a flowing mane of thick blond hair. Upon seeing me he gets out of the pool, exposing his nightmarishly large genitals. He slowly(far slower than necessary) wrapped some sort of loincloth around his aforementioned genitalia(also impossibly tan), walked towards me, and introduced himself as 'Hippy Dave.' I greet him and he shrugs his shoulders, looks back at the girls and says, "Chicks, man." I say, "yeah," as if I have some sort of idea what he is talking about and can sympathize with him (I can not). I take a quick dip in the hot springs, and then head back to the trail. I camp on the side of a ridge on a clear, warm, desert night, on a ledge overlooking the twinkling lights of the inland empire.
Thursday, May 9th. Mile 266-285 (19 miles)
I got a late start this morning, wanting to take advantage of the rented room. I bought groceries for the next stretch of trail, had a final town meal, and hitched a ride back to the trail. For the nearly 48 hours that I was in Big bear it did not rain one drop, despite forecasts for bad weather, but as luck would have it, the minute I stepped back on trail dark clouds started rolling in. It was an easy hike back up to the ridge line, and I was enjoying my time lost in thought with the miles passing effortlessly. The trail, with its unrelenting malevolence, must have sensed that things were a little too Idyllic and decided that it was time for me to get some 'fear training' in. I had just crested the ridge line when the skies erupted: thunder shook the ground, sounding like a passing freight train. Lightning shot through the sky. Hail pelted my head and shoulders. I was immediately transformed from my current form: a semi-brave, strapping, 26 year old man, to the 6 year old me: a nervous child, who thought that danger lurked around every corner and who mistrusted cats because of the way their eyes glowed in the dark. I started running, and was making noises like a frightened baby bat. I lost it. I questioned how I got myself into this situation, what I was doing here, and imagining every possible alternative. Eventually I made my way down off the ridge, out of the storm, and set up camp, where I spent a wet night under my shelter.
I got a late start this morning, wanting to take advantage of the rented room. I bought groceries for the next stretch of trail, had a final town meal, and hitched a ride back to the trail. For the nearly 48 hours that I was in Big bear it did not rain one drop, despite forecasts for bad weather, but as luck would have it, the minute I stepped back on trail dark clouds started rolling in. It was an easy hike back up to the ridge line, and I was enjoying my time lost in thought with the miles passing effortlessly. The trail, with its unrelenting malevolence, must have sensed that things were a little too Idyllic and decided that it was time for me to get some 'fear training' in. I had just crested the ridge line when the skies erupted: thunder shook the ground, sounding like a passing freight train. Lightning shot through the sky. Hail pelted my head and shoulders. I was immediately transformed from my current form: a semi-brave, strapping, 26 year old man, to the 6 year old me: a nervous child, who thought that danger lurked around every corner and who mistrusted cats because of the way their eyes glowed in the dark. I started running, and was making noises like a frightened baby bat. I lost it. I questioned how I got myself into this situation, what I was doing here, and imagining every possible alternative. Eventually I made my way down off the ridge, out of the storm, and set up camp, where I spent a wet night under my shelter.
Wednesday May 8th. Mile 266. Big Bear, CA
I took a zero day today(a day where one hikes zero miles). My first of the trip so far. Rented a room at a local Motel Six. I ate tons of broccoli, apples, and loads of other far less healthy edibles. Kombucha! I was taking antibiotics earlier in the trip, so there was a psychological boost from drinking some probiotics. I took a shower (ecstasy!), did some laundry(some smells do not wash out) and lounged in bed watching the NBA playoffs and text messaging my good friend Nick about sports. It was a slice of normalcy, and I really soaked it up. In the middle of the night I awoke with a start, wondering where I was. It will take a while to get used to waking up in a new place every night.
I took a zero day today(a day where one hikes zero miles). My first of the trip so far. Rented a room at a local Motel Six. I ate tons of broccoli, apples, and loads of other far less healthy edibles. Kombucha! I was taking antibiotics earlier in the trip, so there was a psychological boost from drinking some probiotics. I took a shower (ecstasy!), did some laundry(some smells do not wash out) and lounged in bed watching the NBA playoffs and text messaging my good friend Nick about sports. It was a slice of normalcy, and I really soaked it up. In the middle of the night I awoke with a start, wondering where I was. It will take a while to get used to waking up in a new place every night.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Never mind! Fixed the order of the posts. As an unabashed Luddite, it takes me a while to get the hang of all of this fancy technology.
A few days ago I watched another hiker eat a tortilla that was filled with the following: peanut butter, honey, foil packet salmon, foil packet tuna, foil packet spam, and cheese. Pretty gross, yeah? What is even more disconcerting, is that the rest of us were drooling while watching him eat it.
A few days ago I watched another hiker eat a tortilla that was filled with the following: peanut butter, honey, foil packet salmon, foil packet tuna, foil packet spam, and cheese. Pretty gross, yeah? What is even more disconcerting, is that the rest of us were drooling while watching him eat it.
El, Cajon
may, 12th
El Cajon, CA! 33 Miles hiked yesterday. 342 miles in. I am hustle hustle hustling. Wanted to get to town to call my lovely Mother for Mothers day. A few days ago I met an aging nudist hippy in the middle of the desert at a natural hot springs who had what appeared to be a harem of 20 something girls, and impossibly large genitalia. Will write more about it in an upcoming post. Order of the blog is a little off. The most recently posted entries were from my first few days on trail. I had not yet got the hang of journaling at that point, so they are a little arduous to read. There are a few more already cocked and ready to be posted and should be up soon, and I will mail a few new ones home tomorrow or tuesday.
El Cajon, CA! 33 Miles hiked yesterday. 342 miles in. I am hustle hustle hustling. Wanted to get to town to call my lovely Mother for Mothers day. A few days ago I met an aging nudist hippy in the middle of the desert at a natural hot springs who had what appeared to be a harem of 20 something girls, and impossibly large genitalia. Will write more about it in an upcoming post. Order of the blog is a little off. The most recently posted entries were from my first few days on trail. I had not yet got the hang of journaling at that point, so they are a little arduous to read. There are a few more already cocked and ready to be posted and should be up soon, and I will mail a few new ones home tomorrow or tuesday.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
wednesday may 8th
Hey folks, in Big Bear, CA. 266 miles in, or about 10% done. I think that today I am going to just rest and eat and take a day off. I am in the town library and was able to type some of my journals up. Brittany is going to put some of my previous journals up in the next day or so, so I should be pretty much up to date on here. For the next two hundred miles or so I will be heading West, towards Los Angeles, and making essentially zero northward progress. Ugh! Still feeling great. I miss you all!
tuesday may 7
Tuesday may 7th mile 246 to mile 266 20 miles
Similar to yesterday. Bad weather still around, but I was only 20 miles out of the town of Big Bear CA where I would be able to rent a bed, escape the elements, and get some good food in me. A few miles into the day's hike I hear a loud roaring coming from directly where I am heading. I have an idea of what is coming up, but the sound still stirs a primal, visceral, fear in me. I soon come upon some tiny cages where grizzly bears, lions, and tigers, were held. These animals are apparently used for movies. I could not help but compare my circumstance, the unlimited and bountiful freedom of this hike, to theirs, imprisoned in a steel fortress, and it soured my mood for the next few miles.
Hours and miles passed and I was getting towards the outskirts of big bear when I come upon what looks to be a stray dog with it's ears back, staring at my on the trail. It was black, without collar, and probably 80lbs. I yell for any owners and hear no response. Dogs, for some reason, seem to be uncomfortable around people wearing backpacks, so to avoid any sort of bad encounter I yell at it and throw a few rocks to scare it away. Immediately afterwards, I hear two guys yelling expletives and see them running towards me. I sprint, off trail, up a hill and hike is some bushes out of sight. For nearly an hour I hear them cursing and presumably looking for me. In this trail world of rattlesnakes, bears, ticks, and risks of heat and cold, it seems as if human beings are still the biggest threat of all. After the coast was clear, I strolled into town. A little later than expected, but no worse for the wear. My first stop: Subway. I consumed two foot long subs in one sitting and then walked to a local hostel where I booked a bed, caught up on journaling, ate another meal, and called it a night.
Similar to yesterday. Bad weather still around, but I was only 20 miles out of the town of Big Bear CA where I would be able to rent a bed, escape the elements, and get some good food in me. A few miles into the day's hike I hear a loud roaring coming from directly where I am heading. I have an idea of what is coming up, but the sound still stirs a primal, visceral, fear in me. I soon come upon some tiny cages where grizzly bears, lions, and tigers, were held. These animals are apparently used for movies. I could not help but compare my circumstance, the unlimited and bountiful freedom of this hike, to theirs, imprisoned in a steel fortress, and it soured my mood for the next few miles.
Hours and miles passed and I was getting towards the outskirts of big bear when I come upon what looks to be a stray dog with it's ears back, staring at my on the trail. It was black, without collar, and probably 80lbs. I yell for any owners and hear no response. Dogs, for some reason, seem to be uncomfortable around people wearing backpacks, so to avoid any sort of bad encounter I yell at it and throw a few rocks to scare it away. Immediately afterwards, I hear two guys yelling expletives and see them running towards me. I sprint, off trail, up a hill and hike is some bushes out of sight. For nearly an hour I hear them cursing and presumably looking for me. In this trail world of rattlesnakes, bears, ticks, and risks of heat and cold, it seems as if human beings are still the biggest threat of all. After the coast was clear, I strolled into town. A little later than expected, but no worse for the wear. My first stop: Subway. I consumed two foot long subs in one sitting and then walked to a local hostel where I booked a bed, caught up on journaling, ate another meal, and called it a night.
monday may 6th
Monday May 6th- mile 218 to mile 246 28 miles.
I woke up early and hiked quickly throughout the day. The storm I was trying to avoid had hit, and I was stuck hiking in clouds the entire day. I remember essentially nothing about the trail as I could see nothing but my immediate surroundings. It was cold, and wet, and a mild death march. At night I camped under a shelter at 9,000 feet amongst the pine. Temperatures fell into the 20s. I wore all of my clothes, including rain gear, into my sleeping bag and slept reasonably well.
I woke up early and hiked quickly throughout the day. The storm I was trying to avoid had hit, and I was stuck hiking in clouds the entire day. I remember essentially nothing about the trail as I could see nothing but my immediate surroundings. It was cold, and wet, and a mild death march. At night I camped under a shelter at 9,000 feet amongst the pine. Temperatures fell into the 20s. I wore all of my clothes, including rain gear, into my sleeping bag and slept reasonably well.
sunday may 5th
Sunday May 5th- Mile 206-mile 218 12 miles
I awoke at 6:00AM from the light of the desert sun, and walked through an already windy area, as evidenced by the innumerable windmills around me, in a windstorm. I was tossed back and forth as I slowly made my way to the house of Ziggy and the Bear, an elderly couple that opens their home to hikers for showers, water, and camping. I stopped in to pick up the package of food that I had mailed to myself and took a quick shower before heading back into the wind. Going on only four hours of sleep, I only made it ten more miles before deciding to call it a day. I stopped at a small nature preserve that lets hikers camp in a big field and set up my tent at 7:00pm for a restorative nights sleep.
The nature preserve is in an interesting geological position, being that it is in a river valley surrounded by high cliffs. This interesting geological position leads to interesting meteorological effects: wind. A ton of it. The wind started blowing in earnest at 9:00pm and for a while it was mild enough that it only pressed the fabric of my shelter into my face and flapped loudly. Then, it started to really gust. My tent was knocked down 3 times during the course of the night before I gave up and carried all of my things into a backcountry bathroom and slept on the floor. It may sound unpleasant, but it was by far the most restful sleep I have yet had on the trail.
I awoke at 6:00AM from the light of the desert sun, and walked through an already windy area, as evidenced by the innumerable windmills around me, in a windstorm. I was tossed back and forth as I slowly made my way to the house of Ziggy and the Bear, an elderly couple that opens their home to hikers for showers, water, and camping. I stopped in to pick up the package of food that I had mailed to myself and took a quick shower before heading back into the wind. Going on only four hours of sleep, I only made it ten more miles before deciding to call it a day. I stopped at a small nature preserve that lets hikers camp in a big field and set up my tent at 7:00pm for a restorative nights sleep.
The nature preserve is in an interesting geological position, being that it is in a river valley surrounded by high cliffs. This interesting geological position leads to interesting meteorological effects: wind. A ton of it. The wind started blowing in earnest at 9:00pm and for a while it was mild enough that it only pressed the fabric of my shelter into my face and flapped loudly. Then, it started to really gust. My tent was knocked down 3 times during the course of the night before I gave up and carried all of my things into a backcountry bathroom and slept on the floor. It may sound unpleasant, but it was by far the most restful sleep I have yet had on the trail.
Saturday May 4th
Saturday, May 4th: Mile 179(plus devils slide trail out of idyllwild- 2.6miles) to mile 206. 29.6 miles
Even trying to calculate the cumulative loss and gain in elevation of this section makes my knees hurt. The rest of my hiker friends stayed in Idyllwild to take a day off, and I pushed off alone. The weather forecast reported thunderstorms, wind, and rain starting Sunday at noon. I wanted to try to race the storm out of the area (SPOILER ALERT: I lost), so I climbed up and out of Idyllwild onto the ridgeline of the San Jacinto mountains.
Even with the gain of 4,000 feet+ of elevation, I was feeling very strong physically. Mentally I was stuck in a set of circular, negative thoughts and was feeling very lonely with all of the new hiker faces around. Running into a new pack of hikers feels much like being a new kid in school, so I was feeling extremely self aware. I was walking in a funk when I ran into a woman, Melissa, from San Diego (Melissa! Hello if you are reading this!) who was out for a day hike. I stopped and talked with her for nearly thirty minutes and she offered to send me some brownies further up the trail. Feeling better, I continued up the trail.
Towards the end of the day I faced an obstacle named "fuller ridge." Why is fuller ridge an obstacle? Simply put, it is an enormous ridge of Mt. San Jacinto and is a 15 mile switchbacking descent from 9,000 feet down to 1,500 feet onto the desert floor. There is no water during its entire length, and with Fuller ridge, the word "descent" is used very loosely as the ridge includes several steep climbs. If you actually like descending on descents, you should probably avoid looking at an elevation profile of the ridge to save yourself some heartache. There were many times on the way down when I would take a switchback down and see that the trail on the switchback above me was only five or so feet up.
Okay, so you get it: Fuller Ridge is long, hot, and a terrible place to hike. How, you may ask, did I plan to tackle this challenge? Why, with a SOLO NIGHT HIKE, of course! At the start, my solo desert night hike was one of the most liberating, empowering, experiences of my life. Walking amongst sage and chapparal, with the crunch of my shoes on the dusty soil the only thing breaking the unforgiving, endless silence of the desert night. The milky way was visible above me and I felt like I was truly a part of this landscape. Part of creation. One with the earth. A man without time. I felt young. I felt strong. I felt as if maybe, just maybe, I could be the one person to crack the riddle of mortality and live forever. This lasted until about 25 miles into my day. The remaining 5 were a different story all together.
In a ten minute period my flashlight stopped working, wind gusts of 50-60mph erupted from the slopes of the ridge, I ran out of water, and exhaustion kicked in. Without water I was not eating. I became the walking dead. All of my humanity left me and I became a purely sensory being. I had no past or future. I felt only the wind, the relentless wind, my thirst, and my heart beating. My mind was devoid of all higher thought as I staggered through the darkness, barely keeping on bath. This was my new life: the desert walker. I knew nothing else.
After what seemed like an eternity I came upon my goal: a water fountain strangely places in the middle of the desert floor. It seemed like a hallucination. It was not. A problem arises when one tries to obtain water from a water fountain when the wind is blowing in excess of 50mpg; none of the water gets where you want it to go. I spent over thirty minutes filling my water containers and taking an unwanted shower in the process.
I drank deeply. I ate. It was good.
I tucked my sleeping bag in between two small desert shrubs to provide myself with at least the illusion of a wind break, and I slept. It was 2:00AM
Even trying to calculate the cumulative loss and gain in elevation of this section makes my knees hurt. The rest of my hiker friends stayed in Idyllwild to take a day off, and I pushed off alone. The weather forecast reported thunderstorms, wind, and rain starting Sunday at noon. I wanted to try to race the storm out of the area (SPOILER ALERT: I lost), so I climbed up and out of Idyllwild onto the ridgeline of the San Jacinto mountains.
Even with the gain of 4,000 feet+ of elevation, I was feeling very strong physically. Mentally I was stuck in a set of circular, negative thoughts and was feeling very lonely with all of the new hiker faces around. Running into a new pack of hikers feels much like being a new kid in school, so I was feeling extremely self aware. I was walking in a funk when I ran into a woman, Melissa, from San Diego (Melissa! Hello if you are reading this!) who was out for a day hike. I stopped and talked with her for nearly thirty minutes and she offered to send me some brownies further up the trail. Feeling better, I continued up the trail.
Towards the end of the day I faced an obstacle named "fuller ridge." Why is fuller ridge an obstacle? Simply put, it is an enormous ridge of Mt. San Jacinto and is a 15 mile switchbacking descent from 9,000 feet down to 1,500 feet onto the desert floor. There is no water during its entire length, and with Fuller ridge, the word "descent" is used very loosely as the ridge includes several steep climbs. If you actually like descending on descents, you should probably avoid looking at an elevation profile of the ridge to save yourself some heartache. There were many times on the way down when I would take a switchback down and see that the trail on the switchback above me was only five or so feet up.
Okay, so you get it: Fuller Ridge is long, hot, and a terrible place to hike. How, you may ask, did I plan to tackle this challenge? Why, with a SOLO NIGHT HIKE, of course! At the start, my solo desert night hike was one of the most liberating, empowering, experiences of my life. Walking amongst sage and chapparal, with the crunch of my shoes on the dusty soil the only thing breaking the unforgiving, endless silence of the desert night. The milky way was visible above me and I felt like I was truly a part of this landscape. Part of creation. One with the earth. A man without time. I felt young. I felt strong. I felt as if maybe, just maybe, I could be the one person to crack the riddle of mortality and live forever. This lasted until about 25 miles into my day. The remaining 5 were a different story all together.
In a ten minute period my flashlight stopped working, wind gusts of 50-60mph erupted from the slopes of the ridge, I ran out of water, and exhaustion kicked in. Without water I was not eating. I became the walking dead. All of my humanity left me and I became a purely sensory being. I had no past or future. I felt only the wind, the relentless wind, my thirst, and my heart beating. My mind was devoid of all higher thought as I staggered through the darkness, barely keeping on bath. This was my new life: the desert walker. I knew nothing else.
After what seemed like an eternity I came upon my goal: a water fountain strangely places in the middle of the desert floor. It seemed like a hallucination. It was not. A problem arises when one tries to obtain water from a water fountain when the wind is blowing in excess of 50mpg; none of the water gets where you want it to go. I spent over thirty minutes filling my water containers and taking an unwanted shower in the process.
I drank deeply. I ate. It was good.
I tucked my sleeping bag in between two small desert shrubs to provide myself with at least the illusion of a wind break, and I slept. It was 2:00AM
Friday May 3rd
After hiking into Idyllwild, I ate a lot, and then I went to sleep in the campground. The end.
Friday, May 3, 2013
Idyllwild
Idyllwild, CA. 180 miles in. Today I ate an entire 16 inch pizza to myself. Yesterday I stepped on a rattlesnake and did not even get bitten. Not too shabby, if I do say so myself. Mailed a few more journals home, so keep checking for updates soon.
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