Month: April 2018

Campsite at mile 232 to campsite at mile 248

We wake up to gusting winds and a tent that is threatening to blow away with us in it. We need to move, immediately, or else our only form of housing is going to tear apart around us. Within 15 minutes we’re packed and moving down the trail, the wind making it too difficult to eat more than a few bites of mushed candy bar for breakfast.

From camp the trail climbs steeply and I’m already bonking, hard. Aren’t I supposed to be getting better at hiking? Why does everything feel so impossible today? Keith says he feels like he’s really starting to get his hiker legs. I say I’m about to fall asleep standing up. Thank god for Keith who immediately recognizes that I’m simply hungry and navigates us to the closest campground so we can eat a proper breakfast out of the wind.

This happenes when I hike, (often enough that I should know better by now) where I get tired instead of hungry and then I don’t want to eat and then everything spirals downward from there. But after snacks I feel amazing! Food means miles and smiles, and suddenly the world is back in color. Hiking! I love hiking!

Keith and I power uphill (which will be somewhat of a theme today as we climb 5,000 vertical feet towards Big Bear) along with Enigma, Bright Side, Jumanji, and Warrior. Send train! We’re hiking through an old burn, the trees look like dalmatians, all bleached white trucks and soot blackened spots.

My mood and energy are directly tied to food today and soon we stop for lunch with Parsley, Cool Breeze, and Cup of Joe, the whole Idyllwild gang of here! After lunch it’s just Keith, Jumanji, and myself pushing up up up onto a ridge and into the wind. The wind today is otherworldly, at once all around us and then suddenly calm. You can hear it raging overhead, sometimes ruffling past you, other times slamming down hard, whipping pack straps into exposed skin. The trees groan and shudder and I cannot figure out which way the wind is coming from, we’re in a torrent of wind howling powerful angry wind. A monster shaking the entire valley. The kind of gusts that make it hard to breathe, that pushes you sideways, that makes me laugh aloud. What are we doing up here? We are nothing, nothing compared to this wind. It’s an incredible experience, to feel so small. Fueled by gluten free bagels and Doritos I’m finding joy in everything today. The wind, our hubris, our endurance and fortitude, the sun and the clear blue sky. Good gracious this living thing really is grand.

Whitewater Preserve (mile 218) to campsite at mile 232

Let’s assume that in any population 10% are complete dingleberries – that is to say, self obsessed, mannerless, jerks. That’s not a scientifically proven number, but rather a guesstimate based on just under 30 years of observation. Now, if there are 300 people in your population sample, and that population is spread over a few hundred miles, it’s relatively unlikely that you’ll encounter one of the said dingleberries, and even less likely that they’ll leave a lasting impression. However, if your population is 3,500 people spread over the same few hundred miles, then the frequency of dingleberry encounters greatly increases and their presence is more detrimental to the entire population.

This is the problem plaguing the PCT.

As the trail becomes more popular there are a greater number of dingleberries hiking the trail, a similar percentage mind you, but a much larger number then even four years ago. And what’s worrying (aside from the average dingleberry’s complete disregard of manners) is the negative impact they’re having on the people who care for the PCT and it’s hikers the most: trail angels.

At Carmen’s in Julian we were told of a group of hikers ahead of us who ran up a $300 bar tab and then left without paying. Later, at Mike’s Place after Warner Springs we heard tale of some folks who drank all of Mike’s beer and didn’t so much as chip in a few bucks. While hiding from the blistering heat at the I-10 Oasis yesterday, we heard the story of a hiker who got so drunk and aggressive at trail angel Hillbilly’s house that Hillbilly had to kick him out in the middle of the night. Today another hiker boasted that he doesn’t follow the rules when staying at trail angles houses and he’ll drink in their homes even if they ask hikers not to.

Which begs the question: what in the actual fuck?!

Some of the hikers and trail angels we’ve spoken to blame the book/movie Wild for the increased population – and higher subsequent number of dingleberries – on the trail. But I think that’s just a scapegoat, folks looking to popular media as an easy target and failing to notice that hiking and the outdoors in general are gaining popularity on a national scale.

Conveniently, there is a moderately easy solution to the problem: mentorship, and if that fails, self policing. Cultures change from the inside, and if we want a better, more polite trail culture, then we have to model that behavior ourselves, tech others to do the same, and if all else fails, call out garbage behavior for what it is.

Mile 197 campsite to Whitewater Preserve (mile 218)

Word on the street says there’s a swarm of Africanized honey bees at mile 202. Or perhaps they are wasps. Or, maybe just regular wild bees. Regardless, folks are claiming that they’ll chase you down the trail and sting the ever-loving hell out of you. So that’s something to look forward to.

Allegedly, the solution to the bee problem is to cover yourself in white, thus disguising oneself as a bee keeper. The theory goes that this will, allegedly, frighten the bees – who are apparently afraid of their keepers – and then the bees won’t sting you. At least this is what Magnet told us in Idyllwild right before he left a bunch of white garbage bags on the hiker table and hiked out. And while I’m pretty sure this idea is logically unsound, we really didn’t have any better ideas, and so Keith and I each took a garbage bag on our way out of town yesterday.

The alleged bee swarm is just five miles into our day. And so it comes to pass that Keith and I are standing in the blazing sun buttoning up our shirts to the neck, donning our cold weather gloves, and bug nets. And to cover our legs? The aforementioned white garbage bags. Suitably suited and ready to charge into the bee gauntlet Keith pulls his phone from his pocket, turns up the volume and hits play on Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now.” Which, is of course the only appropriate song for this situation.

As Freddie Mercury’s voice fills the empty hillside we take off running. Packs bouncing on our backs, white garbage bags slipping off our butts turning our run into more of a waddle. Sweat is pouring down my legs soaking my shorts and causing instant chaffe, and in this moment I’m stuck by the absurdity of the whole thing and start to laugh historically, behind me I can hear Keith cracking up. Rather unfortunately this slows or awkward progression even further and it takes us the entire song played through twice until we clear the bee zone and can finally collapse into a small ribbon of shade, frantically pulling off our rediculous outfits. The air kisses our bodies, feeling mercifully cool even though the temperature is well into the 80’s. For a long time we cannot stop laughing. And you know what? We never even saw a single bee. But the view was spectacular, so we have that going for us, which is nice.

Idyllwild (5 mile side trail to PCT mile 183) to campsite at mile 197

A lizard skitters right under my foot as I’m walking. In the span of a moment my little scaly friend shoots out from a bush, runs under my foot, between my trekking pole, and is off down the trail before I’ve completed my step. So much speed in such a little body. How they must perceive time differently than us. To our little lizard friends we must appear as giants lumbering through their world.

I certainly feel like I’m lumbering today. Six days of food and as many liters of water weigh down my pack, pressing me into the earth. But oh is it beautiful today. High in an alpine forest, jaguar spots of shade covering the ground, the familiar crunch of granite gravel and fallen pine needles under foot. Edward Abby said there are three kinds of people, desert people, mountain people, and river rats. I’ve always been a mountain person. Always will be I bet. Spending the last two weeks crossing the desert has given me a new appreciation for the it’s unique beauty. And still, the mountains, how can anything compare to the mountains. They draw me towards their hidden places unrelentingly, unwaveringly.

Today we emerge from the mountains onto a long ridge, the ground dropping steeply away from us. Behind us the giant San Jacinto with it’s sharp angles and jutting faces of granite. Ahead of us lies San Gorgonio with it’s bald pate and sloping shoulders. And in our present we will walk down from one giant and cross the gulf of a desert valley before climbing onto the shoulders of the next. Onward, always onward. It’s not until I realize we’ve walked off the edge of the first water report that I stop and appreciate how far we’ve already come. From Mexico, we’ve walked nearly two hundred miles from Mexico. It’s worth noting.

From where we’re perched at this little campground above the valley floor I can see the past, present, and future of our hike. Though there is so much further that I cannot see, I cannot imagine, and I try not to let my mind wander there lest I become totally overwhelmed. In planning for the PCT one can skip down the trail in a minute: the desert, the Sierra, then northern California, Oregon, and finally Washington and done. Or reduce the thousands of miles into simple resupply points, Warner Springs, Kennedy Meadows, Sierra City, Belden and on and on to the border. It all seems so neat, simple even.

But on the trail I do not even think beyond the next town, more commonly my mind barely strays beyond the next rest stop. Like Mad Eye Moody’s foe glass, I don’t worry about what’s out there until I can see the whites of their eyes.

Looking across the valley is like staring into the future. I know I will go there, just not yet. For now there is only the stars

and the gentle calls of owls.

Double Zero in Idyllwild – no hiking

I got my double zero! Keith was easy to convince once he saw the soaring temperatures down in Cabazon aka the bottom of Fuller Ridge aka where we will be hiking in two days time. But luckily it looks like a heat spike and by waiting one day we’ll be able to avoid the worst of it.

In the interest of rest and recovery I’m going to keep this post short. Also, because the majority of my two days have been spent eating. Thru hikers don’t mess when it comes to eating, though for the most of us our eyes still greatly outsize our stomachs.

The most exciting thing I have to report at the moment is that I got to meet the mayor of Idyllwild! His name is Max, and yes, he is a dog (and a very good one at that). Max is the only dog to be elected as the mayor of a US city, and makes public appearances during the weekend. Needless to say, meeting Max made my day, as any day with in a dog is a good day.

And now a question for you all – what would you like to read about the PCT, any burning questions or topics you’d like me to cover? Comment below and I can try and answer your questions in future posts.

Mile 136 to Paradise Valley Cafe (mile 152 + 1 Mile road walk, then a hitch into Idyllwild)

It takes us four hours to hike around the nameless little city in the valley. Hiking up on a ridge, a crest if you will, rising and falling in and out of every fold of every hill. We are on the side of a bowl and on every side there are low round mountains extending to the horizon. Mountains with no sharp angles, all elbows and knees of lovers tangled up under the blankets, stretching into forever; below us the nameless little city in it’s dedicated patch of flat in the bottom of the bowl. We’re not going there and so I do not need to know the city’s name. Maybe that’s a little sad, the way we ignore nearly everything that isn’t within a stones throw of the trail, but today I have other things to worry about. For example: the fact that I don’t have enough food to make it through this section.

Sitting on a rock looking down onto the nameless city I tell Keith I’m hitching into Idyllwild once we reach Paradise Valley Cafe – home of the best burger on the PCT, or so I’m told. This wasn’t the plan, but it’s the only one I’m capable of now. Without the hitch we have two more days of hiking along a terrible alternate, the result of a trail closure. That was the plan, but plans change.

There is not enough food in my bag. Not enough energy in my legs, in my body. I’m dragging my body over every pass, leaning on my poles in order to pry my feet from the ground and continue forward motion. Today is the hardest day. So far, of course.

The only thing that keeps me moving is the idea of two days off in Idyllwild. Two zeros I tell myself again and again. Make it through today and you can take two zeros. This, along with the promise of the best burger on the PCT and I cajole myself to the highway, to the restaurant, to cold soda and a massive plate of food and after it all dissapears inside of me I’m only barely full. I need to pack more food.

After our cheerful waitress has cleared our food away I zone out with the relaxation of a full stomach and in this state I finally realize I’ve fallen into the valley. The fateful dip between how I started the trail, and the new stronger body that I’m building through days of continual motion. The valley of suck that one must go through before the soreness, exhaustion, and pain transforms into strength and resilience. I knew this was coming, and though it’s arrival was not a surprise, the suddenness and extremity shock me. However, like so many things that require us to grow the only way through this valley is to keep going.