Wild Country Found

Bucks Lake General Store (mile 1268, plus three miles on the Bucks Lake alternate) to Fowler Lake Junction (mile 1243)

Total PCT miles hiked: 995

Due to our early start Keith (Starman) and I arrived at the Sierras when there was still a lot of snow, and decided it wasn’t safe to attempt a crossing given my skill level. We elected to flip up to northern California and hike southbound (SoBo) back to where we left off near Lone Pine – giving the snow a chance to melt out. During this flip the PCT milage will be counting down, but I’ll include a tally of our total milage hiked so that you can keep aprised of our progress in a linear fashion.

 

I’ve been reading the Throne of Glass series by Sarah J Maas, and let me tell you, I’m obsessed. Not busy because this style of YA fiction is just what my tired brain wants to zone out on at the end of the day, but because Maas is doing what she can to make women brave. And I freaking love it!

But first, a preamble.

The trail just south of Bear Creek is a little washed out. It’s also a little covered in dry leaves that slide under your foot and make it feel like you’re almost, but not probably, going to fall. As I cross one of these sections today—eyes focused on the trail, moving with short deliberate steps—I wonder if this qualifies as bravery. It doesn’t really feel brave, more like functionality pragmatic, it feels like doing what needs to be done to address the situation at hand. Most of the difficult moments on the trail have felt that way. Yet, before I left for the trail people loved to tell me how brave I was. It was the single most common reaction I received. And I can understand the perspective, quitting a job, leaving a city life, heading out to hike a trail for five months, it all seems big and daunting. But my primary emotion was excitement, enthusiasm, but not bravery.

I was thinking, if this was a TED talk, now would be the part where I would tell you how to become brave and do cool things, but that’s not where I’m going with this. Because I’m pretty sure I’m not responsible for my alleged bravery, my parents are. Growing up my dad taught me how to cook a chicken and how to work on a car. My mom taught me it was cool to be smart and that the patriarchy was a real thing I’d have to fight against. They told me it was ok to explore and have adventures and they modeled that behavior in their actions as well. They still do. However, when I look back on a lot of the media I loved as a child, the adventurous protagonist was a male, while the female characters were often secondary damsels in distress, or else the love interest without any real desires of her own.

In a TED talk called to raise brave girls, encourage adventure Caroline Paul talks about how parents tend to caution their girls to be careful, far more than they do with their male children. How media and advertising backs up these messages. And how this results in adult women who in general are more wary and cautious in the world. Of course, once you’re aware of this is something that can be overcome. Yet it’s frustrating that it’s happening in the first place.

Which is where we wrap all the way back around the the work Maas is doing. Because one of the joys of reading YA fiction as an adult is being able to understand what the author is trying to do. To be able to see behind the narrative curtain to the moral that lies beneath. Maas’ main character, Celaena, is a total bad ass, and yet is plagued by self doubt. But, because of the type of book this is, in the end she concurs the bad people despite her doubt. The reader then feels like, if Celaena can do all these incredible things despite the doubt, then maybe they can too. Maybe the girl in the book can save herself, can do challenging things, can be brave. And maybe young women will see that they can do remarkable things too.

Belden Town (mile 1287) to Bucks Lake General Store (mile 1268, plus three miles on the Bucks Lake alternate)

Total PCT miles hiked: 970

Due to our early start Keith (Starman) and I arrived at the Sierras when there was still a lot of snow, and decided it wasn’t safe to attempt a crossing given my skill level. We elected to flip up to northern California and hike southbound (SoBo) back to where we left off near Lone Pine – giving the snow a chance to melt out. During this flip the PCT milage will be counting down, but I’ll include a tally of our total milage hiked so that you can keep aprised of our progress in a linear fashion.

My watch alarm rings at 5:30am, meaning that despite our leisurely start we’re still on the trail by 7:30. I know, I know, it’s not impressive but we’re trying our best. Well, I’m trying and Keith seems to need at least 40 minutes of scrolling through his phone before he’s ready to face the day. Plus, this morning we had Keith’s breakfast cupcakes to eat, which were kindly sent to us by my family in our latest resupply box (Thanks Mom, Dad, and Lisa, we really appreciate it!) Keith spends 15 minutes using the extra frosting packets to decorate the cupcakes before we dig in. By the time we’re done with cake for breakfast we’re well and truly sugar buzzed and need to start hiking.

Today is another northern California day. Meaning we climb a brutally steep hill in the morning, switchbacking endlessly through dense forest, then spend the afternoon alternating between wide open ridge walking and additional dense forests. From one such bald I spy snow capped peaks in the distance. The start of the Sierra? Again? Are we almost back in the mountains? Of course we’re still a hundred or more miles out, but in PCT distances we’re almost there. The majority of the day passes in easy silence as we listen to old episodes of This American Life on Keith’s phone. It’s rare to see other hikers this far north so early in the season, so we can listen to podcasts aloud without worrying about annoying other hikers. We see four people all day, all going northbound, all speeding by.

Honestly, I’ve been struggling a little to write daily blog posts during this section. I’ve been listening to more audio books and podcasts during the day, too. It’s something that’s been a source of frustration for me, and I’ve been worrying that my posts have lost some of their luster. Each night the words come a little less easily, each day I have to think a little harder about what was the most remarkable moment. Despite generally writing as though nobody will read my stuff (lest I get too in my head and never publish anything), I’m tandemly concerned that nobody will read my stuff! Writers, ya know?

Only today, during our hours of walking did I realize it’s not so much the writing as it is the terrain. I’ve seen northern California listed as folks least favorite section, and honestly I now understand why. All day we walk through dense, dry pine forest which stretches away from us in all directions into infinity. Or so it feels. It’s the kind of forest that one could lose themselves in, not emotionally, mind you, but literally – the uniformity of the trees is disorienting. When we crest a ridge our view reveals the same marching stands of trees pushing to the horizon. But, as with all things in life – perhaps especially the less than wonderful things – northern California is teaching me about myself. Namely that my heart belongs to the mountains, not the forests or rivers or desert, but the mountains. Edward Abbey said that there are three kinds of people, mountain people, desert people, and river rats. I am most decidedly a mountain person. I’m also pretty sure I’ve used that quote before; 10 points to Ravenclaw if you know what post that was in.

As I walk I tune out the podcast on Keith’s phone and think about the trees, this somewhat less than astonishing part of the planet, how I can’t find that familiar thread of thrill that normally pulls me towards wild places. I think about our time in Peru two years ago when we climbed the 15,500 foot Salcante pass, standing above it the peak by the same name at over 20,000 feet. How I could stare at that peak which defied any human attempt to categorize it; behemoth, gargantuan, enormous, all words too small for a mountain so imposing, with it’s endless snow turned waterfalls cascading down it’s massive backside. These forests are pleasant but not the same.

By 5pm we’ve done our 19 miles for the day and thus have earned the opportunity to head into the small tourist community of Bucks Lake for a drink and dinner. Keith feels that the offerings of PBR and Coors Light from Belden Town do not sufficiently constitute a birthday beer, where as the 18 beers on tap at the Bucks Lake Lodge likely do.

The bar is a wood paneled, u-shaped affair, with large windows offering a commanding view of the lake and a pony tail sporting bar tender in a flannel shirt. The low ceilings counteract the light pouring in from outside, giving the establishment a warm, cozy feel to it. A locals bar next to a tourists restaurant, and one of three total establishments in the area. The bartender seems to know everybody there and they all know him. It’s the sort of intimacy by proximity that you rarely see in a large city like LA. It’s clear that we’re not locals, and after a few initial questions folks quickly lose interest in us and return to their conversations. We sip our drinks while their talk waft past. News about health and work and grandkids is exchanged tit for tat, each person contributes what they can to the collective knowledge of the group. Highschool graduation years are compared, not of their children, but their own. Forty years of knowing each other, probably more. A man and woman enter and before they’ve finished saying their hellos the bartender has two drinks waiting for them – a Budweiser for him, a tall gin and tonic for her. I wonder what it would be like to have that sort of familiarity, to know that on any given Monday night at the lodge you could turn up and see 10 of your friends.

To be an outsider on this bar stool feels like wandering across television channels; stepping from our regularly scheduled programming and onto another stage. Short term voyeurism. As we pay our tab and leave barely anyone pays us heed. We step back onto the sun soaked road, back to our channel.

Zero at Belden Town, no hiking

Total PCT miles hiked: 951

Due to our early start Keith (Starman) and I arrived at the Sierras when there was still a lot of snow, and decided it wasn’t safe to attempt a crossing given my skill level. We elected to flip up to northern California and hike southbound (SoBo) back to where we left off near Lone Pine – giving the snow a chance to melt out. During this flip the PCT milage will be counting down, but I’ll include a tally of our total milage hiked so that you can keep aprised of our progress in a linear fashion.

Today is Keith’s 30th birthday! Well, on the day I’m writing this, not on the day you’re reading this which will be something like 10 days after the fact.

I think 30 feels significant in a way that non-decade birthdays do not. When I asked Keith what he thought about turning 30, what he felt it meant, he said that 30 feels like becoming a real adult, that it somehow forces people to take you seriously in the way that being a twenty-something does not. I guess I can see his point, but to quote April Ludgate from Parks and Rec “being a responsible adult sucks butt.” In an effort to undermine Keith’s pending adulthood, here are five things that make us randomly laugh and prove that despite our age we are not, in fact, adults.

1. Farts! Farts are always funny. And since our diet on the trail has lead to a dramatic uptick in these gasious expulsions, it’s best to be able to laugh at them.

2. The number of words and phrases you can add goat to. Whatever floats your goat. A goat of arms. Goatmeal (oatmeal). Goat for it. I worry about us.

3. Mitt Romney (generally) but also because of the quote “hot dog is best,” which he said in response to the question of his favorite meat. Because that’s what I really need to know from politicians. So now any time we’re having a hard time making a choice you can always contribute a “hot dog is best” to resolve the situation.

4. “You know what they say, a taco a day… Goose Lake.” This stems from a series of poorly placed advertisements along the I-5, the full narrative of which is too long to recount here and would likely bore you anyway. Let’s move on.

5. Making up alternate lyrics for popular songs. See: the post from day 60 – it’s like David Blane on your son’s birthday. This sing along was not an isolated incident.

Happy Birthday to my favorite goober! I hope that Belden Town Resort isn’t too bizarre of a place to spend your birthday. Now let’s go get some beers and fries!

Cold Spring (mile 1305) to Highway 70 (mile 1287)

Total PCT miles hiked: 951

Due to our early start Keith (Starman) and I arrived at the Sierras when there was still a lot of snow, and decided it wasn’t safe to attempt a crossing given my skill level. We elected to flip up to northern California and hike southbound (SoBo) back to where we left off near Lone Pine – giving the snow a chance to melt out. During this flip the PCT milage will be counting down, but I’ll include a tally of our total milage hiked so that you can keep aprised of our progress in a linear fashion.

I wake before Keith and hobble from the tent on tender feet to take my morning pee. Squatting between trees I relieve myself into the loamy earth. The act feels feral. Uncivilised. Wild. One of those mundane moments that takes on sudden significance for no apparent reason. A moment that allows me to view the picture in it’s entirety, and laugh. Backpacking, for all its affected grandeur is one very weird activity. Undertaken primarily by the white and affluent we clad ourselves in high tech synthetic garments so we can retreat into the natural. We seek to get out and explore through a series of developed trails. We eschew the hygienic modern toilet so that we can dig holes in the earth and poop in them. Does it feel a little contrived to anyone else?

Which isn’t to say I don’t love hiking. There does seem to be a deep, nearly animalistic desire to wander in wild spaces nestled in my core. A pulling ache of sorts that propels me to take advantage of what some anthropologists call humans greatest inheritance—the ability to travel astonishing distances by foot. And perhaps it is because I feel so very comfortable with hiking, feel no threat of being an imposter, that I can so easily laugh at the occasionally absurd nature of this sport. Though, can we really call hiking a sport, it’s more of a past time.

I believe it’s comedian Jim Gaffigan who has a bit about camping in which his wife tells him that her family has a tradition of camping, to which he counters that everybody had a tradition of camping until they invented the house. Touché Jim, touché.

A lovely snow plant, which has nothing to do with my pee.

Chester (mile 1331) to Cold Spring (mile 1305)

Total PCT miles hiked: 933

**NOTE: I think there is a reroute south of us and is throwing off the milage between the two apps that I use (Halfmile and Guthooks) so until the our flip is over I’ll be using Guthooks miles exclusively in an effort to keep things straight, and likely it will still be off when we come back north. Ah whale, what can ya do.

Due to our early start Keith (Starman) and I arrived at the Sierras when there was still a lot of snow, and decided it wasn’t safe to attempt a crossing given my skill level. We elected to flip up to northern California and hike southbound (SoBo) back to where we left off near Lone Pine – giving the snow a chance to melt out. During this flip the PCT milage will be counting down, but I’ll include a tally of our total milage hiked so that you can keep aprised of our progress in a linear fashion.

The forests around us stretches into infinity. Tall pines smattered with neon green moss marching away from the trail in near uniformity in every direction. The trail winding serenely through the understory, deeply shaded and quiet. It’s the sort of northern California forest that can lull your mind into absolute presence. I am thinking about nothing, listening only partially to the sounds of wildlife, we don’t talk as we make our way down the trail. Keith is but a vague presence behind me, inactivity comforting. It’s five in the evening and we’re still six miles out from camp. 26 today, our longest day on the trail – something that felt exciting in the planning, epic in the early morning, and now in the evening with tired feet and slowing pace it’s mostly about getting it done. But within it all I cannot imagine where I’d rather be.

We crest a small ridge. In the span of 100 feet the scenery transforms from dark pine forest to volcanic moonscape, dark brown conglomerate rock juts from the earth like spines along a dragons back. But less elegant and unform than dragon spines, so maybe more like leftover dragon poops. Below the dense forest stretches to the horizon, lit just so by the warming sun of late afternoon; hills marching into the distance, distinguished only by height. The view coupled with the knowledge that we’ll be walking across those hills for another 10 days trips something in my mind and all at once I realize that this is my life. It’s a moment of breathing in the cooling evening air in which I can recognize that I am actually hiking the PCT, living the two year dream of getting on the trail, that this experience right here and now is one of the many that will make up my time on this incredible blue planet. It feels like zooming in and out on a picture, experiencing this moment as a single instance and as part of a whole. It’s like seeing the powerful within the mundane.

I want more of these moments.

Prior to the trail I often felt that my life was rushing past me in great leaps. Caught in the cult of busy I feared downtime, seeking to cram every minute of the day with activity lest I become devalued by laziness. I sought to pull importance towards myself simply by overachieving, overscheduled, often overworked and overwhelmed. I thought a simple life would be one of mind numbing boredom. Who am I if I’m not being productive? What is the point if I’m not always making building doing something? I had so fully bought into the idea that a busy person is a fulfilled person that I could barely see that there was another way of existing. That maybe, just maybe, going into the woods to wander without interruption was it’s own form of living, and that the all stirring idea of productivity and business should not be my only aim.

Tee hee, butt mountain.

Campsite at Lassen NP boundary (mile 1365) to Campsite at Lassen NP southern boundary (mile 1346)

Total PCT miles hiked: 892

Due to our early start Keith (Starman) and I arrived at the Sierras when there was still a lot of snow, and decided it wasn’t safe to attempt a crossing given my skill level. We elected to flip up to northern California and hike southbound (SoBo) back to where we left off near Lone Pine – giving the snow a chance to melt out. During this flip the PCT milage will be counting down, but I’ll include a tally of our total milage hiked so that you can keep aprised of our progress in a linear fashion.

We are 15 miles into our 19 mile day when we see Lite Brite and Hulkspiration at the campground outside Drakesbad ranch. We had originally not planned to stop here and get into camp early for once. But with so few familiar faces it’s impossible to hike on without saying hello.

“People I know!” Shouts Hulkspiration as he comes marching out of the tent to greet us. It’s amazing to see them here after the Sierra threw everybody’s plans to the wind. Hulkspiration and Lite Brite also skipped around the Sierra but unlike us, got back on the trail at Sierra City and are heading north. The first thing to cover is trail gossip; hikers, after all, are no better than the blue haired Betty’s at the hair salon. Who is on the trail or off the trail, which folks are where, any various interpersonal drama. It’s like catching up on a reality show in which you’re also a contestant. But instead of being able to watch a neatly edited 60 minutes you need to piece together this weeks events from various social media accounts and second hand narratives. We find out a lot of the people hiking near us are either waiting out the snow in trail towns or else heading north to drier climes. There’s also a new round of people who are off the trail more permanently. It’s always sad to hear that someone’s hike is over, whatever the reason. I think most people come into a thru hike thinking they’re going to make it to the end, but some folks just don’t like the day to day reality of thru hiking, while others head home to preserve relationships, and others still are injured and they’re forced off.

Suddenly Hulkspiration asks if the lack of people up here is bothering us. I know what he means, with our flip up north we’ve gotten off the typical path and the lack of other hikers is jarring, especially when compared to the desert where proximity to the start ensures a high volume of hikers and limited water sources cause folks to bunch up. Since coming north two weeks ago we’ve seen maybe 12 other thru hikers. However, I can’t say that the solitude is bothersome. In some ways it’s very relaxing. Hulkspiration on the other hand says he’s being driven bonkers by the lack of people to talk to. It’s something I’ve heard echoed by hikers with experience in the AT, which is a trail known for its social atmosphere and higher density of hikers. A number of these folks have mentioned that on the PCT people are on their own schedules and time lines and that the desire to hike in a group is weaker than on the AT. It’s an interesting point, and one I’ll have to take him at his word on, having never stepped foot on the AT. But I see where he’s coming from.

When I was panic reading old blogs before the trail a lot of people emphasize their experience with fellow hikers. There is a lot of merit placed on the idea of a trail family. But so far bonding seems to happen mostly in town and we rarely spent more than a day actually hiking with folks, not just camping next to them. But maybe it’s just the difference in priorities. When I got on the trail I was the most apprehensive about the social aspect. Which in comparison to the physical feat I was about to undertake seems a little laughable. I was really excited to be outside in nature all day, to push my body, and to just hike. Hiking is deeply restorative for me, it feels central to who I am in a way that no career or college degree ever has. Somehow the idea of covering all those miles seemed more enticing, more comprehensible, than the act of navigating a moving ameoba of strangers.

Communication Facility on Hat Creek Rim (mile 1391) to campsite at Lassen NP boundary (mile 1365)

Total PCT miles hiked: 873

Due to our early start Keith (Starman) and I arrived at the Sierras when there was still a lot of snow, and decided it wasn’t safe to attempt a crossing given my skill level. We elected to flip up to northern California and hike southbound (SoBo) back to where we left off near Lone Pine – giving the snow a chance to melt out. During this flip the PCT milage will be counting down, but I’ll include a tally of our total milage hiked so that you can keep aprised of our progress in a linear fashion.

Tonight we’re camped just outside the boundary for Lassen Volcanic National Park. A campsite chosen exclusively because on one side of the boundary line we need to house all our food in a a bear cannister, and on this side of the line we do not. We’ll camp here tonight and tomorrow we’ll cover the 19 miles of the PCT that run through the park to the next boundary line where the bear cannister is no longer needed. It’s an arbitrary set of lines which, I’m pretty sure the bears don’t give a royal fudge about. But the line wasn’t built by bears, but by humans and we love arbitrary lines.

Take the PCT for example, on paper, according to national boundaries, the trail runs between the Mexican and Canadian borders. In a romantic sense it travels the height of the country. In practice, the trail starts just a few miles south of the small town of Campo, CA a top a small rise in what would be an open field were it not for the decrepit border wall. Campo itself would be unremarkable were it not for it’s proximity to the trailhead. The northern terminus of the trail is no more significant than a point in a dense forest, somewhat north and east of the city of Seattle. Geography class taught me that these places, these borders, have meaning. But when you stand at the southern terminus looking at that ugly wall, the one that everybody crops out of their photos, you realize how irrelevant it is. How arbitrary than on this side of a glorified fence we’re Americans and on that side they’re Mexicans. At this point, everything falls apart. Who decided that you need a bear cannister on this side of the line but not that side? Why did we decide there are three meals in a day and why is the first one the most important? Why is it called Wednesday? How come the trail has to zig zag around this ridge when we could go up and over for a tenth the effort?!

Which is all a very convoluted way of saying that when you’re walking down a trail watching it go hither thither and can see on your map that there is a very direct dirt road to your destination it can become apparent that your entire life you are surrounded by the choices of others that through time we have all come to accept as the norm, within our respective communities of course. And that for the most part you have chosen to accept these rules. That even now on this hike, something that until a few years ago was still seen as pretty out of the norm, your aim is largely about following the prescribed trail. And where there is a pervasive culture in which deviating from the trail is seen as cheating, somehow breaking the thru hiker code of conduct. It’s a feeling I’ve internalized despite generally disagreeing with. How did we all start out on this wild adventure with the goal to do it as uniformly as possible?

What am I even trying to say here.

It is apparent as a hiker that the PCT and the culture surrounding it are going through a growth spurt and are experiencing the normal growing pains associated with popularity. The trail is moving from counter culture to mainstream and some people just don’t like it. However, this happens to all niche activities as they are picked up by the masses. Ultra running had this happen a decade ago, and then too people laid the blame on a book, or in ultra running’s case, two books: Ultra Marathon Man by Dean Karnazis and Born to Run by Christopher McDougal. And just as we’re seeing now, people will make the argument that the changes in the sport are largely negative. A lot of this argument boils down to: it was better back in my day because I say so. I had a trail angel tell me that Wild was the worst thing to happen to the trail, just minutes after telling me how they’ve been able to put in better signs along the stretch near his home because of money from the PCTA. He couldn’t seem to see the connection between more hikers and an increase in money. Though the reality is with both thru hiking and ultra running the catalyst for change was slower to arrive and the result of larger factors at work. Running always sees an uptick in participation when the economy is tanking, and growth in the outdoors industry has been ticking up for years.

But people want an easy scapegoat in the same way they want easy lines and boundaries laid out for them. When there were only a hundred thru hikers or less each year it’s easier to define yourself by the achievement. You know where you belong and the community feels close. But as something becomes more poplar the box gets a little bigger and a little bigger until you can’t see the edges and you feel lost in the tide of mass participation. There are so many unfamiliar faces you can’t easily tell who is in the group or out. So you redraw the box, make it smaller to include just the ‘back in my day’ folks. But not everybody has the benefit of age, so in order to shrink the box maybe you put rules on the activity, arbitrary lines in the sand to divide thru hiking purists versus the plebian hoard. Even the way in which folks refer to these hardcore rule followers as purists is problematic; as though anything but strict adherence is tainted or dirty. But again, it’s something to hang your hat on, it’s someone to be. The Harry Potter sorting hat quiz has been taken millions of times, you think that’s a coincidence? Humans love having a quick shorthand to identify ourselves, recognize others, know we’re not alone.

Which of course we’re not, we’re all unified by our need to belong, to fit in. And maybe that’s the worst realization, that you’re just like everybody else, and you’re the only one who can see all those boxes you keep drawing in the sand.

Burney Falls State Park (mile 1419) to Burney CA the town (mile 1411)

Total PCT miles hiked: 829

Due to our early start Keith (Starman) and I arrived at the Sierras when there was still a lot of snow, and decided it wasn’t safe to attempt a crossing given my skill level. We elected to flip up to northern California and hike southbound (SoBo) back to where we left off near Lone Pine – giving the snow a chance to melt out. During this flip the PCT milage will be counting down, but I’ll include a tally of our total milage hiked so that you can keep aprised of our progress in a linear fashion.

We spent this morning walking from Burney Falls State Park to highway 299 where we hitched into the town Burney; our driver is an older woman who moved up here four years ago, southern California born and bred who just couldn’t stand the city life any more. We never quite get around to introducing names. I share the back seat with Odie, an elderly terrier mutt who is quite content to stand very close to my face and allow me to pet him for the duration of the six minute drive.

The first thing that is apparent about Burney is that it’s a highway town, long and skinny, three restaurants a gas station, Dollar General and a grocery store. No sidewalks in the entire town safe for in front of the McDonald’s, whatever that says about America. It’s clear folks are used to driving in this town, they flash me a look that is at once confusion mingled with just a little concern as I make my way down the combination road shoulder-bike lane combo. Though hundreds of cars made there way through here earlier today during the busy memorial weekend, the population in Burney is just about 3,000. This is apparent during our lunch at Anna’s County Kitchen which, by the way, is everything you’d want and expect it to be. People coming in for Sunday brunch greet each other as neighbors if not downright friends, asking about health and grandchildren. It’s not something one sees commonly in LA, this sort of social circle by proximity.

I would have never come to Burney for any reason were it not for the PCT. For no fault of its own and no reason on my part, other than I hadn’t gotten around to visiting anything near it. This type of town is surprisingly numerous in northern California, though the vastness of the state means that Burney and towns like it are isolated for 30 to 60 minutes in any direction. It’s these rural American communities that people thinking about California forget. But it’s worth remembering that California only became a solid blue state in 1988; the year I was born. There are lots of towns where hunting, fishing, and riding an ATV are the preferred modes of outdoor recreation. Mountain towns without expensive tourists restaurants and health food stores. The kinds of towns that are all over this country.

But Burney also loves it’s hikers. Our driver, our waitress, the grocery store clerk, along with several people on the street asked if we were PCT hikers, all of them wishing us good luck on our hike. My last interaction with a well wisher is while I’m standing in the McDonald’s waiting for my McFlurry – M&Ms and Reese’s cups, if you want to know. Larry asks me if I’m a hiker, tells me he always wanted to hike the trail but he’s too busy working now. We talk about some of the areas I’ve hiked near here, tell him about how we’re flipping around the Sierra and then heading south and that’s why we’re here so early. I tell him he should consider section hiking if he’s busy and he tells me he gets out into “this country” a lot. Smiling, he says that when he’s free he heads out in any direction “find a lake to post up at and start fishing.” I notice his camo baseball hat and asks if he’s a hunter. He is, and a hiker too. “I love being outside any chance I get. We moved here in ’64 and all us kids rode our bikes around everywhere. We went all around these hills. And all this land,” he spreads his arms wide and ushers towards the north “is US Forest Service that’s leased to foresting companies, so it’s all public land. We can go anywhere we want up there.” By “we” he means you and me, he means the American public. Because of where Larry lives he’s very aware that the forests and lakes he loves are the property of the American public. You, citizen, this is your forest, your mountain, your desert. The PCT runs through a lot of these lands, they’re an amazing natural resource and something that’s central to the heart of America. We talk about the importance of public lands staying public and out of the hands of companies. How important it is for Larry to imagine future generations on this land, to grow up riding bikes around in the woods below the shoulders of Burney Mountain. Soon his food is ready and so is mine. We shake hands and he wishes me luck as we head in opposite directions at the parking lot.