August 21

PCT Mile 2096

I loved the the stretch from Shelter Cove north. Tons of little lakes, flattish, not hot.  I walked into lava fields, which were hot and the footing stunk, but one night I had a perfect campsite on a bluff under trees with a view of the sunset, and also sunrise, both red and brilliant from all the forest fire smoke.  A small spring was nearby and I was utterly alone, perfectly quiet.

I know a picture is worth a thousand words, but  my phone photos of the special Obsidian Area do not capture the glitter of this place.  Black obsidian hills and hummocks on a rare sunny day sparkled like crystal shards in a giant garbage dump of volcanic activity.  Huge boulders of obsidian, rounded and matte black, were scattered on the landscape as if the old gods had spit out enormous wads of black licorice chewing gum.  I wondered about the first people discovering this treasure of tool making materials and what trade routes this stone has traveled.  I drank water bubbling from the ground, a spring with arrowhead and axe head sized obsidian rocks piled like scree all around.  Were some of the edges chipped and worked by human hands and then discarded, imperfect?

Hiked the following day uphill through massive fields of rotted black lava on a loose, slipping trail of red cinders.  As difficult as it was, the unknown trail engineer and construction crew did a stellar job with the alignment and grade.  The downhill was horrendous though, with chunks of lava sticking up through a bed of sand and dirt.

My friend Tarcey joined me at Big Lake Youth Camp, a 7th Day Adventist camp that has a hiker room, showers, laundry, etc. before mid-August. I got there the day after the last day of camp and it looked like a personnel bomb had gone off. Felt like The Walking Dead were imminent. Got my chores done and Tarcey and I camped a few miles up the trail by a pond.

The next days weren’t kind to Tarcey, heat, uphill and bad water tested her limits.  She made it though and returned to the area a day or two later to pick me up from the trail and to a motel: shower, laundry, food, beer and battery charging! And back to the trail so I could slack pack the last 5 1/2 miles to Timberline Lodge.

“0h goddammit,” I yelled as my good ankle rolled on a loose rock, the pain as ligaments or tendons or something wrenched out of place across the bone.  I could see my hike ending just as suddenly.  I nearly blacked out but really I’d hiked last year on a far more painful injury of my other ankle, maybe the inevitable swelling would allow me to keep walking. RICE is overrated in my personal experience.  “2000 miles is all I get?”  I limped 3 miles to Ollalie Lake, a mere 13 for the day and considered my options.  A day or two off to see how bad it was?  A 2 hour hitch to a doctor?  I went to the tiny store and bought an IPA, an Ace bandage, a bag of Fritos and 2 Hostess cherry pies.  Trail tranquilizers.  I took some Advil and camped there.  The next morning my ankle was puffy but I could walk without limping or much pain.  The trail was flat and soft, I camped after 25 miles, about 5:30 to rest the ankle.  It’s healing. I’m hiking on. Don’t try this at home. I’m an idiot.

I’ve talked about it before, how your perception of time changes on the trail. Time is how many days of food you carry, resupply to resupply, a 100 miles. I think about going from South Lake Tahoe to Sierra City or from Mazama Village to Shelter Cove.  On the trail, there’s a daily goal, where’s the next water? Will there be a tent site in 25 miles or should I stop earlier or go later? We ask each other, “Where’d you camp last night?” “Oh, around 1879.” The miles measure time, we hike 2.5 miles to the hour, or 3, we go 10 hours or 12 hours or longer, day after day. Some of us get up early, some get up late and walk till dark, or past. The 100’s just seem to tick by. A hiker will suddenly appear and I’ll have to place him by what mile I saw him last, what place, never what week or day, the weeks and days are anchorless, they don’t attach to miles or resupply locations. The people working in trail towns tease us for never knowing what day of the week it is. We know our start date, we know we’ll run out of trail someday and go back to real life, but for now there is the trail we walk every day, always different, time consuming yet timeless.

August 14
PCT Mile 1950

Nice phrase, eh? Credit goes to my kids, who could never just say “lava,” it was always “burning hot lava.” So wherever I see the stuff that’s how I think of it. There was no burning hot lava on this stretch, just lots of the cooled down rock, and since I’m stil just writing this blog on my phone I’m not going to Wikipedia the proper terms for the massive fields of black scree lava, the trail built of red cinders and all the other manifestations of volcanic activity that Jackie and I walked through when we hit the trail out of Callahan’s near Ashland.

Jackie joined me for 3 days, doing 18 mile days right out of the blocks, pretty impressive! It was fun sharing the thru-hiking experience with a friend. She met Sparrow, and listened in as we shared trail news and gossip of hikers ahead, behind and off the trail. We got to know The Ravens, an extraordinary family of 4, who I last saw Day 3, Ann, Tim, 10-year old Little Crow, and 13-year-old Bling. Look for their daily blog on the PCTA website. We talked with Woodpecker, whose wife was also a guest-hiker for “3 weeks or 3 months.”

Jackie left the trail with a box of rocks to mail for the Ravens, and gave a ride to the trail angel who made us all breakfast burritos back at the Lake Isabella campground. Oh, and Keith and Nick brought me a burger and beer and their dogs!  I had to let the dogs get back in the car though, dang.

Back on the trail and a rather boring slog to Crater Lake National Park, enlivened by discovering Milkshake and Sticky Buns also took time off. I stayed in the backpackers section at Mazama Village, managing to do the usual chores (shower, laundry, resupply, drink beer, charge all the devices, eat real food) by 8:30 the following morning. I hiked up to the PCT alternate route, the Rim Trail, and soon picked up 6 liters of water for a 29 mile dry stretch, and I picked up an attitude.

So here I am, clean, silver haired, amiable, with a backpack and hiking sticks, walking along the Rim Trail which parallels a paved road with frequent tourist turnouts filled with frequent tourists venturing a yard or two down the trail to peer over the rim into the lake. As on the regular PCT, I greet everyone, but this bunch avoided eye contact, even the uniformed Rangers giving informative talks couldn’t say “hey”, a few tourists actually scuttled away when they saw me approaching. I suggest Crater Lake National Park institute a fundraiser to provide additional helpful signage along with the usual signage indicating bears are present and you will fall off the Rim if you get too close:

WARNING: PCT HIKERS IN THE PARK

May be identified by their lean, hungry, filthy appearance, possible odor, backpacks, rapid walking gait, and slightly blissful smiles.

Do not speak to them. They may bite. Do not try to walk past them, they’re faster than you.

Avoid eye contact. If one approaches you, quickly place whatever food or beverages, especially beer, that you have on the ground in front of you and slowly back away. Don’t watch what happens next.

OK, so I was tired, carrying a to of water and food and made it just 20 miles, camping by the side of the trail on lovely piles of duff in a tiny forest growing back through downed and rotting trees from an old burn. Slept great. And determined that if I hiked 29 miles the next day I wouldn’t have to haul water to camp. So I did, lovely soft, flat Oregon PCT, longest miles in a day so far and it took me less than 12 hours. Woot woot.

Sometimes it seems like you just pound miles to get to your next food box. Shelter Cove Resort is beautiful, I got there in the morning, stayed for 5 hours (gotta charge that battery charger, takes time) and ate 2 Costco poppyseed muffins, 1 Dr Pepper, 3 Gatorades, 1 tiny bottle Chardonnay and a large hot dog. Visited with other hikers including SOBO dog Echo and her man hiker. I love dogs, I love seeing them on the trail and in the towns. I love horses, mules, grouse, deer, naughty chipmunks and squirrels. I would love kitties on the trail but nobody brings them, so I’m holding out for a bobcat or mountain lion or Lynx or anything else sneaky and feline.

It has been smoky, and it’s getting cool at night. Sunrise is later.  Seasons changing.

Just when I didn’t think this trail could get any better, celebrity hiker Billy Goat appeared hiking south. Go watch the wonderful PCT documentary Go Tell It On The Mountain.

I’ve got some photos from this section but I’ll post them in a separate blog.  I’m writing this in my tent in the noisy Elk Lake Resort Campground. I had to eat some real food and this is the price I pay.  I’ll get up early and get back on the trail.  Meeting my buddy Tarcey on the trail in 2 days, got to get 45 miles in!  I love this life.

August 3

PCT Mile 1715

As I promised myself, I got back on the trail Friday after leaving it Monday. Same scene, different hiker packs lined up in front of the cafe and store.

“You’re back!” said the locals. Guess I was the talk of the town. I saw Art, hugged him, gave him a card and introduced him to Dan, who shook his hand and thanked him for helping me. I saw Sparrow who I hadn’t seen since Tuolumne Meadows, he took time off for family too, also hugged him. Wow, I hope I don’t get sick from breaking the fist bump hiker greeting protocol.

I had to get out of there before I found myself wallowing in condolences so I headed up the 4500′ in 8 miles climb in heat so hot I had to stop every few minutes to let my heart rate ratchet down. Dry camped under a burnt tree just in time for the lightening storm, rain and wind to give my new tent a test drive. Z-Packs Solplex Hexamid weighs nearly nothing and uses my hiking sticks instead of tent poles. It worked perfectly!

I hiked a proper stretch the next day, packing water to camp which I hate but didn’t want to hike the 3 additional miles uphill to the next water in hopes of finding a flat spot. Similar situation the next day but I hiked a few more miles, 24 I think.

We made it to the California/Oregon border at lunchtime: me, Velcro and Zackly, joined in a bit by SOBO Green Mile (for weed, not the death row movie!). I’m done with California, done! Also I’m past PCT mile 1700. How cool is that?

I was joined in camp by another SOBO, Sailor, he left the Canadian border June 23, those guys are fast!

So what are some of the differences in Oregon from California? Can’t pump your own gas, right-to-die, no sales tax, weed is legal not just medical, what else? Got a few hundred miles to figure it out.

Grief got me yesterday when I signed the trail register at the border, saying goodbye to California and life long Californian my Dad. I could barely sleep because it turned to physical pain and I hiked half of today sluggish and lonely, feeling sorry for myself.  I’ve never done this, but I reached out with a Facebook post.  Thank you for all the encouragement and belief!  That and a package of Clif Shotblox with caffeine got me down this beautiful, healing, arduous path a few more miles.