04.14.18
After the rush and ‘rest’ of a town it’s back to the woods. The locals never fail to impress with stories, advice, endless help and occasional glimpses into their own lives. We hitch-hiked to Big Bear with a a nice fellow named Randy who had been out for some target practice and gave us the short tour and talked a bit about pistols and the housing market in the area and where everything was in relation to our hotel. On the way out we caught an Uber with a guy who’d been giving rides to hikers all day. He talked about how the lakes are dependent on run-off and how low they’d been-to the point of non-existent in recent years. Another fellow gave us a rise to the store to stock up and told us how, when he’d worked for the fire department years ago, he’d given a lift to a family of Russians who’d eaten nothing but wild onions for weeks on the PCT and smelled like nothing he’d experienced before or since. Another woman on the public bus system we took to the Post Office lamented the pills she was on were making her crazy, then promptly asked the bus driver if he had any guns for sale. He politely declined. I wouldn’t like to portray these beautiful towns as anything but extraordinarily charming but some moments are just too hilarious to ignore. I write everything down throughout the day. People open up to hikers because because it’s a one-time meeting and we go about our lives. Back in the wilderness it becomes quiet. Then quieter. Then it’s down to only three distinct sounds: Birds, wind in the trees, and your own footsteps. Hanne and I climbed through a thick wooded area behind the northeastern border of the lake and between scores of charred white trees than stood lifeless against the recovering undergrowth. Southern California is dotted with acres and acres of these skeletal bleached branches and charred logs that have fallen to the intense fires in recent years. Even so, life continues unabated. Recent rains have brought lush grasses and flowers and new trees everywhere. Once you’ve experienced the perpetual 40-50mph gusts that dominate these canyons and valleys it’s easy to understand how quickly these fires spread, blowing leaves high and far to ignite even more dry tinder.
In this area there’s no possibility of a camp fire. It’s just too risky. So we settle in and crawl in our bags and eat different configurations of nuts and grains. That’s what we eat. It’s just glued together and packaged differently.
The next day we had 18 miles to cover and my knees were feeling unusually wobbly-definitely weighed down by the new food packs and protein I’d stocked up on to add variety to all the nuts and grains. I told Hanne to just go at her own pace (which is trail-crushing when she wants to) and I’d just take it easy. We agreed to meet up for lunch at a stream a few miles down and an hour or so later I caught up and we sat in some grass next to an old Jeep trail and two abandoned cans of Rosarita refried beans. They weren’t expired yet and Hanne had tortillas but they looked like they’d been sitting there five months. A group of four or five good ole boys rolled up on ATVs out of another ravine and popped some Bud Lites and took turns deciding who would approach us to ask where exactly they were. I whipped out the Guthook app and had them pointed in the right direction in a jiff and after a bunch of questions and "Hell I wish I could just quit my job and do that!" they waved goodbye. The thing is...it doesn’t seem to matter what your demographic or background is out here. We’re all just ‘out here’ and talking about the journey is not only fascinating to other to hear but helps tidy up things in my own mind sometimes and give it a framework. Same with with journaling and blogging and picture-taking. Otherwise what am I doing? I’m walking and eating. Lots. Tons. Over and over. It’s never boring or repetitive. I’m exhausted almost every day, but little incidents become interesting stories. A dry creek that you were depending on for water can become a minor deal. Or you can be winding down after a long day and just talking and suddenly a big fire ant decides to climb up your pants and bite your thigh and now you’re dealing with that while you’re trying to fall asleep while winds are trying to break your tent and trains are blowing their horns every fifteen minutes throughout the night. Solutions: dig in the dark in the top of the pack till you find the toilet paper. Got it. No. That’s my rain poncho. Dig again. Stuff pieces of toilet paper in your ears and wrap your thermal around that and tie the sleeves around your forehead so the ear plugs don’t fall out. Try to sleep.
The day after we had to make it to somewhere around Deep Creek Hot Springs and crossed a few high foot bridges spanned the Mojave River. We had to get water from the Mojave a few times and from a distance it’s usually somewhere between murky green and black but there were plenty of side streams as well. We wondered if sitting in hot springs would be something a couple sweaty hikers would feel like doing but when we got there it was already a sort of naked hippy camp so we moved on a few more miles until we found a nice spot down a hillside next to the river with a safe fire pit already made. The sun went down and the night sounds started like usual. Ninety-nine percent of the time any and all sounds are lizards. Lizards and things falling from trees. Then there’s the occasional slow ‘CRUNCH’ fifteen feet behind you that has to be something much bigger. But you just eat your food, put out the fire, seal everything up and go to bed.
The following morning we woke early again excited to make it to Silverwood Lake another 18 miles down the trail. I decided it was time to test the tan and go with shorts and a t-shirt and we set off at a nice pace rolling down some beautiful trail that slowly followed the river and to our first ‘fording’, a water stop and crossing about knee deep, fifteen feet across and back onto the trail. The water felt good and we brushed the sand out from between our toes and put out socks and shoes back on and heading past a dam and up a hill. When we got to the top a couple with a white pickup greeted us and offered us hot dogs. Just like that. "We saw a couple of you guys yesterday and we thought it would be nice to get everyone hot dogs and cold water and oranges. We just think it’s so interesting what you kids are doing." It’s hard to describe the value of a hot dog in the middle of a thru hike but it’s something akin to stumbling upon a piece of gold. They said all they wanted in return was a story so I started at the beginning and told them how the whole camping/resupply/water cycle worked and how grateful we were for their kindness. We took a picture with them and headed over more meandering granite gravel trails till we came upon a couple in their fifties at the bottom of a shady ravine. "Howdy Howdy!" The husband said. His wife was a bit more shy but we exchanged the usual info and trail names and walked on as a father and son duo were coming down toward us. We got some lunch as the sun was peaking and I noticed a kind of pinching in my hip starting to take over my left side. Due to the angle of the slopes we walked the day before I’d been setting down my left foot over and over again before my right which had ended up jamming into my hip throughout the day. When we started again I realized I couldn’t keep up and within another hour I realized I was having to drag my left leg just to keep walking. What had started as a beautiful sunny day was now turning into an arduous process that was only getting slower. Worse, my choice to wear shorts and a t-shirt had let the sun get the best of me and I was starting to feel the effects of over-exposure. Nausea set in and I kept taking breaks to hydrate and rest my hip but it wasn’t helping. I was just winded and had hit the wall and I hadn’t even come within view of the lake yet. So I dragged myself one step at a time until I finally started rounding the water of what turned out to be a massive artificial dammed lake on the Mojave’s route. Circling each inlet I thought I’d come across the decent trails to camp but the maps always had one turn further. On and on to the point of delirium I started talking to myself and getting upset at my hip and everything else. I picked up a tall stalk of grass and waved it in the air like a conductor to the bag of peanuts and MnMs in my left hand felt like I was trapped on some James Bond secret inland lake owned by some Russian of dubious repute...but...the trail down finally appeared. I tripped down a quarter mile of loose rocks and dirt to a picnic day use area where two other women were waiting with pizza, Pringles, and root beer. I felt like I’d entered some realm and thanked them and walked to the shore just to see the lake before the sun went down. Hanne could tell I was in bad shape and was on it with extra electrolytes, tea, and making sure I ate the rest of my food that night. We settled in under some acorn trees with owls in the distance and bugs going crazy dancing to our headlamps. I got in the sleeping bag trying to force more water down and lazily moving my headlamp across the tents interior watching dozens of gnats and moths follow its focal point on the exterior rain fly. Then I passed out.
The good news was that I felt great the next morning. Even better Hanne showed me some trail yoga that opened my hip completely and got me back on pace. We made it to Cajon Pass where the train and highway met and did a short detour for McDonalds which we decided was definitely inferior In n Out by a long shot...you can’t beat those fries though. More hungry hikers poured in and we talked a little, most of us far more interested in food until we said our goodbyes and headed toward the long dark tunnel that went beneath the highway. On the other side we made camp. This was the night of the wind and trains. Honestly, I’m so used to getting crummy sleep that it wasn’t a huge deal. Just another night. The next day we did another 18 miles toward 8,000 feet and walked long flowered stretches that slowly rose above the valley until I could Victorville on the other side of other mountains. The ascent wasn’t technical at all. Just long. Some of the most beautiful trail I’ve hiked so far. Up at camp the temperature was dropping fast and we set up quickly on the edge of a great overlook trying not to shiver too much before diving deep into sleeping bags and trying to find positions that best kept the heat from escaping. I skipped a formal dinner and took all my food into my bag with me, cinched the top, and snacked in the dark cocoon. Just the wind outside and the sound of more nuts and grains crunching for a good hour. I got surprisingly good sleep despite the cold and we got up around 7 am and headed straight for the Acorn Trail that would lead us into Wrightwood. We set up an a little top floor Air BnB, hit the post office, got more free stuff i.e. pins and patches and coffee from more amazing locals. Did burgers one night, then Mexican tonight at a cool two-story restarting where we ran into Hurricane again-this time with his lady friend Cougar. I didn’t ask. We asked about tackling the Sierras since he’d done it before. ‘Nah fogit tha moycrow-spoyks. It’s a wak in tha pahk. T-shurts n all that. Jus’ bring your shoes in the tent at noyt ‘less you wanna shake offa block of oise in the mornin’. We walked back and sewed our PCT patches onto our hats and bags. Tomorrow we hitch-hike down the road to meet the trail and make the four days to Aqua Dulce. More then!
Thought I jotted down at Silverwood Lake:
"The destination doesn’t draw closer the more you suffer. The destination draws closer the more steps you take"
In this area there’s no possibility of a camp fire. It’s just too risky. So we settle in and crawl in our bags and eat different configurations of nuts and grains. That’s what we eat. It’s just glued together and packaged differently.
The next day we had 18 miles to cover and my knees were feeling unusually wobbly-definitely weighed down by the new food packs and protein I’d stocked up on to add variety to all the nuts and grains. I told Hanne to just go at her own pace (which is trail-crushing when she wants to) and I’d just take it easy. We agreed to meet up for lunch at a stream a few miles down and an hour or so later I caught up and we sat in some grass next to an old Jeep trail and two abandoned cans of Rosarita refried beans. They weren’t expired yet and Hanne had tortillas but they looked like they’d been sitting there five months. A group of four or five good ole boys rolled up on ATVs out of another ravine and popped some Bud Lites and took turns deciding who would approach us to ask where exactly they were. I whipped out the Guthook app and had them pointed in the right direction in a jiff and after a bunch of questions and "Hell I wish I could just quit my job and do that!" they waved goodbye. The thing is...it doesn’t seem to matter what your demographic or background is out here. We’re all just ‘out here’ and talking about the journey is not only fascinating to other to hear but helps tidy up things in my own mind sometimes and give it a framework. Same with with journaling and blogging and picture-taking. Otherwise what am I doing? I’m walking and eating. Lots. Tons. Over and over. It’s never boring or repetitive. I’m exhausted almost every day, but little incidents become interesting stories. A dry creek that you were depending on for water can become a minor deal. Or you can be winding down after a long day and just talking and suddenly a big fire ant decides to climb up your pants and bite your thigh and now you’re dealing with that while you’re trying to fall asleep while winds are trying to break your tent and trains are blowing their horns every fifteen minutes throughout the night. Solutions: dig in the dark in the top of the pack till you find the toilet paper. Got it. No. That’s my rain poncho. Dig again. Stuff pieces of toilet paper in your ears and wrap your thermal around that and tie the sleeves around your forehead so the ear plugs don’t fall out. Try to sleep.
The day after we had to make it to somewhere around Deep Creek Hot Springs and crossed a few high foot bridges spanned the Mojave River. We had to get water from the Mojave a few times and from a distance it’s usually somewhere between murky green and black but there were plenty of side streams as well. We wondered if sitting in hot springs would be something a couple sweaty hikers would feel like doing but when we got there it was already a sort of naked hippy camp so we moved on a few more miles until we found a nice spot down a hillside next to the river with a safe fire pit already made. The sun went down and the night sounds started like usual. Ninety-nine percent of the time any and all sounds are lizards. Lizards and things falling from trees. Then there’s the occasional slow ‘CRUNCH’ fifteen feet behind you that has to be something much bigger. But you just eat your food, put out the fire, seal everything up and go to bed.
The following morning we woke early again excited to make it to Silverwood Lake another 18 miles down the trail. I decided it was time to test the tan and go with shorts and a t-shirt and we set off at a nice pace rolling down some beautiful trail that slowly followed the river and to our first ‘fording’, a water stop and crossing about knee deep, fifteen feet across and back onto the trail. The water felt good and we brushed the sand out from between our toes and put out socks and shoes back on and heading past a dam and up a hill. When we got to the top a couple with a white pickup greeted us and offered us hot dogs. Just like that. "We saw a couple of you guys yesterday and we thought it would be nice to get everyone hot dogs and cold water and oranges. We just think it’s so interesting what you kids are doing." It’s hard to describe the value of a hot dog in the middle of a thru hike but it’s something akin to stumbling upon a piece of gold. They said all they wanted in return was a story so I started at the beginning and told them how the whole camping/resupply/water cycle worked and how grateful we were for their kindness. We took a picture with them and headed over more meandering granite gravel trails till we came upon a couple in their fifties at the bottom of a shady ravine. "Howdy Howdy!" The husband said. His wife was a bit more shy but we exchanged the usual info and trail names and walked on as a father and son duo were coming down toward us. We got some lunch as the sun was peaking and I noticed a kind of pinching in my hip starting to take over my left side. Due to the angle of the slopes we walked the day before I’d been setting down my left foot over and over again before my right which had ended up jamming into my hip throughout the day. When we started again I realized I couldn’t keep up and within another hour I realized I was having to drag my left leg just to keep walking. What had started as a beautiful sunny day was now turning into an arduous process that was only getting slower. Worse, my choice to wear shorts and a t-shirt had let the sun get the best of me and I was starting to feel the effects of over-exposure. Nausea set in and I kept taking breaks to hydrate and rest my hip but it wasn’t helping. I was just winded and had hit the wall and I hadn’t even come within view of the lake yet. So I dragged myself one step at a time until I finally started rounding the water of what turned out to be a massive artificial dammed lake on the Mojave’s route. Circling each inlet I thought I’d come across the decent trails to camp but the maps always had one turn further. On and on to the point of delirium I started talking to myself and getting upset at my hip and everything else. I picked up a tall stalk of grass and waved it in the air like a conductor to the bag of peanuts and MnMs in my left hand felt like I was trapped on some James Bond secret inland lake owned by some Russian of dubious repute...but...the trail down finally appeared. I tripped down a quarter mile of loose rocks and dirt to a picnic day use area where two other women were waiting with pizza, Pringles, and root beer. I felt like I’d entered some realm and thanked them and walked to the shore just to see the lake before the sun went down. Hanne could tell I was in bad shape and was on it with extra electrolytes, tea, and making sure I ate the rest of my food that night. We settled in under some acorn trees with owls in the distance and bugs going crazy dancing to our headlamps. I got in the sleeping bag trying to force more water down and lazily moving my headlamp across the tents interior watching dozens of gnats and moths follow its focal point on the exterior rain fly. Then I passed out.
The good news was that I felt great the next morning. Even better Hanne showed me some trail yoga that opened my hip completely and got me back on pace. We made it to Cajon Pass where the train and highway met and did a short detour for McDonalds which we decided was definitely inferior In n Out by a long shot...you can’t beat those fries though. More hungry hikers poured in and we talked a little, most of us far more interested in food until we said our goodbyes and headed toward the long dark tunnel that went beneath the highway. On the other side we made camp. This was the night of the wind and trains. Honestly, I’m so used to getting crummy sleep that it wasn’t a huge deal. Just another night. The next day we did another 18 miles toward 8,000 feet and walked long flowered stretches that slowly rose above the valley until I could Victorville on the other side of other mountains. The ascent wasn’t technical at all. Just long. Some of the most beautiful trail I’ve hiked so far. Up at camp the temperature was dropping fast and we set up quickly on the edge of a great overlook trying not to shiver too much before diving deep into sleeping bags and trying to find positions that best kept the heat from escaping. I skipped a formal dinner and took all my food into my bag with me, cinched the top, and snacked in the dark cocoon. Just the wind outside and the sound of more nuts and grains crunching for a good hour. I got surprisingly good sleep despite the cold and we got up around 7 am and headed straight for the Acorn Trail that would lead us into Wrightwood. We set up an a little top floor Air BnB, hit the post office, got more free stuff i.e. pins and patches and coffee from more amazing locals. Did burgers one night, then Mexican tonight at a cool two-story restarting where we ran into Hurricane again-this time with his lady friend Cougar. I didn’t ask. We asked about tackling the Sierras since he’d done it before. ‘Nah fogit tha moycrow-spoyks. It’s a wak in tha pahk. T-shurts n all that. Jus’ bring your shoes in the tent at noyt ‘less you wanna shake offa block of oise in the mornin’. We walked back and sewed our PCT patches onto our hats and bags. Tomorrow we hitch-hike down the road to meet the trail and make the four days to Aqua Dulce. More then!
Thought I jotted down at Silverwood Lake:
"The destination doesn’t draw closer the more you suffer. The destination draws closer the more steps you take"
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