6.28.18
10 pm Etna California, local RV. Hot showers and a small site in the grass for 19 bucks. Laundry is just a stone’s throw away and the breakfast diner is 1/4 mile up HWY 3. It’s a full moon tonight. The 3rd full moon since we started. I remember seeing the first as we were coming out of the San Jacintos. The night I probably earned my trail name. There’d been a light breeze and I’d still worn base layers to bed. I still wore a pair of faded black jeans, still wore a pair of Nike gym shoes, and still carried 10 lbs of food between every town. Tonight all I hear are crickets and the faint drone of cars passing to the north. We’ve been out here 100 days now and every day still presents a series of unique challenges and perspectives. The best way to get over blowdowns, what the terrain looks like when there’s water nearby, what foods work best in the morning, how to consolidate gear even more, how to walk when your toes become numb, how to repackage food in ziplock bags, how to score free amenities, how to hitch a ride, and on and on...and each day it changes. Each day asks for something you’ve acquired and some level of improvisation. Duct tape. Super glue. Needle and thread. Walking eating sleeping. We’ve gone entire days with less than 50 words between us and we’ve gone days where we’ve both watched the other person cry out of exhaustion, frustration, or the realities back home. And we’ve sat at the fire contemplating how incredible the whole thing is. How grateful we are just to be here-to wake with the birds and spend the majority of every day wandering through forests and granite and deer and sun and wind and dirt and the far off sound of streams.
Same night in Etna: Waking up at 3 am to the sound of four sprinklers pelting the tent with buckets of water. Our backpacks and shoes lie outside getting immediately soaked. We jolt up and unzip the rain fly trying to get out only to be hit ourselves, grab the gear, tripping over guy lines in a frenzy. ‘Do we move the tent?’ ‘Where to? We’ll get soaked!’ ‘I’m already soaked!’ ‘There’s no time!’ Jets of cold water are coming at us from every direction. Hanne retreats to the other side of the road with our gear and waits. I dive headfirst into the tent, taking off my shirt and using the dry parts of it to sop up water from myself, sleeping bags, and the tent floor. Otherwise, everything’s dry. I wait for 20 minutes until the cycle ends and poke my head out. ‘Hanne where are you?’ She appears in the darkness shivering with her rain jacket on and gets in the tent.
‘We are so getting a free night.’ We try to sleep and get a few hours before breakfast at The Ranch-house down the street. Bacon, sausage, 3 eggs, hash browns, and 2 pancakes for 12 bucks. Another day. Another adventure. I’m still processing everything. Day by day. Walking 20-30 miles every day is probably the best way but sometimes I feel distant. Unable to talk to the people closest to me. I watch my legs move. I hear my breathe quickening uphill and slowing downhill. I answer questions from day hikers and small families on sections that cross and integrate into the PCT. I swim in crystal blue lakes and stand quietly on cliffs looking back toward Shasta and a plume of billowing white smoke coming up from a fire back by Mt Essen. The days are quiet. We walk, break for water, break for lunch, find a spot by evening, cover ourselves in mosquito repellent, ration the food, trade a few items, write in our journals, and fall asleep.
A week before we came from Old Station into Burney Falls, providing dense foliage mild days and plenty of bears. The first two took one look at us and dashed away. The third didn’t care so much. In the middle of the wilderness the trail is used as much by animals as humans. Every morning fresh deer tracks follow shoe prints for miles and water sources especially seem to attract bears. In fact all four times we saw them was next to creeks and springs. While most bears are just as startled as humans when we encounter, I don’t agree that they are basically ‘large raccoons’ and I’ve learned that locals tend to exaggerate every story they’ve ever heard and try to scare hikers for the fun of it. The truth is that bears are highly complex and vary by individual just like humans. Some have learned that they can walk into a camp of backpackers and force them to flee in every direction. Some have never seen a human before. Some are turned off by high pitched whistles. Others are viscerally aggravated by them. As for me? I’ve carried grizzly spray for 1,500 miles. I’ve had other hikers and locals tell me 1.) it doesn’t work 2.) it works better than a gun. Now, grizzly spray was developed by a guy who’d endured multiple attacks up in Alaska (this came from another local hunter in Chester) Either way I bring it in the tent each night. Why not? When we passed our third bear we banged our trekking poles and blew our whistles from about 40 feet away just off the trail. The result? A raging bluff charge through the bushes at us. Then silence. I’d had my thumb on the spray ready to deploy thinking "Ok here we go, aim low and..." that’s all the time I had. We retreated 100 yards back, listened, and decided to quickly and quietly move past and pick another spot for lunch away from water about a mile up the trail. Of course, it’s a strange sensation realizing you might suddenly be in a critical situation when moments before you were simply daydreaming about gear design but it was a lesson: Don’t listen to ‘stories’. Listen to your own experience and intuition. Humans love the idea that they can somehow predict and control nature. They love thinking they have solutions and options readily available and that the right tactical gear choices will save them, but it amounts to little more than a buffer between you and the wilderness. All the accidents I’ve heard of so far on the PCT this year resulted from a lack of situational awareness or plain bad luck. That being said I’ve not heard of one critical injury so far. The vast majority of hikers have a deep respect for the reality of the trail and services like Guthook and message boards constantly update everyone on everything from bear sightings to the best coffee in trail towns.
We made it down the trail and passed our Swiss friend-an older man going solo that we’d met at Burney Guest House a few days before. I asked ‘Have you seen any bears yet?’ ‘Bears? No there’s no bears. The whole thing is a myth. There are only how do you call...the deers out here.’
We made our way down to Castle Crags State Park, passing one last juvenile bear near the main road. ‘Just keep walking. He’s far away.’
We hitched to Dunsmuir then hitched to Shasta nestled below the imposing mountain. At 14,180 ft it looms even from miles away, trapping circular clouds around its summit and sending half of its would-be ascenders back before reaching the top. The town had a sleepy new age vibe not unlike Sedona Az with crystal shops on every corner and adverts for chakra / aura cleansing (for a reasonable fee). We just needed to do laundry and resupply before hitting the local KOA and after showers we were close to sleep before a combination of train horns and someone with the worst case of Tourette’s Syndrome I’d ever hear started shrieking in the woods by the tracks, unleashing the most profane string of psychotic howls for hours. Eventually he fell asleep but I only sussed it was Tourette’s because at 7 am it began again! We packed up and went to the grab breakfast at the Black Bear Diner. Huge plates for 12 bucks. Some of these diners knew what hikers were after. Protein, carbs and salt. Afterward we ran into Asolo and Thriftcar from Australia and Switzerland. They’d met early on the trail and we’d camped together a few times. They were staying at the KOA as well and offered their site if we wanted to stay another night (cuz you only pay per site). Hanne’s feet had been in poor shape for over a month and she needed to heal and try another pair at the gear shop so we opted to hang around. We thanked them and headed to Fifth Season where she finally settled on a pair of super-soft Altras. Since then she’s been regularly ditching me on the trail like Southern California when I was trying to walk in gym shoes.
We passed people we hadn’t seen for over two months in the next few days. Mostly pairs who’d ‘flip-flopped’ because of the lingering snow in the Sierras and gone up to Ashland Oregon near the border to head south back toward Bishop or S Kennedy Meadows. Hopefully there’d been enough snowmelt to let everyone through by the time they reached the North Tahoe area.
We saw Mt Shasta in the distance for days after leaving. The heat went soaring to 90 degrees and our first day back on the trail had an 18 mile climb back to around 7,000 ft. This is where we saw the plume of smoke in the distance. Four days later we came out of the mountains and stopped at a paved road leading 8 miles down the crest to Etna. No less than a minute after setting our packs down a woman in a pickup with her son asked if we needed a ride into town. We hadn’t even put out our thumbs yet. We crawled in the back. ‘I’m gonna drop you right at the city limits because the cops have given me problems for letting hikers sit in the back if that’s ok’ ‘Absolutely no problem at all thank you!’
And here are catching up in Etna at the Wildwood Crossing coffee shop. 3 days from Seiad Valley and three more to the Oregon border. I can’t believe we’re only halfway done (technically mile-wise) but we’re now averaging 20+ miles per day without major aches and pains. And my phone is about to die. Take care / love from the trail.
Same night in Etna: Waking up at 3 am to the sound of four sprinklers pelting the tent with buckets of water. Our backpacks and shoes lie outside getting immediately soaked. We jolt up and unzip the rain fly trying to get out only to be hit ourselves, grab the gear, tripping over guy lines in a frenzy. ‘Do we move the tent?’ ‘Where to? We’ll get soaked!’ ‘I’m already soaked!’ ‘There’s no time!’ Jets of cold water are coming at us from every direction. Hanne retreats to the other side of the road with our gear and waits. I dive headfirst into the tent, taking off my shirt and using the dry parts of it to sop up water from myself, sleeping bags, and the tent floor. Otherwise, everything’s dry. I wait for 20 minutes until the cycle ends and poke my head out. ‘Hanne where are you?’ She appears in the darkness shivering with her rain jacket on and gets in the tent.
‘We are so getting a free night.’ We try to sleep and get a few hours before breakfast at The Ranch-house down the street. Bacon, sausage, 3 eggs, hash browns, and 2 pancakes for 12 bucks. Another day. Another adventure. I’m still processing everything. Day by day. Walking 20-30 miles every day is probably the best way but sometimes I feel distant. Unable to talk to the people closest to me. I watch my legs move. I hear my breathe quickening uphill and slowing downhill. I answer questions from day hikers and small families on sections that cross and integrate into the PCT. I swim in crystal blue lakes and stand quietly on cliffs looking back toward Shasta and a plume of billowing white smoke coming up from a fire back by Mt Essen. The days are quiet. We walk, break for water, break for lunch, find a spot by evening, cover ourselves in mosquito repellent, ration the food, trade a few items, write in our journals, and fall asleep.
A week before we came from Old Station into Burney Falls, providing dense foliage mild days and plenty of bears. The first two took one look at us and dashed away. The third didn’t care so much. In the middle of the wilderness the trail is used as much by animals as humans. Every morning fresh deer tracks follow shoe prints for miles and water sources especially seem to attract bears. In fact all four times we saw them was next to creeks and springs. While most bears are just as startled as humans when we encounter, I don’t agree that they are basically ‘large raccoons’ and I’ve learned that locals tend to exaggerate every story they’ve ever heard and try to scare hikers for the fun of it. The truth is that bears are highly complex and vary by individual just like humans. Some have learned that they can walk into a camp of backpackers and force them to flee in every direction. Some have never seen a human before. Some are turned off by high pitched whistles. Others are viscerally aggravated by them. As for me? I’ve carried grizzly spray for 1,500 miles. I’ve had other hikers and locals tell me 1.) it doesn’t work 2.) it works better than a gun. Now, grizzly spray was developed by a guy who’d endured multiple attacks up in Alaska (this came from another local hunter in Chester) Either way I bring it in the tent each night. Why not? When we passed our third bear we banged our trekking poles and blew our whistles from about 40 feet away just off the trail. The result? A raging bluff charge through the bushes at us. Then silence. I’d had my thumb on the spray ready to deploy thinking "Ok here we go, aim low and..." that’s all the time I had. We retreated 100 yards back, listened, and decided to quickly and quietly move past and pick another spot for lunch away from water about a mile up the trail. Of course, it’s a strange sensation realizing you might suddenly be in a critical situation when moments before you were simply daydreaming about gear design but it was a lesson: Don’t listen to ‘stories’. Listen to your own experience and intuition. Humans love the idea that they can somehow predict and control nature. They love thinking they have solutions and options readily available and that the right tactical gear choices will save them, but it amounts to little more than a buffer between you and the wilderness. All the accidents I’ve heard of so far on the PCT this year resulted from a lack of situational awareness or plain bad luck. That being said I’ve not heard of one critical injury so far. The vast majority of hikers have a deep respect for the reality of the trail and services like Guthook and message boards constantly update everyone on everything from bear sightings to the best coffee in trail towns.
We made it down the trail and passed our Swiss friend-an older man going solo that we’d met at Burney Guest House a few days before. I asked ‘Have you seen any bears yet?’ ‘Bears? No there’s no bears. The whole thing is a myth. There are only how do you call...the deers out here.’
We made our way down to Castle Crags State Park, passing one last juvenile bear near the main road. ‘Just keep walking. He’s far away.’
We hitched to Dunsmuir then hitched to Shasta nestled below the imposing mountain. At 14,180 ft it looms even from miles away, trapping circular clouds around its summit and sending half of its would-be ascenders back before reaching the top. The town had a sleepy new age vibe not unlike Sedona Az with crystal shops on every corner and adverts for chakra / aura cleansing (for a reasonable fee). We just needed to do laundry and resupply before hitting the local KOA and after showers we were close to sleep before a combination of train horns and someone with the worst case of Tourette’s Syndrome I’d ever hear started shrieking in the woods by the tracks, unleashing the most profane string of psychotic howls for hours. Eventually he fell asleep but I only sussed it was Tourette’s because at 7 am it began again! We packed up and went to the grab breakfast at the Black Bear Diner. Huge plates for 12 bucks. Some of these diners knew what hikers were after. Protein, carbs and salt. Afterward we ran into Asolo and Thriftcar from Australia and Switzerland. They’d met early on the trail and we’d camped together a few times. They were staying at the KOA as well and offered their site if we wanted to stay another night (cuz you only pay per site). Hanne’s feet had been in poor shape for over a month and she needed to heal and try another pair at the gear shop so we opted to hang around. We thanked them and headed to Fifth Season where she finally settled on a pair of super-soft Altras. Since then she’s been regularly ditching me on the trail like Southern California when I was trying to walk in gym shoes.
We passed people we hadn’t seen for over two months in the next few days. Mostly pairs who’d ‘flip-flopped’ because of the lingering snow in the Sierras and gone up to Ashland Oregon near the border to head south back toward Bishop or S Kennedy Meadows. Hopefully there’d been enough snowmelt to let everyone through by the time they reached the North Tahoe area.
We saw Mt Shasta in the distance for days after leaving. The heat went soaring to 90 degrees and our first day back on the trail had an 18 mile climb back to around 7,000 ft. This is where we saw the plume of smoke in the distance. Four days later we came out of the mountains and stopped at a paved road leading 8 miles down the crest to Etna. No less than a minute after setting our packs down a woman in a pickup with her son asked if we needed a ride into town. We hadn’t even put out our thumbs yet. We crawled in the back. ‘I’m gonna drop you right at the city limits because the cops have given me problems for letting hikers sit in the back if that’s ok’ ‘Absolutely no problem at all thank you!’
And here are catching up in Etna at the Wildwood Crossing coffee shop. 3 days from Seiad Valley and three more to the Oregon border. I can’t believe we’re only halfway done (technically mile-wise) but we’re now averaging 20+ miles per day without major aches and pains. And my phone is about to die. Take care / love from the trail.
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