Under the shadow of the Sisters

We abandoned our usual MO of sneaking out of camp early in order to take our new bunk mates Peg and Joe to breakfast at the Elk Lake Lodge.  We had a wonderful time telling stories and getting to know one another.  They live just a few hours from our house and we all decided we should get together sometime after we finish the trail. We finally got back on trail about 11:00 and though it was good to be hiking on a beautiful day after a nice storm, it was a little sad to leave our new friends.

It was a beautiful day!  We walked through woods, meadows and prairies and finally had a good look at the Three Sisters mountain range. After a little climb and a sharp turn through the forest, we saw a little pika sitting on a pile of rocks. It is only the second time I have seen one of these elusive little rodents. As soon as he noticed us he disappeared, but we saw him peek out on the other side when we rounded the rock pile.  That turn put us out on the Wikkiup Plain, a large expanse of bunch grass that extended for miles beneath the shadow of the Southern Sister. 

The school teacher in me was so excited to be crossing a pioneer path; in my imagination I could see the native people’s wikiiups dotting the plain and hear the groan of the wagons and moans of the oxen as the pioneers passed through.  We passed some actual creeks too!  I got to scoop the cool, clear water out with my Sierra Cup, no filtering necessary! 

On the other side of the plain we began to ascend into the mountains again, and were passed by a

group of horsemen (and women) out for a ride. They warned us that there was a swarm of bees on the trail about ½ mile away in a pile of rocks.  After about ten minutes of walking every rock pile held suspicion and we approached cautiously, but each time the area was clear.  Apparently the bees had calmed down after being rousted by those huge animals and were not threatened by us. 

The creek we decided to camp near was almost hidden in a meadow, and the only place to camp right by it was too close to the water source (remember, must be at least 100 feet away) so we scouted about for a good, flat spot.  Snickers found a great one under a small grove of juniper, and we happily set up camp and made dinner.  It was the first time we had my sweet potato hash and I though t it was great, but my husband the carnivore had beef noodle soup instead. When I went back to the stream for water there was a tent pitched about 20 feet from the stream.  It belonged to a pair of local hikers who were out on the Three Sisters Loop trail, which we found out the next day was a very popular (and populated) trail.  We did not admonish them for camping too close to the water, though I felt we ought to have some polite way to talk to people about these breaches in trail etiquette. You never know if it is because they don’t know or they don’t care.  I offered them some of my hash, but being local hikers, not thru hikers, they declined, saying they had just finished a big meal.  That never stops a thru hiker.  We put up the shelter that night just in case of rain, and sure enough, we got a little sprinkling just before we fell asleep.  It might have rained more through the night too, but I never heard a thing. 

Broad meadows, burbling creeks and little lakes dotted the countryside below the watchful Sisters.  I kept getting that Sound of Music feeling, where I just want to throw my arms open wide and sing to the nature around me.  It happens occasionally.  This was one of those days where the feeling was too strong to overcome, but it is not as picturesque with a back pack on. I also usually wait until Snickers is out of sight- open displays of pure joy tend to embarrass him and ruin the moment for me.  I caught up to him in a small forest, tucking in between forest and meadows, when all of a sudden the meadow was interrupted with a cascade of rocks.  The lovely landscape was over taken by a moon landscape, and we were in the lava again.  

We did some hard climbing to get to a ridge, and looking behind us we could see the path of lava stretching into the distance.  There was forest around it and up to it in some places, but the dark red rocks were like a long scar on the land. We met many hikers along the way too- some day hikers, some out for the weekend, and a few thru hikers too.  We even met three south bounders, two of whom had musical instruments strapped to their packs.  What a treat!  They stopped and played for us for just a little while, some lovely, lively blue grass- just what I was hoping for.  The pair of thruhikers we met had decided to try to get to Big Lake Youth Camp by dinner time.  It was nearly noon when we met them and Big Lake was another 25 miles away, over lava and through a burn area.  We wished them well but doubted they would have time to get there before dinner.  A lake called Lava Camp would be our destination for dinner.

Enjoying a picnic lunch and a foot cool down at Mathiau Lake, we met a man who asked us if we could take his picture.  Hiking by himself, he said, he doesn't have many pictures with him in them.  He noticed my two pair of Keens and said something about them.  Turns out he is an executive in the product development area at Keens, and part of his mission in being out on the PCT was to test a new pair. I offered my services if he ever needed anyone to test shoes.  He replied that he couldn't do anything about that, but handed us each a card for a free pair of shoes!  Coolest trail magic yet! 

Snickers and Veggie at Mathiau Lake. :Picture courtesy Tim McGuire, Keens

We arrived at Lava Camp late in the afternoon. Snickers was hoping for a ride into town from there, but the only driver we saw turned us down- his (four passenger) vehicle wasn’t big enough, he said.  There was an outhouse in the campground, but no water spigot.  We scooped and filtered water from the lake and I sat and enjoyed the scenery, ate some snack and made Vitalyte while Snickers visited with the only camper in the place.  I was fully expecting the guy to take off soon, and then I would get in the water and have a nice scrub, but Snickers decided that this was not the place for us to camp, and we were off once again, though rested, watered and ready for a few more miles, sort of.  He got way out on the lava in front of me, and for some reason I got all fearful and had a bad time of it.  The going was difficult, the path really rocky, with sheer drop offs on either side. I called to him and he did not hear me, I gave my mountain chickadee call and he did not answer.  Stopping to have a little cry, I gave myself a peptalk, pulled myself together and marched on.  I was still a little mad at him for leaving the beautiful campground without talking to me about it, but I was no longer freaking out. 

The trail ended in a broad, flat area connecting to a trail head parking lot.  Some wonderful trail angel had placed a shelf containing four big five gallon water jugs in the crossroads of the PCT and the trailhead.  I helped myself to a liter or two and we found a spot to camp, pretty near the road, but flat and comfortable.  We fell asleep under the stars; we didn’t sleep well, the freeway was too noisy. But that gave us several opportunities to watch the slow ark of the quarter moon pass through the sky during the night. Also we had to get up in the middle of the night and stretch the ponchos out over us to keep us dry from the drizzling rain. 

Kindness at Elk Lake

It rained through the night but was sunny the next morning.  We packed our bags and left camp very early, wearing our ponchos to let them dry.  We passed over a bridge and through a misty meadow. The sun began to beat down and Snickers heated up, so I put on his poncho until it dried. We were huffing our way up a steep hill when I began to overheat too and stripped down to just one layer.  There were a few tents still up at the lake where we first stopped for water, but no one seemed to be stirring. Whoever they were they were missing another beautiful morning. 

The vegetation began to change as our elevation changed, from fern covered slopes beneath a dense forest canopy to sparsely vegetated vine-covered forest floor.  Gone were my friends the huckleberries, and in their place were thimble berries (which are equally tasty but not prolific) and other plants I did not know.  I was busy checking out and trying to sketch the new plants when it started to sprinkle.  The ponchos went back on in a hurry.  Soon the rain began to get serious and thunder boomed above our heads.  Some of the peals were so loud we startled and looked at each other in surprise.  I was delighted! There is something magical about walking in the rain as long as you are dry and comfortable, and the thunder and lightning provided an added sense of awe. The first hour was amazing, and the second hour was still magical. The rain let up a little and we found a semi-dry bouldery spot upon which to have our lunch and dry out our ponchos.  Another cell passed over us and we quickly grabbed our ponchos and hit the trail- I didn't even take the time to put my socks back on, and they were wet anyway. The wonder of walking out in the rain, smelling the fresh wetness of the trees and bushes began to wear off in the third hour. By the fourth hour the trails began to be small streams, full of floating duff that kept getting stuck under my feet and between my toes. The Velcro on my poncho kept coming undone whenever I stepped too wide or the hem got caught on something.  And, being well hydrated, I had to keep stopping and taking care of that problem, too, which was a little harder to do beneath the poncho. 

A boy scout troop passed us, going in the opposite direction.  A few of the beleaguered boys, clad in all manner of ponchos and rain gear, asked us woefully how far it was to Island Lake- their destination for the night.  I just sort of shrugged my shoulders, not having the heart to inform them we had passed there nearly two hours ago.  Before I had to stay anything, one of the leaders answered “you don’t want to know boys…” and encouraged them to keep up with the others.  I guess the wonder had worn off for them, too.

After 16 miles, most of it slogging through the wet trails, we started to look for a place to camp.  Two main obstacles prevented us from being successful in the quest- it was only 3:00, and everything was soaked.  We knew it would be a wet night and our “tent” was already thoroughly soaked.  Only a thin groundcloth would separate us from the soggy ground, and I expected that it would be a long, cold night.  A lone hiker, with his tent’s rain fly pinned to his hat and wrapped around his pack, strode on by, noting that it looked like it was lightening up.  We got tired of searching through the forest for dry, level plots of land big enough to put our tarp out on, so we decided to push on through the upcoming meadow and to the other side.  While I stopped to clean all the junk out of my shoes, Snickers found a spot with good cell reception and called down to a nearby resort to see if they had available cabins.  By the time I got down to the meadow the sun was out, everything was green and sparkly and Snickers had his sites set on Elk Lake.

The next three miles were sunny and nice, but my feet were no longer freezing and the numbness wore off.  Walking was painful. Snickers marched boldly on, lured by the thought of a hot meal and a warm place to camp, but I was pretty pokey and whiney.  After hiking for twenty miles I didn’t really want to hike the extra mile down to the resort, especially since the manager had told him there wasn’t a cabin available.  My iPod was out of charge and I couldn’t hide myself in music, so I lagged behind and sang to try to cheer myself up.  Snickers was visiting with a pair of day hikers when I caught up to him; they were all smiling and laughing. I was not smiling or laughing. I was tired and wet and bedraggled and must have looked pretty pitiful. I did visit with the nice people for a few minutes, and then before we knew it we were at Elk Lake.  Quaint and rustic, the dining room was also bar, store, ice cream parlor, and, I think, dance hall.  A few hikers were out on the porch, talking, drinking and eating, but I marched right on by them without really even saying hi.  Many of them were planning to hitch in to Bend, and one was creating a hitch hiker sign on a scrap piece of cardboard.  When I paid attention I saw that it was my friend that Nice Young Man, but by the time I decided I should go say hi to him, he was gone.  

Dinner was great- Snickers actually had a hamburger that was too spicy for him and decided to order another.  I enjoyed a cup of mushroom soup and a green salad.  One of the hikers, a woman that had passed us early in the day, asked the people at the table next to us if they wouldn’t mind if she charged her phone at the plug right next to their table.  They ended up visiting for quite a while, talking beer and trail, and offering her a beer, a ride into Bend, and a beer tasting tour at their son’s restaurant.  By the time we finished dinner I was in a much better mood and we headed up the road to check out the campground. I was teasing about sleeping in the cabin we walked by (I thought it was the bathroom) when a man called out to us.  It was the day hiker Snickers had met on the way in to the resort.  He asked his wife if they could give us the cabin, saying he felt guilty sleeping dry in the nice warm cabin when he knew we had been out in the wet all day and shouldn’t have to sleep in the rain too.  Apparently I looked as pitiful as I felt. She agreed, but didn’t think they had to give up their cabin in order to host us; there was a loft.  Humbled by their generosity and thrilled that we didn’t have to camp in the rain, we gratefully accepted the offer, warning them that Snickers snores loudly.  They didn’t care and took us in anyway.  Tucked in our bags under the rafters we listened to the rain hit the roof.  It was hard to get to sleep; it seemed like we were already dreaming. 

Drying out our rain gear at the Elk Lake cabin. 

Day 17

At Marden Peak Trail Chipmunk turned downhill to head to where U B and Muk Muk were due to meet her with her car.  Immediately after that we heard a horrible noise crashing down the hill from above.  First one mountain biker, then clusters more of them, came bombing downhill on a side trail and skidded to a stop just near us, trying to get their bearings.  We told them to be careful going downhill because there was a hiker just in front of them. They nodded, gave a quick wave, and then they were off, though followed in quick progression by another few clouds of noisy bikers and dust. Chipmunk told us later that they had NOT headed our warning and that she felt lucky to escape that encounter with her life.  An experienced hiker and comfortable with encounters with wild animals and weather, I don’t think she had ever been as scared on the trail as she was then.  The car and the hikers showed up right on time, right where they were supposed to be, and though she wondered where else her car had been that day (they were discussing locations of local hot springs as we hiked away) she did not ask and they did not volunteer. 

It was a little quiet after Chipmunk left; even Snickers said he wished she could have stayed longer, but we soon settled in to the business of making miles. I still felt like I had a hard little stone between my toes due to the blisters, but that was just an annoyance compared to the pain they had given me previously.  I switched off my hiking Keens for my waterfront Keens, trying to keep my feet comfortable, airy and dry.  Having gotten a late start, we only managed about 12 miles that day, but found a wonderful campsite at Bobby Lake.  We were able to wash up, eat dinner, filter some water and make camp well before sunset. Other hikers wandered in, and though we said hi and waved, we didn’t go over and make conversation.  Without need of shelter we stretched out beneath the canopy of the sky and watched as the stars twinkled in and the blue faded out.  There is that wonderfully deep blue/indigo color just as the stars are coming in that gives me such peace.  The Eastern sky was a dark veil and the western sky was soon enveloped as the sun slipped further beyond the horizon to light up the night in some other hemisphere.  Spending so much time in natural surroundings you can almost feel the diurnal motion as our little planet spins its way through the heavens.

Up at dawn and on the trail by 6:30, we were greeted by a bow hunter clad all in camo.  He was happy to be out on the first day of deer season, and with a smile and a wink said he’d be careful not to peg any hikers.  We moved quickly along through the cool, beautiful morning, though some of the going was steep uphill. At one point we passed a trail register, an old ammo box padlocked to a post in the middle of a trail fork.  Unable to determine why it was there, we took the time to figure out what it was, but did not take the time to write in it. 

We arrived at Charleton Lake at 10:30, too early for the lunch we had planned there, but no matter.  We set our damp bags out in the sun, cooled our feet and napped a little.  Our neighbors were a loud a large group of weekend campers, complete with Eddie Bauer tents, Coleman coolers and lanterns, and a Camp Chef standing cookstove on which one of the ladies was preparing pancakes.  Dogs and small children ran noisily about, splashing in and out of the lake.  At the point which a woman was trying to get her horse to walk into the water and drink, I decided to ask our neighbors for some water from their abundant plastic-packaged supply.  I introduced myself politely and explained that the only source of water for us was the lake and that our filter was buried down in my husband’s pack.  They looked me over suspiciously, but one of them grabbed a gallon jug and began to pour me some water.  I tersely said thank you and returned to my snoozing husband. 

We met a man and his son and their dogs who all sat taking a rest in the shade.  Their packs were stuffed to overflowing, pillows and sleeping bags, and maybe even a goose down comforter, were lashed to the back.  He was very overweight and sweating profusely, the son, a skinny blonde teen, sat on a boulder with his head in his hands, patiently waiting while dad caught his breath.  We briefly compared water notes and destinations, petted the dogs and moved along.  Not too long after that we were passed by a fast moving, long legged couple in shorts and tennies.  They wore buffs as hats, used trekking poles and wore dirty girl gators (a stretchy nylon cover to keep the dust and burrs out of their shoes.) Although they looked like thru hikers, they were very clean.  We had to ask.  Their names were Road Runner and Bill and yes, they had started in Mexico.  Soon all we saw were their backs, and then they were lost in the distance.

Most of the rest of the afternoon we walked through a burn area.  I guessed the burn was from three to five years old, but Snickers thought it was probably younger- maybe last year or the year before.  At first it was eerily beautiful, then it was depressing.  I wrote my only poem of the summer.

Life Returns

Our friends the trees all lie dead

Charred, scorched, glistening black

Like soldiers on some long forgotten battle field

line after line they lie, silver corpses, bones bleaching in the noonday sun.

Far in the distance a mountain stands silent

the lone witness to the holocaust,

once hidden from the forest

now visible through the gnarled and leafless branches

New pines assemble at the base of their fallen ancestors,

young arms lifted in silent hymns.

Patches of pennyroyal and lupine decorate the ground

Blades of grass and licks of purple penstemon push through the ashy soil,

vivid reminders of life’s resolve.   

After what seemed like hours of walking through this recovering wasteland, we saw Road Runner and  Bill huddled together in the shade of a lone green tree.  They were eating potato chips and drinking Gatorade, a clear sign that they had recently come from town.  We talked a while, and then, sweating in the harsh sun, we moved along towards our next water stop. A young couple was already there, carefully filtering their lake water after having watched a few horsemen slough through it.  They recognized us from Crater Lake and told us they had camped near us at Bobby Lake the night before.  We mentioned Road Runner and Bill and they got so excited.  The older couple, who lived in their home town in Arizona, had contacted them through a PCT site before coming on the trail (funny how half the time when I type in trail it comes out trial- they are so similar in many ways)  and met with them, helped them through the planning stages and saw them off at the beginning of their adventure. They had not seen them for over a month and had heard that they were off trail due to a wedding and then a case of dysentery.  We all rested and visited, waiting for RR and Bill to hike by. The reunion was explosive.  Whooping and back slapping and laughter continued for several minutes.  Feeling like we were intruding on a family moment, we took off ahead of the others, but they passed us not too long after, and then we caught up to them as they were relaxing on the shore of Stormy Lake.

We sat and had a snack and then I went down to the lake to get some water, and, of course, eat huckleberries.  I said hello to a hunter and his dog, then washed my feet, face, arms and legs and sat in the sun on a rock in the lake just breathing in the clean air and watching the clouds scoot across the sky.  By the time I came back up the hunter and I were friends.  He told me of a friend of his who had hiked the PCT and that he had done a few sections himself.  He also told me he always keeps a six pack of beer in a cooler in his truck in case he runs into PCT hikers in these woods.  He was sorry to say that the truck was parked five miles away at the trail head.  I expressed what I thought was the proper amount of grief without seeming too pitiful or uncaring, and wandered back over to Snickers.  A few minutes later the hunter was back with a flask full of Kahlua and cream in his hand, offering it to us.  I poured the water out of my shaker bottle (I usually have a protein shake every morning for breakfast) and gratefully accepted the delicious offering.  We visited a bit longer, promised to keep an eye out for his girlfriend who was leading a pack team of llamas, and said goodbye to our new friend.  I never caught his name, but a cold rainy evening was made much brighter by his generosity and benevolence. 

 

Shelter Cove

We drove up in Steve and Earleine’s big white truck, though we were  hoping they would drop us off a ways back so we could walk in the last little way.  It was a charming little spot. There was a wide bay on the lake, and a harbor full of all manner of boats.  Little cottages lined the road on the other side. The store itself was a log cabin with a large porch, all trimmed in little white lights. Hikers had made themselves comfortable there, unpacking their resupply boxes, eating pizza, lounging about with quarts of ice cream.  Our friend One Pint smiled and greeted us warmly, though she also noticed that we had arrived in a vehicle.  Hike your own hike is a phrase people use to minimize the difference in those who fastidiously hike every single step on the trail and those who will occasionally take a ride from someone or skip a small piece of trail.  But One Pint had a different phrase for us.  “You know,” she said, “hike your own hike, hitch your own hitch, whatever.”  Knowing that One Pint had dedicated herself to walking every step of the way I felt a little ashamed, but knowing how we felt the day before, I also was fairly convinced that if today had been a hiking day it would have been our last.   

It was a little like walking on to a movie scene.  There were members of the hiking community and there were  campers, main characters and those with bit parts and, over in the corner, just out of focus, sat a man in an olive green button down shirt and an Indiana Jones hat.  He looked like Harrison Ford, which exaggerated the movie effect. I watched entranced, as the characters interacted, exchanged dialogue and continued to consume pizza.  We obtained our supply box and packed our food bags, gave some food to an emaciated looking youth with a nearly empty pack, shared dehydrating recipes with people and handed out a couple of Snicker Bars.  Snickers ate a pizza and I cooked up some ratatouille- all I needed was boiling water from the store’s coffee shop.  I really liked our food this year and seldom felt the urge to eat store food. 

It was fun catching up with people we hadn’t seen in a few days, and meeting those we hadn’t yet met.  Harrison Ford wasn’t really a movie star, though we made up a good story about him taking to the trail incognito in order to learn more about trail culture because he planned to produce the story of Cheryl Strayed, whose book Wild. From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail had been on the best seller list.  The news that the movie rights were just purchased by Fox Searchlight and Reese Witherspoon was abuzz on the trail, and though there are a lot of differing opinions about whether increasing the trail’s public profile is a good idea or not, still it is always fun to be noticed in the media.  Anyway, back to Harrison Ford.  Though our fanciful story was more fun, it turns out that Ford was a broker from Arizona, doing just the Oregon section of the trail.  We talked about his grandkids who love trains, dehydrating food,  and general trail stuff. 

I also had a very nice visit with some local campers who wanted to know more about this wild bunch who had overtaken their campground store.  Very intrigued by it all, the campers asked me lots of questions about food, mileage and gear and were happy to listen to my stories.  Then, along came their daughter who was even more curious.  She and I hit it off right away, sharing knowledge of local plants and edible wild foods.  She had even fixed wild greens for her family sometimes.  (Mine flatly refuses.) She ran to her cabin and brought me several plant identification books and said I could use them all afternoon- they were going out to pick huckleberries.  It was a great treat!  I identified the funny wild cucumber plant I had taken a picture of a few days prior which turned out to be, funny enough, wild cucumber.  Not palatable, but edible.  I identified a few more flowers but Snickers needed my help for food packing, so I returned the books to the store and asked the clerk to hold them for my friend, whose name or cabin number I did not know.  I guess you have to walk hundreds of miles to discover that people really are good and can trust one another. 

  

Our friend Chipmunk was due in later that day, so we wandered down to the thru hikers’ camp and looked for a site.  I mostly grazed on huckleberries while Snickers set up the shelter. It’s good to have a shelter around us in areas of population density (to a hiker that means more than four people per square mile) and it looked like we could be in for some wet weather. While Snickers and his feet took a needed nap, and with our shelter secure and nothing else to do, I wandered back down to the store, cracking up over the signs which asked hikers to “please use the porta potties placed in the campgrounds.” They know us too well.   

   

The store closed, the clouds began to gather over the lake, and the hikers sat about on the porch trying to plan what to do for the evening.  We had tried to rent a cabin, but there were none available.  Some of the guys were thinking of camping out on the porch, where there was plenty of cover.  After a while, one discovered that there was a list on the store’s door for people who had rented a cabin but hadn’t arrived before the store closed.  The note informed the late comers which cabin was theirs and that the lights were on and the keys were in the door. I don’t know if anyone actually took advantage of the situation, but there were a few tossing around the idea of squatting in the warm, dry cabins.   I sat on the covered porch with a few others and watched the rays of the setting sun streak like search lights through the dark clouds which had seemed so ominous just a few minutes before. Now those clouds were shining in silvers and golds and turning the sky a vibrant pink. Then came the lightning storm.  The beautiful jagged light cut through the evening sky and lit up the lake below. A young family stood out in the rain watching the day turn to night and enjoying the light show, but those of us who had been out in the rain too many times without a choice were happy to be watching from the porch where we were dry.  I thought about Snickers, enjoying the storm by himself back there in the campground, wondering if I should go join him but I stayed dry watching the storm with my new friends until Chipmunk finally drove up.

When we got down to the campground we found Snickers cozily tucked in beneath our poncho shelter, hardly aware of the storm at all.  The ground under the trees was almost dry, and he hadn’t seen the lightning either- I think he just slept through it. Chipmunk had a new tent and was glad to have the chance to set it up. We sat and talked for quite a while and she regaled us with the story of her drive through the pouring rain. Our friend Razor came by as he was heading to his tarp, so he stopped and shared a beer and a story or two and with us.

The next morning dawned clear and bright.  Chipmunk and I enjoyed hot oatmeal with lots of huckleberries. We were excited about finally getting to take a hike together. Her morning mission, though, was to find someone who could help her place her car up the trail so she could hike longer with us and not have to double back half way through.  She was hoping one of the campers would follow her in their car and then drive her back to the campground after she parked her car at the trail head.  Instead, one of the hikers heard her dilemma and volunteered to drive up later in the afternoon and pick her up in her car.  So this hiker, who is a teacher in real life, handed over her car keys to a complete stranger and trusted the guy (and his girlfriend) to bring her car up to her later on some poorly marked forest service road.  Crazy? not really, it is just easier to trust people on the trail. 

The morning hike was perfect. Chipmunk and I chatted and walked and enjoyed the snacks she brought along.  She was happy to be there and we were happy to have her.  We walked under a deep green canopy and alongside a flowing creek.  There were a few short climbs but our feet felt great and we were happy to be back on the trail.  Because we had eaten breakfast at Shelter Cove we didn’t need to stop for a morning break and decided to make our trail burritos for lunch.  We had planned burritos for dinner the night before, but since Chipmunk didn’t arrive until after dark we hadn’t cooked them.  She brought us some nice flour tortillas and got out her pocket rocket stove to heat up our burrito mix.  At home we dehydrated a can of refried beans (the vegetarian fat free ones) and to that we added ½ package of taco seasoning.  When we packaged it we added ½ cup of instant rice, some dehydrated onions, peppers and corn.  This mix rehydrates cold quite nicely, which we usually do at lunch time or whenever we are by a reliable water source.  Then at dinner we either heat it up and spread it onto the tortillas with some cheese or we just spread it on cold if we are dry camping and don’t want to dirty another container.  Lunch was good, Chipmunk was impressed, and we headed on down the trail.  

Blisters and Expectations

After consulting with others and our maps last night, we decided that today we would take the alternate route on the Oregon Sky Lakes Trail.  This was the old PCT and would climb less, be shorter, and take us by more available water sources.  That seemed like a no brainer.  So we snuck out of camp quietly- I teased Snickers that now people would be able to sleep because he and his snoring were leaving camp- and hiked along in the cool dawn light. 

It wasn’t very long before we were passed by Toots M’Goots and Tears for Beers. We had not yet officially met them, but we had seen them briefly at Crater Lake and saw them at camp last night.  Toot’s husband, Aloha, is trail supporting her and meets her at junctions to give her resupply and often provides trail magic.  The Two T’s knew us as The Berry Couple, and asked us about the local berries- which ones were good for eating and which should not be consumed.  Although I realize I run the slight risk of having no berries to eat if I keep telling people who will be in front of us about the berries they can eat, I also realize that most hikers are too busy hiking to pick and eat a lot of berries.  I had picked a lot of black current by the spring last night and still had some in a baggie, so I showed those to the girls and shared a few, and showed them the dwarf huckleberry. 

Dwarf Huckleberry, also called Whortleberry

I was excited for the day.  I thought that we would finally be hiking by lots of lakes and not have to carry water.  I guess I was expecting terrain like the Sierra Mountains.  We hiked along on a dry, hot trail, my blisters starting to really hurt again.  I stopped frequently to air out my feet and change my socks, and applied the 2^nd skin blister pads which Drop Biscuit had given me.  I was trying to enjoy the nice weather and the scenery, but my brain only wanted to focus on my sore feet.  The first water source, a small lake, was supposed to be just ¼ mile off the trail.  I was happy about being able to soak my feet and have fresh water, but as we approached the lake, all we found was a mudhole.  Disappointed, we decided not to muck our way through the mud to where the water was, so we turned around and headed back to the main trail, stopping to have a snack in a hunter’s camp, frustrated at having wasted half a mile.

The next water was better, still not great, lots of bugs swimming around.  We tanked up, filled our water bottles and moseyed along, still overheated, still a bit grumbly that these lakes were not the swimming sort of lakes.  At lunch time we finally made it to a real lake!  We spread out our ground cloth and began a proper picnic. I couldn’t wait to get into that beautiful lake, but a cloud cover had come in and a cool breeze was blowing.  I decided to stretch out for a little nap first, enjoying the beauty of a lazy day by a lake.  I hadn’t watched too many clouds drifting by before I realized I wasn’t watching anything at all.  I was awakened by Snickers’ movements.  He was packing up his bag, putting on his shoes.  But wait!  I hadn’t taken a swim yet.  My feet didn’t even get wet.  He was of the opinion that with the blister pads on I shouldn’t douse my feet, and he was ready to move on.  So we moved on.  Sometimes when you hike with a partner, no matter how much you love them, you have to make concessions that you would prefer not to make.  This was one of those times.  I suppose I could have hollered and caused a fuss or just refused to move on until I got my swim, but at that point it was easier to put up with my bad mood in having missed a swim than with his bad mood of having to wait for me.  Aware of the choice I was making made it easier, but still, my feet wanted a soaking.  I plugged in my music and tried to get lost in it.  Actually, after the rest, my feet felt pretty good and only my feelings were aching.

The trail was hot and dusty.  We passed a few more lakes, but not beautiful ones, and none of them close enough to get to.  I was in a mosey mood, wanting to stop and enjoy the lakes, but Snickers wanted to push on and get to our destination lake and take time there.  Ok, I could go with that plan. I enjoyed the lakes in passing, carried water in my pack and hiked.  Then the trail got rougher and dustier.  After a while it was unclear whether or not we were on the right trail, even though they are fairly well labeled through Oregon.  Someone had written PCT in sticks with an arrow that headed up a trail that was not labeled, but we trusted our map instead.  The dusty trail spilled out onto a gravel road, and we weren’t sure we were even headed in the right direction.  The gravel road led to a paved road, and the signs confirmed we were headed to Crescent Lake, but I had my suspicions otherwise.  The paved road was oily and reflected the sun’s heat.  We hiked on, our feet hot, both unhappy.  No cars came by to give us a ride.  We continued to follow the road and signs and ended up in a forest service camp ground at a boating lake.  There were lots of trucks and campers and boats, a few people wandering around.  One man was fairly friendly and directed us to the camp host site for information, but the camp host was not at home.  Downcast, we turned around and headed to the shore of the lake.  Finally, I would get to soak my feet.  I was trying not to be a whiner because I could see that Snickers was in a bad mood too, he couldn’t decide whether to water up and move on or remain there for the night. I was in favor of pushing on intellectually, as I don’t like to walk for miles and miles only to arrive at a lake populated by  cars and trucks, but my body was not so sure about moving on.  Snickers took a swim, fully clothed, while I sat on the beach and glowered.  What was supposed to be a fun day with lots of lakes had turned into a blister ruined hike where we got off track and ended up having to throw our sleeping bags down in the middle of a camp ground full of RV’s and rednecks.  Refreshed, my husband decided to stay there for the night, and I was too tired to care.  I changed clothes, went down and took a nice long swim, and came up feeling much better.  As we were drying on the beach, a woman who had been sunning in a lawn chair approached us cautiously. “Are you hikers?” she asked us, and once we answered affirmatively, we were on a different level with her.  Friendly, talkative and sweet, Earleine told us the story of their lives, how they camp here all the time mid-week, but never on the weekends, how they had met a PCT hiking woman named Katie and helped her out…  She told us their campsite number and invited us to come by later, which we did, after dinner. Steve, Earleine’s husband, offered Snickers a beer, and  Earleine offered salves and ointments for my feet.  Spirits considerably buoyed, we wandered back to our ground cloth and slept beneath the stars. Well, we slept until about one in the morning, when I started feeling big wet drops on my face.  I dug into my pack and pulled out my poncho, covered my head and most of my sleeping bag, told Snickers it was raining, and tried to get back to sleep.  Valiantly he got up, covered us both properly by staking the ponchos at the corners, and we slept snugly underneath our make-shift cover.  I was glad I had not been the brat I could have been that day.

We awoke to the chirp of ground squirrels, who were quite curious about us, and very bold.  I fed them cashews from my trail mix, sketched them in my journal and sat in the sunshine. Rather than hike on in iffy weather on sore feet, we had decided to take our new friends’ offer of a ride to our next resupply.  I think Snickers was on the verge of giving up- he kept talking about visiting his uncle in Washington or camping at Solduck Hot Springs (which is one of my favorite spots.)  Much more invested this year than in year’s past, I was not about to let some blisters get the best of me.  We played with the friendly ground squirrels- one even jumped up on Snickers’ back while I was giving him a massage- ate our breakfast, dried our laundry, then finally climbed into the truck with Steve and Earleine and headed to Shelter Cove. 

Golden Mantled Ground Squirrel (Chipmunks have cheek stripes)

A twenty mile day

I woke to the moon setting over the trees. The sky was a deep dark blue, becoming gradually lighter around the edges.  Quietly stretching in my bag so as not to wake He Who Would Like to Hit the Trail Immediately Upon Awakening, I enjoyed the beauty of the dawn taking over the night. The lighter edge of the sky became more expansive, and the stars winked out one by one as the bright blue day took their place.  Once awake, Mr. Snickers gathered our food bags, packed his bag and was ready to be off.  We hiked the three miles down to the creek, passing a few hikers we knew along the way, some just crawling out of their tents.  One Pint had just gotten up and joined us down at the creek. While we were getting water, That Nice Young Man came down, fired up his stove and started some oatmeal for breakfast. I was surprised (and glad) to see him again. I wished I had some huckleberries to contribute to his meal, but though i had picked some already that morning, they were already eaten.  

The hike that day was rather uneventful.  The path was nice, my Keens felt great.  We had some challenging climbs and were in and out of forest and chaparral. We passed the highest point on the Oregon PCT- i think some boy scouts had been here and labelled everything. I changed my socks fairly often trying to stave off more blisters, and though my right foot is doing well, my toe socks gave me blisters between the big toe and the next one on my left foot.

We took several nice breaks including one with crackers and cream cheese.  I had some extra miso paste and discovered that it tastes great as a spread on cream cheese and crackers.  A new hiker came upon our scene. Ugly Sam, the lawyer, had just finished law school and taken his bar exams.  A section hiker like us, he was walking from Crater Lake to Cascade Locks, instead of waiting nervously for the report on whether or not he had passed the bar.  Smart guy.  His first day, yesterday, was 23 miles uphill with no water, so he said he is suffering today. Maybe not so smart after all.  But very friendly.

When there are few water sources, people tend to congregate around them.  I would like to see someone film the scene, preferably in fast action.  It opens with pure water, flowing down hill in the wilderness.  A hiker comes in, drops his pack and starts to collect some water.  Another hiker comes in, fills a water bottle, drinks some of the fresh water.  Soon the area is full of people, packs, and water bottles.  Some sit pumping the water with a filter, some are stirring a steri pen through their container, some are squeezing the water through a filter from one container to another.  All are visiting, conversing, comparing notes. Then, just as slowly as they trickled in, the hikers begin to pick up their bags and leave.  In this case the water was a very small trickle coming down from a small mucky pond.  It was cold, but didn’t look great.  The trail down to this spring was challenging, very steep and rocky, and many were coming down in their camp shoes- flip flops or crocs- not very safe.   

Using our Sawyer squeeze filter. 

Back up at the top of the trail to the spring people were finding places to camp, making dinner, and settling in for the evening.  Ugly Sam the lawyer was setting up a tarp just next to where we were putting down our ground cloth.  An older couple, weekend hikers,  was set up right at the junction between the PCT and the trail to the spring.  They had quite a set-up: chairs, a tent, nice cushy mattresses…  We apologized for intruding on their little piece of paradise, but they were nice about it, welcomed everyone (there were at least five small groups of hikers) and sat visiting with us all until well past sundown. 

I awoke to silence.  There was a long pause in my husband’s snoring.  I am not used to his sleep apnea so much anymore because at home he sleeps plugged in to a machine.  Out here away from electricity he has to depend on me giving him a big shove to remind him to breathe.  Once that happened, I was fully awake.  The full moon shone brightly through a gap in the trees, and I slithered as quietly as i could out of my warm  bag and over to the patch of yellow light.  I sat in a yoga position breathing the cool, damp air in and out.  It was almost as if it were actually light that I was taking in to my lungs.  I stared at the silhouette of the tree leaves and branches dipping and rising in the slight breeze, and watched their patterns change on the ground in front of me.  I stretched, bathed in the cool light and listened to the night sounds. Fully at peace, I crawled back in to my bag and slept soundly until morning.

Crater Lake

One of the smarter things I did in my preparations this year was to send myself little gifts in the resupply boxes.  Tiny tubs of body scrub, sample packs of fancy shampoo and bags of gummy bears helped make resupply all that much sweeter.  I enjoyed a long hot shower, a nap, and a cookie from the gift shop.  My foot was still sore, but much better now that I didn’t have to walk miles and miles.  I found a spot outside that got phone coverage and called home, glad to be able to speak to my kids. I asked Lanea to send me my other Keens- I thought perhaps the sturdier soles might help.  When I got back to the room Snickers was stretched out over the bed, sound asleep, so I wandered down to the store.

There were a few hikers milling about, most of them eating or drinking some more.  One poor dehydrated lad sat in the corner on a plastic chair, his hydration pouch in his lap and the hose in his mouth.  Others had cans of soda, bottles of beer or bags of chips they were enjoying as they visited.  I wasn’t interested in any more food.  I struck up a conversation with a hiker I had not yet met, a pleasant looking man who greeted me with a big grin and a hearty hello.  We talked about the local news- the hiker who had been fined for sleeping too near the rim and the unwelcoming welcome letter.  I noticed he had a pair of white strappy pumps attached to his pack, and tried to ignore it, but eventually there was a lull in the conversation and I had to ask.  He was happy to tell me the story of a dear friend of his who had recently been diagnosed with MS, and how, after hearing about an advocacy group called A Mile in her Shoes, the two of them had established a fundraising foundation called Pumps2Portland. He was hiking from Yosemite to Portland, blogging about his experiences and asking people for donations.  One of the strategies they used was to take pictures of people with the high heels and post them on their face book page with a link to his website. We were having a rather intense conversation about his mission when we were interrupted by a soaking wet, nearly naked hiker bursting out of the shower rooms and flying by us.  His heiny was almost, but not quite, covered by a t-shirt he had gripped around his middle, and he stood dripping, frantically pulling garments out of his pack saying “no towel, no towel.” Pretty soon he realized we were all watching him, so he scooped up a bunch of things in his one free arm and dashed back to the showers, unintentionally scattering assorted socks and bandanas as he went.  Pumps to Portland and I, and all the other hikers for that matter, were smiling and laughing.  Mary Anne from Indiana came out of the reservations desk towards us.  Pumps, finally able to talk after his fit of laughter, said “well, that’s something you won’t see every day.”  Mary Anne responded, “Actually, it happens more often than you might think.”  Unused to the experience of showering, hikers often forget to take in the most important items like towels, soap or clean clothes.  Having brought so few clothes along in the effort to keep pack weight down, it is not uncommon for hikers to strip down to their skivvies, throw all their clothes in the washing machine, run in and take a shower and come out in nothing but a towel, tossing their undies in the washer along with everything else.  The more conservative types will put on their rain gear until their clothes are washed and dried. 

Sleeping on a soft bed with clean sheets was, again, a very nice thing, but now that I was more accustomed to sleeping in the woods, I missed all the sounds.  The only thing I could hear was Snickers’ snores, his very loud snores, reverberating off of the motel walls.  No moon lit the night, no fresh air circulated to keep me cool and comfortable.  I tossed and turned for a long time before I finally asked for our audible book and was able to relax enough to get some sleep.

Snickers’ feet were still very sore- the blister that had developed on the ball of his foot was pretty deep and very tender.  The day would be a zero; no miles would be hiked.  We behaved like typical National Park visitors- lounged about camp, bought snacks at the camp store, ate a nice lunch at Annie Creek. We visited with other hikers, read the trail journal to see who had already come in and left, and bought some more snacks at the store. Hikers were still talking and complaining about the “welcome” sign and where they could or could not camp, and there was a general concern about the hike out of the campground village- a 23 mile waterless stretch.  In the evening we decided to attend the ranger talk and found out about BUNS- big trees, understory, nurse logs, and snags- all qualities possessed by an old growth forest. We enjoyed the talk and the ranger, and headed back to the hotel using our headlamps. 

Snickers and Veggie at Crater Lake

Our shoes still had not arrived the next morning, so we spent another day at Crater Lake.  We were beginning to feel like residents. As new hikers came in we welcomed them, oriented them about the laundry, showers and mail, told them where to find the hiker boxes, the trail journal and the trolley up to the Rim Village.  The waitresses, camp hosts and store clerks knew us by name. Rather than spend another day around camp, we decided to take the trolley to the village and hike around the rim.  Our feet were still too sore for a complete circumference (21 miles) so we satisfied ourselves with just a few miles around one side and back.  Like typical tourists we ate in the café, browsed through the gift shop and visited the information center- which was really just another gift shop that mostly had books.   We noticed with some dissatisfaction that the services the National Park offered tended to funnel people through one very small area.  Their motto, both here and down in the hiker village seemed to say “Eat in our café, shop in our stores, take pictures in front of the landscape, then leave quietly and don’t cause trouble.”  Whether this was intentional on the park’s part or they were only responding to the public’s habits was not clear, but what was clear was that if you wandered more than a mile from the Rim Village there were no visitors to be seen.  We had seen this phenomenon in other parks as well. 

There were other thru hikers milling about, mostly getting water and food at the café before tackling the rest of their waterless stretch, and we also saw the pleasure hikers from the Sky Lakes trail again.  We made friends with the interpretive rangers on the way back down to the campground, discussing the “welcome” situation with them as well as our impression of the limited use of the park by average visitors.  They knew nothing about the welcome sign but agreed with us about the visitor thing and asked for our input. They also encouraged us to fill out a comment form, even stopping to get one for us at the rangers’ office. 

Back at the campground village we worked on the comment forms and I had a visit with That Nice Young Man.  He had another trail name, but, believing that people live up to what you expect of them, I refused to call him that.  He had come in to camp pretty rough, with a case of dysentery. Another hiker gave him some of his prescription for giardia, which seemed to be helping, but the kid was still a bit weak from days of not keeping anything in his system.  He asked for my recommendations on what he should be eating and we talked about trail food in general.  Talk got around to berries once again, indeed we were getting a reputation as “the berry couple” and I showed him pictures of the edible ones from a guide book in the store.  I sketched some of the ones unfamiliar to me in my journal.  We had a last nice meal at the restaurant- they actually had more than one vegetarian entrée- and went to another ranger led evening, this one on creatures of the night.  It was funny that though his presentation was about the night creatures, the ranger did not let the resident bats interrupt his scripted talk, even though his audience was clearly more interested in the night flyers than they were in what he was saying. At the end of the program we handed him our completed comment form, and, feeling like our job here was done, headed to the campground for a night’s sleep. 

We were hoping to take off the next morning, but alas, our shoes still had not arrived.  Our feet were a lot better though, having had two (more or less) complete days of rest.  I spent the morning cleaning out the hiker boxes- like I said I felt like I lived there, and I figured it was more a hiker’s responsibility to keep those boxes tidy than the store keeper’s.  You wouldn’t believe what some people drop into those resupply boxes!  There were packages of contact lenses, completely trashed hiking shorts, shoes, insoles, no fewer than eight half-used bottles of sunscreen and many other discarded items.  Sure, some of it could be reused, but a lot of it should just have been thrown away.  I bought a sharpie at the store and did the best I could to label and date the many unidentified baggies of grains, potato flakes and cereals.  A lot of it I had to toss. That Nice Young Man and several others headed back out to the trail, either via the trolley up to the rim or by trail.  One woman I very much admired was named One Pint.  She likes beer, she said, but can only handle one pint.  She had quit her job and, I think, sold her house in order to fulfill her dream of hiking the trail.  She was very dedicated to it and wanted to make sure she completed every bit of the trail.  Her boyfriend (I think) and a few others took the Trolley up to the rim, and she let them take her pack, but she didn’t want to skip any trail miles so she decided to hike up there with just a day pack and some water.  Every time we saw her she was upbeat and enthusiastic. It was wonderful to see someone fulfilling a dream and appreciating every moment of that opportunity. 

Finally our shoes arrived in the afternoon mail and after one last Veggie Burger at Annie Creek Café Snickers arranged for us to get a ride to the edge of the park with one of the younger employees who was heading in to town.  I was a little sad not to be walking out, like One Pint, but we had only so many days to hike, and did not want to get too far behind our schedule, having spent unplanned days off here waiting for our shoes to come.  We got to the trail head and who should be sitting there having some dinner but That Nice Young Man.  When he passed us just a while later I gave him a hug, wished him a good walk to Canada and said goodbye, sure I would not see him again. 

It was hot out, we were carrying two liters of water apiece, and we had several pounds of resupply food.  Because it was late in the day we did not do too many miles, only about six.  My feet were glad to have the new sturdier shoes, but Snickers wasn’t so sure his different ones were any better- they just rubbed in a different place! We camped in sight of Thielsen Peak and I got out my watercolors to try to capture the late afternoon shade on the mountainside.  It was nice to have the woods around me once again.  I didn’t know who was behind and who was ahead, but I knew right where I was, and that was a comfort. 

Mount Thielsen

To Mazama

Every step hurt.  When I stood for the first time this morning, a sharp pain shot from my right foot to my brain.  I stepped gingerly, thinking it was something that could be walked off, like when a foot falls asleep, but it didn’t go away.  I decided to embrace the pain and consider it an allegory for life.  “Walking is painful, but all life has pain. I will be one with the pain and thereby grow in my humanness.”  Uh, no.  Instead I tried some breathing techniques left over from natural child birth.  I breathed deeply. I focused on trees and butterflies and other positive, uplifting things.  I breathed out. I winced, walked some more, breathed.  After a few hundred feet of this not working, I changed my strategy, partially because it is difficult to walk briskly and control your breathing.  I whistled. I sang. I went back to the pain allegory and tried to suffer through.  After two hours of trying to cope with pain I gave up and took  ibuprofen.  Not too long after that the pain was down to a dull thud instead of a loud roar and I was able to distract myself with the beauty surrounding me.   

Stopping for breakfast and snack was a welcome relief from the pain of walking.  Sharkie and Be Bo came around a corner just after our first break and greeted us with “Hey, it’s the Snickers and Veggie show!”  I wasn’t certain whether or not to be offended by that.  But we smiled and waved and said hi.  We didn’t really visit for long, they passed us, disappeared over a ridge, and we never saw them again.  I thought we would catch up to them again later in the day when they stopped for lunch, like last time, but we didn’t.  I did hear Snickers talking to someone while I was busy picking and eating berries (a nice diversion) and hoped it was them, but when I came around the corner it was a young woman in a farmer-style straw hat.  I thought she must be a South Bounder at first because we had not met her yet. We walked together for a little while getting acquainted and looking for a good place to have some lunch and get clean water.  The first water source noted on the map was rather sketchy- hardly flowing, pretty shallow and full of little frogs.  I know what frogs do in water.  Even with the filter I was not up for drinking that.  We moved on.

We passed one or two more questionable water sources before we climbed a little hill, stepped over a nicely flowing creek and found a nice flat place to break out our lunch.  A couple doing the Sky Lakes trail was just finishing their lunch break. They were taking a week to do thirty miles while stopping at lakes, swimming and enjoying themselves.  They had spent a day at Cliff Lake jumping off rocks into the water and stuffing themselves on berries. I was a bit jealous of these pleasure hikers until I saw the size of their packs.  The woman had bandanas stuffed under her shoulder straps to help add cushion, but I know from experience there’s not much you can do to make a heavy pack more comfortable short of dumping out extra clothes and gear. Don’t get rid of the extra food; it is never a good idea to give up your food. 

We enjoyed lunch with our new friend in the hat, whose name was Drop Biscuit. We shared some pudding, biscuit making tips and berry picking knowledge with her and she shared some blister pads with me.  I made another new friend too. A little copper butterfly fluttered about me and kept landing on my legs, my feet and my shorts.  I didn’t want to take time away from him to go wash my legs and feet, but finally decided to wash up, cool down and tend to my blistery feet. After our bellies were full and our feet cooled down we took off down the trail.  Drop Biscuit stayed to visit with a handsome young hiker who came in, stripped down to his shorts and washed up in the creek. The blister pads were helping, the new dose of ibuprofen had kicked in, the berry bushes were abundant, and the afternoon was pleasant.  We were walking at a nice pace and the forest was beautiful.  Not too long after we took off however, we were passed by some thru hikers.  There is a funny thing that happens when those fast hikers pass us. It is not intentional, but it happens quite often.   We call it being carried off by the brumbies.  If you’ve ever watched the movie The Man from Snowy River you might get the reference.  My oldest daughter and youngest child (17 years apart) both loved that movie, so I have seen it many times.  The brumbies are wild horses that run past ranches and cause all the nice, calm, tame horses to get excited and want to run off with them.  Snickers has become more tame and hikes at a pace comfortable to me over the years.  Sometimes, though, those brumbies tend to carry him off and he hikes much more like he did a decade ago.  Fortunately for me it doesn’t last more than a couple of miles.   

The afternoon wore on and we hit a long burned stretch.  Burns are interesting at first, but the appeal wears off pretty quickly.  So did my ibuprofen. Also, my foot started to swell and become very painful.  Snickers put me out in front so we didn’t hike too fast, and I concentrated on walking with my heel first and rolling through the ball of my foot.  For some reason the sugar plum fairy song was playing in my head, and the last two miles went along like that.   As long as I didn’t think about it too much, and just let the music play in my head, it was tolerable.  We were hoping to hike out of the burn before we camped, but we got to the point where we just didn’t want to go any further.  We found a small stand of trees that were not burned and made camp up there.  The sunset that night was a bright pink smudge across the azure sky and then the moon, very bright,  traversed the sky in a long low arc.  Getting up to answer the call of nature that night I didn’t even need to use a light; the moon bathed everything in a yellow glow.

The next day’s hike was done in three two hour sections.  We had just twelve miles to make it to Crater Lake.  With a good night’s sleep, a new layer of blister pads and more ibuprofen I was feeling pretty good, but Snicker’s foot was much more sore.  There was one long uphill section that was tough, but fortunately the last five miles were downhill, beautifully scenic, shady and soft.  I came up with a numeric judging system for trail condition.  Downhill, shady and soft is a three.  Points are deducted for the omission of any one of the three preferable conditions.  We did a -1 for a mile today because it was rocky, in the direct sun, uphill and we had to carry water.  We made good time and pulled in to the trailhead to Mazama Village at Crater Lake before lunch, and then walked the one mile along the road to the restaurant and store.  Sometimes we might try to hitch when we are on a road, but we had been informed on the “Welcome” sign that this was forbidden.  Also against the rules of the park were camping within a mile of the road, camping between the road and the rim, bringing pets on the trail, and other assorted do’s and don’ts.  Though the sign said welcome, we didn’t feel very well received.

Lunch was wonderful though! We ate on the patio of the Annie Springs restaurant among a gathering of hikers and resupply boxes.  Drop Biscuit was there; I made sure she had a big glass of beer as a thank you for the blister pads- she said you’re welcome with another package of blister pads from her ample resupply package.  I ate all of my huge (and delightfully tasty) veggie burger and shared my fries with Drop Biscuit while Snickers ate his burger and fries and drank a pitcher of diet Coke.  After lunch we found our way to the store, got our resupply box, and rented a room for the night since there were no camping spots available in the campground. This was a hardship for the thru hikers, as the welcome sign had made it obvious that they were not able to camp within a mile of the road. Thru hikers, however, are resourceful and clever; a small group of them pooled their resources and rented an RV site, moved in and created a little tent city. Others snuck off after dusk and stealth-camped at the edge of the woods.  The big buzz in all the hikers’ conversations was the hiker who had gotten a $600 fine the night before for sleeping between the crater and the road.  No one was sure whether the price of the ticket reflected the fine for illegal camping or the illegal smoking material the hiker had in his bag.  Either way, no one wanted to take any chances with the National Park rangers. 

Days 6 and 7.

We had to pass a few other hikers last night to get to a good spot to camp.  Sometimes we have lots of good places to choose from, and sometimes we have to look long and hard to find a place level enough to throw down our bags. Last night there were lots of places to choose from beneath the shelter of a pine forest.  After having a starry canopy above us in the nice open meadow the night before, I thought it would be sad to be under the trees, but I fell asleep so quickly I never even noticed. Because we were sheltered by the forest, it was a little darker in the morning and I think Snickers even had to turn on his headlamp to assemble his pack while I did some stretching inside my sleeping bag.  I woke up with a really sore hip. Once on the trail we passed a few tents full of sacked-out hikers- the sun was just starting to come up- and listened to the chatter and howl of coyotes.  I don’t know if this was the same group which had followed us, or a new pack, but they were close and loud.  You could hear the pups talking back to the moms and imagine the conversation.

After a while of hiking, the soreness in my lower back and hip was a nagging pain that could not be ignored. The pain was bad enough, but the worry was worse.  We were two or three days walking from the nearest town. What if I had a blockage in my intestine and needed medical help?  What if my kidneys shut down?  The enormity of all the possible situations was overwhelming and I had to get ahold of myself.  I stopped and stretched some more, ate a little protein, took some deep breaths and repacked my backpack, trying to get the weight off my hip and more onto my shoulders.  I also adjusted the straps, shifting weight that way as well.  Before we had taken off on this trip I had gone in and had my chiropractor adjust my pack to fit my back and distribute the weight to support my spine instead of working against it.  Wearing a back pack is, after all, like wearing a back brace.  Now that we had been out nearly a week the pack was starting to shift, plus, it was heavier today with the extra water we had to carry. I plugged in the iPod again hoping to hide the pain and worry in the music, but alas, the battery was used up. At least the miles were through pine forest, cool, pleasant and woodsy.   Even when it hurts to be out here, at least I am out here.  You know that old line about the worst day fishing is better than the best day working? I’d rather be hurting walking out here than feeling no pain on an average day at home.  The beauty, the freedom, it’s all worth it.

The shifting and stretching actually helped a bit, my attitude adjusted from panic to confidence, and we made it to our next water stop in pretty good time.  Funny, I kept expecting Mountain Goat to jump out from behind something!!  Just .4 miles off the main trail our next water source was one of my favorite. This was another of Oregon’s wonderful shelters- a Little House On The Prairie log cabin with a big steel hand pump outside.  You didn’t have to prime it with a coffee can full of water like the one with which I am familiar, but you had to really get it pumping before you got any water.  It was also pretty tricky to try to pump with one hand and hold a water bottle in the other, but fun trying. The pump washed us, we washed our feet, our faces and some socks.  We had our cracker and cheese lunch and then we made chocolate pudding to which we added some crushed peanuts and coconut along with some small chocolate cookies.  Another hiker named Chosen One came in, and we talked for a while.  He was trying to decide whether or not to finish Oregon in two weeks. He couldn’t decide whether to blaze through and finish faster, insuring better weather through Washington and also catching up with hikers he knew were in front of him, or to slow down a little and enjoy the sights of Oregon, especially a trip in to the breweries of Bend.  I am not sure what he decided, but we never saw him again. 

After our nice lunch and rest, with cool feet and happy hearts, we hiked quietly along through pine forest, in and out of berry patches and bear grass.  Suddenly it looked as if some giant had poured huge rocks down the hill and all over the trail.  The pines abruptly stopped where they had been run over by this rock deluge, and we had to walk over lumpy, bumpy, hot and unstable black basalt and red pumice.  I thought of our new friend Be Bo, who had fallen on lava in northern California and gotten so hurt.  I took my steps very carefully, but knowing how walking through this might be especially difficult for her, I stopped once in a while to make happy faces on the trail with sticks.  I figured they were just a day behind us. Hemlock branches are especially swoopy and work very well for smiles. 

We were passed by several hikers from the bus to Seiad today.  Faces look familiar, sometimes we remember names.  One guy we call Redbeard because, well, his beard is red, had leapfrogged us several times.  We met him in the Seiad Café.  The first time we saw him on trail he stopped me and asked if I had any scissors with which he could alter the neckline of his newly purchased State Of Jefferson t-shirt.  I created a V neck for him with the handy new scissors I bought for myself before we left. Another hiker was going in the wrong direction.  Tortuga, back on trail after he had been to a friend’s wedding, was heading in to Ashland from the North- his friend had dropped him at a nearby  road crossing.  Always full of energy and lots of stories, Tortuga was a bright spot in our afternoon. 

At mile twenty we found a place to camp near a nice, wide creek.  No carrying lots of water and dry camping today!  We made stuffing and turkey gravy for dinner, accompanied by some cranberry jelly.  Snickers made fun of my cranberry jelly when I dehydrated it.  I didn’t blame him, it did look weird, all leathery and gummy and sticky. But it rehydrated very nicely and tasted great with the stuffing. Having home cooked flavors really helps when you are tired and so far away from home. 

Each day got a little easier.  We were getting stronger, our endurance was increasing, and our sore feet were starting to hurt less.  Instead of needing to stop every hour or so to rest, we could easily do two hours or up to five miles without having to sit down and take our packs off.  We were still snacking and hydrating every time we stopped though; we needed lots of calories.  My favorite snack was the peanut butter protein balls I made from a recipe a dear friend gave me just days before we left and the fresh huckleberries that grew in bunches along the trail.  There weren’t very many yet, and we had seen some that were not quite ripe, but we knew they would be more abundant as we went north. 

There were lots of huckleberries at our lunch stop the next day.  We took our break near cold, fresh little Kristy Spring just a few tenths off the trail.  Many hikers just dropped their packs at the top and walked down to fill up at the spring, but we thought it would be nice to picnic under the trees and get out of the hot sun.  We actually made a hot lunch that day, took a nap, picked berries, visited with Rock Steady (a hiker we met at Callahan’s) and explored around the spring.  There were a few nice campsites downstream from the spring, but it was way too early to camp. A pair of men’s underwear hung from the branches of a tree and we joked about them but left them there. Hopefully we would not find their owner running around without them further on down the trail.  Naked hiker day exists, but not until solstice.  Three women came in and began to fill up their water bottles while we were resting in the shade.  After hearing “wash” and “scrub” and a few other critical words from their conversations, I got up and went back over to the spring with my water bottle in my hand.  There is a pretty strict code of back country rules around water.  Especially in small springs like this it is important to keep the water source as pristine as possible.  All washing, teeth brushing and dishwashing should be done a minimum of 100 feet away from the water.  But here was this woman washing out her hanky right in the flow of the spring.  How do you instruct without being rude when you are pretty unhappy with what you see going on?  So I asked “Is there another source for getting drinking water?”  “No,” she answered, “I think this is it.”  She continued to rinse and wring out her hanky.  “And you’re washing your hanky in it?” I asked, trying (though probably not very successfully) to mask my disgust.  She did not answer.  She finished up her washing pretty quickly and headed up the trail without another word.  Snickers and I referred to this group as “the dirty girls” after that.  We hoped that no one using the downstream campsites needed to get water for an hour or two. 

As hard as it was to leave this little piece of paradise, it was time to move on.  And we moved!  After such a long rest and having cooled down, we did the next three miles in just under an hour and did another mile in twenty minutes.  I loved being in the lead and moving at such a nice pace, feeling strong and capable.  I leaped over downed logs, hopped over rocks and swerved deftly around branches, singing the whole way.  The trail seemed to just melt away.  We had no bad hours, or even moments, that day.  Our feet were good, our spirits were good; the whole project seemed totally doable.

It may have been walking over the lava and it may have been walking so fast, but somewhere during the day Snickers developed blisters- one on the ball of his foot and another under the nail on a toe.  He has never had blisters in his ten years of hiking.  I wasn’t happy he was hurting, but a part of me was vindicated knowing he now understood how hiking hurts when your feet are blistered.  On the flip side, I developed a pretty good rash that day, which is the malady Snickers usually suffers through.  It gave us both a chance to understand the other a bit better.  We had hiked twenty miles the day before and eighteen that day, and though we were feeling it physically, we were pretty satisfied with ourselves as we snuggled down into our bags that night after a filling dinner of corn chowder.