Oregon Day 5

By seven a.m. we had already done our first 2 ½ miles.  The sun was up, the birds were singing and the morning meadow was a sweet perfume.  Our sleeping bags were pretty wet from all the dew and condensation, but we shoved them down into our packs and planned to air them out when we took our first snack break.  We were beginning to fall into the routine of the trail- wake early, break camp, start walking, eat, walk, eat, walk, make camp, eat, sleep.  The trail is very narrow, so most of the time, even though we were always fairly close to one another, we were in our own little silent worlds.  Sometimes we would talk, like this morning as we tried to figure out which sections of the PCT were completed in which years. We could remember the first year very clearly, but many of the others were a muddle and we weren’t exactly sure who went and how far.  Having little puzzles like that helps to keep your brain busy and while away the hours.  My mind also works hard on identifying and categorizing the plants on the side of the trail.  I know most of the edible greens, wildflowers and trees on the California side, but crossing over into Oregon had really changed the flora all of a sudden.  Now there were big clumps of grass with tall flower spikes extending from the middle, a bunch of narrow-leafed greens I could not name, and lots of little bushes with tiny red berries on them.  Gone were all of my friendly edible and wide leafed (toilet paper leafed) green plants- not a mule’s ear in sight. A field guide is too heavy to carry, so I take a picture of the plant, sketch it, or just describe it in my journal and look it up when I get home.  The pictures are the most helpful visually, but there is no context as to time or place.  I was kind of worrying about all these new plants to look up and how I would ever name them all, much less remember all their names, when a thought hit me. Their creator knows all their names.  Appreciating them is my job, naming and knowing them is His.  With this new perspective my day was a lot more pleasant.

Another thing my mind spends time on is writing.  I have always enjoyed writing, but my normal life does not give me much time to do it.  Out here, with more time than I know what to do with, my brain loves to write and rewrite.  I’ll think something and then my brain will reword it so that it would sound good in writing.  Sometimes it thinks up verses, or songs or poems.  During last year’s trip I was inventing poems and verses every day.  This year my brain had a more practical view point.  It was writing articles for the PCT magazine, a how-to book on hiking and a science book.  This part of the trail was very conducive to that because the area we were walking through looked just like the habitat we walk through at home with the manzanita, sage and shrubs. Unfortunately most of these ideas are lost by the time I get home as my journal is not big enough to write them all down.

After morning snack we decided to take a detour through a broad meadow.  We walked side by side on a gravel road and noticed houses that were being built or had just been built.  We imagined together what it would be like having a home right off the trail so that you could trail angel and visit and help people.  I particularly liked one of the homes.  I enjoyed the detour, but we weren’t really in the wilderness and we weren’t really in town.  What do you do when you have to relieve yourself and you are kind of on the edge of people’s property?  There were no big trees to hide behind and no little trail diversions.  Finally (and I couldn’t have waited much longer) there was some tall grass and big bushes just around a bend out of sight of the houses.

 At the end of Old Hyatt Lake Road was an unexpected water source.  A nice little stream was being supplied by a wall of water spilling off the wall of the reservoir.  I went down to the stream, got some water to drink, took a few pictures and washed out my hanky.  I really wanted to take time to cool down my hot feet, but Snickers hadn’t even come down and was sitting by the trail head on a stump, studying the map.  I got the idea that he wanted to move on. 

As we continued down the trail toward the Hyatt Lake Campground, where we would get our next water, we began to hear a lot of dog barking kind of noise.  It sounded like a whole pack of them, but out of control.  There was a loud bang and the barking stopped.  My husband’s story was that a guy in a pickup hit a deer but didn’t kill it and the pack of dogs in the back of the truck went crazy with barking.  The guy had to finish the deer off with his gun.  Not too bad an imagination for an engineer- must be all the hours he has to think out here.  As we got closer, the noise sounded more like children yelling and screaming, like they do on a playground or when there are a lot of them running loose in a meadow at a campground.  Then, as we got closer, I recognized the sound as a pack of coyotes.  We have them in the fields past our house at home. 

Snickers thought it would be nice to go down to the camp store and get a soda or something, but it was a mile off trail down a pavement road in the heat.  We hung around at the campground entrance for a  little while, hoping for a hitch down to the store, but we never saw any cars going in that direction.  We finally gave up and headed down to the water faucet, filled up our bottles, had some snack, dried our sleeping bags out for a little while and listened to the coyotes.  As we started walking again, the coyotes stayed just out in front of us.  I was wishing we had time to crouch in the bushes at the end of the meadow and get a good look at them, but we had miles to do.  Still, I enjoyed knowing they were there.

Most of the rest of the day was hot, waterless and dry.  At least I recognized the plant life- it was oak trees, sage brush and manzanita.  We had leftover burritos for lunch, got our dinner soaking and walked some more.  We were headed towards another lake, which we needed to get to in order to have enough water.  You never know what to expect.  The last few miles were hard uphill miles, and we came out into your basic red neck boater’s lake. No one took much notice of us.  Our feet being very hot and mine pretty blistery, we limped our way down to the shore. It was full of both dried and slimy algae and sharp rocks but as I was determined to let my feet have a good soak I braved the conditions in my bare feet and sat for quite a while with my feet cold, wet and happy.  We had been planning to camp by the lake, but the campsites and campers there did not appeal to us.  We took advantage of the flushies, the tap water and the picnic table.  Dinner was baked beans with cheese biscuits.  When we first started hiking together we only boiled water and poured it into whatever prepackaged meal we were eating that night.  Now that we make our own food there are a lot more choices, and sometimes we actually have to do something that looks a lot more like cooking (but gets the pan dirty.) Snickers doesn’t always trust my girl scout cooking and it is always fun when it turns out.  This was yummy.  With rested feet and full bellies we decided to push on a little further.  It was going to be about fifteen miles to the next water source but it didn’t matter if we camped next to water that night because we had already eaten and cleaned up.  As much as it rains in Oregon you’d think they could have drinkable water more often. 

To make biscuits:

At home mix 1 cup flour, ½ Tablespoon baking powder, 1 tsp. sugar ¼ tsp cream of tartar, dash salt and ¼ cup dry milk powder.  Pack into a baggie or whatever you store your food in.  (double recipe if you are feeding more than one person or you have a large pot)

On trail- add ¼ cup olive oil or butter (we mooch butter packets from chicken-take-out places) and 1/3 cup water to the dry mix. Stir just until mixed.  Batter should be dryish and lumpy.

Add the dough to a simmering stew, chili, soup, beans or other trail dish, by dropping it in small (golf ball sized) lumps onto the top of the stew.  Put on the lid. Keep the dish at a simmer for 12 minutes.  Don’t peek!  You can also use this procedure with pre-maid biscuit mixes or cornmeal muffin mix.   We like the Marie Calendar ones.

Oregon, Pilot Rock

Saturday, August 10

Tucked nice and warm in the cozy little wooden surveyors’ cabin we were hardly aware of the storm that blew in last night.  The morning air was clean and sweet smelling, the sky a beautiful blue. The clouds were pink and shiny, streaked and smeared across the morning sky.  I wish a camera could capture all the beauty of this morning- the sweet smell of dewy grass, the rare light, the contrast of the green trees against the blue sky.  I tried, but pictures are so flat. 

Wrangle Gap Hunters' Shelter

Mountain Goat claimed he was going to sleep in this morning, but as usual, he caught up to us before morning snack.  It’s nice to have him along. He loves the outdoors as much as I, and although he hikes a lot faster than I do, he slows down to visit with me.  He can keep that slow pace longer than I can keep his fast pace, but eventually he has to hike his own speed.  He started trying to figure out how and where he could meet us later today and he and Snickers came up with a plan whereby Mountain Goat would hike ahead, all the way down to where his car was parked about twenty miles from where we started, then drive up to the Mt. Ashland resort and pick us up. That would save us five miles and allow us time to go for dinner in Ashland.  So we said so-long to our buddy and hiked by ourselves most of the day. 

We walked through some amazing beauty today, especially Mt. Ashland Meadows, a spot very popular with local hikers, and for good reason. Day hikers and weekenders meandered along all the paths, especially the PCT, which seems to be the main thoroughfare.  One group of middle aged hikers made me feel like a celebrity.  They had never talked to a thru hiker before (perhaps my silly grin and awestruck expression made me seem approachable)  and even though I explained that I wasn’t doing the whole trail, the fact that I was doing all of Oregon was pretty impressive to them.  In fact, maybe they were more impressed because 400 miles in a month seems just outside the realm of possibility for the average person, whereas 2,650 miles in a summer seems just insane to most people. They were very encouraging, telling me how much they wished they could take a trip like that. We talked pack weight, gear, miles per day, food and footwear (one of them also wears Keens) while Snickers trudged ahead and assumed an impatient stance on the trail, waiting for me to finish my conversation and catch up. Having admirers to talk to was fine by me; this was not a place through which I wanted to hurry!   I said farewell to them after a bit, and hurried along.  The Monk’s Hood and Larkspur were blooming above my head and there was an abundance of bright orange columbine, my favorite wildflower.  Little streams and creeks cascaded down the mountainside, sometimes across the trail, and I wanted to stop and scoop up water with my Sierra Cup every time I saw it. In the end I only stopped for water once because Snickers was in a hurry.  I didn’t take any pictures or press any flowers either, because I figured this was still the first few days and there would be many more areas like this later down the trail.  There were not. 

The bottom of my right foot felt a little hot, and there was a rock or something between my toes.  I tried to shake it out of the shoe and walk on the outside of my foot, but the pinch remained, and I finally had to stop and empty my shoe.  Only nothing fell out.  Trying to keep up with Snicker’s restless pace to the Mt. Ashland resort in order to meet Mountain Goat by 2:30, had given me a blister on the bottom of my foot, and another between my toes.  Instead of stopping to take care of it, I joined Snickers in the mad dash (we must have been going a whopping 2.6 miles per hour) hoping it was just a little blister and not much to worry about. We turned off the main trail and headed down the trail to the Mt. Ashland resort, when Snickers thought he saw some movement in the bushes ahead.  We weren’t sure what kind of animal it was until it jumped out and laughed at us.  You guessed it, Mountain Goat, up to his usual tricks.  He had hiked the 19 miles, washed up and driven his car up here in the amount of time it took us to do fourteen miles.  He had then hiked up to meet us because he was concerned about the lady who owned the Bed and Breakfast there, she was complaining about all the hikers and foot traffic and how her dogs were reacting to it all.  Mountain Goat said he never heard or saw the dogs- we didn’t either.     We all hopped into his car and drove down to Callahan’s resort.  We could have had a free place to pitch our tent out on their back lawn, but decided to get a room instead.  The hot shower felt fantastic! After we had cleaned up and visited with Sharkie, Be Bo and some other hikers for a bit, we drove into Ashland to the store for tortillas and some fruit, then out to dinner at a Brew Pub.  Snickers got a burger, of course, and I found some sort of vegetarian fare.  I really just wanted salad. 

We had a nice meal, tried to tell our waitress apart from all the other dread-topped hipsters with their hair tied up in swaths of wine colored cloth, paid our bill and drove back to Callahan’s. We found the other hikers in the bar, having drinks and visiting, and joined them at a table. The mood among the hikers was light-hearted and joyful.  Bellies were full, hands and faces were clean, the seats were soft. Callahan’s resort offers a special bottomless spaghetti bowl for hikers, and even though the plate was huge, a couple of the boys ordered a second helping.  I found out that Sharkie loved blue grass music and that Be Bo had taken a hard fall on some lava near the Hat Creek Rim, broke some teeth and had to have stitches in her lip.  She had also broken a few ribs, but kept plugging away at the trail, and even though Sharkie had to lift her pack to her back, she could still carry it.  I was impressed with her tenacity; most people would have quit after getting hurt like that.   

Back in the room we sorted through our resupply box and filled our food sacks. After that was done, we used the jetted tub, not only for ourselves, but also to do some laundry. There were large velour robes hanging in the closet, a nice little luxury which we were quick to try.  Soon clean, wet socks, shirts and underwear were draped about the furniture; hopefully they would dry by morning. When you haven’t slept in one for a few days, a bed feels really great.  I like sheets better than sleeping bags- they don’t confine your feet and twist around your middle in the night. The hikers’ head lamps out on the lawn blinked out one by one, and we fell asleep to the sound of the fountain outside our window; it sounded just like sleeping near a creek.

We actually slept in a little in the morning, but were down to breakfast by about eight.  Other hikers were there too, of course, and we joined Sharkie, Be Bo and Highwalker for a nice pancake breakfast.  A few other hikers were coming in for their pancakes as well. Most would go in to Ashland for the day as several had to put together resupply boxes for Oregon or Washington.  We were headed back to the trail though- no “zero” day for us.  Mountain Goat had decided to head back home last night rather than stay. He was tempted to hike with us a few more days, but has a business to run and felt he shouldn’t take any more days off.  Since that meant we had no access to a car, one of the employees offered to take us to the trailhead.  While we waited for her I found some paper and envelopes since there were no post cards here, and sent letters to my kids and grandkids.

We set out once again. Our packs were heavy, but we had clean clothes and new food, so we didn’t mind too much.  I had not gotten any water, thinking we had easy access today, but Snickers informed me that we had eight miles before we made it to the next spring.  Right after that a family came round the bend and stopped to talk to us.  They had just hiked out for a day or two with their son, Messenger, and were returning home.  They made sure I had plenty of water and some fruit too!  We were passed by a few other hikers, an Australian girl named Mok Mok and another who we had seen during breakfast.  The pancakes, he said, were still sitting in his belly making it hard to walk.  He didn’t seem to have any trouble passing us though.  I said I hadn’t gotten his name, and he replied, “That Asshole.”  Oh, no wonder I hadn’t gotten his name before.  The eight miles to the spring went by pretty quickly, thanks to my son’s iPod and some blue grass music by Kenny Thacker.  The blister on my right foot popped and was hurting, so listening to the music got me through the rough part of the day.  The water at the spring came gushing out of a big pipe, from the look of the mud all around it was well used by animals, hunters and hikers.  We made lunch and rested, then pushed on in the heat. 

The fun thing for me that day was Pilot Rock.  We began seeing it in the distance before we made it to Callahan’s and today would be the day we passed it. Standing on the sky line like a big beacon, this basaltic peak guided early pioneers heading to and from California.   As a teacher, I have read stories to my students over the years that included this noticeable land mark, and it was a little unreal to be standing in its shadow. Even though I longed for my prairie bonnet, smock and dress, I made Snicker’s stop and take my picture a few times, pleased that I had the experience to add to the authenticity of my history lessons.  We only made fourteen miles that day, but we had started late and my feet were hurting.  We ate dinner a little early, burritos again. I had smuggled a nice ripe avocado in my sleeping bag.  It was delicious!  

Oregon!!!

Finally!

Morning dawned soft and slow but dry, at least.  We packed up camp while Mountain Goat and the other hikers that had come in late in the evening were still snoozing away.  Using a poncho for a shelter turns out to be a pretty good thing when you are stuffing things back in your pack; instead of having to cram a soggy tent into your pack you can wear it awhile so it can dry out.  We were two bright blue blobs walking across the meadow in the morning mist as the sun’s rays came singing over the hills, refracting everywhere off of all the water droplets.  It was one of those pause and take in the beauty moments. Snickers soon overheated with the extra layer on, but with my poncho being nearly dry I put it back in its stuff sack and wore his until it dried out.  

Today would be the day we finally crossed the California border and made it into Oregon! After ten years of section hiking through California, the thought of it buoyed our spirits for several hours and some rugged miles.  We joked that it was like California was making us earn the right to cross the border.  It was getting hot out, the trail was steep and rocky, and the clacking bugs were out in force, making noise at us whenever we got too close.  Nearby some cows were saying good morning too, and I said good morning back- only to be answered by another hiker’s voice “mmmoooo!  Good morning!”  It was Mountain Goat, who had caught up to us already.  I must have jumped because he was laughing when he passed me.  Brat! I love the guy but he does have a way of making me feel like the pokey little puppy.  I was glad that he was going to cross the border with us, but I also knew I was less likely to get a big kiss and hug from my husband, who, in case you haven’t read much of my blog before, does not take part in public displays of affection.  So, when the Goat had hiked ahead enough I turned around and waited for Snickers, then gave him a big ol’ kiss and hug.  His face registered surprise and I explained that I knew we would no longer be having a private party at the border, and I wanted to make sure we got to celebrate properly. He smiled. 

And then we were there.  Snickers stood beneath the border sign and I was digging out my camera while Mountain Goat was at the register asking me the date.  “I’m not going to tell you,” I said, “because I don’t want you signing in before me.”  So he and I scuffled over the register. Meanwhile, Snickers is posing, waiting patiently, his pack still on, for me to take his picture.  Not quite the Kodak moment we had envisioned.  But it all worked out.  We got our pictures taken, I signed the register again for Snickers and I - Mountain Goat had signed the three of us in- and Snickers got out a bottle of champagne!  Mr. Every Ounce Counts had actually brought a little bottle of champagne to celebrate our long awaited passage from California to Oregon.  Two other hikers arrived and we took their picture too- they immediately got out some snacks. While we were all eating, relaxing, and getting to know each other a bit (their names were Sharkie and Be Bo) we heard a loud racket coming from North of us.  Snicker’s hackles went up- he thought the noise was mountain bikes.  He hates mountain bikes.  Not the people, but the damage the bikes do to the trail and the fact that they are prohibited but still ride on the trail sometimes anyway.  Mountain Goat thought it might be something else, but I.., I knew what that noise was. “No, it’s the sound of a trail angel lugging a cooler.” And sure enough, in less than a minute, we saw a man with a back pack on pulling a large cooler behind him.  He was a hiker who had gone back to the real world to something called a job, and was meeting his sweetie at the border as a surprise to congratulate her.  The cooler held sodas, which we were welcome to, he said, and a bottle of champagne, which was off limits.  He quickly checked the register but did not see her name, asked all of us if we had seen or heard of her in the past few days, to which we shook our heads no, and then he took off down the trail hoping to find his Hunny Bunny.

The festivities were over all too soon and we all began to put our packs back on and head back to the business of walking. It’s really like that sometimes.  It’s as if hiking is your job and though you can take breaks and get a lunch hour, you have to get back to work when the time is up.  If you don’t keep walking, you don’t make the miles. If you don’t make enough miles a day you won’t make it to your next resupply in time. If you don’t make it to your next resupply before your food runs out, you’ll go hungry.  Resupply is sort of like pay day and no one wants to miss a pay day.  So we hiked on. 

Oregon welcomed us. On the California side the trail had been dry, hot and exposed to the direct sun.  The tread was narrow, rocky and dry, littered with stones and branches.  But once we had topped the hill and were in Oregon proper, the trail was relatively wide and well groomed.  Shady trees kept the hot sun off our faces and a thick duff of pine needles cushioned our feet.  There was still a bit of a climb, but it was well graded and without steep switch backs. Wow! Was this what we had to look forward to?  Why did it take us so long to get here?

After a few hours hiking and a visit with Forest, a kilt-wearing South Bounder, we began looking for a place to eat lunch near the next spring. We soon found a great little spot off to the side of the trail tucked under a couple of big junipers, but it was occupied.  No problem, it was Sharkie and Be Bo who welcomed us in and made room for us. As usual, talk turned to food and calories- Be Bo was stick thin and worried about getting enough nutrition- it just seems to be harder for vegetarians.  Sharkey, who eats meat, was still interested in our fare and we talked about our dehydrator and recipes and how lunch food is never as exciting as dinner.  Also like us, Sharkey and Be Bo had one driven hiker and one who would rather meander and create verses and sing songs, but in their case, it was Sharkey who was the nature lover and Be Bo, his wife, who was the one driving the bus.  He even wrote her a cute little verse in the register at the border.  They finished eating and went off to find the spring while we stretched and rested and put away our picnic.  I hoped we’d see them again.

In the late afternoon the clouds began rolling in and we could hear thunder in the distance.  Mountain Goat knew of a shelter that was half a mile off the trail, so we turned off the main trail and onto the trail to Wrangle Gap shelter.  It is so fun to come upon these unexpected little pleasures.  The building was set low in a little valley, all stone, with huge log beams supporting the ceiling. The roof outside was shake shingles, with a huge stone chimney rising above.  There were no walls on the top third of the structure, so it was not much warmer in there than outside, but we soon had a fire in the woodstove by which we could warm our hands and faces and dry out our wet socks and other soggy gear.  We even heated up water for washing up our feet and legs!  That was a special treat. 

 

It was way too early to quit hiking for the day, but we had done about sixteen miles already, and those clouds were threatening to let loose another big down pour.  So we laundered some socks, sat back and relaxed, and decided to call it a day. Two fawns were wandering about, pretty close to us, and I got out my camera.  The men sat and visited and talked gear while I went out and picked some berries, pressed some wild flowers and sketched the cabin. We made dinner on the big stove and soon the air was filled with delicious warm aromas (and no poisonous fumes from the solid fuel we usually use to cook dinner.) Again Mountain Goat remarked that our dinner looked and smelled much better than the couscous he was planning, so we invited him to grab a tortilla and dig in.  The tortilla soup went very well with the  burritos and everyone had plenty to eat, finishing off with apple pie (our version is cooked dehydrated apples and apple cider with bread crumbs mixed in to thicken it and suggest a crust.)  Mtn Goat went out on a little expedition and found a log cabin just up the hill a bit; the cabin was built for the surveyors to use, and since it had solid walls all around it would be a lot warmer and drier, so we headed over there to bed down while the rain let up a few minutes. Once again we fell asleep listening to the rain come down outside, counting the thunderclaps as we drifted off to sleep.  

Oregon. Day 1

This year’s adventure truly began by running for the bus.  We had driven a rental car to Callahan’s, picked up our hiking buddy Mountain Goat, deposited his car by the trail head, and then driven to Yreka.  There’s not a lot to do in Yreka.  We moseyed through the small Farmer’s Market and Craft Fair, checked out the location of the bus stop and waited.  It was hot out, and dry, so we found refuge in a car rental and auto parts store where we got cold water, filled our hydration packs and water bottles and waited some more. I spent my time musing about the beginning of this year’s hike. Oregon.  We were going to try to do a whole state in just one month.  I know it must be overwhelming for people to take on the whole trail in just one year, but to me this seemed equally impossible, after all, it took us ten years to finish California.  Leaving my kids, my dog, my house and my life behind for a whole month?  Having nothing to do but walk every day for a whole month? I had been wallowing in worry and dread for days, trying to talk myself into wanting to do this.  It sounded great months ago when my husband Snickers suggested it, but now that reality was setting in, it was a different story. Of course there had been moments when I was really excited about it, like when we were dehydrating and packing our food, but for the most part I had been fighting a lump in my throat and the threat of tears most of the week before we left.  Then, the day before we left, Aunt Donna had come to visit.   Aunt Donna is not a blood relative, just a wonderfully sweet lady who is interested in and supportive of just about everything our family does.  She has been a part of our trail experience since the first year, when the kids and I stayed at her house in San Diego while Snickers was out on the trail.  Anyway, she and Uncle Edwin were in town so they came by to wish us well.  She was so excited about our hike! She wanted to see my dehydrator, my food, my pack.  She was interested in our new water filter, my journal and watercolors, our Spot.  Her oohs and aahs and “oh you’re so lucky”s and overall positive attitude were infectious. I began to see myself as deserving of this great trip instead of subject to some horrible banishment. I smiled to myself now as I realized how one person can make such a difference.  My musing was cut short as the two men got antsy and decided it was time to leave the nice cool store and go sit out in the heat near the bus stop. 

We stood near the bus-stop pole.  We sat in the shade. We stood in the street peering down the avenue in hopes of seeing a glimpse of the bus.  We sat near the pole some more.  I finally got out my phone and decided to call home one more time, and then of course, the bus came.  But it didn’t park over by the bus stop; it parked across the street on the other side of the parking lot.  Yelling and motioning frantically with their hands, the guys took off to catch the bus, and I quickly signed off from my call and tucked the phone into my pocket while grabbing my pack, my poles and my hat.  Worried that the bus might not wait, the guys practically shoved me through the door.  It took my eyes a second or two to adjust and I was still concerned that this might not be the right bus. Then I looked ahead of me, and there were row after row of tan, bearded and smiling faces.  The bus driver said “you seem to fit my profile, come on in!”  We were greeted warmly by the other khaki-clad hikers, piled our packs in the back along with everyone else’s, and settled in for the ride.  I began to wonder why there were so many hikers on a bus from Yreka- which is not a hiker town.  Mountain Goat asked someone.  The explanation was simple: there were big fires in Etna threatening trail closure, so this group had taken the bus from Etna to Yreka and were now making their way to Seiad Valley to continue their trek.  We were familiar with that turn of events. Last year we had to leave Seiad and head home without having crossed into Oregon because they were closing the trail due to fires on the ridge.  Which was why we were starting in Seiad Valley this year.

 At the next stop another group of hikers tried to board the already packed bus.  There was a skirmish of bus company employees and managers, some jostling as packs were returned to everyone, more seating room arranged, and then the hikers and a few locals were crammed into an already full bus for a two hour ride on narrow and windy back country roads.  After an entertaining ride with plenty of local color, we finally arrived in Seiad Valley. Everyone gladly poured out of the bus and found their way to the RV Park where a herd of hikers were camped out.  Lots of beer, chips, laughter and gear talk, high fives and rustling through hiker boxes ensued as we found a spot to make camp for the night and plans for the morning. We made friends with a south bounding couple and a section hiker named Tortuga as we spread out our tarp and got our dinner ready. Mountain Goat had decided to take off and get 4,000 foot  climb started.  We would be getting a ride to Cook and Green Pass in the morning. 

The morning air was cool and the lawn damp- so were our sleeping bags. Our first hiking day began with breakfast at the Seiad Café.  Probably not the wisest choice, because I don’t like to hike on an overfull belly, but Snickers believes firmly in getting town food whenever and wherever he can.  One lone gal took, fixed and delivered the breakfast orders of a dozen hungry hikers, and the mood was high as people talked about the pancake challenge, the coffee, the long climb ahead.  There was talk of the recent PCT speed record being broken and the current record holder, Scott Williamson’s intent to get it back, the usual questions about the State of Jefferson, and a generally cheerful murmur as people started to get their food and set to the business of putting away calories.

By nine a.m. we were in a prospector’s truck heading up the rocky road to the pass.  He was friendly, overly talkative and quite expressive, telling us story after story of his prospecting adventures.  We listened, held on for dear life, and watched the road ahead for construction vehicles as we bumped and lurched down the gravel surface that was more pot hole than road. Around each hair pin and blind turn  I was thinking that hiking the trail would have been a lot less dangerous, and was happy when the time came to pile out of the vehicle and on to the trail. We thanked the man profusely, handing him some cash to pay for the gas, collected all our belongings and waved goodbye.  We were going to try to do about 16 miles that day so we needed to get moving.  Of course since we came in on a bus with twenty or more other hikers, we knew there would be a lot of others on the trail as well.  Some were very friendly, stopping to chat and others just said hi and cruised on by us.  It is hard to be the new kids on trail because we are so much slower than everyone else.  We huff and puff our way up hills and they just lilt on by.  It’s to be expected, we know that intellectually: we are older, out of shape, and have not been doing twenty mile days since March.  But it still makes you feel like the last kid to get chosen for the team at recess when hiker after hiker passes you and quickly disappears over the next ridge.  

Mountain Goat caught up to us early in the afternoon- we didn’t really expect him that early, but he came by his name honestly.  We hiked along amiably, talking about nothing in particular, enjoying the freedom of being back on the trail.  Dark clouds began to roll in after not too long, and by late afternoon we had a marvelous thunder shower.  At first it was just a few big plops of rain, I smiled at the novelty of  each one as we seldom get rain when we are hiking. We weren’t even sure we should get out our rain gear, but then the thunder started really booming and we grabbed our sky blue 1.1 ounce silicone impregnated nylon ponchos and put them on.  In no time the big drops turned to hard icy balls and we were being pelted by hail. I am not sure what it is that I find so thrilling about being out in a thunderstorm, but I couldn’t keep from smiling. Huddling under a pine tree for about twenty minutes, we sang at the top of our lungs and enjoyed the storm.  The forest floor was soon carpeted white and the trail turned into a trickling stream.  Finally it let up a little and we decided to head for the spring where we planned to camp for the night.  It was a pretty fast mile!  It didn’t take us very long to figure out how to make our ponchos into a rain tarp- of course this would be the trip we chose not to bring a tent. Since I hadn’t really planned this when I was making the ponchos, the Velcro tabs didn’t match up exactly.  Snickers found a few small rocks which he put under the layers of the poncho hems and tied around the bottom with a small piece of cord, and I contributed the clips from my hydration tube to hold the ends together.  We felt pretty proud of our ingenuity as we ducked under the shelter and began to make our dinner.  Mountain Goat was much more interested in our food than his own, so he came and joined us for burritos.  Rain continued to drip from the trees, and we collected the clean water by placing our pots at the edge of the shelter.  It rained on and off through the evening and into the night, but we snuggled down quite cozy and warm, counting the minutes between the lightning flashes and the booms of thunder as we drifted off to sleep.

 

 

A Tribute to Astro

 

Last year after we had completed our John Muir Trail hike, we were planning a week in August in WA to help my husband's brother work on their mom's house.  Just before we were to leave, the brother called to let us know that the family did not really want help with the house, thank you very much, and we did not have to come. We could have gone anyway, visited with the brother and other relatives, generally taken it easy and enjoyed a vacation trip to Washington, but that is just not our style.  Instead, we considered ourselves excused from family duty, planned out a few meals, threw our backpacks in the car and headed north.  We still had section P to finish, and a week just might do.  We drove to Seiad Valley, made arrangements to leave the RV parked at the RV Park, disconnected the Saturn we had in tow, drove to Scott Mountain Summit and started our hike.  Of course we picked up a hiker (named Bouncer) on the way and brought him to the trail head with us. 

 

The trip was nice, mostly uneventful, filled with the usual highlights of a hike: gorgeous scenery, peaceful wilderness, togetherness, wild berries, clear cool water and friendly hikers.  There were two hikers of significance that I want to talk about here; Astro and List’ner.  We met Astro on trail one afternoon, just briefly, and then saw him again as we sat waiting at Etna summit for a ride to town. I was a bit (overly) concerned about a little garden shovel I brought along to dig the holes for my daily duties.  I was quite pleased with the sturdy little shovel and glad that I had something besides a rock or a stick with which to dig my holes because I do not wear sturdy boots.  Alas, the top-heavy shovel must have toppled out of my pack’s pocket at one point, and was now nowhere to be found.  I was asking all the hikers if they had seen it, and finally found one who replied positively.  Yes, he had seen it, but he had not picked it up because it was too heavy, and obviously not something a thru hiker would carry.  As we sat, endlessly waiting in the heat for a hitch to town, Astro sympathized with me, saying that it was hard to lose an important piece of equipment.

 

Tall, tan, lanky and scruffy, the kind of kid you expect to see on the trail, Astro did not hang out with the other kids his age.  He sat in the sun by himself, joyfully soaking up the rays as the others talked about getting to town and into the pub.  After about two and a half hours of waiting, finally two cars pulled in, one after the other, and all six of us got rides to town.  My husband and I checked in at the Hiker Hut, then rode bikes to a dinner place in town. When we returned there was my new friend Astro, sorting out the grub from his resupply box.  We chatted a little and I told him I was impressed with his healthy food choices.  He smiled and we had a brief conversation about trail nutrition and the challenges of a vegetarian diet in getting enough protein to maintain the high level of activity necessary for a thru hike.  Later, as I was sitting on the edge of a bunk, nursing my poor blistered feet,  Astro agreed with me that blisters should be banned from the universe, but commented that “the laws of physiology seldom give sway to popular opinion.”  He even looked in the hiker box for me to see if he could find some of “the good blister stuff” that he had found in the last hiker box, but came up with a shovel instead!  I was so glad to have a new shovel, and this one wasn’t so heavy.

 

Snickers and I got a ride back to trail the next morning, bright and early.  The weather was great, the sky a beautiful blue.  We hiked happily all day, not seeing any other hikers, (which meant no one had passed us!) and made camp near a lake full of red bellied newts. The next morning as we rounded a corner, there sat a hiker we had not yet met, but heard a lot about.  74 year old List’ner had caused quite a sensation among the hikers. She was a short little thing, like me, but with white hair and sparkly eyes.  Her pack was large and heavy, so much so that she put the pack on while sitting down and then stood up to minimize the strain on her back. She was spry, to say the least- funny how we only use that word for older people- and very easy to talk to. She never gave up.   Astro caught up in no time, greeted us warmly, and was also happy to see his friend List’ner.  He thought he had passed her up a few weeks back and wasn’t expecting to see her again, but then he demurred and said that was silly, because every time he took a few days off and went to town he would find her when he got back to trail,  just plugging along and making miles.  Seems List’ner rarely went in to town; after all, she said, it was the trail she was out here to see.

We walked on, Astro and Snickers up ahead and List’ner and I bringing up the rear, making conversation as she told me about her days in the Florida orange groves, and how she started running when she was fifty because all her kids were grown and she needed something to do.  She discovered she was good at running, and soon added in some serious biking as well.  Before you know it, she was doing Iron Man competitions at age 60.  She was great company. I don’t know what Snickers and Astro talked about, but we all hiked together happily for many miles that dayand enjoyed lunch together in a meadow near a nicely flowing creek.  Astro, being faster than the rest of us, moved on. You could tell he really liked hiking with List’ner but since we were keeping her company (really, keeping an eye on her) he felt confident to move ahead and put in some extra miles.  You could tell there was a protective bond between the two of them.  List’ner kept pace with us all day and then stayed and had dinner with us, because she had underestimated her food for this leg and needed some extra calories. We made camp there by the like but she decided she had better make a few more miles before bedding down for the night.  

 

We are early risers.  The next day we were on the trail with sunup, wondering if we would see the others again. It is hard to tell just how far others hikers might go or how far in front of you they will get.  You never know when you may see someone again.  We found a just-awakening Astro stretched out on his tarp at the edge of the woods near the next spring.  I walked down through the meadow hoping to find some running water, but it was just a seep, (though a nice deep, cold, one) in a meadow filled with deer droppings.  At least there were no cow pies.  I scooped up water for all three of us and spent the next little while using the Steri Pen to make sure the deer had kept all their germs to themselves.  Astro visited with us awhile, then moved on while we were still snacking.  We didn’t see him again until we made it in to Seiad Valley the next day.  He was on the lawn with other hikers, but gladly joined us (and List’ner) for a meal in our RV. Dinner conversation turned towards the immediate future and the danger of the fires burning up on the ridge.  Trail closure was imminent and fire fighters were offering hikers a ride up to Cook and Green pass to get them past the worst of the fire danger. Both hikers had to weigh the threat of fire against the desire to hike every mile from Mexico to Canada. I don’t know what they finally decided, but I was concerned about the flames we could see licking up over the ridge. That was our last trail day, and we never saw List’ner or Astro again, though I thought of them often as summer turned to fall.  I never saw their names posted as people who had finished their hike, but I silently wished each of them success. 

 

Last weekend we attended Trail Days in Cascade Locks after Snickers and I finished our Oregon hike.  During the afternoon I overheard someone’s conversation about a hiker who had just recently died of cancer.  They talked about how he had hiked the trail last year when he was fed up with all the chemo and treatments, and that he had finished late, but finished.  It was my friend Astro.  I was crushed.  I had no idea that he had been sick.  I am sure that was the way he wanted it after years of fighting a disease and being seen as a sick kid.  On the trail he was strong, capable, fearless, like any other hiker his age.  He was free of hospital beds, white sheets and clinical smelling hallways.  He spent his days among the trees and his nights among the stars.  He befriended little ladies and older hikers and went after his dream.  I was sad all weekend about losing Astro, but I also had a sense of overwhelming peace, knowing that he had been able to finish his hike, and finish his life, strong and whole and at peace with the world.