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.