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.