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.   

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.