Tag: backpacking

Day 41: Donner Pass to Mount Lacey

I found the trail in the morning, walking past several groups of rock climbers scaling the granite slabs between Donner Pass Road and I-80. What looked like a giant storm drain led me under the freeway, and on the other side I stopped at a highway rest stop to refill my water and use the facilities. In the span of a few minutes several drivers approached me to ask excitedly if I was hiking the PCT and about my journey. Their infectious enthusiasm began to dispel some of my dark thoughts from the previous night.

Getting back on the trail I crossed paths with a hiker named Vick (trail name: Snooze), who would end up giving me my own trail name several days later. On the gentle ascent up to Castle Pass I began to notice a few tiny orange butterflies fluttering amidst the surrounding pine forest. The trickle of insects soon became a flood as thousands of the bright creatures continued to emerge out of the trees ahead. Walking through this spiraling orange cloud to the top of the pass I ran into a group of local hikers who told me the butterflies appear here every seven years as part of a migration cycle. Feeling lucky to witness this rare event and lost in its natural magic, I strolled slowly on as the little insects fluttered past me on their own journey to an unknown destination.

Day 40: 5 Lakes Junction to Donner Pass

Today my good friend Colin had arranged to join me for the leg up to Donner Pass. He and his friend Sidney met me in the morning at the junction and we quickly started the almost 20-mile trek to the highway crossing at Donner Pass. It felt good to be hiking with a buddy again, and no less one I had known going all the way back to Elementary School! We climbed through vast fields of mule’s ear plants to the rocky summit of the Squaw Valley Ski Resort, which had hosted the Winter Olympics back in 1960. Eating lunch beneath the large Granite Chief rock formation, Colin and Sidney shared some very welcome fresh carrots and fruit while we admired the view down into Olympic Valley.

In the afternoon we scaled the Tinker Knob, a rocky outcrop/pile of boulders a short distance from the trail with expansive views south to Lake Tahoe and as far north as Castle Peak. During the breathtaking descent from the Knob along an open ridge I awkwardly twisted my knee. At first it didn’t hurt much, but as we navigated across a tricky snowfield and began hiking down the granite steps to Donner Pass the pain became increasingly more excruciating. I found that if I kept my knee moving the pain would subside, but if I stopped to take a break for even a minute it would return in force the next time I took a step.

Hobbling to the trailhead, we were all excited to walk the short distance down the road to the Donner Ski Ranch for a well-deserved meal. The restaurant offered a free 40 oz King Cobra to PCT hikers, which I gladly accepted along with a burger, salad and pie feast. By the time we finished it was well after dark, and while Colin and Sidney drove back to Reno I attempted to find the trailhead on the north side of the highway. Still buzzed from the drink and stumbling around with an injured knee in the black night, I gave up and climbed up some large boulders to a flat patch of dirt where I pitched my tent. It was not until after the tent was set up that I realized the dirt patch was covered in shards of broken glass. Too tired to find another site, I crawled in and lay in my bag hoping that the glass didn’t puncture my inflatable sleeping pad.

My thoughts soon turned dark as I pondered what came next. I had spent the past week enjoying the company of many friends and family, and now I was alone again for the foreseeable future. I had no hiking buddy, and the next person I knew along the trail was a friend all the way up in Portland, Oregon, almost a thousand miles to the north. How would I manage hiking alone that whole time? Was it really a good idea to keep going? What the hell was I even doing on the trail anyway? These questions plagued my mind as I drifted into a restless, uncomfortable sleep.

Day 39: Phipps Creek to 5 Lakes Junction

Today was a day for meeting friends, both old and new. I even almost met a bear when I woke up in the morning. A Tahoe Rim Trail hiker passed me as I was breaking down my tent (the TRT and PCT coincide for 50 miles or so) and pointed out that a black bear had been rummaging around the forest floor just around the bend. I never spotted it though, and continued my streak of not seeing any bears through the entire trail.

I later crossed paths with another group of hikers, including Ashes, the girl who had warned me that I was starting my ascent of Mt. Whitney a little late in the day. We had lunch at the Barker Pass picnic tables (I have never appreciated the simple comfort of a picnic table as much as I did on the PCT). Passing the spot where I had turned off from Jason and Carly’s thru-hike in 2016 due to severe knee pain, I followed the trail along a series of open ridges and above the Alpine Meadows Ski Resort. As I was setting up camp in a washed out basin next to a tiny waterfall, I ran into Pioneer, the hiker from South Africa, and her friend. Eating meals alone was for me the hardest part of doing a thru-hike solo, so I was very glad to cook up some veggie mac&cheese and join them and an older couple for dinner and chat well into the evening.

Day 38: Echo Lake to Phipps Creek

Refreshed and refueled, I got back on the trail at Echo Lake with a spring in my step and smile on my face. This was familiar ground: not only had I hiked this section of the PCT with my friends Jason and Carly during their own thru-hike in 2016, I had also done the day hike up to Lake Aloha many times over my years living in Tahoe. Blazing past several groups of weekend backpackers, I arrived at the lake in the late morning and found a good spot on the rocky shoreline for a break.

Normally Lake Aloha is dotted with hundreds of granite islands and blanched tree trunks jutting out of the water, but with so much snow this year many of the islands remained submerged even in the first days of August. Still, I couldn’t resist taking a dip in the frigid but crystal clear waters and freestyled my way out to the nearest rock island. Swimming in Aloha brought back memories of my first solo hike there on a late September day, the lake much shallower and warm as I spent a timeless afternoon hopping from island to island in a state of blissful wonder. Today, however, the icy temperatures soon brought me back to the shore and I lay on a rock in the sun to dry off, my mind slipping for a moment into the euphoria of yesteryear.

Days 35 – 37: Lake Tahoe

Over a month of hiking at least 10-15 miles per day over picturesque but challenging high mountain passes, through mosquito-infested swamps and gorgeous alpine meadows can really take a toll. So when I arrived back at my parents’ house in Tahoe, I was definitely ready for a break and ended up taking a “triple zero” to rest and resupply.

First on the agenda, however, was my friends Bryce and Jessica’s wedding. A full two-day extravaganza out in the woods near Kirkwood Ski Resort, I had a blast celebrating with family and friends: playing lawn games, drinking, dancing, and soaking in the hot tub set on the edge of a small lake (swimming encouraged). The ceremony itself was beautiful and even hosted by my brother, and of course the steak dinner and next-morning hot breakfast were highlights for my food-starved stomach.

Two days of revelry well done, it was time to prepare to get back on the trail. Seeing a bunch of old friends and hearing their excitement about my trek invigorated my desire to continue hiking, so I replaced my shoes, socks (for free! check out Darn Tough), and loaded up on food for the onward journey. Sleeping in a real bed for three nights helped ease my sore muscles, but by the last night I was itching to be lying back on the cool earth under the stars.

Day 34: Forestdale Creek to Echo Lake

A few miles of trekking under a clear, bright morning sky brought me to Carson Pass, a trailhead complete with an information center staffed by a group of friendly volunteers. Upon my arrival they took out the trail register for me to sign and offered me a plate of fresh cut watermelon, soda, and even a small fridge magnet emblazoned with “Carson Pass: PCT 2019”. These guys were prepared! I sat down with another group of hikers to enjoy the unexpected second breakfast, feeling grateful for the hospitality.

After crossing the pass I strolled blissfully along the Upper Truckee River in Meiss Meadow, a gorgeous alpine valley where a German immigrant family had built a summer cabin in the 1870s. Getting very tired of my standard lunch of tortillas I decided to hustle to the Echo Lake Chalet for a hot sandwich and ice cream. Getting there involved crossing the multi-lane Highway 50 at Echo Summit, the most dangerous road crossing I had encountered yet with cars and trucks zooming by at 60 miles an hour. Eventually there was a break in the traffic and I scuttled across, reaching the Chalet just before they closed for the afternoon. I cracked open a beer and sat down on a log to enjoy my sandwich and listen to hikers swap stories around me, awaiting a ride from my dad into town and home.

Day 33: Ebbet’s Pass to Forestdale Creek

After a final delicious fresh breakfast and plenty of coffee, Carlin and Sara dropped me back at Ebbet’s Pass on their way to San Francisco. I hiked a short way along the narrow highway to the north trailhead and who do I run into but Pioneer and Bubblewrap, the two hikers I had first met on Day 3! I had last seen them over two weeks before at Muir Pass in King’s Canyon. You never know when someone you’ve meet on the trail will suddenly pop up again. Unfortunately I couldn’t stop to hang out as I had a wedding in Tahoe to get to, and I pushed on alone into Mokelumne Wilderness.

The pine and fir forests alternating with open hillsides covered in sagebrush and mule’s ear plants began to look more and more like the mountains around my parents’ house, bringing a strong sense of homecoming to my chest and an idea to my head: the possibility of ending my trek once I got to Tahoe. After all, I had hiked the High Sierra, the section of the PCT I had been most excited to see, and the upcoming Northern California section sounded none too popular among veteran hikers. What could I look forward too now that the most beautiful section of the trail was behind me? I pondered this question as I cooked a bowl of ramen noodles, the light fading among the smooth-barked trees and hardscrabble rocks of camp.

Day 30: Sonora Pass to Wolf Creek Tributary

Clambering among the reddish rocky outcrops on the north side of Sonora Pass, I met a hiker named Martin from the Czech Republic. We struck up a conversation and proceeded to hike most of the day together, swapping trail stories and discovering a shared love of watching the stars in the brilliantly clear Sierra sky. We ate lunch on a flat boulder halfway up a canyon, airing our feet out and changing socks to avoid blisters.

After lunch the sky steadily grew darker as rain clouds gathered on the horizon. Soon enough we could see lightning crackling to the south, and this time once the rain began it kept going all afternoon. Following the trail across an open ridge, I took my ice axe/lightning rod from the top of my pack and carried it in my hand instead in what was probably a futile effort (Martin certainly thought so). When the thunder seemed as if it were ripping directly overhead we decided to wait out the heart of the storm and sheltered in some dense forest. This was my first real day of rain on the trail, and I enjoyed listening to the drops plop quietly among the trees. The music of the rain.

Day 29: Dorothy Lake to Sonora Pass

At midday under the hot sun I reached the start of a long climb up a barren, scree-covered ridge. Although a few switchbacks were still submerged in snow, the intense heat beat down on me as I steadily gained altitude. Reaching the summit I looked north to the trail ahead and saw the path winding along the desolate ridge-top under some friendly-looking cumulus clouds, expansive views of the valleys and ranges dropping off to either side. Then I looked south. An unbroken sea of the darkest clouds I had yet seen were gathering in the distance. And they appeared to be coming my way.

I checked the map. Eight miles to Sonora Pass. Eight long miles of completely exposed ridge walking, and me with a giant metal ice axe sticking out the top of my pack. Probably not the best place to be if those dark clouds heralded a thunderstorm. I could either go back down the way I had come and find shelter, or push on to where the trail descended steeply to the highway pass. Watching the clouds for a minute, I decided to try for the pass.

Hustling as fast as I could across the rocky landscape, I traversed large snow patches and clambered over boulder fields while it slowly become darker and darker, the thunderclouds starting to amass around the barren ridge. Taking only a couple of short breaks to catch my breath, I finally reached the point where the trail began to descend. As soon as I did, a roaring clap of thunder pealed out of the sky directly above where I stood. I glanced ahead and saw the trail take a very long and slow path switchbacking down the mountain. Just off the the left, however, lay an steep patch of snow with a clear route where previous hikers had glissaded to the bottom. Trusting that the slide didn’t lead directly over a cliff, I took out my ice axe, sat down on the snow and slid quickly down from the ridge just as the storm truly began to rage.

With lighting flashing in the near distance and piercing thunder howling above me, I dropped about a thousand feet in the span of a few minutes. Tossing my metal axe and trekking poles to the side, I took shelter next to some bushes at the bottom while the storm poured down rain. It passed quickly, and by the time I arrived at Sonora Pass it was as if those dark clouds had never been, the sun shining brightly in a clear blue sky.

Day 28: Stream Confluence to Dorothy Lake Plateau

Have you ever tried pooping in the woods while a giant swarm of mosquitoes incessantly attacks you? I have, and I can tell you it isn’t pleasant. Welcome to mosquito hell.

The day started out pleasantly enough. A couple of short climbs over mountain ridges led steeply down into narrow creek canyons. While trying to cross Piute Creek over a log jam, I stepped onto what looked like solid wood and my leg immediately plunged deep into the dark water. Let that be a lesson to never trust wood as a foothold. It was a minor inconvenience however, and I continued trekking over another small pass and along pretty Wilma Lake. By the time I got to Falls Creek, I had hiked 17 miles and was about ready to find a spot to set up camp.

Unfortunately Falls Creek turned out to be a muddy marsh, and as I walked ahead with one eye out for a good tentsite, the mosquito hordes descended. I quickly put my head net on, only to trap several mosquitoes inside it with me. Smashing those I could see I ran ahead, bloody mosquito corpses rolling around the bottom of the net. The only thing to do was to try to keep moving fast enough that the vicious bugs didn’t have time to land and add another bite to my already swelling body. I had never hiked more than about 20 miles in a day before, but I kept on pushing well beyond that in hopes of reaching the end of this hellish nightmare swamp. My legs burning, I put earbuds in and started playing Linkin Park songs to keep me going. The trail often disappeared into the thick mud, forcing long detours to the side or risking getting my feet stuck. I imagined sinking down into the bog, the mosquitoes feasting on my ailing body as darkness fell. Some hiker would find me in the morning, covered in muck and swollen beyond all recognition.

After what felt like hours, I finally made it to some higher ground firm enough to pitch my tent. As soon as it was set I plunged inside, bringing a few of the bugs with me. Most remained stuck outside, and with a mixture of glee and horror I watched them cling in their hundreds to the tent mesh. I just hoped they wouldn’t be there in the morning.