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.
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.
Russell on the Road 