Tag: Feather River

Day 47: Chips Creek to Little Cub Spring

The 5,000 foot climb out of the Feather River valley was even longer than the trek in, but passed by a creek whose surface danced with reflected sunlight and through beautiful high meadows covered in purple wildflowers. At the top I was rewarded with a strong flowing spring of cold water (aptly named Cold Springs) spilling out of a pipe and into a large trough. There I met another hiker named Harrison (trail name: Compass), and we filled our bottles to the brim while watching a herd of cows wander around on the other side of a nearby wooden fence.

As the trail approached a large dirt parking lot at Humboldt Summit, views of the volcanic Lassen Peak appearing amidst the clouds in the distance, shots of gunfire began to ring out ahead. Surprised by the sudden noise, I sat down on some rocks and waited for a few minutes, snacking on a granola bar and hoping that whoever was firing would stop soon and move on. The gunshots continued though, and not wanting my hike to tragically end by getting hit with a stray bullet I took a look at the map and decided to take a shortcut overland through the bushes to avoid the Summit and link back up with the trail at Robbers Spring. It was tough going over uneven ground through thick stands of fir trees, but eventually I made my way back to the trail where I found Compass. He told me that a group of men had indeed been doing target practice straight across the PCT, simply unaware that a popular trail runs through there. I camped on an open plateau above the next spring, with yellow jackets buzzing around into the evening.

Day 45: Bald Mountain Junction to Big Creek Road

My tick paranoia continued into the next day, and when I came across a couple of hikers in the morning I asked them to check my back for any sign of the pests. Luckily they found nothing and I made my way down a steep valley to the Feather River, where some boaters had beached their rafts for a lunch break. The river was flowing strong and I stopped for a minute on the large iron bridge to watch the water spill over the rocks below, its low roar rumbling in my ears.

On the other side of the river I made the long, gradual climb up to a rocky point overlooking the pine-studded hills to the east. I took out a Snickers bar and sat down to enjoy the expansive view but was soon accosted by a swarm of yellow jackets attracted to the sweat soaking my clothes and backpack straps. Waving them away I walked on, briefly pausing to browse through a plastic container of books someone had left out for thru-hikers. On my way to camp I passed through a beautiful meadow of white and yellow flowers, the bright afternoon light shifting into the gold of evening.