Tag: Lassen

Day 50: Domingo Lake to Hat Creek

In the morning I entered Lassen National Park, a place I had camped many times with my family during my childhood and thus had a special place in my memory. Unfortunately PCT hikers are not allowed to camp in the park without a bear canister (I had left mine at my parents’ house in Tahoe), so I had walk the 19 miles to the northern boundary in one day. Near the entrance I took the short side trail to Terminal Geyser, an impressive steam vent only accessible by footpath. The multicolored sulfur Boiling Springs Lake rounded out my tour of Lassen’s geothermal features.

It was a hot August day, and by the time I stopped at Lower Twin Lake for lunch I was ready to jump straight in. The cold water felt incredibly refreshing, the more so because of the large burn zone I next had to trek through to reach my planned campsite. The peak heat of the afternoon was only slightly diminished by the fact that the burned trees allowed for a decent view of snow-covered Lassen Peak rising in the background. When I arrived at Hat Creek my mouth was dry with thirst and I was very tempted to start chugging water straight from the creek. I thought better of it and impatiently used my filter, then lay down in the cool air next to the rushing stream and closed my eyes, listening to the sound of the water.

Day 49: Chester to Domingo Lake

I did laundry in the morning, sitting on a curb outside the town laundromat wearing only my rain pants and jacket as everything else was thrown into the machine. After a leisurely breakfast at the local cafe and supply run to Dollar General (which would become a mainstay resupply stop as I moved through Northern California) I walked to the edge of town and hitched a ride back to the trail. At the trailhead I found Ronan sitting at the base of a tree, eating a Subway sandwich and surrounded by a swarm of yellow jackets trying to get at his deli meat. We chatted for a bit and I moved on, walking toward the growing prominence of Lassen Peak in the distance.

I set up camp just south of the park on a rocky bluff overlooking Domingo Lake, with a view of the Terminal Geyser spewing steam amidst the trees ahead. Since the ground was far too hard to nail stakes in, I collected some large rocks to set at the corners of my tent. As I was cooking a dinner of instant ramen noodles Ronan appeared and joined me at camp. He was from just outside Belfast, and when I told him I had visited Northern Ireland a few years earlier he took out a ukulele he had been carrying along the trail and began to play. Soft notes rang out over the lake, and Ronan sang a rendition of “Wish I was Back Home in Derry” under the bright light of a full moon. The song and setting moved me, and I went to sleep feeling a small longing for my own home welling up in my chest.

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.