Tag: PCT

Day 56: Indian Springs Stream to Shasta Viewpoint

After their disappearance the previous night, I had guessed that Vick and Ronan might have camped at the next water source up the trail. But there was no sign of them at the rushing stream around the bend, nor did they appear at the next creek, or the next. With no way to contact them, there was nothing to do but hike on alone. The prospect saddened me, as I had gotten used to enjoying the jovial spirit and light-hearted conversation of my new friends. It is very easy to lose a hiking buddy on the trail (one wrong turn at the wrong time and they’re gone), but it would not be the last I saw of Vick and Ronan.

I climbed up in the cool shade of morning past the Castle Crags, a jagged granite rock formation jutting out of the surrounding forest. The weather was hot and water scarce. To fill my bottles I had to trek a third of a mile off-trail to scoop from a stagnant-looking pool ironically named “Heavens Spring”. As I walked along the ridgeline, majestic views of Mount Shasta helped my mollify my melancholy at losing Vick and Ronan. Dusk approached and I found the perfect tentsite to watch the sunset paint the volcanic peak in deep shades of pink and purple, filling my heart with a sense of peace.

Day 55: Dunsmuir to Indian Springs Stream

“It’s the vortex,” Vick told me. “Just another 15 minutes.” We were sitting in the Crossroads Hiker Hostel in the late afternoon, listening and singing along to records as Ronan played his ukulele on the couch. I checked the time on my phone, becoming increasingly anxious to get back on the trail before the sun went down. But the vortex (the inertia to stay in town and enjoy the fruits of civilization) had sucked my hiking buddies in, and there was no leaving until they were satisfied.

After a big and welcome breakfast, Kelly had given us and a few other hikers a ride into town to resupply. The Dollar General was well-stocked, and in addition to backpacking food we each bought a quart of ice cream to scarf down in the parking lot outside. Back at the hostel we ran into Bubblewrap and Pioneer, the perfect excuse to hang around the large backyard drinking beer.

I eventually coaxed Vick and Ronan into leaving, and after getting dropped off at the trailhead they continued on singing as we hiked. In fact they were so distracted by belting out classic tunes that they took a wrong turn. I was some distance behind them and (being in a more sober mind) followed the correct path, but when I arrived at our planned campsite there was no sign of my friends. It was getting dark and my muscles burned from the previous day’s death march, so I decided to cook a pouch of instant potatoes and find them in the morning.

Day 54: Gold Creek Junction to Dunsmuir

Bright moonlight was still shining through the mesh ceiling of my tent when I awoke and began to break camp. Vick and Ronan wanted to get into town today, and they somehow convinced me to wake up at 2am to attempt the 40-mile trek to where the trail crosses Interstate 5 near Dunsmuir. I had not yet done any night hiking and was curious to see how I would enjoy it. There was no time to waste so I stuffed a Cliff bar in my mouth, shoved my supplies into my pack and we were off.

For the first couple of miles we hiked along an open ridge under the moon and stars, but the trail soon delved into a narrow creek canyon, forcing us to use our headlamps. There is something very isolating about night hiking, and sounds of animals or creaking trees take on a threatening tone. I lost much of my sense of time and place in the darkness and each bend in the trail felt much like the last. After ten miles we finally reached the end of a long winding descent to the McCloud River, where in the grey light of dawn we took a long break to eat and rest our legs a bit for the long day ahead.

As the day wore on and we notched up mile after mile, the pain in my legs became greater and greater and the skin of my thighs and lower back turned raw from chafing. We took another long and welcome respite at Squaw Valley Creek, jumping off the rocky canyon walls into the cold clear water to escape the hot afternoon sun (which Vick and Ronan did from a dangerous height). By mile 33 we were all hurting and exhausted, and decided to cut off about four miles of trail by taking a shortcut on an old logging road. As we entered the final leg at Castle Crags State Park I sang 80s songs to keep my feet moving. I knew if I stopped walking I wouldn’t be able to start again.

We stumbled to the road aching and hungry and immediately called Kellyfish, the owner of the Crossroads Hiker Hostel, who graciously picked us up. We ordered three extra-large pizzas and finished it all before enjoying a soak in Kelly’s hot tub. My body felt completely worn but I was somewhat amazed that I successfully finished the day, and I soon passed out on a mattress set up in the yard for some well-deserved sleep.

Day 53: Screwdriver Creek to Gold Creek Junction

While trudging under the beating sun on Hat Creek Rim I got my first look at 14,000 foot Mount Shasta peeking its snowy head above the northern horizon. Today (and for the next two weeks) the mountain would dominate the skyline as the trail made a large circle around it on the way to Oregon. After Lassen, Shasta is the next volcano in the Cascade Range, a sign that I had finally left the Sierras and was heading into unfamiliar territory.

I hiked all day with Vick and Ronan through low pine forests and dense scrubland, often crossing one of the many dirt roads which wind their way among the northern California hills. We camped at a remote road junction leading down to a small creek, and as I labored to set up my tent on the rocky ground I felt jealous of Vick’s comfortable-looking hammock hanging in the nearby trees. We cooked our separate meals (I had a simple but effective bowl of ramen) and ate together, telling jokes and stories as the day’s light waned and stars filled the sky.

Day 52: Powerlines to Screwdriver Creek

The trail magic started early today with several water jugs and a cooler full of sodas left just before the first road crossing. I then caught up to a fellow hiker who had decided to skip ahead to Washington before the weather turned, and when her parents picked her up at the next road the back of their SUV was filled with beer, snacks, and Gatorade. I strolled past a small hydroelectric dam and beautiful reservoir where people were fishing, watching the morning light dance across the rippling water.

Soon after I ran into Lightning and another hiker who unfortunately had gotten heat exhaustion from the previous day’s trek across Hat Creek Rim. Luckily a guest ranch was nearby, and after offering him some water and making sure he was good to make it to the ranch I continued on my way to Burney Falls State Park. I caught up to Vick (Snooze) and Ronan on the way in, and together we raided the camp store for microwave Jimmy Dean’s breakfast sandwiches and canned margaritas to enjoy in the shade of some nearby picnic tables. It was here in the Lime-a-Rita induced euphoria where I was finally given a trail name: Lunch Hermit, or Lermit for short (based on one random occasion when I had lunch by myself at a scenic spot a hundred feet away from the path – trail names are like that).

Happily filled with food and drink we walked the short way down to the base of the falls, where a thundering cascade of water crashed into a large rocky pool. I rested my feet in the icy water while Vick and Ronan proceeded to jump off a boulder into the misty lagoon, yelling their shock and joy to the sky and the surprised tourists nearby.

Day 51: Hat Creek to Powerlines

The Hat Creek Rim is a notorious section of trail among PCT hikers. Completely burned out as the result of the Lost Fire in 1987, the Rim is is an almost entirely exposed 26-mile stretch with little to no access to water. Hikers often attempt this section in the early morning or at night when temperatures are lower and there is less danger of heat exhaustion. I got up at dawn with the intention to do likewise but didn’t make it to the start until late morning. Thankfully someone had left several five-gallon jugs of water under a picnic table at the Rim Overlook (along with some organic but now rotting plums), so I took as much as I could carry and steeled myself for the hot journey ahead.

The hike started out warm but not uncomfortably so, and I contentedly followed the trail as it wound among low scrub bushes and piles of sharp rocks. I soon ran into a frightened-looking hiker walking fast in the opposite direction. She warned me of a “giant” rattlesnake just ahead on the side of the trail. Great, I thought, now I have to worry about snakes in addition to dying from thirst. I moved forward cautiously, being sure to look around each corner before taking a step so as not to surprise any hidden rattlers. But the snake never appeared. The sun grew increasingly hot as it passed its midday peak, and I found myself taking short water breaks in every tiny little piece of shade I came across. With the distance to the next secure water source uncertain, I took just small sips in order to conserve enough for the full stretch.

In the mid-afternoon during the hottest part of the day, I neared Cache 22 where according to my map a local trail angel usually maintains a tank of water for thru-hikers. My mouth dry and my throat parched, I trudged onward in the hope that I would soon be able to quench my thirst in a torrent of warm, stagnant tank water. When I rounded the bend and saw a group of fellow hikers huddled around the open flatbed of a truck, in high spirits and drinking what appeared to be beer and sodas, my eyes widened and I sprinted the final distance to the dirt road. A trail angel named Magic Man had set up shop at the Cache, and as I arrived he opened a large cooler filled with ice and cold drinks. I immediately grabbed a sports drink and downed it in about three seconds. It was the best Gatorade I’ve ever had.

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 48: Little Cub Spring to Chester

While on the PCT I got into the routine of staying a night in a motel about once every 10 days, so after checking the map I called ahead and booked a room at the Antlers Motel in Chester, a small town just south of Lassen National Park. I met up with Compass in the morning and we hiked toward the highway, talking about his experiences working for the Bureau of Land Management near Walker Pass where I had started my hike. We soon came across the marker designating the midway point of the PCT, exactly halfway between Mexico and Canada. Since I hadn’t started at the border it wasn’t very meaningful to me, but for Compass it meant he would now have less trail ahead than he had already hiked. I imagine knowing that fact would help a lot in the mental endeavor to complete the trail.

Chester lay too far down the highway to walk, so Compass and I set our bags down and stuck our thumbs out to try to catch a ride. Thus far on my journey I had only had to hitchhike once and was lucky enough to find a ride without even trying, but this time was more frustrating. Trucks, semis, family minivans, and sedans all zoomed by without a second look at the dirty and scraggly-looking hikers on the side of the road. We attempted calling some trail angels who had stapled their number to a log at the trailhead but they were unavailable. Hot, sweaty, and increasingly demoralized, we took turns at the road until eventually a suburban pulled up on the opposite side to drop some hikers off at the north trailhead. We quickly waved them down and gratefully hopped in, the driver depositing us outside Chester’s grocery store. I got a massive deli sandwich and soda, gulping it down with gusto in the air-conditioned coolness of the little eating area. I had learned a valuable lesson about hitching this day: patience is key.

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.