Breaking Out

This was a delightful little section of trail to hike!
Sunny, warm, open, and snow-free!

July 17: Amanda and I woke up early--I planned to hike 28.2 miles from Packer Lake Saddle to Quincy-Laporte Road, the next paved road on the trail. Amanda, at first, was a little disappointed about the distance to the next paved road thinking I'd have to spent the night out in the woods rather than with her, but I assured her, I could do 28.2 miles in a single day. I just needed an early start! I'd done more than that the day I left Walker Pass, and that was with a full pack. Now, a month later, I was stronger and tougher than ever, and I wouldn't need a full pack to boot. Yes, I could do that distance. It would officially be my second longest day so far of the trail. I was a little excited at the thought of doing big miles, day after day, now that the High Sierras were behind me. It was finally time to start doing big miles on a regular basis!

So by 7:30 in the morning, Amanda was dropping me off at Packer Lake Saddle, and I started hiking northbound once again. The trail followed along the tops of ridges, many of which had views to multiple lakes below. Occasionally, I'd still lose the trail in snow, but rarely for more than a few minutes at a time before I figured out where the trail emerged from the snow.

The trail followed along a crest with terrific
views of many lakes below.

I brought my iPod Shuffle with me and the time seemed to fly quickly. The day's hike was largely uneventful. I passed one hiker well off the trail who looked like he was breaking down camp still, and a couple of older hikers out for a day hike. Later in the afternoon, I caught up with GQ, which surprised me since I expected him to have gotten well ahead of me given my zero day. But he was moseying along slowly due to his upcoming visa expiration date--in eleven days, he'd be booted out of the country. He planned to use every last day he could and slowed his daily mileage considerably.

Near the end of the hike, when I figured I had no more than a mile or so to go, I approached a southbound hiker who greeted me with, "Happy birthday!"

I'd never seen this fellow before, and it wasn't especially well-known on the trail that it was my birthday recently. This meant only one thing: Amanda was already at the trailhead waiting for me! Which meant two things to me: First, she actually did find the trailhead okay (sometimes, it can be a challenge), and second, she was already there. I wouldn't have to wait for her arrival. =)

I found this sign amusing. I bet I could find "a tree"
much less than 8 miles away! But seriously,
I never did figure out what "A tree" was, nor how
it was different from any other kind of tree.

"You must have met Amanda," I replied, smiling. =)

Indeed he had. We chatted a bit, and he asked about the need for an ice axe. He was planning to hike southbound all the way to Mount Whitney and heard horror stories about the snow pack. He already carried the heavy ice axe on his pack, but wondered if it was really necessary.

I couldn't be certain of my answer. A lot of the snow I experienced would likely have melted by the time he reached those areas, but what if it was still a problem? I did tell him that the last time I pulled out my own ice axe was near Sonora Pass--between our location now and there, it definitely was not necessary. After that, it probably would not be necessary.

We parted ways, never to see each other again. We were hiking in opposite directions, after all. =)

The trail was mostly snow-free, but I still had to
deal with the occasional patch of snow.

About ten minutes later, I reached Quincy-Laporte Road where I found Amanda sitting in a fold-up chair with the helium-filled balloons dangling off of it, talking with Bill, a hiker she lured off the trail with birthday cake and cold drinks. GQ arrived minutes later and stopped as well.

Amanda told us she'd arrived at about 2:00 in the afternoon (it was 5:30 now) providing trail magic to three or four hikers who'd passed through. She was a little disappointed with the number of hikers--she expected more than that--but enjoyed meeting the other hikers and telling stories about me. =)

Amanda also had a new form of trail magic she was providing: a hiker box. In many locations along the trail, usually in places such as hostels, post offices, and other hiker hangouts, there would be a hiker box left out. Hikers who had extra food or gear they didn't need could leave it in the hiker box, and following hikers could pick through the box and pick up whatever they needed. It's freecycling, in a box, for hikers.

I think it's a sign, but what could
it mean?!

This, however, was the first time I'd ever seen a trail angel bring a hiker box to the trailhead! She filled it with a few books she had finished reading, extra ZipLocks, some snacks, and even postcards. I thought the postcards was a nice touch--it was the first time I'd ever seen a trail angel offering up postcards for hikers. I looked through the hiker box myself--I didn't realize Amanda had that up her sleeve and I wanted to see what was available myself! =) I picked out an Agatha Christie book for myself.

GQ, Bill, Amanda, and I sat around for an hour or so, chatting, eating birthday cake, and drinking cold sodas. Eventually, though, GQ and Bill moved on, eager to find a place to camp for the night. Amanda and I filled up an ice chest with sodas and candy and--along with a large container of water--hid them behind some bushes. The stuff was left out of view of the road, but in clear view of the trail for hikers that would pass through later. Everything else went back into the car, and we drove back to Quincy for the night.

A fire lookout tower along the trail--
a constant reminder that wildfires
could be a problem for me further
up the trail!

Amanda waits for me at  the
Quincy-Laporte Road traihead.
You can see my birthday cake
on the trunk of the car!

An Afternoon in Quincy

I start carving up the birthday cake
Amanda bought for me.

July 16: I took a zero day to catch up with blog entries. I hadn't written any entries since I last saw Amanda at Walker Pass, and the last entry I'd written was due to post. I needed to build up another backlog, so it was another zero day full with chores.

I did get out a bit, however. The next couple of trail towns had no grocery stores, so I decided to shop for food here in Quincy then send it ahead to the next couple of trail towns. So we took a trip to Safeway where I bought food for the next three segments of the trail--from here to Beldon, from Beldon to Old Station, and from Old Station to Dunsmuir. I'd carry what I needed to get to Beldon, mail food to Beldon that would get me through to Old Station, and mail food to Old Station that would get me through to Dunsmuir. Annoyingly, this meant I had to plan out a schedule remarkably far in advance. Not only did I need to plan how much food I would need, but I needed to insure that I'd arrive in Beldon and Old Station on days when the post office would be open! I also looked up their hours of operation to insure I wouldn't arrive too late in the day to pick up the maildrops. It turned out to be an annoying exercise in planning ahead--something I'm not exactly well-known for. =)



Amanda and I went out for lunch to a cafe in downtown Quincy, then went out for dinner to a Mexican restaurant near our hotel.

The only other notable thing to mention was a new electronic device that I would start carrying: an iPod Shuffle. For my birthday, Amanda thought this little device might be something I'd enjoy using on the trail, and it's so small and lightweight, it was hard to say no. I've become quite the gadget geek on the trail. First a cell phone, and now an iPod. So I spent the better part of an hour figuring out how to copy about 500 songs from my laptop onto the little device. I may be the last person in the universe sucked into the World of Apple, but yes, I had finally arrived with an iPod Shuffle.

I'm working on this blog. (You can tell because I have
my journal propped up in front of me that I was
referring to.)

Packer Lake Lodge

A bridge over North Yuba River
(I think it's the North Yuba River, at least!)

July 15: I woke early to get a move on. I was in a rush to reach the Packer Lake Lodge for lunch, and wait for Amanda to pick me up. It was only ten or so miles away, but I was anxious to get there quickly.

About an hour into the day's hike, the trail crossed Highway 49 that leads into Sierra City, a small town that most people likely would never hear of, but is a major resupply point along the trail since the town is a mere 1.5 miles off the trail. I, however, had no plans to stop. So far as I know, I'm the only person thru-hiking the trail with absolutely no plans to stop in Sierra City. I knew I'd get there long before Amanda arrived, and sitting around doing nothing didn't seem like an optimal use of my time--especially when I saw another opportunity for her to pick me up another 10 miles up the trail. The resupply options at Packer Lake Lodge have nothing on Sierra City, but with Amanda picking me up in a rental car, that didn't matter. She could drive me anywhere that was needed.

So I crossed over Highway 49 without even stopping to break.

From there, the trail climbed a steep series of switchbacks, climbing 2500 feet, which will get your blood pumping. I was already sweating good before I hit the exposed slope and got out of the trees at which point the air temperature soared. I don't carry a thermometer and didn't know how warm it got, but it was hot--and it was still fairly early in the morning. Most of the morning I spent thinking, "Wow, I'm really glad I'm climbing up this section in the morning. It's freakin' hot!" Then I wiped by brow of sweat. At long last, summer seemed to finally arrive.

Highway 49. Sierra City is about 1 1/2 miles to the left.

Just because I chose not to go into Sierra City does not mean I missed it, however. The trail follows along a steep slope directly above down giving hikers a bird's eye view of the place. I stopped briefly in the shade of a solitary tree to rest and eat a few snacks, then pulled out my guidebook with its map of Sierra City and tried to pinpoint locations within the city. I had no way to verify that my pinpointing was correct, and it didn't really matter since I already passed the town by, but it gave me something different to do.

Finally, the trail leveled out and went back into the woods. The views weren't particularly interesting in the woods, but the shade was a welcome relief from the brutal sun.

The last mile of hiking followed a paved road--the pavement took me by surprise since my maps showed the road being a dotted road which usually meant gravel at best. And finally, I reached Packer Lake Saddle and my exit point from the trail. It was barely 11:00 in the morning.

I just liked this retaining wall. =)

Amanda wasn't expected to arrived until much later in the afternoon, so I walked down to Packer Lake Lodge, a solid two miles away. I didn't really like the idea of walking two miles off the trail, but I liked the idea of sitting around at the trailhead for hours on end even less. And anyhow, they served food--real food!--at the lodge. And it was all downhill too. Easy!

I made it down in about a half hour and called Amanda from a payphone sitting outside to let her know I had arrived. I got her voicemail and left a message, then went into the lodge.

The waitress said they didn't start serving lunch until 12:00 (it was just a little after 11:30 by now), but that she'd go ahead and take my order anyhow. I said I could wait, but no, it wasn't a problem. So I set down my pack, took a seat, and ordered.

The root beer, strawberry milkshake, and bacon cheeseburger arrived in no time, and they were delicious. =)

By the time the trail got out of the trails
here, the temperature soared!

The place was positively empty of people. During the entire lunch period, only two groups of people ever came in, so I didn't feel particularly rushed to get out and make my table available for anyone who was waiting. There was nobody waiting! Chatted with the waitress a bit about my hike, and I started reading magazines they had laid out by the entrance.

I was kind of bored, though. I watched the comings and goings of people renting canoes. I learned that the lake had been stocked with fish just a few days before when someone who called inquired about the fishing conditions. And two guys walked in asking if AAA had popped in at all. They locked their keys in their truck and called AAA, saying that a driver from Sierra City would be there within a half hour, but it had been two hours and they wondered if they somehow missed the driver. But no, there was no sign of AAA.

Later in the afternoon, however, the waitress answered the phone and it was AAA asking about the fellows who's locked their keys in the car, and the waitress offered to drive out to the front of the lake and give them the message about the driver being on his way. It seemed like a remarkably nice thing for her to do. She certainly had no obligation to do so!

The bustling little town of Sierra City.

And that's when the fellow who'd largely been hiding out in the back started watching the front of the house and asked me, "Are you a guest here?" As in staying in the accommodations there, no. Then he told me that, "This isn't a lounge, and you have to leave." Bastard! I wasn't hurting anything. Guess I won't be ordering another milkshake anytime soon. I secretly hoped he'd choke on his next meal. I picked up my pack and went outside. Maybe my homeless appearance would scare off any potential customers if they saw me lounging around outside instead. =)

I really wanted another milkshake too, but I absolutely refused to do anything that would require my giving that man any money. I felt like telling anyone who started approaching the door that the guy inside was a jerk and didn't want people going in, but I just found a picnic table, laid down on top, and tried to take a nap.

It actually worked out well for me--inside was sniffling hot while outside, in the shade and breeze, it was a lot more comfortable. I didn't even realize how hot it was getting indoors. Oh, I knew it was hot, but I thought that was only because it was also hot outside. I didn't realize that the place was trapping in heat like a greenhouse until he kicked me out. So ultimately, I was happier waiting outside, but I was still rather offended to have been kicked out in the first place.

Amanda drove up a couple of hours later in a rental car packed to the gills with.... balloons? That can't be right, I thought. She got out of the car, happy to see me, and opened the back door pulling out several, giant, helium filled balloons that said, "Happy Birthday!"

"You can leave them in the car," I insisted. "I already know it was my birthday."

But no, she wanted to make sure that everyone knew it my birthday. Mission accomplished! =)

Packer Lake Lodge, in all its glory.

She'd also bought a birthday cake and other assorted decorations. It was a party in a car with banners, balloons, food, drinks, and presents.

Then we put the balloons back in the car and headed off--I certainly had no intention of staying there for the night. Even if I had been inclined to rent a cabin for the night (I wasn't, but if I had been), the rudeness of the guy inside would have changed my mind right there. So we drove off to Quincy, the largest boom town around, and found a motel for the night.

Amanda arrives--with balloons! Then
forces me to have my picture taken
with them before she'll drive me to civilization!

Happy Bastille Day!

A Bastille Day sunrise!

July 14: I woke up and watched the sunrise. When I heard Fully Loaded, Little Engine, and Plain Slice moving around in their tents, I called out, "Happy Bastille Day!" In return, Little Engine called called out, "Happy birthday!"

It was, indeed, my birthday. I happened to mention it the day before while talking with Little Engine and how cool it would be to visit France on this day, and she remembered that. I'm not sure she would have remembered my birthday had I not connected it to Bastille Day the day before, but that's okay. They don't even know my real name--why should they be expected to know my birthday?

The sunrise was beautiful, and the mosquitoes started coming out again. They seemed to thrive without a wind to blow them around, but they weren't especially bad either. Camped up here at 8,000 feet away from water seemed to discourage them. A little bit, at least. I'll take it.

The first half of the day, the trail largely stayed
above treeline along these ridges.

I was last to pack up camp and start hiking. I wasn't in a rush--I planned to meet Amanda the next day, and I needed to average about 15 miles per day to reach our meeting point at Packer Lake Lodge. So I took my time packing up, and even made a couple of phone calls. Remarkably, I got a cell phone signal out here!

While talking to Amanda, I asked about Packer Lake Lodge. She did some Google searches and replied, "It costs about $100 per night."

"Not the lodging," I said. "I was interested in the food!" Amanda didn't expect to arrive until late in the afternoon and I'd likely get there before her. I wanted to know what sort of food options were available--assuming that food options even were available. It seemed likely, and indeed, there was a dining room available, but lunch was only served between the hours of 12:00 and 2:00 PM. I made a mental note--must get to lodge before 2:00 PM.

As snow receded, flowers along the trail
started showing off again.

Eventually, I hit the trail, following ridges well above treeline. The views were spectacular, and--at one point--I could see a distant snow-covered mountain to the north, barely visible. Mount Lassen, perhaps? I imagined it was probably Mount Lassen, but it didn't look like Mount Lassen. I've seen Mount Lassen before, and this one looked too rounded at the top, and with far more snow than I would have expected for this time of year. Undoubtedly, it would have a lot of snow, but it still seemed like too much snow. Mount Shasta? Surely not! Mount Shasta would be too far away. Or would it? That's a freakishly tall mountain, but it still must have been more than 150 miles away as the crow flies. Surely I couldn't see that far! It certainly looked more like a Mount Shasta than a Mount Lassen, though.

Regardless, it was a Very Big Mountain ahead. Another landmark--even if I couldn't decide which landmark it represented. =)

Water became progressively more scarce--especially along the top of these ridges where no creeks were ever found. Looking ahead on the maps for water sources was increasingly important. Since entering the High Sierras, I'd pick up a liter of water and not even bother to check how far away the next water source was. When my liter of water ran out, I could count on finding another source within minutes. Not anymore....

Near road crossings, the trail wasn't always pristine....

The trail passed an overlook for Jackson Meadow Reservoir. First created in the 1850s to power hydraulic gold mining through 80 miles of flumes and ditches. Around 1875, the dam was raised and strengthened, forming a lake 2 1/2 miles long and half a mile wide. Eight years later, in 1883, the dam was again being raised and strengthened when--according to a sign along the trail--the dam either "collapsed or was dynamited." Dynamited?! The resulting flood killed at least six people and pushed the California legislature towards banning hydraulic mining.

Somehow, I missed an entire creek where I planned to resupply water. I'm still scratching my head how I missed an entire creek, and the next water source was a long way off. I wasn't particularly worried, however, because the trail was heading downhill. Fast. Along the ridges, water was scarce. At the lower elevations, it was not. Creeks of snow runoff were still common, and a couple of miles further, I stopped at an unlabeled creek crossing and filled up with water.

Multiple times throughout the morning and afternoon, I stopped to read A Purple Place For Dying. I needed to slow down to meet Amanda on time. I rather regretted telling her I'd meet her at Parker Lake Lodge. Originally I planned to meet her at Sierra City but pushed our meeting point further up the trail when I realized I was going too fast. I didn't push it up far enough, though. Now that much of the trail was snow-free, I was doing much bigger miles than I had expected, and had I planned better, I could have meet Amanda at another road crossing another 30 miles up the trail than where we were now going to meet. Now I was cursed--it was too late to do those extra 30 miles, but Packer Lake really wasn't far enough to fill up the next couple of days. But I needed to fill up these couple of days now, which I did with lots of long reading breaks.

The last half of the day was spent below treeline
and had a distinct lack of view most of the time.

The last half of the day, the trail went down into the woods and stayed there. For 15 wonderful, consecutive miles, there was absolutely no snow at all on the trail. Zero! Zilch! The best birthday present a guy could ask for! =) It was the longest stretch without snow since I had entered the High Sierras.

Somewhere along the way, I also passed over the last 8,000 foot-pass of the trail. The mountains continued to get smaller the further north I progressed.

The only thru-hiker I saw all day was Fully Loaded. Little Engine and Plain Slice intended to reach Sierra City that afternoon and were anxious to get there as quickly as possible. Fully Loaded wasn't in a rush--he didn't want to pay for lodging in Sierra City and merely planned to camp nearby. He'd go into Sierra City the next day, so we passed each other several times during the afternoon.

In camp, with my own private waterfall!

About two or three miles before the road crossing into Sierra City, I set up camp. It was next to a nice little waterfall I decided to call Bastille Falls since, so far as I knew, it had no official name. I discovered it on Bastille Day, however, so I named it after Bastille Day.


A dull, but otherwise nice day to spend a birthday. And Bastille Day, of course! =)

Let's Go Back In Time....

...to the day I hiked into Kennedy Meadows.

I just stumbled onto an interesting article, Stuck in the Sierra, showing up in the list of PCT News section of my blog, and--in particular--the words Fox Mill Road. That reminded me of my post Into Kennedy Meadows--in which I found some strange messages taped to posts about there being an emergency and to call Sharon's parents for help. I did nothing--seemed counter productive to scare the crap out of Sharon's parents, and anyhow, my cell phone didn't work there anyway.

But I remember the note saying something about Fox Mill Road, and it seemed a pretty bizarre coincidence to find an article that happened to mention this road. So I read the article, and it mentions Sharon and Cheater--the same names that showed up on the note! Holy cow! This is them! =) Finally, I know the whole story about those mysterious notes and what happened!

In a nutshell, they were in a truck that got stuck in sand, then eventually hiked out far enough where they got a cell phone signal themselves and called 911 for help.

Near the end of the article he writes:

We were nearing the ridge below the repeater when we were surprised to see a pair of hikers sitting beside the road – and they knew who we were. They had seen the HELP notes we left on the Pacific Crest Trail markers.

While we were talking, another hiker appeared, striding toward us. He looked neither left nor right as he powered past us and up the trail, disappearing behind a curve.

Sharon and I had seen no one for days, and right when we'd run into a pair of people, another one just happens on us. And he doesn't say a word. Doesn't he know we're in trouble? Doesn't he know that human connection can make the difference between life and death? Doesn't he?

No, of course he doesn't – his perspective is not ours. He's not in trouble, and to the casual onlooker, neither are we.

And I wonder.... could that power hiker have been me? I was hiking alone that day, so I wouldn't have been part of a pair. But no, I'm pretty sure it wasn't me. I don't remember meeting anyone with a dog that afternoon. But I do wonder which three hikers they bumped into--I probably know them. =)

Tomorrow, we'll return to our regularly scheduled Adventures on the PCT.....

Cannibalism on the Trail, With a Side of Ketchup

A two-story outhouse?!

July 13: I was the last to leave Benson Hut. Shroomer started up a small fire in the stove, and it was nice having real chairs to use. It was comfortable, and thus, I lingered....

The trail passed some ski areas, where I had to walk around a significant chunk of snow that blocked the trail. Normally, I'd just cross over the snow, but it was pushed up into a bank that dropped about 15 feet straight down on the far side, and I couldn't find any way down it. No, I had to go around the snowbank, which was a remarkably long detour for such a small section of trail being blocked by snow.
Then the trail headed downhill, faster and faster, until it hit Donner Pass--infamous for the Donner Party getting trapped in the winter snow and resorting to cannibalism. The Pacific Crest Trail did not exist at the time, of course, but it did provide some thought-provoking what-if scenarios about what we would be willing to do to survive.

The beautiful views continued in the morning!

I arrived at Highway 40 by myself and sat down on some steps of a skiing academy to eat a few snacks and rest, watching cyclists and cars whizzing over the highway. I was amazed at the number of cyclists, and couldn't help but notice the thick muscles on their legs. "I bet that would make a tasty morsel," I thought, horrified I'd even think such a thing. I need to get out of this place. It was having a bad effect on me, turning my thoughts to morbid scenarios. "I wonder what condiment goes best with human flesh?" A-1 steak sauce, I bet. Agh! I need to get out of here!

A vehicle pulled off at the parking lot, and GQ got out having hitched a ride to Soda Springs and back. He joined me on the steps, complaining about how much it cost to resupply food in Soda Springs. I had plenty of food and other supplies and had no intention of stopping to get off the trail. GQ told me that he also caught Little Engine, Plain Slice, and Shroomer heading the wrong direction at the snow bank I went around. They didn't realize that the trail actually went over the snow bank and started following a side trail to the top of the ski area thinking that was the official PCT. For the third consecutive day in a row, they got lost, and I promised to harass them about the next time I saw them. =) Nothing near as bad as the day before, but still....

I suspect civilization is getting near....

Must... do.... miles....

The trail was positively packed with day hikers. I deftly navigated around them as quickly as possible to avoid the questions I knew they would ask when they realized I had walked in all the way from Mexico. A few of the people managed to stop me with questions, however, and my progressed slowed considerably.

Just before crossing under Interstate 80, I could see a sign on the highway of the rest area at the next exit, and another one saying that the rest area was closed. Drats. I was hoping to stop at the rest area to check out their vending machine selections. A cold soda would have hit the spot. I'm glad I could see the closed sign from here, however, and didn't learn of its closure until I walked a bit off trail to get to there first.

Later in the afternoon, I realized that I was hiking too fast. I was scheduled to meet Amanda at Sierra City in two days, but at the pace I was going, I'd blow right past it. So I stopped at North Creek for a couple of hours to lay out and read a book. (A Purple Place for Dying by John D. MacDonald, if you must know.)

I continued moseying along, losing the trail again in the snow near White Rock Creek. It was only a small patch of snow, and I started following the banks of the creek upstream for the trail. After five or ten minutes, I forded the creek and started walking back in search of the trail. I knew the trail crossed this creek--I just wasn't entirely sure where. I figured if I followed the banks long enough, I'd have to find it.

Now there's an ominous sign! I think
it just applies to skiers, however. =)

As I got back close to where I lost the trail, I heard Little Engine, Plain Slice, and Fully Loaded coming up. They lost the trail too, for all of about ten seconds before Fully Loaded found where it came out from the patch of snow. I forded the creek again to join them, complaining about the snow.

Little Engine and Plain Slice took the opportunity to harass me for getting lost--revenge from my teasing about losing the trail for three hours the day before. I decided that now probably wasn't the best time to harass them about losing the trail earlier today at the ski area. Anyhow, I'd only lost the trail for all of about five minutes and was nearly about to refind it before they intervened. It's true, too. The trail followed along the creek for another minute or so before crossing on a bridge. A friggin' bridge! My cold, wet feet didn't appreciate the fact that I forded the creek twice and it turned out there was a bridge across it the whole time. But undoubtedly, had the others not shown up when they did, I would have found the trail anyhow by following along the creek. I just followed it in the wrong direction when I lost the trail, but I had already turned around again by then.

Looking down towards Donner Pass.

We stopped at the bridge to cook dinner--I usually wait until I was in camp, but I liked the company and stopped for an hour to cook dinner and chat before we pushed on.

Ultimately, we camped on a high, exposed ridge, well away from water, but the mosquitoes found the place anyhow. They were thick, but there were there in enough numbers that I felt it necessary to put on my head net and crawl down into my sleeping bag. And, I thought, it was the perfect place to watch the sunrise on my birthday the next morning. =)

The trail crosses under I-80
through this culvert.

I found this little chick sitting on the
trail. Not really sure what kind of bird
it is, though. Funhog? =)

I found this balloon hanging in the middle of the woods
from a tree. No idea why it's there or what the
special occasion was, however. It's looking a little
deflated too!

"North" Lake Tahoe

Woke up to this view in the morning. Yes, I thought,
it's going to be a good day. That's Lake Tahoe in the
background.

July 12: I woke up, on my exposed ridge, to a beautiful sunrise over Lake Tahoe. The trail quickly went back down into the trees, but it wasn't there for long before it rose back up onto another exposed ridge and I spent most of the morning and afternoon above treeline enjoying the views. Hiking in the trees gets kind of boring--I can see trees anywhere, and they all start to look the same after you've seen your ten millionth tree. The views, however, never got boring.


After an hour or two of hiking, I could see a radio tower nearby and was looking down on the north side of Lake Tahoe and was able to get a signal with my cell phone, so I gave Amanda and my mom a call to give them an update on my progress. While talking with my mom, GQ hiked past me--surprising since I thought he was ahead of me. He passed my campsite the evening before, so I know he was ahead of me at that point. He must have camped somewhere far enough off the trail that I passed him and didn't know it.

The helicopter buzzed over me on this ridge.

While talking to Amanda, a helicopter buzzed over the radio tower and followed the ridge, more-or-less the same route as the PCT, and buzzed me, probably not much more than a hundred feet above me, then circled around back towards the radio tower. It seemed like the helicopter was searching for something, and it make a few circles following the PCT or the Tahoe Rim Trail which also veered off nearby, but I never did figure out what it was doing. It was close enough that Amanda could hear the helicopter through the cell phone, though.

The ridge walking was wonderful not just for its views, but also for it's relative flatness and lack of snow. Even the ski area we went through had no snow. Once again, the trail went down a steep slope, this one covered with a sizable layer of snow and I briefly lost track of the trail. I started following footprints straight down, then stopped about halfway down. I can't explain it, but the footprints felt wrong. It seemed like there was a change in the footprints, even though I couldn't really identify exactly what it was. I looked toward the bottom of the steep slope, hoping to see a sign of the trail, but I saw nothing except for the footprints in the snow. Looking up, I could see what appeared to be a switchback to the trail perhaps 20 feet away. At that point, I knew I was still on the trail, and it looked like it did go down the slope, but it still bothered me. It just felt wrong to keep going down.

Views of Lake Tahoe in the background.

So I scrambled up the 20 feet to the proper trail, just as it left the snow. Or was it entering the snow? With as twisty as the trail was, I wasn't completely sure which direction on it was north, and a compass wasn't going to help in that regard. I decided to follow the trail away from the snow since I'd quickly lose it in the snow anyhow and see where it went. It would probably continue switchbacking down the slope, but at least I could follow it for five or ten minutes and see where it led to. Try to confirm or deny if I was actually walking in the correct direction.

The trail didn't go down the slope, however. It flattened out and started climbing again, gently. It seemed like the trail was heading in the right direction, however, but I was still uncomfortable that I might be hiking in the wrong direction. I hoped to see a trail marker to definitively confirm that I was on the right track, which, as it turned out, I was, but it would take nearly a half hour before I could be 100% certain that I was. I don't know where those footprints going down the snow led, but whoever made those, I thought, were probably quite lost.

It wasn't until I found the PCT symbol
on this tree that I could be 100% certain
that I was still on the right trail.

Near lunchtime, I caught up with Fully Loaded who was resting on the side of the trail, who told me of his misery camped in a swarm of mosquitoes. It made me feel better ditching everyone else to camp on the exposed ridge where mosquitoes were practically non-existent. About ten minutes later, GQ caught up with us again and stopped for a break as well.

After a good half-hour or so, we were packing up and getting ready to leave when Shroomer showed up behind us, thrilled about how excited he was to see us and confirm that he was actually on the Pacific Crest Trail. Then he proceeded to tell a story of misery and hardship, following footprints through a snow down a steep slope. At the end of the snow, he had trouble finding the trail, but valiantly plodded on, bushwacking and getting more and  more lost with every step.

Finally, from a distance, he could see what looked like a trail far up on the ridge and figured that must be the PCT, so he started bushwacking towards it. When he saw someone up on the ridge, he hollered out, and someone hollered back. I thought back to when I was walking along that ridge, and I vaguely remembered a faint shout far down the valley. I hadn't bothered to reply (surely it wasn't meant for me!), but now I knew--it was probably Shroomer I had heard, and it very well could have been me he saw on the ridge.

The insects seemed to be getting larger.
This one landed on my pack.

After two hours of bushwacking, Shroomer finally found a trail. He couldn't be certain it was The Trail, although he knew that it probably was, until he found Fully Loaded, GQ, and myself snacking on the side of the road.

"That was the most lost I've gotten lost on this entire trip," he told us. "Even in the High Sierras, I never got lost this badly."

Shroomer pulled out his cell phone and tried to call Little Engine and Plain Slice, to find out where they were on the trail. They didn't answer their phone--most hikers, obviously, don't leave them on for very long on the trail even when there is cell phone coverage since there's no way to recharge such devices--so he left a message about getting horribly lost for two hours and was probably far behind them.

Some of the signage has seen better days!

A few minutes later, Little Engine called back saying they had gotten even more lost, unable to reconnect with the PCT for three hours, and that they were actually behind us on the trail. But they were back on the trail and--knock on wood--back on track.

I laughed. I couldn't help it. It was those footprints in the snow. That could have easily have been me had my instincts not told me to stop following those footprints in the snow. I still don't really know what set off my alarm bells, but I'm glad I listened to them.

Near the end of the day, I pushed on to a ski hut--Bensen Hut--hoping the enclosed interior would protect me from the mosquitoes that would likely come out in force during the evening. The hut was beautiful and warm, and I laid out my gear on the upper floor for the night. Shroomer camped out in one of the beds on the bottom floor, and Little Engine and Plain Slice decided to camp in their tent outside. They spent the evening inside chatting away with the two of us, though. GQ and Fully Loaded pushed on to do a few extra miles before stopping for the night.

I found this letterbox along the way--the first
person to find it in six years! Thanks Old Blue,
but I think the box needs to be replaced!

Fully Loaded (front) and GQ (back) taking a break.

The views along the ridges were absolutely amazing!

Benson Hut, my home for the night. I slept at the
window there on the second floor. =) It was so warm
inside, I left the window open all night long.