Fire and Ice and Everything Nice

A beautiful day for a hike! Not that it was sunny. No, it was overcast and gloomy. But the temperature was crisp, cool, and invigorating. Even early in the morning, I started passing large quantities of people on the trail. Not thru-hikers, though--I wouldn't see any thru-hikers today, but it seemed like everybody and their uncle was out backpacking on this beautiful Saturday afternoon. A regular highway of people, which at first didn't bother me much, but increasingly throughout the day found myself slowed down from their constant stream of questions. It got to the point where I'd see someone up ahead of me on the trail and I'd hope I could blaze past so fast that they wouldn't have enough time to stop me with questions. Maybe I should just flat out lie and say I'm not really a thru-hiker? Or that I'm trying to catch up with some cute girl up ahead on the trail and didn't have time to talk. How would they know better?

At Jefferson Park I met another trail crew fixing all of the social trails in the area, pulling up patches of grass and plants from somewhere out of site and replacing it on the social trails to discourage their use. This was one group of people I didn't mind stopping to chat with since I had done some trail work in past years and enjoyed it. I wanted to ask my own questions about who they were, how long they were out there, and what all they planned to accomplish. =) This group was made up of volunteers from the PCTA, and they were only out for the weekend. A few of them also took a couple of cross-cut saws to cut out some blowdown on the trail nearby. Chainsaws weren't allowed since they were in a wilderness area. I was half tempted to stop for the day and start helping them! It's a good feeling to do some trail work. If you ever get the chance, I highly recommend it. I've never done any worth with the PCTA, but I have done several trips with the Washington Trails Association (and, in fact, was raising money for them through the Hike-a-Thon all month long).

Jefferson Park was absolutely breathtaking, with Mount Jefferson towering high above to one side. But I pulled myself away and continued hiking. As the trail climbed up and out of Jefferson Park, I noticed a fire plane that started to circle over Jefferson Park. Why was it circling over Jefferson Park? There was no fire there. And the noise it made was rather annoying and out of place in the wilderness. I was annoyed by it, but even more, I was worried about it. I wanted to know why it felt the need to circle around several times. It didn't seem like a good omen.

The trail reached the top of the ridge, a fantastic view with Mount Jefferson towering above just to the south and Mount Hood a bump on the horizon far to the north, and my heart sank. The PCT headed to Mount Hood, that was the direction I would be going, and directly between me and Mount Hood I saw a large column of smoke coming up from the horizon. That wildfire, I knew, was going to be a problem. My luck had finally run out.

While I knew the trail would go to Mount Hood, I also knew that the trail was never very straight, and I held a small hope that maybe the trail would zig and zag and completely miss the fire I could see ahead. The chance was there, but it seemed unlikely. Nobody I passed hiking southbound mentioned anything about a wildfire on the trail or any fire closures, though, so I still had a small sliver of hope, but the clouds seemed to turn gray to match my mood.

Weekend warriors, filling up with
water at Milk Creek

"Well," I told myself. "I suppose if there is a wildfire in your way, at least it'll give you something interesting to talk about." I've walked through wildfires before in Florida. It's not something that gives me a happy joyful feeling, but I might still be able to get through the fire if it's not too bad. If it's in the "still smoldering but largely out" phase, it wouldn't be a problem.

But I really had no idea what to expect. I heard no news about a fire on the trail, and until I could get closer to see exactly what was happening, I couldn't know if it was passable or not. Nothing to do now except keep hiking and see what happens.

Then I promptly lost the trail in a large patch of snow. The irony was not lost on me. Here it was, late August, and I've lost the trail in the snow while worrying about wildfires. I threw a few curse words at the PCT. There had been small patches of snow on the trail all month long, but never large enough that I couldn't see the trail coming back out the other side of the patch--until today. The snow was hard-packed and difficult to walk on, and I slipped and slid 15 feet down a slope.

I cussed the trail a few more times, not at all pleased about this development, but picked up the trail again about five minutes later. Compared to the High Sierras, it was nothing. But I wanted to worry about the wildfire rather than breaking my leg on a patch of snow.

The trail descended down towards Skyline Road, and as I got closer, I could smell smoke in the air. Smells like a campfire. A very, very large campfire. The wildfire was close now. I could now see individual columns of smoke rising into the air ahead rather than the large single cloud of smoke I first saw, but I didn't see flames shooting out and the wind was relatively calm so I wasn't particularly concerned about a wildfire racing up the mountain faster than I could escape it.

The scenery today was just beautiful!
Especially once the overcast skies
started to clear!

The trail went around the right side of a small hill, and I could tell that the mountain was burning. Or at least smoldering. It couldn't have been more than a few hundred feet away. If this was the worst I would see, it wouldn't be a big deal. I'd seen campfires that looked more scary than this.

I reached Skyline Road and saw yellow tape stretched out across the trail. The PCT was closed. Damn! Now what? Hastily erected signage explained that the PCT through the Olallie Lake Recreation Area was closed due to wildfires, and a hand-drawn map suggested two possible alternate routes around it--both of them long road walks that would skip about 38 miles of the official PCT.

I examined the hand-drawn map and took a photo of it so I'd have a record of it in my camera, and I pulled out my own maps to compare them to and get a better idea of what I might expect from each of the two alternatives. Both alternatives looked to be about the same distance, the first several miles overlapped, though, so I wouldn't have to commit to one or the other just then. I needed to follow Skyline Road out several miles to a larger road to the west. From that larger road, the two suggested alternate routes split. Route A appeared to be slightly shorter, but the roads also looked bigger and busier. Route B seemed slightly longer, but also looked more remote. I wanted remote and short, and neither route seemed to excel at both.

I also had another problem--my maps didn't include information about campsites or water sources along these alternate routes. I didn't have any idea if I'd be able to find a place off the side of the road to camp or how much water I needed to carry. I'd probably be able to find somewhere to camp off the side of the road, and I'd probably find water sources fairly regularly, but I couldn't know for certain. It appeared that it would add at least an extra 15 miles to my hike, so my arrival into Timberline Lodge would be delayed by half a day at least. Food wasn't a problem--I usually pack an extra day's worth of food "just in case." Usually that meant, "just in case I was feeling particularly hungry," but this time it would be because it would take a bit longer to get through this section than expected. Not a big deal on that count, but I wondered how other hikers would fare. Some people even used Olallie Lake as a maildrop. Those hikers would be in a lot more serious situation than myself!

A small creek flowed nearby so I decided to stop for dinner right now to take advantage of the unlimited water supply that I had at the moment. It also gave me time to think and plan.

Skyline Road was a primitive, dirt road, but it looked like it connected to a larger, probably paved road about six or so miles away. And the map of the fire closure looked as if Skyline Road itself was part of the fire closure. It appeared that I was already in the area illegally. Absolutely no vehicles were in the parking lot at the trailhead here. No signs of life, which would normally seem unusual given that it's next to a large, busy lake and campground. Yep, this road was part of the fire closure. I was sure of it. Just along the edge of the closure, but definitely in it. But seeing as they actually recommended that hikers walk out on the road, I doubted I'd be busted for following directions. =)

My membership dollars at work!

I finished dinner, loaded up with a lot of water since I wasn't sure where the next water source would be, and headed off down the old forest service road. Absolutely nobody was around. I expected to see the occasional fire truck or something--this was a wildfire closure, after all, but I saw nobody and no vehicles. I did see footprints on the road, so I knew there were hikers ahead of me following the detour, but I didn't know who they were or how many there were. I didn't even know how long the fire closure had been in place, and I was still a little annoyed at the southbound hikers I passed who gave me absolutely no warning about the closure.

After about five miles, I stopped and set up camp along the road, next to an old fire ring someone built in a pullout. I could have hiked a bit further, but the next road this connected to looked a lot bigger and busier and it could be challenging to find a safe, quiet place to camp there. This road was completely abandoned--even by fire personnel!--and  I could safely camp along the road itself.

The alternate routes went nearly another 50 miles before returning to the Pacific Crest Trail. I really wanted to reconnect with the PCT by the end of day tomorrow, but that was a long distance to travel in just one day, and I didn't think I could do it. I might have to stealth camp along a relatively busy road, but I felt lucky to have arrived here when I did. It was a great place to camp, and set me up perfectly to push through the rest of the road walk and reconnect with the PCT tomorrow.

Trail crew workers, pulling up plants
from one place to replant on
social trails through the meadows.

I set up camp and pulled out my maps, pouring over the details. My goal, what I really wanted to do, was get back on the PCT as quickly as possible. It was nicer than a road walk, and it was safer to hike on, and it was safer to camp on. I needed to figure out a way to get back to the Trail by the end of day tomorrow, but I still had nearly 50 miles of road walk ahead.

I pulled out my camera too--I had taken a photo of the fire closure--and noticed that Alternate Route #2 came to within a mile or so of the PCT, then followed a road parallel to it for a dozen miles. There were no roads or trails that cut from the road to the PCT, but it was completely outside of the fire closure area. And, in fact, the road did intersect the PCT about a mile south of the road closure. Maybe I could sneak through the closure--only about a mile or so--reconnect with the PCT and cut out a dozen miles of road walking? If that road was as empty as the one I was now camped on, nobody would be the wiser. If I couldn't sneak through on the road into the fire closure, maybe I could hoof it cross-country between the road and the trail just north of the fire closure? Hmm.... I didn't like the idea of going cross-country. If I slipped or hurt myself, nobody would know where to look for my body. But I just needed to follow that road for a measly little mile to reconnect to the PCT. The fire was likely burning far away from it, deep in the interior of Olallie Lake Recreation Area--not on the northern edge of the fire closure.

I guess I couldn't really make any final decision until I saw the situation myself, though. Or maybe I'd pass a person hiking southbound who could give me information about the conditions ahead?

Mount Jefferson, as seen from Jefferson Park

When I finally went to sleep, I still wasn't sure exactly what I would do the next day or what would happen, but I knew I finally decided to commit to Alternate Route #2--the one that took me within spitting distance of the PCT halfway through the reroute. Then I'd try to figure out a way to reconnect with the PCT and perhaps cut a dozen, miserable, road-walking miles off the reroute. I had a plan now, and I felt better knowing I had a plan. =) Stupid wildfires....

Mount Jefferson, with Jefferson Park below.

There are several things to note in this photo. First, the snow in the foreground. I actually don't know where the trail
was when I took this photo! It's down there somewhere, though. Second, that snow-covered peak in the distance
on the left side of the picture is Mount Hood. The trail heads in that direction. And finally, note the smoke
rising from just behind that hill in the foreground. There's a wildfire directly between me and Mount Hood. Crap!
The weather seemed to match my mood....

I zoomed into Mount Hood for this photo. And the smoke I could see from just behind that ridge
in the foreground was giving me a very bad feeling.

My uneasy feeling just went up another notch when I reached this viewpoint.
The arrow I added points to a thin line on the hillside. That's the PCT. It goes around
the right side of the smoke just below it, then around the left side of the smoke just above it.
At this point, I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, the trail was going directly through
the burning area. Crap! On the plus side, however, the trail itself did not appear to be on fire!

This was the end of the trail for me. It was time to detour off the PCT.

This hand-drawn map posted at the trail closure shows the fire closure and
provides two alternate routes that I could follow. Eventually, I decided to
follow route #2--halfway, at least. Then when I got to where road 4220 and 4690
intersected, I would figure out how to connect to the PCT a mere mile
or so away. I was currently located at the Breitenbush Lake CG at the
very bottom of the map, and would camp along the road out that follows
the fire closure boundary.

I would later learn this here turned into a crown fire and the fire closure
would be extended even further south than where I hit the detour.
I didn't know it at the time, but I was very lucky to get through when I did!

The long road walk begins. From it, I could even see another wildfire in the distance, far off to the west
of the trail. Only later would I learn that this one was burning in the Bull of the Woods Wilderness.
Fires! Fires! Everywhere!

My campsite for the night. I actually set up camp on the left side of the fire ring after finding
broken glass where I had set my pack down. Because you know, us hikers always like
another element of danger on our hikes. *sigh*

A 32nd Reason to Love Baskin Robbins

The whole town of Sisters seemed pretty laid back.
This store's hours didn't surprise me at all.

I took my time leaving town. I also still had a couple of errands to run. First I walked into town to mail some food ahead to myself at Timberline Lodge. At this point, my shoes were falling apart rapidly, but that wasn't surprising since they had close to 500 miles on them. I called my mom and asked her to ship a pair ahead to me at Timberline Lodge. Since I had to stop to pick up my mail drop anyhow, I figured I'd send a little food ahead so I wouldn't have to carry it until then.

My hotel was at the edge of town, so I had to walk about a mile to get into town, and I didn't want to carry my pack around, so I asked to leave my pack at the front desk which they didn't have a problem with. I did a little window shopping along the way, and even poked my head into a quilting store. Sisters, for those of you who aren't quilters, is famous around the world for the Sisters Outdoor Quilt Show. Who'd have thunk? This little podunk town in the middle of nowhere? So I figured at least one stop at a quilt store was necessary to get the right ambiance. =) I was also a little curious if they might have had any cross-stitching supplies tucked away in a corner somewhere. Charmin once told me that if I ever bought her the supplies, she'd make me my very own PCT National Science Trail patch, and this town seemed the most likely to be able to meet such an unusual hiker need. I didn't find any, though, not in the store I browsed. The couple of girls working there seemed remarkably unsurprised to see a seedy, homeless-looking guy walking around and browsing their store, wishing me a good morning and asking how I was doing. Or maybe they were just keeping a closer eye on me because I looked so seedy?

I didn't care, though, and looked around the shop, but as promised, the store only contained a bunch of quilting supplies. I left without buying anything.

I stopped for lunch here before leaving town.

That outdoor quilt show is so popular, the hotel I stayed at had a sign on the door with information about next year's rates and that reservations were now being taken. And they were offering a "deal" for those who made their reservation that month: They could get a room at the low low rate of $125/night--with a four night minimum! I about choked when I saw that. That's $500, and didn't even include any taxes so far as I could tell. And that was a bargain?! It didn't even include laundry facilities! Remind me never to go to Sisters during the outdoor quilt show. (Or at least not to get a motel room in Sisters during that time.)

My hunt for the post office turned out to be remarkably problematic. Now, the maps in my guidebook aren't exactly highly detailed affairs. Most of the towns we resupply in rarely have more than a couple of streets--getting lost is difficult. In this case, the post office was marked as being about one block off of the main street, and I followed it up to where I thought it was located, but found nothing. I walked around the block, knowing the post office had to be around there somewhere, but again came up empty handed. I walked around the adjacent block. Nope. And I followed Fir Street deep into a residential neighborhood, and still found no signs of a post office. I was stumped. Where the heck could it be?

I found a family walking towards a nearby playground and approached, asking if they knew where the post office was. "Oh, it moved recently. It's about two blocks east, and five or six blocks north of here. You can't miss it! It's all by itself in an otherwise empty field!"

This road sign cracks me up. It's so drivers know
that the PCT is coming up in 1/4 mile. The funny
part was that I took this photo while STANDING
on the PCT. The sign is positioned about 1/4
mile too late! If you've reach it, you've already
gone too far! =)

Well, that certainly explains my problem in finding the post office--my map was out of date. Glad I asked for directions--I'd never have found it without help. I followed the woman's directions, walked three blocks east (after two blocks, it looked like the street dead-ended a couple of blocks to the north, but the third block over the street went out for a long distance), and even from there I could see a solitary building with an American flag flying high over it. That must be it.

I packed up my food in a priority mail box and shipped it ahead to Timberline Lodge. I looked through the hiker box there but found nothing of interest. Then I headed south again and hit the library. The library was closed when I arrived, but it was scheduled to open in a few minutes. Had I not spent all that extra time looking for the post office in the wrong location, I'd have had a much longer wait to get in. When the doors opened, I snagged a computer and tried to get caught up with my e-mail and other internet goings on  for the one hour they let me use it.

On my way back to the hotel, I stopped at the Sno-Cap Drive In. I walked in, though, since I lacked a car. It must be quite good because the place was packed. I ordered the bacon cheese burger, fries, and a Pepsi. "Extra calories," I requested.

Then I returned to the hotel where I picked up my pack. It was time to hit the trail again. I was tempted to stay an extra day, but I needed to get miles in. I was still a little concerned about wildfires, and the more miles I got behind me, the less chance wildfires would get in my way.

I stepped out onto Highway 20, walked out to the edge of town just past the shopping center next to a wide, dirt shoulder where it would be easy for cars to pull over to pick me up, and stuck out my thumb. Traffic was heavy so I figured it shouldn't take long to get a ride. If, after an hour, I had failed to score a ride, I'd call for a taxi. (I picked up the phone number for one while at the hotel.) I didn't want to sit out on the side of the road all day, after all. But I didn't really expect to have any trouble getting a ride quickly.

I snapped this photo at Santiam Pass, just after
being dropped back off on the trail. Sweetest ride EVER!!!

The return trip was a bit harder to snag. The almost non-stop flow of cars meant I didn't have a chance to put my arm down, and it started growing increasingly tiring to hold it up. I tried to switch arms every five minutes to give one thumb a rest while the other worked its magic. It was exhausting! I ended up waiting through 246 vehicles this time--nearly double the number that drove past me while trying to hitch a ride into town--but in half the time. Sometimes a vehicle would drive by that I knew I had pretty much zero chance of getting a ride from, such as a UPS truck. So I'd give my thumb a rest and just wave to the driver instead. Not only did the UPS probably have rules against their drivers picking up hitchhikers, I guessed, but it probably wasn't even going to where I needed to get to. I also waved to motorcycles that drove past. I didn't want to hitch a ride on a motorcycle anyhow.

About 15 minutes after I started, I waved to a Baskin Robbins big rig truck driving by, and then it pulled over! It drove a little past me, and I was left trying to decide if it actually pulled over for me. Surely a big rig isn't going to pick me up, is it? And a big rig carrying a truck full of ice cream?! No, I couldn't be that lucky....

The driver got out and walked around to the passenger side, and I walked over to him, still not sure he could possibly be stopping just to pick me up. "I'm heading to Portland," he told me. "Where are you going?"

"Santiam Pass," I answered.

"I'm not sure where that is," he told me.

"Don't worry--it's about 15 miles up the road here, on the way to Portland." Sweet! He was really going to pick me up! In an ice cream truck!!!!

He told me that there wasn't room in front for my pack and I'd have to store it in the back of the truck, if I didn't mind. No, I didn't mind at all. He opened a door in the side of the truck and I threw my pack in. I couldn't help but notice that the back of the truck was completely empty. Not an ounce of ice cream to be seen anywhere. It was still freezing cold in the back, though.

I hopped into the cab of the truck, and we moved out. I told him what I was doing out there, and he told me about his route which started in Portland then looped south through Grants Pass, up towards Bend, and now heading back to Portland. He'd just finished doing the last of his deliveries, which explained the lack of ice cream in the back of the truck.

I didn't care anymore, though. I was thrilled just to be riding in a big rig. I'd never ridden in one before, and it wasn't some plain and boring Wal-Mart big rig or anything. This was a Baskin Robbins truck! It was an ice cream truck! =) I told the driver that as soon as I got back home to West Seattle, I was going to go to the Baskin Robbins there and have an ice cream in his honor. Turns out, he's also delivered ice cream to the store there in West Seattle, so then we started talking about that area.

He dropped me off on the trail at Santiam Pass. I went back to the register at the cache to brag about my hitching exploits and see who might have passed by while I was in Sisters, then continued my hike north.

Another hike in Sullivan's Hiking Oregon History told the strange story of a railroad line over Santiam Pass which was used by a single train that consisted of an empty boxcar drawn by mules.

Three Fingered Jack

The hike described in Sullivan's book is a bit off the PCT and I had already done it before in years past, so I had no inclination to get off trail and do it again. The story is one of my favorites, though, involving a character named Colonel T. Egenton Hogg, who fought in the Confederacy during the Civil War and served time in Alcatraz after the war as a political prisoner.

After getting out of Alcatraz, he raised money to build a railroad through the Cascades over Santiam Pass, but Portland-area interests attempted to thwart him at every turn. They bought up key properties he needed to run his railroad to Newport's harbor. So Hogg countered by announcing that Newport would not be the western terminus of his railroad--he stopped laying track at the eastern edge of Yaquina Bay and laid out Yaquina City, an entirely new town with its own harbor, then bought a steam-driven ocean liner christened the SS Yaquina City and scheduled regular sailings to San Francisco.

Hogg's franchise required that he complete the Cascade crossing before he could claim a federal land grant across Eastern Oregon, and the success of his plans hinged on getting that free federal land. Time and money, however, were running short. In December of 1887, his steamship ran aground at the mouth of Yaquina Bay. Everybody on board was rescued, but the bar's surf pounded the ship into splinters. Sabotage seemed likely, but there was no proof. Insurance covered the loss, but in the meantime, he would have no income from his train to Yaquina City, and did not have the money to complete the final 43 miles of track over the Cascade Summit. And without a train at the Cascade summit, he'd lose his federal land grant.

So he threw his resources into one last, daring gamble. He abandoned the North Santiam track where it stood unfinished near present-day Detroit to build a completely unconnected section of track over Santiam Pass. Hundreds of mule-drawn supply wagons set up a makeshift camp at Big Lake, and over a thousand men built 11 miles of track across the summit around Hogg Rock. Other workers in Albany disassembled a boxcar, packed the pieces into wagons, and hauled it up the pass. There the car was reassembled on the deadend rail line and pulled back and forth along the track by mules.

At this point, Hogg brazenly informed government officials that he had fulfilled the terms of his franchise: the Oregon Pacific Railroad was in fact running a train across the Cascade Range. (Nevermind that the railroad connected to nothing and was drawn by mules.) It looked like Hogg's bluff might pay off.

Until.... a tug that was helping to maneuver Hogg's newly built steamship across the Newport bar when the towing cable suddenly snapped. The SS Yaquina Bay ended her maiden voyage by drifting to rest beside her derelict sister ship, where she too was smashed by the surf.

The wreck mirrored the previous shipwreck so precisely that few people believed it could be a coincidence, but still, there was no proof that the cables had been sabotaged or that his Portland rivals were responsible. And this time, insurance did not cover the loss. Within months, the Oregon Pacific Railroad defaulted on its interest payments to bondholders, and that was the end of that. The old railroad grade over Santiam Pass was never connected to anything and abandoned, and parts of it are still visible today.

But it was back to the PCT for me. The trail went past Three-Fingered Jack, and I set up camp in a large open area with good winds and NO bugs for the night, after completing just over 15 miles. I could see one wildfire in the distance to the north, but it looked like it was well west of the trail so it seemed unlikely to be a problem. Life was good....

So what's your favorite Baskin Robbins flavor? =)

Mount Jefferson in the distance. I expected to reach
this mountain tomorrow. You can see a little of the smoke
from wildfires on the horizon around the base of the mountain.
(At least you could before I shrunk the photo here.)

You can see the smoke rising from the hills in this photo. I'd been keeping my eyes open for fires north
of me on the trail, and this one was north, but it was far west of Mount Jefferson so I figured it was
well off the PCT and wouldn't be any trouble. =) None of my smoke photos turned out very
well, though. This was the best I could get.

A lot of burned areas along this section of trail. Definitely no problem with wildfires here anymore!

Late in the day, time to start looking for a place to camp!

Home, sweet, home. =)

To Sisters!

McKenzie Pass. You can see part of Craig's original
wagon road just to the right of today's highway.

What a fabulous day! I had a couple of things to look forward to today. I woke up to a beautiful, clear sky, just south of McKenzie Pass--another location mentioned in Hiking Oregon's History. This particular hike describes the Dee Wright Observatory and an old wagon road over the pass, but the hike itself is on the PCT itself, hiking north out of the McKenzie Pass.

I arrived at McKenzie Pass and hiked the quarter mile up Highway 242 to the Dee Wright Observatory--a beautiful stone structure with viewpoints pointing out the distant mountains. The location was off the PCT, and I didn't really expect much, but it was a mere quarter mile off the trail so I figured why not? Not like I'd be doing a ten-mile hike out and back like I did yesterday!

The observatory was far more impressive and interesting than I ever imagined, though, and signs explained the geology around the area. It doesn't take a geologist to know we were located on a relatively recent lava flow. Vegetation was all but non-existent, and the hardened lava cooled and solidified into a desolate red vastness. I imagined it looked much like terrain on Mars--not that I have an experience hiking on Mars or anything. It was this very lava field that made Scott decide to route his wagon road south over Scott Pass (following today's Scott Trail, which I hiked yesterday).

The road over McKenzie Pass was created several years later by John Templeton Craig who felt the lower elevation of this pass was better. He chipped a road through the ragged lava and opened a toll road in 1872, charging two dollars for a wagon, one dollar for a horseback rider, ten cents for cattle, and a nickle per sheep.

Craig believed so strongly in his road, that he insisted it could be kept open, even in winter. When a post office opened in Camp Polk on the east side of the pass, Craig bid for and won the contract to shuttle mail across the pass all year round.

It was just after Christmas of 1877 when Craig shouldered his mailbag and set out, alone and on skis, never to return. Blizzards turned back rescue efforts six weeks later. A second search party found his frozen remains, wrapped in a quilt, at a shack he had built at McKenzie Pass. Why he died is still a mystery. Had he been unable to find firewood? Was he unable to start a fire? Was he overcome with an illness? Nobody knows for sure, but he was later buried two miles west alongside Highway 242, the route that he pioneered and championed.

Looking back at the Three Sisters

The county bought the road and eliminated the toll in 1898. The state took over in 1917 and built the present day highway--the first paved road across the Cascades. Even today, the winter snows cause problems, and snowplows give up trying to clear the highway by about Thanksgiving.

And every year since the early 1930s, cross-country skiers assemble for the John Craig Memorial ski race across McKenzie Pass. On a weekend in early spring, hundreds of skiers set off on the snow-buried highway. In the Craig tradition, they carry letters twenty-two miles across the pass. Racers compete for speed, but they are also careful to protect their mail, stamped in the Sisters post office with a commemorative cancellation mark prized by collectors.

I followed the half-mile Lava River Trail through the lava field, completely alone except for the occasional car that would drive by. Most thru-hikers going into Sisters hitch a ride from this pass into town, but I had decided to try my luck at the next pass and was now glad of that. I could count on one hand the number of cars that drove past. It could take a long time to hitch a ride with that kind of traffic flow!

Inside the Dee Wright Memorial Observatory
The little hole to the right of the window is
aimed at South Sister, if I remember correctly.
The observatory had several of those holes aimed
at prominent points on the horizon.

The other reason I decided to continue on was that my pack was practically empty of food, and I decided the idea of doing the next ten miles with a very light pack was far better than to come back with a heavy pack loaded down with food. If I was completely out of food, I might have tried to hitch a ride out of necessity. But there was no necessity, so I walked back to the PCT and continued on. I noticed that the PCT followed the original path chipped out of the lava by Craig for a short ways, parallel to today's highway. It seemed a shame they didn't put up a sign by the old road bed at this location. Most thru-hikers passing by will likely ever know the story behind it.

The trail climbed upward, and the walking was difficult on the ragged, volcanic rock. There was one short section that delved into trees, the only trees for miles around, where the lava flow went around both sides of a larger hill. (The signs at the observatory explained and illustrated this.)

Late in the morning, I passed a momentous milestone: two thousand miles. I had hiked two thousand miles since leaving the Mexican border. There's no sign to mark the location, so when I reached a point I thought was likely the right location, I wrote 2000 in the mud with my trekking pole (the ground was still wet from the rainstorm two nights before) and took photos. I considered making a more permanent marker with rocks, twigs, or pinecones, but I was feeling lazy and there wasn't much of any of those materials around anyhow. And anyhow, for all I knew, someone else might have created 2000 mile markers further up along the trail. By now, depending on the maps one used, the 2000 mile mark could be anywhere within the next five to ten miles.

View from the top of the observatory. (You can see the
half-mile long trail I hiked to the left of the highway.)

I arrived at Santiam Pass and Highway 20 early in the afternoon. Trail magic was left in an ice chest near the road, and I went ahead and enjoyed its contents and signed the register with it before going up to the road and try to hitch a ride.

This road was significantly busier than McKenzie Pass, and I figured it shouldn't take long to get someone to offer me a ride. Just the sheer numbers of people driving by would almost guarantee a ride fairly quickly. I set my pack down by my feet, but kept my trekking pole out as each car drove by. I didn't know if the trekking pole would help or not, but I figured it didn't hurt and maybe it would help identify me as a real hiker rather than a homeless person or wacko for being out in the middle of nowhere. And since I had nothing better to do while standing in the sun, I counted each of the cars driving by.

After about a half hour, precisely 134 cars drove by, before cars #135 and #136 pulled off on the side of the road about a quarter mile past me. Clearly, the two cars were traveling together, and clearly they didn't pull over to pick me up since they had already drove a quarter mile past me before they stopped. I figured one needed to stop for some reason or another (maybe to pee, maybe to talk to the people in the other car, or whatever). I watched the figures exit their cars and start conversing a bit, and I considered walking up there to ask if I could get a ride into Sisters. It's a lot harder for people to say no right to your face than it is to drive by at a high rate of speed. But I also didn't want to walk the quarter mile up the road just to be told that no, they wouldn't give me a ride.

Mount Washington is getting closer. The snow-covered
mountain in the back is Mount Jefferson.

Then I noticed one of the figures waving--seemingly at me. Hmm.... Surely they couldn't be waving at me? Well, I figure, there's nothing to lose by walking over and see what's going on. I picked up my pack and walked to the cars. It took a good five minutes or so to reach them--I wasn't going to run with my heavy pack on, that's for sure! And when I arrived, they offered me a ride the 15 miles into Sisters. I was thrilled!

The guy in one car seemed hesitant about hiking up a hitchhiker, but his friend tried to explain, "He has a trekking pole! It's a hiker! We have to pick up hikers!" (And I was sooo glad I was standing around with my trekking pole visible!) They were driving out to Bend, and would be passing directly through Sisters. Yes! I hopped into one of their vehicles and was on my way into town.

I had them drop me off at Rays Supermarket. I didn't know where I'd be spending the night, but I knew I needed groceries, so I figured I'd start at the supermarket. There I bumped into Red Head, Just Dave, and Double D--the first time I'd seen them since we parted ways at the empty water cache, and I finally heard that they had decided to take the alternate route. They got a ride into town from McKenzie Pass, so I was still ten miles or so ahead of them on the trail. Red Head was planning to meet his sister and was trying to coordinate things there. While chatting, one of the employees at Rays came out and gave all of us extra donuts. Sweet! They were so friendly out there. =) A customer leaving the store talked us up a bit, an older lady, who asked if there was anything she could do for us. I didn't need anything, but the rest of them managed to score a ride to where they were supposed to meet Red Head's sister.

I did it! Two thousand miles!!!

I did my grocery shopping, then hoofed over next door to the Sisters Inn and Suites where I checked in. I asked about laundry facilities and were told they had none on the premises, but that there was a laundromat further into town. It was fairly late in the afternoon by this point, and walking a mile into town to do laundry didn't appeal to me, though, so I washed my clothes in the bathtub instead, then hung my clothes to dry all over the room. =) I'd been carrying those little packets of laundry detergent that can be used to wash things in the sink, but I had far too many clothes and too much dirt to rely on a sink. And I had three of the little packets I'd been carrying ever since the Mexican border. No more! Nope, I'd use them all to wash my clothes in the bathtub.

Then I flipped on the television to get the latest news. The weather forecast was generally pleasant. Wildfires, it seemed, were burning out of control all over the place ever since the lightning storm a couple of days before. I'd seen a lot of smoke on the horizons--ahead of me, behind me, on both sides of me--and occasionally a fire plane flying overhead, so I paid close attention to those wildfire reports, trying to figure out if any of them were burning on the PCT, but the closest ones I could identify from the evening news were burning in Warm Springs Indian Reservation, but even those were far to the east of where the trail passed. I was in the clear. So far. *whew*

And finally, I hit the sack. 2010.0 miles done, 646.2 miles to the Canadian border. I was practically done! =)

Flowers in a burn area just before Santium Pass

Trail magic!

Santium Pass

From left to right, Double D, Red Head, and Just Dave,
talking with a trail angel who would give them a ride later.

Washing clothes in the bathtub. "But!" I hear you thinking,
"if all your clothes are in the bathtub, what are you wearing?"
That's right--nothing! I took this photo while I was buck naked! =)

The Calm After the Storm

The sunrise after the storm. Nice campsite, as long as
there's no lightning around! =)

August 18: Given the drenching downpour from the night before, I was kind of surprised to wake up to clear, beautiful skies. All of my gear was still damp--at least the stuff that wasn't just plain wet--but as long as the sun stayed out, it would be easy enough to dry.

I had a new worry to think about as well: lightning-caused wildfires. There was certainly plenty of it the night before, but I hoped the rain put out any fires that otherwise might have caused me problems further up the trail. I didn't see any sign of smoke or fires anywhere, though. I hoped it would stay that way.

I caught up with several more thru-hikers during the day but mostly hiked alone. Danny asked about some of the hikers I had passed, but I didn't even know I passed them since they had gotten off the trail at Elk Lake Resort. They had been planning to get back on the trail the same day, but if they were smart, they stayed overnight and out of the rain. I also passed a lot of weekend backpackers which rather surprised me. If I was a weekend backpacker, I would have quit and come back when there wasn't a murderous thunderstorm passing through. There were a lot of idiots on the trail, and I included myself in that count. =)

Later in the afternoon, I did see smoke rising from the forests in the distance to the east and south of me. I guessed they were lightning-caused wildfires, but the one to the east was far off the trail and the one to the south was well behind me, so neither of them worried me.

Sisters Mirror Lake, with steam rising from the water.
I just love watching water do that in the morning!

The day's hike was largely uneventful, but I had an idea that I might take a slight detour of the official PCT: Scott Trail. You've probably never heard of Scott Trail, but I read about in Hiking Oregon's History, and noticed that it intersected the PCT up ahead. It was an out-and-back hike, not a loop or an alternate to the PCT. It would be 8.4 extra miles of hiking that would not get me a single step closer to Canada. It was an insane thought for a thru-hiker, to deliberately waste time doing a side trail that would not get one closer to Canada, but I felt I had the time. And, I justified, it would add to my Hike-a-Thon miles for the month (which now numbered about 400 miles).


My expectation was that I'd get into the town of Sisters tomorrow regardless of whether or not I took the side trail. If I took it, I'd have to do about 20 miles to get into Sisters tomorrow--late afternoon. If I skipped it, I'd have to do a little over 10 miles to get into Sisters tomorrow--late morning. No matter what, I was getting into Sisters, and I intended to spend the night no matter what time I arrived. So while most of the time taking an 8.4 mile side trip would just mean 8.4 miles of PCT I'd have to make up later, this 8.4 miles actually would not slow my PCT time down at all--just the time I got into Sisters. Still, it was a completely unnecessary 8.4 miles, so I justified it as being for a good cause: the Hike-a-Thon. =)

Scott Trail is named for Captain Felix Scott who hired 50 men to build a road from Eugene over the Cascades in 1862. When these road builders neared McKenzie Pass, the biggest obstacles were lava and snow. The lowest route through the mountains--McKenzie Pass--crossed miles of jagged lava rock. Scott decided to route his road a few miles south, skirting the lava fields to a high notch he dubbed Scott Pass. The downside, of course, was that Scott's route climbed a thousand feet higher along the shoulder of North Sister and was much steeper and crossed more snow.

One of the hired hands, John Templeton Craig, favored the lower route and vowed to return someday opening a lower route that crossed the lava fields. Years later, he did just that, and Scott's route was abandoned, and today it survives as Scott Trail and a path into the Three Sisters Wilderness.

I had never done this particular hike before, and here it was, literally intersecting the trail I was hiking. I'd be hiking the trail in reverse compared to the directions in the book, starting at the PCT and hiking to the trailhead then back. Naturally, the book describes the hike assuming you start at the trailhead, hike to the PCT, and back. It's described as a "difficult" 8.2 miles with 1400 feet of elevation gain. I had a feeling our definition of "difficult" was quite different, however. Even though I had already hiked 20 miles, I could still do it.

The Three Sisters Wilderness was spectacular!
This is the South Sister, if I remember correctly.

Besides following this old historic wagon road, the trail would also pass by a Four-In-One Cone, four small volcanoes that erupted so closely together along a fault line that their crater rims touch. Not only would this side trip be a history lesson, but it would also be a geology lesson. I was sold! =)

Next, I had to do something with my pack. There was absolutely no reason in the world I should carry it 4.1 miles down to the trailhead then 4.1 back to the PCT. My biggest concern leaving it behind was that bears and other animals might try to get into it for the food. So I scouted around for a tree to hang my food from.

There was a little controversy about a comment I made back in the High Sierras about sleeping with my food at night, and now seems like a good time to explain my thoughts about bears and food. I'm convinced that the absolutely best way to protect one's food from bears is to not leave it unattended. In all of my years of backpacking, I've met a lot of people who've told me about an instance of a bear getting into their food. The one thing in common in every single case was that they had left their food unattended. Most of the time, they hung their food bags in a tree and a bear had all night to figure out how to get it down and did so. In a couple of cases, someone left their pack at a shelter on the AT went off for several minutes to get water and came back to find a bear pawing through their pack. Regardless of the circumstances, though, in every single case when a bear got into someone's food, it was because the food was left unattended.

Although the storm was over, the
trail was still quite wet in places.

Most thru-hikers just sleep with their food, and never have I met someone who's been attacked by a bear because of this. Even though this is probably a hundred times more common than hanging food from a tree, nobody I've met has ever described a bear problem to me from doing this. So I've concluded that people who hang their food from trees are probably a hundred times more likely to have it stolen by bears than people who sleep with their food.

In theory, hanging food from a tree sounds good. In practice, it doesn't work out so well. First, you need the Perfect Tree. You'll see diagrams of the Perfect Tree describing how to hang a food bag. The lowest branch is high off the ground, and stretches out far from the tree trunk. The tree is always symmetrical and healthy, full of leaves and probably squirrels. And in all my years of hiking and thousands of miles of foot travel, I have never seen a Perfect Tree. Plenty of Adequate Trees, perhaps, but never a Perfect Tree. And many times, trying to find an Adequate Tree can be difficult. In high passes, there might only be stunted trees around or none at all. In burn areas, you might end up in a forest full of trunks with no branches. And even in a healthy, growing forest, it can sometimes be difficult to find a tree with branches high enough off the ground, far away from other trees with low branches, that has a branch stretching far away from the trunk of the tree.

So usually, what ends up happening, is that people find an okay tree and think, "Well, that will have to be good enough." Bears love this. So naive backpackers hang their food bag, far away from camp and people like they've been trained to do, and give the bears all night long to figure out a way to get into the food bag.

And lest you think I'd seen the last of the snow,
patches of it could still be found on the trail
on occasion. Nothing serious, but still annoying!

I'm big enough to admit: I've had no training on hanging food from trees. I've had almost no experience doing it. And I'm smart enough to know that I'd probably do a pretty miserable job of it. So I don't like to hang my food bags. The few times I have done it, I'm nervous all night long that a bear is getting into it and laughing at my expense.

Bears, however, are like burglars. They don't want a confrontation with a large, two-footed mammal. That's why millions of people can hike through the woods and almost never see a bear even though they may be all over the place. And bears also know that even if you are asleep, trying to get a food bag that's being used as a pillow will lead to a confrontation. It's true that a bear will win any confrontation--but here's the thing: They don't seem to know that! And frankly, even if they do try to get the food bag anyhow, they aren't looking to kill you. They just want the food.

Some areas have known bear problems, and I might be a little more concerned about sleeping with my food in those locations. But where bears do tend to turn into problems, the park authorities invariably have set up bear boxes or bear poles to keep your food safe, and I will happily use those every opportunity I get. Hanging a bag of food from a tree isn't idiot-proof, but bear boxes and bear poles generally are. And if bears are a problem in an area, I certainly don't want to be sleeping with my food. So it's rather convenient that whenever I am in a location with bear problems, I have a safe, effective method to store it.

Obsidian Falls, one of the few waterfalls
to be seen on the trail.

For those who still want to chastise me for not hanging my food bags from trees--consider this: That method of food storage is considered so ineffective, so bad, that in the High Sierras, they actually require people to carry bear canisters. They don't want us hanging our food bags at all! It's pretty remarkable to me that the park authorities will actually admit that they don't want people hanging their food bags from trees because it doesn't work. On the Sierra National Forest website, I found this interesting piece of literature:

If you choose to store your food using this technique, consider it only a delaying tactic. Be prepared to actively defend your food and repeatedly scare bears out of your camp through the night. Without this negative reinforcement, bears will figure out a way to get your counter-balanced food - some bears will go so far as to literally chew the branch off the tree to get at food bags.

I bolded some of my favorite sections of the paragraph. Let's see, I'm expected to actively defend my food and scare bears out of  my camp. That's exactly what I do when I sleep with my food. Except that bears have never even tried to get my food in the first place. I'm not convinced that that would happen if I hung my food bag, nor am I convinced that I'd wake up in the night just as a bear was trying to get my food to scare it off.

Unfortunately, in this litigious society, people are more interested in recommending bad food storage practices that "guarantee" people's safety than good food storage practices that "in theory" could cause serious injury or death, which is why I think people are brainwashed into always hanging their food bags from trees.

Obsidian could be found all over the place here.
The falls were well named! =)

So, needless to say, I am not a big fan of hanging my food bags from trees. The only time I'd even consider it is if I leave my food unattended. Fortunately, I rarely have any reason to do so. =) Even when I go a tenth of a mile off trail to get water, I'll usually take my pack with me just to make sure no bears (or other animals for that matter) get into my pack. I will leave it behind if other hikers are around, however, since it wouldn't be unattended then.

That said, I also did not want to carry my pack 8.4 miles round-trip on the Scott Trail, and there was nobody on the PCT to leave my pack with, nor were their any bear boxes, bear poles, and nor did I have a bear canister available. I only had two options to protect my food: Hanging it from a tree, or taking it with me. And despite my misgivings about hanging my food, the idea of carrying that distance was even less appealing. I decided to take my chances and hang my food.

The trail junction with the Scott Trail was in a meadow, and there were very few trees to choose from, but I found one that looked promising up the side of a hill and went to work. I attached a rock to a rope and threw it over a branch, which almost came back and hit me in the face as it cleared the branch, swung down the other side, and it's momentum carried back right at my head. I was thinking about my distaste for hanging food bags, but it hadn't even occurred to me that the practice could actually be dangerous!

The lava fields near North Sister.

I attached my pack to the end of the rope, pulled the other side hard, and the branch bowed down while my pack stayed put on the ground. Hmm.... That's no good.... I continued pulling the rope figuring eventually the tension in the branch would overcome the weight of my pack. Instead, the rope slid off the end of the branch and I was back at square one. *grrr*

I threw the rope over the branch again, this time a little closer to the trunk of the tree so the branch couldn't flex so much that the rope would slide off. I tied the pack on again, pulled the other side of the rope, and... nothing happened. The pack just sat there. Apparently, I'm such a weakling, that I couldn't pull the rope hard enough to overcome the weight of the pack and the friction of the rope against the branch.

I picked up my pack, holding the other end of the rope taught, then tried to throw my pack as high into the air as I could while keeping the rope taught. This got it just high enough that I could scratch the bottom of my pack by jumping for it. I tried pulling the rope as hard as I could, wrapping it around my hands and putting my full weight on it, but the pack wouldn't go any higher. "It'll have to do," I thought. Famous last words....

I also wasn't happy with how close to the trunk of the tree that the pack was located. It was probably two feet away from the tree. Surely a bear who climbed the tree trunk could reach out and get it easy. But if I hung the pack further out on the branch, it would just slide off completely.

This unexpected view caused me to lose my breath for a bit!
From here I could see (from left to right) :
Three Fingered Jack, Mount Washington,
Mount Jefferson, Mount Hood, and--I think, faintly and
barely discernible--Mount Adams off in the distance.
You can barely see a tiny bit of white to the left of Jefferson in
this photo--that would be Mount Hood. Mount Adams
won't even show up for me when I blow up the photo.
It's just too small and too far away.

I started seriously considering just carrying the pack down the Scott Trail. At least then I knew my food would be safe. I felt absolutely certain that if a bear wanted to get my pack, he'd have no trouble at all. I started doing the math in my head, figuring it would take about 2 hours to hike 8.4 miles if I hike hard (and especially without the weight of the pack to slow me down). What were the chances that a bear would find my pack and pull it down in the next hour and a half? Probably not much. It wasn't even the time of day bears were normally out and about either. I'll just take my chances, cross my fingers, and hope for the best. It was a stupid thing to do, but I really didn't want to carry a heavy pack 8.4 miles and end up right where I started.

I had stuffed some snacks and my camera into my waist pack and carried a Nalgene bottle with water for the trek. I didn't want to go completely empty-handed down the Scott Trail! And I was off.

I hiked fast and hard. The whole time, I was worried about my pack and its precarious location in that tree. The sooner I got back, the sooner it would be safe. At first, the views from the trail were spectacular! From the wide-open space near Four-In-One Cone, the North Sister stood stall and proud. The trail did cross a couple of small sections of lava--this higher route wasn't able to avoid the lava fields completely--and the large hunks of volcanic rock jumbled in piles looked lifeless yet hypnotic. I didn't stop to admire it, though, I needed to rush. I needed to get back to my pack as quickly as possible.

About halfway down the trail, it dived into the trees at which point the scenery became exceedingly boring. I was determined to hike all the way out to the trailhead, though, and pushed on. It was hard to tell that a wagon road every went through this area, but occasionally I would notice an unnaturally large gap, a line where large trees didn't seem to grow, and I assumed that must have been the wagon road once upon a time. But I pushed on.

This post marked my departure from the
PCT onto the Scott Trail.

I reached the trailhead at Highway 242 after about 1.5 hours of hard hiking. I was confused and tired. As fast as I hiked, as hard as I hiked, considering the fact that I was hiking downhill and without the weight of my pack slowing me down, how was it possible that it took me one and a half hours to cover just 4.1 miles? Going uphill certainly would take just as long if not longer. I only expected this side trip to take me two hours, and it was on pace for a full three hours. Ugh. I wished I never made the decision to follow this stupid trail.

I took a photo of Highway 242, proof that I really made it that far, I guess, since there's absolutely nothing interesting about the location, turned around without taking a rest, and headed back up towards the PCT.

On the way back, I crossed paths with a day hiker. I had passed him earlier on the way down, calling out hello as I tore down the hill but not stopping to talk. I didn't have time to talk. On the way back up, when I passed him again, I did stop briefly to catch my breath and introduce myself more properly. I also mentioned that the Sullivan book described the distance between the PCT to the trailhead as 4.1 miles, but I told him, "There's absolutely no friggin' way that it was only 4.1 miles." It felt like five, at least.

The man pulled out his own map--he was also using Sullivan's book as his guide, and had the same map I did. Except that his map described a hike to Four-In-One Cone and back which was 8.4 miles. And that's when I finally figured out what had happened. The distance between Four-In-One Cone and the PCT wasn't included in the mileage at all. The distance I was actually doing was a full 10.0 miles--nearly 20% longer than I anticipated. I swore under my breath.

How not to hang a pack from a tree,
but I did it anyhow. =)

I made it back to the PCT three hours after I left it, looking for my pack in the trees from across the meadow, but didn't see it. I hoped that was a good thing--at least I didn't see pieces of gear scattered across the meadow. I made it to the grove of trees, and found my pack hanging exactly where I left it, undisturbed. Whew. I finally sat down and rested--I hadn't stopped to rest since I left and was absolutely exhausted.

I was now further back on the PCT than I had anticipated as well, and I was starting to worry if I could make it to Sisters by the next day. I knew I could reach the trailhead tomorrow, but Sisters was 15 miles off trail. I needed to hitch down, and if I got there near dark or after dark, trying to get a hitch would be difficult.

So I started out again, a little frantic to get as many miles in today as possible. I set my sights on a location about five miles away, which, if I did my math right, would mean I'd have hiked 35.0 miles for the day--a new best! But I had to hustle. The sun was already getting low in the sky.

I arrived at the north junction with the Oregon Skyline Trail a little after sunset, setting up camp in the trees, and completely exhausted after completely 35.0 miles. Even if 10.0 of those miles was without my pack, that was still a long distance, and I was proud of myself for doing it. Thirty-five miles--point zero!--was such a nice, pretty round number. =)

Highway 242 isn't particularly interesting.

I started tabulating my miles for the Hike-a-Thon on the little sheet I had to fill out when I discovered an error in my math. I had only hiked 34.4 miles. $^*#! I felt cheated. If I hadn't already unpacked all my gear and settled in for the night, I would have hiked an extra 0.6 miles in the dark just to get a round 35.0 miles for the day. I consoled myself, though, with the thought that 34.4 miles was still a new personal best for myself, and I'd likely have plenty of other opportunities to hike 35.0 (or more!) miles in a single day. I didn't know it then, but this would actually be my single longest day on the trail. I never did do a 35.0 mile day.

And with that, I went to sleep.

Four-In-One Cone wasn't as visually impressive to
me (you see the side of it on the left) as the wide open
lava fields near it!

When you see shadows this long on the trail,
you know sunset is fast approaching!