The Russian Wilderness

Some of the cairns along the trail are remarkably intricate!

August 2: I started the day early, hoping to finish nearly 25 miles of hiking by 5:00. I had told Amanda I'd try to be at Etna Summit by then, and I didn't want to disappoint her by being late! If I could get there earlier, even better.

Nearly an hour into my hike, I saw a hiker camped on the side of the trail. From a distance, I couldn't tell who it was and planned to hike through without stopping, until I found a note on the trail saying, "Say hi to Charmin!" with an arrow pointing down to the camp. I was still inclined to hike by without stopping, but it seemed rude to do so--our friendship might have been strained, but we were still friends.

So I stopped to say hi. Charmin seemed happy to see me, but at the time, I think she would have been happy to see anyone. I think she was severely lonely hiking by herself. So much so, she'd even drop notes on the trail asking whatever passing stranger to stop and say hi. We talked for a few minutes catching up on nothing of importance, and I told her about my rush to get to Etna Summit by 5:00. She said her shins were hurting so she wasn't moving particularly fast, but that she didn't think she had shin splits anymore. It didn't hurt bad enough to be shin splints, she decided. In another era, I might have slowed down to hike with her a bit, but not now--not today--so I waved farewell and continued on alone.

The Russian Wilderness had more spectacular views.
You can see the PCT running through the upper-right
corner of the photo. I think the rock in the middle
looks like Boris Yeltsin, don't you? =)

The trail wound its way through more spectacular scenery--it seemed stunning to me that I could grow up in California and have no idea how amazing this part of the state was. How have I missed it all these years? The trail left the Trinity Alps Wilderness, eventually heading into the Russian Wilderness--a name I particularly liked--with visions of spies wearing fur coats and watching me while they downed a bottle of vodka. That's what Russians do, right?

My iPod had finally run out of juice the day before, so I had to entertain myself by humming Mr. Blue Sky and Walking on Sunshine, and the James Bond theme. They all seemed perfect for the day.

Near the end of the day, I crossed paths with two southbound hikers that looked vaguely familiar. Then I remembered them--Sandals and Sheep Dog. I met them twice before, very briefly. The first time was in Agua Dulce at the Saufleys, and the second time was just beyond Walker Pass. They told me that they wanted to avoid the snows in the High Sierras and planned to jump ahead to Cascade Locks and start hiking southbound as soon as they reached Kennedy Meadows. I expected to pass them long before now, however, and assumed they either got off the trail completely or that we passed each other in a trail town without knowing it. But here they were.

Turns out, they actually started a little further north than they told me earlier. They started from Trout Lake, a good hundred miles over the border in Washington, and already hiked the entire Oregon section. The snow, they declared, had been terrible. Especially around Mount Hood. They also told me that, so far, they'd only passed about 20 thru-hikers ahead of me. "You are definitely closer to the front of the pack than the end of it," they told me. I always had some sense of where I was among the pack of thru-hikers, but it was always more of a gut feeling. Early on in the hike, I felt like I was near the back of the pack. By the time I reached Lake Tahoe, I felt like I was in the middle of the pack. Now that hikers seemed to be less common and more and more hikers stopped in various trail towns for a day of rest while I pushed on, I suspected I was closer to the front of the pack. But I never knew how close to the front of the pack, nor how many hikers were ahead of me. For the first time, I had a rough estimate. I was probably in the front 10% of thru-hikers.

The trail was often times visible for miles in the distance!

I arrived at Etna Summit at about 4:00, a full hour early, and Amanda wasn't there yet. I didn't really expect her to be, but I hoped she would be. I spent the next half hour chatting with a fellow sitting in his car, waiting to pick up a couple of friends who were slackpacking the PCT. Or at least as much of it as they could. They were from the Seattle area and had already slackpacked all of Washington and Oregon over the last several years, and were now working their way down into California. He asked about snakes on the trail, and I told him they weren't a big deal. I'd only seen about 30 of them the whole distance, and the vast majority of them were in the deserts south of the Sierras. He was stunned--stunned!--by the huge number.

It turns out that him and his friends he was waiting for were petrified of snakes after the fellow I talked with had been bitten by one years before. He showed me a long scar on his leg--a long, ugly scar that resembled a snake--that he said was the result of a snake bite. Woah! I had no idea a snake bite could leave a scar like that!

Turns out, that's not why he had the scar. One of his hiking buddies though it would be a good idea to cut a nick by the snake bite to help the venom bleed out and ended up hitting an artery or something--a classic case of the cure being worse than the disease. Eventually he got medical attention before he bleed to death, but ever since, he'd had a particularly strong fear of snakes. Me? "I think I'd be more afraid of well-intentioned friends trying to save me from a snake bite," I told him, "rather than the snake bite itself!"

His two buddies arrived, and they offered to give me a ride into Etna about 15 miles down the road. I wanted to accept the offer, but I was afraid I'd miss Amanda driving up the road as I was going down it and without a cell phone signal to call her at the summit, I didn't want to risk it.

I found a little patch of shade by the road and sat down to await Amanda's arrival.

Threatening-looking clouds were starting to blow in,
but the rain managed to hold off for me--although I
did see some in the distance behind me.

Charmin arrived at 5:00 on the nose and sat down nearby where we chatted some more. She seemed pleased with herself to have made it this far on her aching legs so quickly. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I'd already been there for an hour, and that was after I took a 45 minute break for lunch when I realized I was hiking too quickly.

About ten minutes later, Amanda arrived. She offered a cold soda from the cooler, and we took Charmin's trash. Charmin didn't intend to resupply in Etna, we we waved goodbye and Amanda and I went back down into town. I didn't know it at the time, but it would be the last time I'd see Charmin. Our paths would never cross again along the rest of the trail.

Etna was a small town whose sidewalks had already been rolled up for the afternoon, and since we had a rental car to travel further afield, we continued through on to Yreka--a much better town for resupplying--checked into a Motel 6, and I took my first shower since Old Station, then headed off to Black Bear Diner for dinner. Yum, yum! =)

It's August--and I'm still running into patches of
snow on the trail!? GIVE ME A BREAK!!!!

Amanda poses with a bear at the
Black Bear Diner.

What's Another Word for SPECTACULAR?

Another beautiful sunrise on the trail.
It's almost becoming too predictable!

August 1: I woke up to another beautiful clear morning in California. My journal entry complains about having run out of adjectives to describe the spectacular views well above tree line. Perhaps I need to add a thesaurus to my backpacking kit to keep these journal entries interesting and fresh! =)

Today was also the first day of August and, therefore, the first day of the WTA's Hike-a-Thon. I was pretty sure I'd set some August 1st records since I planned to hike a minimum of 30 miles. My fourth 30+ miles day in the last five days. (The one day I didn't get 30 miles, of course, being the day I spent four hours in Dunsmuir and "only" did 26 miles.)

I saw no other thru-hikers for the entire day--the first day on the trail this had ever happened. I did pass a few hikers out for the day or the weekend, but no thru-hikers. I did, however, find at least one piece of evidence that a thru-hiker was ahead--Charmin. She left a note on the side of the trail for Hasty. It was probably rude for me to read it, but I hoped the note would provide clues about how far ahead Charmin was and perhaps what happened to Hasty. Inside, the note was addressed to Ryan, and I thought, "What?!" And she wrote that she hoped my foot was getting better, among other items that weren't particularly interesting. Then I remembered--Hasty's real name was Ryan. The note wasn't for me at all. =) Hasty must have been suffering some foot problems, but that was all I learned of that. More interesting, though, I also learned that Charmin started the morning about a dozen miles ahead of me and thought she might have shin splints. Normally, I wouldn't have expected to catch up a dozen miles, but if she was suffering from shin splints, it was certainly a distinct possibility.

Another spectacular view.....

Where the trail crossed Highway 3, a note was left for thru-hikers saying that we could find trail magic at a campsite in the adjacent campground. I was undecided whether I wanted to stop for trail magic at first, really wanting to put in an impressive number of miles for the Hike-a-Thon, but I finally relented. Enjoy it while you can!

The campsite was empty of people, with another note in the register on the table saying they had gone into town to resupply but to go ahead and help ourselves to whatever food or drinks we wanted to. I was terribly disappointed with the drink selection--the only thing I could find was beer, and I don't like beer. Blah. I had some of the food, though, and spent most of the next hour reading the latest PCTA magazine. The hosts still had not arrived, though, so I signed the register and hit the trail again.

By the end of the day, a series of creeks and other water sources were crossing the trail. Bugs having grown increasingly bad, I wanted to avoid camping near any and all water sources, so I stopped high on an exposed ridgetop after completing a 31.0 miles of hiking--an excellent start to the Hike-a-Thon! I didn't know how many miles other teams had hiked, but I felt pretty confident that Amanda and I were already in the lead. =)

A message from Charmin to Hasty. (Milk Bucket was
a "code name" of sorts for Hasty. I'm not really sure
what the significance of it was, but they referred to it
often when the three of us hiked together.)

All sorts of notes to be found on the trail today!

That beard of mine is starting to fill in now! I took this
photo in the Trinity Alps Wilderness. The views are awesome!

I'd heard of the Trinity Alps before, but I had no idea this
section of the trail was so amazing!

More stunning views....

A meadow near the end of the day's hike.

Trail Folks

The views along the ridges were awesome!

July 31: I woke up early, energized and ready for another long, 30+ mile day of hiking. Less than a mile up the trail, I found a woman named Bump camped on the side of the trail. She was still in her tent getting ready for the day, and we swapped information about who we knew that was ahead or behind on the trail. Bump was the first person I had seen on the trail since leaving Dunsmuir. I knew Johnny Law and Missing Link had planned to leave the day before me, but clearly hadn't made it as far as I did out of town. Beyond that, I had no idea where anyone was. Pretty much everyone resupplies where the trail crosses I-5. I chose Dunsmuir, but Mount Shasta City and Castella were also common choices.

The trail was largely flat most of the day, staying high on ridgetops well above treeline, and I loved it! Views stretched in every direction. And a few hours into the hike, I crossed path with two women hiking southbound who stopped to ask if I was a thru-hiker. "Well, yes I am," I told them.

Then they asked if they could interview me. They explained that they worked at Cal Poly and wanted to interview 40 thru-hikers, and they had a bag of Starbursts and Tootsie Rolls to bribe me with if I was willing to stop. =) They didn't use the word 'bribe,' but clearly, it was meant as an incentive, and apparently it was an effective one since of the 24 thru-hikers they had found so far, all but one agreed to be interviewed. I'd be #24.

Views of Mt. Shasta still dominated the horizon.

"Cal Poly?" I asked. "As in San Luis Obispo Cal Poly?" (For those who don't know, there's also a Cal Poly in Pomona.)

Yes, indeed, Cal Poly, San Luis Obispo. "Small world! That's where I'm from!" =)

So we started talking about San Luis Obispo, and it turns out the one girl--Marni--is from there as well, and we figured out we actually attended high school together for a year. We didn't know each other then--I was a mere freshman when she was a senior--but still, it was neat bumping into someone from my hometown.

Then it was back to the interview, mostly a bunch of questions about what I did, how old was I, yadda, yadda, yadda.

Then came the weightier questions like, "Why?" Why am I out here, hiking from Mexico to Canada. *sigh* I don't know!

"Because I like it out here!" I said, pointing to the incredible views around us. "This is awesome!"

She asked what I got out of it, what I learned on my journey. I think her exact words were, "What did you learn about yourself?"

"I learned that I hate snow." I paused, thinking, then continued, "No, I loathe snow. Hate isn't a strong enough word. I cannot express in words how much I loathe snow. It is evil. It is the devil personified."

This small spring was the first water
source on the trail for 13 miles.

Wow, I had some pretty strong feelings about snow. =) "When I started the trail, I didn't have much of an opinion about snow one way or another. I definitely have a very strong opinion now!" I popped another Starburst in my mouth. "Yes," I said, "snow is bad. I'm firmly in favor of global warming now!" =)

I told them about the guy who picked me up and drove me into Dunsmuir, the one with brain cancer. Kind of makes my own journey seem insignificant by comparison. Marni asked if meeting him changed anything in my own life. "No, not really," I said. "So far as I know, I don't have a brain tumor. Not like *I* need radiation treatments." At least I certainly hoped not, but the thought occurred to me, what would I do if I suddenly learned I had a brain tumor and only had a few months left to live. Would I keep hiking to the end? Quit and do something "more important"?

Eventually, they ran out of questions, and we continued our separate ways. They told me they had crossed paths with The Graduate most recently, so I now knew he was just ahead on the trail. That didn't surprise me, but I doubted I'd catch up with him. That crazy fellow already dropped off the trail at Tahoe to thru-hike the Tahoe Rim Trail in the middle of his PCT thru-hike and was talking about stopping long enough to thru-hike the Wonderland Trail around Mount Rainier further north. That guy was a hiking maniac that put other thru-hikers to shame, and actually seemed to enjoy it every minute of the day! Very unnatural, but a hard person to ever catch on the trail.

Just before Deadfall Lake I met a dad and his two kids. The dad's name was Walter, and the two kids looked about eight and ten if I had to guess. Not that I was good at guessing kid's ages, but they seemed really excited to meet a real-life thru-hiker in the flesh. Particularly the older kid who asked all sorts of questions about my hike. Walter offered me a granola bar and an apple. It was a granny smith apple, and I failed miserably trying to pull it apart with my bare hands.

If I remember correctly, this is Toad Lake down the hill.

The kids asked if I had seen any bears or other wild animals, how far I hiked each day, how far I had come, when I started, what I did in the snow and rain, and they were quite the interrogators! I asked them if they were going to thru-hike the PCT when they got older. The older one seemed to like the idea, but didn't seem to think it was possible. "It's so far!"

"It's not so bad," I told them. "It's just a series of day hikes, one after another. And you get used to the long distances each day. And heck, you've hiked how far to get here today? Four miles, right? That's more than I hiked my entire first day!"

Technically, that was true. I didn't tell them that I started the hike in the late afternoon and lost the trail less than two miles out.

The family was out on a day hike from Redding, and I asked how the weather in Redding was. "Hot," they told me. "Over 100 degrees!" I wasn't surprised, but it still amazes me that the weather can be so hot, and perhaps 50 miles away, here in the mountains, it was probably in the low 80s. Warm, but certainly not hot.

Walter with his kids. =)

Before they left, the older kid shyly asked if she could have her picture taken with me. It was so adorable. =) I said sure, and the two kids sat next to me for a photo. Fortunately, they didn't require me to stand up for the photo. That's good, because my feet were tired. I didn't feel like standing up. =)

Then I asked if I could get a photo of them, and the three stood together for a family portrait.

Late in the afternoon, I caught up with two more thru-hikers: Sojourner (or Sojo for short) and Train Robber. Sojo was short on snacks to carry her through Etna--the next resupply point--and asked if I had anything extra I could spare.

YES! I went hog wild buying snacks in Dunsmuir and ended up with far more food than I could possibly eat. I had M&Ms, Skittles, granola bars (two types!), gummy worms, pumpkin seeds, popcorn, licorice, Rice Krispy treats, apples, trail mix, and more. Not to mention the extra food that the 90-year-old ghost lady dumped on me unexpectedly, and the granola bar and apple the family from Redding fed me. "Please!" I begged, "Take what you want!" I carefully only showed her the food I was most anxious to get rid of. My favorites I kept hidden in my pack. ;o)

She seemed a little worried that she'd be leaving me hungry, despite my encouragement to take whatever she wanted. "Here," I said, giving her a large bag of granola bars. "Take this. I have a whole 'nuther bag of them here." In fact, I actually had two more, completely full ZipLock bags of the granola bars, but the other one was in my main food bag at the bottom of my pack and largely inaccessible. She seemed to feel better about taking the one bag when she could see I still had another one in my pack, though, and I didn't even mention the third bag of them at the bottom of my pack. She ended up leaving me with just that one bag of granola bars, and in hindsight, I wished I forced more of my food on her. I had way too much.

Water, once again, was scarce on this section of trail, and I eyed Chilcoot Creek on my topo map. I'd need to pick up water there, and it would have been a good distance to stop.... if the mosquitoes aren't too bad there. Most of the day has largely been bug free, but the topo map showed that creek on a relatively flat section of trail and I had a gut feeling that it was a breeding ground of unprecedented proportions. I'd stop to fill up water there--I had to do that--but I was prepared to continue on if it looked like mosquitoes would be an issue.

There was an outhouse set up at a road crossing--looked
like for some bicycle race that weekend. I took this photo,
however, because I loved their motto:
"We're #1 in the #2 business." Hahaha!!!!!

And boy howdy, were they an issue! Several stagnant pools of water sat by the creek, and as soon as I dropped my pack, hundred of those blood sucking little things swarmed. I sprayed a liberal coating of DEET everywhere and quickly filled up a couple of containers with water and started hiking again. Definitely not a good place to camp. No way, no how.

A half mile up the trail the trail turned around the end of an exposed ridge and I set up camp there. A slight breeze helped keep the few mosquitoes in the area at bay, and the views were awesome. What a difference a half-mile of trail makes. Up here, the mosquitoes were darned near non-existent. Just a half-mile back, they were so thick they could suck a corpse dry in minutes. Yes, I thought, I definitely need to stop camping near water sources for the foreseeable future.

Late in the afternoon, I cast a long shadow...

A campsite with a view!

That's what a foot looks like after hiking about 120 miles
in four days. Nothing a little soap and water can't take care of!
(That's my dinner in the background--Mac 'n' Cheese!)

A Quick Trip Into Dunsmuir

Castle Crags--from a viewpoint I'd never seen before!

July 30: Johnny Law, Missing Link, and I started hiking out of camp together. We had about 11 miles to get into Dunsmuir, all downhill. It would be easy!

A few miles later, I skipped ahead of Johnny Law and Missing Link. They stopped at the next water source, but they were religious about filtering water after getting sick from giardia in the High Sierras. Me--I filled up a Nalgene bottle straight from the source and continued on. I didn't need a lot of water to get to Dunsmuir, so I wasn't going to carry a lot of water.

I followed the trail downhill, passing a trio of girls known as the Pearl Girls, who showed me the pearls they were wearing. Privately, I shook my head. All that extra weight, and for what? =)

From a distance, I could see Castle Crags, a famous landmark along the I-5 corridor of exposed rocks towering above the surrounding area. It was a unique view of the rocks, which before I had seen only while driving along I-5 and, once, I stopped to hike in. The view from the trail here looked like an aerial view taken from the use of a helicopter. Very cool!

Johnny Law and Missing Link.

The trail dropped quickly, crossing a small bride over a river, a couple of railroad tracks, until hitting Interstate 5. The trail crossed under I-5, but Dunsmuir was 4.5 miles north on I-5. Not wanting to walk, and in fact, not knowing any legal ways to walk to Dunsmuir (pedestrians are strictly prohibited on Interstates), and not wanting to walk 4.5 miles off the trail, I stood by the on ramp for I-5 and stuck out my thumb. It was time to hitchhike.

I didn't have long to wait. About one minute after I stuck out my thumb, two vehicles passed by, and one--a white van--stopped. The driver leaned over and asked where I was headed. "Dunsmuir!" I told him, and he welcomed me in.

On the quick ride to Dunsmuir, I asked where he was headed and learned he was going to Mount Shasta City for radiation treatment. The man suffered from brain cancer and seemed remarkably upbeat, telling me that it was going well so far, he was no longer seeing double vision, and was now allowed to drive again.

Wow. I didn't know what to say. Here I am, doing something frivolous, wasting five or six months of my life hiking a trail, and this man was dying of brain cancer. Well, maybe dying. I didn't know what his chances of making it through were, and I didn't want to ask. On second thought, however, I decided that my hike wasn't frivolous. This man would probably love to trade places with me in a heartbeat. There is a world of people who wished they had the same problems I did. Here I am, worrying about where I'll sleep for the night, or where I'll be able to get my next water from, and it seems like a trivial thing to worry about in the grand scheme of things. There's a world of people who probably wished they could be so trivial as well.

I'm still not sure if the man inspired me or depressed me--or maybe a little of both.

The on ramp where I hitched a ride to Dunsmuir.

He dropped me off at the post office in Dunsmuir. I'd been to Dunsmuir before, while driving through on I-5, but had never been to this part of town. Dunsmuir is what I would call a "working town." It was a major train stop and well past its heyday, but leaves behind a town filled with stories and historic buildings of another era.

I picked up my maildrop from the post office--the camera Amanda had mailed arrived on time, and I could finally retire the unreliable (but still occasionally working) camera I'd carried since Mexico. I walked into town, looking for the Burger Barn, supposedly a popular hiker hangout. After a few blocks, I didn't see it and headed into a Pizza Factory instead. Pizza is good too!

There, I checked out my new camera, installing the batteries, taking a couple of photos to make sure the thing worked, and played around getting familiar with the settings. I also wrote a few postcards before I left and walked back to the post office to mail them.

Rush hour in downtown Dunsmuir.

On the way back, I spotted Johnny Law walking on the far side of the street and shouted a hello as I jaywalked across the street. He asked how long it took me to hitch a ride, and I told him less than sixty seconds flat. He cussed, saying that him and Missing Link waited over an hour to get a ride. They were surprised when they first got to the road and didn't see me--they knew I wasn't far ahead--but it seemed like I had up and "disappeared." Surely, they thought, there was no way I could have gotten a ride that fast!

Yeah, well, I did. =) I told him I was going to resupply at the grocery store across from the post office, then hitch back to the trail again. He wished me luck, then corrected himself saying I didn't need it. "Yes I do, I told him! It was PURE luck that got me into town so quickly!" =)

I mailed postcards at the post office, then crossed the street again to the market where I bought enough food to get me through the next stretch. Outside, I rebagged everything into ZipLocks, carried my pack to the pay phone in the shopping cart, then dropped my pack by the pay phone.

The first photo with my new camera--of a mural on a wall. =)

I don't normally leave my pack unattended, but I was going to be gone for--quite literally--all of about five seconds, so I made an exception. I passed an old lady coming out of the market, moving slowly--she looked about 90 years old--and returned the cart inside. I came back outside and found that lady tying a bag to my pack. I wanted to shout, "Hey! What are you doing?!" But she looked 90 years old. I was pretty sure she wasn't going to get very far with my pack if she had evil intentions in mind. I could take her down, I thought--if I needed to. =)

"What's in the bag?" I asked her.

She ignored my question, but looked a little startled to see me. She started to walk off, leaving the plastic bag with my pack.

I looked in the bag to find a Clif bar, an apple, some trail mix, and other assorted trail foods. WTF? She definitely meant to target me, but why the "stealth attack"? Clearly, she didn't realize that I was returning so quickly and I caught her by surprise. I looked up from the bag, and the lady was gone.

How the heck such an old, slow-moving woman disappears in thin air is a mystery I have yet to figure out, but it happened. She was gone. I know I didn't imagine her, though. I had a plastic bag filled with hiker food as proof, but the whole incident was a little creepy--like the beginning of a horror movie where everyone dies a violent death by the end.

I don't know why this boot is sitting out on this
stump. Hiker trash, obviously! But yet, I found it
strangely hypnotic. I wished I could 'hang up my boots.'

It was time to get back on the trail. I wasn't sure where the nearest southbound on ramp for I-5 was, so I entered the grocery store and asked a worker where I could find it. He pointed me up up the street where I had gotten off of I-5, but then asked, "Are you a hiker?"

"Yes," I told him.

"The owner here sometimes gives hikers a ride to and from the trail."

Me: "Sweet!"

Him: "But he's not in right now."

Me: "Bummer"

Him: "But when he comes back, I'll let him know there's a hiker trying to hitch a ride back to the trail. Perhaps he'll pick you up."

Me: "Sweet!"

The trail climbed steeply up into the
crags of Castle Crags.

I walked to the southbound on ramp, and started to work my thumb. The first car drove past without slowing down. So did the second. Car after car went by for about five minutes until a van honked its horn at me and pulled over. It certainly took a little longer to get a ride back to the trail, but a five minute wait didn't seem bad at all. Still a heck of a lot better than the hour Johnny Law and Missing Link took to get into town. Johnny Law would probably accuse me of witchcraft if he knew how quickly I got this ride too! =)

I threw myself into the van. An older gentleman with his grandson, I assume, were in the front, on vacation from Oregon. I told them my destination and where I was going, and the older man seemed completely fascinated with my story. "A trail from Mexico to Canada? You don't say?!" And, "You've already hiked over a thousand miles? Wow, you don't say?!" By golly, yes, I do say! =)

He dropped me off a few minutes later, right where I got off the trail at, and I started hiking into the depths of Castle Crags. The trail, at first, was in the trees and largely boring, but eventually it came out along the crags where spectacular views awaited. As did a very steep climb uphill.

I managed to hike another 14.8 miles out of Dunsmuir, accidentally bypassing a "creeklet" that was so small I didn't think it counted as a "creeklet." I walked about a half mile past it before I had to admit that that was likely the last water source for the next 13 miles, and I needed more water before that. So I backtracked the half-mile back to the creeklet, grumbling about the extra walking but nothing I could do about it, finally setting up camp alongside the trail. The views, at least, were awesome.

By the end of the day, I covered 26.0 miles, which impressed even myself when you consider that I spent four hours in Dunsmuir killing time. I was burning up the miles!

The Blahs

Sunrise from camp.

July 29: I woke up on my beautiful perch to another beautiful day, but the trail quickly dived back into the trees where it stayed for the rest of the day. I don't enjoy hiking in the trees. I can see trees anywhere--I want to see stuff that I can't see in a park two blocks from home, so I mostly spent the day just wanting to be done with it.

The trail crossed a dirt road by Ash Camp where I met two folks trying to find the PCT. "That's it right there," I said, pointing up the road a bit. I actually wasn't standing on the PCT at the time--I veered off long enough to use the outhouse, considerably more comfortable than doing one's thing in the woods. The two talked my ear off and they seemed pretty slow and dim-witted. Nice, but slow and dim-witted. One of them offered me pot, which I passed on, and they asked if they could hike with me a couple of miles up the PCT. I really didn't want to hike with them, and but rather than saying that, I took a more diplomatic approach and suggested that they'd probably have a difficult time keeping up with my pace. Which was true--I planned to hike over 30 miles that day and was a hardened thru-hiker. Most day hikers would have a tough time keeping up with me, even when I was carrying a heavy pack.

They looked a bit disappointed but understood, and I high tailed it out of there. I wanted to make sure my prediction that they couldn't keep up with me stayed true! =)

Don't worry--I'm NOT naked! I was changing my pants
however, and decided a photo of all the dirt on my
legs would be interesting. =) I especially like the "tan lines"
that my socks made. =)

Late in the afternoon, I caught up with Johnny Law and Missing Link, two hikers I seemed to be crossing paths with regularly every day for nearly two weeks now. They were stopped at a small creek, filling up with water, with yellow jackets thick in the air. Those critters must have had a hive nearby, but they left us alone. I stopped for  few minutes to chat, and Johnny Law told me that he was feeling "the blahs." He just wasn't enjoying his hike anymore, and--knowing I had completed a couple of thru-hikes in the past--wanted to know if that was normal.

"It certainly is for me," I told him. "Take today, for instance. Frankly, I'm not really enjoying the hike today. All I'm seeing are trees, and I can see those where I live. Today has been absolutely boring, but there are good days and bad days, just like you'd have off the trail. Not much to do expect savor the good days and push through the bad ones as quickly as possible."

He seemed a little better knowing that there were days I didn't particularly enjoy either--when the hike feels more like a job than an enjoyment. Despite the dullness of today, though, I was still in a pretty good mood. I was still reliving the day before in my head--the day with the fantastic views and a killer campsite, and I know--I know there will be days like that again ahead. "Live for those good days," I told him.

"What motives you to hike the trail?" he asked.

Stupid trees didn't allow for many views
along this stretch of trail. Pretty dull!

Gosh, I don't know. The sense of adventure? Boredom in the real world? Too much time on my hands? See new places? Because it's there? Seems like whenever anyone asks me that question, I always have a different answer, and I don't really believe any of them.

But I did tell Johnny Law, "I'm kind of tired of hiking at this point. I just want to finish. Do big miles and get 'er done." It's kind of pathetic to be tired of hiking and still have more than a thousand miles left to hike. "But at the end, you'll have been glad you did the whole thing. If you quit now, you'll always regret it."

We pushed onward and upward, the three of us eventually setting up camp on Girard Ridge Road with an overlook of Mount Shasta, the city of Mount Shasta, and my first decent view of Black Butte which may not be as tall as Mount Shasta, but is still beautiful in its own way. I had hiked 30.6 miles, my second consecutive 30+ mile day, and right on schedule to get to the post office in Dunsmuir with plenty of time to spare.

Strangely, the mosquitoes there were awful, completely unfair since we were camped miles away from the nearest (known) water source. Where the heck did all these bugs come from?! ARGH! Camping away from water doesn't seem to guarantee one can avoid mosquitoes, but I continued to do it as much as possible. At least the mosquitoes weren't as thick!

This photo cracks me up. It looks like the photo is
tilted, but it's not--the trees are! Only one tree
in the distance seems to be growing straight up. =)

Bridge over Squaw Valley Creek.

Sap drips down from the cut trail workers made on this tree fall.

Sunset on Mount Shasta, as seen from camp tonight.

Water, Maps, and an Attempt at a 30+ Mile Day....

Views of Mount Shasta dominated today's hike. Even
if my camera kept overexposing the sky and the mountain!

July 28: I woke up, bright and early, and hit the trail running at 6:45. It would also be the first time I woke up on the trail with the intention of hiking my first 30 mile day. There were several days I came close to 30 miles, and a couple of days I thought I might do 30 miles but fell short. Today, however, I intended to do a full 30+ miles since I needed to make it to Dunsmuir by the time the post office closed on Friday.

This section of trail was largely dry, with a single spring in the middle of the afternoon to resupply water after 15 miles. The next water source after that was another 12 miles away--and that was a seasonal source that may or may not be flowing. So for much of the day, my pack would be heavy with water.

Late morning, I caught up with Uncle Tom, who was sitting on the side of the trail resting, and we got talking about the water situation. He was anxious to get to the next water source another three or so miles away. I disagreed and said I thought it was a solid six or seven miles away, but he seemed pretty adamant that it couldn't possibly be so far away. I just meant to warn him so he wouldn't go through his water too quickly, not pick a fight, so I shut up after that. =) I still thought the water was another six or seven miles ahead, but I hoped Uncle Tom was right and I was wrong.

A half hour later, I caught up with Freebird and Daredevil, who also seemed to think that the water source was less than an hour hiking distance away. I predicted two hours, and once again hoped I was wrong. It just didn't seem possible that I could be hiking that quickly. Maybe the heat of the afternoon was slowing down hikers more than they thought? I wanted to believe the water was closer, but in my gut, I didn't think it was.

Now that the snow was largely gone,
wildflowers started becoming more
prominent once again. These are tiger lilies!

Moosehead Springs finally arrived, about two hours later. While sitting around chatting with a few other hikers, Uncle Tom arrived saying, "You were right, Tortuga. This water was a lot further away than I thought!" It seemed like everyone was underestimating the distance to water. Or perhaps they were overestimating their speed.

Eric the Black and his 'faulty' guidebooks became a bone of contention. A sign by the trail pointed to Moosehead Creek, down a side trail, while Eric the Black's guidebook said Moosehead Spring was on the trail, about 250 feet above the last road crossing. Except it seemed like we'd barely climbed 50 feet since the last road crossing. Uncle Tom had checked his altimeter at the road crossing and confirmed we had not climbed 250 feet--not even close, and everyone went off complaining about the errors in the guidebook.

I wasn't completely sure that the guidebook was wrong, though. Looking at my topo maps, I suspected the official spring might actually be further up the trail, and this creek adjacent to the trail was actually a water source that Eric the Black failed to mention completely. (An error of omission, I suppose one could argue, but I don't expect a guidebook to have every last possible detail to be found on the trail.) The guidebook suggested we'd find a spring, not the creek we were at. The guidebook suggested the water was on the trail, not a tenth of a mile off on a side trail. The guidebook suggested we were supposed to climb 250 feet in elevation from the last road crossing, not the 50 or so feet we had actually climbed. Absolutely nothing about the water source seemed to agree with the guidebook, so I had my doubts. I could certainly believe that there are inaccuracies in the guidebook, but to have so many inaccuracies for a single water source--that seemed a little large to swallow. So I mostly listened to the others complain about Eric the Black while I privately thought that maybe, the spring was still a short ways up the trail. We were definitely close, I thought, probably less than a quarter mile, but this is not the spring they think it is....

This is my favorite photo I took of Mt. Shasta. =)

I was heartened when, after another five or ten minutes of walking, I reached a spring that flowed directly across the trail. It's nice to know you were right, even if everyone else thought you were crazy. =) It's easy to look at topo maps and try to make it "fit" with what you see, and assume any differences are because of errors on the map and can be safely dismissed. After over a thousand miles of hiking this trail, I had learned--I'm far more likely to be wrong than the topo maps are. I'm a little surprised more hikers haven't realized this.

And for all of the inaccuracies that can be found in the Eric the Black books, I had to give the guy credit: I made it nearly 1,500 miles using his books--including the High Sierras where I often didn't see the trail for hours on end because it was buried in snow. It got me this far. It'll get me through the rest of the distance as well.

Late in the day, I was running low on water again. I planned to push to the next water source--wherever that might be. The next reliable source of water was Deer Creek, but Eric the Black's guidebook showed a seasonal stream could be found about three miles before then. I hoped the seasonal spring was still running, but was prepared to hike all the way to Deer Creek for the night if I had to. When I reached the seasonal spring, I'd have hiked 31.0 miles, which was plenty for me. Deer Creek would have pushed my distance to 34.0 miles. I was just happy to have done my full 30 miles for the day, so I crossed my fingers and hoped I could stop after just 31.0 miles.

Don't think snow on the trail was
completely gone, though! It wasn't! =)

And, I'm happy to report, the seasonal spring was flowing fast and furious. I filled up with water then looked for a place to set up camp. The trail followed along a very steep and exposed slope. The views were phenomenal, and I'd have loved to camp right there if I could just find a location. I walked up the trail about 100 feet where it turned the corner away from the spring and found a relatively wide, flat spot directly on the trail. I dropped my pack. I found my campsite for the night, and finished my first 30+ mile day.

All-in-all, I felt absolutely awesome! I had done over 30 miles and didn't hurt bad at all, and I positively glowed at the views from camp. According to the topo maps, Deer Creek was deep in the trees, and I liked the open air feeling where I was at. I went to sleep immensely pleased to be camped on the trail. =)

"This!" I shouted into the valley below me. "This is AWESOME! This is why I'm out here! This is what makes it all worth it!"

Views along many of the ridgelines were spectacular!
At some points, I could still see Mt. Lassen to the south.

View from my sleeping bag at the end of the day. =)

Holy Naked Fisherman in a Rowboat!

At this road crossing (Cassel-Fall River Road,
if you must know), trail workers put
footprints! That amused me for hours!

July 27: I woke, broke down camp, and followed the trail off of Hat Creek Rim and back into the rugged, hilly terrain. A few hours later, I reached the first water source on the trail in over 30 miles, and I was ready to reload my containers. At least until I got to the water source. Rock Spring Creek flowed through a small valley populated with civilization, and the ground around it looked like it had been trampled extensively, either from cows or perhaps hikers who invariably camped there due to the lack of water on the trail. In fact, I originally planned to camp at this point until I stopped early on Hat Creek Rim because I enjoyed the views from there so much.

And I looked at the water and thought, "Yuck." I didn't want the water. Keep in mind, I generally don't treat my water at all, so I'm rather particular about selecting surface water for drinking. I did carry some tablets I could drop in water that would make water safe for drinking--allegedly--but I only use those as a last resort. I'd rather drink good (untreated) water than bad (but treated) water. I wasn't sure if I still had enough water to get me to the next good source, which I suspected would be tap water somewhere at Burney Falls. So I filled up my Nalgene bottle, dropped in a tablet, and hoped I'd find good water before I'd be forced to drink from it.

A little ways beyond that, I reached Baum Lake. People were everywhere--civilization everywhere as well. Water fed into a fishery and a powerhouse, and where the trail crossed on a bridge, a dozen boats with fishermen were plying their trade, and a dozen more along the shore did the same. I followed the trail along the edge of the lake, eventually missing a turn back into the woods and followed the shoreline to the far side of the lake where it was empty of people.... except one older gentleman, shirtless, rowing away in his rowboat.

The Powerhouse

I didn't think too much of him--I was already starting to wonder if I had missed the turn for the PCT--until I saw him stop rowing and stand up, casting out a fishing line. He was quite a distance away, but I couldn't help thinking, "That man looks like he's naked!" I couldn't be certain, though. He was so far away, and maybe he had on a skimpy or flesh-colored swimsuit? My monocular would have been the perfect thing to use to verify if I was seeing what I thought I was seeing, but it was missing. I had it when Amanda came out to visit and we were in Quincy, but when we changed hotels, I'd never seen the monocular again. Did it get left behind in the hotel room? Did Amanda pack it away in her stuff by accident and take it home? I don't know, except that I didn't have a monocular to verify if I had really stumbled upon a naked fisherman.

My best option, I thought, would be to take a photo, zoomed in as far as possible. The screen on my camera was small--I'd see no detail there, but when I could get on a computer and blow up the image, maybe I could get some sort of confirmation. I'll let you decide.... Is he naked? Or not? I think he's naked. *nodding* And I say, good for him! I had no idea there was a Fish Naked Day, though. That was news to me! =)

I backtracked to where I lost the trail and continued hiking, and about a mile later, my camera stopped working. I'd turn it on, and it would make noise, the lens would open, but nothing showed up on the screen. It's as if the optic nerve had been separated. Damn! My camera went blind taking a photo of a naked fisherman! It was too much pressure for the camera!

Actually, my camera had been acting up for a couple of weeks now, and I'd been contemplating replacing it. It had had this problem before, so I'd click the power off button, power it on again, and presto, it would start working again. I did the 'reboot' a few times, but the camera failed to work. I turned it off for five minutes, hiked a bit, then tried turning it on again. No dice. I knocked the camera around in the hopes of jarring it back to functionality, but nothing.

Is he fishing naked? You decide!

After an hour of this, I started to worry. I needed photos! I pulled out my Peek device and e-mailed Amanda about the problem, and if there was anywhere nearby I could get off the trail to buy a new camera. The closest town now was Burney (the city, not to be confused with Burney Falls which the trail also passes), but it was a small down and seemed unlikely to have anywhere to buy a decent camera. So I e-mailed Amanda asking about other options as well further up the trail: Dunsmuir, Mount Shasta City, and even Redding as a worst-case scenario. Or maybe I could have Amanda put in an order for me and have a camera sent to the next trail name? I needed options! I needed a camera! At the very least, I hoped I could acquire a disposable camera at the Burney Falls general store.

I sent the e-mail off, and continued hiking. One really nice thing about the trail since leaving Old Station, I've been able to send and receive e-mail almost the entire way. My cell phone didn't work, but my e-mail did.

Just before reaching Burney Falls, the trail went by a camp specifically intended for PCT hikers. It was a wonderful little campsite with running water, primitive (but clean!) restrooms, and a table with a sign saying that the food and drinks in the ice chest were for thru-hikers and to help ourselves. Awesome! I drank a soda, then went into the outhouse to do my business--always nice when they're available. And what did I find next to the toilet? Wait--don't guess. It's not that. No, it was a digital Weight Watchers scale. I knew it was a WW scale because it had the WW logo right there on the scale. It's a pretty fancy scale, and a bizarre thing to find sitting next to a pit toilet.

This roadside art, presumably left by a hiker,
was the last photo I took before my camera pooped out.
(I may have exaggerated a little when I said
my camera went blind from the naked fisherman.)

And, how much did I weight anyhow? I last tried weighing myself back in Agua Dulce on a scale that I was told was off by five pounds. So I tried weighing myself on this scale: 161.4 pounds. I started at about 180 pounds--I'd lost almost 20 pounds since I started. Yep, that's what I was guessing.

Outside, I dumped out the water I picked up from Rock Spring Creek--having not taken so much as a sip of that nasty stuff--and filled it up with water from a spigot. Rising the Nalgene bottle first to get any residue water from Rock Spring Creek out.

Then I pushed on to Burney Falls.

At Burney Falls, a few hikers were there that I didn't recognize, and one that I did: Hurricane. It was always fun crossing paths with Hurricane. I'd seen him more consistently than any other hiker along the length of the trail. I went inside the general store where I bought an ice cream sandwich, two hot dogs, and a quart of milk for lunch. Mmmm..... When I got back outside, The Graduate had also arrived.

Hurricane was complaining that he didn't feel 'motivated' to hike anymore.

"And do you know why you don't feel motivated to hike?" I asked him, after swallowing a bite from my hot dog.

He shrugged and said, "No, why?"

"Because you don't like hiking!"

The general store at Burney Falls SP.

The Graduate choked on a laugh, and I continued on. "I'd feel pretty unmotivated too if I didn't like hiking!" It still amused me that Hurricane would fly halfway around the world to do something for six months that he simply didn't enjoy.

The conversation drifted onto other topics, including what next big trail we all might be inclined to do someday, and I loved Hurricane's response: "If I were to do another long distance hike," he said, "WHICH I WON'T," he emphasized, "but if I did... it would be the Colorado Trail."

I was amused at how strongly he emphasized the fact that he would never do another long distance hike again, but also surprised at his choice of trails. "The Colorado Trail?" I asked. "Why not something in New Zealand? I always heard that New Zealand had amazing trails and scenery. Why not something in your home country?"

And he said it was just more interesting to go somewhere "exotic" and "foreign." New Zealand was his home and I guess lost some of it's interest as a result. I guess I could understand. I was kind of growing bored of the PCT at this point. Hiking in New Zealand sounded very appealing to me right then.

Burney Falls! Really quite amazing,
but the lighting was terrible!

I called Amanda from a payphone where she told me she had gotten my e-mail and had already gone out, bought a new camera at a local store in Seattle, and had it shipped priority mail to the post office in Dunsmuir. Wow! She was efficient! It also gave me a schedule: I had to get into Dunsmuir by the time the post office closed on Friday, or I'd have to wait until Monday morning when it opened again. To arrive by Friday, I had to arrive about 30 miles per day. "I'll shoot for Friday," I told Amanda. "I don't know if I'll make it, but by golly, I'm going to try." I had yet to do a single 30 mile day on the trail, and now I was committing to averaging 30 miles per day. I wanted to get this trail done with anyhow.

I went back into the general store and bought some more stuff--snacks for the trail, and three disposable cameras to get me through to Dunsmuir. Probably more than I needed, but I felt it was better to have too many cameras than not enough. And when I left the general store and headed back to the trail, I was carrying four (four!) cameras. How sick is that? Three disposable cameras, and one broken one. I kept the broken one, just in case it miraculously started working.

Which it did--about five minutes after I bought the three disposable cameras. Figures! I walked over to the viewpoint for Burney Falls, where 100 million gallons of water seeps out of the ground each day then flows a few miles over a wide ledge forming the falls. The falls were nice, but the angle of the light was terrible. I could a couple of photos knowing they would look horrid. The falls were nice, but the fact that amazed me the most was that the falls were fed completely from spring water coming directly out of the ground. That's a heck of a big spring!

Obstacles, always a new challenge around every corner!

I hiked onward, stopping briefly where a sign told me to punch a horn and wait for construction crews to give me the okay that it was safe to cross. The trail crossed Lake Britton Dam where construction crews were installing a new powerhouse. I punched the horn which let out a deafening screech, then looked to the far side of the dam to see what my mayhem had accomplished. It looked like every construction worker over there was looking in my direction now, and one of them started walking towards my side of the dam and waving his arm signaling me to go ahead.

I walked across the dam and chatted with a few of the construction workers who seemed curious about my hike. Where did I start from? When did I start? And, the question they most wanted an answer for: Why? I didn't really have a good answer for why. "Because it's there," said. "Because I had the time," I said. "Because I liked to walk," I said, noting for the first time I used the past tense. I liked to walk? Hmm...

But I continued on again. While stocking up with water at Rock Creek, I slipped on a rock and fell in. Argh! My camera, which I kept in my shirt pocket, fell out into the water. It might have bothered me more if it was actually working reliably and I didn't have three spare disposable cameras in my pack already. But now all my clothes were wet, my camera was wet, and I couldn't believe I slipped and fell into the creek. Argh!

Lake Bitton Dam, under construction. The PCT
crosses over the top of the dam.

I pushed onward and upward, climbing in elevation, eventually setting up camp directly on the trail near a heavily logged section of trail. The ground around the trail was tore up with tractor tracks, branches and debris sticking out everywhere, and the tread of the trail actually looked like the most comfortable place to set up camp, so that's what I did.