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The Start
and The End |
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April 25, 2007 Waking up at 5:00a.m., while on vacation, was not quite the highlight of my trip, but it had to be done. With things packed, items shipped, and family kissed goodbye, Heather and Johnny drove me to the airport. With tears in eyes, we said our goodbyes as Johnny had a extremely hard time with his Daddy leaving. Incredulously, I pulled myself away and headed to baggage claim, making the plane on time and the flight, uneventful. An hour into the flight, I glanced out the tiny window and saw the long stretch of the Sierras. Already something was wrong as I could not shake the feeling that I had not yet committed to this goal, or rather, I did not want to. I arrived in Burbank with my Uncle waiting for me with open arms. It had been a while since I had seen him as he is very busy with his business, AMSPEC, making stunt equipment for a lot of the Hollywood movie stars. It appears to be as rewarding as it is time consuming. On our way to San Diego for the night, we visited Old Town San Diego and had margaritas as well as some rather tasty Mexican food before some touristy gawking.
The margaritas did not help my mood though as I was still in quite a haze. I assumed that I was simply overwhelmed as the trip so far was better than I had imagined, but I still could not commit my spirit to it. We walked around a while, enjoying the fine weather, taking pictures, knowing back home it was cloudy or raining. I was born and raised part of my life out here and really enjoyed the sunny, hot weather.
On the way to the hotel, I picked up some lighters and HEET for my stove. That night, I packed up and chatted with my uncle about various subjects in between watching the mind-numbing idiot box. Some weird movie was on HBO as I was rather happy we did not have any type of "cable" back home anymore. At home, we have been moving to a simpler place involving less television and more family time. Turning off the TV, I slipped into a fitful sleep, waking up in between my uncle's snores resembling a rather large freight train at times.
April 26, 2007 Awaking at four the next morning, I systematically grabbed my pack and looked at the road atlas, looking for the easiest way to Campo. One and a half hours later, I was at the Mexican border for the first time in my life. Everything seemed artificial to me as I could not bring my mind and heart to convince my spirit I was supposed to be here. My thoughts ranged from how the family was back home to how much work will be waiting for me upon my return. This was not a good state of mind to be in for the start of such a hot and rather dangerous trip. However, sticking my hand on the other side of the border while seeing what was painted on the metal wall, brought forth quite a chuckle.
At the Southern Terminus, I met Shaggy and Dude. Dude was a real nice, rather experienced hiker with the qualities of confidence and honesty. This was someone I would like to be around while on my trip. He took various pictures of me as well as my uncle with a smile on his face and fulfillment in his heart. I admired that. I said my goodbyes to Dude and my uncle before setting off down the trail, focused on picking the right spur, trying to get my mind and heart into the state that my body was in.
The air was a chilly 40 degrees as I rolled easily, not affected in the slightest by the heavy 29 pound pack on my back. Usually, a pack weighing 12 pounds would take care of me for at least a week. The thought of carrying even more water, bringing my pack weight to near 40 pounds, concerned me little as the water would be consumed rather fast out here. My mood improved slightly as I walked. I was free and had nothing to do but walk, talk at times, eat and sleep for the next five weeks. I could not understand why I was not ecstatic about my journey. To me, it felt like running a race, knowing my foot was still broken at the starting line. The proverbial foot was indeed, my spirit. I knew my heart and mind were not into this trip, affecting my spirit.
I strolled on, letting the trail decide my fate in the increasing heat of the day. I passed by the border patrol station as the trail bobbed up and down, eventually passing Campo. After crossing Highway 94, I started climbing only slightly while weaving in and out of the various hills. The air was crisp and clear, offering views of the surrounding mountains. At 8:45a.m., I crossed the abandoned San Diego and Arizona Eastern Railroad's tracks.
Climbing higher, I attained further views of Campo and the surrounding hillsides. I sat momentarily to ponder where my heart was while gulping down some water. Foolishly, all I could think about was today's goal of Lake Morena. Here I was in the desert, a place of immense beauty and the gateway to the Sierras and all I could think about was goals. Just then it hit me. From the plane, I watched the immensity of the Sierras roll by far below me, knowing I would probably not see them for years, if at all. My heart sunk. Ultimately, I dreamed of a thru-hike, not a section hike.
I shouldered my pack and continued on, bummed. I could not shake the thought of goals as the miles past by. I do not like what the years have turned me into. Already on this journey, I am discovering things about myself that I loathe. I long to be more open, understanding, non-judgmental, and simply, a better person. While cruising along, I glanced up and noticed a workforce comprised of local convicts. The site of them, along with the buzzing of chain saws, did not do much to ease my troubled spirit. While passing them, I thanked them for the truly exquisite job they were doing to the trail. Before the work force, the trail was rocky, uneven, and weed strewn. After them, the trail was three feet wide, flat, soft and barren of vegetation. They seemed happy and I was floored by the sincerity of the luck being wished upon me from them. This was trail magic to me and my spirit wallowed in the expanded view of such people in their position.
Climbing higher up, now on Hauser Mountain, I met up with Thunder and Deacon. Deacon, being a more experienced hiker gave me some suggestions while we shuffled along in the increasing heat. Thunder hiked in four miles last night and stayed at the only spring I have seen yet. He was a great hiking companion as he always had something fun to talk about. He got his trail name while thru-hiking the AT, apparently from his snoring skills. As we all walked and chatted away, I noticed a four foot rattler on the trail and went to take a picture. Deacon and Thunder passed by him without notice as he was straight as an arrow, parallel to the trail, only 2 feet away. As I reached for my camera he coiled up instantly and started his "get the hell away from me" sound. Abiding to the threat, we moved on and uneventfully, so did the rattler. We took a long break as I drank as much water as my stomach could hold at the time. Just then, I felt a horrible stinging sensation on my leg, worse and far longer than any bee sting I have ever received. A fire ant, no more than three quarters of an inch long, was stuck in my pant leg, pissed, as I must have been a little too close to his hive. The intensity of the sting would not let up for a number of hours. Undaunted, I walked on with Thunder, eventually meeting up with Deacon again who was drying his feet and socks.
After cresting out on Hauser Mountain I noticed my feet hurting like never before. They felt irritated like I had been walking on sand paper for the last four hours even though my shoes were free of debris. I took some vitamin I and lopped down into Hauser Creek drainage, scared at what I saw on the opposing side. The climb up into the Morena bluffs looked intimidating from where I was. My feet hurt and I was drained from the soaring heat of the day. Just then, the father and son group passed me, leap frogging as we had been the last 8 miles. They were from Hawaii as that was all I knew of them since the leapfrog afforded no time together. After the couple passed me, Thunder arrived suggesting I simply set up camp at Hauser Creek. It sounded tempting, but my guide book suggested the creek may be contaminated by cattle from local rancher's farms. As this did not sound too appealing, I simply stated that a good rest was long overdue.
Upon arriving at Hauser Creek, Shaggy and Captain America were already there in the cool shade sporting a wonderful breeze. With pack and shoes off, I stuffed my face with various goodies I brought and drank copiously while leaning up against a large branch just five miles from Lake Morena. I brought forth laughter from the two when asking what direction Hauser Creek was. "Creek been dried up for a month", Captain America responded. Indeed it was a drought year of epic proportions. Creeks that should have been flowing until the later periods of May, dried up in March. This was a rather large canyon with a good-sized creek bed and not a drop to be found. I did not care as I had 2.4 liters left in my pack. The breeze softly cooled me as the wind through the trees sang me to sleep while the others nattered. Not 30 minutes later, Ryan, lacking a trail name as I was, showed up with Thunder. Thunder sat by as did Ryan and we chatted for an hour in the coolness of the valley floor, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. The father and son group from Hawaii cruised by waving, still with smiles abound. My spirit thought highly of these things as I was just now starting to savor my vacation.
Still not looking forward to the long haul up the southern slopes of Morena Butte, I heaved my pack, wished everyone a safe trip and began my slog. Crossing over Hauser Creek Road, I hit the climbs hard. Drinking one and a half liters of water during lunch allowed copious amounts of sweat to flow, but not for long. Feeling good, but tired, I thumped on, stopping frequently to let the breeze cool my overheated body.
Cresting out over the first part of the climb, I looked back at the edge of Hauser Canyon. I could make out the dirt road we took just before the trail dropped quickly to the creek. Since leaving the cool shade of the creek, I have consumed over a liter of water. I have almost a liter left and about three miles to go. I continued on as my feet told me it was time to stop. I was not blistered in any way other than a couple of tiny hot spots on my pinky toes. My feet just simple felt sensitive. My goal orientated mind took over once more as I convinced myself Lake Morena was just a short jaunt away.
After a bend in the trail, I looked upwards once more. I expected to crest out by now and had not. The trail simply kept going up, although at a lesser grade than when leaving Hauser Creek. I looked back and saw Shaggy right behind me. He was a fast fellow on his feet and in quite good shape, having a walking gate that was 30 percent longer than mine while wearing a size 17EEE shoe. He passed by, sweating heavily, but still saying hello. I continued on, watching him hike out of site.
I stopped for a rest after the trail had leveled off and took some pictures. The yucca plant here was not yet bloomed out like 10 miles ago and looked as good as it smelled. There were a few other flowers here in bloom as well, as the flowers 10 miles ago were dried up like paper.
After cresting out one more time, I finally came upon the downhill stretch into Lake Morena. I was down to a half a liter of water and was quite relieved to see the large lake that awaited my arrival. 20 minutes later, I was standing at the edge of the park, relieved. I gulped down cold, refreshing water, quenching my parched throat while signing in. I staggered to my campsite with cramps galore from having a bit of heat exhaustion. I tried to limit the cramps by drinking a lot, but they persisted. I ate a salty snack that seemed to tame them. I set up camp, and snuggled into my cocoon of down under darkening skies. The temperature dropped rapidly with the setting sun as I had just enough on to handle a mid 30s night with a down jacket to spare. I left the tarp wide open as the stars, along with a half moon, illuminated everything, providing and incredible sight to stare at. I quickly slipped into a quiet slumber
April 27, 2007 After an incredible nights sleep, the next morning, I tested my feet out after taking a picture from my tarp at the prevailing sunrise, indeed it was a site to behold. My feet were trashed. They hurt so bad sans blisters, I could not understand why. The standard insoles that came with my Nike running shoes were not worn in the slightest. The sour mood has returned as I knew I could not climb up the Lagunas with my feet in the condition they were in. It hurt bad enough that I did not want to get out of bed, so I dove back in and slept another hour until the start of the ADZPCTKO and the temperature was over 40. Upon waking up with still sore feet, it was then that I thought of abandoning my trek.
As it was raining inside my tarp after foolishly rubbing up against the top, I managed to get dressed and walk around while doing chores before it got too hot. Washing clothes and making breakfast, I hobbled to the ranger station to use their telephone. "Phone is gone this year. Next one is about a half mile up the road, at the deli.", the ranger said with a empathetic look. I went back to camp with my soaking wet clothes and laid everything out to dry. I grabbed my pack and a bit of water and made it to the deli to use the telephone to call my wife and uncle. When I reached the store, the phone was in use as I went in to buy a Gatorade or two. I chugged the first one down and sipped on the second while waiting for the payphone to be free. I called Heather first as she missed me very much. During the call, I found out that Johnathan Jr. was in the hospital with strep and a 105 degree fever. This did not bode well for me in my current state of mind. After lovingly words were exchanged before the call ended, I hobbled back to camp to pick up a pamphlet to see the schedule of events.
Upon my return, I could not help but to be a little pissed off at the location of my site. There had to be at least 150 people on the other side of the park, all 2007 hikers. I did not understand why I had three sites, all to myself, alone, when there were easily six people per site on the other side. Although Ryan generously offered me to stay at one of their sites, I did not feel right in staying at a site I was not registered for, nor did there look to be any room anyways. A couple more hikers, Lon and Ground Pounder Bill, set up in Site 4.
Happily, I strolled over to the vendor's sites to pick up a name tag, bandana and get poles that Grant had for me to test for Gossamer Gear. Slobbering over gear, I chatted away with Owners, Ron from Six Moon Designs, Grant and Glen from Gossamer Gear, Henry from Tarptent, and Brian from ULA. I am a big fan of cottage businesses as the owners went out of their way for every single person to ask questions as well as favors. Henry, owner of Tarptent, walked all the way across the park just to help a customer get her new tent pitched taut. There was truly some amazing gear set up as I could not gaze enough. While talking with Grant, he presented me with the poles that he will have me test. They are ridiculously light as well as incredibly strong. At five ounces a pair, they are as stiff and almost as strong as my titanium Lekis at home. I sauntered back to the tarp to take a nap. Awaking a few hours later, I went to some of the events and then dinner. Afterwards, I stumbled back to the store to pick up some more to drink. Heading back to the tent afterwards, I fell into a deep depression as I wanted to continue but couldn't. I will call tomorrow for my uncle to come get me.
April 28, 2007 Morning came and as I didn't have any condensation on the walls of my tarp, unlike the prior morning, packing was quick. I threw on my socks and shoes and hiked up to the deli, down, but feeling better than yesterday. I made the calls and had some breakfast which consisted of scrambled eggs, hash browns, and toast. It was average, if not home made. I went back to my site to have a look around the lake, to burn some mental pictures before leaving. While looking at the Lagunas, I could not help but feel sad I was not heading there today. After the short walk, my feet felt fine compared to yesterday. With the camera clicking away, I convinced myself that this whole thing was not over, just postponed.
I hiked back to the deli a couple hours later to meet my Uncle, snapping pictures along the way. The town was quiet, even on a weekend, as there were not very many people who lived here. I was still worried about Johnathan. He was so little and without Daddy around to comfort him, I almost felt like I betrayed him by going on this trip, even if only for three days. The ironic thing was, I am out backpacking on weekends all the time and home is usually uneventful. I mused further on this matter while thumping my way to the deli.
With a line at the phone and money in my pocket, more Gatorade was in order. I came out and heard "Heeeeeeey! I know you!" It was Dude, his brother Tracy and Gash. I sat with them as we chatted about everything and nothing at all, soaking up life's funny moments without a care in the world. Nothing could be better than sipping an ice gold drink on a killer hot day while chatting with people that you have felt you've known your whole life. The conversations that took place made something inside awaken. An odd mixture of joy and utter sorrow came over me as I almost called my uncle and told him to leave me here so I could hike on with my new friends. Indeed, Dude, Tracy and Gash helped me realize what I had been missing the whole trip within only a couple of hours; friends. After the conversations, Dude headed back to camp, planning on heading to Mount Laguna tomorrow, taking possibly two days to get there. I thought I could easily do two days with the feet I had two days ago. The whole goal thing struck me hard this time as I had the saying "hike your own hike" in my head the whole trip and had never actually heeded it's message. In order for me to get all I needed from this hike, I had to let go of all I had stuck in my head; all of my useless, old habits. Just then, my uncle pulled up as there was no turning back now. It was too late. All I could do is remember this experience and take it with me on a thru-hike one year. I will be forever in Dude, Tracy and Gash's debt for showing the kindness and purity that is the PCT.
My uncle and I drove to Mount Laguna, 30 minutes too late. As the post office was closed, we drove back while I admired the scenery. I held back weeping all the way to his apartment in LA. That night, I talked about what I had learned within those three days. Indeed, I had learned more about living in those three days than I had in the last four years of hiking. Beer in hands along with a little Jim Beam, we stayed up drinking late into the night until the "what's" got too plentiful. I stumbled off to bed, again trying to hold back the sobbing. For I could not have what I had just found that day; just learned that day. Not yet.
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