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Smiling In
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April 29, 2008 Bartender: "Would you like another?" She gave me quite a funny look as I sipped on the last of my second margarita. I soon started into my third while trying to push dial Sandra's number. Excitement for our reunion flowed over the phone as I tried not to talk about my trip's logistics. I would be arriving in Ontario at 11:30pm with my uncle picking me up just twelve hours later for the long drive to Lake Morena Park. In about 12 hours, I will be on the trail once again in California with the wind, the sun, and the heat. I remember last years trip all too well , or shall I say, last years lessons. I wanted a vacation this year free from structure. I wanted to flow through the desert, unlike last year where I struggled only twenty pitiful miles. Although I only had two weeks this year, I felt that it would be more than enough time for the wandering I longed for. While my iPod lulled James Taylor to my inebriated mind, the loud speaker bellowed out, "Now boarding all passengers". I stumbled my way down the long hallway and up the ramp and into the plane. Two short hours and five beers later, I wobbled my way out of the Ontario airport, where Sandra met me with open arms. April 30, 2008 Today actions were almost systematic. Wake up, shower, and gear up. The plan was in motion, although a slight detour from the plan had me looking over Sandra's front tire that was now a flat, sorry sight. My uncle soon arrived as Sandra and I took our time saying goodbye. As I had promised to take my uncle out for lunch before our long drive to the lake, we sped off in search of a joint to eat, preferably near a store where I could buy a lighter and some HEET.
The ride to the lake was beautiful, although I remember little of the details from last year while peering out the speeding SUV's window. Just before the ride was over, unexpectedly, emotions began to build up inside me as the store, where I met Dude last year, slowly came into sight. It was only one year ago, but it seemed like yesterday. The sky was as blue as I remembered. The air, albeit cooler, was the scent of the desert as I remembered.
I heaved the 42 pound monster over my shoulders with a grunt and said goodbye to my uncle before starting my walk through the park. The park was vacant and looked so different than my memories of last year. Without the tarps, tents, ground cloths, and people scattered all about, I hardly recognized it. As I was not sure how far I was going to walk tonight, I thought it prudent to use the restroom before my trek . It was already three and as I have had very little experience in the desert, finding a spot to camp may be a difficult, time consuming task.
I walked for an hour. An hour of joy until I realized I was on some kind of fisherman's trail, far from the PCT. I took a quick break and discovered that the PCT veered a hard right, long before where I was now sitting. I had to remind myself that this was vacation and getting lost was part of the, err.. fun. I backtracked until I found a use trail and headed east, then south. Luck was on my side and within 20 minutes I intersected the PCT, now easily climbing.
Lizards scurried everywhere as I walked and whistled, trying not to step on anything living. I declined to consult my guidebook as I just wanted to wander up the trail and take in all I could without the worry of landmarks, distances, and time. The day was reasonably cool and breezy, keeping sweating to a minimum.
Unlike last year, the yucca were in full bloom, even more beautiful then I remember. After climbing for a while, the trail started dropping towards Buckman Springs Road. I crossed over Cottonwood Creek and had a sit under large, shade-giving trees. The breeze blew and reminded me of how blessed I was to be here. Right here.
As soon as I started to drift into a slumber, I thought I should try to get somewhere today as I only had two weeks to be out here. I got up and soon passed a sign telling me of a camp just two quick miles away. I followed an old dirt road before it ended at a fence.
I was lost once more. I quickly found the trail and continued my stroll through the shade of Cottonwood Valley. I thought of camping at Boulder Oaks, but I wanted to put in a few more miles and had plenty of daylight left. After a few yards of walking, I looked down to see my first velvet ant. Although they call these things ants, they are actually wasps that never developed their wings. As I read, it's sting is one you would not want to experience.
The trail soon made a sharp right and worked it's way to the campground. Signs were posted of the water being turned off due to contamination, but as I had plenty of it until tomorrow, I sat at a picnic table and made dinner. With cows mooing in the background, I thought again of camping here, but as the breeze from the early afternoon turned into wind, it soon became downright chili. I repacked and set off for the trail, applying a little effort in attempt to warm myself back up.
I walked along Boulder Oakes Road, then soon crossed Highway 8. As the trail climbed, the sun set, warning me it was time to find a spot in which to pitch my tarp. I crested out on a minor peak and scouted around for a clear patch in the scrub. Luck was on my side again as 10 yards off the trail, there was a perfect spot, flat and free of any foliage. I quickly set up my tarp and dove inside my down cocoon, letting the stars provide the entertainment for the night.
May 1, 2008 Awoken by small splashes of water on my face, I opened my eyes to a level of condensation I had not yet experienced. I wiped down the inside of my tarp with my bandana before starting to pack. I wanted to skip breakfast in order to get an early start, avoiding the heat of the day for as long as possible. After crossing Kitchen Creek Road, the trail started climbing moderately along with the temperature. I reached my first water cache, but it was all used up. I did not worry as I had plenty of water with me.
While making the gradual climb up Long Canyon, I caught up to the first people I have seen since the start of my trek. Sparky was planning a thru-hike and Rambling Rich was planning to go as far as I was; Idyllwild. We all decided that the ford of Long Creek was the place for a lunch break as it was starting to get quite hot. As we arrived, two other hikers were heading out, warning us of ticks. While eating lunch, I took the time to dry out my tarp and sleeping bag as we talked of various subjects including gear and trail.
With a light lunch consumed, I took the time to wash my feet and socks before treating four liters of water. I was in pure heaven as my feet still felt pretty good compared to last year. The trail bobbed up and down, overall slowly gaining elevation as I climbed into the Lagunas.
I stopped for a moment as I heard a rustling in the brush. A skunk, just sauntering through the area, paid no mind to me as he went about his business. If I got doused by the cute, little thing, I doubt I could have smelled any worse than I already had. I soon caught up to the couple that had just taken off as I arrived at Long Creek. To my relief, the desert was changing into mountains as more shade appeared, cooling my heated body.
Now only a mile from the road leading to the Mt. Laguna Post Office, I stumbled upon a water source that one would think to find in a park more so than in the mountains. The water tasted high in mineral content, but was much cooler than the heated water in my bladders. I filled my empty Platypus bladders then hoisted the mammoth pack back onto my shoulders.
I began climbing once again and was soon joined by the couple that had just left at Long Creek. Buzzard and Wren were a retired couple with no end point in mind. They were doing what they wanted, how they wanted, when they wanted. Buzzard was telling me how different the temperature was this year in comparison to the last as I agreed. In my recollection, It was hotter last year to me as well. Wren pulled a guidebook from her pack and showed me that the road leading to the store was just ahead.
I pondered the notion to just keep moving along the trail at the road's junction, but not for long. The call for something cool was just too strong. I walked the .4 miles to the store in record time. Along the way, I took the time to call Sandra to let her know my progress. It was hard to explain the experience as periods of desolation and isolation were now replaced by a socially secure oasis. Before arriving at the store, I was greeted by Dale, a fellow hiker, who gave me a little info about the area. Soon after, I indulged in two liters of Gatorade, a half liter of lemonade and a shredded meat and cheese burrito. It was pure luxury as I sat on the porch, saying high to the passerby's, while chatting endlessly with the store's caretaker.
With the herd well ahead of me, I had the Mt. Laguna Store all to myself and entertained the idea of renting one of the cabins for the night. As soon as I thought this, I remembered the campground I wanted to reach tonight and grabbed my pack. The walk thought the rest of Mt. Laguna was extraordinary as I strolled by buzzard and Wren's camp site in the woods. They generously offered me a spot next to them before chatting momentarily. As much as I loved the area we were in, and their company, I again remembered the campground and said goodbye to my new friends.
As I climbed up to the campground, I realized this was not where I wanted to be. Occupied with generator powered motor homes, I longed for a more peaceful night's sleep and had a sit to look over my maps. "Heya Dude!", I heard from behind me. "Oasis Spring is all dried up." Jeremiah was his name. He was a thru-hiker that started shortly after the herd and was in search of water. I had seven liters, but thanked him for the information anyway. We talked for a little while before he took off up the road to fill his bladders. I hiked on for two more miles to find a sweet spot in a burned grove of trees. Setting up camp was quick as I boiled up water for dinner. Pasta with vegetables and olive oil hit the spot before I quickly dove into my warm, quiet bed for the night, letting the stars put on a show, and the local coyotes sing me to sleep.
May 2, 2008 My pleasant alarm clocks were singing, telling me it was time to wake up before flying away. There was not a drop of condensation on my tarp, which means camp would be fast to strike this morning. Breakfast consisted of oatmeal and dry cereal with milk. After eating, I packed everything up and hiked back up to the PCT. The morning air was crisp, but warmer than the two prior days. Today, like the others, I did not want to worry about logistics, but I knew I had to as water was always an issue. The water report warned of contamination at Pioneer Mail Trailhead and that meant I had a long haul ahead of me before the next source.
I started to walk past the putrid water source when I glanced back and saw some trail magic. Four one gallon jugs were set out, waiting for me to have my way with them. I filled my four liter Platypus with one of the jugs and left the other three for the people behind me. As I should have plenty of water to get me anywhere I need to go, I thumped my way up the trail, carrying 40 pounds once again.
The trail climbed as the views of the Anza Borrego Desert became magnificent. It was getting terribly windy as I set the fastest pace I could with the weight I had on my back. After crossing Kwaaymii Point Road, the trial bobbed and weaved in a seemingly never ending fashion. I was not sure where I would camp tonight, or where I would get water before Warner Springs, but since things had been working themselves out, I wasn't going to worry.
A reminder of what can happen in the desert presented itself to me via a deceased coyote smack dab in the middle of the trail. I said a silent prayer for the dead animal and moved on. My feet were starting to hurt and grow a few hot spots as the weight of my pack was starting to take it's toll. The problem was, since the Pines Fire of 2002, there wasn't any shade to rest under. I found a nice, large, flat rock instead and laid down for a minute. There was a cool breeze flowing as I quickly drifted off to sleep for a 30 minutes before two hikers strolled by, waking me up. The day was getting hot and it was time to move on.
After a steep, bone jarring descent, I thumped my way down to the junction with Chariot Canyon. There was an older couple relaxing under a small tarp, enjoying the small amount of shade it provided. They mentioned there wasn't any water in the canyon, but I thought differently. The trees that lined the canyon floor gave me a glimmer of hope there was water somewhere. I sauntered my way down the dirt road, occasionally glancing into the dry creek bed, looking for any signs of moisture. I turned the first bend in the road and met back up with Jeremiah. He was, again, running low on water and knew he did not have enough to make Barrel Springs. We talked for a while before he grabbed his water pump and walked out of site, further down into the canyon.
After a snack of a king-sized Snickers bar dipped in peanut butter, I took a 10 minute rest. Since I still hadn't seen Jeremiah, I grabbed my pack and walked after him, also in search for water. A mile later, I found Jeremiah next to a spring that was crossing the road. I declined to take water from the puddle as I was treating and wanted something a little closer to the source. I walked another half mile and found a spring coming up from the gravel bed along the dirt road. I did not hesitate. I took my time washing my feet after treating my small blisters and six more liters of water. My spot was luxurious as a cool breeze, complimented with limitless shade, gave me all the comforts I desired. I thought about camping here, but I had two hours of daylight left and had to keep moving. I had not yet completed the miles I needed to reach my goal for the day. Damn goals.
I climbed out of the canyon. I climbed up the road. I climbed up the trail off of the road. I climbed for an hour and a half and was dead tired. I was so tired I stepped within six inches of a baby rattlesnake, that, luckily for me, was too cold to do anything about it. I used my pole to move him off of the trail before plodding on. The side of the ridge I was on was steep. Too steep for a flat spot to make camp. I looked about a half mile ahead of me and saw a saddle where I could set up camp. I also noticed someone else had the same idea. It was Jeremiah. Although he found the best spot on the saddle, I found one that was plenty good enough and quickly set up camp before the sun went down.
I cooked a quick dinner from the warmth of my sleeping bag. The sunset was simply breathtaking as I laid my head back and waited for the stars to make their appearance. Tomorrow, I would have to hike through the hottest part of my trip, but this mattered little as I had plenty of water to make the trek. Besides, I was too tired to care and camp was perfect. I quickly fell asleep under impossibly bright stars.
May 3, 2008 My feet hurt more than yesterday this morning as I struck camp. I skipped breakfast to get an early start as Jeremiah was already gone. He knew it was going to be a scorcher. It already felt warm as the cool morning breeze that I been so used to was nonexistent. I set off at a brisk pace, making the floor of the valley by ten. It was hot as the cooler breeze was replaced by superheated air. About half way to S2, I found a large bush to lay under. Jeremiah soon caught up with me and admired my position under the cool shade. He too had found some shade under a large boulder that I had passed up, but in doing so, sat on a cactus. As we both thought this funny, he was charged at the thought of the water cache at Scissors Crossing and kept moving.
His enthusiasm must have rubbed off on me because I soon grabbed my pack and thumped onward, towards the crossing in anticipation. Today the cache was supposed to be restocked, but we had no idea when. I glanced over at all the trees lining the Felipe Creek area and wondered how the ford would be. I thought about how nice it would be to soak my feet. I thought how nice it would be to take another nap under a large oak tree. Onward to the cache.
The cache was well supplied as I drank greedily. Jeremiah took pleasure in torturing me with a provided menu from a nearby restaurant. As neither one of us wanted to hitch, and without much shade to lay in, we signed the register, grabbed our packs, and walked away from the life giving efforts of the Trail Ratz.
I crossed highway S2 and pondered what was bothering me. Time. It was all about time. I wanted more than what I had to work with. I could not hike my own hike if time was dictating how and when I needed to hike and rest. Last year, I had six weeks to work with. Even with six weeks, you have a little flexibility, i.e. within six weeks you were bound to end up in a town to where you can get a ride out. With two weeks, I would most likely end up in between towns if I did not stick to my schedule. With a thru-hike, I could take a day or two off, lay in the shade for a few hours, or hitch into a town and rest. With only the two weeks I had, there was little room for anything away from the schedule.
Jeremiah and I sat in the icy breeze under the bridge when we were joined by two other hikers. Soon we were joined by another. Wild Bill was 67 and retired, doing what he loved. He and I chatted as he told me some tricks of the trade. He reminded me a lot of Dude that I met last spring. As I never forgot what Dude, Tracy and Gash taught me, it was easy to understand where Wild bill was coming from. Wild Bill told me what I had been regretting the whole trip. Idyllwild was fired in. No one can go in, or out of the town via trails. One would have to hitch. I was done.
I called my uncle to come get me as my schedule did not allow the time to hitch into Idyllwild. Warner Springs, the town I would have arrived at tomorrow, was overran with hikers that could not get into Idyllwild. Unlike last year, I was not devastated, but I did make up my mind that section hiking was not for me. I wanted to thru-hike the PCT ever since I first found out about the trial. Thru-hiking would allow my body and mind the time and distance to get used to the rigors of the trail. I said goodbye to my friends and started walking down the ditch alongside the road, heading towards Julian.
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