Not to Walk Alone, Part 3

The following is Part 3 in a series of four posts about my recent experience on the PCT (Pacific Crest Trail). Read Part 1 and Part 2. Each part has been adapted from journal entries written in the wild. The date and time listed are when the journal entry was originally written.

Revelation of Loneliness?

10 June, 2018: Sunday

c.18:00—Deep Creek [PCT Mile 304 (Mileage Today: 17.5)]

Due to the fullness and intensity of yesterday (June 9), I decided to just go to bed at 22:00 instead of journaling. Now cleaned up for the evening, I will account for the day.

Two nights ago, at Arrastre Creek, someone hiked past my camp around 23:00; otherwise, the next activity was around 5:50 yesterday morning when Bill and Candice came by. Bill’s voice, excited about the stream, was unmistakable. I rose soon after, surprised by how cold it was outside. I felt poor as a result, hands struggling with numbness. I ate a somewhat heavy breakfast, knowing I would be re-supplied in a few hours by Andrew & Meghan.

(Note: I have decided to generally avoid eating dry granola on the trail—it takes too long to chew and just doesn’t sit right in my stomach.)

Setting out from Arrastre Creek, it was not long before I was stopped by what seems to be my new morning poop routine. By then, the temperature was warm enough to strip down to my normal hiking layers: boonie, synthetic t-shirt, and swim shorts.

Hiking along Nelson Ridge provided grand views of waterless Baldwin Lake as well as the hills, mountains, and valleys descending east and northeast to the barren desert region of Lucerne Valley. While it was impressive to look out upon, I would not want to be down in it. Along the way, I caught Bill and Candice, which made me happy. I wanted to be able to say goodbye. We ultimately finished our descent to Highway 18 together where Pancake was already waiting for his wife in the shade of a tree. Andrew & Meghan had already arrived.

Saying farewell to my PCT companions, having yo-yoed these previous days, was bittersweet. Pancake’s wife arrived soon, after which I said a reluctant goodbye to all, knowing I wouldn’t see them again because they each planned to spend the night in Big Bear. I am thankful for the moments we shared together, ever reminded that it is the community that draws me to the PCT as much as the landscape.

Andrew, Meghan, and I drove into Big Bear for a hearty brunch of Mexican food at Hacienda Grill. First we stopped at a local CVS for some super glue, with which I hope to patch my pillow tonight. Brunch was delicious: chips with a variety of salsas (Hacienda Grill has a salsa bar) and then tasty carne asada. The caloric value alone would prove essential later. Otherwise, I was thankful for the 2.5 hour break with Andrew & Meghan. Being back in “civilization”, however, or “the poor man’s Tahoe” as Andrew calls Big Bear, I realized that I am not ready to return—especially to what can seem like an aura of general social boredom and escapism through material things. My spirit was still in the serenity of the wilderness, the simplicity of the backpacking life.

Re-supplied, I was dropped back off at the PCT-Highway 18 intersection. Having already completed about 8 miles earlier, I intended to hike only 9 more miles. Near Doble, I had to make an anticipated detour to avoid last year’s burn area. I took a left turn on a dirt road, but it proved to be a turn too soon, which dead-ended. Fortunately, a mine provided me a geographical reference, visible up through the charred trees. Therefore, I determined to just ascend the steep hillside to reach Road 3N16.

A mother and her two children were at the side of the road above the mine surveying the fire damage, the former saying something about how her husband (the children’s father) had been involved as a firefighter. Progressing along dusty Road 3N16, most four-wheelers courteously slowed down with a nod as they passed (to reduce dust washing over me), to which I nodded in gratitude, offering them the peace sign. The eventual ascent back to the PCT via an unnamed jeep road was brutal. At the top, however, I was rewarded with views north across the desert while the PCT progressed west. Concerned that Caribou Creek might not have water, I rationed as best as I could.

When I arrived at Caribou Creek, everything was clearly dry, but I felt a pang of hope at the sight of a water cache. That feeling was immediately absorbed as I realized that there was only a trickle left in one jug. Tired, having covered about 17 miles so far for the day, I sat for a rest. My water was about gone. Fortunately, I thought to eat one of my clementines, which revived my spirit and body. I knew or resolved to press ahead, knowing that I had 11 miles to go before reaching Little Bear Spring Trail Camp. Though there was about 700 feet of climbing to do, the steady 5-mile descent to the camp afterward made the endeavor seem possible. Still, I knew that it would be taxing and that I would arrive after dusk.

Thankfully, the path’s conditions were generally smooth. I began my ascent just as another PCT hiker (who I later learned is called “Yellow Toe”) was dropped off at the PCT-Van Dusen Canyon Road junction. I did not see him after that crossing, distinct with his small travel guitar strapped to his pack. Meanwhile, I found a deep reserve of strength within myself, buffered by feet sparing me problems as well as a few glorious views of Big Bear Lake and distant Mount San Gorgonio. Also a blessing was a small water cache halfway through, this time with water. I filled up a half liter, not wanting to be greedy in case someone behind me was also desperate.

The grandest sight met me as I rounded the bend of Delamar Mountain. The canyons and hills holding Holcomb Creek were illuminated with golden twilight, layers behind layers like waves descending to the San Gabriel Mountains beyond Cajon Pass, the destination of my journey. Truly an inspiring sight.

I spotted two hikers ahead, and ultimately caught them just as the young woman was scratching her completely exposed butt. (She appeared to be hiking in a sports skirt of some kind.) I was a little ways back at that point, so delayed actually catching up to them to prevent any potential awkwardness. When I did catch them, I recognized the couple I had seen hitchhiking outside Hacienda Grill in Big Bear.

[Pause for some much-needed dinner.]

20:10—(Same Location)

Dusk is peaceful here. I may be the first to have camped at this spot. It is a boulder field with sand, likely a flood bank from when the river overflows in late winter or early spring. I have seen many hikers pass above me—my camp is below the trail—ascending to disappear around the bend of the western shoulder that overlooks my position. Most hikers are in pairs or groups of three. It makes me feel a bit lonely. I wonder where they’re planning to camp tonight, for I know of no place for about 10 miles, if even that. I heard some talk about the Hot Springs at Mile 308, but allegedly there’s no camping permitted within a mile of it. Still, I get this sense like everyone’s going to a party, and that I’m missing it. I was very tempted to continue after exploring this creek bed—which required a hundred meter off-trail descent via the hint of a path that someone has made. The allure of discovering what is just around the bend is powerful. But it was too much of a gamble. If the Hot Springs, only 4 miles away, proves closed to camping, I definitely am too weary to push on another 6+ miles. My body is exhausted from yesterday (more on that in a moment).

I had hoped to camp at a creek side day use area this evening, but an obvious sign forbids it in order to preserve the habitat of a rare frog that is in a delicate state of repopulation. I saw a few in the water at the site. Moreover, the day use area is popular with off-roaders and their indelicate treatment of the surroundings and raucous behavior. Hiking most of this afternoon along a ravine, I am thankful for this spot, which is 3 miles farther than the day use area. Unsure whether I’d have to dry camp (i.e. have no water source nearby), I filled up my entire 2-liter “dirty” reservoir (for unfiltered water) at the day use area. Having hidden my pack up a hill behind a rock so that I wouldn’t have to descend and then ascend the dusty dirt road with it, once reunited, I then proceeded to carry the full bladder against my neck on my shoulder like a precious lamb. Having the cool water against my neck was quite nice, actually. I soon filtered the water at a gully bridge (Mile 302).

[It’s getting dark outside, and my headlamp is being frustratingly problematic again.]

Returning to yesterday evening, I was discouraged that the faucet was off at Little Bear Spring Trail Camp. There was another camper further down the trail, Jeff, who was very kind, giving me about a half liter of water and a small bag of gummy snacks—“For the extra vitamins” he said. He is attending UC Irvine and likes to come up about every weekend. I smelled weed at his camp, and noticed an alcoholic beverage beside him. I said farewell, determined to find water at the next trailside camp only a mile away.

This was all after conferring about the faucet with the PCT couple I had passed a while earlier, during which I must have seemed strange having run swiftly from Jeff without my pack and then dashed back. Nonetheless, it felt so good to run, surprisingly energizing.

Click Map to Enlarge

At last, as darkness began to settle, I reached a [German?] couple camping at WRCSO287. Before meeting them, I saw “H20—>” written with pine cones, so dropped my pack and proceeded to explore a rocky creek bed, but found nothing. (My appearing in the shadows and then vanishing led the female camper to question her sanity and feel a bit creeped out. She admitted this later.) The [German] couple was kind, and was acquainted with the other couple hiking behind me who soon arrived. The male [German] showed us to the lingering puddles of water further up the rocky creek bed, which was fortunately more than enough for all of us. I talked with “Moon”—my unofficial nickname to the female hiker, for reasons outlined earlier—learned that her male hiking partner is Danish and that she is from or has lived in Santa Cruz.

I did not get to speak much more with them. It was dark, so we promptly set up camp, ate, and completed our personal camp routines. Moon and the Dane “cowboy camped” (i.e. slept without a tent), which I felt less inclined to doing having seen (and killed, I’m somewhat ashamed to admit) a scorpion and sizeable black spider while I ate dinner. Moon and the Dane didn’t seem too concerned, though, instead quite happy with each other. I went to bed a little while later, weary from having covered 28 miles, which is my new day record.

This morning, I woke at the usual 6:00 timeframe. The [German] couple had left about twenty minutes earlier. I rose when Moon and the Dane were about to depart. It was another cool morning. Not planning to hike as far, I took my time, enjoying the atmosphere. After all, that is one of my favorite parts of backpacking, and I must remember why I’m here. Being around thru-hikers awakes a certain competitiveness within me. More so, it is the desire to join their company, however.

Following Holcomb Creek further from the mountains was nice, especially the views of Lake Arrowhead in the distance and the looming San Gabriel Mountains. But while my spirit began the day enthusiastically (still needed a poop stop, though), my body quickly admitted its weariness. As a result, my pace seems to have been a bit slower. I seem to average about 3 miles/hour with breaks, 3.5 if feeling solid, and 4 if consciously pushing it, though that taxes the body pretty thoroughly.

At one point, I passed some late risers, talked briefly with one called “Balloons.” They had arrived to their campsite late last night, but Balloons said “F— it”, hopeful about meeting some “Weekenders” at the Hot Springs today, hopeful to be offered a beer. Balloon was very chill. I think I smelled weed. I later passed the [German] couple (actually, I learned that the female is from Switzerland—I cannot remember their names). The German was struggling to break in new hiking boots, his old ones dangling from his pack. I’m not sure if they’re still behind me. I didn’t see them at the Splinter’s Cabin Junction, so Balloons and his entourage must have also passed them; for I think I spotted Balloons hike by my camp area not long ago.

Anyway, marked by a large bridge, Splinter’s Cabin Junction, and many points along Deep Creek, are popular with day visitors or weekenders. As I arrived, very ready for a break, I spotted Moon and the Dane with two other female twenty-somethings. Moon and one of the other young women were sunbathing topless. Where they were all perched looked crowded, so I settled on a large nearby sand beach—this after offering a Hello and some comment about this creek crossing being a small slice of paradise. I hope they don’t think I was being sheepish about the nudity. Having grown up in Europe, it does not seem that strange. In retrospect, I should have just crossed the creek a settled where they had set their gear.

Regardless, Splinter’s Cabin Junction provided a refreshing and much-needed 1.5 hour break. I soaked my feet, washed off the dirt, and briefly napped. I couldn’t help but be amused observing a boisterous man, his Latina girlfriend (presumably), and her three kids. The latter really didn’t want to be submerged in the water, but the adults were trying to coax them into doing so as a demonstration of their readiness to camp this evening. There were a fair amount of tears from the children, but some eventually succumbed to parent pressure.

As the other PCT hikers departed, I thought I should too, even with only a few miles (or so I first thought) to go. I knew there could be an issue with my first target, the day use area, so I wanted to allow ample time and daylight to adapt. I left the creek junction at about 14:40. The Dane, Moon, and Balloon’s entourage were talking at one end of the bridge, clearly familiar with each other. Once again, I didn’t feel like intruding, even felt a bit old as they all seem in their young twenties. But now I kind of wish I had paused to at least enter the conversation for a moment.

I sometimes feel out of place, not being a thru-hiker. The thru-hiking community is unique, but I do not belong to it as a section hiker. Not that thru-hikers really judge non thru-hikers in that way, but there is a sense of heightened transience being a section hiker, knowing that we would only see each other at most for a few days. Being part of the PCT thru-hiking community remains my greatest draw to attempt another thru-hike.

Click Map to Enlarge

In the end, I powered on to select this site. Here I am.

At sunset, two [female?] hikers stopped to sit on the trail west above me to enjoy the view I unfortunately couldn’t really see from my camp. I’m not sure if they saw me, though I tried waving, but nonetheless felt a pang of wanting to be up there with them. Some company would be welcome. It has been a tiring last two days. Progressing with reasonable mileage, I should complete this section in two and a half days. For now, I need rest.

Camping next to a creek, it is curious how running water sometimes echoes with what sounds like people’s voices. I noticed that for the first time when backpacking in Yosemite National Park. Is that a real sensation or is it just a revelation of loneliness?

Read Part 4

Not to Walk Alone, Part 2

The following is Part 2 in a series of posts about my recent experience on the PCT (Pacific Crest Trail). Read Part 1. Each part has been adapted from journal entries written in the wild. The date and time listed are when the journal entry was originally written.

Trail Magic

7 June, 2018: Thursday
18:59—Mission Creek Trail Camp [PCT Mile 240 (Mileage Today: c.11.5)]

Click Map to Enlarge

Arriving at Fork Springs an hour into my hike this morning leads me to think that I actually camped around PCT Mile 229 last night. Nonetheless, I slept pretty well, despite being unable to fix my pillow. I did miss it, though. I found the two holes this evening (Note: there would end up being at least six—unfortunately too many to repair), but alas my patching glue is hardened. I will ask Andrew to bring some super glue when I next re-supply.

Otherwise, the stars were glorious last night. I was too tired to gaze at them for long. I woke at various points during the night to switch from lying on my back to my side, etc. The temperature was warm enough that I only progressively used my sleeping bag as a blanket. A few night hikers passed my camp, one around midnight, shinning his or her light on my tent—possibly seeking a camp. Another passed around 4:00, likely an older man I met around noon today at a trailside camp (WRCSO235). Before I met him, he had been sleeping in preparation of hiking again tonight, having struggled with heat. I stopped at his camp for its welcome shade, the first all day, to eat lunch, eager for the energy.

This morning, I rose before the sun hit my camp, wanting to take advantage of the shade. My pack-up and breakfast process felt a bit slow, but the tortilla with peanut butter (honeyed), dried bananas and raspberries was delicious, all washed down with a juicy clementine. A few hikers passed as I ate. I saw one at Fork Springs. I also passed a couple camps, wondering if one was the Philadelphia Boys.

The ascent today from 4000ft to 8000ft was tough. I am sore and tired; therefore chose to camp here at Mission Creek Trail Camp for extra rest, especially before a rolling 16-mile stretch without water sources. Also concerning is what I suspect to be the middle portion of my left foot’s plantar fascia. God, restore it, protect it. Blisters have mostly been avoided so far, thank God. But my headlamp gave me issues last night, dying prematurely with brand new lithium batteries. I cleaned some of the previous alkaline battery leakage out this evening, which seems to have worked. Hopefully that will last.

This afternoon, the flowers, particularly the grape soda lupine, were bright and fragrant among a burned section of forest. Flies swarmed in some areas, as did bees. I passed a middle-aged couple section hiking, and then another middle-aged section hiker, Candice, who is originally from Mount Hood, Oregon, but who now works as a pediatrician near Santa Rosa. She was struggling with the altitude. She was sitting beside the creek at Forested Flats Junction area. I encouraged her that the terrain would soon improve. She eventually reached Mission Creek Trail Camp. We shared a picnic table this evening, talked, including about her desire to bring her mother to France. It was nice to share time with a kindred spirit.

The temperature is much cooler up here, and the forest is welcome. Nearby, past a horse corral, the water trickles down from the earth, or through the earth, into a metal bin, and then on as a barely discernable stream. Many bees busied themselves around it, but I managed to clean up with the frigid water without being disturbed, which was refreshing—as was my nap after having set up camp.

Now, the birds are singing, calling to each other, the bees have gone, a few mosquitoes hunt, and a woodpecker taps a tree here and there. I intend for an earlier morning, so will go to bed soon.

I saw Dan leaving the water source here as I arrived. If Candice leaves before me—her plan is to depart at 4:00—I’ll presumably catch her along the way as she hikes quite a bit slower than me. Otherwise, I’m not sure I’ll see any familiar faces tomorrow. Here’s to hoping, though. Thank you, LORD, for people.

8 June, 2018: Friday
18:45—Arrastre Creek [PCT Mile 258.5 (Mileage Today: 18.5)]

Click Map to Enlarge

It was lovely to sleep for about ten hours. Before bed, right after finishing my journal entry, two other hikers arrived. The first was who I learned today is called “Pancake” (real name: Brian, I think). We chatted briefly as he dropped his bag and went directly toward the water. He told me that he had hiked from Whitewater Preserve, which was a solid day of hiking considering the ascent. The voluminous voice of the next arrival talking with Pancake suggested the man I met yesterday around noon at the shaded camp down the canyon.

This morning, I heard Candice indeed leave around 4:00; though having just talked with Pancake, she is back at Arrastre Trail Camp. I don’t know where I passed her today (I later learned that it was probably when she stepped off the trail to use the restroom around the Predators in Action cages). Bummer. The older man, who I learned is Bill (from Long Beach, California), left about twenty minutes before me. He was preceded by Pancake.

I took my time leaving camp this morning, being sure to refill my two-liter water bladder for the 16+ miles of waterless trail. For hydration, it seems to work well for me to drink at least a liter of water at dinner and at breakfast. I was slowed somewhat this morning because I needed to poop, which is a bit of a process when trying to honor Leave No Trace principles.*

*The Seven Principles: Plan Ahead and Prepare, Travel and Camp on Durable Surfaces, Dispose of Waste Properly, Leave What You Find, Minimize Campfire Impacts, Respect Wildlife, and Be Considerate of Other Visitors. 

Regarding human waste, general practice is to dig a hole at least six inches deep. This serves as one’s latrine. Once one’s load has been lightened, used tissue paper must be packed out, the hole buried, and preferably covered by rocks and/or sticks forming an “X”. For the sake of preserving the raw beauty of the wilderness for everyone, please honor these principles.

I departed camp at 7:50, and was surprised to see two other tents around the bend near the trailhead. One had no rain fly, to which the [male?] occupant glanced up at me before collapsing back—whether in exhaustion, frustration, or disinterest, I cannot say.

With the morning shade and cool breeze, conditions were great for hiking. The first two miles felt strong, but soon after my plantar fascia began “barking” (as Pancake later put it). It was the worst at Mile 5. Having stopped briefly and stretched, I felt nauseous with pain and limped for a while. I made it to Coon Creek Jumpoff (Mile 6) and there rested in the shade talking with Pancake and Bill. We left in the same order as this morning, but I soon caught Bill, and then eventually Pancake. Both are connecting with their wives tomorrow mid-morning for a Nero (less than 10-mile day) and probably a Zero (day with no miles hiked) in Big Bear. So tomorrow may be the last I’ll see of them.

Pancake passed by my camp a while ago, having taken a two-hour siesta. He’s aiming to camp at CSO259. He told me that Bill is camping with Candice back upstream.

The rest of the day was generally improved in terms of this morning. My foot had ups and downs. Highlights were the views: back south toward the Coachella Valley with Mount San Jacinto, west at the back of Mount San Gorgonio, and then north toward Baldwin Lake and Big Bear. Also wonderful was some trail magic: a much-appreciated water cache from “Papa Smurf” and “Mountain Mama”, and soon after a garbage bin of treats provided by the Big Bear Hostel. Though not much was left at either, the spirit of the PCT community was felt.

Finally, at the trail junction with a dirt road (RD0258), I was surprised to come across Andrew walking down the road. “Andrew?”

Apparently, there was confusion about our re-supply day. He thought it was today. No matter. It was great to see him. He had arrived at Highway 18 at noon, eventually met Dan who said I was about five hours back, and then went to Big Bear for lunch before accurately guessing where I would be on the trail off of Highway 38. He had hiked a mile down the road when we literally met at the junction. If he or I had passed a minute earlier, we might have missed each other entirely.

Andrew hiked with me another mile to this small campsite and hung out as I set up for the night and ate dinner. He left over an hour ago. The plan is to connect at Highway 18 tomorrow. Meghan will likely be with him. We’ll go to lunch in Big Bear and then I’ll be dropped off for my remaining 9 miles or so to Caribou Creek. If there is no water, and my body is solid, I may press on another 10 miles to Little Bear Spring Trail Camp. But that will make it a 26+ mile day, which would probably not be best for my foot. Hopefully there is still water at Caribou Creek.

In the meantime, I’ve left off my rain fly tonight because I want to see the stars. Birds are chatty, flies are buzzing, but it’s remarkable how silent everything becomes after dark. Last night, I could only hear my heartbeat.

For now, I am sleepy. I may not need to get in my sleeping bag tonight, the temperature is so pleasant. Thank you, LORD, for the strength for today, and the blessings along the way. You are so good. Amen.

The Persistent Present

21:36—(same location)

I am restful, but having trouble falling asleep. My heart pounds in my chest, my senses heightened to every sound. I feel blood throbbing through my feet. At dusk, the bees and flies went quiet—I wonder where they go at night—as the night birds call to each other: owls, among other types of birds. At last, the wind stirs high above, hushing the canyon cliffs. A cricket sounds. Listen close, a flutter of wings here; a snap of a twig there. If only I could speak each creature’s language, listen to its conversation, know its reasoning. I am a guest here, but do not feel unwelcome. I am a curiosity. I am at peace, my spirit heightened by the life around me.

Reflecting a little while ago, backpacking has a way of forcing one into the persistent present. There are no devices to get lost in, to escape through and thus lose a sense of time. Each moment, like each step on the trail, is felt. Of course, moments still blur together. In strength, time flows. In pain or weariness, moments are a stumbling delirium or a jolt of attentiveness. Still, the present lingers. The choice is to resist or embrace it. On the trail, one can become fixated on the future, escape into otherness—destinations, resolutions, doubts. A focus on miles can lead to trailaholism; but sometimes hope is renewed by imagining the unknown. There is no simple answer, one to fit all circumstances; but the needs remain fundamental: water, food, shelter, which includes proper clothing; progress balanced with an understanding of both limitations and the will and power to sometimes overcome them. There is much, so much, while at the same time so beautifully little. Hallelujah.

Read Part 3

Not to Walk Alone, Part 1

The following is Part 1 in a four-part series about my recent experience on the PCT (Pacific Crest Trail). Each part has been adapted from journal entries written in the wild. The date and time listed are when the journal entry was originally written.

Prologue

29 May, 2018: Tuesday

9:36—San Jose, California

I have much to process from this last year—so far my most stressful, demanding experience of time. This last year has aged me, taken a holistic toll. Yet there have been blessings, lessons, and provision. God has strengthened me for each day, week, and month. Hallelujah.

Yet it is time to reflect in the beauty of solitude.

I will go to South Lake Tahoe first for a few days of rest. Tahoe is one of my favorite places in the world. I will then journey south mainly via Highway 395, which follows along the eastern feet of the Sierra Nevada mountain range, including past Mono Lake. I am excited to travel an unfamiliar route, ultimately rendezvousing with my friends Andrew & Meghan in Yucaipa, California.

The PCT beckons me.

I am uncertain. I will hike it, certainly, but will it feel like running a gauntlet as in the past? I am taking great effort to pack as light as possible, to give my body a better chance. I will also be more mindful of pacing myself. Andrew will meet me at one or two points for re-supply, which will help disperse food weight during my seven to nine days on the trail. I am going to try my old neutral running shoes (New Balance RC1400s) in my ongoing quest to better preserve my feet; though their having already logged 700 running miles may make that statement ironic. I also may not bring cooking gear, but just eat cold food to save weight.

Possibilities.

I want to enjoy this hike. Perhaps a paradox, I pray that the hike is refreshing—of soul at least. The ease of my five-mile hike with Matthew on Saturday in Russian Ridge Open Space Preserve heartened me. More so, my time in the Word yesterday, Memorial Day, reminded me that God is near:

“I remember the days of old; I mediate on all that you have done; I ponder the work of your hands. I stretch out my hands to you; my soul thirsts for you like a parched land. . . . Let me hear in the morning of your steadfast love, for in you I trust. Make me know the way I should go, for to you I lift up my soul. . . . Let your good Spirit lead me on level ground” (Psalm 143:5-6, 8, 10b).

“The Lord replied, ‘My Presence will go with you, and I will give you rest” (Exodus 33:14). “This gives us courage: We never have to walk alone” (Riekert Botha, An Anchor for the Soul).

God is my companion when no one else chooses to, dares to, or does not understand. Thus past, present, and future join—a mysterious temporality.

Amen.

Beginning

8 June, 2018: Wednesday
20:57—Fork Mission Creek [PCT Mile 231.4*  (Mileage Today: c.23)]
*I started at PCT Mile 210

(Click Map to Enlarge)

Aside from a clogged water filter—likely from calcium buildup, which with some research I learned could be cleaned by periodically soaking the filter in vinegar followed by backwashing—I have never felt more excited, confident, and ready to hike a PCT section. I want to enjoy this experience, this gift.

I am quite tired, and a bit hungry, but feel great lying on top of my down feather sleeping bag and air pad, having covered a lot of ground today. I am ready to sleep.

Side Note: a dinner of two tortillas, each with a slice of pepper jack cheese, spinach, and peppered beef jerky, followed by a Snicker’s Bar, is delicious.

This morning, I woke comfortably and casually at Andrew & Meghan’s house in Yucaipa at 6:50. Andrew and I left at 8:15. Having feasted heartily the last two nights on Mexican cuisine, and a breakfast of crepes this morning, I visited the restroom about four times before hiking today, including a brief gas station stop near Cabazon. (Taking advantage of plumbing and abundant toilet paper, in other words. #BackpackingLife)

Driving on deteriorating roads in what my PCT guidebook calls “West Palm Springs Village,” Andrew and I parked at the gate at the end of Boulder Drive. We backtracked on the PCT to find the trail register, but there was ultimately nothing to find. I figured that it had to do with being late in the PCT thru-hiking season. Most thru-hikers should be in the Sierras by now.

Andrew joined me for the first mile out on my journey. I welcomed his company and conversation, but had to say goodbye when he reached as far as he dared without water. He left me just before the trail reaches the Mesa Wind Farm.

I hiked alone, feeling strong at a relaxed pace, appreciating a few hours of gusty wind until I detoured a half mile to visit the Whitewater Preserve. The Preserve is an oasis in the desert. I met a ranger, signed the PCT registry, and then enjoyed the Preserve’s piped water and cool wading pool. Sitting in the shade, refreshed, I enjoyed lunch (two Cliff Bars) while reclining on the short stone wall of a bridge. Overall, a lovely place.

The remainder of the day, 13:30 until about 19:00, was quite warm (probably the mid 90s F). Most of it was invested crossing the Whitewater River region, ascending and descending ridges with views of Mount San Jacinto to the south and Mount San Gorgonio to the north. In some areas, the wind blew so hard that I had to work to keep my hat on. As the sun dipped below the canyon ridges, I welcomed the shade.

A highlight of the day was meeting some PCT thru-hikers, which I did not expect. I came across the first group at the Whitewater River crossing at Red Dome. They are three friends from high school in Philadelphia who just graduated college. A guy from Ohio was ultimately also hiking with them, though I did not learn this until further up the trail. I mainly talked with Christian, but unfortunately have forgotten the others’ names. We yo-yoed a few times this afternoon, including at the first Fork Mission Creek campsite where I took a first dinner break (second dinner was this evening at camp).

At that same site, a couple going at a slower pace also caught up with me as I was preparing to set forth again. I had passed them a few miles back during a ridge ascent. At that first trailside meeting, the young woman offered to share their shade, but I graciously declined. Reunited at the creek, lingering in the shade, I learned that the man has hiked the AT (Appalachian Trail). We had a pleasant conversation. They stayed back as I continued up the trail.

I had also caught a young hiker named Dan earlier on the ridge before descending to Fork Mission Creek while he slowed to text home. He passed me again shortly after as I took a brief break to air my feet and duct tape the hot spots on my heels (which worked well, I might add). I officially met him later, miles further upstream along Fork Mission Creek, when I conferred with him about our location on the map. I had become slightly confused about my exact location on the route, having hiked ahead about 400 meters to scout for a campsite before backtracking to Dan’s camp thinking he might be at Fork Springs. Scrutinizing the terrain in comparison to the contour map, we determined that such was not the case, so I pressed on. I bid Dan goodnight, and ultimately settled for this nice spot this evening. I passed the “Philadelphia Boys” (as I have come to call them) along the way while they were soaking in a pool. They passed me again after I had set up camp.

It has been a relaxing evening, trying to regain a sense of camp routine. It is always refreshing to wash the dust of the trail off with cold creek water (finishing with a wet wipe is quite satisfying). My feet are looking good. Alas, my air pillow may have a hole. Time to tend to it, stretch, massage some sore areas, and sleep.

Thank you, LORD, for a solid first day. Amen.

Read Part 2