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.
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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.
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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?
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