The following is Part
3 in a series of posts concerning my experience with the Pacific Crest Trail. Part
1 and Part
2 can be found via the associated links. Each part will have been adapted
from journal entries, most often written in the wild. Note that the date and
time listed are when the journal entry was written, and that sometimes a
current location (i.e. where the entry was written) is provided. Thank you, one
and all, for your varying support before, during, and after this endeavor.
Though little went as I anticipated, it has been a blessedly memorable year.
Chapter 1:
STARTING THE PACIFIC CREST TRAIL
22 April: Sunday
6:30
“It’s a dangerous business . . . going on out your door . .
.” (J.R.R. Tolkien)
24 April: Tuesday—Desert
View Picnic Area
9:15
How does one begin a journey?
You take a step and start walking.
Unlike the starting gun of a cross country or track race,
the whistle of a referee, or the cheering of the crowd in a stadium, the
Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) begins with a relatively unexciting step. For those
who are fortunate to have loved ones present, there is certainly a degree of
celebration. In a way I felt like all my supporters—family and friends—were
there at that PCT Southern Terminus. They are all excited for me. They look
forward to stories, to how it will change me. I will be happy to share such
gains. However, I have this fear of disappointing them. There is a 50% dropout
rate for PCT thru-hikers (i.e. those attempting to complete the whole 2650+
mile trek). In a sense that is motivating. I like to believe that I do not give
up easily. But it is also sobering. Which statistic will I join? To learn the
answer, I must begin by taking the first step.
I praise God for
Ryno Terblanche. He was at
the Southern Terminus, which is strides away from the California-Mexico border,
when my grandparents and I arrived. Though he left about thirty minutes before
me, I quickly caught up with him on the trail outside Campo. Born in Johannesburg,
South Africa to Afrikkan
parents, but having lived for the last eight years in London,
England, Ryno is a perfect
hiking partner for me. Thirty years old, wearing minimus running shoes or
sandals, needing an umbrella to protect his fairer skin from the bright days,
and with many mutual interests and perspectives, I have thoroughly enjoyed my
time with him. His pace was a bit slower than my goal, but I preferred the
company. Fellowship with people has been the main highlight thus far.
Our starting day (Sunday) was rather hot, at least to be hiking
exposed over dusty landscape. Ryno and I learned a hard lesson after skipping
over a flowing creek in such temperatures without re-supplying our water stores:
never do it. All that we could think about for the next 12 miles was that cool
water that we had ignored. Thus we pressed ahead, desperately seeking the next
water source of Hauser Creek.
Along the way we met an Israeli thru-hiker nicknamed “Rocky”
while he was enjoying a casual nap. He later appeared at Hauser Creek. A
curious thing around the middle of the day was a series of abandoned gear
alongside the trail: a hoodie, pants, and then a camping pad. I joked with Ryno
about coming across some half-naked, half-crazed hiker already broken by the
sun. We also passed one couple that was going quite slowly: PCT veteran “Tebetan”
and a girl who, according to a few others we later met, had no idea what she
was doing (e.g. She shipped water ahead to a re-supply post. Does she not plan
to refill her water along the way?). In the middle of the morning, Ryno and I met
“Rubik’s Cube” sitting beside the trail in the shade, struggling from something
that he had eaten that was causing him to periodically vomit. At Hauser Creek,
Ryno and I met Appalachian Trail (AT) veteran “Castle,” who was a nice, but
quiet girl. Aside from the dreams of water—gum helped a bit, but it has still
been rough for me due to being sick with a sore throat; though the gum did seem
to ease Rubik’s Cube’s stomach—my shoulders seriously struggled. My feet were also
progressively getting worse.
Having overestimated myself—Note: thinking to maintain higher
mileage in the beginning due to being “fresh” is unwise—I chose to camp at
Lake Morena (PCT mile 20.6). It would have been agony to press on 6 more miles
to my original goal of Boulder Oaks Campground. Besides, I just wanted to be
with people, and 19:30 was late to
be on the trail. Castle was there, as was a guy named Tommy. Rubik’s Cube also
eventually showed up, having plummeted back into nausea during the earlier
ascent. The camp’s hot shower was certainly appreciated by all.
Though only a dirty trickling stream, Hauser Creek was a
hallelujah oasis. We drank water, ate food, and rested our feet in the sun
before the ascent to Lake Morena.
A mom and her daughter, the latter of whom I nicknamed “Monkey” for the stuffed
animal that she carries, also caught back up with us at the creek. If Monkey
completes the PCT, she will be the youngest ever to do so. She is eight years
old. Passing them again yesterday (Monday), however, they looked like they were
struggling.
I left Ryno at Hauser Creek because he planned to camp in that
area, and I wanted to get farther. With my late night—and hence 9:30 start the
next day (Monday)—it worked out that I caught back up with him almost right
away. He is suffering from jet lag, hence usually starts hiking very early in
the morning around 5:00. I was very
glad to see him again. I seemed to be one of the last hikers out of Lake
Morena, with one of the heaviest
backpacks: a complete amateur. That is something that I struggle a lot with:
feeling completely inferior at something. It is humbling. Add to that my
average 1.25-2.5 mile/hour pace and continuing discomfort. Regardless, Ryno and
I welcomed the foggy morning in comparison with Sunday’s heat. Eventually
seeing Boulder Oaks Campground, I was glad to have stopped at Lake
Morena. My grandparents (Mama &
Papa) were glad as well. I used a trail angel Tom’s landline to call them Sunday
evening while they were still en route to San Jose.
Their support in this journey has been incredible. I doubt that I could have come
this far without them.
After two creek crossings, one on a narrow branch, Ryno and
I began the long ascent into the Laguna
Mountains. Our pace was
discouraging. We had a nice midday
break at an overlook where a thru-hiker who I had seen the previous night, Bryan,
was airing out his gear from the moist morning. Along the way, Ryno and I also passed
one guy whose pack looked at least as heavy as mine. It was not much of a
consolation.
At the suggestion of one day-hiker we passed, Ryno and I
detoured for a half mile roundtrip to a waterfall. I am glad that we hid our
packs to do so because the trail was very steep and it just felt great to hike
without any weight on our backs. The trip was also invigorating—in the true
spirit of the PCT, I thought—and fortunately, the waterfall was much more than
a trickle. The region was surprisingly green for Southern California,
but we know it will not last much longer.
We met up with Bryan
later at Fred Canyon Creek. He was not planning to go much further that day
(Day 3 for him). Ryno wanted to go a bit further, but was concerned about his
feet. He decided to continue on with me into the mountains toward Long Canyon
Creek instead of descending off trail to lovely Cibbets Flat Campground. Our
pace was still slow, but the sun came out and provided a fantastic view of the southern
cloud-flooded valleys. After passing a few camps with hikers like Rubik’s Cube,
Ryno and I reached the Longs Canyon Creek crossing area. Ryno chose to make
camp there with another thru-hiker. Having pressed through some serious foot
pain, and with shoulders that seemed to be adjusting, I wanted to continue on
to Burnt Rancheria Campground. I felt a new wave of resolve that I did not want
to waste.
I pushed hard. Dusk had settled. Dark came soon after. But
the stars shone brighter than I had seen for a long time. I entered quiet
forestland. I really hoped to reach camp before 21:00.
When I reached a sign for Desert View Picnic Area, I pulled out my PCT Southern
California guidebook, and then realized that had passed the spur trail to Burnt
Rancheria Campground. My pace was better than I thought.
Desert View Picnic Area is lovely. It even offers a decent bathroom.
A few others were already settled in for the night. One was a pair of car
campers, at least one of whom smoked in the bathroom, and both of whom were
apparently watching TV in their tent. Ok, I thought. It was a reminder of a
different culture.
I set up camp quicker than the previous night, and enjoyed
some warm Madras lentils. I even
had cell phone service. Heartened by my 22.6 mile day, it was very good to talk
with Mama & Papa. Unfortunately, my feet were in relatively poor shape. It
took at least forty-five minutes to treat them. I really hope that my doctoring
helps, that they do not worsen. I even discovered a tick fastened to my ankle,
and promptly removed it. Thus I went to bed at midnight,
which is far too late.
* * *
I feel sleep-deprived. I keep waking up cramped or clammy,
sometimes even sweating. It might by my 15F sleeping bag combined with the synthetic
base layer that I wear to bed, but I want to have a layer between my skin and
my sleeping bag to keep it clean longer. Furthermore, it gets too cold to sleep
out of the bag. . . . I hope that I start sleeping better soon.
Today I plan to only go as far as Pioneer Mail Trailhead
Picnic Area. It is reported to provide the last certain water for 25 miles,
which is serious. The trailhead picnic area is only around 11 miles away. I
have decided to try to complete shorter miles today because of my feet and lingering
sickness, but also because this beautiful sunny morning welcomes sitting at this
picnic table for a while to finally start journaling, and because I would like to
enjoy a more leisurely evening tonight. That, at least, is the idea.
“The best laid plans of mice and men . . .” (John Steinbeck)
Otherwise, Day 3 passed as well as it could. Just before the
Laguna Post Office, I reconnected with Ryno as he was sitting in the shade to
protect his red sunburned face, neck, and arms. Later he was wearing full long
sleeves and a thin scarf for protection during his progress. The day was rather
warm, but not bad. The landscape was somewhat barren, but still lovely in
areas. I hiked half the 11 miles alone, seeing few people along the way. One
was Paul, who later joined our campsite.
