October 21st Lake Morena to the U.S.- Mexico Border

With only 20 miles to cover, Cameron and I didn't get onto the trail until 9:30 as this would mean our finishing time would be more convenient for my sister, who had some refrigerator business to attend to. First time I've had a hiking partner since Jason and Cassandra back in Oregon. Wow, has it really been that long. It was with a certain sense of inevitability that I took the first steps out of Lake Morena. I knew this day would come; that one day this journey would end. Today was that day. The feeling of melancholy that accompanied those steps was palpable. Despite the difficulties and rigors of the trail, I would miss it. I'd miss the challenge. However, it was time to bring it to a close. With memories drifting through my head of people and places, vistas and views, hitching and hiking, the hours sped quickly away, as did the trail under my feet. I led most of the day until we passed the Cowboy Fire, then Cameron took the lead just a few miles from Campo. Border patrol agents zipping past us, fully decked out on their ATVs, we walked the last few miles side by side on the road that led to the hillock where the southern terminus was located. No feelings of being the great conqueror as I had envisioned, but a swelling pride in the face of my accomplishment. Tonya was waiting there for us, as well as my brother, Ian, and his family. I was happy they could share this moment with me. A few hugs all around and then I signed the logbook in tribute to those along the trail who have meant the most to me. No tears. Only triumph. Now the recovery begins.

Signing the Register

Leg Power

The Final Steps

20 Miles

October 19th-20th Scissors Crossing to Sunrise Highway and on to Lake Morena

Very early this morning, it started raining. Hurriedly, I created a rain shelter using my plastic ground cloth. One end was attached to the top shelf of the water cache and weighted down with the jugs, while the other end was fixed to some crates in the same manner. This way it created a sloped surface that shed the rain fairly well, so I stayed dry. In the photo, you can see the dry spot where my sleeping pad/bag had been. Luckily for me, there was no wind. If there had been, there would have been no chance of such an improvised rain fly working. By the time I started on the trail, heading into the foothills of Mount Laguna, the rain had ceased, but the low lying clouds remained. Ten miles in a light rain began to fall, which gradually turned much heavier and before I knew it I was walking in a downpour, the trail turning into a muddy creek beneath my feet. I didn't think things could get much worse, but I was wrong. A strong wind started blowing, the temperature plummeted, and suddenly, I was being pelted by hail. I could feel myself getting cold. I had to get out of this maelstrom. Searching for anything that would give me a respite from the storm, I came upon a sign at the Sunrise Trailhead junction. Carefully shielding my maps, I looked to see where the side trail led. Seeing the words outhouse and 1/2 mile, I was off like a rocket. What a relief to get to the pit toilet and close the door behind me. I quickly changed into some dry clothing, hung the wet clothes on the handrail near the commode and crawled inside my sleeping bag, which I had laid on top of the Neoair Thermarest on the floor. Checking my watch, I saw it was just after one o'clock. I told myself that if conditions had improved by three, I'd get back on the trail. In the meantime, I'd eat, rest, and get myself warm. At three o'clock it was still raining cats and dogs. Not good. I have to be at Lake Morena tomorrow to meet my sister. Time for plan B. I'd sleep until midnight and continue hiking then, not on the trail, which would be a thick soup of mud, but along Sunrise Highway to the small community of Mount Laguna, where I'd do some reevaluation. That way, if it improved enough, I could put in enough time to cover the nearly forty miles to my rendezvous point. When I awoke just after 12 a.m., it was no longer raining, but the mountain was shrouded in fog. This I could handle, so out I went. A few miles down the road and it started all over again. First, a light rain followed by a downpour. Then wind and pelting hail. It was the lightning bolt that struck a short distance in front of me, followed a split second later by the peal of thunder that had me most worried. I'm right smack dab in the middle of it; a thought that was confirmed a short time later. Walking along, I felt like I was stepping on sand and gravel that had been swept onto the road by the deluge. Shining the light down at my feet produced a different picture. What I had mistaken for eroded sediment was actually a one inch layer of deposited hailstones. Thankfully, by this point, the worst of the storm was over. The cold, however, was still present. At one point, I went to the manager's office of a private camp. A light was on and the TV was blaring, so I decided to take my chances and rang the bell. All I got for my trouble was the lady on night duty telling me through the door that if I didn't leave, she'd call the police. Back on the road, I figured that as long as I kept moving, my body would generate enough heat to keep me sufficiently warm. About 4:30 I shined my light on a sign that read, "Desert View Picnic Area". I did a double take. I'm in Mount Laguna already?! It was then I knew I'd make it to Lake Morena, which was only 23 miles distant. Not far from Desert View was the visitors center, whose doors were undoubtedly closed, but the restrooms out back were open. I stripped off all my clothing and hung it from the stall divider. The only things that were still dry were my rain jacket and the top half of my mid-weight thermal shirt. Shivering, I crawled inside my sleeping bag and curled up for a few hours of well-deserved shut-eye. At 7 I started dressing for the trail, gritting my teeth as I slipped on the cold, damp socks and skivvies. When I went outside, the sky was lightening up and the temperature was beginning to rise. The weather was spotty in the morning and early afternoon with periods of drizzle, but later on the sun began to break through. I reconnected with the PCT, which, for a few brief miles at that altitude, ran between the pines. A truly fine area under better circumstances. After slipping on some wet clay on a switchback descent and taking a nasty fall, I proceeded much more cautiously. No reason to hurry unnecessarily and injure myself so close to the trail's end. Crossed under Interstate 8, at which point I started to get excited because it was only a six mile jaunt over the next group of hills to the shores of Lake Morena, where I'd reunite with my sister, Tonya, who'd been so instrumental in helping me with resupply packages. Arriving at the campground at half past three, I went to the ranger station to get some information and wait. Had a nice chat with the young guys there and then kicked back in a comfy chair while passing the time. The station closed at 5:30 and I really didn't expect to see Tonya 'til around 6:00, figuring that's about the earliest she could get here from work. My muscles stiff and sore from the day's long journey, I hobbled to the campsite I thought would suit us best, which was the one closest to the PCT Trailhead. There in her car were my sister and nephew, Cameron, waiting for me. With the record rainfall that had just occurred (Yes, I walked through that) and threatening weather closing in yet again, she had decided that perhaps it wasn't the best idea to camp out. I concurred and, without further ado, we were soon speeding down Interstate 8 towards her apartment in South Bay. One more day to bring the journey to an end!

Water Cache at Scissors Crossing

18 Miles to Sunrise Highway

39 Miles to Lake Morena

October 18th Near Barrel Spring to Scissors Crossing

For those interested in the flora and fauna of the southern desert section, you need look no further than the photos. Yucca, sagebrush, cacti of various shapes and sizes, withered grasses, brown stalks and stems, and the occasional stunted tree represent the plant population. Hairy tarantulas and venomous rattlesnakes are probably the most common denizens. All of this was part of the morning walk to Scissors Crossing, the trail clearly visible, stretching out before me. The clouds and mist were gone and the sun was out, but the temperature remained reasonably cool. I could gauge my progress by the number of cattle gates I crossed. 5th gate was yesterday, so working backwards, 'cause I'm a southbounder, there were 4th, 3rd, 2nd and 1st. By the time I reached 1st gate, it was only a few more miles until the steep and winding descent to Highway 78. The hitches to and from Julian would thankfully be my last. As I stood on the shoulder a white van passed. I knew I had my ride when it returned a few minutes later. A local preacher and his wife had had an attack of conscience leaving me standing on the side of the road, so they flipped a U-turn and came on back. I was grateful for the ride, but could have done without the wife's tales of birds crapping on her car and an owl shitting in her face. I believe those are stories best left to loved ones, not shared with perfect strangers. But, maybe that's just me. Halfway up the mountain, the marine layer returned, so once I was in Julian it was socked in and rather chilly. Julian is famous for its apple pies, but it was apple fritters that I wanted. Searched all over town, but couldn't find a frickin' fritter. Inconceivable. Come on Julian, diversify a little! Maps and resupply safely in my pack I road walked most of the way back as there were few cars coming this way out of town. Once on the flats, a pickup that was zooming by suddenly veered onto the soft shoulder and braked, throwing up a cloud of dust and gravel. A dramatic end to my hitchhiking days and a load off my mind. The man, finished with work, was returning to his home in Borrego Springs. The good Samaritan dropped me off at Scissors Crossing. Although I could have made some more progress up the trail, I decided to camp early because there was a water cache here and level ground to sleep on. There was even a chair upon which I sat and read the paper I'd purchased in town, catching up on news from the outside world. At bedtime, the moon was high in the sky, the stars were shining, but clouds were moving in.

Anza Borrego Desert State Park

Desert Tarantula

20 Miles

October 17th Combs Peak to Near Barrel Spring

Another lovely desert sunrise and from the high ridge of Combs Peak, I had a magnificent view of the surrounding hills and valleys. My morning pace was fast and furious as I wound my way through the hills. It was unexpected to see the marine layer this far inland, but as the day wore on the layer of cloud thinned and eventually burned off. The approach to Warner Springs was a pleasant walk on the oak lined path along Agua Caliente Creek, which was flowing quite well for this time of year. However, by the time I got to the cottonwoods and willows growing in the wash, the water had completely disappeared into the sand of the streambed. I took the Warner Springs Alternate into town, mainly to fill up on water at the historic Chapel of Saint Francis. Had lunch at a small table and bench that sits under an oak close to the entrance. Warner Springs was much smaller than I had thought. If I'd been passing through by car it would have been a case of "blink and you miss it". Another oak lined path led up and out of town to San Jose Del Valle, a vast space of yellow grass that screamed, "This Is Horse Country." Indeed, a number of paths criss-crossed the area and ladies and gents were out in force, loping along on their mounts. In the midst of this sea of grass is a small island of rock, which, from the right angle, looks like an eagle with wings outstretched. I simply had to take the short side path to see it and snap a shot. After several miles of this horse heaven, the trail began the climb into the San Felipe Hills, which had the all too familiar desert scrub. By this time the marine layer had returned, accompanied by a slight wind and misty rain. With inclement weather and little sign of a good place to camp in this inhospitable land of prickly brush and weathered stone, I began to think that it would be a long night. Just then, I spotted an opening in the hillside near the trail. Is that a cave? No, on closer examination, it was a man-made shelter carved out of the solid rock. A dust covered floor that was soft enough, a length that was perfect for my sleeping bag, and a true protection from the elements. I couldn't ask for more. Snug and dry, I saw the mists thicken and close around the entrance to my cozy burrow. Less than 100 miles to go! I can hardly believe it.

Eagle Rock

Shelter in the Hillside

32 Miles

October 16th Cedar Spring Junction to Combs Peak

Not the most peaceful of nights, with mosquitoes whining and pesky flies buzzing about. Actually slept a portion of the early morning with my headnet on. It was a relief to leave camp and get back on the trail; not the PCT, but the side trail leading a mile north to the "clear water at Cedar Spring Camp---the only permanent water along the southern Desert Divide. Be sure to carry a full load of water away from Cedar Spring---the day's ridgetop walk is hot, sunny, and entirely waterless." That came straight from the guidebook. I couldn't believe my eyes when I arrived at the shaded flat and saw an empty trough and above it a muddy hole. If this was Cedar Spring, I had a problem. I'd just wasted an hour for nothing and what's more, I'd be without water until I reached Live Oak Spring (five miles away) and went down another side trail. Who's to say that once I got there, I wouldn't be faced with a similar situation. No drinkable water. I worked my way higher up the slope from the trough, but all I found was a large patch of dry ferns. That's when I discovered another problem. My headlamp, which I'd used during the early morning descent to the spring, was no longer in my pocket. I clearly remembered having it when I arrived, so it must have fallen out while I was walking around searching for water. I circled the area where I'd been twice, but had no luck finding it. It would be a terrible loss not to have it, especially with the days getting so short. Oh well, third time's the charm. When I made it up to the patch of ferns again, I still hadn't discovered the headlamp's hiding place. However, I did notice a faint trail that led even higher. Curious, I followed it, and lo and behold there was a second trough brim full, with water flowing from a pipe into it. Yes! The guidebook had been right after all. Jumping for joy, it was then that I realized my headlamp was still on my head! I hadn't taken it off after all. Boy was I left red-faced, feeling like an idiot. But then again, if it hadn't been for the headlamp, I may never have found the water. In the end, things worked out perfectly well. The headlamp was now in my backpack and I was returning to the PCT with a full load of water. The trail continued much as it had yesterday, high on the ridge with manzanita and scrub oak. When I entered into Penrod Canyon and the flats north of Highway 74, there were once again pockets of pine, but crossing the road, the brush and scrub returned. Walking south along the sides of Lookout and Table Mountain, I could see farms, ranches and the houses of outlying communities off to my right. I was even passed by equestrians out on a horse ride with their kids. I'd definitely lost that wilderness feeling I'd had just a few days ago. However, I was lucky enough to come across two water caches which completely satisfied my hydration needs. In the evening, there was a small sign next to the trail which indicated that I had just crossed into San Diego County. The end is near I thought. I'm close to home. I did the trail up to Combs Peak in the half-light of dusk. Some parts were so overgrown it felt like I was bushwacking. Once on top of the high ridge, I found a flat place to camp. Unfortunately, the buzzing little flies returned. Out came the headnet and down went my eyelids. Zzzz.

Horned Toad

34 Miles

October 15th Strawberry Junction to Cedar Spring Junction

A nice stroll down the Deer Springs Trail led me to Idyllwild, with its boutiques, outfitters, craft shops, cafes, restaurants, bed and breakfasts, inns and hotels. A community taking advantage of its outstanding location to cash in on the tourist trade. I actually arrived too early as both the post office and the supermarket were still closed. Once they opened, the resupply routine went into effect. Placed a call to my sister, Tonya, to confirm the plans we have made for meeting in Lake Morena and sharing a bit of trail time on the last day of the hike. From there it was a road walk back up through town to Devils Slide Trail, whose name sounds much worse than the trail itself, which, despite the ascending switchbacks is really a pleasant walk. It was here that a state park ranger asked to see my permit. I had to admit that I had no permit for the Devils Slide Trail, but I could show him my thru-hiking permit for the Pacific Crest Trail. As I made a motion to take off my pack, he said there was no need to show him and he wished me well on my journey to the border. He told me he'd met many a northbounder during his years on the job, but was especially pleased to see his first southbounder. We are a rare breed. Devils Slide rejoined the PCT at Saddle Junction, where I decided to take the Tahquitz Meadow Alternate to save a little time and avoid some climbing. The farther I went, the drier it became, until I was once again in manzanita and scrub oak. The views were marvellous though because at one point I could actually gaze along the spine of the San Jacintos and see all the peaks that I'd be passing---South Peak, Antsell Rock, Apache Peak, Spitler Peak, Forbes Saddle and Palm View Peak. It took a lot of up and down, back and forth, and around to do it, but I managed to clear them by nightfall, pulling up at the trail junction for Cedar Spring. Here, beneath some scrub oaks, I celebrated my birthday by allowing myself a few more handfulls of gummy worms. Slurp!

The San Jacintos

Birthday Bivouac

21 Miles (7 more on Deer Springs and Devils Slide)

October 14th Highway 10 to Strawberry Junction

Today was the biggest one day climb of the trail going from the desert floor near Palm Springs to the mountain slopes above Idyllwild, an elevation change of 8,000 feet. I was out on the sands of the arroyo before the sun came up. There's no true path here as flash floods would just wipe it away, so the only true way to navigate is to find the brown marker posts topped with a strip of yellow. Finding one, I scanned the distance for the next and, in such a manner, set my path through the sand and sage to the mouth of Snow Canyon. A watershed access road took me up to a very convenient water source; a faucet that marks the beginning of the true ascent of the San Jacintos. Swinging back and forth across the arid terrain, I climbed ever higher, fighting the brush that raked my shins and avoiding the branches that would do the same to my face. Racing the sun to reach the trees, I paused at times for breath in the shade of giant boulders that were a common sight along the trail. My body was responding well to the challenge and, like a well-oiled machine, cranked out the miles. Before the temperatures soared, I was already walking under the shade of evergreens. In the early afternoon I started on the infamous switchbacks and steep slopes of Fuller Ridge, which had caused no small trouble for Northbounders earlier in the year. The snow and ice were gone, but the ruggedness remained. I almost felt I was back in the Sierras and I loved that feeling. As the trail topped out at the 9,000 foot level, I could feel the growing tiredness in my legs. It had been a supreme effort to get up here so quickly and so efficiently , for which I was quite proud. My pace slowed as I breathed in the pine-scented air. These were mountains as I knew them, not the scrub covered variety of the desert hills. Within a mile of each other, I crossed two small streams, whose flowing waters were music to my ears. The faucet water nearly gone, I stopped to fill up. A few miles later, I was pitching my tent at the camp above Strawberry Junction. The sun was setting and the clouds in the sky showed me that there might be a chance of getting wet. I'm worn out, but completely at peace. A tough yet satisfying day.

27 Miles