Saturday, October 30, 2010

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

October 13th Coon Creek Jumpoff to Highway 10

A beautiful morning sunrise as rosy-fingered dawn ushered in a brilliantly bright day. Working around the mountains to the steep descent to Mission Creek lasted most of the morning. West, south, west, south, then east. The trail followed Mission Creek for miles, sometimes high above, but most of the time at the bottom of the canyon along its banks. Except for the occasional cottonwood or sycamore tree, everything else was rock, scrub and grass. Criss-crossing the creek was common, which only required a hop because it wasn't at all wide. A little bushwacking was necessary as well because of the fast growing plants along the bank and the fact that some of the trail in the bottomlands was hard to follow. Still, an enjoyable time doing a bit of canyoneering. Just after lunch I had my most memorable animal encounter of the trip. Walking along the trail, I saw two figures sitting in the shade of a stand of cottonwoods, which from afar I mistook for a couple of hikers. But, sure enough, as I drew closer, I discovered that it was indeed two bears, though I must say, this didn't look like a prime area of bear habitat. Well, I stopped in my tracks to observe them. Had they seen me? Was I downwind? Apparently, they hadn't noticed me at all because they both got up and had a few rounds of play fighting; wrestling about on their hind feet and slapping each other on the face and head. It was absolutely amazing. About the time I was easing the pack off my shoulders to retrieve my camera, the rough-housing stopped and they both disappeared into the trees. I wasn't going in after them just to get a photo, but I did continue down the trail with camera in hand hoping to see them when they emerged. Soon enough, the first bear broke from the trees and effortlessly shot up the steep slope followed closely by the second. I did my best impression of a bear growling and immediately the second bear stopped on a rocky shelf, turned, and looked about trying to locate the source of the noise. It was then that I snapped a few pictures. I wish I had a high power telephoto lens, but alas, packing one for the length of the trail would have been highly impractical. If you enlarge the first photo perhaps you can find both bears. Good luck. Once the trail left Mission Creek, it climbed up and down and up and down over two side ridges to put me in the wide floodplain of the Whitewater River, which even this late in the year needed some creative rock hopping to negotiate. One more steep climb and I was staring down at the large turbines of the Mesa Wind Farm. Another hour passed, and I was looking up at the windmill silhouettes and spinning blades in the dim light of dusk. A short stint of night hiking around the sage-dotted outskirts of a housing area and I was finished for the day; the sound of speeding cars on Interstate 10 directly above me. Thought I was rather clever tucking myself into a place beneath the highway that cut down on traffic noise. Only after a train rumbled overhead, jolting me awake and scaring me half to death, did I realize that I'd camped under the railway bridge.

Find the Two Bears

A Curious Bear

A Surprise in San Gorgonio

36 Miles






October 12th Doble Trail Camp to Coon Creek Jumpoff


I was up and on the trail early hoping to reach Highway 18 in time to get a hitch with somebody taking the morning commute to work. The strategy worked as the first car that was passing pulled over. It was a guy from Big Bear who was very familiar with the Pacific Crest Trail and knew about the thru-hikers that hiked past here each year. He kindly dropped me off at the post office, which, due to the early hour, wasn't open yet. Instead of waiting out in the cold, I crossed the road and entered the doughnut shop. Ah, what a fine array of sweetness--- sprinkled, glazed, old-fashioned, jelly-filled, powdered, etc. What caught my interest were the apple fritters and bear claws. If you're ever in Big Bear, I definitely recommend that you try them. Yummy! When 9 o'clock rolled round, I went to pick up my maps and then back out to the road for a ride. What luck that less than a minute later a van pulled over. Imagine my complete surprise when I opened the passenger door and the driver was the same guy who'd given me a lift into town this morning, only this time he was in his work vehicle. What are the odds?! Big Bear was certainly no Tehachapi. Returning to the trail near Doble Camp, I began a walk on top of Nelson Ridge. To the west were the pines of Big Bear and to the east was the barren desert. Here on the ridge line there were Joshua trees and scrub oak. The pines returned as I climbed higher towards Onyx Summit. A couple of miles past the summit there are some animal cages with all kinds of big cats and bears. I felt sorry for the poor creatures, trapped as they were in their box-like cages. Didn't see much movement either, the animals lying on the concrete floors in the sweltering mid-day heat, a horrible stench hanging in the air. The trail remained in the trees for the remainder of the afternoon, so views were limited. Made camp at one of the best sites along the SoCal trail, Coon Creek Jumpoff, which sits on a high precipice above a steep walled canyon that opens onto the desert in the east. Resting under the branches of a large cedar, I munched on PB and J tortillas and watched the stars come out. A brilliant night sky!
View From Nelson Ridge
22 Miles

October 11th Holcomb Creek to Doble Trail Camp

I started thinking this morning about just how many miles of blackened forest I had actually hiked through on the PCT, especially in the southern section. It had to be at least every other day that I was once again walking through a burned area. I remember the novelty of my first experience south of Harts Pass in Washington, how with a certain sense of wonder I passed between the remains of a destroyed forest. Now, with the passage of time and miles, coupled with the frequency at which I met such sights, the wonder had been replaced by depression and a frustrating sense of tragedy and loss. Nobody will see big trees like those flame-ruined ones I've witnessed in these areas for a generation or even longer. In the drier areas, I question whether they will return at all. Thankfully, I soon entered the pines and could put such questions and thoughts behind me. A shake of a rattle and my thoughts shifted to that of my own safety. There in the grass just off the trail was a rattlesnake, a timber rattler if I'm not mistaken. My worst nightmare would be to be bitten by one of these things in the back country far from medical help. Good thing they put up such a noisy warning. It's the fourth I've seen so far on my journey and I hope I don't come across many others. Rounding Delamar Mountain, Big Bear Lake came into view as well as the buildings of the recreation area on the far shore. Going down the back side of Bertha Ridge, I reached Van Dusen Canyon Road, which led into town. A dirt road in the middle of the woods, there was little chance of a hitch here. Five miles into town and it was only then that I discovered it was Columbus Day, meaning that the post office was closed. Argh! What to do? What to do? Hmmmm... Came to the conclusion that the best thing to do would be to resupply at the local market and then try to make some more miles on the trail, so that's just what I did. Actually managed to put in seven miles before stopping at Doble Trail Camp, which had all the amenities for PCTers---pit toilet, picnic table and even a small corral for horse travellers.

A Snake in the Grass

22 Miles (10 more to town and back)

October 10th Near Silverwood Lake to Holcomb Creek

A slight scent of skunk permeated the air this morning. I didn't actually see any of the striped creatures, but the smell was undeniable and this area looks like perfect skunk habitat. Wound my way along the side of the hills until reaching Highway 173. From there, the trail turned east entering the canyon of Deep Creek. A thigh high ford left my bottom half dripping wet. However, it was the scramble through the brush and up the opposite bank that proved more difficult as no trail was visible. After a short walk on the alluvial sand below the great wall of a flood control dam, I picked up the trail once more. I had originally thought the trail would continue down by the creek, but a trail marker off to my left showed me the path that switchbacked steeply up the side of the canyon wall next to the dam. The PCT eventually levels off several hundred feet above the creek and there are great views of the massive structure of the dam and the green strip of boulder strewn creek bed that snakes its way up the canyon into the distance. Looking down you can see some whitewater as the creek rushes over the rocks, cottonwoods and willows lining the banks, and from time to time a sandy area beneath the shady branches that would be great for camping. High up on the sidewall though, there's little vegetation other than sagebrush and dry, yellow grasses. Seven miles in, the trail comes down to just above the creek at Deep Creek Hot Springs, which is one of the most unique features along the Pacific Crest. Hot spring water flows from the side hill into terraced pools, created by the clever use of sandbags, stone and cement, so that everything appears quite natural. The warm overflow of these pools joins the cool waters of Deep Creek at a sweeping bend which has a nice swimming hole. A mecca for nudists and sunbathers, by late morning, there was plenty of hanging steak. With the growing heat of the day, it was the swimming hole that attracted me, not the hot springs. Ignoring the prevailing trend, I eased myself in fully clothed. A swim, bath and laundry all at the same time. Gathering my breath, I sank beneath the surface, completely surrounding myself with the refreshingly cool water. Repeated it several more times before standing in the neck deep water so long that some frightened little fish returned and started circling round my legs. My drying clothes kept me cool for some miles on as the trail climbed further into the canyon, the landscape transitioning from sagebrush to scrub oak to ponderosa pine. At one point, I met a group of teens who had been frollicking at a swimming hole not far from a trailhead. One of them, intrigued by my rough backpacker appearance, asked, "Where does this trail go?' He was amazed to hear that the trail he was standing on actually went from Canada to Mexico. "I'm not in shape to do that", he said. I laughed to myself. That's probably the way many people feel when facing the prospect of a thru-hike, but the trail will whip you into shape in no time, either that, or it will just plain whip you. HA! At a footbridge, the teens went one way and I crossed to go another, leaving Deep Creek to pursue a path along Holcomb Creek. It was pleasant beneath the pines, but towards the end of the day I found myself in yet another area of fire damage. Prior to the trail reaching an extensive flat area in a high tableland, I stopped and made camp at the base of a large boulder. Fell asleep to a chirping choir of crickets with the land bathed in the faint light of a crescent moon and stars.

The Trail Above Deep Creek

30 Miles



October 9th Upper Lytle Creek Ridge to Near Silverwood Lake

I woke up early this morning at a time when the world was still dark with shades of gray. Silhouetted in the sky, like an airborne shadow, was a bird of prey hovering no more than twenty feet directly above my head. I watched in silence its outstretched wings, adjusting to capture the currents of air drifting over the ridge. Then, poof, it was gone. I'm sure if I was a Native American that I would see some omen in this, but for good or evil, I cannot tell. After breaking camp, I passed through the remainder of the Sheep Fire Area, but at one point lost the trail. So, instead of following the PCT to Lone Pine Canyon, I was left following a jeep track down to Lone Pine Canyon Road, doing a short road walk, and reconnecting with the Pacific Crest as it crossed the road further south. There was a fully stocked water cache soon after the crossing. A bit of up and down in some badlands, a walk near the railroad tracks, and an underground passage to the opposite side of Interstate 15 and McDonalds was in sight. Not a regular patron of fast food joints, but in this case, I made an exception. Got a pancake breakfast with a large strawberry shake (my real reason for coming) and found a nice corner booth to sit in while I ate and did some planning. My brief contact with civilization complete, I set off into the canyon lands. To my surprise, there were actually a few creeks flowing, so water wasn't much of an issue. I met a section hiker not far from Siverwood Lake and he told me water wouldn't be a problem as it was plentiful in the San Gorgonio Wilderness. That's good news. There were some nice views as the trail ran above the western shore of Silverwood Lake, which had a number of recreational boats motoring over its surface. Found a campsite a few miles into the hills past the spillway in a small area that had recently been cleared of brush. A small haven for a backpacker/cowboy camper. It was my sister Loana's B-day today. I was thinking of you.

32 Miles

October 8th Slopes of Mount Baden Powell to Upper Lytle Creek Ridge

Zipped down the remaining switchbacks at first light, my only real concern being the hitch into and out of the resupply town of Wrightwood. After my Tehachapi experience, I was wondering if I'd have to walk all the way; something I wouldn't be too thrilled to do again. I came out onto a rest area along Highway 2 and took advantage of the toilet and the picnic table. Bladder empty and belly full, it was back up the other side to the top of Blue Ridge, across Jackson Flat, past Grassy Hollow Visitor Center and back down to Highway 2. It was here that I would make the attempt to get a ride. Problem was, much like that at Etna Summit, there were no cars on the road at all. Not letting time go to waste, I immediately set out along the road to town. At the midway point, Highway 2 hit a crossroads with another highway and a mountain road. Consequently, the traffic increased and it wasn't too much longer that I had my ride. A kind gentleman drove me the rest of the way into town and dropped me off at the post office. Same routine---get the maps, shop for food, ice cream ritual, then back to the edge of town hitching for a ride to the trailhead. Five minutes max and Melissa pulls over asking where I'd like to go. She says she always likes to help out the hikers that come to town and had had plenty of contact with thru-hikers before. How wonderful it was that she was travelling that stretch of road today and helped out this hiker! I was back on the trail fully loaded much earlier than I had expected. Continuing on the PCT along the length of Blue Ridge, I was soon looking down at Wrightwood, 2,500 feet below me. The remainder of the day was spent ridge walking as Blue Ridge transitioned into Upper Lytle Creek Ridge and the mountain pines once more gave way to brush and desert scrub. The last miles of the day, saw me passing through the Sheep Fire area. I had heard that the closure would be rescinded in October, so seeing no signs to indicate that it was still closed, assumed that it was now open. There had been substantial regrowth in the area from what I could see, but the blackened branches of manzanita and charred trunks of pinyon pine were evidence that a fire had raged here not too long ago. I found a level place just off the trail that had avoided the burn for my camp, which you can see in the photo. I haven't used my tent in some time and don't plan to as long as the weather holds. It's a wonderful sensation to wake up at night and gaze up into a sky filled with stars.

Cowboy Camping

24 Miles

October 7th Fort Tejon Road to Slopes of Mount Baden Powell


True to my promise, I was up before the locals were stirring, looking forward to putting this road walk detour behind me. The only vehicles passing by were those of early morning commuters and a few school buses. Boy, was I ever elated when I reached The Devil's Punch Bowl County Park, where the pavement ended and path with pinyon pines began. A ranger greeted me heartily and was happy to hear that he was looking at the first thru-hiker he'd seen since the Nobos came through this past spring/summer. He gave me a brief overview of the geology effecting the area, which was responsible for shaping it's unique features. It turns out that in addition to the San Andreas, there are two other faults running through this region. As a goodbye gift, he gave me a bottle of Gatorade while I was enjoying breakfast at a picnic table near the overlook. A great way to re-enter the wilderness--- with a full supply of electrolytes. It was with a great deal of joy in my heart that I started off once more. The sun was rising higher in a light blue sky and the prickly bushes and desert scrub had been replaced by splendid pines. I traced the contours of the slopes until I reached the waters of Big Creek's South Fork, where I proceeded to wend my way up its steep canyon walls towards Islip Saddle. It was there that the detour rejoined the Pacific Crest Trail, which provided ample reason for a short break and celebration, tossing a few extra gummy worms into my maw. The subsequent energy boost was going to be needed for the steady uphill climb into the San Gabriel mountains. As the trail gained in elevation, I could see that there was nothing but a sea of clouds to the south crashing against the length of the range, throwing up fingers of mist that swirled in the air before they disappeared. It was great to be above this inversion layer enjoying a very fine day. The ranger at Devil's Punch Bowl told me that Mount Baden Powell had got its first dusting of snow overnight and I must admit, as I walked up through the canyons that's the way it appeared. However, once I was actually there on the slopes, what I had taken for snow was actually a heavy coating of ice crystals on the branches of the trees that had been loosened by the warmth of the sun and fallen to the earth around the base of the trees. I witnessed this first hand while walking along the trail and was nearly hit by some of the falling ice as I walked beneath some tree limbs. Pushing ever higher, I made it to the top of Mount Baden Powell in time to see a brilliant sunset. As soon as the sun dipped below the horizon, a wind kicked up and the temperatures started to plummet. In the twilight, I raced down the switchbacks, wanting to get as low as possible before darkness enveloped me. Satisfied with my progress, I chose a spot near a couple of fallen logs to set up my cowboy camp, bushes on the right effectively blocking any wind. My hands were numb with cold, which made handling the zippers and undoing the clasps much more difficult. I crawled into my sleeping bag to warm myself up a bit before having dinner. I thought that it would be a frosty cold night, but it actually felt like the weather grew warmer the later it got. Perhaps it was just the effect of the down sleeping bag making things toasty, but then again, a warm front may have moved in.
The Devil's Punchbowl
The Slopes of Baden Powell
30 Miles

October 6th Agua Dulce to Fort Tejon Road

Feeling strong and rested, I left the Sauffley's before dawn. I know today's going to be a tester because I'll be road walking due to the closure of the PCT because of the damage done by last year's Station Fire. Not exactly what I had envisioned, passing through housing subdivisions and country estates, semis rumbling by on paved country roads. At least I could take some pleasure from the morning walk in Vasquez Rocks County Park, which quite literally is straight out of a Western. Hollywood has used this location more than once to film its cowboy sagas. The rocks themselves look like the bows of great ships sinking into the surrounding sands. After crossing Highway 14, it was a short up and over to the beginning of the paved detour along Soledad Canyon Road. Not much adventure passing RV parks, KOA campgrounds and house after house in rural neighborhoods. I'm trying to hike as fast as I can to put this trail nightmare behind me. An overcast sky and intermittent showers of drizzling rain were actually rather welcome. I couldn't imagine being on this detour with the heat of a blazing sun radiating off the black asphalt. Once, while taking a snack break with the sky still spitting, I looked up at each passing car to discern the reaction in the faces of the drivers and passengers who saw me. For most of them it was a look of bewilderment as if there were a complete lack of understanding of why a person would be outside in such "horrible" weather. For others, I think I was an object of curiosity; something they'd never seen before in their locale. One car stopped and the driver asked what I was doing. When I explained to her about my trek and the reason for this detour, she immediately inquired if I had enough water and wanted to know if I needed any assistance. I assured her that I was quite all right, but thanked her for her concern. The afternoon walk on Aliso Canyon Road, Angeles Forest Highway and Mount Emma Road were thankfully more out in the country, but the views down to the valley on my right reminded me that I wasn't very far from urban America. The detour is a full forty seven miles, which meant for me that I wouldn't be able to walk it in one day. At the intersection of Mount Emma Road and Fort Tejon Road it started getting dark, so I started searching for a place to camp. I was back among an area of country estates and houses, so choices were limited. I eventually settled on a place right next to a fence that had a few small trees which would shield me from the passing lights from the road. A ranch house was set back on the far side of the property. The lights were off and it was dark all around. At least I wouldn't be disturbing anybody by my presence, or so I thought. At 11:30 that night I was awakened by headlights shining in my face followed by the question, "What the hell's going on here?" Half asleep, I tried to form a coherent answer, trying to persuade him that I was just some poor backpacker caught on an inconvenient detour, not some vagrant, and promising to be long gone by the time he got up in the morning. All I really wanted to do was to get back to my slumber. Fortunately, he and his wife allowed me to stay, but he warned me that if I tried to jump the fence, his dogs would tear me apart. I don't think I fully convinced him that I wasn't the criminal type, but it seemed funny to me that his dogs were so vicious when I hadn't heard a peep out of them the whole time I'd been bedded down there. As soon as they drove down to the house, my eyes closed once again sending me into a realm of unconsciousness.

37 Miles

October 4th-5th Zero Days at the Sauffley's

This morning Agua Dulce was socked in by heavy fog, which as it lifted, changed into a steady persistent rain. Lucky to be inside resting up rather than tromping through the hills. Donna stopped by this morning to grab the laundry basket full of my dirty clothes. She insists on doing the wash for the hikers who pass through here, so I'm sure mine weren't the worst she's had to deal with. She told me that she'd be going into a nearby community that had a supermarket later that day and I'd be welcome to come along if I didn't mind waiting. I told her that I'd be up for that. In the meantime she dropped off some fixings for pancakes so I wouldn't get hungry before we left. It was my first time cooking since I'd been on the trail and although a novice in the kitchen, the pancakes didn't turn out half bad. Then, I continued my video marathon that I had started the previous night. In the early afternoon Donna stopped by and said she was ready to go, so off we went. On the way there we had a nice chat and I was able to learn a little bit more about her and her life here. One thing I can tell you about her is that she's passionate about horses. Once we got to where she wanted to go, she dropped me off at Food 4 Less so I could do my resupply shopping while she ran some errands. I got the necessary things for the next leg of the trip and plenty of extras for my rest days. I'd decided to take two full rest days to gather strength and recover from the malady that struck me yesterday. Once back in Agua Dulce, the next day and a half was one continuous round of eating, slamming down chocolate milk by the glass, snoozing and watching movies. My legs were raised up on the sofa and the only walking I did was to the bathroom and back. I'm happy to report that by the evening of the 4th, my urine was once again clear. No more pissing blood. Donna continued to drop by from time to time to check on me and make sure there wasn't anything else I needed. The salt of the earth as well as a true force of nature that Donna Sauffley.

0 Miles

October 3rd Red Carpet Cache to Agua Dulce

Back up into the hills and manzanita. The trail this morning was very much like that of yesterday except for two things. Number one, I met a lot more people along the trail as I believe there was some charity walk/run on the PCT south of San Francisquito Canyon. Either that or just a mighty coincidence that so many people were out getting their exercise at the same time. None were carrying packs like me, but they were carrying bright smiles on their faces, which couldn't help but be a little infectious. Some were out with their friends while others brought along their canine companions. Just as I started thinking the last of them had passed, another person/group would come around the bend. This helped to while away the morning hours. Number two, I noticed in the afternoon that the color of my piss had changed and the urge to go was much more frequent. At first I thought the color was caused by me not drinking enough water, but on closer examination, it wasn't a darker yellow; it was a tinge of red. There was now blood in my urine. Kind of unsettling to see the reddish hue emerge, as it appears completely unnatural, and certainly it was some cause for concern. However, I didn't panic. I knew that this was common among athletes, marathon runners for example, after they experience a period of prolonged exertion. I'd been doing a full marathon or more each day for the past two weeks, not at race pace mind you, but with a pack on my back laden with food and water and on much more rugged terrain. I'd just have to live with it until I got to the Sauffley's, which was only half a day out. In the early afternoon I arrived at what must be the most famous Pacific Crest cache. Oasis cache has been cut out of the manzanita, creating a welcome harbor of shade. Complete with folding chairs, an ice-chest full of sodas and a variety of odd and quirky decor dangling from the branches, it's a wonderful place to take a load off. I took some time enjoying my break, sipping a Cactus Cooler and putting my feet up as I leaned back in my chair. Ah, the simpler things in life! Eventually I prised myself loose after signing the logbook. Getting closer to Agua Dulce, I entered horse country and was even passed by several riders who were coming up from town. The hills are much more gentle here in places, sage replaced by yellow grasses. On the road walk through town, many of the places I passed looked like small ranches, with a horse or two in every corral. Near the end of Darling Road, I came to the gate of the Sauffley's, trail angels extraordinaire, who I had heard and read so much about. Unfortunately, at the time I arrived, nobody was at home. I took the time to introduce myself to their very friendly dog and enjoy an evening meal on the bench in their front yard before retreating to the driveway to wait. Just before dark, Jeff emerged from the garage. I called over to him and asked if they were up to taking a southbounder. He told me they were definitely open for business and called his wife, Donna, out to meet me. They soon had me settled into a lovely trailer home with all the amenities a hiker could ever want or need. It was marvellous to be cared for in such a way by what had been, until a short time ago, complete strangers. It was also great knowing that tomorrow would be a day of rest. I watched a couple of videos before going to bed, mainly just as an excuse to stay up late. Bedtime on the trail is much to early.

Oasis Cache

32 Miles

October 2nd Hiker Town to Red Carpet Cache

Out of bed early and on the trail before anyone was up. Crossed Highway 138 and began making my way up into the hills again. Before I knew it, I was walking on another burnt hillside. The trees were destroyed, but the regrowth of prickly brush was prolific, with many places on this part of the trail being overgrown. As I hiked on, the brush scratched my shins and calves from just above the ankle to slightly below the knee. Crossing this private property owned by the Tejon Ranch, there are plenty of cow pies to dodge as you climb up to ridge tops and descend into washes. This stretch of trail was among the worst on the PCT. Finally, I got back into a shady section under the branches of oak trees. Not much to see other than the trees themselves, which I find nice to look at, but beware the acorns. The way they are gathered in spots along the trail, you take a wrong step and you'll look like one of the Looney Toons characters when they're waving their arms wildly about trying to keep their balance as they skate on a bunch of marbles. High up in the hills, I came across another water cache, which I must admit I'm beginning to love. They take away a lot of worry. Will the next spring be flowing? Is that creek dry? Will cows have contaminated the source? Is it really twenty miles to the next avaiable water? All those unknowns are removed by a stash of gallon jugs or two-liter bottles. I don't rely on them because the fact of the matter is, I can't. Except for a few well known caches in the southern sections, all the rest are completely unexpected. Most of the afternoon was spent walking along paths lined by manzanita and brush on the ridgeline of the Sawmill Mountains, with the San Andreas Rift Zone to my right and Lake Hughes visible in the distance. Dropping down to Lake Hughes Road, I crossed it and about a quarter mile down the trail found a great place to camp under some Cottonwood trees. Sort of felt like royalty since I pitched my tent on top of an old red plush piece of carpet, which certainly made the ground much softer. This was also another cache area with dozens of empties probably used at the time of the northbound migration. I found a full Arrowhead jug up closer to the road that I brought down to camp with me. Not the most inspiring day on the trail, but it counts and at this point, I'm definitely counting the days.

32 Miles

October 1st Oak Creek Canyon to Hiker Town

In the early morning, I continued my walk along the ridge above Oak Creek Canyon before once again climbing in the fire scarred hills. There have been so many places that have burned since Kennedy Meadows and the hopes for their recovery are pretty darn slim. In this desert area, how long would it take for a pinyon pine to reach maturity? That's assuming it would grow at all in the changing climate. The only things to thrive around here are sticker bushes. Amazingly enough, with last night's rain the stream at Tylerhorse Canyon was flowing. The water tasted a bit chalky, but it's better than nothing, so I filled my 2L Platypus. Afterwards I began my descent into the lowlands, at one time following a barbed-wire fence for some distance. Eventually I came out on a dirt road that ran between groves of Joshua trees that paralleled the wash of Cottonwood Creek. This road led to the bridge that crosses the creek and across the bridge lay Aqueduct Road. The day was already turning into a scorcher and I was going through water quickly. There was a faucet provided by the Los Angeles Department of Power and Water not far from the bridge, but the stuff that came out of it was the sickest I'd seen, little brown chunks suspended in the greenish water. No way I was choking that stuff down. Once more caches came to the rescue as I discovered two on the long dusty trek into town. It seemed like I was forever on Aqueduct Road. I could see the town off in the distance, but for the longest time it didn't appear to be getting any closer. All in all, I spent about five hours on that road, feet throbbing in the 90 degree heat. The only people I saw during that time were a group of dirt bikers that raised a cloud of dust as they sped by. I was much relieved when I hit the straight road into town. I focused on the nearest house and watched it grow larger and larger as I approached until finally, I was standing beside it. I followed the riveted metal pipe of the Los Angeles Aqueduct until it crossed over the exposed California Aqueduct, running like a river within the confines of its concrete banks. I fished out my headlamp on the opposite side as it was getting hard to see in the dim light. On the walk along Highway 138, at the intersection with Three Points Road, I came within ten feet of a Mojave Green rattler that was soaking up the radiated heat of the asphalt. That put a little extra kick in my step, so much so that I nearly blew right past Hiker Town, my stopping place for the night. I arrived at 9 p.m., which I thought was a bit late, but was nevertheless welcomed with open arms, given a small room with a big bed, and directed towards the toilet and shower. Used the facilities to freshen up, dashed off a couple of e-mails, and chatted a short while with Crow, a section hiker I had been following since Kennedy Meadows. At 10 I started getting a case of droopy eye, so I excused myself and hit the hay. As soon as I lay my head on the pillow, I was out like a light.

36 Miles

September 30th Waterfall Canyon to Oak Creek Canyon

"The best laid plans of mice and men often go astray." Obviously the day didn't quite go the way I had envisioned. I had originally planned to hitch a ride into Tehachapi when I arrived at Highway 58, but when I got there, the big NO PEDESTRIANS ALLOWED ON HIGHWAY sign discouraged me from taking that route. Time for Plan B. I'd hike the eight miles up and over the hill through the wind farm to Tehachapi Willow Springs Road where I hoped there would be enough local traffic to stand a pretty good chance of getting a lift into town. Standing there on the side of the road, I began to realize I had miscalculated. There were plenty of passing cars, but no drivers friendly or brave enough to stop for a scruffy looking nomad. With no other options, I set off on foot, walking along the shoulder of the road towards town. After a couple of hours pounding the pavement, my luck changed when an attractive wildlife biologist pulled over in her jeep and offered me a ride. From what I could gather from talking to her, she specializes in birds and works in the surrounding hills surveying and reporting for an environmental company. Once in town, she was nice enough to wait for me while I picked up the envelope which contained the maps for the next section, then she ferried me over to Albertson's supermarket. Before she left, she gave me directions on how to get back out of town. She truly went above and beyond to try and help me out. What separates people like her from all the many others that just zoomed past me this morning? A bigger heart? A braver nature? More compassion? A greater affinity for hiker trash? Hard to put a finger on it. Kennedy Meadows was my last mail resupply. All the other resupply stops in California will be at stores in trail towns. When I walked through the doors, it was readily apparent that this was no local market. This seemed to put the SUPER in supermarket. I was overwhelmed by the variety of foods on offer, the mouth-watering aromas emanating from the bakery/deli section, and the rainbow of color in the fruit and vegetable section. As a famished thru-hiker, I was about to lose control. I had to get out of there as soon as possible to avoid going on an extravagant spending spree. As it was, I went a little overboard, so that all the food had my pack a-bulging. After observing the customary ice cream ritual (1.5 quarts of Rocky Road), I went next door to Big 5 to get some new socks. When I slipped on a pair, all five toes cried out with glee. Something soft without all the abrasive trail dust. With a heavy load of food and water, I walked to the outskirts of town looking for a ride back to the trail; a ride, as it turns out, that I would never get. While I was hitching, I couldn't even get the passing drivers to make eye contact, except for the one guy who flipped me off, which strangely enough didn't bother me as much as the other passing drivers, because at least through his actions, he acknowledged my existence. Resigned to my fate, I covered the ten-mile stretch of road back to the trail under my own power, my faith in the kindness of humanity shaken. Less than fifteen minutes into the walk up Oak Creek Canyon, I found a small cache of water for Sobos near a picnic table. Faith restored, my anger began to subside. Due to the heat of the day, the clouds began to build in the late afternoon and by the evening there was thunder and lightning, but what rain I saw was off in the distant hills and never reached me. The cooling of the gentle breeze felt very pleasant. Three weeks to go!

15 Miles on the PCT and another 15 Road Walking to and from Tehachapi

September 29th Beneath Sorrell Peak to Waterfall Canyon

It seems like the two most memorable parts of the day were the water sources, most likely because of the importance they take on while planning your day. The first of them was Robin Bird Spring, which I was counting on for some good drinking water. After all, in the PCT guidebook it reads, "In 1994 the Forest Service developed this flowing spring, freed it from cattle contaminants, and piped the water, making it easily accessible to you....with a deserved sense of pride, they named this lovely area Robin Bird Spring." Well, 1994 was a long time ago and perhaps the time it was flowing wasn't the fall. I found the area littered with cow patties, the pipe as dry as my chapped lips, and the bottom of the trough below it looking like a rusted tin can. There was a square area behind the trough that was surrounded by a barbed-wire fence. The smallest trickle of water coming out of the green grass there at least looked promising. I jumped over the fence to investigate and discovered some more cow pies. Must be an opening in the fence somewhere. Found what appeared to be a contaminant free zone near the low branches of a small alder. Because the ground was relatively flat, it was a tricky proposition trying to fill my water bottle, but I managed. Quite a bit of time and effort just to get a couple of liters, but the next water was nineteen miles away at Golden Oaks Spring. In the interim, I walked through areas of pinyon pine, had some steep uphill trekking on a path through stately oaks, and hiked on a few sections of trail that were only lined with brush. Once, I came out of the trees onto a dirt road, turned right and followed it downhill. After some time without seeing any trail markers indicating where the road and trail diverged, I began to feel apprehensive. Was I going the wrong way? Had I missed something? Stopped to examine the map and read a bit from the PCT guidebook, which, written for northbounders, requires a little mental juggling to translate it into something coherent for a southbounder. Basically, it told me to keep following the road. I did and sure enough, another half mile downhill, I was at the place where the trail turned off into the trees again. I don't particularly care for the longer walks on dirt roads because I always wind up questioning myself in regards to the trail. I surprised a trail maintenance crew of about eight volunteers in a brushy section. They hadn't seen a hiker along this section in the two days they'd been working there. I thanked them for their dedication and effort because a clear trail is infinitely better than one that is overgrown. By mid afternoon, I was on an uphill trail rutted with hoofprints and mined with cow doodies that led to Golden Oaks Spring. When I rounded a bend, I saw a huge host of ravens, some in the air and others lighting on the ground. My arrival sent them all flying. Initially, there were two muddy spots on the trail created by small flows from the hillside. Then a large concrete trough full of water, fed by a white plastic pipe. Yahoo! No extra effort here, simply stick the Platypus under the faucet and watch it fill up. Oh, by the way, not far distant, six or seven cows lay in the shade near the trail. This was a perfect place to take a breather, snack, and rehydrate, so I made myself comfortable on the wide concrete rim of the trough. While I was eating, I saw some movement near the first muddy spot down the trail. Turning to look, I thought I'd see another cow, but was astonished to see a small black bear drinking water out of a muddy depression. After a few moments of sitting there stunned, I recovered enough of my faculties to reach over and get my camera out of my pack. By the time I had it ready, the bear was walking up the trail in my direction. When it was about ten meters away, it looked up and was just as stunned to see me. It froze for a few seconds before turning and dashing off into the thicket near the spring. Didn't see a bear the whole time I was in the backcountry of the Sierra, but here at this spring, a half day out of Tehachapi, I could have almost reached out and touched one. That was special. In the evening I was out on a high exposed ridge when the wind began to pick up. With few campsites to choose from, I decided to keep going. I was still walking when night fell. From this height I could see the lights of Mojave, Tehachapi and the wind farm laid out before me and the ribbon of highway sporting white headlights and red taillights moving up and down its length. Somehow, the closeness of those lights made me feel less lonely. The steep descent off the ridge was made in the dark with the aid of my headlamp. Once I was down to a flat area not far from the road, I made a cowboy camp next to some bushes that acted as a wind break. Fell asleep to the sound of rushing wind and rushing cars.

Bear at Golden Oaks Spring

37 Miles

September 28th Near Yellow Jacket Spring to Beneath Sorrell Peak

Followed the road about a half mile to where it hooked back up with the trail near a sharp bend. It was another glorious morning with a cinescope sunrise---orange, yellow, lavender, pink, red and any shade in between. The terrain and trail made the hiking fast and easy. As the day progressed, the slightly overcast sky kept the worst of the heat at bay, which in this barren land of scrub brush and joshua trees was surely a good thing. Water worries evaporated with the luck of finding two large caches, one at Bird Pass Spring, which had nearly 30 gallon jugs, and the other just after I crossed Kelso Valley Road. In the afternoon as the trail climbed to higher elevations, the trees of the forest returned accompanied by the shade. It's certainly more scenic to walk in such rugged and wooded terrain. Sagebrush just doesn't do it for me. Pulled up short at a concrete dam and spring. I know it's a bit early to stop, but there's plenty of water for camp here. Pitched my tent on a small flat shelf above the spring basically to ward off the flies and mosquitoes. Then, I turned to the task of filling the water containers, doing some field laundry, and giving myself a good wash, which was the first I've had since that oh so refreshing dip in the Kern. One last thing I should mention is that I haven't been taking many photos recently. There are two reasons for that. First, I noticed back at Forester Pass that my camera battery was running low, so if I want it to last until the border, a minimum number of pictures is all I can take. Secondly, after the wuthering heights and picturesque scenery of the High Sierras, I simply don't find the landscape that I'm hiking through that captivating. Kristen and Steve warned me that once out of the Sierras things would become more difficult. I didn't quite understand it at the time. What could be more difficult than struggling up rocky switchbacks to high mountain passes? Answer: Managing the psychological letdown once you've entered the arid foothills. In the High Sierras, you've seen the best the Pacific Crest has to offer, but when you leave it behind, you still have 700 miles to go in order to finish. Steve said there were two southbounders last year that gave up their dream of a thru-hike in the Southern California section. That WON'T be me!

Marmot in the High Sierras

32 Miles

September 27th Spanish Needle Creek to Near Yellow Jacket Spring

One thing this section has is some beautiful sunrises, especially when there are enough high clouds around to soak in the morning's sunlight. It's a lovely way to spend the first hour on the trail watching the changing colors of the sky. Five miles into today's hike, I was at the junction where a half mile side trail leads down to Joshua Tree Spring. The trail was really steep and made more difficult by a large downed pine lying right in the middle of the path. I couldn't go uphill or down to get around it for fear of losing my footing on the loose rocky soil and taking a tumble, so I climbed up on the trunk and slowly picked my way through what remained of the broken branches. Quite the tightrope trying to keep my balance, as the branches tried to snag my pack and trip me up. An improvised game of Twister. At the spring, there was the merest trickle of water and a host of bees and wasps gathering what moisture there was from the ground nearby. Careful not to disturb them, I used a bit of the foil from a Pop-Tart package to create a chute to funnel a small stream into my Platypus bladder. It took some patience, but eventually I had enough to see me through to the next source, which just happened to be a small cache at Walker Pass Campground. A climb from 5,000 to 7,000 feet landed me on a flat plateau that had seen a bit of fire damage from years past. An hour or so later, I came out on a dirt road, which I took to the right to McIvers Spring. As I approached the area, the first thing I saw was an old wooden outhouse and then to my right, the rickety shack of McIvers Camp. From the logbook I found inside, more than a few northbounders had holed up here on their journey to the northern border, but the place had definitely seen better days. All I found coming out of the pipe was a slow drip. A drop at a time is not the most efficient way to fill a bottle. I followed the source higher into the soggy ground, which indicated that there was water here. However, the best I could find was some dark brackish water in what looked to be a seep that someone had dug. "Great," I thought, "now even the springs are drying up." Reversing direction, I continued along the dirt road until I came across a hunters camp. The three of them were just sitting down for the evening meal and they invited me to join them. I thanked them for their generous offer, but said I would be most grateful if they had any water to spare. They gave me a couple of small 16 oz. water bottles and one of them said he had a gallon jug that was mine for the taking in the bed of his pickup truck, which was parked just off the trail at the radio tower, about four miles off. Thanking them for their generosity, I set off for that gallon jug. By the time I was nearing the tower, the sun had set and I was wearing my headlamp to light my way. One hundred meters from the tower, I came across an even bigger camp with a fire blazing in the campfire ring. The hunters saw the light from my headlamp and invited me over. When they learned that I was a PCT thru-hiker, their interest was piqued. As they put it, "We've always known that people walked this trail from Mexico to Canada, but we'd never actually met one. We just thought they were all crazy." As I answered their questions, they kept placing food and drink in front of me. Potato salad, nacho chips, hard-boiled eggs, a banana, a chocolate pudding cup, a can of Coca-Cola, a bottle of orange juice, etc. I was only able to truly eat when I became the listener, as they shared some of their hunting stories with me. It was a really enjoyable evening. Before I left, they said I could get all the water I wanted out of their large blue plastic water barrel. Wow. Thank you, thank you. Bedded down beneath some pinyon pines near the radio tower, reflecting on the acts of human kindness I witnessed today.
Sierra Sunrise
31 Miles

September 26th Kennedy Meadows to Spanish Needle Creek

No Shade. No Water. Walking through another burnt forest until noon, feeling the heat slowly intensify. It wasn't until sixteen miles into today's trek that I found some flowing water. All the creeks before that, even the one's on Half-Mile's maps had run dry. It was Fox Hills Spring that saved me from becoming truly parched. When I first saw the signpost pointing to the small side trail leading downhill, I was thrilled. However, my joy was soon extinguished and replaced by bitter disappointment upon seeing what was there; a long metal trough with stagnant water, water striders skating across its green surface, and a spigot dripping water so slowly that it was painful to watch. It'd take hours to fill up a liter bottle at that rate. It was then that I noticed a break in the bushes at the back of the trough and immediately my spirits rose. Sure enough, squeezing into the brush of the overgrown path, I heard the distinctive sound of flowing water. Not much, but enough to keep this strip of vegetation green, the birds chirping and this thru-hiker very happy. Used my cup to transfer the clear liquid into the bottle and both water bladders as I promised myself that from now on I would not be caught short of water. It has been a difficult adjustment to go from the Sierras, where water is so plentiful, to these eastern slopes, where sources are few and far between. I took the time to fill my belly with long gulps from the cup too, seeing as how, if the pattern held, the creeks were no longer reliable and the next spring was twenty miles distant. After I was satisfied with my water supply, I spent a few minutes resting in the shade. While relaxing, I heard a car pass on the dirt road that I'd crossed a short way back. Thought nothing of it until shots rang out, which sounded to me as if they were zipping right overhead. A short pause, and then what sounded like shotgun blasts. I decided that I'd better get out of there toot sweet before someone got hurt. Namely me! I shouted, "Hey, there's a hiker down here. I'm coming back up to the trail.", hoping they'd hear me and direct their fire elsewhere. As I scampered down the trail, trying to put some safe distance between us, I heard some more shots. Whoever it was, I don't think they were deer hunters. My guess, it was just some good ol' boys looking to unload some ammo. Anyway, the rest of the day was spent winding away high in the hills, at one point looking down once again along the easternmost flank of the Sierras. Another time, late in the afternoon, I look up and there are two deer charging at me down the trail. I almost believe I am going to be trampled, but they put on the brakes and pull up in a cloud of dust. The smaller one immediately jumps off the trail and bounds downhill and the bigger one just as quickly whirls around and speeds back down the trail in the direction it had come from. I could understand their panic, it being deer season and all. I probably looked the same way they did when I was leaving Fox Hill Springs. :-0 Well, if really hot weather, scarcity of water, blackened forests, and gunfire aren't enough to ruin your mood, how about some bothersome flies. They just sit and hover right in front of your face and no matter how many times you try to swat them away, they still come back. One I can ignore, two maybe, but when half a dozen of the tiny buggers are floating in your field of vision it gets downright distracting. Every so often, they'll make a move to land on the perspiration around your mouth or nose or even next to your eyes, and that's when it goes from distracting to maddening. You're close to being driven crazy by their persistence. But, worst of all, are the Kamikazes who somehow think that they'll find more moisture by diving for the back of your throat. Hack. Spit. Cough. Little blighters! Enough already! So for the first time since Oregon, I pull out my headnet and place it over my hat. Now, they're back to being distracting. I don't count it as a victory, it's not. More of a stalemate. The best spot of the day is the place I've chosen to camp. Under the branches of oak trees with starlight and moonlight filtering through. The flies are gone, the heat has abated, the water bottle is full and silence reigns.
A Look to the East
31 Miles

September 25th Gomez Meadow to Kennedy Meadows


Last night I didn't get much sleep. With the wind whipping through the trees and a nearly full moon bathing the land in moonlight, I sat awake, snacking on roasted almonds and beef jerky, and thinking about my mom, who passed away on this day 25 years ago due to breast cancer. Sure do miss her. Finally managed some fitful sleep well after midnight, but was up again before morning's first light. "Might as well hit the trail", I thought. So, that's exactly what I did. My headlamp and the remaining moonlight gave me plenty enough illumination to see the path in front of me. I'd walked a couple of miles this way, when suddenly in the distance, I saw another light coming toward me on the trail. Who in blazes would be stupid enough to be up this early? :-) Turns out it was a couple of kids with a hunting rifle. First day of deer hunting season and they were looking to bag a buck. I think they were more surprised to see me out there without a gun! Wished 'em luck and continued down the trail trying to make myself clearly visible and my presence known so nobody with an itchy trigger finger would think I was a deer. Well, this increase in anxiety must have addled my senses because I got off on the wrong trail running past Summit Meadow to Olancha Pass. It wasn't until I was once again staring at that dropoff into the valley easward that I realized that I had strayed. A quick look at the map and I knew where I had made my mistake. A bother, but not too much harm done. It is awful pretty up here. Ran into a few more hunters returning to their camp. In talking to them, I believe they were the father and older sister of the two boys I'd met before sunrise. They directed me to a shortcut back to the PCT that would save me a little time. So, you could say I took a bit of an alternate route. At noon, the sun was getting high, the air was getting hot, the trail was getting dusty, and I was back in cattle country near the South Fork of the Kern. In some places, I wasn't sure if I was still on the PCT or on some cow track. Huge open meadows provided plenty of fodder for these bovines and judging from the number of 4-wheel drives assembled in Beck Meadow, this place also served as deer hunting central. As the sun reached it's peak and the temperatures went from hot to boiling, it was just my luck to enter an extensive burn area, which meant no shade to be found. Boy, was I glad when the trail crossed the Kern for the second time that day. Shoes and socks came off, but the rest of me sat immersed neck deep in the cool water beneath the footbridge. Ahhhh! That was the most refreshing dip of the trip. Back on trail, it wasn't too long before the clothes had dried out and I was feeling the furnace once more. Fortunately, Kennedy Meadows wasn't far off. First I entered the campground, filled up on water, and had a snackat a shady picnic table then I continued along the trail crossing many dirt side roads until I hit the paved road into town. Lucky for me, I arrived at the post office/general store thirty minutes before they closed. Just enough time to get my package, mail off my bear can (bye-bye), and observe the ice cream ritual---Chocolate Fudge. Now I'm camped in the middle of a thicket along the banks of the Kern a couple of miles out of town.
Hoodoo Gateway
27 Miles

September 24th Rock Creek to Above Gomez Meadow

A fairly steep climb out of Rock Creek this morning before the trail levelled off at about 11,320 feet, where I entered a strange bleak wilderness called the Siberian Outpost. The name itself conjures up images of desperation and struggling for survival. It was a land of crumbling white granite, in some places so eroded that it created mounds of fine sand, which looked like windblown drifts of snow. Ancient pines more twisted, tortured and battered than I'd ever seen dotted the surrounding slopes, backed by a solid wall of stone. Definitely a one of a kind place along the trail. Water is getting more and more scarce. At this time of year, it appears that most of this area is bone dry. I've been relying on small springs to keep my water containers full, although the names of these water sources don't exactly inspire confidence, for example, Poison Meadow Spring. Still, the water is flowing and it quenches my thirst, so who's to complain? Mid-morning I reached the last of the seven major passes, Cottonwood, which, compared to the others, didn't look like a pass at all. If not for the sign, I would have walked right by and not known at all. I suppose it's because all of the land around here is so high. In the afternoon, the trail began a long steady descent following the contours of the land in a generally south/southeast direction. From it's high points I could see large meadows in the valleys below. At one point, the trail led through an area of hoodoos and skirted the eastern dropoff into the Coachella Valley. I could see for miles towards Death Valley and the Great Basin. Almost directly below me were the large concentric circles of the valleys agriculture. In the early evening, running low on water, I passed across Death Canyon and entered the outskirts of Big Dry Meadow. No, I'm not making up these names, but it does seem as if the trail is trying to send me a message. It's water I was looking for, and water I found from a spring not far from Gomez Meadow. I walked a bit higher into the trees and cleared a space just big enough for a cowboy camp next to a big log that would act as a windbreak. The wind had kicked up strong with some pretty violent gusts, so I didn't even consider setting up the tent.

Siberian Outpost

Cottonwood Pass

33 Miles