July 29th Big Huckleberry Mountain to Near Three Corner Rock

Yesterday, Steve and Kristen told me they were impressed by the 30-mile days I had logged in order to catch them at White Pass and they wanted to know if I'd be willing to go a few more days travelling such a distance so that we could be in Cascade Locks on Friday in time to get to the post office. No problem. My formula for a thirty mile day is twelve hours of hiking with an average hiking speed of two and a half miles per hour. Grind hard on the uphill portions of the trail where you will undoubtedly be slower and push hard on the downhill to make quick time. Short breaks every two hours for a nice breather and some energy snacks and longer breaks for lunch and dinner. Besides, in late July there are still over fourteen hours of daylight, approximately a 6 a.m. start to an 8 p.m. finish. The day would turn out to be a scorcher, but fortunately the trail time was spent mostly in the woods working our way up ridges and then wending our way down the other side. We crossed a number of forest roads and saw some clear cut hillsides as well, which in my opinion are some of the most depressing areas of scenery along the PCT, more so than even those places with fire damage. Where there was once a stand of trees, now there are just stumps and a mangle of dead branches littering the ground. It'll take the rest of my lifetime for such areas to completely recover and when they do, I'm certain the roar of the chainsaw will quickly follow. It's not that I'm against logging it's only the simple fact that clear cutting leaves a scar on the landscape, which for a thru-hiker who has passed through some exceptional old-growth forests is a visual blow to the senses. I really loved hiking through the broad-leafed forests and crossing the creeks running down the fern filled gullies. The cool shade was in marked contrast to the burning sun in the exposed places. My favorite stretch was Panther Creek to Rock Creek, a veritable wonderland of leafy green with sunlight filtering through the upper branches of the sycamores. At rock creek we took a long break for dinner and took advantage of the cool water to soak our aching feet. Kristen explained that this had become somewhat of a ritual for Steve and her. First of all, the soaking seems to immediately reduce any foot pain that has built up during a hard day of ground pounding. Some icy streams certainly do numb the feet. Secondly, the alternate dipping in water and drying in air extinguishes the hot spots. Last but not least, a good, long soaking can alleviate the natural swelling that occurs from being on your feet all day. Kristen also suggested sleeping with my feet slightly raised as an added measure against swelling. Take care of your feet and your feet will take care of you. Let your feet go and you can let go of the dream of thru-hiking. A short time later, Steve had me in stitches as we were again on the topic of trail names. Northbounders seem to put so much stock in them that when they meet a Southbounder who says I haven't got a trail name, they actually seem slightly disappointed and a bit perplexed. Steve wondered what would happen if he walked up to one and said "Hi, I'm Gas Bomb". I could only imagine the kind of reaction such a name would evoke. What got me laughing was the idea of someone innocently asking, "Gee, how did you get that name?" Yet, trail names are not always as straight forward as you might think. This particular one could have come from a person with stomache problems suffering from "PCT gas" or perhaps from a hiker whose stove had caught fire and exploded. Most likely the first, but you never know until you ask. Ha! The last experience of the day was more serious in nature. Two miles up along the trail from Rock Creek we came across two hikers one of whom was visibly distressed from the effort and the heat. It was a father with his young, teenage daughter. The father was terribly overweight. Pale, short of breath and sweating profusely he was sitting on the left side of the trail, his daughter with a worried look standing over him. They asked how far it was to the next water source and were relieved to hear that it was close. We asked if there was anything we could do to help but were assured that with some more rest they'd be fine. Continuing along the trail, I had mixed emotions. On the one hand, I admired the man for getting out in the woods and spending some quality time with his daughter. It may have also been his attempt to take off some of the weight, which I applaud. On the other hand, I couldn't help thinking of the worried look on the daughter's face and the concern in her eyes. If the worst happened and the guy had a coronary in those woods, this young girl would be placed in a situation that most adults would find very hard to deal with. In his condition, I thought a walk around the neighborhood or in the local park would have been more reasonable. At the thirty mile mark we started looking to make camp. Unfortunately, on this stretch of hilltops it was an old clear cut area with the stumps and rotting branches hidden beneath brush and grasses. It wasn't until a few miles further after a short descent that we found a suitable place to bed down for the night.

Near Panther Creek

32 Miles