PCT 2018: Days 60-61, South Lake Tahoe and The 4th of July
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 60 and 61 in South Lake Tahoe, mile 1,090.
July 3, Day 60
0 miles [1090.0]
Note to myself (and others): while getting cross faded at 7:30 A.M. feels amazing and bubbly, it will never lead you anywhere photographically. This was the only photo I took that day.
No one was in a rush to get out of their tent. As we packed “Trash Bath” waltzed around and handed out yesterday’s pot cookies. Not long after, “Streak” came back from the store and passed out pounders. It was a fantastic morning. Made tracks to the grocery store for breakfast and a plan. Got a freshly toasted bagel from the bakery section and “Shocks” and I split an entire eight-ounce block of cream cheese. Had coffee for what feels like the first time in weeks. Interneted hard and stressed over the newest map section. Someone discovered there was free food for thru-hikers at a nearby restaurant and it seemed like a worthwhile investigation. At Base Camp Pizza I met “Gula” and “Gabe”, two young guys with a limited break from the Air Force. I made sure to drag my fingers through the bowl my bacon-jalapeno Gouda mac was served in and enjoyed the blissfully idyllic weather shaded by an umbrella I didn’t have to carry or hold. Back to the grocery store where I finally cobbled together a resupply. It cost way too much—$82 for 120 miles. Got a free ride to the Post Office from an Uber driver who took one look at us and pulled over. While buckling he told us he had a friend who hiked the AT, suddenly we were having a conference call in an Impreza. “You’ve already made it, make sure to enjoy your time,” he said, almost as if he had rehearsed this message before. Slapped on the correct postage and said a cheery good riddance to my bear canister which has to be the easiest and most emotionally charged two-and-a-half pounds I’ve ever lost. Even with a fresh resupply I feel lighter on my destroyed shoes. Gang reconvened at the beach for low-key beers. I swam for a total of three minutes, long enough to break up the dirt and grime layer. While the gang sunned themselves I watched a wedding photographer politely haranguing 25 family members into new poses, busting his ass without an assistant to move the monolight, unadulterated Schadenfreude coursed through my buzzed body. As the sun set we hit up McDonald’s for the third time in two days, a haven for last minute snacks and internet. The place was packed with festive high schoolers unable to contain themselves with the impending holiday. Found a good spot to stealth and set up our encampment near the ski resort. Zero’s are legendary with friends. So unbelievably stoked for the 4th.
July 4, Day 61
17.7 miles [1103.2]
Peaceful night behind the residential area. Packed up and retreated to Mickey D’s for breakfast and a hitch out. Didn’t want to eat my trail food so I got two hash browns and two sausage burritos plus a coffee. I probably could have made a valid argument for being awarded the senior discount from the mileage on my knees alone. Tried to hitch for over 45 minutes, my longest attempt so far. I was losing faith and seriously considered walking when a man with clear oval frames sporting a scarf over his tie-dyed dancing bear T-shirt approached us. “Grateful Dad”, father of “Vinyl” (who gave me my trail name), was headed to Grocery Outlet and asked if we needed any help. Beaming, we hopped into his van. “Trash Bath” bought four eight-count boxes of Firecracker Popsicles which were gone by the time we parked at the trailhead. Profusely thanked our sandeled Angel and loaded the new map. “Sticky Fingers” grew up here and had a plan for our day. Must have passed more than 50 other day hikers in the six miles it took to get to Lake Aloha. Set up lunch on top of a 25-foot boulder with a shear drop-off facing the water. I watched all of my friends casually backflip and gainer into a seemingly shallow lake. I thought about the phrase I write in every trail log I’ve signed: 1) go fast 2) commit. It took some encouragement, but upon standing I made good on my axiom. The plunge made my dollar cherry pie all the more sweeter. Hiked on to Gilmore Lake near the base of Mount Tallac. Made camp, devoured a tuna taco, gathered all my layers and alcohol, and scrambled to the top just in time for sunset. A bottle of Fireball was passed around in an attempt to block the unyielding wind as dusk turned into twilight. I counted five distinct firework shows scattered around Lake Tahoe’s rim, the Milky Way silently stealing the show. Survived a fairly treacherous and pitch-black drunken Class 2 scramble down to camp. Forgot about the Ranch—even for just a moment.
“Sticky Fingers” jumps into Lake Aloha.
Cherry pie on the 4th of July.
“Combo” celebrates his freedom.
Mt. Tallac’s shadow.
Lake Tahoe at dusk.
“Sticky Fingers” and Lake Tahoe
Hike On?
Summer 100: #51-60
Setting off into cool morning air, our day's journey begins as we walk down the road's narrow, furrowed lanes. I am quite familiar with this particular...
Summer 100: #51-60
51/100
Setting off into cool morning air, our day's journey begins as we walk down the road's narrow, furrowed lanes. I am quite familiar with this particular road, having hiked it many times throughout my years spent on the Ranch, but I have never witnessed it like this before. Fog is a rare treat during the summer months and I struggle to contain my excitement. Looming pines glare down upon us, their boughs and trunks disappear into gray murkiness. Dense, moist silence amplifies the babbling Rayado and crunching gravel beneath our boots. Each crest and fork holds the possibility of an entirely new landscape. I sense our destination is getting close, but in this light, how can I really be sure?
52/100
Continuing along the hazy highway, my mind drifts and quickly I find myself obsessing about tomorrow's conclave. Throughout the summer, there are two mandatory all-day meetings Camp Directors and Backcountry Managers attend, our first one is tomorrow. Undeniably I am destined for hard plastic and cold florescence. Less than thrilled, I set my sights on celebrating Independence Day the day after, surely this will keep me motivated. I trudge onward, not even having reached Phillips Junction and already I have flipped my decision on accepting a ride; yesterday's water-bottle incident continues to teach my tendons new lessons. Hydrate, or, well...
53/100
I take another swig from my Dr. Pepper and Wild Turkey, excusing myself from one of today's many barrel races; yesterday's meeting feels like a hallucination. Opting out of unsavory and crowded bathrooms, I wander past our parked cars and into the adjacent school's baseball field. Styrofoam cups and tumble weeds collect in overgrown dugouts, this dugout being no different. Hot, noon-day sun beats down upon me, occasionally interrupted for a gentle, warm breeze which floats through the rodeo grounds. Fourth of July is shaping up to be a spectacular day!
54/100
After a quick detour through the food booth, I make my way back to my uncomfortably angular bleacher seat, chili dog in hand. Pickle-flavored sunflower seeds and kettle corn flow freely while our section cheers during the ensuing cattle roping event. Yips of “c'mon now!” and loud whistles emanate from the grandstands. Evening plans are quickly and effortlessly hashed out; the annual fireworks show over Eagle Nest Lake is a crowd favorite and not to be missed. And there's always the bar on way home. Blissfully, we chat away our afternoon in shade from the awnings, occasionally glancing up at the massive blue expanse. Who needs a beach?
55/100
The vast majority of backcountry staff are busy at their respective camps, however, plenty of staff who work from basecamp have a flexible afternoon and can attend the rodeo. Next to me is Jamie, an old friend who has continuously worked in Health Lodge, now called Infirmary due to some important legislature. I remember back to 2011, she was fortunately at camp and helped administer first aid to my index finger when I stupidly sliced it wide open with my pocket knife. In 2012, we both sat front row at the very same rodeo and snapped photos of the Mutton Busting event. Last year, she visited camp frequently to shoot guns, bake cookies in our wood-burner, and transport altitude sickness cases. This year, a group of us have plans to see a show at Red Rocks, an experience which has been on my checklist for quiet some time. I look around, stories and anecdotes of people I know unfold before me like a virtual pop-up book. Standing, we applaud the rider who just took a nasty fall; Jamie looks relieved to be off-duty.
56/100
I begin to take notice of some of the locals and realize my wardrobe is woefully ill-prepared. Shiny belt buckles and alligator shoes equally compliment coordinated pearl snaps and Stetson's. Grizzled, weather-beaten cowboys sit between cheering and supportive rodeo moms; young teens can be spotted canoodling in the extremities of the bleachers while fifth and sixth graders rope and wrestle each other in front of the grandstands. The Maverick Club Rodeo has been ongoing for over 90 years and it looks as though the entire town is here to show their support.
57/100
I sink my rear into the footwell of the bleachers, back resting against the rigid metal seating; it has always felt more comfortable to sit this way. Reaching for my empty beverage after already having tested its lack of fullness several times, I realize my afternoon has blown by, similar to the clouds which we had all watched earlier. Shaking the thoughts from my mind, I close my eyes and listen to the sounds of the event. Pounding hooves and powerful whinnies can be made out over the chatting crowd and rambunctious children. And if I concentrate, even a whistling lasso or two can be heard.
58/100
Helping to bridge the gap between Backcountry and Ranger departments are Ranger Trainers, or RT. They have numerous responsibilities, but being a Liaison for a camp is a universally agreed upon perk of the job. I have known Stuart for a few summers and this year he is our Liaison. Whether in uniform or not, high-waisted shorts and Chacos seem to be a personal requirement. Taking advantage of Zastrow's accessibility, he has visited a few times; checking in with our staff and always making a point to discuss photography and cameras.
59/100
We park our car on the shoulder of a familiar mountain road and gather our blankets and jackets during waning moments of dusk. A winding trail of car lights slowly descend into Eagle Nest; one of the few places to see a fireworks show. Munching on chips and Twizzlers, we joke and laugh the remaining light away. A solitary flash and distant bang alerts us to the show's arrival. Two years ago, I remember seeing the fireworks explode directly over the water; its receded bank a visual testament of continued drought. Bruce Springsteen crackles over a distant cell phone speaker. Conditions may change, but the ritual is still just as familiar as it ever was.
60/100
Already another week has elapsed at Zastrow. Program has been functioning smoothly, only one day of rain has soured dutch oven cobbler-cooking. Our greatly anticipated National Inspection team was here yesterday; nothing of demerit stood out which we took for success. I even managed to squeeze in a concert at Red Rocks last night to celebrate, thanks in part to my flexible staff. Camp is momentarily empty during part of our evening program and I take advantage of this brief silence to appreciate the “blood-moon”. Its radiant orange hues slowly turn to a familiar bright yellow, as if ingesting all available light while it ascends. I transport myself to last night's saga, remembering it even watched over us while we were “collapsing and screaming at the moon”.
About the Blog
Justin Kernes is a photographer and writer who thrives in the great outdoors.
From 2010-2017, he worked in the backcountry at Philmont Scout Ranch in New Mexico.
In 2018 “Tiny Slice” successfully thru-hiked the Pacific Crest Trail.
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