PCT 2018: Days 112-116, White Pass to Snoqualmie Pass
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 112-116 from White Pass to Snoqualmie Pass, mile 2,270-2,390.
August 24, Day 112
~19.5 miles [2295.5]
Not an ideal night. Rough and windy, I was awake for most of 11-2 A.M. hours with a billowing rain fly. Summoned the courage and removed the fly, then took a horrendous dumb under an almost blinding full moon, fully engulfed in a bank of clouds. Managed a little sleep before giving up. Sunrise was completely shrouded by fog and clouds, I couldn’t see ahead of me more than 50 feet except for a brief five-second window. “Shocks” and “Tumbleweed” weren’t lazy (also they were the only ones who camped higher than us) and got a photo, I didn’t even touch my camera. Big shame. Got to Coyote Junction, mile 2278.6, and started down Packwood Lake reroute. It felt like 15 miles of steep descent which took us from 8-1 P.M. Stumbled into the trailhead and got a lucky hitch inside a horse trailer who’s cargo was an ATV, two motorbikes, and two blonde girls also hitching. I think that was the oddest ride so far. Went for coffee and it looked like “Roadrunner”, “AutoPilot”, and “Colonel Sanders” had made it down and shared the same idea. Americano never tasted better. Hitched to White Pass, “Sticky Fingers” and “Brownstreak” showed up. Picked up our resupply box from the Kracker Barrel. “Stick” gave me his vape pen battery, “Tumbleweed” gifted me her concentrate pods, and “Shocks” gave me his headphone dongle! THE TRAIL PROVIDES! Nearby apartment was offering free chili. I washed it down with a microwaved burrito. Picked the trail back up at mile 2294.9 and got about a mile out before setting up camp. Velveeta dinner—the tenth and final portion of that meal—and another beer. Shared camp with “Cray-Nip”. The border is closed and I am thoroughly bummed. I didn’t do this trail for the border alone but I feel horribly cheated if I can’t cross.
Packwood Lake, Washington.
White Pass and Highway 12.
August 25, Day 113
28.2 miles [2323.7]
Nearly fell asleep before writing, I think I knocked out from 8-9:30 P.M. (I refuse to miss any entries). Chilly morning, I wore my rain/wind jacket most of the day. Passed by streams, creeks, and ponds of varying hues. About the time when afternoon clouds burned off it began raining and everything became damp and miserable. All my gear is wet, but not soaked, except for my quilt and sleep clothes. I spent a lot of time worrying about the consequences and how I’ll stay warm but I know I’ll learn as I continue. Lunch break at Bumping River and “Sticky” angled with his Tenkara. “Brownstreak” looked tired. Dense fog and mist swaddled me like a comforter made out of depression. Got to Chinook Pass and hunted for a suitable site just as the hypo began to set in. Hastily made camp and hung out in my tent with my remaining dry layers and ate a shit ton in an attempt to warm up. Somewhat concerned about tomorrow since it’s not going to be any warmer or drier. Cross that bridge when you get there. Just. Keep. Moving.
Pipe Lake, mile 2302.5.
Tipsoo Lake Junction near Chinook Pass.
August 26, Day 114
23.3 miles [2347.0]
Very fortunate to have slept warmly. Commanding/summoning the motivation to hike was brutal. It was probably 48 degrees and anything which wasn’t inside my tent was completely soaked. Pulling on wet pants is a depressing way to start anyone’s morning, I wasn’t a happy camper. Squished into my shoes, at least wool socks mitigate the misery. “Shocks” only groaned when I wished him well, he eventually caught up in the afternoon. It threatened to get warm but never actually did. “Sticky” and I hiked together for a while before taking a 20-minute snack break. No one could sit longer or else they were going to get too cold. Kept moving just to keep my body working, it seemed. Drank my only packed beer for the illusion of warmth and happiness. Trudged and trudged until there was a clearing in the fog and I saw the Mike Urich cabin. Comments made it sound like the place would be rife with non-hikers but much to my luck and amazement the tiny ski hut was being run by more than a dozen hikers. Cold, wet, dehydrated to the point of thirst, and in caloric-deficit, I guzzled a liter and crammed a ton of snacks. There was a fire in the wood stove and suddenly the entire room felt very smoky. I felt hot. Went outside on the porch and got fetal (where it was 48 and drizzling) took off my puffy and started breathing like I was a first-time passenger in an overactive F-16. “Miraj”, I’d never met him before, kept an eye on me and brought me water—the hero we all need. Ten minutes later, as rapidly as it had come on, I was back to 95%. “Sticky” was a generous god and gave me a bite of his cinnamon toast and cookie butter sandwich. Inspired, I took the remaining tablespoon of communal butter and bread heels and whipped up a beurre noisette for my grilled cheese. Fat is king. Foggy views through the burn area were ghostly and mysterious. Pure Washington. Going to be challenging to get good sleep but it has to be better than camping out in the wet.
August 27, Day 115
23.8 miles [2370.8]
Not terrible sleep considering claustrophobic cabin circumstances, I only woke up a few times. Took some rips from “Beehive” and “Miraj” gave me an IPA. Ate a few of the remaining communal bars on the table and set off into the dull and dreary world, word was clear skies around noon. Trudged through seven miles of haunting fog and finally it cleared and I saw the sun. Rejuvenating and life-affirming, I felt happy. My soul was warm. Clouds are the best for hiking though, gray mist is good for nothing. Dried my tent out and saw “Brownstreak”. Took lunch at the stream with “Taco” and “Cray-Nip”. Lots of little dirt road crossings today. I wonder how they got there? Wandering thoughts turned to Breckenridge and upcoming photobook. Shared camp with a guy named “Croissant” on one of those nameless and unused roads. I’m certain I lost my beanie yesterday which is a total bummer, I’ve had it since my first summer camp over 15 years ago. I suppose it’s just another material item. Looking forward to Snoqualmie, perhaps I’ll get the pancake breakfast and a hotel/hostel. Tired of hiking but it’s still enjoyable, I just feel depleted. Nearly there. Relaxing evening in the tent.
August 28, Day 116
23.4 miles [2393.2]
Aardvarks “Hurry Curry”, in Snoqualmie; an explosion of nearly-forgotten flavors.
Enjoyable hike which was mostly full of hills. Psyched myself out about some inclines, but overall, very doable. Low on food but I knew about town and resupply. Ran into “Taco” and “Miraj” and we cruised under the lifts and down into Snoqualmie. Found some trail magic just before town. There was a food stand called Aardvark Express which served a very highly regarded “hurry curry”. Ordered one and was thoroughly amazed, so many flavors like long-lost friends I thought I had forgotten: cardamom and cinnamon chicken curry over rice with pineapple cornbread, cilantro, spinach, green apple, and spouts, a one-and-a-half-pound flavor masterpiece. Free Rainier beer to wash it down. Did a stealthy load of laundry at the Inn and emailed my references for housing. Picked up and sorted out resupply, bought beer, and road walked to the Alpine Club. It was an eclectic chalet with local mining and skiing memorabilia strewn about the stone and wooden walls. Very cool except for a skeevy old guy who is the on duty manager of the house, the kind of person who thinks he manages the universe. One of the loquacious and stronger-willed hikers got confrontational later in the evening; being a bum in the woods can have an impact on one’s self-confidence a little too much. Tried to stay clear and took a legit shower with a beer. Electricity and new friends meant we all stayed up late—a flameless campfire. Had a nice chillout with “Cray-nip”, “Doobie”, and “Miraj” outside with good laughs and more Rainier. Midnight snack of fine salami, probably left over from other hikers, I must remember to eat more tomorrow...with eggs.
PCT 2018: Days 117-120, Snoqualmie Pass to Skykomish
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 117-120 from Snoqualmie Pass to Skykomish, mile 2,390-2,465.
August 29, Day 117
10.4 miles [2403.6]
I managed to sleep until 8 A.M. which is pretty good for a bunk bed in a hostel. Brewed coffee and chilled with the gang: “Cray-nip”, “Doobie”, “Taco”, “Miraj”, and “Shocks”. There was a new guy running the place and he inquired about the “situation” last night, hopefully we didn’t ruin anything for the trail community. Chilled hard at the Alpine Club. I made myself a proper breakfast—a buttery and runny three-egg scramble with salami which I deemed communal—a wonderful zen task I haven’t done since I started. Refilled my coffee mug for the second time and was buzzed. Hung out in the rec room and flipped through a photo book on turn-of-the-century logging in the Snoqualmie area, giving me thoughts for my book. Scrolled through lots of social media which is never particularly useful. Called Jimmy to confirm, it looks like we’re (nearly) roommates. Made lunch with the same package of salami except I threw it in a tortilla (you can’t change some habits) with nearly half a head of romaine and some seasoning; as close to pranzo on the Arno as I could get. More chillaxing, that vortex was exceptionally comfortable. Pulled the ripcord and left at 2 P.M. and straight into six miles of incline which wasn’t as bad as it looked on the map. Rocky and mountainous, more mysterious and brooding terrain begging to be explored. I picked the campsite which turned out to be a dry pond bed on the side of a ridge which doesn’t look like a great idea under dark skies. “Hard to imagine we’re less than 20 days away—”, “Shocks” interrupted me, “it’s more like 10, do you even know the cities left?” Big sigh. Weird feelings.
Joe Lake and Huckleberry Mountain.
August 30, Day 118
24.3 miles [2427.9]
Lounged until 8 A.M. and greeted by more stormy and cold weather. Shocks seemed to want a buddy today so I hung around closer than normal. Stuffed bars into me, a hiking machine only requires calories. Clouds cleared enough to reveal some staggering mountainous terrain with trees and flowers which seemed quintessentially Washington. Used the mottled sunlight to dry off quilts and tents. The sun helped but it was a tough day to find motivation. Two big hills which were each six-plus miles. Tuna and cracker lunch restored some energy. Caught up to “Cray-nip” and “Beehive” for the last five miles which felt long but were all downhill. Set up camp along the Waptus River. Dinner was pasta primavera with a package of chicken as well as olives and some honey mustard bread pieces. It’s very difficult to contend with nearly being finished. My mind seems to have already moved on to Breckenridge, I’m ready to be there. Remember to slow down and enjoy these final few days.
Spectacle Lake.
Chimney Rock, mile ~2420.
August 31, Day 119
22 miles [2449.9]
The last day of August greeted me with drizzly and damp surroundings. “Beehive” and “Cray-nip” didn’t mess around and left. I was slow to start especially with a 10-mile hill, I was wheezin’ hard. Played a lot of the temperature regulation game by altering various combinations of jacket and buff. Blessed with an early 10:30 A.M. drying session when “Dingo” (mile 30 and mile 1,195!) passed us. We congratulated each other like war buddies who had made it back alive. His friend mentioned the border had reopened and I bellowed a triumphant howl, a roar from the deepest parts of my calloused feet and heart. This is big news for me, “Shocks” seemed unphased. Lunch was at a cascading stream, I had tuna with Combos, GORP, and a Milky Way bar. Took quite a few long, relaxing breaks which were peaceful. Completed the second hill and set up camp at the bottom of a frigid canyon, I’m going to snug up tonight. More aimless thoughts on Breckenridge, I should start envisioning less free-time, lord knows I’ll be stuck trying to earn money. I’m just excited to start this book. Dinner was chicken and rice Knorr with some tuna dumped in. A trail casserole? In typical fashion, I couldn’t wait to eat and most likely scorched my tongue. It’s been hard to motivate since the Alpine Club—got to take it in before it’s all over.
The shores of Deep Lake, mile 2543.
September 1, Day 120
17.3 miles [2464.2]
Damn—what a day. Slept until 7 A.M. and started hiking by 8:15 A.M. Easy enough terrain, flowy with a few small hills, a great hiking day with bro. Arrived at Steven’s Pass with hopes of food, but “Shocks” took a look at the menu and suddenly we both remembered what resort food entails. Ate some snacks and hung out on the pavilion watching mountain bikers, it got me excited for another ski season. Hard highway hitch but finally scored one going to Skykomish. Finally had a real lunch at 3 P.M. from Sky Deli and Liquor which was a garlic-chicken panini and an iced Americano, it actually tasted like espresso. It’s Labor Day weekend and it didn’t seem worth the three-day-wait for our resupply. Hitched to the Dinsmore’s with “Gandalf”, a goofy kid we met in Mammoth, he’s ending his hike here. Met Jerry and thanked him for his kindness. Dropped our gear and scored a hitch to Gold Bar by 6 P.M. Even remote areas of Washington have a vape and/or dispensary within walking distance. They were both open and had everything we wanted, hot damn. Resupplied at the Family Grocer—decent selection. “Shocks” yogied us a hitch from a guy who initially sketched me out and made me doubt strangers in the first place. “Jason” wanted to show us a local waterfall in the pitch black night. We stumbled down an embankment and onto the river rocks, just when I thought I was about to die, I realized he was a quirky dude who was just excited to talk to some hikers, he might have been one of the warmest souls I met. Thanked him for our last ride of the day, then did the shower and laundry shuffle. We did it—four hitches. Watched “The Informant!” and I read a few pages of “Yogi’s” book while winding down and she summarized thru-hiking: you feel invincible.
Trap Lake, mile 2452
Skykomish bridge
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PCT 2018: Days 96-99, Shelter Cove to Sisters
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 96-99 from Shelter Cove to Sisters, Oregon, mile 1,900-2,000.
August 8, Day 96
31.2 miles [1938.3]
I can’t believe I slept until 6:15 camped next to four other people and still managed to be the first one out of camp. First seven miles ahead, then I took a nice hour-long break at Maiden Peak shelter; I think I waited 30 minutes before “Brownstreak” sat down and ate a thawed microwave-burrito. It felt hard to find or make motivation, yesterday’s diet certainly did not help. Caught wind of trail magic at Charlton Lake and suddenly forgot about my sluggish woes. “Ducky”—2-for-3 on the trails—and his dad were super eccentric and holding court with at least six hikers. There were a pair of ladies, Hannah and “Sparkles” who were much more introverted and manned a grilled cheese station. I was lame and didn’t really chat much with our hosts past the usual profuse thank-yous, everything hurt and all I could see was food. Both parties were beyond well-equipped and more than a dozen hikers sat and ate to their heart’s content. I had two grilled cheese with fresh tomato and pickle toppers, Doritos and choc-chip cookies, plus a Coke and two IPAs. There were Ben and Jerry’s pints(!) but “Sticky” and I were stuffed once again and chose to split a Cherry Garcia. Pack on, waddled out, and found a pace and cranked miles out, passing dozens of scummy ponds between massive meditative lakes. Didn’t see anyone else and only two hikers passed me. Dusk set in and I thought I was behind, the trail was smooth, and I was angsty so I ran the last three in under a half-hour. It got dark and I set up—it’s officially my first night alone. It’s boring, nice, sad; I’m tired and proud. The mosquitoes at this lake are savage but I’m safe in my tent sanctuary just like everyone else.
August 9, Day 97
27.5 miles [1965.8]
All-over, a hard day. Good sleep after 10:30 P.M. once the few other late hikers settled in—looks like I didn’t camp alone after all. It also turned out camping by a lake meant no respite from mosquitoes and I packed in a constant orbit around my camp, never pausing to get bit. Hike was hard despite an easy downhill morning, I think I had strained a few ligaments on the arch of my left foot from last night’s panicked run to catch up. Thought a lot about being behind and how I just managed to reconnect with “Shocks”, I worried about being on my own once again. I thought I beat this? It was a hot afternoon and I found a decent stream in the shade which was a good excuse to wash socks and deduct 12-ounces of beer weight—I chilled it in the stream while scrubbing. Hot afternoon and being sore didn’t help. Turned out I was ahead. “Shocks” caught up and we took lunch, salmon taco, and split my other beer. The last few miles were pretty nice; South Sister is straight up epic and Mt. Jefferson looks dope—I’m ready to ski. Filled up at an extremely milky creek which filtered clear, don’t want to think about what it did to my filter. “Lost Dog” produced a quart-zip stuffed with bud from a trail angel and offered me a handful. Dinner was Velveeta salsa mac, then we set up in the meadow. “Conflicted” and “Sassy-K” said they both struggled; today’s terrain was tough and we all agreed it probably had something to do with the lack of views despite the last few spectacular miles. Out of spare power and it’s stressful, but it’ll work out. Less than 40 away from the 2K milestone—in under 100 days!
August 10, Day 98
30.1 miles [1995.1]
I must have set up on a queen mattress; the meadow grass and cold, wet air made for a glorious night of sleep. Another challenging day but the views more than made up for it; sparse, tortured trees, expansive meadows, streams and rocks, I would hike Oregon again for this stretch alone. Took a lengthy break at Sister Spring. “Conflicted” was a constant stream of gender pronoun jokes and I was nearly brought to tears with laughter; the best kind of breaks. Obsidian Falls was a nice surprise. Arrived at McKenzie Pass later in the afternoon and found a magic cache which had Doritos, Coke, and the juiciest, best peach of the entire season. Spotted “Coppertone’s” tell-tale RV and got a root beer float and took a nice sit. Nobody was stoked to figure out there were 13 more through some treacherous lava fields for a reliable camp. Found the courage to leave and struggled the entire time, each step pinched and stabbed, sharp rocks tenderized my poor feet, I would have rather walked through a pit of gnashing crocodiles. Rewarded, almost on a spiritual level, with a fiery sunset who’s rusted hues from smoke backlit ghostly, bone-white trees. It might well have been Mars. “Brownstreak” and “Shocks” caught up and we stumbled into Big Lake Youth Camp as the last bit of light vanished. I was immediately reminded of Philmont, all summer camps have a similar vibe: cute overall map, dining hall and meal hours, and someone who invariably exclaims “Hi, welcome to camp!” in a cheery and effervescent tone which borders too closely on psychosis. Directed to the “hiker area” and “Shocks” and I settled on a beach outcropping with a volleyball net. The sand feels great but I know everything will be soaked tomorrow morning. Oh well.
Mount Washington Wilderness and the Three Sisters.
North and Middle Sister.
Big Lake Youth Camp by stars.
August 11, Day 99
9.7 miles [2002.3]
As predicted, I woke up soggy on the volleyball sand near the water’s edge, a wall of low fog obscured the opposite bank of Big Lake. Huge windfall to have the hiker hut open a full hour earlier than posted. The shower I scouted yesterday was empty, no towels were hanging up, no one was loitering; I snagged the first one. Split a load of laundry, fueled up on coffee, and responded to the renter’s application. Ate at the dining hall and heard the clamoring of rowdy chow-hall kids and could feel myself drifting back to camp. I’m happy where I am but I can’t help but think about another summer, perhaps that’s always going to happen. Untoasted bagels two-ways; butter and tomato, then cream cheese and raspberry jelly followed by fresh strawberries and watermelon chunks and a side of yogurt made for a complete breakfast. Fully charged and clean, “Streak”, “Shocks”, “Conflicted”, and I headed a measly six miles to Santiam Pass, despite being offered a ride—everyone’s mood seemed to be in a hiking spirit. Crossed mile 2,000! Almost had a difficult hitch into Sisters before a pickup picked us up, I managed to konk out on the highway, wind and hair whipping me deaf in the bed. Hitch took us two miles too far which was stressful for “Conflicted” and I let him wind me up, plus it had been a few hours and miles since anyone had eaten. Found a lunch spot and had a chicken-bacon-brioche number with a 10-outta-10 habanero hot sauce (Aardvarks) and waffle fries. Used their free wifi and refilled my podcast feed. Temporarily sated, we made our last resupply for Oregon. Managed to reconnect with Sam Anderson and also got a surprise call from Pete Bergene. Hard hitch back to trail but I know now it always works out, easy to remember two beers deep dancing with my thumb outstretched on the side of a highway on a warm summer’s night.
“Brownstreak” and “Conflicted”.
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PCT 2018: Days 5-8, Julian to Mike's Place
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 5-8 from Julian to Mike’s Place, mile 80-127.
May 9, Day 5
17.6 miles [98.0]
Wow, I had the hardest day. At 2 a.m. Adam woke up with an 8-10-inch long centipede under his quilt, biting him. Like a scene from a horror film, I chased that f@&*er around, dispatching it with flurry of impassioned heel-strikes. I'm not sure now how I feel about cowboy-camping anymore. Neither of us got much sleep after the event. Today's entire hike was exposed. Alien. Wind hotter than hair dryers constantly caught my umbrella, whipping my hand and head, pulling me backwards. All that would seem tolerable, but all day yesterday I had a pain in my right knee upon extension. Tonight, three miles away from camp, I paused for a breather. When I went to move, it felt like a knife had pierced my kneecap, locking my leg in place—9/10 pain. All I could think about was 'failure'. I can't let it consume me. We made an early dinner and I chugged 1,000mg of acetaminophen. Adam insisted on taking my pack for the remaining few miles. What a champ. Eat more, drink more, go slow; you must.
San Felipe Hills, California, mile ~86.
Small natural cave, mile 96.1.
May 10, Day 6
11 miles [109]
Crossed a big milestone today—mile 100. Exited Anza-Borrego and San Felipe Hills, it feels like I'm finally out of another desert. Tried to stay on top of hydration, but nonetheless, my knee hurt all day. Luckily we only planned on making it to Warner Springs—11 miles. I spent way too much time thinking about the implications of injury. Found our way to the Community Center and was surprised at what they had to offer. We both took bucket showers and laundry which were much needed. I also purchased a pair of two-ounce flip-flips which are going to be a big score for camp-life and future showers. Made a small trek to the Post Office to pick up our resupply box. Stopped at the golf course on the way back; there was a closeout sale on junk food. Score. One of the employees was clocking out; she offered us a ride back in her bitchn' 80's Tacoma.
Eagle Rock, California, mile 106.2.
Hiking through Warner Springs Meadows, mile 103.4.
Adam hitches in a pickup truck on Highway 79, mile 109.5.
A very nice Angel from Warner Springs Golf Grill.
May 11, Day 7
0 miles [109]
We took our first zero today; not stoked about needing the rest so early on. I don't think Adam wanted to stop but it's clear he's worried about me. Fortunately, we both got to sleep in due to overcast skies. I wore my puffy all day; finally a nice day in the desert. We used today's downtime to rethink gear, trying not to get sucked into social media. I bought a much needed hooded shirt from 2 Foot Adventures since my right nipple had been rubbed raw by my cheap button-up. This is a major boost in my quality of life. Adam realized his pad popped in the wake of the centipede kerfuffle, but at the end of the day, a Z Lite found it's way into the hiker box. Adam snatched it up—huge score! We also ordered odor-proof bags to store food after a rogue crow took a packet of ramen from our resupply box when I wasn't looking. Finished the day with a life-affirming footbath and ate dinner in the tent.
May 12, Day 8
18 miles [127]
Got an early start leaving Warner Springs; I can finally wake up and pack camp in under 40 minutes. The entirety of today's hike was overcast! Gorgeous Bay Area clouds blanketed the sky which kept me cool during our 18 miles of rolling hills. My knee felt much better for the first nine miles or so, but soon after, a dull and constant pain returned. Challenging. Fortunately, we stayed at Mike's Place tonight. “Off-Trail” made us feel at home by giving us beers and cooking legit wood-fired pizzas. He even offered to let us cook—Adam made a spectacular 'za. Hung out with a dozen other hikers we had seen the past week and reminisced about our short time on trail. Possible chance of rain tonight.
Leaving Warner Springs, mile 109.6.
Adam makes pizza at Mike’s Place, mile 127.0.
Lost Valley, California, mile 118.6.
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PCT 2018: Days 22-25, Wrightwood to Agua Dulce
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 22-25 from Wrightwood to Agua Dulce, mile 376-462.
May 26, Day 22
19.7 miles [395.9]
Slept in until 7:15 a.m. fully aware we had to climb the remaining 1,000 vertical feet of Mount Baden-Powell. Met some nice people at the summit and took a relaxing breakfast stop. More gorgeous clouds today but my knees and feet are shot from the sheer amount of ups and downs. Passed by what felt like 100 Scouts headed towards Little Jimmy campground; I remember camping there as a young boy with my Troop. Crossed back and forth over Highway 2, eventually taking Buckhorn detour and roadwalking for nearly three miles. It was completely overcast. Occasionally a patch of clear would appear, quickly gobbled up by the moving mist. Heavy clouds filled the foothills below and trees above. I wore my puffy for most of the afternoon. Found some magic at Islip Saddle; Doritos, brownies, and some lavender-flavored after-dinner mints whose flavor had me contemplating if there was any food I wouldn’t eat. We walked through a very full Cooper Canyon, a popular campground for local Angelenos. A family enjoying their campfire saw us quietly walking by. “What you got in those bags?” asked the mother pointing at our backpacks Corona in hand. Adam and I smiled at each other. “Everything” doesn’t mean the same thing to weekend warriors.
Islip saddle, mile 386.1.
Highway 2, Angeles Crest, mile 389.3.
May 27, Day 23
25 miles [420.9]
It’s hard to believe we got trail magic on four separate occasions today alone. First was at Camp Glenwood where we met Maxx, who welcomed us inside with chocolate chip pancakes and fresh strawberries. Adam let me steal a spoonful of peanut butter. Maxx spied my Philmont ball cap, which I had switched out in Big Bear, and asked if I had been to the Ranch. I smiled big. We talked about his trek, the flood, and amazing staff. Next, we made it to Three Points junction and met JT, a thru-hiker from 2014, who tossed us both a PBR. Didn’t even make it three miles before magic spot number three; a stash of craft beers in the shade of a magnificent Douglas fir. Miles melted by. Just when I thought it couldn’t get better, we were graciously provided with dinner by a couple who are planning on hiking next season. They had an easy-up at Mill Creek Fire station and all the sandwich accoutrements. I made a chicken-avocado-cheddar and washed it down with a Coke. To top it off, they even knew about Philmont—their kid went on trek. We thanked them until it became borderline uncomfortable. Did two more miles and set up camp under a nearly full moon. Maybe it’s all the beer I drank, but it was hard not to think about the Ranch.
Moon rise over Angeles Crest Highway, mile 418.6.
Sunset at camp, mile 420.9.
Strawberry peak sunset, mile 418.6.
Pancakes at Camp Glenwood, mile 400.6.
May 28, Day 24
24.1 miles [445.0]
Greeted by another stellar desert sunrise upon waking. Temperature hovered in the high 90's all day which made for tough hiking. Pushed 15 miles to the North Fork Ranger Station where I refilled water, bought a Coke, and did extensive feet-maintenance. I could have sat there in the shade all afternoon. Another eight miles to the Acton KOA which offered $10 showers and frozen treats. Couldn't wrangle a deal with the attendant so I settled for a chocolate Dove bar and decided another spigot foot wash was all I needed—the 'off-limits' pool called my name the entire time. Marginally refreshed we began to hike out, only to be stopped by a pair of couples dining alfresco in the RV section. “You guys hungry?” they yelled as we walked by. We smiled, I still feel awkward accepting such benevolent charity. We sat and ate kebabs and pasta salad, everyone shared camping mishap stories. They insisted we take a bottle of wine and Perrier and beamed when I called them “Trail Angels”. My outlook on the day has changed; fellowship is more renewing than a hot shower.
Camping above Soledad Canyon, mile 445.0.
Trail magic at Acton KOA.
May 29, Day 25
17.6 miles [462.6]
Up at 5 a.m. and to no surprise it got hot almost immediately. Luckily the terrain was fairly easy into Agua Dulce. Vasquez Rocks was worth a return trip. Bought a strawberry Arizona iced tea and hitched in a truck bed over to Hiker Heaven to wait out the midday heat. “Numbers” gave us the run-down, I signed up for a shower and laundry immediately—it had been over two weeks. I lazed around in the shade with other hikers, sipping on the bottle of white wine we got yesterday, and talked about surviving for nearly 500 miles. Got drunk pretty quickly since I had only eaten a few snacks. Refreshed, we went back into town for resupply. Adam and I gorged ourselves on an eight-piece fried chicken dinner and a bagged kale salad from the deli counter. Pumped for Casa de Luna tomorrow, I’ve heard it’s an iconic location in trail culture. My clothes smell fresh, I am clean, I have food. Life’s good.
“Tiny” the dog at Hiker Heaven.
Highway 14 tunnel, mile 451.1.
Truck bed views near Agua Dulce.
Petersen road power lines, mile 456.6.
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Summer 100: #41-50
Gusty winds whip at my hair while passing trucks rattle and shake the concrete walkway. Grey enameled railing tells and incomplete story, marred by graffiti, glib aphorisms, and poignant...
Summer 100: #41-50
41/100
Gusty winds whip at my hair while passing trucks rattle and shake the concrete walkway. Grey enameled railing tells and incomplete story, marred by graffiti, glib aphorisms, and poignant memorials; it becomes increasingly obvious the bridge has had a history with suicide. Firmly, I grab the waist-high railing and peer over the edge, it looks to be over 500 feet. I immediately remember a time when I dove off a mere 15-foot cliff into moving water. Time took forever. I notice my friends taking their own moments of reflection and angst. Thankfully, the herds of geriatric tourists clutter at the edge of the bridge's span, their fears granting us an unadulterated experience of the abyss.
42/100
Large cumulonimbus clouds heavy with rain have been forming all day. Looming, they begin to overtake the sun; the red gorge walls cease casting harsh shadows, giving us an entirely new view. I spot a distant shopping cart camouflaged among the rocks and remember the nearest grocery store must be over ten miles away. Nearly a two hour drive from camp and with rain imminent, we decide to leave early and enjoy the scenic route home. Before heading for the car, I stop and take in the grandeur a final time, planting myself at the vertical intersection of river and bridge. A modern-day solution for a stream crossing. The wind begins to gust and the temperature drops another five degrees; time to go.
43/100
Our winding descent back to basecamp flies by, the late afternoon sun lights up the valley. The journey ends and we pull up to the dirt parking lot and try to find an open space in a sea of dusty second-hands. We meet up with some more friends who are in the process of making dinner plans. A few more people begin trickle in while a few others toss a Frisbee back and forth. Sean, the Camp Director of Whiteman Vega, mumbles something about “later”, as he tinkers inside his currently non-operational leviathan truck. Car trouble is always a hassle, but when the nearest parts shop is an 80 mile round-trip away, fixing things becomes a headache. The sun has begun to set and I know he won't be too far behind us.
44/100
Jumping in the cars once again, we venture into Cimarron for another meal out; a new barbecue joint has recently opened up in town. We cruise, windows down, along the four-mile straight stretch of road, it is the main access in and out of the Ranch. Wind loudly whips through my hair and ears while setting sun-rays bathe the car and mountains in warmth. Nicole, the Camp Director at Fish Camp, has graciously volunteered to be our sober driver for the evening, a favor and chore any good staffer will reciprocate. Surprisingly, in our numerous years of shared tenure, this is the first time we have hung out socially. I suddenly realize the car is full of people who fit the same description. Most of us have to be at back at our respective camps the following afternoon. However tonight, we celebrate; our camps haven't burned down...yet.
45/100
We pull up along the familiar stretch of town in search of this new barbecue joint aptly referred to as “Smokehouse”. Quickly spotting it, I can't help but notice this is the third restaurant in five years to occupy the same space. Still, my hopes remain high. We park, place our orders, and wander out to the patio to wait and relax. The food and mosquitoes begin to arrive. Paperwork is bemoaned. Sauces are ranked. Days-off recounted. We finish and all give each other a knowing and silent nod; it is time for the bar. All satisfied to have found another eatery, we exit. Looking up, I notice the store adjacent to where we parked, Buffalo Nickel, bares a sign with their painted name and date, 1909. The mortar and stone have definitely seen more than three restaurant changes.
46/100
Plopping down atop the small table kept on the porch, I scan my hot and dusty territory. Camp operations functioned smoothly during my leave of absence, however, a few staff members haven't been getting along entirely well. Their recent flare-up has given me a unique challenge to sort out and I take some time to process. A small scout with legs black from sweat and dirt quietly rummages through the swap box, a receptacle for trading unopened and unused food. Camp is unusually calm for such a warm afternoon, perhaps crews destined for us have decided to take an extended lunch break. Noticing a small scurrying dot on the long concrete slab, I swat away buzzing flies and get down to examine close-up; eight eyes stare back at me. Although not yet large enough to tackle our overwhelming fly problem, I sweep my new friend to safety. Fortunately, my code only allows me to kill things which have wings and legs with a value greater than two.
47/100
I awake to the clamoring sounds of departing crews on our porch. Their combined excitement, boots, and brotherhood before 7 a.m. are far too raucous without sufficient waking up. Postponing my coffee ritual, I quickly throw on my whiffy 4-day-old shirt and tattered Arborwears and take off for the quiet ATV course. Unexpectedly, the entire landscape is overcast, gray with moisture. Heavy, cool air clings to my jacket while dew sparkles and glints; nature's chandelier. Every leaf, flower, and blade of grass is covered in damp stillness. The silence I so desperately crave has finally greeted me. Good morning.
48/100
Finishing my walk, I pause at the fence line to catch my breath before descending into camp. I glance at my watch; everyone should be awake and functioning, but past experiences tell me I need to double-check. The newness of camp has definitely started to wear off, June gloom is upon me. I make my way back towards the cabin and try to work out a few more ideas to help my staff get along better. Coach, chef, cheerleader, counselor; these are some of the many job requirements I find myself needing on a daily basis. Entering the kitchen, I notice a few staff members absent. Grabbing an apron, I offer eggs to those who are hungry. It's time for a change.
49/100
Crews come and go as does cloudy mornings and rainy afternoons. It seems like I blinked and July has arrived, the last six days have been long and similar. Last week's moth-in-ear-canal and today's first ATV crew are major events my mind strings together in some sort of surreal movie storyboard. Our two ATV Specialists, John and Jimmy, grab as many chest protectors as they can and prepare to head up to the course in order to instruct our first group who just arrived. I know they are as nervous as I am, but I reassure them today is going to be a fun test to prove what they already know. They disappear past the bridge and I return to a half-dozen new crews and unfilled forms which need my attention. I wish I could debrief them about how the course went, but my meeting on the 4th has forced me to leave camp a day earlier than I had planned. Eight miles of steady uphill lie ahead of me, monsoon season has just arrived and getting caught in a storm is not ideal. Camp remained intact during my last set of days and I know the same will be true for this set. My staff have started to become more confident and I don't think it's my imagination.
50/100
Once again, I am awoken by overly zealous scouters. I lie swaddled in my sleeping bag, fearing to move my limbs. In my haste to leave camp yesterday, I neglected to bring any water or snacks. Today, I should be a veritable Tin Man. Fish Camp's double hung windows emit a dim blueish glow and I sit up to have a look outside. It's completely socked in! Slowly, I get up and dress myself and wander into the kitchen and attempt to find something to eat. Nicole confirms our departure time, the goal is to head into basecamp via Phillips Junction to meet up with a few other CD's. I decide to take a walk around camp to try and warm up my aching bones; the weather is far too inviting and mysterious to hitch a ride back to base. I walk along the Rayado, in between aspen and yarrow, my knees and back begin to loosen. The stillness is invigorating.
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”.
Summer 100: #81-90
After finishing dinner's dishes, I wander out on Cyphers Mine's porch to snag some coffee. Everyone has started to assemble in anticipation for...
Summer 100
Summer 100: #81-90
81/100
After finishing dinner's dishes, I wander out on Cyphers Mine's porch to snag some coffee. Everyone has started to assemble in anticipation for Stomp, an almost historically accurate musical extravaganza, which is sure to entertain. A few staff carrying lanterns and cumbersome instruments head towards the smaller cabin with dozens of people following in tow. I grab a few more cookies before making my way over, eventually finding a decent seat towards the back. With little notice, the ensemble explodes to life, the entire show interrupted only by raucous clapping and laughing from the crowd. I take my unspoken cue during the last song and begin heading back towards the main cabin as to avoid any rush. I turn around to see a mass of headlamps flickering on, illuminating the dense darkness around them. Camper exodus never lasts long.
82/100
Since early morning, heavy clouds have been passing through camp, threatening us with rain. Only in the last half hour has their decision changed, an ever increasing pitter-patter of droplets can be heard on our tin kitchen roof. I finish my dinner and tell my staff to hold off from starting charcoal for our cobbler dutch oven feast while I scout weather conditions. A quick jaunt up to our meadow reveals just how socked in we are— looks like we are making eight cakes tonight. When a Scout has had their expectations set on cobbler for 12 days, cake is severely lacking in culinary appeal. I have had to deliver worse news though, perhaps I'll even get a small slice.
83/100
Obligated from the immediate need to start charcoal, I decide to take advantage of the ominous silence in our secluded meadow. Four more days remain until the second Camp Director meeting; it has been hard to quiet my apprehensions. Tomorrow brings the start of August, my final set of days-off begins the day after. There are so many camps I have neglected to visit. I still need to type up the second half of my report and I have yet to hear back on my application to work during fall. I take a breath, deeply filling my lungs with clean mountain air. I try to feel support from the damp rock on which I sit, and slowly, I return to our meadow. Cake nights are insanity– loud music and teenage boys tweaked on sugar– but there is little else I would rather be doing.
84/100
My staff are confident and comfortable with running camp in my absence and require no input before my departure. I snarf my breakfast, smear on sunscreen, and switch on my earbuds. Seven strenuous miles up the Rayado, my rendezvous point takes me along a familiar route I have hiked countless times before. Famed for a particular section of trail, “the Notch' is a perilous passage through a windy and narrow section of exposed rock. The crossing is barely wider than my arm span and I recall the stories of dynamite and labor it took to carve this mountain. Most people stop to admire the grand vista, but the rocks are more breathtaking today.
85/100
My trail continues upward through dense pine and heavy underbrush. I begin to descend and the scenery no longer feels foreign, a sign my destination is nearing. Radiant afternoon sun bathes the river's banks with warm hues. Swarms of gnats glint in the haze while massive bees buzz back and forth between black-eyed Susans. Trout dart upstream into shadows and crows caw upon my arrival. It would seem as though Mother Nature has granted me quite a welcoming party; I know Fish Camp and its staff will uphold her standards.
86/100
Last night's sleep on Fish Camp's couch has completely refreshed my spirit and aching quads; I feel unstoppable. To bypass starting a fire in the wood-burner, coffee is made with water boiled on a portable backpacking stove, then slowly poured through a paper filter resting precariously on one's cup. A flash from my years spent at other interp camps reminds me that this morning's process is pure novelty. Taking care not to spill, I also grab the book I picked up yesterday and mosey outside, situating myself in 'the ring'– a 4-foot wide suspended metal ring thick enough for one person to comfortably slink against. The weather couldn't be more idyllic, hopefully it holds for our baseball game later this evening. Skimming for my place, I realize I am more than two-thirds complete. Perhaps I can finish before we leave, there isn't any room in my pack for rentals.
87/100
Go-time is here. I cinch my pack and hoist it onto a waiting chair, shift my weight, then my waist. My eyes fall on a small patch of wilting black-eyed Susans; miniature sundials marking the passage of time by their withering petals. I am fully aware today will be my last hiking day this summer–a fruitless notion–but one I cannot move past. We say our farewells and begin to hike, the Rayado deeply hums while trees gently sway with the breeze. I am so very far from finished.
88/100
After showering and scouring off the majority of my last week off, I make my way over to the Villa Philmonte's vast lawn. Softballs thwack into mitts as both sides begin to warm up, voluminous clouds effortlessly drift above our massive green; what a perfect day for a baseball game! I catch an unmistakable scent of hot dogs and popcorn, looks like dinner has been taken care of. Tonight's friendly match determines a “winner” of a two-part baseball series between Backcountry and Ranger leaderships. Our rivalry is comically overstated, but having won the first game, it is apparent the Rangers are hungry for more than just hot dogs.
89/100
I watch as the scoreboard is hoisted into the air, proudly displaying the game's final for all to see; it was a blowout. From the corner of my eye, I catch a water cooler-shaped blur racing towards amassing celebratory yellow shirts. In one swift motion, the entire contents is dumped onto Matt's shoulders as he lurches forward, attempting to avoid the icy torrent. Even though we lost by a fair margin, seeing the opposing team's plush mascot stolen and high-tailed across the Villa lawn into a waiting getaway minivan made for a pretty spectacular seventh-inning stretch. After all, it's all just a game; might as well have some fun.
90/100
Boundless talks about gather during yesterday's meeting has left me feeling drained and restless. Alone in a sea of people, I wander building to building, mind racing, searching for familiar faces. Past staff members manifest momentarily, a mental mirage generated from previous summers. I desperately want to leave basecamp, but the thought of returning to camp tomorrow morning doesn't sit well either. Hopefully I find a friend going into town who wants some lunch. My days are dwindling. I must finish strong.
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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Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers day 111, Goat Rocks and my 30th birthday.