PCT 2018: Days 80-83, Mount Shasta to Etna
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 80-83 from Mount Shasta to Etna, mile 1,500-1,600.
July 23, Day 80
24.3 miles [1525.5]
Didn’t laze about in my tent in hopes of getting to the restroom before the rest of the hikers woke. “Flipper” packed while I hastily scrawled a sign to hitch out. Sounds like “Froggy” is going to do his own thing for a while too, I guess everyone needs their own time. Got picked up in less than five minutes and soon we were back on-trail. Completely sweat through my undies onto my pants, a personal swamp-ass record has been set, yesterday’s booze fest only made things worse no doubt. I was feeling good from a zero but after 20 miles all my ligaments and joints returned to their baseline dull aches. Despite the disgusting heat and slight hangover, I had a better day. In quieter moments I wondered why I didn’t hike out with “Conflicted and “TQ” and realized this was the first time I’ve let FOMO feelings creep in since starting. Don’t dwell. My pack feels heavy, I guess it always does. Is there a weight at which it won’t feel heavy? Saw “Dutchie” making camp and we decided to call it short by a few miles. “Penguin” arrived while I was making dinner. Had my usual tuna taco, this time with Doritos. Splurged on two Oreo dessert wraps. Today was just another day, don’t know why I was so worried. Big miles tomorrow, gonna crush it.
Castle Crags State Park, western face.
July 24, Day 81
30.4 miles [1555.9]
While we packed up “Dutchie” made the call to hike back to Shasta and go to the doctor for her feet. I could tell it was a hard decision, more than just hiking in the “wrong direction” for 25 miles. “Flipper”, “Penguin” and I soldiered on. Lunched hard; sipped a little vodka and got a five-minute doze. If there’s an afterlife I wish it was like Lunch. No one was stoked to make more miles after eating, still we cranked them out. NorCal’s scenery is mostly timbered views and volcanic rock, today no exception. Weather was outright enjoyable up until the last few miles before camp. Rain was imminent and I freaked out a little, this is my first day of real rain and I’m out of practice. Being wet sucks. “Flipper” invited us over to his tent (I can’t believe he’s using a Hubba Hubba) and we enjoyed family dinner at his place just as it began to come down in earnest. Each clap of thunder bolted me back to monsoon season at summer camp. We cracked the vestibule zippers and a few joints later the storm passed. It feels like I’m racing to Oregon, rightfully so, I’m beyond done with California. Thought about Adam and “Trash Bath” having fun without me which is silly. Silly and I know it. Absolutely crushed another 30, they still bring a sense of accomplishment. Furthermore, tuna tacos are still good. Thankful for lack of bugs and great friends—that’s all I need
July 25, Day 82
25.2 miles [1581.1]
Sleep felt nourishing but wakefulness came far too quick. I’m never ready for it to be over. Got my feet moving by 6:30 A.M. and it was hazy and smoky, clearing only a little by the afternoon. Water sources were plentiful, thank God. Everyone has Etna on their mind. Ran into “Shocks”, “Conflicted”, and “Trash Queen” at lunch which was a cool surprise. Dudes seemed whooped, “TQ” with bubbly spirits per usual. Broke today into three segments of eight miles—an easy day. I’ve noticed manageable chunks are now 6-8 miles when they used to be only two. Sometimes I’ll still check the map every 0.1 but I think everyone does. The sensation in my right thigh, or rather lack thereof, is becoming more concerning. The day went quickly. I’m wishing to be done and I might get my wish—slow down. There’s so much to enjoy which feels like a reminder more than a revelation. It’s been almost three months since I started at the border. NorCal has challenged me and I find myself longing for the Sierra like a dysfunctional ex.
July 26, Day 83
21.7 miles [1599.8]
Tossed and turned every few hours but slept decently. Fortunately our 18 mile hike to the lonesome Sawyers Bar Road was shaded. Popped out of the trees and saw four other hikers splayed out roadside—our group made seven. More than a half-dozen trickled in over the next half-hour, in that same time I saw only one vehicle pass by. I was slightly worried but I’ve learned there’s nothing you can do except be hopeful. Really stoked I held on to my umbrella, it was clutch while waiting for a hitch. The next two cars stopped to help which put the odds at getting a ride above a coin-flip, an unbelievable ratio. “Flipper” and I piled into the bed of a rusted-out pickup and found some squatting room among a pile of firewood, an opossum-sized live animal trap, and a few bags of trash (our company and effects excluded) and waved see-ya-laters to the remaining hikers, still I managed to doze off on the ride into Etna. Heat and winding roads are my cradle. Stopped briefly at the hiker hut to drop packs and take inventory. Ate at Dotty’s, had a patty melt on rye with stone-ground mustard and horseradish, intense flavors I haven’t tasted in weeks. I think city-Slice would give it a 10/10. Resupplied at Dollar General for a few buffer items, then walked back to the hut, it was hotter than balls. Finished repackaging my food just as “Flipper” came back to the table dripping wet, rummaging for his towel. “Sprinkler was real nice” he said while combing his beard, skin noticeably a few shades lighter. Forgot everything I knew about avoiding sprinklers and made a beeline for the stream while stripping down to my undies. I’m never paying for a shower—ever. Paid “Lionheart”, owner of the hiker hut, for a ride back to the trail. It was a glorious summer night and the weather was reminiscent of perfect late-summer baseball games, ones where the stadium lights turn on somewhere around the fourth inning. “Froggy” was camped by the road, we unfurled our ground cloths and joined him. The five of us talked past sunset until the stars began to sparkle, a slumber party I won’t soon forget.
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PCT 2018: Days 37-39, Kennedy Meadows to Mount Whitney
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 37-39 from Kennedy Meadows to Mount Whitney, mile 700-766.
June 10, Day 37
14.3 miles [716.5]
Despite dozens of drunk and frisky campers I managed to get decent rest, waking early for an uninterrupted use of the porta-potty. Trepidatious about yesterday but feeling generally good, I finished the rest of my spigot-laundry, charged my remaining electronics, and attempted to stuff seven days of food into my bear can (where am I going to put these crackers?) Also, I learned the canister doesn’t fit horizontally in my pack. How did I not test it out at home? Adam and I hitched to Grumpy Bear for the famed all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast. I only finished one after an included plate of potatoes and eggs, legitimately, I was full. Waddled over to Triple Crown Outfitter where Adam upgraded his shirt and bought his own bear can. Got a miraculous hitch in a Ford Sport Trac back to the general store; 14 people plus a dog crammed in the cab, on the hood, and bed, tailgate down. It was a sight to behold. Took a few hours consolidate my new gear and figure out a comfortable packing style. Scored and ass-pad which should provide more comfort around my hipbelt area. Said our farewells to “Mio” and “Bigfoot” who are headed home today, having completed their planned section. I don’t like saying goodbye to friends. Hiked out 15 miles through gorgeous meadows, lichen covered rocks, and weather-worn pines, finally cresting above 8,000 feet. I’m home—the Sierra—it feels delightful. Set up camp at the Kern River and Monache Meadow junction and ate our second Velveeta salsa mac dinner. Always eaten on the first night of a preprepared resupply, the last time we had this meal was Warner Springs, 600 miles ago. Only eight more remaining.
Grumpy Bear all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast.
Hitching with the tailgate down.
Monache Mountain and Deer Island.
Kern River and Monache Meadow.
Sunset on Monache Meadow.
June 11, Day 38
25.3 miles [741.8]
In the wee hours of morning I tossed and turned, never finding a warm position. As consciousness slowly arrived, I realized the interior of my tent had been covered in frost. I whipped off my quilt, jumped into laced shoes and unzipped the tent frantically. Rather carelessly, I had left my water filter in my pack which had spent the night outside. Rule #1: don’t let your filter freeze. It sparkled with ice crystals—welcome to the Sierra. A depressing chorus of “I fucked up” played nonstop in my head. I told Adam I might need to borrow his filter, he seemed to take it fine. Packed and hiked out, climbing to 10,000 feet for the first time on trail (San Jacinto doesn’t count). My pack certainly feels like a fresh resupply, it easily weighs 40 pounds. No matter how I arrange my gear or adjust my straps, it pulls on my shoulders trying to grind me to a halt. Demolished a tuna taco and tons of mom’s jerky for lunch while drying my soggy tent in the alpine sun. Rationing food and a night of cold sleep meant I was hungry most of the day. Hiked a vertical mile of total altitude and my legs are completely shot. Set up camp at Diaz Creek, ducking and weaving through clouds of thirsty mosquitoes. Adam prepared dinner, tortilla soup, while I refilled our water supply. Whitney is close, but quite a haul still lays ahead.
Owens Valley and Cerro Gordo Peak.
Pinus balfouriana ssp. austrina, or more commonly, southern foxtail pine.
June 12, Day 39
25.3 miles [766.3]
I wasn’t the quickest packing up camp, however, Adam waited and paced around, albeit rather uncomfortably. I may have started off in front but quickly fell far behind as we continued to ascend above treeline. Around one set of switchbacks, two small flashes of fur chasing each other ran towards me. Instantly, I stopped and snapped my head up from the ground and tried to freeze. The two creatures stopped just as suddenly. Immediately I recognized one to be a golden-mantled ground squirrel. The other had a weasely appearance, sleek and slick, his tail tipped with black like a freshly dipped paint brush. I have a strong suspicion the unidentified creature was a stoat. They vanished as quickly as they arrived. After a few more miles, Adam and I lost motivation and shared an early, hot lunch just before the mouth of Chicken Spring Lake where Guthook claimed, upon arrival, “you will really feel like you have entered the High Sierra”. They weren’t wrong. For a few hours, we hiked through some sort of natural wonder Meow Wolf exhibit. Psychedelic thousand-year-old trees with twisted trunks, melted limbs, and horrific faces solidified in weather-worn bark. Stumbled another 16 more miles to Crabtree Ranger Station and set up camp. There must be over 60 PCT hikers here waiting to summit. While Adam and I ran pass routes (damn mosquitoes) and ate dinner, he told me he plans on sunrising—wheel’s up at 2:30 a.m. This seems pointless, but then again I always bitch and moan about rising early. No bear can or tent; get pumped, you can nap later.
Cirque Peak approaching entrance of Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks.
Mount Guyot.
A hiker refills water from Whitney Creek.
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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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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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