PCT 2018: Day 111, Goat Rocks and my 30th Birthday
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers day 111, Goat Rocks and my 30th birthday.
August 23, 2018 | Day 111
17 miles [2276.7]
Woke up at 7:30 A.M. and startled myself when I didn’t see any tents around; I got over nine solid hours of sleep. Packed in 14 minutes, a new record, and started cruising. Started to rise above the dense timber and saw Mt. Adams, no clouds or smoke, it was clear. We’re easily in the best spot in Washington and arguably along the whole trail: Goat Rocks. Mt. Adam’s was clear, huge, and glimmering. “Shocks” and I took a glorious morning snack break at Cispus Pass and studied the massif like a Renaissance painting while pounding stroopwafels. Pure bliss. The trail was adorned in fields of alpine flowers, bubbling waterfalls, and luxurious puffy clouds. Guthook indicated there were some possible campsites along the stock alternate at the base of Old Snowy and “Shocks” had a penthouse suite in mind. Took our sweet time and mosied to the stock alternate and was gobsmacked by Mt. Rainier. Looming. Jagged. Red. An amazing 360-degree view of the Knife’s Edge. Found a dirt patch exactly the size of two tents and set up. Cooked a Knorr side for lunch, one I had been toting around for at least 400 miles, threw in some butter, garlic powder, e.v.o.o., and pepperoni slices. Refueled and resisted the urge to nap by summitting Old Snowy, took tons of photos. The entire day felt like a great gift: good company with my brother, great weather—I can count the number of days without clouds on one hand. Certainly the best birthday in recent memory. For the last eight years I would be getting home from the Ranch, either by train or with Carter and Imara, followed by a quiet day at home. What a remarkable way to break the trend. The next ten years I feel will be successful. Commit to hard work each and every day on anything art-related, there’s so much to do.
Goat Rocks, Washington.
Cispus River.
Mount Rainier from Old Snowy Mountain.
Mount Adams from Old Snowy Mountain.
Miriam Fire of 2018.
Goat Lake and Johnson Peak.
Birthday dinner.
Hike On?
PCT 2018: Days 121-126, Skykomish to Stehekin
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 121-126 from Skykomish to Stehekin, mile 2,465-2,570.
September 2, Day 121
12.4 miles [2476.6]
Rough night at the Dinsmore’s. Trains ran by what seemed like every hour, plus, being well hydrated with beer and water meant an out of the ordinary witching-hour piss. “Shocks” woke me at 8:30 A.M., he and “Gandalf” were almost packed. Jerry wasn’t up and around to thank which was a little disheartening, I can’t see this place being around much longer. Caught a hitch out with a current trail work volunteer “Spider” who was a part of rebuilding the brand new (and freshly re-opened) northern terminus monument. Hopped out at Skykomish and headed to the Cascadia Inn for brunch. All you could eat, I filled up on scrambled eggs, sausage and crispy bacon, hash browns with biscuits and gravy, plus fresh fruit; watermelon, pineapple, and strawberries. Coffee with real cream. The meal made up for more than one rainy day. Made a hasty sign and tried to hitch, eventually we ended up sweet talking a couple fueling up. Got to Steven’s Pass and “Shocks” gave a short phone call to the parents, then it was time to hike. On the way towards the trail we saw “Trash Queen” and “Penguin” trying to get the same challenging hitch from the highway. We hugged and caught up, looks like we all want to end on the same date. Hopefully we can meet and celebrate at the terminus. The weather was absolutely sublime. Saw a shit-ton of weekenders, many of whom congratulated us, it’s hard to contain my excitement when I tell people I started at Mexico. I felt unbelievably stoked and proud. Clear and cold night, no fly to watch the stars. Moments of anger about the Ranch, only because of Facebook. Who cares, move on.
September 3, Day 122
23.6 miles [2500.2]
That was the last flyless night I ever try in Washington. At 3 A.M. I woke to some cold sprinkles on my face and scrambled to put on my cover. Got a little more sleep and started moving by 8:30 A.M., snarfed a Pop Tart with butter. Stoked to hit the 2500 milestone. My nose has been constantly leaking in this cool weather. The forest is alive with color, rich hues of rust, umber, and olive. By the afternoon it had cleared up to reveal lots of nice clouds, a good reminder of how much time I spent without them, the sun and warmth felt wonderful during snack breaks. “Larry Bird” spotted a porcupine, I’ve never seen one in the wild before. It looked as though some quills were missing, just a little bedraggled. “TQ”, “Penguin”, and “Bear Can” caught us and we all shared camp at Reflection Pond. They are all aiming to finish on the 10th and doing 28 tomorrow, I’m not about it. Hopefully I see them again. Tuna taco with pepperoni and Cheetos. Remember to make your food last three days.
September 4, Day 123
25.4 miles [2525.6]
Restful slumber until “Trash Queen” and “Penguin” packed up, they left at 7 A.M. and we left an hour later—not in any rush. It was exceptionally gusty but a decent hiking day with more huge ups and downs, the last decline was 3,000-feet in five miles. Not a single flat section, the terrain was brutally technical with lots of rocks. Traversed a few miles which couldn’t have been the actual trail, just dozens and dozens of hikers making the same mistake at a hidden junction which wore in a new and more recognizable path. The tread was at an ankle-breaking angle with gnarled bushes and roots which clawed at your toes. During lunch “Shocks” was doing a poor job of holding back tears, offering no response. We trudged on. Just when I thought I was finished with the last hill, Milk Creek was full and didn’t have any available campsites which feels like my fault, of course they would be all taken, the spread of sites is stupid. The terrain is garbage. Looked at the map and started freaking out about another five mile incline as dusk was rapidly approaching. By the grace of St. John and his random pit toilets, there was a small clearing for a random pooper about a mile ahead which had barely enough room for three tents. We set up and made room for a third which was later filled. During dinner, “Shocks” briefly mentioned he was having a hard time with being finished. We sat quietly, not saying anything. I don’t feel the same currently but I know I will—I’ve always been that way. I’m going to miss this, deeply. Looking forward to the future, however, the present has been fucking sweet.
Fire Creek Pass, mile 2520.
White Mountain and White Pass, mile 2502.
September 5, Day 124
27.2 miles [2551.8]
Slanted sleep, then a precarious poop less than 20 feet away from my tent which was my only unfavorable choice on location. Lathered up another Pop Tart with butter and began moving. Today’s terrain looked like a cross-section of a collapsed souffle, the final hill was a steady eight miles. It’s hard to silence the part of my brain which dreads hills, however I know I’ll be over and through it soon—a lesson on life. I only have one day of food remaining, not a half-day more, which has me slightly stressed. Guess I’ll have to snack-up at Holden Village. Low on podcasts once again and a wandering brain doesn’t feel good to have at the moment. Knees and legs are sore tonight. Our campsite is killer, we’re right on top of Cloudy Pass which is part of the fire reroute, alpine peaks in a smoky haze have me right back in the Sierra. Fought off more negative thoughts about the Ranch—not ideal. My lacking food situation makes it tough to stay positive. Big day ahead tomorrow, it’s all “off-map” which is going to be fun. Took a page from “Shocks’” cook book and made a Cheetos and Oreo peanut-butter-and-butter taco. He’s definitely on to something.
Dumbell Mountain and Lyman Lake from Cloudy Pass.
Dolly Vista Trail Camp, mile 2532.
September 6, Day 125
~21 miles [2551.8]
Warmer than usual morning which had me hiking by 7:15 A.M. Absolutely stunning terrain, hard to imagine how much great trail is out there we otherwise would have never seen. Low on food, I was coasting on fumes, drinking water to fool my gut. Arrived at Holden village and missed the morning ferry by five minutes which left us with the option of waiting a few hours to take a $10 bus and an $8 ferry or hike out, both seemed to be the same amount of time. The lunch meal choice was a vegetarian sandwich which also didn’t sound like a great value for money. Somewhat dejected, I bought a few candy bars to chase my Clif bar and followed “Shocks” to the trail. Made it over the hot and hellacious Hilgard Pass which had to be more than six miles and was rewarded with downhill for the remainder of the day. Got to a large river crossing at dusk where there were a few other hikers attempting to find or make a suitable campsite. On the crossing I promptly plunged my foot into the current—mistimed my jump. “Shocks” and I eyeballed the topo and he voted to bust out the last four miles in the dark but my money says it was closer to six, plus, it’s not PCT-grade, we could have gotten a nasty, unknown surprise. Found the flattest ground with the least amount of rocks and made camp. Savored my last tuna taco with a handful of dusty and broken chips along with a package of M&M’s. It’ll work but I’m definitely hungry. Stoked for the final resupply, I think there’s one gnocchi meal remaining.
Lyman Lake and Dumbell Mountain.
September 7, Day 126
6.5 miles [2571.8]
Uncomfortable setup as my back later revealed but I slept well nonetheless. Up and moving by 7 A.M. with my puffy for about two miles, it was shady and cool. No map-checking so I took what came to me. Cruised six miles or so to the road (definitely more than four) and made a quick assessment: go to the bakery. Devoured a pesto, onion, and Swiss croissant pocket which was a sincere 9/10, lots of coffee too. Caught the free shuttle to Stehekin and was blown away by the waterfront of Lake Chelan—chill vibes, gorgeous sun. Saw “Brownstreak” and “Miraj” at the lodge! Sat and talked, drank two beers, and went through our final resupply box. Also managed to download two podcasts on their slow network. Picked up a permit for zero miles which seemed to bum “Shocks” out, but I knew “Panda”, “Doobie” and a few others were gonna stick around at the bridge. Shuttled back to the bakery for a bacon and onion quiche and I got suckered into paying $3.50 for a root beer. Caught the bus for High Bridge Ranger Station with a few other hikers. Rain is in the forecast and certainly threatening at the moment.
Crossing Stehekin River.
Lake Chelan plane.
Hike On?
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”.
Hike On?
PCT 2018: Days 100-104, Sisters to Cascade Locks
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 100-104 from Sisters to Cascade Locks, mile 2,000-2,150.
August 12, Day 100
30.6 miles [2032.9]
Hard 30, quilt soaked for the second day in a row. Had a nice 360-degree view about six miles up, then took breakfast which was a peanut butter and bacon roll-up. Admired Three Fingered Jack. Spent a lot of the day in burned areas which is an odd mix of barrenness and austerity. Dried gear out at Rockpile lake during lunch. “Streak” was preparing for his 24-hour Challenge (read: napping, eating, and hydrating until dusk). “Horny Toad” was also there and recognized me from Hikertown back in the Mojave. Mount Jefferson peeked into view most of the day, eventually the trail opened up enough for a relaxed study. Nice break at Shale Lake with a few Polish hikers who I had been leapfrogging every week or so since Etna. We hung out and snacked—what a cool bunch. “Panda” caught up to us later in the afternoon. Saw a dead horse in the river, bloated and gray on the verge of bursting, thank God for nanofiber membranes. Finished the day cold and tired, must have botched my calorie intake. I was in decent spirits but I’ve realized “Shocks” likes to sleep in a little later and hike past dusk. Hungry, tired, and dark, we stopped at 8:45 P.M., but I guess if I don’t like it I can stop whenever I want and catch up in the morning. Had dinner in my tent: tuna taco and a Fireball chaser. Didn’t give much thought to Day 100. Remember, keep being awake. As the Avett Brothers sing, “it’s happening, right now to you.”
Mount Jefferson.
Three Fingered Jack
August 13, Day 101
31.7 miles [2064.6]
A few miles of incline to reach the top of Mt. Hood Wilderness and a first proper look at the monstrosity. Felt the urge to summit, perhaps one day. Fairly flat ten miles to Ollalie Lake where I had a relaxing hour-long snack break. An Illinois man by the name of “Slide” bought me a coffee since I was out of bills—such a nice gesture. Saw “Panda” as well and finally shook hands and met “MacGuyver (Boy)”, just as interesting as his penned name suggested. Listened to podcasts for most of the day and had a few quiet snack breaks to myself. Passed by ponds, streams, rivers, and lakes, they all looked the same. Had a good sit in a field of purple poodle-dog-esque flowers. Leapfrogged “Conflicted” quite a bit, he’s 24-ing all the way to Timberline, what a man. Kept dreaming about the buffet, the Guthook comments only entice me further. Met a section hiker named “Biscuit” at the end of the day and she set up camp beside “Shocks” and me. During diner conversation she elaborated on the finer points when one forages for mushrooms and crystals, an interesting person to say the least. I rolled my first joint in years and shared with “Shocks”, it was all loosey-goosey and bent. I need to figure out winter housing but there’s not much I can do. Sure hope it works.
Mount Hood.
August 14, Day 102
32.3 miles [2096.9]
First one to leave, thankful for the lack of bugs. Haven’t seen too many in the past few days, perhaps it’s because of the prolonged smoke. Took an early lunch/late breakfast at Little Crater Lake; peanut butter and GORP taco with wasabi soy almonds that “Conflicted” turned me on to. Tons of tourists, even a school bus’s worth of elementary school kids found their way to the small attraction. The adults in the group knew we were thru-hikers and told the kids. Most made a shocked face once they understood except for one kid who looked disgusted and sour, I cackled like a hyena—not a thru-hiker. Highway 26 had a little magic. Marilyn was all out of beef patties but had a veggie remaining. I figured enough charcoal, onions, mustard, and raw mileage could make any burger taste bovine. Potato salad was an added indulgence. A fair bit of fear-mongering for the last few miles into Timberline but the sandy terrain turned out not to be as bad as let on. In fact, the view more than made up for it; Mount Hood is incredible. Stupid-huge. Rolled my fourth joint in years (they’re getting better) and shared with “Panda” and “Shocks”. “Streak” left a note detailing his 24-hour Challenge results and physical condition. I knew he had it in him, but over 70 miles with a pack is crazy. Pulled into Timberline and spotted “Conflicted’s” tent. Tons of SoBos floating around the lodge and area. Called mom and she’s sending our next resupply, they are flying out tomorrow. Upon crawling into my tent, “Shocks” informed me we just did 96 miles in three days—bang bang! Got some new blisters which serve as a reminder of how good healthy feet can be. Still stoked on brunch.
August 15, Day 103
21.8 miles [2118.7]
Woke naturally around 6:30 A.M. and saw the hazy sunrise over one of Hood’s massive ridges. Packed and headed for the hotel lobby. Part of me was hoping the interior looked like The Shining but it was completely unique all its own, I should have snagged some photos but I was too preoccupied with eating followed by an immediate food coma. Piled my plate high with scrambled eggs, fresh croissants, greasy sausage patties and hot biscuits with gravy, juicy watermelon, and an ice-cold berry medley smoothie. “Conflicted” was feeling proud of his 24 Challenge and decided to have the buffet for a second day in a row. Did as much damage as I could, then utilized the WiFi and comfy lounge area while digesting to catch up on internet life. Got a promising email and phone call for winter housing. “Shocks” was better at escaping the vortex and left, “Conflicted” and I took a little longer to vacate. Headed out under the glory of Mount Hood. The haze obscured the peak somewhat but enough to truly recognize its beastly size. Saw some skiers heading for a lift and even a few distant ones making turns which practically gave me vertigo; skiing in the second week of August is weird, unnatural. Out of dabs, I rolled another joint and made slow time. A day-hiker who was returning from Ramona Falls saw me and assumed I was in need of a morale boost—perhaps it was my resting exhalation face—and gave me an overly excited “You’re almost at the falls!” to which I replied, “Nice, how far to Canada?” and her friends all exploded with laughter. The Falls were a lovely detour. Struggled through a tough 1,500 foot climb a few miles before camp and didn’t play the snack game well late in the afternoon on account of brunch. Border is close.
August 16, Day 104
28.1 miles [2146.8]
Waked and baked with my newfound rolling skills. Easy enough elevation gain and loss, but tough, jagged trails made for frustrating progress. Famed Eagle Creek alternate was closed and we missed the waterfall giving me yet another reason to return. Good snack break on Wahtum Lake, new favorite candy item are ginger-lemon gummies. I saw a few crayfish and was admiring nature so much I picked one up and was promptly pinched, let out a good squeal. I think I could’ve harvested a half-dozen for a cook-up. Met a hiker who immediately got into the “where did you start?” conversation and shared that she skipped a few hundred because of the smoke and wasn’t feeling guilty in the least. I smiled politely and nodded my head reassuringly in a hike-your-own-hike fashion but I can’t understand why people feel compelled to share those details. Now I know you skipped, you know you skipped, does it make you feel better? I guess it comes out easier when you think about it all day. Most of my afternoon thoughts revolved around leaving Oregon. Hiked until 6 P.M. and our parents met us just before Bridge of the Gods. Saw “Power Mode” at the bridge’s toll booth admiring another state completed, I haven’t seen her since around mile 300. It felt like California took a lifetime to finish, it’s hard to contend with another border crossing so soon—I was just at Crater Lake. Parents understand the game by now and we promptly found a pizza joint. “Conflicted” joined us and filled the entire conversation per usual (thank God). Two large pizzas and a salad disappeared. Drove to Vancouver, WA for the hotel. Shower and laundry. Parents are glowing but I’m already getting antsy. We did 350 miles in 13 days and I can’t help but feel like I missed something.
Bridge of the Gods, Oregon.
Hike On?
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.
Hike On?
PCT 2018: Days 45-49, Bishop to Mammoth Lakes
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 45-49 from Bishop to Mammoth Lakes, mile 831-906.
June 18, Day 45
11 miles [831.0]
Drunken slumber wasn’t great but breaking my 44-day streak without a bed on a memory-foam mattress was heavenly. Immediately got coffee from the common area, took my bedraggled gear out to the patio and started evaluating. Water bottles were thoroughly scrubbed, with soap, and electronic devices got topped off while other hikers around me lanced blisters and patched holes in tents. Drank a third cup repackaging last night’s resupply, thank god this one’s only four days. Walked across the street with my fourth cup to Bronco’s Deli and got the daily special machaca and egg burrito, smothering it in as much fresh habanero salsa as I could tolerate. Back at the hostel, “Trash Bath”, “Shocks” and I mowed through a few dozen freezer cookies and the rest of the mint chip ice cream while looking for future problems to solve with a reliable internet connection. It dawned on me my first and only pair of shoes are legitimately starting to wear thin, I purchased the same pair, a half-size bigger (why not, everyone’s doing it), and had them delivered home for future request. Ordered new earbuds since the first pair have been destroyed and the backup set has already lost sound in one ear. Finally we summoned the courage to leave, ultimately getting three hitches to the trailhead. Sometimes I worry but all it takes a happy jig, a smile, and about twenty minutes. Hit the trail around 4 p.m. and had a blast going the “correct way” towards Bishop Pass—this must have been my eighth trip this direction. We passed Long Lake and “TB” took a dip, he’s trying to jump into 50 alpine lakes. Managed to get a mile or two away from the PCT before sundown and set up camp. An amazing zero, this time it actually felt restorative.
“Trash Bath”, “Tiny Slice”, and “Shocks” try to hitch to South Lake, Bishop, California.
Sunset over Bishop Pass.
June 19, Day 46
14.9 miles [844.4]
Warm sleep and good rest made for an easy departure, the group of dudes who politely tried to share our site late last night weren’t moving by the time we left. Within the first mile, as I rounded a switchback while picking out my morning music selection, I saw a grouse sitting on the trail. Before I could identify it any further, it flushed, thereby checking two separate items off my internal “Nature” list. Merged back with the PCT (hooray!) and started the climb up Muir Pass. Postholed for what felt like the entire 3,500 feet of gain, false peaks and crests made the ascent even more demoralizing. I was exhausted; a malaise only altitude is capable of. Muir hut seemed like an apparition until I swung open the hefty wooden door. We celebrated and tried to mute our collective agony by hotboxing the entire hut with a few joints. It seemed like the perfect occasion so I drank the Coke I packed out, taking care to chill it first in a pile of slush. Morale improved. Left the shelter just before 3 p.m. which only made things more challenging because the sun had thawed enough of the usable terrain which had turned it into a frigid stream. The alternative was more frustrating postholing through uncompacted drifts. Made it to the northern end of Evolution Lake which seemed to be a popular spot to set up camp. “Skinny Dip” and “Hot Pants” introduced themselves and we all ate dinner, swatted away skeeters, and bitched about the slow, difficult progress. A few more joints emerged and were passed around the dining rock, all of us believing in and hoping for its magical medicinal properties—my feet are raw hamburger. Didn’t even make it 15 miles, a feeling akin to being unable to run in a nightmare. However, the views were straight from fantasy.
Half moon and Muir Shelter, mile 838.8.
Postholing before Mount Solomons, mile 837.
Muir Shelter, mile 838.6.
Sunset over The Hermit from Evolution Lakes, mile 844.4.
June 20, Day 47
21.2 miles [865.6]
Early rise in an effort to offset yesterday’s short gain. Just over five miles into the day came Evolution Creek which Guthook says is “often seen as one of the most difficult stream crossings in the Sierra.” Unbuckled my hipbelt which basically holds up my pants and took off my shoes per my mantra. As my thighs began to enter the frigid current, whatever soreness there was in my feet was replaced with sharp, stinging cold, pain to the point of questioning if I had sliced my feet on some of the rocks; the water must have been 33 degrees. My shitty too-big pants just made things more frustrating, I nearly tripped on the baggy cuffs trying to pull up the waist while also trying to use my poles to stabilize. Made it across with a wet taint but a dry pack. More downhill miles to Muir Trail Ranch where we took lunch. A few good items were in the hiker boxes but nothing nearly as miraculous as purported. “Shocks” found, made, and shared a peppered beef Mountain House while we tried not to judge the three fresh JMT’ers, all the while buzzarding over their resupply. “Hot Mess” managed to sweet-talk herself into a huge bag of pasta from one the guys. After a fat shade nap, we packed up and headed for Selden Pass. “Trash Bath” likes our company and it seems like he’s going to stick around. Camped directly on the pass in hopes of less mosquitoes but they found us anyway. Demolished a tuna taco and some mint cookies. Don’t know if it’s the altitude, blood loss, or miles, but I’m just whooped.
How “Trash Bath” says good morning.
Muir Trail Ranch international hiker door.
Selden Pass, mile 865.5.
June 21, Day 48
21 miles [885.1]
The best part about camping on a pass is knowing the next day will start with downhill. Even then it was hard for me to motivate for today’s hike. Made a rare slip on an early stream crossing and plunged both feet into the creek. My shoes managed to dry out before lunch. “Missing Person” was having worse luck and said he broke his phone; it fell out of his pocket and smashed on a rock. I recognized the look of despair on face, as clearly as he must have seen me wearing it back at Kennedy Meadows, while he told me and “Shocks” he was thinking of exiting—indefinitely—at Mammoth Lakes in order to solve this new problem. I gave him my fuel for a hot lunch. “How many Nutter Butters do you think I can fit in my mouth at once?” asked “Trash Bath”, not waiting for any guesses while furiously stuffing in six, somehow maintaining a proper airway. Put one in front of the other and trudged along, it’s hard to recall any outstanding events from the day—I’m sapped. Camped on top of Silver Pass in efforts to avoid mosquitoes. Pulled out two creamy chicken Top Ramen packets from my bear can, fished out a few garlic cloves skittering around on the bottom and sliced them, fired up my stove and fried the garlic wafers in olive oil with a few dashes of Tabasco. The aroma was powerful enough to mask our collective stench but not enough to ward off the clouds of skeeters, even at 11,000 feet. One less mythic property of garlic.
Sunset from Silver Pass with the Minarets in the distance.
Sunset over the Minarets, mile 885.1.
Silver Peak and Sharktooth Peak, mile 885.1.
Six Nutter Butter cookies
Mosquito dinner.
June 22, Day 49
23.5 miles [906.6]
Got a fairly late start on Silver Pass for the remaining 21.5 mile mostly-downhill haul into Mammoth Lakes. It seems as though mosquitoes can’t fly faster than 2.5 miles per hour, so I just tried to maintain or outdo that pace for the entire day. Don’t remember much from the hike, stream crossings, trees, and lakes blended together like backseat views on a cross-country road trip. By 5 p.m., “Shocks”, “Trashbath”, and I rolled into Red’s Meadow. Immediately, I hydrated with an IPA from the trading post and we all reveled at making it to another town. My bear can is empty but I didn’t go hungry; success, and it only took 900 miles. Hitching seemed like a distant possibility but an $8 bus ride was a worthwhile investment. The old bird who sold me my first beer, who also sold bus tickets, must have taken another good look at me while I was asking for a bus ticket, selling me my second beer. Grinned like an alcoholic, downed the first and took the second to-go, hoping the bus driver wouldn’t care. Gang decided on John’s Pizza Works and we settled on a supreme-style ‘za; out of the 16 slices I had four or five, nothing but the pan was left. Coke has never tasted so delicious. Ran into “Combo” who had apparently rocketed ahead by a few days in order to hang with his family—he looked real clean. Made a quick stop at the liquor store for beer before setting off into the residential woods of this ski town for a spot to stealth. Got pretty drunk and talked between tents just like all those fifth-grade slumber parties.
Virginia Lake inlet, mile 891.6.
Chief Lake, mile 885.6.
Entering Red’s Meadow.
Hike On?
PCT 2018: Days 50-52, Mammoth Lakes to Tuolumne Meadows
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 50-52 from Mammoth Lakes to Tuolumne Meadows, mile 906-942.
June 23, Day 50
9.3 miles [915.9]
Decent rest for having slept near a road, drunk. “Shocks” shared his other Torpedo while we packed up and waited for “Combo” to come pick us up, the four of us went to Von’s for resupply. A disgruntled shopper got confrontational when he scrutinized my 23 items, not the stated and illuminated “15 or less”, most likely because I look homeless. While sitting at a table repackaging my food, a motorcyclist who was parking came within inches of colliding with me, even grazed my shoulders with his handlebars, the old man didn’t even acknowledge the incident to anyone at our table of four. Justin’s of the past would have handled both of those situations far worse; I just ate my Talenti in the shade and enjoyed not moving. We said our see-ya-laters and “Combo” dropped us off at the resort. Started chatting up lifty Sinona who gave us the nod for a free ride in the gondola. At the top I pilfered 10 mayonnaise packets from one of the restaurants while we watched mountain bikers bomb the slope and charged our electronics. I killed my remaining beer from last night. Met “Gandalf”, a kooky fellow, who was also waiting out the midday heat. Caught the return bus to Red’s meadow where I drank more beer. Spent a moment being touristy at Devils Postpile and admired the basalt columns. Struggled through nine miles of mosquitoes before setting up camp to seek refuge where I had my first fire of the entire trail. After 50 days, I’m finally starting to get the hang of this.
“Trash Bath” rides the Mammoth Ski Resort gondola.
Devils Postpile National Monument, topside.
Hexagonal columnar basalt of Devils Postpile.
Fly fisherman on the Middle Fork San Joaquin River.
June 24, Day 51
20.1 miles [936.0]
Waking up doesn’t seem to be any easier on trail, no doubt thanks to yesterday’s diet of beer. I got up late and took my time packing and hydrating. I hope the pictures I take somehow remind me of the sheer grandeur of the Sierra—it feels trite to keep calling everything gorgeous, amazing, and beautiful. Easy enough hike to Thousand Island Lake where we met a young family of four just about to leave. They had two sons under 13, everyone carrying remarkably high spirits, and informed us they were doing “just a 100 mile section”. I remembered the odd level of enjoyment and suffering backpacking taught me from Scouting. I took care to fist bump those little dudes with an extra level of coolness that only a group of three smiling, wild thru-hikers could provide. Was beyond stoked to take an extended lunch break staring at Mount Ritter but as soon as we sat down the skeeters began their assault. So far, the highs and lows of trail life are a natural and common occurrence, but it was then that I reached maximum frustration. I just feel helpless, my life has been reduced to two states: either moving constantly, never enjoying the solitude of rest outside of a netted shelter, or to accept it, like some sort of self-immolating monk, waiting for the possibly diseased swarms to suck me dry and cover me with itchy reminders for the upcoming weeks. I’m already chewed up, what’s the use in fighting? Sailed over Donahue Pass to find cleaner air and was rewarded with my new favorite view (so far). Another five miles before calling it quits and making camp. Pleased my tuna taco game has been fully optimized. A thoroughly squeezed mayo packet, a glug of olive oil, and a few heavy shakes of Old Bay goes into an awaiting tuna pouch. The gloopy contents is spooned onto an awaiting, crumbly tortilla and garnished with a heaping handful of hot Cheetos, tonight I had two. I’m utterly exhausted, but not hungry. And fuck mosquitoes.
Island Pass, Thousand Island Lake, and Mount Ritter, mile 922.5.
“Shocks” admires Mount Ritter, mile 923.4.
Donahue Pass, Lyell Fork, and Lyell Glacier, mile 930.5,
June 25, Day 52
14.5 miles [942.5]
Enjoyed sleeping late, then read until just past 7 A.M. Just as we were about to head out, I recognized Casey, the girl who “Shocks” and I met and hadn’t seen since the terminus, was about to sail by and I shouted out her name. She raced over and gave me a monstrous bear-hug, pack and all. It was strange because my only form of human contact on trail so far has been entirely fist-bumps. We chatted and caught up over the next few miles before she zoomed ahead. I don’t think I’m going to catch her. Arrived at Tuolumne Meadows and enjoyed the loving embrace of a picnic table. There were a dozen or so lonely sodas and beers with no accompanying notes and after deliberating, I took one of each. A young man with black frames and a hot pink shirt appeared to be holding court at one of the other tables. I recognized his face from scrolling through social media and asked if “Twerk” had taken his photo, a name I heard back at Casa de Luna. “I am ‘Twerk’”, he said sweetly and the table erupted behind him. It’s refreshing to find someone making original content, we talked shop for just a few minutes. Sat there feeling apathetic about moving, but “Trash Bath” wants to hike, he’s never been to Yosemite. I buckled and got a double cheeseburger with a hot coffee from the grill which seemed to boost my spirits. The three of us hemmed and hawed but agreed a $6 per person campsite was a good purchase. Set up camp and decided that Cathedral Peak—a pinnacle of angry, wicked granite—was a worthwhile summit. I snagged another beer from the convenience store before we blazed into the unloaded portion of our digital maps. Navigated to the trailhead and began the ascent, Cathedral sharply looming over us the entire time. The higher I climbed, the more exposed the terrain became, I should have figured a rock spire would be treacherous. With each step towards the peak I wanted to turn back, but I ignored the scared, weak boy who just wants to sleep and drink in the void of all things difficult. Class 2 morphed into 3, then suddenly 4, I scrambled past a pair of climbers practicing rappelling techniques, death a very real possibility. My brain loudly reminded me this was the second most exposed I had ever been without gear and rapidly was becoming number one. I pushed until I was 20 feet from the top before my wits and reptilian brain won out; this was good enough. Made it safely back to the trail portion, we all trail-ran, knocking off three miles of descent in less than half an hour. Stumbled onto the main road just before the convenience store closed. I got a carton of Merlot and we retreated to the very full backpacker’s campsite. Met “Sticky Fingers”, a friend of “Trash Bath’s”, he offered me a draw off his Makers Mark. There was a half a liter of Coke which I used to make kalimotxos, educating everyone with a full cup who gave me quizzical looks. Absolutely blitzed but I earned it; a reason to celebrate.
Cathedral Peak ascent.
Cathedral Peak, looking south.
Hike On?
PCT 2018: Days 9-12, Mike's Place to Cabazon
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 9-12 from Mike’s Place to Cabazon, mile 127-211.
May 13, Day 9
18.4 miles [145.4]
Today sucked. Why does life seem so much harder for me than everyone else? Stupid. We woke up in the clouds at Mike's, everything was soaking wet—in the desert. I hastily tried packing the tent only to end up arguing with Adam about something minor and borderline meaningless. Didn't manage my calories well at all and me knees bothered me the whole day. The cloud cover didn't even last long. By 9:30 a.m. I was sweltering once again. Adam made a call home in the afternoon, and somehow, I ended up talking with Mom. Exhausted and dripping, I was curt and rude. Fuck. I hate the phone. I'm so tired of being a goddamn weather-vane of emotions.
Beavertail pricklypear cactus.
Chihuahua road, Lost Valley, California, mile 127.3.
May 14, Day 10
6.4 miles [151.8]
Today we hiked with a group we had been seeing on and off the past few days. This morning, Ryan, Mitchy, “Mio”, Erin, Adam and I all woke soaking wet having cowboy-camped at “Mary's Water”, another morning in a cloud. I was legitimately cold last night. Everyone swiftly got moving, I was the last person to fully pack up. Mood was much better today, I was motivated for town and a burger at Paradise Valley Cafe. It was a short hike to Highway 74 where the owners gave us a hitch back to their cafe. I ended up going with biscuits and gravy and a beer. Very contented, very happy. Knee hurt, but a low-mileage day was helpful. Hitched into Idyllwild; I volunteered to sit shotgun and keep the driver company. Purchased a group campsite, laundry and coin-op showers, more beer and snacks, and a full resupply—five full days worth. Dinner was chili with Fritos and real cheese. What a fun group.
Erin hitching to Idyllwild, mile 151.8.
Adam at Mt. San Jacinto Park.
May 15, Day 11
12.7 miles [186.6]
Spent the morning trying to sleep in with little success. State campgrounds are never going to be quiet. The gang lazed around in the shade and rested up. I medicated with a few Budweiser's. We left Idyllwild in the afternoon and took the Deer Springs trail towards Mount San Jacinto—our goal was sunset on the peak. I now understand this means I skipped 31.7 miles of trail. I knew it had been closed due to fire, but I didn't realize our group didn't plan on going back for the alternate. Note: this doesn't feel great. I should take great caution if I feel the need to do this again. Found myself missing PCT-grade trails and was generally pissed most everyone is faster than me. However, the summit views were intense. Gorgeous, rich hues filled the hazy valley; Palm Springs glowed like a dull ember. We made a hasty camp and cooked Knorr garlic shells by headlamp. “Mio” wants to leave by 3:45 a.m. Ugh.
Adam scrambling on San Jacinto peak.
Deer Springs trail back to the PCT, mile ~183.
Sunset over San Gorgonio mountain.
Sunset over Santiago peak.
The city of Palm Springs, California lit up at dusk.
May 16, Day 12
25.1 miles [211.7]
My alarm rudely went off at 3:30 a.m. I quickly found myself towards the back of the pack during the long, grueling slog down Jacinto. As painful as it was, “Mio” was right—we needed all the time we could get. More than nine hours of descent, my legs are dead. Yesterday we added Darby, to our hiking group. While we waited, rested, and snacked at the water faucet, she taught us “hinky-pinky”, a rhyming word-game. Lots of laughs. Regrouped, we made tracks for Interstate 10. Four miles through sand into a forceful headwind made for rough hiking. We crossed under the overpass and found trail magic! We met Ken, a hopeful hiker for 2019, who offered to drive us anywhere we wanted. Everyone nodded in unison at the idea of In-N-Out in Cabazon. After snarfing down a couple double-doubles, we piled back into the pickup bed and tried to look inconspicuous. I split up an 18-pack of beer; three cans weighs too much. We ended a few miles away from the highway, resulting in my new longest day—25 miles.
Sunrise on Fuller Ridge, mile 187.5.
Descent off Mount San Jacinto, mile ~191.
Seeking shade in the California desert, mile ~196.
A distant San Gorgonio mountain, mile ~195
Mount San Jacinto, north of Interstate 10, mile ~211.
Interstate 10, mile 209.5.
Sunset on Mesa Wind Farm, mile 211.7.
Hike On?
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.
Search the Blog
Featured Posts
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers day 111, Goat Rocks and my 30th birthday.