PCT 2018: Days 60-61, South Lake Tahoe and The 4th of July
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 60 and 61 in South Lake Tahoe, mile 1,090.
July 3, Day 60
0 miles [1090.0]
Note to myself (and others): while getting cross faded at 7:30 A.M. feels amazing and bubbly, it will never lead you anywhere photographically. This was the only photo I took that day.
No one was in a rush to get out of their tent. As we packed “Trash Bath” waltzed around and handed out yesterday’s pot cookies. Not long after, “Streak” came back from the store and passed out pounders. It was a fantastic morning. Made tracks to the grocery store for breakfast and a plan. Got a freshly toasted bagel from the bakery section and “Shocks” and I split an entire eight-ounce block of cream cheese. Had coffee for what feels like the first time in weeks. Interneted hard and stressed over the newest map section. Someone discovered there was free food for thru-hikers at a nearby restaurant and it seemed like a worthwhile investigation. At Base Camp Pizza I met “Gula” and “Gabe”, two young guys with a limited break from the Air Force. I made sure to drag my fingers through the bowl my bacon-jalapeno Gouda mac was served in and enjoyed the blissfully idyllic weather shaded by an umbrella I didn’t have to carry or hold. Back to the grocery store where I finally cobbled together a resupply. It cost way too much—$82 for 120 miles. Got a free ride to the Post Office from an Uber driver who took one look at us and pulled over. While buckling he told us he had a friend who hiked the AT, suddenly we were having a conference call in an Impreza. “You’ve already made it, make sure to enjoy your time,” he said, almost as if he had rehearsed this message before. Slapped on the correct postage and said a cheery good riddance to my bear canister which has to be the easiest and most emotionally charged two-and-a-half pounds I’ve ever lost. Even with a fresh resupply I feel lighter on my destroyed shoes. Gang reconvened at the beach for low-key beers. I swam for a total of three minutes, long enough to break up the dirt and grime layer. While the gang sunned themselves I watched a wedding photographer politely haranguing 25 family members into new poses, busting his ass without an assistant to move the monolight, unadulterated Schadenfreude coursed through my buzzed body. As the sun set we hit up McDonald’s for the third time in two days, a haven for last minute snacks and internet. The place was packed with festive high schoolers unable to contain themselves with the impending holiday. Found a good spot to stealth and set up our encampment near the ski resort. Zero’s are legendary with friends. So unbelievably stoked for the 4th.
July 4, Day 61
17.7 miles [1103.2]
Peaceful night behind the residential area. Packed up and retreated to Mickey D’s for breakfast and a hitch out. Didn’t want to eat my trail food so I got two hash browns and two sausage burritos plus a coffee. I probably could have made a valid argument for being awarded the senior discount from the mileage on my knees alone. Tried to hitch for over 45 minutes, my longest attempt so far. I was losing faith and seriously considered walking when a man with clear oval frames sporting a scarf over his tie-dyed dancing bear T-shirt approached us. “Grateful Dad”, father of “Vinyl” (who gave me my trail name), was headed to Grocery Outlet and asked if we needed any help. Beaming, we hopped into his van. “Trash Bath” bought four eight-count boxes of Firecracker Popsicles which were gone by the time we parked at the trailhead. Profusely thanked our sandeled Angel and loaded the new map. “Sticky Fingers” grew up here and had a plan for our day. Must have passed more than 50 other day hikers in the six miles it took to get to Lake Aloha. Set up lunch on top of a 25-foot boulder with a shear drop-off facing the water. I watched all of my friends casually backflip and gainer into a seemingly shallow lake. I thought about the phrase I write in every trail log I’ve signed: 1) go fast 2) commit. It took some encouragement, but upon standing I made good on my axiom. The plunge made my dollar cherry pie all the more sweeter. Hiked on to Gilmore Lake near the base of Mount Tallac. Made camp, devoured a tuna taco, gathered all my layers and alcohol, and scrambled to the top just in time for sunset. A bottle of Fireball was passed around in an attempt to block the unyielding wind as dusk turned into twilight. I counted five distinct firework shows scattered around Lake Tahoe’s rim, the Milky Way silently stealing the show. Survived a fairly treacherous and pitch-black drunken Class 2 scramble down to camp. Forgot about the Ranch—even for just a moment.
“Sticky Fingers” jumps into Lake Aloha.
Cherry pie on the 4th of July.
“Combo” celebrates his freedom.
Mt. Tallac’s shadow.
Lake Tahoe at dusk.
“Sticky Fingers” and Lake Tahoe
Hike On?
PCT 2018: Days 62-65, South Lake Tahoe to Sierra City
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 62-65 from South Lake Tahoe to Sierra City, mile 1,090-1,195.
July 5, Day 62
18.9 miles [1122.1]
Slept in as late as possible due to last night’s celebration. Ate a chocolate snack pie to give my sour stomach something to work on while we lounged at camp. Eventually started making slow, unmotivated miles at 9 A.M. Up and over Dick’s Pass which was the only section of “up” for today’s terrain that looked sucky. Easy cruise the rest of the afternoon. Stirred up an appetite for a packet of PopTarts after a few miles. I just took a zero and had an outrageously fun holiday, still I want a vacation. Dare I say I feel bored? Perhaps any day which follows one like yesterday will be a bit bland. I’m so tired of hiking. The five of us took a windy lunch on top of some rocks along Fontanillis Lake. Did a double-ramen cold-soak and had handfuls of Swedish Fish. More lakes and snack breaks which always turn to smoke breaks. Called it quits without even hitting twenty and made camp. Had a small fire to keep away mosquitoes. Didn’t have much to say, probably dehydrated. Chowed down hard on my usual tuna taco and followed it up with a peanut butter and butter, honey, Oreo, and M&M dessert taco. Enjoyed sunset trickling through the dense blanket of trees surrounding our small camp.
July 6, Day 63
24.5 miles [1146.6]
Went to sleep with the expectation today was going to be long. Prayed to the pit toilet gods that Barker Pass trailhead would be freshly stocked with TP. Completely empty. I’m out, hopefully the abundant lamb’s ear will suffice. Rare internet access and a wandering mind informed me Philmont won’t be open for crews this season; the early fires were too dangerous. I’ve been dreading “the one” for the last eight years, the time I’m not there, it happens. Tried not to dwell on things out of my control like potential fire which could consume this trail. Cruised along Alpine Meadows, ate my other chocolate pie and couldn’t help but notice the package design was being quite generous with their product depiction, then into Squaw Valley. Took a smoke break in the top-shack of the Granite Chief lift with “TB” and “Sticky” and fantasized about winter, sizing up all the shreddable sick ski lines. Pushed on to Tinker Knob in the howling wind. Had a brief see-ya-later with “Sticky” who parted ways for Truckee; hopefully we reconvene. A few sectioners passed us by, thoroughly done with their journey and headed for the highway, and gave me a Backpacker’s Pantry—major score. Half mile more to the only “campsite” on the bare ridge. Squeezed into the only tree cover with “River”, who we met back at Kennedy Meadows, and “Blue”, someone I recognize from around Tuolumne area. Shoveled in dinner and found a good spot to watch sunset. Our evening color show was absolutely bonkers. Wildflowers too numerous to document and identify, remarkably all in bloom for what feels like the last month, shimmered in the setting sun. Layers of clouds speckled and streaked the horizon.
Squaw Valley ski lifts, Lake Tahoe in the distance.
July 7, Day 64
22.3 miles [1168.5]
Windy night of sleep. “Trash Bath’s” tarp didn’t fare so well but I think he could sleep through anything except free food. Packed and hauled ass seven miles down to Highway 40 stopping only for a joint at Jerome chair. Word on trail was a free beer to any thru hiker provided by Donner Ski Ranch. The restaurant awarded me a 40 ounce King Cobra (malt beer, what a thirst-quencher) and we made use of the patio. Proceeded to get inebriated which lead me to order a patty melt with fries; I can barely resist the smell of charbroiled burgers sober, I’ll forget how much it cost. I caught a few moments of a World Cup match, enough to remember the USA still sucks at one global sport. “Trashcan” has been struggling with foot pain, I will sometimes notice him rolling out his arches during lunch. Perhaps it’s his slight cauliflower ear or maybe his constant furrowed brow, his very visage all but promises he’s never said “stop”. He’s decided to take a few days off here, the gang is dwindling. Utilized cell coverage and crushed five and a half miles drunk and distracted talking to a few friends in the outside world. It was a lonely and quiet ten more before we set up camp. There was hardly any laughing this afternoon, it seems like “Shocks” barely talks to me anymore. It still feels like he resents me for being here, like nothing has changed. In a weird space for dinner. Tired, done, just try and stay present.
Someone had a great campsite.
July 8, Day 65
26.9 miles [1195.4]
Hot and emergent midnight poop, it felt absolutely gross. Managed to fall back asleep with relative ease. Sunrise came and we left. “Trash Bath” and I chatted for most of the first ten miles, then he bolted ahead and began running like he always threatens. I think we’re all thoroughly tired of this section. I saw “Shocks” only twice on trail. The other 17 miles were spent alone with me and my racing thoughts. The four of us managed to coalesce under the North Yuba River bridge just before the highway. “Combo” must have been feeling daredevilish; he launched two spectacular 30-foot gainers off of the steep rock outcropping. A rather unexpected and fast-earned hitch cut off a mile of asphalt walking into Sierra City as the sun began to set. Hand-written, sun-bleached signs indicate town is closed on Sunday/Monday’s, I can’t possibly see how that’s a smart business choice even for such a backwoods location. Place is quaint, but it mostly gives off a homely and secluded vibe ranging somewhere between a dilapidated 70’s ski chalet and outdated Chinese restaurant. Fortunately the Post Office is open tomorrow: 10a-2p (reminds me of college administration hours), our resupply and my desperately needed new shoes are in that box. Listened to Jordan Peterson on Joe Rogan’s podcast and he got me ruminating about my current situation with Adam. Lots of nasty and malevolent thoughts. Bad juju. Broke down and got a can of Coke for $1.50. The church has provided a free overnight area, there were already a dozen or so campsites set up in the modestly sized front yard. I laid out my tarp and collapsed. My soles are sore, my calves are tight. No booze and I’m out of weed, stuck in sobriety. Two tuna tacos in hopes of replacing the malcontent with fat and sodium. Hopefully our package shows up tomorrow.
Hike On?
PCT 2018: Days 66-70, Sierra City to Belden
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 66-70 from Sierra City to Belden, mile 1,195-1,300.
July 9, Day 66
0 miles [1195.4]
All I wanted was a day off. I got one and instantly regretted it—what a hard day. It started out so nice. I splurged for coffee cake and an Americano at the cafe and ate on the patio with “Conflicted”, who I remembered meeting at lunch in S.L.T., and we talked about the MeatEater podcast. For twenty minutes he schooled me on the finer points of the Pittman-Robertson Act and how hunting drives conservation, how hikers think they’re stewards of the outdoors but really it’s dedicated hunters, taking every opportunity to interrupt himself and me at times to mock rabid social inclusivity in a type of Liberal comedy character. He’s awesome, unlike anyone I’ve ever met. Waited and caffeinated until the Post Office opened—no package. “Trash Bath” and “Combo” hung around patiently but eventually grew weary and bid us a hasty see-ya-later. A small part of me thinks that’s the last time I’ll see either of them, yet I’ve had that thought before and been wrong. We kept checking right up until he, the singular postal worker, closed at 2 P.M.—still no package. Demoralized by the consequences. Adam was visibly stressed and moody, I tried to give him space and chatted with other hikers congregated outside the country store and anxiously watched the day pass. Felt trapped. Tried to forget the time and drank a few pricey tallboys even though my subconscious told me I’m spending too much and it wasn’t going to help in any event. No resupply and with little food in my bag I ordered a “gutbuster” from the deli; a monstrous knife-and-fork burrito bordering on vulgar who’s contents tasted uniformly of everything I had seen exit the kitchen. Braved the free, frigid public shower long enough to turn my surface grime to sludge, I couldn’t hold out long enough to use soap. My towel probably took the brunt of my filth. Sat, sat, sat. Fell into the social media hole. Zeros aren’t fun, Sierra City kinda sucks. Currently it’s well past hiker-midnight, I wish the others around me would stop talking.
The only picture I took on Day 66.
July 10, Day 67
20.6 miles [1216.0]
Another rude wake up by the local gang of bullish, squawking Steller’s jays. Began The Wait and saw lots of hikers arrive, many of whom I recognize. “Dingo”, who we met on Day 2; “Twerk”, pink shirt and all; even “Sticky Fingers” caught back up. Sarah and Kevin who have been immobile or asleep the past 48-hours have seemingly beaten their collective food poisoning and are looking much better. Talked with “Clean Turkey” who’s already been here for three whole days waiting for a replacement debit card. Yikes. Apparently she has made friends with the local family of loggers and was given some fresh roasted corn last night. Friendly postal worker Rick (we got to know each other on a first-name basis) had our resupply package. Huzzah. Snapped a hasty photo and laced up my new shoes. Snazzy, fresh, sproingy. Divvied up our food and immediately headed out. Hot. Hilly. Humid. An immediate 3,000 feet of ascent in the first eight miles. Forced myself to snack at Packsaddle campground, Adam cruised by me like the bump on a log that I was. I’m practically invisible to him, it seems. Beleaguered I shuffled up second steep, unrelenting hill, overwhelmed by dark thoughts. Sobbed and kept walking because you can cry and hike, sitting just feels even worse. Pulled myself together before camp. Dinner was our hard-earned gnocchi meal prepared with pepperoni and olive oil. Adam eked out a small smile and we made a few crass jokes, I felt a lot better. A guy in a wide-brim hat and pale blue Columbia PFG rolled into camp, introduced himself as “Tooth Fairy” and ate dinner with us. My calves and Achilles are exceptionally tight, I wonder if that’s the terrain or my new kicks.
My only two-pair of shoes which lasted almost 3,000 miles.
July 11, Day 68
35.0 miles [1251.0]
Better day but I’m certainly not getting my calories correct. Despite this, we absolutely crushed 35 miles! Not only a 30 but five more on top of that; my new longest day by more than six. I remember days in Scouts where ten miles seemed like another solar system away, hell that was a day’s worth of travel. Warmer start which was a nice motivating factor to leave the comfortable confines of my tent. Floated through miles and miles of dense, thick pines and firs covered in woolly moss like chartreuse spring vests. Hardly saw Adam at all, the few times I did he didn’t look happy about anything. Lunch cheered us both up. During a longer downhill section I ran (it’s still not clear to me why people like running). I nearly tripped and I let me knees buckle and sat down instead of hurling ass over pack. Stood from my burning wreckage and took limb inventory and noticed a hunk of skin missing from the knuckle of my thumb. Surprised not to be hurt worse. Note to self: don’t go home on injury. Passed more than 20 hikers, many of whom I saw in Sierra City. Water sources are getting farther apart, I should have filled up under the bridge but we pressed on. Used the last of my water to rehydrate a chicken risotto Backpacker’s Pantry for dinner. Legitimately thirsty but it’s hard to determine the true severity, just like hunger. There’s water a mile or two up trail. Body is sore but it’s nothing new. There’s a shrill whine of mozzies are all around me. Thirsty, just like me.
July 12, Day 69
30.0 miles [1281.0]
Started the day off with an eight-mile hill, the skeeters started even earlier. Just put one in front of the other with Foo Fighters on a loop. At the top of the hill was Lookout Rock—a vista name which must be on the same level of popularity as Main Street—which seemed like a worthwhile snacking point. Ate a few dozen handfuls of fruit snacks and chips and took in the view with AJ, a Day 3 acquaintance and Whitney summit appearance, and “Pilgrim”, someone I’d only seen from a distance. Upon closer inspection it became apparent his sole article of clothing is a bed sheet fashioned somewhere between tunic and toga. A few more miles to Bucks Lake road where Adam and I took a peaceful lunch in full recline. I gave my dusty, gritty footsies a bandanna bath and sat shirtless in reverence of the lack of mosquitoes. He’s in a good mood, it certainly cheered me up. Resupply is Philmont-heavy with items like Mojo bars, Larabars, and even those “Mark”-bars (rice crispy copy), all my rations bring back memories of hiking in the Sangre de Cristos. Elated to get a shirtless mile or so in the evening during that special time when the air temperature dips five degrees in less than five minutes, it was so relaxing I even got a shirtless poop without being attacked. Haven’t had the opportunity to do that since the desert. We busted another 30 which feels great to do, especially after yesterday’s feat. My feet feel sore but a discomfort relative to the amount of distance I’ve covered, Guthook shows just shy of 6,500 feet of elevation gain today alone. Currently we’re perched along the precipice of a massive canyon which is nearly 4,000 feet to the bottom, camp is hella windy. There are a few other hikers I recognize who rearranged their stakes and made as much space as possible. Big Belden hike is coming up, stop looking at the terrain map, it won’t make it any less steep.
Adam destroys a lunch taco.
July 13, Day 70
21.2 miles [1300.5]
Greeted by gorgeous clouds. Packed and practically fell with the rate of gravity towards Belden. Crossed some railroad tracks and entered “town” which seems like an unfair designation, there can’t be more than 12 people living here. Before I could even set my pack down, a bald man with a plush raccoon tail clipped to his floral print shorts approached and welcomed me before launching into his practiced whispered drug spiel like any hardened festival attendee standing outside the venue holding a cryptic sign proclaiming: “Need Tickets”. I’ve been out for almost a week and Adam let me borrow some cash. We followed “Meow Meow” (more alias than trail name) to his van parked in the back of the already dinky-sized town. His van is a converted refrigerator truck, mostly made out of glass, the clean interior reveals three things: a bed, hardwood floors, and a selection of four other raccoon tails. He filled my jar of wax before 10 A.M, problem solved. Had a fairly sketchy highway walk to Caribou Crossroads, by then I was absolutely starving. Patiently waited for biscuits and gravy with eggs and sausage and a famed blackberry milkshake, the reviews of which had been motivating me for the last few days. Ate and chilled with “Pilgrim”, “Tooth Fairy”, and AJ, as well as “RV”, who I now recall meeting a day outside of Tehachapi and have seen a handful of times since then, is finishing his 700-mile section here. As we wished each other well, I saw him with new eyes; a man well into his fifties who spent 40 days doing exactly what he wanted along with the loving support of his wife and eponymous vehicle which drove town to town for aid and care. It was hard to leave the shaded safety of the RV park but it was a smart choice, especially after losing time in Sierra City. “Tooth Fairy” thought it wise as well and joined Adam and me. Brenda, a true local and quite possibly the most badass grandma I’ve ever met, shuttled hikers back to trail, meanwhile with brash authority telling everyone in the vehicle that if her 6-year-old granddaughter can hike out of Belden without complaining, than gosh darn it, so can we. Began the 15-mile, 5,500-foot assault during the muggiest part of the day. A graffitied trail blaze had a poignant message: “either way, it sucks”. At one of the smaller stream crossings there was a waterfall which had carved out a body-sized pool. I stopped only to remove my shoes and waded in, fully submerged, and tried to escape the hill and heat. Finally made it to the top, crossed mile 1,300, and made camp. Rain looks promising in tonight’s clouds but so far I’ve only had sprinkles.
Inspired by Pollock’s “Lucifer”.
Goodbye, Belden.
Hike On?
PCT 2018: Days 71-75, Belden to Burney Falls
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 71-75 from Belden to Burney Falls, mile 1,300-1,420.
July 14, Day 71
31.8 miles [1331.3]
Today was exhilarating; always say “yes”. Peeped a little of the sunrise through my mesh door. Mobbed another 30 miles and my feet are beat, I generally ache. There was a 15-mile haul between water sources, the few options there were didn’t seem promising. Little Cub spring was 1) off-trail and 2) a gnarly 200-foot decline to access but at least it was ample. Regrouped on trail and ate first lunch with “Tooth Fairy” and “Upstream”. Hit the halfway point but honestly, it felt totally hollow. I remember how motivating the first 100-mile marker was in the desert or seeing the “10%” pile of rocks or getting the clap at Kennedy Meadows, but California is so long, it doesn’t feel like an accomplishment. Either way, we ate second lunch and came up with a plan for Chester, both agreed to go in tomorrow. Continued hiking downhill and wound up at the highway, plans be damned, praying for a hitch as dusk settled in. There was one promising lead for a Trail Angel who provided rides: “John Jacobs, I’ll try to give you a ride if you call me. I’m Chesterite ‘born and raised’”. An animated, fast-talking man soon arrived in a mid-90’s Acura Integra, miraculously the three of us squished our gear and stinky bodies inside. The entire ride into town was filled by John who, in the friendliest and most disarming way possible, told us the horrors of the judicial system, grow laws, and persecution he’s faced and evaded due to his self-proclaimed extensive knowledge of the law. He kindly dropped us off at Pizza Factory where Adam and I split a large garlic and chicken ‘za and a pitcher of domestic. Full and slightly buzzed we packed up and headed for the Lutheran Church to make camp. Upon approaching an intersection with a gas station, there appeared to be a man taking hot-laps around the pumps in a mobility scooter, the tail of his coonskin hat being lifted ever so gently by his modest speed. I looked away as to not draw any attention and crossed the street. Before the three of us had gotten halfway across, the man whizzed towards us, yelling “CITIZEN’S ARREST, CITIZEN’S ARREST” at the top of his lungs. It was 10:58 P.M. My heart was in my throat but after he slurred a few sentences, I realized he was completely hammered and bragging about his scooter—a gift for his infirmed father. “Shame you hikers don’t have beer or weed,'' he mumbled, changing topics drastically. “But at my house we do. Follow me.” He zoomed off into the night, tail following just behind. The three of us stood silently, realized we outnumbered him and had quite literally nothing to lose, and followed him. We ended up in his backyard where he promptly tossed us each a Bud Light and sparked a joint. The mosquitoes feasted on my thin blood but all I could think about was the kindness of strangers and the lengths people go to for camaraderie. He gave us his phone number and emphatically reminded us we had a job (growing related of course) whenever we wanted. I thanked him for his kindness and made one final comment on his savvy scooter purchase before we stumbled to the church. Chester is hella weird.
Lassen Peak.
PCT midpoint. Hurray.
July 15, Day 72
11.4 miles [1340.7]
I woke up slightly before 5 A.M. with an odd, cold sensation on my face and I heard other tents rustling, then my lucidity arrived. It was beginning to rain, the entire PCT population of the Chester Lutheran church were furiously scrambling to throw on their flys, everyone unprepared from last night’s clear skies and muggy temps. Went to Kopper Kettle with “Conflicted” and “Tooth Fairy” for real breakfast: endless ceramic beige mugs of cheap coffee—a constellation of creamer cups filled the table—with biscuits and gravy. I’m stressed about this section and it seems the majority of hikers are as well. My shirt is toast, it lasted more than a thousand miles and is ripping apart from the shoulders. Dollar General was the only location which served my resupply and, somehow, clothing needs. I got a Hanes “Sport” cotton tee which isn’t a suitable replacement for my long-sleeve but at least my shoulders will be covered. Also my pants are ripped and flapping at the ankles which made walking more exhilarating and tripping more likely, I’ve been rocking my board shorts and boot-cut socks for the last three days. As for food, I scored some decent supplies, namely a small tub of mayo, a bottle of olive oil, and plenty of tuna. Repacked and consolidated in the shade of the church while drinking a Bud. Sewed my hood from the old shirt onto the new shirt and giggled at the result with “Tree Beard” for five solid minutes. Called it a success and cut off the arms as well and stashed them for later reattachment. Said goodbye to “Tooth Fairy” who has completed his remaining California sections and is finished for this season. Had a hard hitch out, but like always, it worked in our favor, there was even a trail angel handing out sodas at the trailhead. Hiked with “Conflicted” who’s neurotic yet undeniably hilarious and fun. I put in a solid hour before stopping to evaporate. As I pulled out my bag of snacks I instantly recognized the bearded guy in a straw trilby was Brett Callaghan, now “Flipper”. A huge, triumphantly-sweaty bearhug later, we acquainted group members and caught up on The Trail So Far. It’s hard to process how a long-time Philmont friend who Adam and I both know is hiking the same trail at the same time. Small world, infinite universe. Adam agreed to spend a few days hiking together but pointed out we hadn’t even made one-third our usual mileage today and our last zero was five days ago. Groups may not travel fast but they provide a morale boost worthy of many extra miles.
July 16, Day 73
30.0 miles [1369.7]
Restful sleep until dawn, then tossed and turned before giving up and getting going. Took a little side trek to Terminal Geyser (not a geyser) and Boiling Springs Lake which was both worthwhile and underwhelming, I wish I could have gotten closer. Received trail magic from “Ham”, a girl on trail who was zeroing with her folks. They gave me a Budweiser and an intensely sweet and juicy fresh peach which is the only fruit I’ve actually fantasized about on trail. Hiked all day with “Flipper’s” trail family and got to know “Froggy”, “Snacks”, “Trash Queen”, “Penguin”. Lots of hot spots before lunch and my feet have fucking blown up, there are massive blisters on both big toes and my arches are knotted and stiff. I’ve taken for granted how nice healthy feet are. Gave them a good scrub in hopes of knocking down the grit, swelling, and heat during lunch at Twin Lakes. I started and ended my experimentation with cold-soaking noodles, after a little over two hours, they took on a bubble-gummy texture similar to fresh Big League Chew except alfredo flavored. Twelve more miles to the next water source, Hat Creek, where we called it quits for the evening and so did quite a few other hikers. There were some nice clouds for a few hours but it was generally hot, I hope I didn’t get burned in my half-shirt-tall-socks-and-shorts combo. Rain will come soon. With “Conflicted” and “Shocks”, dinner was practically a family event. I saw Sarah and Kevin across the river, even “Sticky Fingers” came by to hang out for dessert. Way too much flat terrain, never thought I find myself wishing for hills and altitude.
Terminal Geyser.
Boiling Springs Lake.
July 17, Day 74
27.1 miles [1396.8]
Holy cow “Trash Queen” is an early riser, I have to remember to set up farther away. She probably had the right idea since it was hot as balls, dare I say prohibitively hot today. Subway Cave was a point of interest and a small detour took us to an underground lava tube requiring puffys. Against all of our better judgments we smoked out one of the alcoves offending, no doubt, several civilians. “Shocks” needed to go to Old Station for a package, he left after we emerged from the refreshing depths. Made it a few more hours before seeking shelter under a few scraggly pines for lunch. “Froggy” pulled out salami slices and began lathering up a tortilla with mayo, I can’t believe I haven’t done the same thing yet, they will most certainly be on my next resupply. Hat Creek Rim was brutally hot, I was completely unprepared. My calves certainly got burned from wearing shorts, I bounced my umbrella from side to side trying to cover as much bare skin as possible. Water is sparse, if it wasn’t for a maintained cache it would have been a 29 mile carry which seems on the verge of not possible for this stretch. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any hotter, or my water any warmer, we stumbled into an ice chest under a lone tree. It’s funny how your heart rate increases and you pray it’s not full of trash. There were two choices: Coke or Sap, a maple-flavored soda which I grabbed immediately and much to my amazement I had enough restraint for one item though I was reminded Coke is always a superior choice among pops. There was also a bag of Cuties, a fruit which I didn’t know I missed. Tonight’s sunset was the type which people compare other sunsets to and struggle to find the correct, descriptive words but ultimately say “cool” and “colorful” to a point of cliche. Currently laying shirtless on my pad, no quilt, sweatin’ just like everyone else. I’m ready to be done with California.
Lassen Peak, northern face.
July 18, Day 75
23.2 miles [1419.0]
I got up and moving around 6:30 A.M., “Flipper” and “Froggy” nowhere to be seen. Busted an easy 13 miles to Burney Mountain Guest Ranch, another 10 before 10. It was shaping up to be another warm one so we hung out for most of the afternoon. Immediately purchased a gigantic pickle and Coke to combat lost electrolytes. Saw Sarah and “Sticky Fingers” lounging in the shade, they confirmed doing a 40 yesterday—gross. Utilized the down time and my recent calf-burns to sew the ripped ankles of my pants, they turned out functional and durable beyond my wildest hopes. Still, there’s about four inches of extra waist-room in these suckers. Gave my socks several rounds in the sink until the water ran a tea color and not Folgers extra dark. “Numbers”, a PCT alumnus I remember meeting back at Hiker Heaven, seemed to be a vague authority and gave hikers a quick tour of the place. Had a cheeseburger for lunch and bought a few sleeves of PopTarts and Oreos from the convenience store to hold me over until Shasta’s resupply. Much to my amazement there was a billiards table, remarkably, a decent one, which was available for use, they trust us dirty hikers way too much. I ran the table all three games I played while waiting for my burger. Left the vortex and made it another ten miles to Burney Falls and hung out while the rest of the gang showed up. Saw an Angel in the parking lot who was trying to meet up with her hiking friend, she offered us watermelon slices and a Gatorade. Took the obligatory side trip to the falls, they were impressively large, it took up nearly my entire field of view. I found by defocusing my eyes, similar to those 3-D repeating pattern optical illusion puzzles, the water seemed to hang in suspension with the always static land whizzing by. It was a trip. Set up at the campground and scored two ramen packets which I cold-soaked for dinner, another meal I don’t have to worry about. Met “Happy Feet” and she did my sleeve, rather, she saw me struggling to find a way to sew my detached arms onto my t-shirt and gave me a quick lesson on a running stitch. It’s odd how I have nothing but time and it took me more than a week to address this issue.
Nesting osprey.
Burney Falls.
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PCT 2018: Days 76-79, Burney Falls to Mount Shasta
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 76-79 from Burney Falls to Mount Shasta, mile 1,420-1,500.
July 19, Day 76
32.1 miles [1450.1]
Woke to crinkling pads and polycro being stuffed around 5 A.M. and panicked, I hate playing catch-up. Packed my shit, shit and left in just under an hour. My headphones are beyond FUBAR, the headphone adapter doesn't make a solid connection and audio cuts out, start/pause in an endless loop, or the absolute worst, restarts track from the beginning which is beyond frustrating for podcasts. Fairly certain my backups are busted and any solution seems far too challenging and time consuming on trail. Perhaps it’s time to start hiking without another distraction. Lunch was an enjoyable event per usual. Broke out the ground cloth, fully spread out and lounged hard with “Penguin”, “Trash Queen”, and “Shocks”. I have enough food to last until next resupply but I’m still worried about running out. I’ll survive, it just might not be ideal. I’m having trouble recalling any other events, perhaps that’s what happens when you devote the whole day to making miles and not taking “unnecessary” breaks. Thirty-mile days still whoop me and there’s gonna be another, even longer, one tomorrow. My plantar fascia are unbelievably sore, I must have massaged them for twenty minutes before feeling drowsy. Tonight’s camp has a breathtaking view of Mount Shasta. I’m ready for sleep, then it’s time to do it all again. Yippee.
Lake Britton Dam
July 20, Day 77
31.8 miles [1481.9]
By now I’m habituated to hearing “Trash Queen” deflate her pad in the blue of predawn but today I’m especially glad I chose to get up-and-out instead of snooze; Mount Shasta sunrise was almost more unbelievable than last night’s sunset. Pooped as quick as I could and got moving, this area is mosquito dense. I don’t have snacking food so I made three tortilla meals which worked but definitely not ideal. Breakfast was an Oreo and peanut butter with M&M’s wrap. Lunch was a Spam and mayo taco with a side of cold-soaked ramen. Dinner was two tuna burritos with more peanut M&M’s for dessert, I'm low on options. Briefly saw “Froggy” during lunch at Ash camp. Everyone in our group, even other hikers, is fixated on the town of Shasta. The last three miles before camp were some of my most discomforting. My arches were screaming, my knees felt fat and stiff to a point where I contemplated the possibility of hiking-induced compartment syndrome. Nearly 63 miles in two days, I’m hurting. This camp is absolutely slammed and there aren’t too many other options in the area, other hikers have congregated here and there are more than ten people in a site for five. I’ve noticed a small hole in my tent where the bathtub floor meets the nylon walls. Nothing survives the trail unscathed. A patch of duct tape should hold from further tearing. Adam mentioned his stomach was feeling off since this morning, I hope it’s just a bit of indigestion and not something more serious.
July 21, Day 78
19.3 miles [1501.2]
I was one of the last to leave, every hiker had vacated before 6 A.M., the desire to get to town is powerful. With screaming soles I arrived at Interstate 5, with each step closer there appeared to be a white EZ-up with scattered chairs, hikers, and ice chests underneath. Trail Magic. Shared a bag of carrots with Adam and mopped up any remaining hummus. I was handed two PBR’s and a shot of Jack—I was drunk. It certainly made the hitch into town much easier, I didn’t have a care in the world. Made a beeline for Taco Bell, a drunk hiker stomach can barely discern between “calories” and “not calories”, my wallet thanked me. Waddled over to Shasta Base Camp and tried to nap off my drunk and the afternoon heat. Dozed off and on for ten minutes under the smell of dog poop which wafted my way every few minutes but I was too tired to move. Saw “Penguin” taking a bird bath with a garden hose and decided to wait my turn. My clothes, however, were in need of more, there was a laundromat next door and it seemed like an appropriate occasion to purchase a load, my first machine wash since Sonora Pass nearly 500 miles ago. Rallied and got two more beers from the grocery store during the rinse cycle, one for now, the other for trail. Chilled hard with fam. Used the time and sewed on the other sleeve, my hybrid sun shirt is now complete. Resupply tomorrow, stoked for new food options.
“Trash Queen”.
The dirtiest pair of pants ever.
Squaw Valley Creek bridge crossing.
July 22, Day 79
0 miles [1501.2]
Breakfast at Blackbear Diner where I had a big, messy plate of huevos rancheros with coffee. Sat with Adam and “Conflicted” and just felt lonely, something was clearly weighing heavy on his mind. Resupplied at Rite Aid and was surprised by the decent selection. Drank a ginger soda while I shopped. Got a beer and a peach, sadly only half of it was delicious, the other half dry and mealy. Adam was cagey and secretive all day. Told me he’s going his own way, finally. It makes sense—it’s time. I’m the one that needs to grow. Found a carton of chardonnay in a hiker box and muted my feelings by eating, drinking and smoking the rest of the afternoon away with “Sticky” and Brett. Watched “Conflicted”, “Trash Queen”, and Adam hitch out and I fought the revolting urge to follow. I fear losing the will to continue, I guess that’s been a fear from the beginning. But the thought of quitting now seems even more ridiculous than it did at Kennedy Meadows. Confided some darker thoughts with “Penguin” and felt disgusted at how weak and codependent I sounded. It reminded me that this was my hike and I’m the only one who’s going to hike it—time to be a man. Hearing “TQ” talk about the impending fire reroutes stressed me even further, it sounds like a labyrinth of exposed roads with limited signage. Oh, and I don’t have a Canada entry permit. Ugh. Slurped up a pint of ice cream before going to Taco Bell with Sarah and Kevin. Good friends are here, I don’t know why I have to keep reminding myself.
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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 84-87, Etna to California-Oregon Border
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 84-87 from Etna to the California/Oregon border, mile 1,600-1,700.
July 27, Day 84
29.2 miles [1629.0]
The near full moon and constant wind gusts mixed with cowboying next to everyone else didn’t lead to great sleep. I glanced over to see “Froggy” nearly packed, folding his tarp and clipping buckles by headlamp. Pooped and got moving, my usual regimen. Had some gut pain which only got worse with each step. I hadn’t even made it two miles before I found myself hunched over, pack off, sitting and sweating, worrying if I was lucky enough to get appendicitis on trail. Let out a few gnarly farts and ate a Pop-Tart and found myself regaining hiker-stasis. Today’s terrain was freshly burned, probably in the last two years, a dusty haze hung around ghoulish trees illuminating their blackened bark. Set up lunch overlooking Fischer and Marten Lakes and prepared two salami and dijonnaise roll-ups, shooting “Froggy” looks of “I-can’t-believe-it-took-me-this-long-to-buy-cured-meat”—tuna tacos have a new contender. “TQ” insisted we help with her one-pound squeeze-bottle of Welch’s jelly and I slathered myself a PB&J wrap. The last few miles of the day were spectacular, everything is blooming with a furious intensity; Marble Mountain Wilderness is magnificent. We set up and shared camp with some weekenders at Paradise lake where I relaxed and scrubbed out the grit from between my toes. Currently the soles of my feet are the only body part which is regularly sore, tonight is no exception. Got good and stoney for dinner, everyone rejoiced at nonexistent bugs. Running dangerously low on power which has me more nervous than I care to admit but I’ll make it work. I haven’t had to ration my music yet.
Nothing but killer trees.
July 28, Day 85
27.4 miles [1656.4]
Knew we were in for a huge, mostly downhill slog into Seiad and left around 5:45 A.M. “Froggy” introduced me to Ello Govna—a drinking game which they had adapted to play on trail—the rules became PI questions you could answer differently each round. Our game got wild: 1) favorite color 2) 'hey “Surge”' 3) $10,000 car 4) sports-related memory 5) bad job 6) grateful for 8) ? 9) Philmont memory 10) *weird noise* 12) collection from childhood 13) what hiking gear do you covet? 14) life goal 15) road trip memory 16) *hootie-hoo* 17) *orgasm noise* 18) birthday memory 19) compliment someone 20) trail friends 21) best day on-trail. Played for six hours and made it 20 miles before breaking for lunch at Grider stream. The girls already had a dunk and were setting up a lunch spot while us guys took our turn to bathe. Tried to ignore my self-consciousness and stripped off my undies with a pitiful lack of authority. God, I’m a prude. The day only got hazier as we road-walked six miles into Seiad Valley, all the while eagerly looking for ways to ford the dangerous and way too large Klamath River to cut off a ridiculous amount of trail, more as a means of distraction from the carbonized heat. Triumphantly arrived at the general store, took a hot lap around and bought a few dollar-pies and beers. Stoked to see “Shocks” as well as “Conflicted” who’s convinced the State of Jefferson is the future and filled the silence with talks of secession, I’m glad they’re doing well. Ate tuna taco dinner outside the store with the whole gang and utilized every last minute to charge electronics. I was stunned to see “Snacks” catch back up, he’s pulled some crazy days! Every hiker here knows Oregon is closer than ever, this is the last California town. “Trash Queen” even said the upcoming border was “the most monumental border”, which we all had a good laugh at, but in a way, she’s right. Walked a few miles down the road to one of the largest oak trees I’ve ever seen, a tree so old and large you can’t help but play out its history like a stop-motion silent film in your head. Set up and circled the trunk to cool off (it’s still gotta be above 80F) and meditated in its grandeur. Huge 10-mile climb tomorrow, one final challenge.
“Froggy”.
“Penguin”.
Klamath River Bridge.
July 29, Day 86
31.3 miles [1687.7]
Had a hard night anticipating today’s big climb, the stagnant midnight heat wasn’t comforting. By 5:45 A.M. the only thing left in camp were a few tent stake holes. Played all my saved Heavyweight podcasts to distract from the hazy onslaught. At one point I passed “Conflicted” who’s exhalations were purely muttered obscenities—he was having a tough time. Looking at the map makes everything worse. I can’t recall anything during snack break and the only thing memorable from lunch was seeing “Shocks” who fixed my vape pen. Once the hill climb was over, Oregon and many retrospective thoughts took up the rest of my day and my wandering mind. It’s hard to remember anything after 30 miles. Got to the last water source, gang took a slap-dash vote and decided to cross the border tomorrow. Surprisingly “Flipper” and “Froggy” took different sides and all six of us started to have a hard time, no one wants to be in Cali-fucking-fornia anymore. Everyone was hungry, tired, and ready to zero. Unsurprisingly I was wishy-washy (good photos or Commit?) and tried to be nonchalant—looks like I haven’t learned anything. Whatever. There’s still plenty more hiking to do. We set up camp four miles out. Tomorrow has a new map, hotel, beer, and shower. OREGON.
July 30, Day 87
32.0 miles [1717.7]
Camp was a ghost town before 5:30 A.M. and I had the same singular thought as everyone else. Arrived at the nondescript border and only felt more excited. High-fives and coyote howls all around—we walked to Oregon! Luckily “Goat Man” was there and took our photo. Had to psyche myself up for the remaining 26 miles to the highway and raced through both snack and lunch breaks. Strong cell reception approaching the highway so I made a few phone calls to chew up the remaining miles: a quick update with mom and dad; no luck on Sam Anderson; Jake Moye and I laughed about being hiker trash. With just two miles left, mid-sentence with “Flipper”, I fell. Hard. I could have broken a bone, but luckily all I suffered was losing my mile-zero water bottle. Knee hurts pretty good, thankfully tomorrow is a day of rest. Arrived at Callahan’s and saw that “Dutchie” was there too. Plopped down at the bar and proudly redeemed my free beer on tap, IPA of course. The bartender was having a slow afternoon and treated us to a few pours of pilsner leftover from a wedding. We toasted to our accomplishment. “Dutchie”, being international, charming (and female) schooled us all on how to land a hitch. It took her three minutes, the first car pulled over as if we had money—she’s a natural. The five of us squeezed into her subcompact and took off for Ashland. Arrived at the hotel, it was time to celebrate “Froggy’s” birthday in earnest. Had a real shower, with hot water and soap, for the first time since Bishop—day 44. HA! “Snacks” did the beer run and made us all proud; craft as well as cheap and plenty of them. Gang attempted to order pizza half in the bag. After much deliberation and chatter, we made the delivery call. Wings, ‘za, and beers. Lots of laughs. To friends, birthdays, and zeros.
Oregon/California border and six happy hikers.
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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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Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers day 111, Goat Rocks and my 30th birthday.