PCT 2018: Days 31-36, Tehachapi to Kennedy Meadows
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 31-36 from Tehachapi to Kennedy Meadows, mile 570-700.
June 4, Day 31
22.1 miles [592.9]
By some grace of God I got decent sleep thanks to those two robust bushes. Loaded a new map into my phone and couldn’t help but feel a small sense of accomplishment. Took a nice, lengthy stop at Golden Oaks spring 12 miles from camp. Avoided the heat and cameled-up in the shade all while hanging out with “Mio”. Tried to make a dent in my food because my pack weighs an absolute shit ton—it’s kind of demoralizing. I must have eight days worth and only need six; I guess I can eat as much as I want. I should buy less crackers next time. The wind seemed to subside the further north we went but it still felt like a hiking through the business end of a hairdryer. Hopefully this is the last of the wind farms. Adam seemed to be in a mood, the desert must be getting to him too. We’re probably both dehydrated. Wrapped up the day with tuna taco while dodging a few mosquitoes. They’re only going to get worse from here.
A Mojave sunrise and the last of the wind farms.
A stoveless resupply which is a little heavy on crackers.
June 5, Day 32
23 miles [615.9]
Said goodbye to the last of the wind farms (I made sure to double-check on the map) and made it 10 miles to Robin Bird spring only stopping briefly two times. My stamina is improving. The long-anticipated arrival of “Mio’s” Marine buddy “Bigfoot” had finally happened, I got to know him a little better over the course of the day. We took over an hour in the shade to rest and rehydrate. Barely making it another mile up trail, we stopped again. “Vinyl” and her friend Norah were sprawled out beside a Subaru under a makeshift canopy of towels and umbrellas held together with gold duct tape and good vibes. I met her yesterday and suddenly remembered talks of her birthday party. They welcomed us to their huge picnic spread which had; brie and bread; watermelon and Oreo cookies; kombucha and Sanpellegrino in all flavors; and most importantly, a homemade blueberry pie. Huge portions were being served and I didn’t think there was going to be enough to go around. “I’ll take a tiny slice, please”, I said timidly. “Vinyl”, plastic cutlery in hand, locked eyes with me and a devious smirk crept below her sunglasses. “Sure you can—‘Tiny Slice’” she snarkily said, plopping a huge piece on my paper plate. It killed, the crowd roared. Everyone commemorated the party by spray-painting their hiking poles gold. Adam and I left the shanty-town, pushing another nine miles before making a dinner stop. The weather was prime and legs felt good, ultimately we did another four miles as dusk slowly turned into night. “Tiny Slice”—it could be worse.
Sunset on a distant Owens Peak.
Blueberry pie responsible for my trail name.
June 6, Day 33
24 miles [639.9]
Greeted by a soul-warming sunrise. Despite an intensifying sun and miles of washboarded trail filled with shoe-consuming sand, it was still nice to hike in the limited morning hours with a cool breeze. Just before Bird Spring Pass I came across, quite possibly, the most idyllic Joshua Tree I’d ever witnessed. Even dozens of weekend campouts I spent at the namesake national park never lead to the discovery of such a magnificent specimen. Perhaps it was dehydration, perhaps it was a lack of sittable shade from the last 100 miles, but I was mesmerized. I dropped my pack and flopped down, eyes heavy with midday heat. For the briefest of moments—or maybe it was five minutes—I was thoughtless. Wonderfully adrift. Somehow, I managed to leave. Only a few miles later and we ran into some totally-clutch trail magic. Jim had the full spread: cold cuts, soda, chips, and cooler full of beer. I thanked him profusely, sandwich in hand, and asked about his involvement with the trail. He humbly replied, “I raised a lot of hell when I was younger, so, here I am giving back.” Finally gathered the gumption to leave and made it another nine miles before stopping for dinner and a camp spot. While assembling a dessert burrito, a flock of what I could only assume to be western bluebirds, at least 100 strong, buzzed overhead. Hadn’t even made it halfway through my burrito before realizing we were being assaulted by an army of ants. Still being surprised in the desert.
June 7, Day 34
24.4 miles [662.7]
Tossed and turned until 6 a.m. Uneventful hiking all the way to Walker Pass so I filled the time by listening to more music than usual. At the highway we were greeted by “Coppertone” who happens to be sort of a trail legend. He provided plenty of camp chairs under an awning, a hiker box where Adam scored a new shirt, as well as various snacks laid out on a table. “Coppertone” also offered everyone a float: vanilla or strawberry, root beer or cream soda? I opted for the nontraditional version which several hikers said was the superior choice. Tried to enjoy it slowly but did a poor job. All the while, a helicopter circled unusually low around the campground, only to land several hundred feet away from us. Slurping down the remainder of my float, I saw a flash of orange darting through the trees on a ridgeline above. Just before I began to worry, “Coppertone” offhandedly quipped, “some government officials came by and said they’d be running some tests today”. Twenty minutes later the heli took off, I could just barely make out an orange jumpsuit through the open bay doors. As the chopper left, quiet finally returned. We still needed to confirm a few resupply details with our parents which meant hitching into Lake Isabella or making a phone call. Neither of us had reception, so while I danced around on the shoulder, thumb extended, looking positively too positive, Adam spotted hiker friend “Pocket Rocket” who was in the middle of a phone call. Fortunately, we were able to use her phone and avoid the half-day jaunt into town. With the ‘extra time’ we double-backed to Walker Pass to hang out and hydrate more. I got a few Z’s in on a particularly comfortable camp chair. With most of the heat beat, we pushed another eight miles before finding a spot to cowboy. A terrific tuna taco while avoiding skeeters. Gosh, this has to be the last of the desert, the mountains are nearly here.
US Navy helicopter drills near Walker Pass.
Owens Peak Wilderness.
June 8, Day 35
24.5 miles [687.2]
Spent the first three hiking hours without music or podcasts in an effort to save any remaining phone battery (currently at 9%). The terrain has started to morph once again, perhaps it’s a sign we’re getting closer to the mountains. I’ve cinched my belt quite tight, flaps of fabric now bunch around my waist; my clothes don’t fit anymore. Even though there was nearly 12 miles of solid uphill today, the actual ascents weren’t problematic. I’m just so fed up sweating from every inch of my body with a ‘hot face’. It just sucks. Found a good spot for lunch and a snooze 15 miles in. Climbed a second big hill to finish the evening. A gentleman we’d been leapfrogging all day arrived at camp just as we finished setting up. He introduced himself as “Missing Person”, and without missing a beat said, “you must be brothers, right?” It was almost refreshing to hear someone say it so confidently, most people had been giving Adam and I double-takes, asking if we were twins and which one was older. He flashed a smile of admiration undeniably different than others I had seen. “Mind if I crash your site?” We nodded. The three of us talked and ate dinner, sharing stories from the desert. Offhandedly, he mentioned he hiked the AT 25 years ago—largely in memoriam of his late brother. I tried to keep eating chili cheese Fritos but they just dried up in my mouth. My tent is scheduled to arrive tomorrow, hopefully that eases the tension between Adam and me.
“Missing Person” sets up his camp.
Granite with quartz vein.
Sunset from Chimney Peak Wilderness.
June 9, Day 36
15 miles [702.2]
Broke camp and high-tailed it to Kennedy Meadows. I sniped at Adam the last few miles, saying some really dumb shit. 'Got the clap' as we approached the general store—other hikers applauded each new arrival's success. If I smiled any harder I probably would have ended up in tears. Today was the lowest I've been in recent memory. Even those hard days early on in the desert pale in comparison to the neurotic, worthless feelings I subjected myself to today. Bought some beers and tried to mingle with the dozens of other hikers, hoping to take my mind off of me. Signed up to take a shower in one of the jankiest homemade stalls I've ever witnessed (I should have just taken my towel to the Kern river.) I skipped the washing machine since it had a sign-up list longer than my sleeping pad, opting to have another beer and wash my socks under the spigot. Parents arrived with our resupply and loving support. They treated us to dinner at Grumpy Bear's Retreat, the only restaurant in the area, for a burger. I managed two bites before unraveling, bemoaning problems Adam and I should have managed ourselves. They drove six hours for me to treat them like a petulant child. I feel sick to my stomach. It feels shameful to admit how close I was to quitting, especially when the getaway vehicle was being driven by mom and dad. Grow up, Justin. After dinner, I tried to turn the evening around and bought everyone beers. We started joking around and laughing, sharing stories like the clogged toilet and photos of unbelievable desert sunrises: Kernes family therapy. Divvied up the resupply and setup my new tent. Tried hard not to be awkward as our parents drove out. Later, “Missing Person” came up and said we looked down and out at the diner. I smiled weakly, “family things.” He congratulated us on making it out of the desert. I'm overjoyed to be finished.
Bakeoven Pass and unnamed peaks.
Kennedy Meadows General Store by night.
Hike On?
The Road Trip Day 11: Fractal Canyons
I woke up on the floor earlier than I wanted to; I neglected to close the blinds. Light streamed into our tiny room. Not long after…
Canyonlands National Park, Utah
May 17, 2015
I woke up on the floor earlier than I wanted to; I neglected to close the blinds. Light streamed into our tiny room.
Not long after, my fellow compatriots were up and moving. Our plan was to check out Canyonlands National Park and word from our mutual friends told us to visit the southern half.
Needles District Visitor Center looked like a mirage from the distance. Why was there any structure built there? For the last 75 miles, this was the only man-made thing I saw other than the highway.
The nice park ranger said we would have a hard time passing up the Slickrock Foot trail. We parked the car and hopped out.
Caleb Jennings before his morning Gatorade.
Sprawling fractal canyons as far as I could see. Where were we? When? How? We schwacked over rocks, shrubs, and cyanobacteria. Apparently they're one of the oldest things on our planet.
We got hungry for lunch and aimed for the car. Our ice chest, beginning to take on some odor, had tuna salad fixings from yesterday.
Everything wrapped in tortillas tastes great.
Click here to view this in Google Street View.
There were a few short trail loops on the way out of the park; Roadside Ruin and Cave Spring. Both lived up to their names. For nearly half a mile we walked under eroded boulders. Moss and delicate ferns sprouted from the damp, weeping rocks.
Cleome lutea, or yellow beeplant.
A typical scene at Canyonlands.
We were surrounded by the oddest of tableaux.
Parched and tired, and with snacks no longer carrying their weight, we drove back into Moab. The brewery pulled us in. Beer and gelato was just the kind of refreshing treat we needed.
Back at the hostel, we took turns showering and checking the internet. I scrolled to see if I had any emails or if there were any dumb internet videos.
There were.
We tried to keep strong and remain frugal for dinner; dehydrated didn't sound delicious. It didn't work. We ordered a chicken-pesto pizza from a local shop. And garlic knots.
Also, I think Carter is cheating at cribbage. You can only get so many 16-point hands...
Hey, want a ride?
Turn it around:
Stick your thumb out:
Summer 100: #1-10
The drive East; it begins. From cities, to suburbs, from backwater, to nowhere, over and over again. The fully-loaded suburban hurtles down the highway at 80mph, power lines...
Summer 100: #1-10
1/100
The drive East; it begins. From cities, to suburbs, from backwater, to nowhere, over and over again. The fully-loaded suburban hurtles down the highway at 80mph, power lines racing off towards the horizon. Plans are made and futures are speculated upon. Miles tick away and beverages tip empty. And so, it begins.
2/100
A denim-ed viking sits atop his throaty, snarling beast, surveying the great desert lands. A toothy grimace falls out from his sun-worn face as he stares at me through the tempered, tinted glass. He guns the throttle, backfiring loudly, but sputters on ahead of our vehicle. Have any exceptional encounters from your car?
3/100
The vehicle pulls over for a much needed pit stop. Turning down offers for venison-jerky from the cloistered townies, I continue to wander away from the main road, looking for the abandoned shack which had caught my eye from the car. It smelled strongly of “Do Not Enter”. Ever see something from the car window that you just must explore further?
4/100
Bending down to the moistened earth, I gazed over the leathery remains. The flesh has been daintily picked away from the bone, no doubt with help from the beetles which scurried into the fur the moment my shadow crossed them. This wonderful specimen was waiting for us in the driveway at the cabin in Eagle's Nest; welcome back to the woods, kids. Ever see any cool carrion?
5/100
The rocks here, are alive. Several types of pale blue and bright orange lichen engulf the surface of the weathered stone. They share remarkable similarities to sea coral. The blood starts to pool in my ears from invertedly staring at the ground for such a time. I start to imagine the sea floor thriving with life. Fish swimming around in dense clusters, the tide swaying to and fro, the crushing pressure of the water. I stand up and the blood starts to drain from my skull; seems I still haven't acclimated yet.
6/100
The smell of fresh rain and body odor waft through the sunny streets of Taos. Quaint shops sell their tchotchkes to the thriving tourists. The town is an odd mixture of rustic Southwest and vintage urban grunge, even the barred windows have a little design flare. Sunglasses on and iced Americano in-hand, I try to disguise myself from the busking hippies and gentrified window shoppers.
7/100
The stores' diverse wares range from leather crafts and books to eco-friendly kitchen tools and precious gemstones. We wander through the narrow streets and back alleys digesting the afternoon's fare of green chile burgers and beer. There is an inaudible apprehension in the air; the crowds are days away from pouring into the quiet ski resort town. Summer has arrived.
8/100
On the way back home from Taos, we take a detour and stop by the Vietnam Veteran's Memorial Center to take a moment and sit on the benches. Thankfully, there have been a few days of intermittent precipitation, which is unusual this time of year. The dark and heavy clouds have been lingering throughout the day. Looking out upon the sweeping and vast valley, the grass appears greener. Finally, after four years of brown, a little green starts to return.
9/100
The Chase Ranch, founded in 1867 by Manly and Theresa Chase, was home for the pivotal ranching family of Cimarron, New Mexico. They raised sheep, cattle, and planted apple trees which are still growing and producing fruit to this day. Gretchen Sammis, the last living decedent of the Chase's, owned and operated the ranch for the last 58 years. In August of 2012, she passed away and the land was entrusted to Philmont. Today, during the second day of Camp Director training, we got to tour the majority of the house and grounds which had recently opened to the public. There was an eerie silence throughout the spacious but cluttered home; four generations of history under one roof left a distinct and curious smell lingering in the air. I meandered out to the courtyard and garage area, the day's teachings absorbing into me. Note to self: find cattle skulls for O'Keeffe devotionals and decorative purposes.
10/100
One of the last places at the Chase Ranch we visited for the day was the pen and barn area. The fences, which once held back hundreds upon hundreds of heads of cattle, now, are my last source of protection between one beastly bovine and my trampled demise. She incessantly mooed at the entire group until we departed. We come to learn her calf had been sold a few weeks ago – the will of the West. Someone important yells and we head back to the school bus, load up, and take off for home. The raucous bus vibrations send me into a nap-haze as our seemingly endless training schedule unfolds in my mind.
Summer 100: #21-30
After checking out the South side of camp, we about-face and head back to the cabin. Jessica decides to stay while I continue alone to go check on our water tank. Before I start...
Summer 100: #21-30
21/100
After checking out the South side of camp, we about-face and head back to the cabin. Jessica decides to stay while I continue alone to go check on our water tank. Before I start the small assent up the Northern hill, I look past the pair of Ponderosas which serve as sentinels to one of our smoking areas. The ground is covered in large hailstones, a heavy fog clings to the damp coldness near the surface. I exhale deeply and see the ghost of my breath hang before me. The stillness is deafening, interrupted only by the punctuation of drips falling from distant leaves. An unfamiliar June.
22/100
Beetles, moths, wasps, hornets, crickets, spiders, and flies, insects abound at Zastrow. Having electric lights definitely gives away our location, broadcasting beams of false hope to any bugs looking to seek shelter inside our rooms. I quickly learned to leave my lights off and my door closed during dusk, or else suffer through a night of inhaling gnats. Unidentified cicadas can be heard buzzing alongside the river bank during the heat of the day. The large rainstorm which drove back the bugs for a few days has since departed; clear skies are in the forecast.
23/100
The sun begins to set, marking the end to our first full nine-day work week in the backcountry. Already, we have begun experiencing what it means to live and and work under the same roof; not the easiest task, especially for such a young staff. My mind wanders as I bus dinner's dishes, thinking about how meal-time is going to work when campers start spending the night. I gaze out the kitchen window and see a gargantuan creature bobbing his head furiously, each stride gaining on the cabin. As the lumbering beast nears, I quickly realize Carter has come to visit for the night, complete with boombox! After a disproportionate high-five, we power through evening chores, put the staff to bed, and start heading up the road. We reach a clearing I remember finding in the daylight and plop down and discuss our summers as they have progressed. We talk about our staff, cute girls, challenges we are scared of, everything while we remain blanketed under our metaphor. Blissfully, we chat away the moonless night. Already so much has happened, yet we have only just begun.
24/100
It is extremely convenient and exclusive to be so close to another camp. Abreu is just over a mile away to the West and I decide to take a half-day to walk over and visit our neighboring camp. I have already been at camp for nine days and have another three to go before I can take some days off. I definitely need to give my staff a breather for the evening. The afternoon is cool from last night's heavy rainfall and though I don't require a break during the brief hike, I take one anyways under the shade of a particularly large scrub oak. Like most rocks here, the ones surrounding me are covered in lichen, these being a brilliant shade of chartreuse. I stand up, convincing my inner demons once again my visit is a hangout and not a sabbatical starting after week one.
25/100
Completely new program is not a common occurrence on the Ranch, especially one which features motorized vehicles in the outdoors. The ATV program has been extremely controversial both for its perceived “recklessness” and for slightly non-Kosher LNT practices. I take the short hike up to the site, the 2-mile course has already been scouted out and rough-cut in the last few weeks. Currently, a wood chipper team and their beast devour the remains from the demo team's labor, lost beyond the tree line. I arrive at the middle of the meadow and face Northwest, pausing at the proposed location for the training course. Nearly the entire 214 square miles of the Ranch sprawls out in front of me, a complete view obstructed by the stunning Sangre de Cristos. It's hard to believe they conceal 315 miles of trails, double if roads are accounted for. The fervor and sheer volume of hate and outrage the Ranch has been receiving about the program is staggering. How can so many people form such harsh, uninformed opinions? I chuckle to myself, remembering we don't have the quads yet, nor any information on when the first course will be conducted. Some people must be compelled to hear the sound of their own dissenting voice.
26/100
Conservation is one of the many departments backcountry staff have the pleasure of working with at Philmont. One of the specialty teams involves a group of guys who are solely dedicated to chipping and mulching, this year; Work Crew Whiskey. Armed with mechanized teeth and elbow grease, our destructive quartet has been preparing the ATV course for the last few days. Up just slightly after dawn, they try to work in the limited cool of the morning, returning only for a brief shade and water break during lunch. In the evenings however, they usually join us for dinner, fajita night being no exception. In they walk, clothes reeking of tree sap which thankfully masks the smell of hard manual labor. We share stories and tortillas, reminiscing about prior summers while winged insects bounce off the screen door late into the evening.
27/100
Up until now, we have only had participants pass through our camp during the morning, none have been overnight guests. This is unique to our camp in that we only host campers on their last night in the backcountry. Ten days ago, the first crews hit the trail which means tomorrow our first crews will be asking us where they can set up their tents. I am suddenly reminded of two things. First, I have been at camp entirely too long. Second, I will be leaving my staff, alone, by themselves, for the first time, for three days. I sigh deeply and try not to over-analyze; a walk feels like a great idea. I slip out and slip into my usual rhythm and so does my mind, easing with each step I put between me and the cabin. Another species of cacti appear to be flowering, “escobaria vivipara”, the nature book later reveals, “a wide range of habitats, from Mexico all the way north to Canada“. It is less than two inches wide and sports a brilliant fuchsia flower. If it can thrive, so can I, and so can they.
28/100
I am positively wracked with cabin-fever, but finally, my days off have arrived. I start to boil water for my morning carafe of coffee and begin cleaning the cabin with my staff. They seem quieter than usual, perhaps I am broadcasting my apprehensions on my face. I snarf down my usual peanut-buttered white toast with honey and head down to the main cabin to finish packing and go over some final details with Jimmy, who I am leaving in charge for my first three day leave of absence. We raise the flags, New Mexico's red and yellowbrightly glow in the blinding sun. I remind Jimmy about the fickle water pump and listening to the radio with keen vigilance. I couldn't be more confident he will know what to do with our first crews having worked at several other camps before. I retreat to my room, stuff my sleeping bag, wrangle and secure my camera gear, and apply generous amounts of sunscreen to my extremities. I have us all reconvene at the sundial for a 30 second pep rally. With my emotions set to “convincing/empathetic”, I tell them I know they will do a fantastic job upholding my expectations operating camp; William Wallace would have been proud of my delivery. I strap on my pack and loudly announce my departure to the entire camp. Two other Camp Directors have come to rescue me and we quickly disappear into the dense wilderness; freedom has arrived.
29/100
The plan is to make an expedient detour through base camp, stopping only for cold beverages and a quick trip to the lockers. Less than 15 minutes later, we are back on the road looking for the rocky and dusty turnoff, our lifeline to escape. Our exit arrives and we veer onto a dirt highway, the vehicle's basic suspension bangs and rattles sickeningly. Thankfully, the road ends and we pile out, strapping on boots and packs, disappearing quickly into the wilderness once again. Up and up, switchback after switchback, we climb. My thighs are screaming and the map confirms today's afternoon hike is nearly all uphill. I stumble over another crest, chest heaving and searching for oxygen. I turn my gaze upon the ground and spot a douglas fir seedling seemingly sprouting out of a rock. I chuckle to myself. A little uphill never killed anyone.
30/100
The ascent continues until we triumphantly reach the top of the mesa - a nearly silent victory - our wheezing disturbs the sound of the wind blowing through the grasses. We take a quick breather in the shade to confirm our bearings and ETA for camp this evening; at least another hour of hiking is ahead of us. The grumbling in my stomach reminds me that I need more than only toast for breakfast on hiking days. I take another sip of water and notice a large boulder nestled behind some pines. The smooth yet jutted surface has whorls like truffles, ranging in color from roast chestnut to raw cashew. It dawns on me that I have an “emergency” bag of trail-mix stashed deep in my pack. After a few handfuls we press on, the heat of the day still upon us, thankfully mottled through tall forest limbs. I think about kicking my boots off and lazily swaying on the porch swing and my pace quickens. Or maybe it was the M&M's.
Summer 100: #81-90
After finishing dinner's dishes, I wander out on Cyphers Mine's porch to snag some coffee. Everyone has started to assemble in anticipation for...
Summer 100
Summer 100: #81-90
81/100
After finishing dinner's dishes, I wander out on Cyphers Mine's porch to snag some coffee. Everyone has started to assemble in anticipation for Stomp, an almost historically accurate musical extravaganza, which is sure to entertain. A few staff carrying lanterns and cumbersome instruments head towards the smaller cabin with dozens of people following in tow. I grab a few more cookies before making my way over, eventually finding a decent seat towards the back. With little notice, the ensemble explodes to life, the entire show interrupted only by raucous clapping and laughing from the crowd. I take my unspoken cue during the last song and begin heading back towards the main cabin as to avoid any rush. I turn around to see a mass of headlamps flickering on, illuminating the dense darkness around them. Camper exodus never lasts long.
82/100
Since early morning, heavy clouds have been passing through camp, threatening us with rain. Only in the last half hour has their decision changed, an ever increasing pitter-patter of droplets can be heard on our tin kitchen roof. I finish my dinner and tell my staff to hold off from starting charcoal for our cobbler dutch oven feast while I scout weather conditions. A quick jaunt up to our meadow reveals just how socked in we are— looks like we are making eight cakes tonight. When a Scout has had their expectations set on cobbler for 12 days, cake is severely lacking in culinary appeal. I have had to deliver worse news though, perhaps I'll even get a small slice.
83/100
Obligated from the immediate need to start charcoal, I decide to take advantage of the ominous silence in our secluded meadow. Four more days remain until the second Camp Director meeting; it has been hard to quiet my apprehensions. Tomorrow brings the start of August, my final set of days-off begins the day after. There are so many camps I have neglected to visit. I still need to type up the second half of my report and I have yet to hear back on my application to work during fall. I take a breath, deeply filling my lungs with clean mountain air. I try to feel support from the damp rock on which I sit, and slowly, I return to our meadow. Cake nights are insanity– loud music and teenage boys tweaked on sugar– but there is little else I would rather be doing.
84/100
My staff are confident and comfortable with running camp in my absence and require no input before my departure. I snarf my breakfast, smear on sunscreen, and switch on my earbuds. Seven strenuous miles up the Rayado, my rendezvous point takes me along a familiar route I have hiked countless times before. Famed for a particular section of trail, “the Notch' is a perilous passage through a windy and narrow section of exposed rock. The crossing is barely wider than my arm span and I recall the stories of dynamite and labor it took to carve this mountain. Most people stop to admire the grand vista, but the rocks are more breathtaking today.
85/100
My trail continues upward through dense pine and heavy underbrush. I begin to descend and the scenery no longer feels foreign, a sign my destination is nearing. Radiant afternoon sun bathes the river's banks with warm hues. Swarms of gnats glint in the haze while massive bees buzz back and forth between black-eyed Susans. Trout dart upstream into shadows and crows caw upon my arrival. It would seem as though Mother Nature has granted me quite a welcoming party; I know Fish Camp and its staff will uphold her standards.
86/100
Last night's sleep on Fish Camp's couch has completely refreshed my spirit and aching quads; I feel unstoppable. To bypass starting a fire in the wood-burner, coffee is made with water boiled on a portable backpacking stove, then slowly poured through a paper filter resting precariously on one's cup. A flash from my years spent at other interp camps reminds me that this morning's process is pure novelty. Taking care not to spill, I also grab the book I picked up yesterday and mosey outside, situating myself in 'the ring'– a 4-foot wide suspended metal ring thick enough for one person to comfortably slink against. The weather couldn't be more idyllic, hopefully it holds for our baseball game later this evening. Skimming for my place, I realize I am more than two-thirds complete. Perhaps I can finish before we leave, there isn't any room in my pack for rentals.
87/100
Go-time is here. I cinch my pack and hoist it onto a waiting chair, shift my weight, then my waist. My eyes fall on a small patch of wilting black-eyed Susans; miniature sundials marking the passage of time by their withering petals. I am fully aware today will be my last hiking day this summer–a fruitless notion–but one I cannot move past. We say our farewells and begin to hike, the Rayado deeply hums while trees gently sway with the breeze. I am so very far from finished.
88/100
After showering and scouring off the majority of my last week off, I make my way over to the Villa Philmonte's vast lawn. Softballs thwack into mitts as both sides begin to warm up, voluminous clouds effortlessly drift above our massive green; what a perfect day for a baseball game! I catch an unmistakable scent of hot dogs and popcorn, looks like dinner has been taken care of. Tonight's friendly match determines a “winner” of a two-part baseball series between Backcountry and Ranger leaderships. Our rivalry is comically overstated, but having won the first game, it is apparent the Rangers are hungry for more than just hot dogs.
89/100
I watch as the scoreboard is hoisted into the air, proudly displaying the game's final for all to see; it was a blowout. From the corner of my eye, I catch a water cooler-shaped blur racing towards amassing celebratory yellow shirts. In one swift motion, the entire contents is dumped onto Matt's shoulders as he lurches forward, attempting to avoid the icy torrent. Even though we lost by a fair margin, seeing the opposing team's plush mascot stolen and high-tailed across the Villa lawn into a waiting getaway minivan made for a pretty spectacular seventh-inning stretch. After all, it's all just a game; might as well have some fun.
90/100
Boundless talks about gather during yesterday's meeting has left me feeling drained and restless. Alone in a sea of people, I wander building to building, mind racing, searching for familiar faces. Past staff members manifest momentarily, a mental mirage generated from previous summers. I desperately want to leave basecamp, but the thought of returning to camp tomorrow morning doesn't sit well either. Hopefully I find a friend going into town who wants some lunch. My days are dwindling. I must finish strong.
About the Blog
Justin Kernes is a photographer and writer who thrives in the great outdoors.
From 2010-2017, he worked in the backcountry at Philmont Scout Ranch in New Mexico.
In 2018 “Tiny Slice” successfully thru-hiked the Pacific Crest Trail.
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Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers day 111, Goat Rocks and my 30th birthday.