PCT 2018: Days 93-95, Crater Lake to Shelter Cove
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 93-95 from Crater Lake to Shelter Cove, mile 1,820-1,900.
August 5, Day 93
28.5 miles [1848.4 ]
Piss-poor drunken sleep, my mind was completely obsessed with leaving. Woke up in the same thought pattern I had fallen asleep to, like it was the same day. Listened to my own trail register advice which I’ve been writing for nearly two-thousand miles and Committed to packing. Gear on and sunrise breaking, I left a super-lame see-ya-later note for “Flipper & Friends”, then walked back to the restaurant with “Conflicted” for a cup of coffee. “Silver Fox”, a familiar hiker yet I’m unacquainted, paid for our brews; it was a wonderful gesture. About to leave when “Flipper” and Sam—honorarily “Sunburnt”—sat down for breakfast. Talked and hung out as long as possible, snagged a group photo for posterity sake; I can’t believe I know those hooligans from Philmont. Apologized for leaving once again, then “Conflicted” and I began hiking. I knew it was going to be smoky and thought about coming back rather than the marred view. The Lake sprawled much larger than I had imagined, much like my first visit to the Grand Canyon when I was 12—it must be even more incredible on a clear day. Tons of tourists and clean day hikers which was expected, it was fun being an utter bum and attracting looks and conversations about “those PCT hikers”. Took a lunch atop the Watchman and crushed the one beer I decided to carry, that didn’t last long. Cruised around the rim, slowly, it was at our backs. Met a total cutie at the highway water cache who only started yesterday and is planning on going to Washington; I called her “Locks”, maybe it sticks. “Brownstreak” caught up! He’s been behind since Tahoe, and not long after, “Sticky Fingers” showed up, looks like he’s not taking a zero either. Hiked behind “Goat Man” for five miles and talked the whole time about vanlife and taking life after trail to the next level—great guy. A fiery sunset swatting skeeters away. Coerced “Conflicted” into letting me use his stove for my gnocchi meal. “Sticky” gave me a spoonful of cookie butter and now I know what my first hit of heroin feels like. Tonight’s camp has faces I recognize and some I don’t.
“Conflicted” and Wizard Island.
State Highway 138, mile 1847.8.
August 6, Day 94
33.8 miles [1882.2]
Smoky night which turned into a damp and chilly dawn, my quilt had a fair bit of dewy condensation. The five or seven tents which were up last night had already dwindled to three before I was packed, strapped, and moving. It’s odd trailing a group of people “by myself”, but I guess that’s what the majority of hikers have already gone through. In the first mile “Sticky” caught up, he must have been looking for a friend too, and we did the morning-10 together. Had a good laugh beneath the base of Mt. Theilsen—”Stick’s” friend said it was “non-technical” and there couldn’t be a more sinister looking peak in the entire state; certainly Class 3 and above. Lunch with “Stick” and “Streak” where I had a pepperoni roll-up appetizer and tuna taco as a main. Kept a steady pace through meandering hills. Realized I’m going to hit 2,000 miles before Day 100 (what a positively gorgeous reduction) and I can’t stop smiling. Twenty a day is way better than counting chairs in a lift shack for eight hours. Crossed the Oregon high point which felt lackluster after all the trail’s had to offer, a fun milestone nonetheless. I pushed past Windigo dirt road after 6:20 P.M. and did another four, absolutely annihilating nearly 34 today and it feels great. Breakfast for dinner: a House biscuits and gravy, I still have lots of food left—oops, more tomorrow. Ha! Soaring spirits and another note from “Shocks”. Tomorrow, our trails cross.
“Sticky Fingers”.
Cowhorn Mountain, mile ~1878.
Sawtooth Mountain, mile ~1882.
August 7, Day 95
24.9 miles [1907.1]
Great sleep, got the lead out early and crushed 14.3 before 11 A.M. Finding my motivation since leaving Crater Lake has been an easy choice. Abundant water sources saw the vengeful return of mosquitoes which is kinda irksome. “Sticky” caught up to me by the afternoon and we cruised into Shelter Cove before 3 P.M. Despite having plenty of trail sustenance and picking up more, I was weak—like always—to resist real food and we split an absolutely FIRE chicken pesto pizza. I ate way too much, I haven’t hurt that bad since the AYCE buffet back at Harrah's. Waddled over to the lake, it’s gorgeous. Mountains are the purest form of escape but a large, secluded body of water does the trick. I realized kids who grew up in the Midwest and camped at lakes had a unique nature experience all their own, mountains or not. Uncomfortably stuffed my consciousness slipped like Altras on scree, it was warm and a cool breeze wafted through the shade; summer weather perfection. In my digestive haze, I met “Sassy-K” who remarked at my similarity with another hiker, then put it together and interrupted herself to mention that “Shocks” was probably looking for me. Adam is in great spirits and I’m stoked to see him. “Brownsteak” and “Conflicted” rolled in as well and all of us splayed out in the shade punch-drunk on mileage just like it was the Sierra. Everyone traded stories of Oregon-so-far. Decided it would be a rough night at the campground/resort and hoofed it back to the trail just as last light waned. Tipsy, full, and tired, we could have hiked another five but I found a good spot in less than a half-mile and everyone rejoiced. It feels good to hang with these four again.
Crescent Lake.
Breakfast snack.
New pad/old pad.
Chicken pesto pizza.
Hike On?
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 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.
Hike On?
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.
Hike On?
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?
PCT 2018: Days 37-39, Kennedy Meadows to Mount Whitney
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 37-39 from Kennedy Meadows to Mount Whitney, mile 700-766.
June 10, Day 37
14.3 miles [716.5]
Despite dozens of drunk and frisky campers I managed to get decent rest, waking early for an uninterrupted use of the porta-potty. Trepidatious about yesterday but feeling generally good, I finished the rest of my spigot-laundry, charged my remaining electronics, and attempted to stuff seven days of food into my bear can (where am I going to put these crackers?) Also, I learned the canister doesn’t fit horizontally in my pack. How did I not test it out at home? Adam and I hitched to Grumpy Bear for the famed all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast. I only finished one after an included plate of potatoes and eggs, legitimately, I was full. Waddled over to Triple Crown Outfitter where Adam upgraded his shirt and bought his own bear can. Got a miraculous hitch in a Ford Sport Trac back to the general store; 14 people plus a dog crammed in the cab, on the hood, and bed, tailgate down. It was a sight to behold. Took a few hours consolidate my new gear and figure out a comfortable packing style. Scored and ass-pad which should provide more comfort around my hipbelt area. Said our farewells to “Mio” and “Bigfoot” who are headed home today, having completed their planned section. I don’t like saying goodbye to friends. Hiked out 15 miles through gorgeous meadows, lichen covered rocks, and weather-worn pines, finally cresting above 8,000 feet. I’m home—the Sierra—it feels delightful. Set up camp at the Kern River and Monache Meadow junction and ate our second Velveeta salsa mac dinner. Always eaten on the first night of a preprepared resupply, the last time we had this meal was Warner Springs, 600 miles ago. Only eight more remaining.
Grumpy Bear all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast.
Hitching with the tailgate down.
Monache Mountain and Deer Island.
Kern River and Monache Meadow.
Sunset on Monache Meadow.
June 11, Day 38
25.3 miles [741.8]
In the wee hours of morning I tossed and turned, never finding a warm position. As consciousness slowly arrived, I realized the interior of my tent had been covered in frost. I whipped off my quilt, jumped into laced shoes and unzipped the tent frantically. Rather carelessly, I had left my water filter in my pack which had spent the night outside. Rule #1: don’t let your filter freeze. It sparkled with ice crystals—welcome to the Sierra. A depressing chorus of “I fucked up” played nonstop in my head. I told Adam I might need to borrow his filter, he seemed to take it fine. Packed and hiked out, climbing to 10,000 feet for the first time on trail (San Jacinto doesn’t count). My pack certainly feels like a fresh resupply, it easily weighs 40 pounds. No matter how I arrange my gear or adjust my straps, it pulls on my shoulders trying to grind me to a halt. Demolished a tuna taco and tons of mom’s jerky for lunch while drying my soggy tent in the alpine sun. Rationing food and a night of cold sleep meant I was hungry most of the day. Hiked a vertical mile of total altitude and my legs are completely shot. Set up camp at Diaz Creek, ducking and weaving through clouds of thirsty mosquitoes. Adam prepared dinner, tortilla soup, while I refilled our water supply. Whitney is close, but quite a haul still lays ahead.
Owens Valley and Cerro Gordo Peak.
Pinus balfouriana ssp. austrina, or more commonly, southern foxtail pine.
June 12, Day 39
25.3 miles [766.3]
I wasn’t the quickest packing up camp, however, Adam waited and paced around, albeit rather uncomfortably. I may have started off in front but quickly fell far behind as we continued to ascend above treeline. Around one set of switchbacks, two small flashes of fur chasing each other ran towards me. Instantly, I stopped and snapped my head up from the ground and tried to freeze. The two creatures stopped just as suddenly. Immediately I recognized one to be a golden-mantled ground squirrel. The other had a weasely appearance, sleek and slick, his tail tipped with black like a freshly dipped paint brush. I have a strong suspicion the unidentified creature was a stoat. They vanished as quickly as they arrived. After a few more miles, Adam and I lost motivation and shared an early, hot lunch just before the mouth of Chicken Spring Lake where Guthook claimed, upon arrival, “you will really feel like you have entered the High Sierra”. They weren’t wrong. For a few hours, we hiked through some sort of natural wonder Meow Wolf exhibit. Psychedelic thousand-year-old trees with twisted trunks, melted limbs, and horrific faces solidified in weather-worn bark. Stumbled another 16 more miles to Crabtree Ranger Station and set up camp. There must be over 60 PCT hikers here waiting to summit. While Adam and I ran pass routes (damn mosquitoes) and ate dinner, he told me he plans on sunrising—wheel’s up at 2:30 a.m. This seems pointless, but then again I always bitch and moan about rising early. No bear can or tent; get pumped, you can nap later.
Cirque Peak approaching entrance of Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks.
Mount Guyot.
A hiker refills water from Whitney Creek.
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PCT 2018: Days 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.
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PCT 2018: Days 1-4, Campo to Julian
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 1-4 from Campo to Julian, mile 0-80.
May 5, Day 1
20.5 miles [20.5]
I am absolutely stunned at how beautiful it all is. Met Ian and got my portrait taken, he says he'll be at the northern terminus sometime in October. Twenty minutes into our hike, we crossed the first of many milestones; mile-marker 1. It was hard not to smile. Two miles in, we double-backed into Campo for water. I later realized Hauser Creek was 15 miles away and the two liters of water I initially brought wasn't even going to last 10 miles. Saw a dozen or more hikers and found myself jumping to conclusions about their abilities. They probably knew about the lack of water sources though. Before Morena Mountain, we met “Charlie”, a weathered man on a motorbike. “You guys know you're crazy, right?” We chuckled and declined his offer for water—that lesson already learned. Adam seemed to be a wizard with Guthooks; kicking myself for not trying it out sooner. “The malt shop closes at 8 p.m., that's my goal” he said dryly as the sun was setting. At 7:59 p.m., we arrived wet and tired. Split a shake and french fries. Can't help but think this wasn't 'deserved'. Today was a butt-kicker, I've got to remember to drink more water—take care of yourself.
Adam basks in the glory of mile 1.
Railroad tracks, mile 3.
“Charlie”, somewhere near Morena Mountain.
Sunset over Lake Morena, mile 19.3.
May 6, Day 2
19 miles [39.5]
First full day on-trail! It got intensely hot quickly; tomorrow we're going to need to start earlier. A few miles in we stopped and chatted with a woman who introduced herself as “Nona From Nowhere”. She waved a bag of peanuts still in their shells at Adam and I. “You guys got names yet?” We shook our heads, smiled, and introduced our real names. “Hey Illinois, want some peanuts?” she said to Casey, the girl we'd been leapfrogging all morning. A big grin covered her face, “you know, I'm a Triple-Crowner,” she said wryly. “I angel a little bit up in Vancouver—you'll see me later.” She bid us a safe journey and we thanked her for the peanuts. The rest of the afternoon was rather uneventful. In the evening, when I went to put away my umbrella, I was stunned to find my second hiking pole was missing. It must have snagged on a branch and been stripped from my pack. My music was far too loud to have heard anything. Adam and I double-backed for more than a mile to no avail. Bummed to have lost a piece of gear so early, but I can't imagine a day when I won't need the umbrella. For now, #onepolepatrol.
“Nona from Nowhere”, has hiked all three long-distance trails in North America.
Adam near Cottonwood Canyon, mile ~24.
Kitchen road, mile 30.2.
Sunset over Troy Canyon, mile ~38.
May 7, Day 3
20 miles [59.5]
Started the morning strong with a Snickers bar. Made it to Pine Tree Lodge for some biscuits and gravy and a fresh espresso—I couldn't resist. Briefly stopped at the Mount Laguna general store; got a Budweiser and some chips. What a quaint little town. Today was also my first trail magic! At Roadside Lookout, we met Andrew and Jamie, who gave us ice-cold sodas and regaled us with stories of just how bad Scissors Crossing was going to be. Got moving after a nice long break, cool breezes made today tolerable. Filled up water and crushed the beer at Penny Pines Point; this carry has to last until Julian tomorrow—28 miles. After the sun had set, I took of my shirt for the last few miles of the day. Refreshing evening air filled the canyon as stars slowly began to appear.
Kwaaymii Point, mile 53.3.
Sunset over Granite Peak, mile 56.5.
Oriflamme Canyon sunset, mile ~57.
Sunrise trailhead campsite at night, mile 59.5.
May 8, Day 4
20.9 miles [80.4]
I'm getting better at waking up earlier; today we started hiking at 6:40 a.m. Although it seemed like there was only a few hours of tolerable hiking weather before it got insanely hot. The entire slog to Scissors Crossing was novelty-hot. My water tasted about 95 degrees. Every few miles I saw a full, unopened Lifewtr, each bottle scrawled with “the desert is a cruel bitch” in Sharpie. There were rumors of a guy who didn't carry enough water and had to turn back—apparently these bottles were his offering. Finally we made it to Scissors Crossing, I Was nervous how my fist hitch was going to pan out. Five minutes later, we were zooming into Julian with our new friend, “Monica from Santa Monica”. Hikers in town said pie couldn't be missed; but we opted for jalapenos and sausage at Romano's instead.
Near Julian, California, mile ~63.
Romano’s Pizza in Julian, California.
Dirty, blistered feet.
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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.
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PCT 2018: Days 13-16, Cabazon to Big Bear
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 13-16 from Cabazon to Big Bear, mile 211-266.
May 17, Day 13
17.3 miles [229.0]
It wasn't a bad dream, our shelter blew down before dawn—it sounded like a tornado. Capitalized on the misfortune and got an earlier start. Once again, “Mio” lead the charge while the rest of us tried to keep up. Entered Section C and was blown away by the views. Angular piles of rusted rock among dozens of agave species surrounded me. At the Whitewater Preserve junction, we found a note from “Mio”. He has always been trying to catch his friends; it was only a matter of time before he split. I sincerely hope I see him again. We celebrated in his honor by taking a long siesta at Whitewater River to beat the midday heat. Everyone dropped down to their skivvies and took a refreshing dip. We played spades and passed around Adam's small flask of vodka. I won by going nil on the last hand—a real dirty move! Left and busted out another nine miles before dinner. Knee hurt, but not nearly in the same way it has the past few days. Improvement.
Ryan in the San Gorgonio Wilderness, mile ~223.5.
Erin crossing Whitewater River, mile 220.1.
San Jacinto peak near Whitewater River, mile 221.5.
Sand to Snow National Monument, mile ~217.
May 18, Day 14
19.7 miles [248.7]
Gang wanted to wake at 4 a.m., but when my alarm went off no one was moving. Dozed for another hour then got moving. Followed Mission Creek up a canyon for 10 miles. Tons of elevation but a few clouds made it tolerable. Took another 4-hour lunch break to avoid the heat, hydrate, and play more spades. Darby shared her kippers with me at lunch; I might have discovered a new item I can pack out. It paired well with a dollar lemon pie and several spoonfuls of peanut butter. Lots of laughs with Ryan and Mitchy; I'm still amazed we get to hike with another pair of brothers. Stoked for Big Bear tomorrow. Stinky, grimy, sore feet, but my knee's feeling good.
Looking towards Sugarloaf Mountain, mile ~241.
Cooking dinner on trail, mile 244.7.
Erin at Mission Camp, mile 239.9.
Adam at Mission Camp, mile 239.9.
Sand to Snow National Monument sunset, mile 248.7.
May 19, Day 15
17.4 miles [266.1]
Managed 17 miles to Highway 18 on very little food. Grandma's cookies, a packet of ramen, and a tortilla—I was running on fumes. At the Highway I met “Jitterbug”, a thru-hiker from '16 who cooked us tacos. Said our thanks and hitched into Big Bear where we all agreed on more Mexican food. Darby and Mitchy split a vegetarian “Big Juan”—a 7-pound burrito in less than 45 minutes for a free T-shirt. We were all a few pitchers of margaritas in and they had only made it halfway. The hostess kindly reminded everyone a man ate two in the allotted time. We digested and played spades covered by a small sliver of shade in the parking lot and waited for “Mountain Mama”. Her and “Papa Smurf” are trail angels who have opened up their house to hikers. I'm glad we had their contact info for a place to sleep. Otherwise, I had drawn the short straw to rent a U-Haul under my name for the next two days. Town is huge, I certainly don't remember it being this expansive on our family trips all those years ago.
US Forest Service trail sign, mile 259.6.
Ryan engages in full hiker-trash, Big Bear, California.
May 20, Day 16
0 miles [266.1]
Got a decent night's sleep for being directly under a streetlight. It was a slow morning, we played cards to pass some time. Our parents arrived and showered us with love and food. I sent back a camera lens. We went to an authentic German deli for lunch, their potato salad was unreal. I spent about 45 minutes after lunch calling Sprint trying to unlock my cell phone from the previous owner. Jesus Christ, I'd rather be hiking. We regrouped with our hiking family and piled in our car for a resupply at the Dollar Tree. Back at the house, we said our love-you’s and thank-you’s and watched our folks drive off. I overheard someone say the toilet was “severely clogged”, a few hikers who had arrived that morning seemed uncomfortable about the situation and began to leave. I saw “Mountain Mama” high-tail it into through the front door with what I later confirmed to be a drain snake. With absolutely zero experience, Adam and I politely took over. Two YouTube videos later, we were trained experts in home plumbing. I luckily fished out a rogue Dixie cup from the wreckage. We cleaned up everything, going through an entire roll of paper towels in the process. It was stressful and exhilarating to say the least. “Papa Smurf” returned home and quickly relaxed. Zero days are weird; I can’t wait to get hiking again. Knees feel good!
Mitchy and dog from Big Bear, California.
“Trash Bath” shows his Pop-Tart likeness.
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PCT 2018: Days 22-25, Wrightwood to Agua Dulce
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 22-25 from Wrightwood to Agua Dulce, mile 376-462.
May 26, Day 22
19.7 miles [395.9]
Slept in until 7:15 a.m. fully aware we had to climb the remaining 1,000 vertical feet of Mount Baden-Powell. Met some nice people at the summit and took a relaxing breakfast stop. More gorgeous clouds today but my knees and feet are shot from the sheer amount of ups and downs. Passed by what felt like 100 Scouts headed towards Little Jimmy campground; I remember camping there as a young boy with my Troop. Crossed back and forth over Highway 2, eventually taking Buckhorn detour and roadwalking for nearly three miles. It was completely overcast. Occasionally a patch of clear would appear, quickly gobbled up by the moving mist. Heavy clouds filled the foothills below and trees above. I wore my puffy for most of the afternoon. Found some magic at Islip Saddle; Doritos, brownies, and some lavender-flavored after-dinner mints whose flavor had me contemplating if there was any food I wouldn’t eat. We walked through a very full Cooper Canyon, a popular campground for local Angelenos. A family enjoying their campfire saw us quietly walking by. “What you got in those bags?” asked the mother pointing at our backpacks Corona in hand. Adam and I smiled at each other. “Everything” doesn’t mean the same thing to weekend warriors.
Islip saddle, mile 386.1.
Highway 2, Angeles Crest, mile 389.3.
May 27, Day 23
25 miles [420.9]
It’s hard to believe we got trail magic on four separate occasions today alone. First was at Camp Glenwood where we met Maxx, who welcomed us inside with chocolate chip pancakes and fresh strawberries. Adam let me steal a spoonful of peanut butter. Maxx spied my Philmont ball cap, which I had switched out in Big Bear, and asked if I had been to the Ranch. I smiled big. We talked about his trek, the flood, and amazing staff. Next, we made it to Three Points junction and met JT, a thru-hiker from 2014, who tossed us both a PBR. Didn’t even make it three miles before magic spot number three; a stash of craft beers in the shade of a magnificent Douglas fir. Miles melted by. Just when I thought it couldn’t get better, we were graciously provided with dinner by a couple who are planning on hiking next season. They had an easy-up at Mill Creek Fire station and all the sandwich accoutrements. I made a chicken-avocado-cheddar and washed it down with a Coke. To top it off, they even knew about Philmont—their kid went on trek. We thanked them until it became borderline uncomfortable. Did two more miles and set up camp under a nearly full moon. Maybe it’s all the beer I drank, but it was hard not to think about the Ranch.
Moon rise over Angeles Crest Highway, mile 418.6.
Sunset at camp, mile 420.9.
Strawberry peak sunset, mile 418.6.
Pancakes at Camp Glenwood, mile 400.6.
May 28, Day 24
24.1 miles [445.0]
Greeted by another stellar desert sunrise upon waking. Temperature hovered in the high 90's all day which made for tough hiking. Pushed 15 miles to the North Fork Ranger Station where I refilled water, bought a Coke, and did extensive feet-maintenance. I could have sat there in the shade all afternoon. Another eight miles to the Acton KOA which offered $10 showers and frozen treats. Couldn't wrangle a deal with the attendant so I settled for a chocolate Dove bar and decided another spigot foot wash was all I needed—the 'off-limits' pool called my name the entire time. Marginally refreshed we began to hike out, only to be stopped by a pair of couples dining alfresco in the RV section. “You guys hungry?” they yelled as we walked by. We smiled, I still feel awkward accepting such benevolent charity. We sat and ate kebabs and pasta salad, everyone shared camping mishap stories. They insisted we take a bottle of wine and Perrier and beamed when I called them “Trail Angels”. My outlook on the day has changed; fellowship is more renewing than a hot shower.
Camping above Soledad Canyon, mile 445.0.
Trail magic at Acton KOA.
May 29, Day 25
17.6 miles [462.6]
Up at 5 a.m. and to no surprise it got hot almost immediately. Luckily the terrain was fairly easy into Agua Dulce. Vasquez Rocks was worth a return trip. Bought a strawberry Arizona iced tea and hitched in a truck bed over to Hiker Heaven to wait out the midday heat. “Numbers” gave us the run-down, I signed up for a shower and laundry immediately—it had been over two weeks. I lazed around in the shade with other hikers, sipping on the bottle of white wine we got yesterday, and talked about surviving for nearly 500 miles. Got drunk pretty quickly since I had only eaten a few snacks. Refreshed, we went back into town for resupply. Adam and I gorged ourselves on an eight-piece fried chicken dinner and a bagged kale salad from the deli counter. Pumped for Casa de Luna tomorrow, I’ve heard it’s an iconic location in trail culture. My clothes smell fresh, I am clean, I have food. Life’s good.
“Tiny” the dog at Hiker Heaven.
Highway 14 tunnel, mile 451.1.
Truck bed views near Agua Dulce.
Petersen road power lines, mile 456.6.
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The Road Trip Day 3: 7,200 Feet of Granite
It was easy to get up this morning. I appreciated the lack of snow. A head poke outside revealed beautiful blue skies.
Yosemite National Park, California
May 9, 2015
It was easy to get up this morning. I appreciated a lack of snow. A head-poke outside revealed beautiful blue skies. What luck!
After a short drive to Happy Isles trailhead, we hopped out, laced up hiking boots, got water filled, and applied sunscreen.
Ready.
Although it was steep, we breezed past the majority of heavily panting visitors.
About 1.5 miles, 1000 feet of elevation gain, and 600 stone steps later, we arrived at the top of Vernal Fall.
We found a comfortable rock and took a water break at the top.
I snapped a quick group shot.
Switchbacks are my favorite.
However, we didn't stop for long. Nobody wanted to hike in the heat of the day. Duh.
Up, up, up.
It was a steady incline the entire way.
Caleb at Clark Point.
Four miles later, we arrived back at the parking lot. Sweaty.
With time left in the day and not wanting to hike 3,000 feet up out of the valley floor, we jumped in the car and drove all the way around to Glacier Point.
Carter locked the car and the three of us waded through the crowd, politely waiting our turn for a view from up against the railing.
View of Upper and Lower Yosemite Falls from Glacier Point.
As luck would have it, a massive cloud eclipsed Half Dome and hung around for the duration of our stay.
Half Dome was half-visible.
I felt cheated, but on the other hand, it was a unique view.
Guess I'll have to return someday soon.
No, 'Cloud's Rest' is the other mountain!
Tired and hungry, we exited the park.
Caleb suggested a quick stop at the general store for some dinner additions. Once back at our room, Carter found some tunes, and I prepped dinner.
Whiskey was poured.
I had a big bowl of vegetarian stew out on the deck and watched sunset.
Tonight is our last night in Yosemite.
Hey, want a ride?
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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.