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?
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: #71-80
Having secured most of my gear, I tell Carter I am nearly ready to leave. Taking a peek inside one of Miranda's heavily decorated trade tents...
Summer 100: #71-80
71/100
Having secured most of my gear, I tell Carter I am nearly ready to leave. Taking a peek inside one of Miranda's heavily decorated trade tents, I find Cody preparing to give a trade-talk with an approaching crew. Tools, utensils, large ropes of dried tobacco, and furs from varying small game adorn the tables, each item baring a story which waits to be told. With a firm handshake I wish him well before throwing on my pack and finally heading down the mountain. It's been two weeks since I last saw beer and there's a green chile burger with my name waiting for me at the bar. We waste little time.
72/100
Once again I find myself seated at one of the only restaurants in town, the St. James Hotel, this time for lunch. As far as I am concerned, there are few things better than eating a hot meal having directly come off of the trail. Shortly after ordering, our food arrives, and like slovenly kings, we feast. It occurs to me tonight is Abreu's Phil-Fiesta; a themed event where each camp picks one day to party and eat as much as possible. Noting the irony of food begetting food, we pay and exit. A weather-worn building I frequently park against catches my attention. Bold colors of the Southwest peel away from the crumbling wall, a great reminder to reapply sunscreen.
73/100
Abreu and Zastrow are geographically very close, in fact, few if any camps share a neighbor as close as we do. My plan is to stop by my camp to ditch everything except crucial overnight gear and to take care of some business with a few of my staff. I am expected to return tomorrow morning, however, an unannounced visit will help set the tone needed for my brief discussions. Quickly, I take care of my business, grab my lightened pack, and wrangle up my friends; time to party. We head out and begin the leisurely walk to Abreu; it's a good thing I have one more night off.
74/100
I take my heaping plate of food out onto the porch and begin stuffing my face; one of the many joyful benefits from constant exercise is the lack of anxiety over calorie consumption. A quickly setting sun dips behind the mountains, outrageous hues streak through heavy cloud cover, painting the sky in an explosion of warmth. Lavender and orchid, peaches and cream; an ethereal dream floats and flickers around me. The intensity only lasts for minutes before settling into a more familiar shade of dusk. Grabbing a knit beanie from my pack, I head back into the kitchen. Dessert is almost ready.
75/100
By now, most of the guests have left. Under dim oil lamps, a few people remain, gently swaying on rocking chairs and porch swings while muted guitar melodies twang over buzzing crickets and the humming Rayado. I sit back and reflect on the totality of my journey from the last several days; improvising and planning both played an equal role in the success of my set. In previous years I wouldn't nearly have been as brazen or as carefree. My knotted shoulders and sore hips remind me of how far I hiked the past two days. I glance over and find Ben also deep in thought. Perhaps it is time for bed.
76/100
Our horseshoe pit is almost dangerously too tiny; we need to make an addition. Future land development has been permanently obstructed on three sides by (1) a large, dense thicket of mature scrub oak, (2) our leach field, and (3) a 70 year-old apple tree planted by the camp's founder. The most plausible solution for expansion lies in removing a hideous stump with vulgar juniper bushes growing from its base. My passion for having this atrocity eliminated is akin to old men and their need to silence noise disturbances. However, the stump is enormous and the afternoons are sweltering, our shovels are small and our time is limited. Gordon found me obsessing and in an encouraging tone proclaimed “mountains are tall and rivers are wide.” So we started digging. And digging. We dug for two weeks. And when it all seemed like too much, we even got a little help from out friends. Proof that if you dig it, they will come, even if it's in the form of a bulldozer.
77/100
All crews who camp overnight at Zastrow are spending their last night in the backcountry. Part of our evening program involves a somber ceremony in which we ask the participants to silently reflect on their trek and personal journey through Scouting. Towards the beginning of summer, I empowered my staff to accomplish and improve this area of program without relying on my help. My main intention was to give them something to grow and be proud of, but also to capitalize on 20 minutes of quiet during dusk; hopefully a recipe for success in passive leadership. So far, so good. As I glance upwards at the dim and nearly cloudless sky, I notice dozens of headlamps flickering and bobbing down our Northern hill as campers return from the ceremony. The skies indicate we might even be able to offer Astronomy program tonight, a first in days.
78/100
It's uncomfortably hot—again. The preponderance of flies has been driving me insane. I angrily swat a few more away from my pasty legs, sweltering heat has driven me to wearing shorts. Tomorrow cannot arrive quickly enough; never have I wanted to take my days off more than I do now. June feels like it was eons ago, late August seems impossibly distant. Midsummer doldrums are undoubtedly effecting my staff as well, perhaps I'll let them sleep in tomorrow. Reflexively, I smack my tingling neck with an open palm. Stunned and still buzzing, I finish him off with the horseshoe in my other hand. “Thirty-eight!”, I gleefully shout towards the main cabin.
79/100
Noon arrives and I couldn't be happier. Although this set will be a day shorter due to the second Camp Director meeting which is in a week, I still have plenty of desire to hike. Practically skipping, I make it to the cars in under 15 minutes. Engine roaring to life, sunglasses on, windows down, I take off down our bumpy dirt road. Just before exiting onto the main highway, I cross under power-lines which are responsible for Zastrow's power. An invisible and impossibly long corridor explodes out in front of me. Visions of dolly zooms and mirrors endlessly reflecting play out into the horizon.
80/100
My borrowed car skids to stop at the turnaround. I get out, lace up my boots, and hit the trail. With only a few more open days left in my schedule for hiking, I based my evening's destination purely by trail preference. As I continue onward, the air becomes heavier with moister; distant rumbles of thunder encourage me to pick up my pace. I cross over the North Fork dozens of times, eventually losing count. Delicate wildflowers and dainty waterfalls decorate my path, a lushness found in few other places on the Ranch. Not much further on, I find myself in a familiar grove of aspens. I must be getting close.
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.