Pacific Crest Trailside Reader

We came upon this frog after a long, dry stretch of trail. It...

Thu, 31 May 2012 09:48:01 -0700

We came upon this frog after a long, dry stretch of trail. It wasn’t until we sat and began filtering water that I noticed him sitting patiently, blending perfectly into the rock. He sat motionless as I moved closer to place him precisely in the frame. He reminded me of the beauty of the small and the still, and of the importance of quiet attention.

Chris “Shutterbug” Alexander

Chris and Anna are thru-hiking in the Class of 2012. You can follow their blog at http://mexicotocanada.com/ Chris has some of the most wonderful photos of the trail as a part of their blog and his photography website: http://chrisalexanderphoto.com/. We will continue to periodically post some of Shutterbug’s images.

Day 21: The Things They Carried

Tue, 29 May 2012 09:53:00 -0700

Tim O’Brien’s critically acclaimed retrospective on the Vietnam War has influenced the titles of two recent posts (see also the May 11 story). I love Dorothy’s (aka Bacon Bit) concluding comment that we all have non-functional items that really don’t count against the base pack weight of life. Bacon Bit is thru-hiking in 2012 and you can follow her journey at http://dorothyspctblog.blogspot.com/ … as she does handstands along the way. You have to love her positive, upbeat spirit.

By “Bacon Bit”

(Big Bear, mile 266 to 278 = 12 miles)

If I remember right, that’s the title of a book or short story that we read in one of Ms. Ruth Michaud’s high school English classes. I don’t remember it well, but I know the title referred to the personal items that soldiers kept with them during times of war. This is not a war, but we have those kinds of things on trail, too. And on today’s easy breezy hike, I was thinking about mine.

But first I must explain that many of us know what each item in our pack weighs to the tenth of an ounce. We carry as little as we are comfortable with. My base weight (without food, fuel, and water) is around 17 pounds. I have sent home extra socks, my mug and replacement mug, my belt, the lid to my pot (made one of foil), an extra sports bra, insoles, extra batteries, extra bandages, Tylenol, an emergency blanket, the Data Book, my journal, and a T-shirt. All of this to shed ounces that turn into pounds. And yet, I carry a handful of items of no physical use and would never consider sending them home. Here they are:

I have two gorgeous and unnecessary stuff sacks that a friend got in Guatemala. I love the colors, and I use them to store my electronics, which are not so beautiful. I think it gives them better energy. I also keep my mp3 player in a small Jazzercise sack that my Jazzercise ladies gave me. I don’t need any of these sacks really, but they make me happy when I see them. My store-bought stuff sacks are great, but they have no meaning.

I have ribbons clipped to the outside of my bag with an alligator clip. The clip is from Jazzercise. The ribbons were on a gift from Ann Maureen Scully, one of the female rangers I work with and deeply admire. They are what I hope this trip will be — light, bright, happy, colorful, and springing with energy.

I have a dead mouse from my late kitty, Scout. That stuffed mouse has been killed too many times to count. Scouters was my little boy and my best bud. He was a little over a year old when he was hit and had just turned from the cute runt with huge paws into a handsome, althletic, full-grown cat. I still miss him terribly and find myself replaying all moments up to finding him in the road. When the going gets rough, I reach into my pocket and squeeze that mouse. Scout and I had a shared passion for the outdoors.

And last but not least, I have the written word. A couple of poems, cards, and quotes from friends. Two letters from my mate. (Who, it turns out, has a wise old 80-year-old inside him, too; and this side comes out in letters. The wise old 80-year-old lady inside me is also in love.) All of these I turn to as needed or reflect upon as I hike down the trail lost in thought. I have read most of them enough that I can just pull out lines and turn them over in my mind. There is plenty of time to think out here.

We all have things like this in our life … little bits and pieces that usually have no monetary value or physical purpose, but that we would never get rid of. The values are intangible and cannot be measured. They do not count against the base pack weight of life. For they are what make the burden bearable.

The Palm of God

Fri, 25 May 2012 09:46:07 -0700

There is just something about the spectacular but totally exposed ridge walk south of Sonora Pass that lives on indelibly in a hiker’s memory … where your only cover is the windswept, beleaguered whitebark pines that cling to the slopes. Sometimes it is remembered simply for the incredible views. But more often than not it is made memorable because of the afternoon thunderstorm, the wild wind, rain or hail. Mark “Flyboxer” Collins experienced it all as he recounts from his 2010 thru-hike.

Mark currently works with kids with autism in Mendocino County in Northern California and also enjoys exploring the redwood forests.

By Mark “Flyboxer” Collins

It was July 25th and I was scheduled to hike Sonora Pass. Not having heard of it or seen it before, I didn’t know what to expect. The guide book describes possible “lethal” snowfields. Thunderstorms passed through the area on the 24th, but this morning seemed OK. As I approached the pass, it was clear that there was going to be at least a mile or two above treeline. I didn’t know it was going to be several miles.

At 10:00, just as I reached the treeline, I stopped for my morning snack. While eating, I was admiring the wonderful view and the fact that for the first time in three days, the mosquitoes had vanished. As I was finishing my snack, I noticed clouds started rolling in over the ridge. “Uh oh,” I thought. “More storms?” Even though the clouds were just beginning to appear, I had a decision to make. Should I pitch a shelter and possibly have to wait all day until the storm materializes, and possibly waste an entire day of hiking? Or should I attempt the pass and hope for the best. I decided on the latter, figuring it was only 10:00, and the storm would probably arrive later in the afternoon.

As I climbed the mountain, I kept careful watch on the clouds. Sure enough, more and more began to accumulate and they created dramatic bomb like plumes over the surrounding peaks. Sonora Pass seemed just fine. Bright blue skies were shining above me and the views were spectacular. I began to grow increasingly uncomfortable though, when I noticed the trail made no descent as far as the eye could see. The trail simply followed the side of the ridge above treeline for miles.

At this time, the clouds began darkening, and I could see rain falling on distant peaks. I began running through storm scenarios in my mind, confident that the trail had to start descending soon. No such luck. It was around 11:30 am and I was still hiking the ridge. Then I heard a sound that sent shivers down my spine. The first crash of thunder. On top of the ridge, it didn’t seem to roll. It was like someone dropping a tray of plates, glasses, and silverware to the floor. “Shit” I thought. “I’ve got to get off this ridge!” My sunny skies quickly began to collapse on me, as dark clouds closed in from all sides. CRASH! Another clap of thunder. I started to jog slightly as my mind continued to process my options. I was quickly running out of time. Once again, I witnessed a wall of water falling across the valley heading in my direction. I began running down the trail but there was simply nowhere to go. The storm was going to overtake me within minutes and I was stuck up on the ridge.

Just then, I noticed there were small pine bushes to my left that formed the perfect cave. At these altitudes, the bushes grew just a few feet off the ground and very close together. I saw a huge streak of lightning to my west followed by a deafening crash of thunder. “Get off the mountain!!” my mind screamed. If I could have jumped, I probably would have. I had 30 seconds to make a run for it, or hunker-down in the bush. Another giant streak of lightning, this time even closer. “Get in the bush,” my mind ordered. I dropped my pack, grabbed my rain gear and ground pad, and crawled into the bush. It was the most amazing place I’ve been on the trail. It was like crawling into the palm of God. The bush formed the perfect shelter. I assumed the lightning drill position and said a prayer. “This might be the end!” I couldn’t help feeling. All of a sudden, the winds simply began to howl overhead. It was like a jet plane flying two feet over my head. Rain came down in torrents and hail pummeled the mountainside. Lightning and thunder crashed all around me. While I sat snug in “The Palm of God,” my only regret was that I could not see the storm rage around me.

Then, as if someone flipped a switch, the rain and hail stopped. It was over in 15 minutes. I sat in the bush a little while longer waiting for the clouds to move further east. As I emerged from the bush and saw blue skies to the west, I couldn’t help but let out a victory howl. I made it. I survived! I finished the rest of the pass feeling high as a kite. My hike had been resurrected from the depths of mosquito hell. That evening, I was blessed with a rainbow while standing atop Sonora Peak. Maybe I’ll make it to Canada after all…

With the closing of the resort at Warner Springs, what was once...

Wed, 23 May 2012 18:31:00 -0700

Rees and the Warner Springs Angels

Harvey and the Warmer Springs Angels

With the closing of the resort at Warner Springs, what was once a most welcomed stop along the PCT became a trail town without any amenities (other than the post office). Into the breach stepped several wonderful and devoted women who staffed the community center, offering hot food and a small store, internet access, air conditioning, and a delightful welcome to all hikers.

Apparently the school board is having second thoughts about making the space available in 2013. Thank you cards and letters could make a big difference. Send them to:

Warner Springs High School
Dr. Ron Koenig Superintendent
PO Box 8
Warner Springs, CA 92086

The Pearl Girls - Snakes on the Plain

Mon, 21 May 2012 10:15:09 -0700

The Pearl Girls continued their quest north from Mt. Laguna in this third installment of their story. Aside from the cold spring weather, the next big challenge is in the San Jacintos. It was not so much a snow-bound Fuller Ridge, but a chance encounter with rattlesnakes on the endless descent down to Snow Creek Canyon. A recent discussion on the PCT-L suggested that thru-hikers encounter between 4 – 20 snakes on typical walk north. Although most snakes live in the arid lands of Southern California south of Kennedy Meadows, the Feather River, the Hat Creek Rim, and other lower elevations are home to the slithering reptiles.

We headed out to Sunrise Highway from Desert View walking through a little snow and ice on the trail as we exited Mt. Laguna. It was still pretty cold about 38 degrees. We started climbing right away and continued to see incredible views of the desert below. The trail led up to views of Garnet Peak and Oriflamme Mountain. Before long we were at Pioneer Mail Trailhead picnic area. On the way we walked through an expansive burned area. It was a very photogenic area. After lunch we climbed up on an old road with spectacular views overlooking the desert. There were a few monuments carved in the rocks and we thought maybe it was to honor some hang gliders or something like that because you could see that it would be a windy place for jumping off this huge cliff.

We were blown around for most of the rest of the hike. It was so windy in places that we were staggering against the wind to stay on the trail. About 3 miles from the end of our hike, along came my husband (“Stagecoach”). He was pretty cold too from fighting the wind in the 40 degree temps. But pretty soon we were back at the van and another 11.5 miles of the trail completed.

My friends and I had quite an experience with a rattlesnake coming down from Fuller Ridge in the San Jacinto Mountains on the way to the fountain at the bottom of those endless switchbacks going down into the canyon.

We had stopped to have a quick dinner because we figured we were a ways from the bottom and didn’t want to cook in the dark again. Just as I got up to start down the trail, which was only wide enough for your two feet with boulders on one side and steep drop-offs on the other, I heard that unmistakable rattling and hissing of a rattlesnake warning me not to come any closer. I retreated and told the others that there was a very large rattlesnake just ahead. Well, that guy was not going to move. We rolled small rocks at it. We pounded the ground with our hiking sticks but he just would not move and if we did, he started hissing and rattling. We needed to get down the rest of the mountain as it was getting darker by the minute, so we jumped around and did everything we could to make this guy move. Finally after about 15 or 20 minutes of this, he started slowly slithering off up into the rocks but continued to rattle and hiss. We very slowly walked by as he continued to move up the rocks but he kept his eyes on us.

We did not get to the bottom until it was quite dark. We went to set up our tents and sure enough heard the rattle and hiss of another rattler. So we got way away from that one and ended up pitching our tents far enough away but practically on top of each other because there wasn’t very much flat, clear ground there. We had quite a laugh that night about our ornery snake and happy to finally be done with those switchbacks and on to more experiences the following day.

Love These Letters

Mon, 21 May 2012 07:54:41 -0700

I am so enjoying the Trailside Reader! I have begun the California volume, and when I got to the excerpt from Charles Bergman’s “Wild Echos” I was totally delighted to see my dear friend Jesse Grantham’s contribution to condor recovery mentioned. Jesse has been a neighbor of mine since the 80’s and I am privileged on occasion to go birding with him on our local Ojai Valley Land Conservancy’s Ojai Meadow Preserve, which is right across the road from where I have lived for 35 years. And I love Wallace Stegner …

… and I am so looking forward to more and more as I peruse a selection or two each night. You have made a valuable contribution to your readers’ knowledge and appreciation of the trail that we love and its surroundings. Thank you!

Two Legs

This photo taken last week is from the Mt. Whitney Hiker’s...

Fri, 18 May 2012 10:02:48 -0700

This photo taken last week is from the Mt. Whitney Hiker’s Association Forum. Despite it being a low snow year, there is still plenty of the white stuff in the High Sierra.

Two photos by David Hough capture the growth of the Annual Day...

Wed, 16 May 2012 09:49:00 -0700

Two photos by David Hough capture the growth of the Annual Day Zero PCT Kick Off (ADZPCTKO). The 2001 participants are dwarfed by the 2012 attendance. Greg ‘Strider’ Hummel told me that when they first began the event they used a small corner of Lake Morena County Park. Now, 14 years later, the event filled to capacity in but a few days.

We have had Pacific Crest Trailside Reader events from San Diego...

Sat, 12 May 2012 19:45:29 -0700

We have had Pacific Crest Trailside Reader events from San Diego to Seattle and from Arcata to Ann Arbor. Suzanne Finney and Barney Mann read “Forester” and “The Many Faces of Trail Magic” this past Wednesday evening to 40 people in Ann Arbor Michigan, nearly 2000 miles from the PCT.

The Things They Carried

Fri, 11 May 2012 09:46:53 -0700

By Rees Hughes

I find that some of the best trail stories are people stories. Who are the people who choose to walk the PCT? How is it that they end up walking the trail? What motivates them to make the commitment to walk the whole trail let alone a section or two?

As my friend Harvey and I walked from Paradise Cafe south to Kick Off, swimming upstream against the current of northbound thru-hikers, we encountered several hundred hikers. We met a mother and her eight-year old daughter charging north through the Lagunas, a fellow with two artificial knees from LaGrande, Oregon, a woman carrying a mouse in a small cage on the top of her pack as we melted through the San Felipes, and the unlikely trio of “Wild Bill”, “Steady”, and “JR” (I preferred the trail name “Salt Lick” for JR).

Joey Pate (“JR”) and Bill Thorpe (“Wild Bill”) come from the not-so-mountainous state of Alabama (you have to climb stairs in multi-story buildings to prepare for hills) where they are married to sisters. They were accompanied by engineer turned Triple Crown backpacker and now guide, “Steady”, whose achievements she modestly never spoke of. ”Wild Bill” turned 75 on April 22nd. They had worked hard to prepare for the rigors of the trail but found it difficult to simulate PCT conditions (heavy loads, hot temperatures, sweaty feet). By the time they reached the San Felipe Valley, “JR” had debilitating blisters and had nearly ignited himself with their alcohol stove (see the photo of “JR’s” pants below). After initially meeting just south of San Ysidro Creek, our way intersected repeatedly over the next week — Third Gate, Stagecoach RV Park in the San Felipe Valley, Mt. Laguna, and Lake Morena for ADZPCTKO. I was inspired by their irrepressible good humor and commitment to take on a challenge so outside of the familiar.

Harvey and I were sad to see “Wild Bill” and “JR’s” names on the ADZPCTKO Ride Board pursuing a lift to the airport in San Diego (“JR” to Reno). I hope that they will return and resume their quest some day. Regardless, I found myself adapting Tennyson’s famous aphorism, “‘Tis better to have loved and lost / Than never to have loved at all” … “Tis better to have tried than never to have tried at all”.

Generally I look forward to the solitude of the trail. A long hike on the PCT is an opportunity to reflect and to be reminded of the deep spiritual quality of the wilderness. But, I also value my encounters with people like Bill, Joey, and “Steady”. Those encounters affirm the fundamental goodness of the human spirit and the presence of courage and grit in some unexpected places.

Like Us On Facebook!

Thu, 10 May 2012 08:19:02 -0700

The Pacific Crest Trailside Reader has a facebook! “Like” us and spread the word! http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Pacific-Crest-Trailside-Reader/119251044856082

The Thrill of Victory, the Agony of De Feet

Sun, 06 May 2012 10:02:54 -0700

There are as many opinions among hikers about the best way to prevent or minimize blisters as there are hikers on the PCT. Low miles to start. Rub your feet with vaseline. Use a liner. Always ensure you are walking in dry socks. Wear trail runners. Wear boots. Pray. Blisters and foot problems conclude more thru-hikes prematurely than bears, lightning, exhaustion, injury or falls, and virtually every other impediment.

Amazingly, Joe Barbera is still out there on the trail. There are blisters and then there are blisters. Joe has achieved a new level in foot abuse.

These photos are not for those with a weak constitution.

By Joe Barbera

Ever have one of those days where your feet hurt, and the only joy is when you finally get off work and you can sit down and take your shoes off? I had one of those days recently. Today in fact. Yesterday as well. Tomorrow is not likely to be much different.

I took a zero to go to REI and a podiatrist. I knew as soon as I saw the Doc that endurance sports just was not his thing. The conversation did not go well.

Guess what the Doctor says? At first he said: “Actually they are heeling well. You should be good by the time you get to Oregon”. Not sure if he was serious or just kidding. When he got to the loose toe nail, his tone changed. “You should go home. You could lose that toe” Very much concerned about infection, so I’m taking some antibiotics.

You might ask: “Why would somebody be doing this?” and / or “How could somebody continue to walk under these conditions?” The only answers to the Why question are either too simple or too complex to convey. The answer to the How question is much easier. I’m one tough son of a bitch. That’s all you need to know.

I just returned from a two week trip starting at the Pines to...

Wed, 02 May 2012 09:40:44 -0700

I just returned from a two week trip starting at the Pines to Palms Highway and ending at the border. We began just after a late snowstorm had left a layer of snow over the area. Within a few days the temperatures had risen to nearly triple digits as we crossed the San Felipes and climbed up into the Lagunas (the only shade was under the bridge at Scissors Crossing). The heat broke as the winds shifted bringing cool, moist air pouring over the Lagunas and a day and a half later rains returned.

The late surge of moisture had its benefits. Cacti were blooming and flowers were abundant. It was a great walk.

This amazing photo from Mt. Whitney in late March, 2012, looking...

Mon, 30 Apr 2012 21:58:54 -0700

This amazing photo from Mt. Whitney in late March, 2012, looking into the High Sierra offers a striking visual reminder about the sparse snow pack. What a difference a year makes! The photo credit and thank you goes to Richard A. Piotrowski.

A Pass to Remember

Tue, 24 Apr 2012 00:02:41 -0700

By Kit ‘Chinchilla’ and Jacob ‘Pyrite’

Kit (Chinchilla) and Jacob (Pyrite) completed a honeymoon thru-hike on the PCT in 2011. They shared their photos and essays at thehungryhoneymoon.wordpress.com.

It is interesting just how much difference a year can make in the level of difficulty of hiking the PCT. When I crossed Dick’s Pass in July, 2009, the summit was completely clear of snow. The photo from Mt. Whitney in the prior post, documents the very different reality that 2012 hikers will face with a far lower snow pack than Chinchilla and Pyrite faced in the mega-snow year of 2012. Not only is this a great PCT story, but a reminder about the lessons to be learned on the trail.

“The world is older and bigger than we are. This is a hard truth for some folks to swallow.” -Ed Abbey

Pyrite and I were a little less than three months in, and over 1100 miles into our thru-hike when we reached Echo Lake near Lake Tahoe, CA in early July, 2011. We planned to meet Pyrite’s parents for resupply, and spent a zero relaxing in South Lake Tahoe. Faced with a high snow year, we learned about the delicate balance between taking pride in our accomplishments, and maintaining humility and a healthy respect for the forces and rhythms of the natural world. We carried tales of torrential river crossings, precipitous passes, and were simply happy we made it safely through the challenges north of Kennedy Meadows and in the High Sierra. Some days we felt superhuman; brimming with delight. Other days, the elegiac realities of slogging through, over, and under snow seemed insurmountable. To keep our spirits up, our thoughts turned to the possibility of once again, walking on dirt. Talk on the trail said we would see more and more dirt as we approached and passed Sierra City, CA. To lighten our load, and in anticipation of what was ahead, we ditched our ice axes at Sonora Pass, and carried on with trekking poles and micro spikes.

Pyrite’s parents graciously met us at Echo Lake to bring supplies, and hiked out with us to spend a night at Lake Aloha in Desolation Wilderness. Beneath the expansive granite peaks surrounding azure patches speckling the frozen lake, we spent the evening with them. They had a fresh perspective, which was a mirror for us to reflect on where we had been.

After coffee and breakfast the next morning, we said farewell and headed vaguely North.

Although still hiking through snow, our spirits were rejuvenated and we felt empowered by our experiences to make smart decisions. We believed the most difficult part of the pilgrimage was behind us. Brazen with confidence, we continued on. The following is Pyrite’s account on a pass I will remember.

We got to the top of Dicks Pass (a fairly modest pass at something like 9400 ft). We barely glanced at the map before looking towards our descent. From the top of the pass it dropped quickly into a deep bowl, where the bottom of the bowl dropped away again into Dick’s Lake, about 1000 feet down from where we were. The edge at the top was a nearly vertical cornice, maybe 60 degrees. It was early in the morning and the snow was icy.

Chinchilla and I looked around for the best route down. Nothing looked particularly good. The top of the pass was corniced with rock above it. I started cutting steps, knowing that at least the incline of the snow would get less severe on the way down. I cut steps about five feet down, so my face was in line with Chinchilla’s feet.

I looked up at her with apprehension.

“I don’t know about this…”

We agreed, I wasn’t very safe. It was hard getting my feet in and each step was yet more unstable. I began moving back up when I slipped.

I was sliding down the bowl.

Fast.

I reached out and stuck my fingers as deep into the snow as I could get them. I clawed and gripped onto whatever crust I could manage. I dug my toes in. I cursed.

Chinchilla yelled “Stop!”

I tried to stop. Fingers. Elbows. Knees. Anything into the snow.

I flipped and dug my heels in like a crab. I think it was my pack that finally added the last bit friction of necessary to stop. I came to rest about 300 vertical feet down from the top, maybe 20 feet from where the bowl started to drop into the lake. My sunglasses and trekking poles were scattered across the slope. Deep gouges decorated the snow where I had stuck various body parts.

I stood up, looked at my hands, and thought to myself that they were still cold so that’s why the blood hadn’t started welling up out of them. I waited and no blood came. Hands intact I checked myself for further injury when Chinchilla called down,

“How was it?”

Since I was uninjured and merely shaking from the intense adrenaline rush that I got, I replied “Not bad.”

She responded “Should I come down?” since we had talked about the possibility of glissading.

When I had said not bad I meant not bad considering I almost just died. Her coming down in a similar fashion was out of the question. I sure as hell should not have done that.

I thought for a second, grabbed my 3mm rope that I purchased to get across rivers, and headed back up the slope. En route I retrieved my sunglasses and trekking poles. It wasn’t as hard on the way up, without pack. I used my trekking poles as a self-arrest tool. I felt okay about getting back up to Chinchilla. The adrenaline rush erased my fear.

Upon reaching the top, we decided to tie the rope around Chinchilla’s hip belt and then around my waist and use a carabiner as a belay device to lower her down. I kicked in deep foot pockets and guided the rope through the device, lowering her down. We only had 100′ of the rope, and the snow Chinchilla was damn steep, so I told her to dig her feet in and stand up. Slowly and carefully, I made the decent, again.

I had Chinchilla untie herself in case I went plummeting down 300′ again.

No sense in taking her down with me.

I thought of possible ways to rappel down, but it wasn’t feasible. The tips of my trekking poles were in my fists (we had really lightweight gossamer gear trekking poles, so the traditional technique to self arrest would not work). The second time was more successful, and I got to Chinchilla, kicked in again and started the process all over.

300’ later, we reached my pack. I put it on and we traversed east to the trees. I decided it would be a good idea to figure out where exactly we needed to meet up with the trail. I pulled out the map and took a good look and realized that the trail went up from the pass. Up a ridge and it didn’t come down to our elevation until about a mile away. It struck me, not only did I do something horribly risky, but it was unnecessary. Tired from the scare, and dejected from our negligence, we worked our way around the lake to meet up with the trail successfully and without further incident.

This was, by far, the stupidest mistake we made on the trail. We were so accustomed to dangerous and sketchy situations in the Sierra and North Yosemite, we didn’t stop to think that maybe the trail didn’t go straight down from Dick’s Pass. I kicked myself repeatedly for the next couple of days, while being thankful that nothing serious happened.

Thru-hiking reminds me that we puny humans are not the center of the universe. Whenever we get comfortable and things are going well, we’re likely to encounter the force that scares the shit out of us, purges the overconfidence, and reestablishes an equilibrium. In these moments of understanding, when the rhythms are amplified, I am most grateful for being alive and that my best friend is alive and I can share another day with him. Because it’s not all about us, and we are insignificant. But for a time, we are free, and we are here on Earth, and we are alive.

Lake Aloha is one of the many jewels of Desolation Wilderness....

Tue, 17 Apr 2012 00:03:09 -0700

Lake Aloha is one of the many jewels of Desolation Wilderness. These photos, taken at sunrise and sunset, feature ragged Pyramid Peak which at 9,983 feet dominates the end of the Crystal Range. Photo credit again belongs to Bernard Martoïa. Bernard, author of Waffle Print, has been featured before … see his earlier photos of Holman Peak and Bonanza Peak.

Bill Smith took this photo to support his contention that he...

Sat, 14 Apr 2012 00:00:10 -0700

Bill Smith took this photo to support his contention that he met the youngest aspiring thru hiker. This couple from Wisconsin had started at Campo and had already completed more than 400 miles. The 5 month old slept the whole time Bill was talking with the family. Notice that the father is carrying drying diapers on his back pack.

The Pearl Girls Reach Mt. Laguna - How 'Guardian Angel' Got Her Trail Name

Tue, 10 Apr 2012 10:03:33 -0700

About a month ago we posted “Starting on the Trail – Introducing the Pearl Girls”, the first of several installments about the early journey of narrator, Ann “Guardian Angel” Urick, and her companions Linda “One Step” Rostad, and Linda “Blue Butterfly” Bakkar. This, the second, begins a bit farther north from Campo … in the Lagunas, which rise to more than 6,000 feet above sea level and, in the early season, can be bone chilling. In this account, Ann shares the origin of her trail name.

As “One Step”, “Blue Butterfly”, and I were hiking through the Lagunas in Southern California, we met a young couple sitting having a little rest break. It was late in the afternoon and it was getting quite cool. We started out the day hiking in most of our clothes because it had been in the low 20’s when we got up that day. It was so cold the previous night that One Step and Blue Butterfly decided to stay in one of the cabins in Mt. Laguna. I was staying in our camper van with my husband who was supporting us in the early days of our long hike. He would meet up with us every few days, so we could store some of our food in the van and not have to carry so much, as one of my friends was still recovering from her recent knee surgery.

We chatted with this young couple, Mike and Malanie, for quite a while and told them to be prepared for some mighty cold weather for the next few days and they might consider staying in a cabin too. They both had shorts on and judging by the goosebumps on Malanie’s legs, they must have felt the cold too. We said goodbye and hoped to see them down the trail.

When my husband and I got back to the campground, we met the young couple again at the camp entrance. They were signing in for a campsite and still dressed only in shorts and lightweight tops. It was getting very cold and we offered them a spot at our campsite to save them money as we had already paid for our friends and they weren’t going to use their site. So we loaded them and their gear in the van and headed for our campsite. It was now quite windy, so I suggested they camp close to us so we could block some of the wind. I also tried to get them to come in the van so they could warm up but they just smiled and thanked us and said they would be okay. I told them to make sure and just knock on the door anytime, if they were cold or wanted a hot drink. There were no hookups at this campsite but we were able to use propane for heating up some water.

It turned out to be one of the coldest nights ever. The winds were fierce and howling all night long. The camper van was actually rocking during the night. It was so cold in the middle of the night that my husband and I had to snuggle together to keep warm. We saw the young couple’s tent bending over under the force of the wind several times but they never knocked on the door.

When we woke up in the morning, the ground was covered with snow and ice. It looked like a winter wonderland. Right away I got up and asked the “kids” if they were okay and invited them to come into the van to get warm. They just smiled and they said they had to get up a few times to fix the tent. Come to find out, they didn’t even have sleeping pads under their sleeping bags. Since they were out of water, Mike was out trying to heat the pipe up in the campground spigot as it had frozen overnight. I told them to get in the van and we would bring them to the camp host so they could get water. They agreed but when we got there, the host’s pipes were also frozen and they had no water either. We had a gallon of extra water which we insisted they take and we could replace it later. They were so happy. As we were bringing them back to the campsite to pack up, Mike said that they knew I did not have a trail name but they had one for me. They both decided that I was like a guardian angel watching over them and that is how they saw me and they called my husband “Stagecoach. ” From then on I have always been “Guardian Angel”.

Trail names can be bestowed by others or perpetuated by the hiker him or herself. Sometimes those created by others are less flattering … highlighting an attribute or incident one would rather forget. In this case, “Guardian Angel” is a wonderful and well-suited moniker.

Periodically we will be including some of Walkin’ Jim...

Thu, 05 Apr 2012 10:00:14 -0700

Periodically we will be including some of Walkin’ Jim Stoltz’s music (thanks to Leslie Stoltz). Should you have missed the earlier post, Walkin’ Jim passed away at the age of 57 from cancer. His music, however, lives on. ”Friends Along the Way” reminds me of grave marker I saw along the Washington PCT back in 1981 honoring a long-time friend of the high country. His epitaph read, “There are no strangers in the mountains, only friends you haven’t met.”

On our short trip to Sacramento - Chico - Mt. Shasta, we had a...

Sun, 01 Apr 2012 21:35:42 -0700

On our short trip to Sacramento - Chico - Mt. Shasta, we had a wonderful evening event at the College of the Siskiyous in Weed. Despite snow flurries, we had a great crowd and a lot of fun reading some of our own stories along with Chuckie Veylupek’s “Airstreaming on the Crest”, Jim Dodge’s “Piss-Fir Willie” suite, and “Riprap” by Gary Snyder. A special thanks to Bruce Johnston, the Mt. Shasta Trails Association, and Bill Hirt.