Mosquitoes!

June 30, 2018

With singing heart and a bounce in my step, I headed north from Hwy 140 through a fairly flat forest filled with evergreens. My pack, stuffed with ten meals and all my gear, felt light, mirroring my mood.

Streamers of usnea adorned the trees.

I grinned at Jay. “Blue sky, warm sun, cool breeze – what more could a person want?”

“Mosquito repellent?” Jay asked as he slapped his arm. “I can’t believe these things are biting through my jacket!”

I realized that the bloodthirsty insects were penetrating my shirt and pants also. Quickly I pulled out DEET, applying it liberally to my clothes, more sparingly to my bare skin. The repellent did make the tiny monsters back off a bit. Instead of biting, they just followed me, eagerly seeking a chink in my armor.

We continued hiking, and I went back to contemplating the natural wonders around me. Every now and then a mosquito would commit suicide by diving into my ear or nose or mouth. Jay could hear me behind him, choking and spitting. Aack!

After 11 miles, we reached the trail to Christi’s Spring, and were delighted to meet an old acquaintance, Phoenix from France, last seen on May 6, approaching Tehachapi. As we chatted, catching up with each other, another hiker, Hollywood, approached from the spring. Seeing empty water bottles, he asked Phoenix, “Are you prepared to meet Armageddon?”

“Mosquitoes are that bad down there?” Phoenix sounded surprised.

“You wouldn’t believe,” Hollywood shuddered.

I had read about Christi’s Spring in Guthook, the online PCT map. Chaucer, a PCT hiker, had written, ‘Get your water and RUN!’

Phoenix eyed my preparations, and decided to put on a bit more protection.

Hiker PapaDen refers to this type of outfit as a “hazmat suit”.

We camped early, just for the relief of crawling into a bug-free space. I love our tent! As we lay on our sleeping bags, listening to the whine of frustrated tiny vampires, Jay asked, “Hey, can you hear the nighthawks?”

I strained my ears, and suddenly heard “bbeerrnt“, a distinctive nasal vocalization, sounding much like a miniature airplane diving. I imagined the birds, plummeting through the air above me, intent upon filling their bellies with insects. Cheered by this sign of mosquito demise, I fell asleep.

July 1, 2018

Nighthawks provided air support as dawn peered between the tree trunks, but the mosquitoes were undaunted, tinnily demanding that we emerge from our tent haven.

These bloodsucking winged terrors provided escort service for our first eight miles, until we finally left them behind by climbing onto dry Shale Butte.

Jay pulled ahead of me, disappearing as he topped out on a long, breezy arm of the butte.

Suddenly, I heard a loud, rattling fall of rock. ‘An avalanche?‘ I wondered. The sounds of disturbed rocks continued. ‘I hope that’s not Jay falling off this ridge,’ I thought with sudden anxiety. ‘No,’ I reasoned. ‘I would have heard a yell. Maybe it’s a bear taking the short way down the mountain.’ (I never did see the cause of the sliding rocks, so I have only my bear theory.)

I continued walking, contouring around the ridge, and noticed musical notes emanating from beneath my feet. I looked down. The trail at this point had been hacked across a scree field. My footsteps clinked over loose pieces of flat shale, making a faint tune, as if someone were gently tapping each pitch in a set of wind chimes. Charmed, I slowed my steps, immersed in the unexpected enchantment of the moment.

Flowers began making a show as I caught up with Jay. Penstemon, western wallflowers, Indian paintbrush, and bleeding hearts splashed the rocks with pockets of color.

Suddenly I saw a new flower! Shaggy gray and white feathers swirled in coiffed mops, looking exactly like miniature versions of the truffula trees in the Dr Seuss book, The Lorax!

Jay looked it up, and we had a name, the white pasqueflower, it’s feathery top the flower gone to seed.

We came to a side trail for Devil’s Peak. The top looked so close, we couldn’t resist dropping our packs to climb. Another couple with the same goal took our picture before we started. The view was well worth the effort. Mt McLoughlin and far off Mt Shasta greeted us from behind, Klamath Lake lay on our right, a wilderness of jumbled green ridges stretched out on our left, and the rim of Crater Lake loomed before us.

A familiar whine greeted us as we descended the mountain, and once again I was thankful to dive inside our tent that night, leaving bloodthirsty insects mindlessly battering the mosquito netting.

Jay surveyed the day’s collection of mosquito bites in disgust. “To think, only the female half of the population was after me! Being a babe magnet is overrated.”

Ashland! (aka, a week with Kitty)

June 29, 2018

Celebrated as the largest “trail town” on the PCT, Ashland is known to the rest of the world as a center for Shakespeare and other plays. Tourists mingle with bearded hikers, seekers of alternate lifestyles, and busy locals, making downtown an endlessly interesting place. Jay and I discovered this while walking through Lithia Park on our first evening…

Perhaps a common sight in Ashland, but unique in our experience!

Of course, our main job was to take care of Jay’s sister’s cat, known as ‘Kitty’. Once Kitty conveyed our roles to us, we got along fine.

“Sarah will feed me, Jay will give me cuddles, and I will entertain myself. Just make sure to leave a sunbeam on the floor in which I can bask each morning.”

We did enjoy some entertainments when two friends, Linda and Dave, visited us from Gardnerville, NV. They flew into town in a glider that Dave built himself!

We wandered the streets, stopping in several cafes for food and drink. At the Agave, the waitress gave us an impromptu lesson in margarita making. We were fascinated! (And Dave and Jay agreed that the margaritas were quite good.)

They hand squeeze this many limes in *one evening* for their margaritas!

We walked along the creek in Lithia Park, and Dave and I stopped to climb a giant rope jungle gym.

We closed our day with a free concert at an outdoor stage. The Green Shows happen every evening except Mondays, featuring different fine arts performers. It’s a big draw for tourists and locals.

The Bathtub Gin Serenaders played catchy jazz and blues tunes, and invited everyone to dance! These two were the first to respond, but by the end of the gig, most of the children had gravitated from the audience to the stage. Great music, and fun times!

Often, after a day of slack packing, Jay and I wandered down to the Green Show. The eclectic nature of the Green Shows gave us new experiences nearly every night.

The Fantasia Performing Arts Center brought Chinese dance and opera to the Green Show one evening.

Their performance ended with a rendition of an old Chinese tale of star-crossed lovers, much like Shakespeare’s ‘Romeo and Juliet’. It was beautifully danced and enthusiastically narrated!

As Jay and I explored each evening, we were treated to tunes from street musicians. Some were very good, some were just beginners. All added to the holiday atmosphere that permeated the heart of Ashland.

Beautiful classical tunes brought us around a corner and down some steps to sit and enjoy this woman’s music.

We have enjoyed this time of culture and fun. Tomorrow we continue hiking the PCT. I intend to enjoy myself there, also! This world is truly a wondrous place.

Slackpack!

June 20 – 25, 2018

So here we are, cat sitting during a truly lovely part of summer. The PCT continues to tug at my soul. What to do? Slackpack, of course!

“I’ve never heard this term,” a day hiking mother of two told me on our second slackpack. So, I looked it up. To quote from the website, Slackpacker.com, “Slackpacking was originally coined to describe a day’s worth of thru-hiking unencumbered by a [full] pack.”

The PCT crosses several asphalt roads within easy driving distance of Ashland. Logistically and emotionally, slackpacking made sense.

On our first day of this adventure, Jay dropped me at Highway 66, then drove to the next asphalt road, Hyatt Lake Road. I began hiking north, he hiked south. We met in the middle for lunch and a key hand off. When I reached the car, I drove back to the first trail head to pick up Jay. It worked like a charm!

On our first day, though we saw no other backpackers, flowers were our constant companions!

The trail became quite populated the second day. I met two families enjoying a day hike. One of the children asked me if I thought a PCT hiker could live off the land.

“I suppose it would depend upon how much one knew about edible plants, and ones skill at hunting,” I told him. “Jay and I ate violets, dandelions, and ramps on the Appalachian Trail, but here, the only edible plant I know is the dandelion. And I’m a truly rotten hunter. I think I would get very hungry if I had to find all my food in the wilderness.”

After wishing the families a good hike, I continued on, enjoying the feeling of being all alone in the forest. I passed a turn-off for a horse camp, then suddenly spied a bright yellow book inside a hollow log!

Curious, I opened the notebook to find that many hikers ahead of me had recorded a continued story. Enchanted, I was quickly drawn into the plot of an evil Darkwing Goose chasing after The Maiden, who was helped by a host of thru-hikers as they encountered the adventure upon the trail. Needless to say, I added my own bit to the story and returned the tale to its log. The magic of the unfinished yarn stayed with me for several miles afterwards.

Meeting Jay for lunch, I found that he, also, had been encountering hikers today, including Texas Teacher, whom we had not seen since sharing a bus ride from San Diego to Campo on our very first day of the PCT! What a treat for Jay to run into him!

As we were eyeing lunch spots, we met another PCT hiker, Trailbait. We invited ourselves to lunch with her, and spent an enjoyable 30 minutes trading trail talk. Among other tales, we learned that Trailbait had attended a survival camp at the age of 14, and could kill a rabbit with a throwing stick! If the little boy had asked her about living off the land, he would have received a very different answer! After lunch, she and I walked together a bit before her youth and vitality left me in the dust.

Trailbait knows how to make herself comfortable on an afternoon break.

During these days of slack packing, I noticed that some spring flowers were beginning to fade, especially the bleeding hearts, which have turned darker purple and begun to grow seed pods.

One never knows what will be seen on the trail, and our third slackpack was unique for a pelvis bone in the path. It still had a few scraps of tendon attached, pretty fresh. Due to its size, Jay theorized that it could possibly be from a fawn.

Our fourth day of slackpacking found me exploring one of the few shelters on the PCT. It is sturdily built, with a wood stove inside, and a mouse-chewed journal. I read about hikers waiting out May and June snow storms here, happy for the warmth of the stove.

Soon after seeing the shelter, I met Pathfinder, a hiker who is intent upon completing the PCT for the second time. He averages 40 miles per day, and has already hiked through the high Sierras this year. We met Jay, and the three of us talked for a few minutes.

“How were the Sierras for you, starting so early?” Jay asked.

“There was a lot of snow,” Pathfinder acknowledged. “The worst part for me was trying to find the trail. I don’t carry GPS, I just rely on maps. I got lost several times. It got to where, whenever I saw snow, I just sighed in disgust.”

“With the permit system the PCTA has started, a lot of hikers are getting to the Sierras early,” Jay observed.

“Yes, I don’t think the system really works.” Pathfinder shook his head. “I understand that it’s designed to spread out the hikers and reduce the impact upon the trail. But everyone gets bottled up at the Sierras anyway. And some hikers are heading into those mountains earlier than they should. It takes experience to navigate safely through snow and high altitudes. Heck, I weathered three snow storms while I was up there!”

“Also, the people who can’t get an early permit to start north are hiking southbound through southern California,” Jay added. “So there are still too many hikers all in the same place. This trail has very specific weather and time windows for the different parts. I don’t know what the answer is.”

After lunch, I had the excitement of hiking around Brown Mountain, a small cinder cone on top of a shield volcano. The path passed from tall trees sporting streamers of usnea to blocks of hardened black lava devoid of vegetation. Such a fascinating ecosystem! As I gratefully hiked along the carefully constructed path, I marveled at the amount of work the trail crews had lavished on these lava crossings. Without the trail, my forward progress would have made a snail look speedy, and I would have probably broken a leg!

Near the end of the day, Mt. McLoughlin made an appearance, promising more adventure ahead.

Four days of slackpacking gained us 38.8 miles of completed PCT, for a total of 721 PCT miles since beginning our pilgrimage on March 22nd. Much more importantly has been the many memories of people, flowers, and natural beauty that we’ve collected over the past 3 months. I can hardly wait to continue – with a full backpack!

Slow Motion Ramble

June 15, 2018

One entertainment while hiking the PCT has been watching landmarks change perspective over the course of hours and days. Seeing views in slow motion, as we hiked past Mt. Ashland and caught glimpses of far away, snow-covered Mt. Shasta, emphasized the unique nature of our rambling days.

Jay and I noticed many alpine clearings, covered with a huge monoculture of pussy paws. Each time the trail skirted a clearing, the fragrance of these wildflowers swamped our senses. Jay smelled honey, I smelled intense, almost overwhelming burned caramelized sugar, and a forester we met described it as “the smell of three day old gym socks.”

We enjoyed chatting with the forester. “These pussy paws are a pioneer species,” he told us. “Cattle and sheep have grazed here for much of the past 100 years, especially in the early 1900s. A friend of mine remembers hiking with her father to the Silver Fork Basin and seeing clouds of dust rise in the air as they approached. The soil is so fragile up here. Heavy rain or wind can disrupt struggling plants as the fine, light particles of dirt are moved. It is very exciting to see the ground getting covered with these first plant colonizers. Pussy paws are a sign of hope.”

Here is a close up picture of a pussy paws plant, and a panorama of alpine clearings covered in these flowers.

While eating dinner, a day hiker stopped and offered to take our garbage! We were so overwhelmed with such an unexpected and thoughtful offer, I forgot to take his picture or get his name. But thank you, unknown hiker! It was wonderful to suddenly have more room in our packs that night and in the next couple of days.

June 16, 2018

Nearing Siskiyou Pass, just as the sun threw long legs over the horizon, we stopped, transfixed with an early morning show of white fog streaming through a gap between steep-sided canyons. Brilliant sun picked out highlights while shadows preserved a myrtle green and slate blue background, and sapphire blue sky arched overhead.

Five miles from our lovely morning beginning, the trail crossed a dirt road with a sign half hidden in the trees.

My imagination was immediately captivated. I could almost hear the creaking of wooden wheels, the calls of pioneers and gold seekers as they urged their teams up the mountain.

Another sign high on a tree informed us that “Callahan’s” could be found down this overgrown road. Although we hadn’t planned to stop there, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to walk through history, sharing a trail with long ago frontiersmen and women. Besides, we had been so enchanted with the morning, we hadn’t eaten breakfast yet! Callahan’s Lodge and Restaurant promised to fill our empty stomachs.

1860s travelers never had it this good on their stage stops!

Another distinctive landmark on our horizon today was Pilot Rock, a volcanic plug which helped guide early travelers through the Siskiyou Pass. As we passed the turn off for the trail which climbs Pilot Rock, two young men came bounding down the path, faces alight with exhilaration, jubilant triumph spilling from their every pore!

“You must have just climbed Pilot Rock,” I observed, smiling at their obvious joie de vivre.

“Yes! It was awesome!” they assured me, beaming.

For a brief moment, this dome of hardened magma beckoned me upwards. But the pull of the PCT was stronger, so I continued contouring around the monument, promising myself to return someday.

After a day of walking through conifer glades, skirting meadows filled with pussy paws and other flowers, seeing an incredible mosaic of ecological diversity, we camped near an unnamed spring. Soda Mountain loomed to our right, reminding me that the Soda Mountain Wilderness, through which we had been privileged to walk, had been created by grassroots efforts, including it in the Omnibus Public Land Management Act of 2009 which President Obama signed into law on March 30, 2009. That evening, as a frog lullaby began at the spring, I felt an upwelling of thankfulness to the unknown people who had worked so hard to protect this beauty.

June 17, 2018

With only five and a half miles to hike before reaching Highway 66, we spent most of our walk today photographing wildflowers, playing with the settings on my phone camera. Tonight we plan to stay at Green Springs Inn, before beginning a week of cat sitting for Jay’s sister in Ashland. This Oregon part of the hike is allowing us to make connections with many of Jay’s family – or at least with their pets!

So I close this post with a positive plethora of wildflower and butterfly images!

From left to right, top to bottom: thimbleberry, columbine, western wallflower, purple trillium, Indian paintbrush, blue star tulip, Oregon manroot, salsify, camas, wild rose, Henderson’s stars, unknown orange flower, great basin fritillary, pale swallowtail

A Touch of Whimsy

June 14, 2018

One never knows who will come around a corner of the trail. Here I am, hiking along, utterly absorbed in my own rhythm, when suddenly the trail takes a little jog, I look up, and …

the trail is guarded by a charred dragon! Perhaps he became overly enthusiastic as he breathed fire upon some hapless hiker.

I manage to negotiate around this apparition and continue my merry way. But a half mile later, a forest dinosaur rears up to greet Jay and me!

With a respectful bow in his direction, we press on, entering deep forest, with towering evergreens cutting the light into attenuated glowing sunbeams. Needle-carpeted trail silences my footsteps. An atmosphere of reverence steals into my being as I proceed slowly through nature’s cathedral.

“RAUK-Kak-kak-cac!” The strident screech of a Stellar’s jay breaks the stillness. I laugh, and continue.

“Cheeeeseburger!” “Cheeeeseburger!”

A contrapuntal duo of chickadees taunt me with reminders of impossible lunch options.

But we haven’t even had breakfast yet! We come to a fantastic view on the edge of a rocky cliff.

“How about breakfast here?” I seat myself on the edge, legs dangling.

“Too rocky,” Jay is interested in more comfortable ‘furniture’. He snaps my picture, and we continue, my stomach grumbling at the delay.

We come to a sunny spot, with an appropriate slope for sitting. Hurray, breakfast! (Yes, sardines, raisins, cheese, nuts, chocolate. Over 700 miles hiked, and we haven’t tired of our trail meal yet!)

As we’re eating, two hikers appear! Boyscout Wheelchair and Sunrise Chardonnay, from France, are the first PCT hikers we’ve actually seen on the trail since we left Walker Pass.

“Please, tell me the stories behind your hiker names,” I beg.

Boyscout Wheelchair laughs. “Do you remember Casa de Luna? They give you a bandana, right? I tied mine on like a boy scout. Then they told me I had to dance. I don’t dance! ‘Just do the wheelchair motion real fast,’ they said. So I did, and there is my name!”

I turn to Sunrise Chardonnay. “And your name?”

She smiles. “Sunrise because we get up early, to try to get through the snow before it gets soft.”

“It doesn’t work,” Boyscout Wheelchair interjects.

“And Chardonnay because it sounds like my name, Charlotte. And I do like Chardonnay!”

I look at this young woman and think, ‘yes, with that beautiful pink top and engaging grin, Sunrise Chardonnay fits!’

The whimsical nature of the day continues after breakfast. We pass a huge stump which begs me to climb.

A butterfly flitters across the path, whizzing around Jay’s head, then heading away. Unexpectedly, she turns and comes wavering back towards us. I hold my breath, willing her to stop near enough for a good look. Jay snaps a picture as she rests on a green tendril.

(Wikipedia later tells me this butterfly’s name, California sister. ‘What an odd name,’ I think, so I read further, and discover that sister refers to the white markings on the wings which some long ago lepidopterist thought looked like a nun’s habit. Talk about imagination!)

Just as he crosses a small stream, Jay suddenly stops. I approach slowly, and see a mother grouse on the trail!

“Her babies ran ahead of her into the brush,” Jay whispers.

I fumble for my camera. By the time I’m ready, she has followed her babies off the trail. I hide behind a fat hemlock trunk, determined to get a picture. But, in keeping with the capricious nature of the day, my only photo has a sapling bisecting the mother grouse! Ah, well.

Jay looks it up and tells me that we’ve most likely seen a sooty grouse, which eats fir, hemlock, and pine needles in winter, while dining on fresh greens, berries, and insects in the summer. We all need occasional variety in our diet!

Sooty grouse mother ‘hiding’ behind a sapling.

In the afternoon, we come to the California/Oregon border. “Wow!” I exclaim. “We’ve actually reached the border! We should take a picture!”

“Why bother?” Jay asks. “This imaginary line has no meaning in our hike. It’s not like we’ve hiked the whole length of California yet.”

Nevertheless, I did want a picture, and Jay agrees to join me in my selfie attempt.

I open the lid of the metal box holding the trail journal, and laugh out loud at the first thing I see.

Yes, the playful nature of the PCT is in full force today!

Near the end of our day, a determined snowdrift encroaches upon the trail. Jay skirts the edge of it, but naturally, I gracelessly end up giving the icy blanket a quick hug as I lose my balance halfway across. Whimsy reigns once again!

From Snow and Skeeters to Ticks and Toxins

June 11, 2018

We spent the stormy weekend (June 9-10) writing blog posts, watching water pour out of the sky, and laughing at Clementine, the cat, whenever she expressed her disgust at the wet weather. I felt cosseted, getting rescued by Jay’s parents and enjoying their hospitality.

However, the PCT continued to sing its siren song. Since the snow was too deep in the Cascades, we decided to spend a week hiking from Seiad Valley to Ashland, giving the snow more time to melt.

The trail began by ascending out of the Klamath River drainage. Poison oak grew abundantly, reaching across the trail, climbing shoulder high, caressing our legs and packs. Toiling uphill, I suddenly felt something crawling along my neck, just at the hair line. I reached up … and raked out a tick!

“Oh, yuck!” I exclaimed.

“Looks like we’ve traded snow and mosquitoes for ticks and poison oak,” Jay observed. “Maybe you’d better check my back and neck.”

We camped on a flat shelf 1,000 feet above the Klamath River. The sinking sun sent light between the tree trunks to illuminate our tent.

June 12, 2018

I’ve become accustomed to 1,000 foot climbs on the PCT. But I have to admit, it’s been a while since we’ve had a really big climb. This morning the trail took us 3,500 feet above last night’s airy campsite.

What’s it like, gaining that much altitude in a morning? Our hike goes a bit like this:

Begin hiking. Stop to negotiate a downed tree. Continue climbing.

Stop to watch the last two feet of a black snake disappear into the bushes. Keep climbing.

Notice that the ceanothus is outcompeting the poison oak. Cheer, and keep climbing.

Stop to admire a view of the Klamath River winding through the Seiad Valley. Keep climbing.

Stop to watch a quarter-sized toad hop up the bank. Keep climbing.

Notice your water bottle is almost empty. Keep climbing.

See a tiny sign, “H2O”. Gladly turn off the trail to get water from an ice cold spring. Enjoy the break while the water bottles slowly fill. Then keep climbing.

Stop while another snake slithers across the trail. Admire its bright scales in rectangular patterns. Keep climbing.

Stop to photograph a whole slew of wild flowers. Keep climbing.

(From top to bottom, unknown purple wildflower, Indian paintbrush, yellow leaf iris, plumed Solomon’s seal, penstemon.)

Listen to a spotted towhee exuberantly fill the morning with it’s flat “tweeee” song. Keep climbing.

Find a shady tree for lunch. Discover a flower beneath the tree, pink with white picotee edging. Look it up and learn its name – cliff maids. Keep climbing.

About two hours after lunch, finally reach the top of the climb! More wildflowers, a rattlesnake, and fabulous views are the reward.

(blue star tulip, bear grass, spreading phlox)

Indian paintbrush in the foreground, Mt Shasta in the background!

Near the end of the day, we hiked through a section of burned forest. This was one of the many fire damaged sections of the PCT closed last year. We were glad to see it open, thanks to the hard work of trail crews.

June 13, 2018

The lovely thing about a huge climb is being on top. The spine of the Siskiyou Mtns holds our path today. Flowers galore! Bird songs everywhere! Sunshine, cool breeze, blue sky, tall evergreens! The world is a wondrous place, and today I am devoutly thankful to be here, surrounded by nature!

(bleeding hearts, Columbia windflower, cliff maids, larkspur, arrowleaf balsamroot, unknown flowers bordering the path, burned lodgepole pine, currant)

(I must give Jay credit for the alliterative title and many of the wildflower names.)

It’s a fine line between discomfort and danger…

June 7, 2018

Mosquitoes reigned this morning, swarming us each time we stopped moving.

“They’re our own personal cheerleaders, urging us to greater feats of endurance,” Jay joked.

About a mile above Elk Lake we came to an old burn, and the mosquitoes left us as the breeze played among barren tree trunks.

“Let’s eat breakfast,” Jay proposed. “I know we’re planning to eat a meal at Elk Lake Resort, but I could easily eat twice.”

We happily ate our much delayed morning meal, then ambled downhill to Elk Lake Resort and ordered the mountain scramble – eggs, sausage, vegetables – yum! We also picked up a resupply box, the first one we have mailed on this hike.

Our final chore at the resort was to check the weather. Elk Lake employees helpfully looked up the forecast, and told us snow was predicted for Friday night through Sunday evening! Yikes! Jay and I looked at each other.

“Can we make it to McKenzie Pass by Friday evening?” I asked. “It’s about 30 miles.”

“I think we can do it,” Jay sounded confident. “We’ve got two days of beautiful weather. If there isn’t too much snow, the days are long enough now to make big miles if we push ourselves. Then we could hitch hike to the town of Sisters from McKenzie Pass and sit out the snow in a motel.”

From Elk Lake Resort, the PCT headed uphill for three miles, climbing 1,000 feet to the top of Koosah Mountain. I was delighted to find a clear trail the whole way, with captivating views of Mt. Bachelor, Broken Top, and South Sister.

Okay, there was a little snow on top of Koosah Mountain, but I was sure it would disappear as we headed downhill.

We were still enjoying views of the surrounding mountains on the downhill side of Koosah Mountain. However, I noticed more snow drifts appearing. Hmmm.

The more altitude we lost, the deeper the snow became. This was exactly opposite of what we had been experiencing for the last three days. I watched in disbelief as the snow morphed from patchy drifts to an unbroken blanket, four feet deep in places. Not a single footprint marred the surface, not even animal paw prints!

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t keep up with Jay. My feet slipped, slid, I tumbled sideways, and watched with discouragement as Jay got further and further ahead.

‘I can do this,’ I told myself. ‘There are blazes on trees, and I can follow Jay’s footprints.’

I kept walking, but suddenly realized that I had lost Jay’s footprints. I looked around – no blazes in sight. I looked behind me – only my own footprints. I heard a buzzing whistle ahead of me. ‘Jay must be using his pack whistle to call me,’ I thought. I forged onward. Then I heard the whistle behind me. I stopped, confused. Another whistle sounded to my right. What was going on?

“Jaaay!” I called in distress.

“I’m right here,” came the calm reply. “Just behind this tree.”

I took two steps, and there he was! What a relief! “I thought I heard your whistle.” I ran and hugged him.

“No, it’s the call of the varied thrush. These tall hemlocks are great habitat for them.” Jay sounded relaxed. “Do you need a rest?”

“No, I’m okay now that we’re together. I’ll try to keep up,” I replied.

“You know I’ll wait for you. It’s important to go your own pace in this stuff. The last thing we want is for one of us to get hurt and lose our mobility,” Jay warned.

We kept hiking. When we reached Sisters Mirror Lake, I realized we had only gone 1.5 miles in two hours. My feet were soaking wet, and my emotions moved from discouragement to the smallest feelings of desperation. ‘I’ve just got to keep my concentration,’ I thought. ‘Keep my eyes on my feet, watch out for hidden traps. I can do this!’

Suddenly a hiker appeared, heading toward us! ‘Great! Maybe he has come all the way from McKenzie Pass! We can find out if this snow continues, and at least we’ll have tracks to follow now!’

The backpacker, Mike, stopped to chat, amazed at seeing other hikers. I was disappointed to learn that he had come from the Mirror Lakes Trail, which turned off the PCT in just another half mile. Mike had hiked this area a good bit, though, and he had several observations to make about our plans.

“The trail gets pretty flat ahead,” Jay told him. “I remember from 2012, hiking for about five miles across a huge meadow called Wickiup Plains. I wonder if the snow will be melted off that yet?”

“It’s hard to say,” Mike replied. “You’ve got approximately 17 miles of trail paralleling the Three Sisters. There’s going to be a lot of snow in that back country. Probably even more than here. South Sister has eight glaciers on it. And I’m not at all sure that McKenzie Pass is even open yet. You might have to hike another day to Santiam Pass before you can get to the town of Sisters.”

Wishing us good luck, Mike continued on. Jay and I kept walking, now following Mike’s footsteps. The snow was getting softer as the afternoon progressed, and I found myself falling through, “post holing”, often. When we reached the turn off for the Mirror Lakes Trailhead, Jay stopped.

“We need to think about this,” he sounded serious. “If the snow pack stays this deep and continuous, the bad weather is going to catch us.”

I was startled. I had been focused entirely upon each step, trying not to fall, trying to keep up with Jay, I hadn’t even considered the fact that we had other options besides our earlier chosen course. ‘This is one reason I love this guy,’ I thought. ‘He’s always thinking ahead, and he doesn’t let ego get in the way of practicality. It’s also why I never play chess with him.’

We discussed the options for several minutes. Jay was sure we would be okay as long as neither of us got hurt. But we knew from experience how quickly a slip and fall could happen. And it scared me to think of heading into more snow, with no people, no support system except ourselves. If we took the Mirror Lakes Trail, we would be able to follow Mike’s footsteps all the way to the road, and then hitchhike to the town of Bend. I hated to give up, but if McKenzie Pass really was still closed, that made the next road even further away.

“We’ve been handed an escape route on a silver platter,” Jay concluded. “It would be stupid not to take it.”

So we turned off the PCT, following what turned out to be a very popular trail. More footprints joined Mike’s, and I became confident that getting to town wouldn’t be too hard with this much evidence of humans around.

Human footprints in the deep snow made following the Mirror Lakes Trail almost easy!

Gradually, as we descended in altitude and turned away from South Sister, the snow lessened. By the time we set up camp at the base of Kokostic Butte, there was a good bit of dry ground between the drifts. We went to sleep to the sound of frogs singing in a nearby pond.

June 8, 2018

Morning brought a few mosquitoes, a couple of bird songs, and only 1.5 miles to the road! Bright blue sky with warm sun made a mockery of the snowy forecast. This was June, the beginning of summer!

We reached the trailhead to find only Mike’s car in the parking lot. Undaunted, we applied sunscreen, and set out walking down the road. It was 29 miles to Bend, but we were sure we’d get a ride soon.

Three hours later, perhaps 200 cars had passed us. I was beginning to give up hope of a ride, and thinking we would have to walk the whole 29 miles, when suddenly, a small car stopped ahead of us, half-way off the road! I ran up to it, to find three young men in the car. “Do you need a ride?” the front passenger asked.

“Well, yes, but do you have room for both of us?” I asked doubtfully.

“Oh, sure, no problem! You can put your packs in the trunk.” The driver got out to rearrange their own day packs in the back of the car. We dutifully stowed ours, then squeezed into the back seat with the third young man. Oh, the luxury of riding!

“Thank you so very much!” I told them. “We thought we were going to have to walk the whole way!”

The three young men were from Corvallis, and had just climbed South Sister. They told us that they had seen way too much snow, but a beautiful view on top. These wonderful trail angels dropped us in downtown Bend, refusing our offer of gas money.

It was noon on Friday, and we were in Bend. “We did it!” Jay grinned. “Let’s find a hotel.”

I looked at my phone, and saw a message from Jay’s parents. “Maybe we don’t need a hotel,” I told him. “Your parents want to come get us! Looks like we get to spend the weekend in Eugene! I guess we’ll have some time to figure out where to go next.”

A Tactile Smorgasbord

June 5-6, 2018

Two years ago I read a book which changed my life. Though I never aspired to become a runner, Born to Run, by Christopher McDougall, gave me a different way of walking which cured the extreme back pain I suffered due to a herniated disc. The book also led to many other changes in my life. (For more information on this, see Jay’s blog post, “What are we doing differently this time?” from our Appalachian Trail 2017 hike.)

The feet of a long distance hiker are constantly changing. They bear the weight of body and pack for countless steps, thousands of miles. One’s shoes must be flexible to adapt with one’s feet. When I began hiking the PCT, I wore Altra Timps, which fit my feet at the time. But after 650 miles, my feet cringed each morning as I shoved them into my shoes. Last year on the Appalachian Trail I wore New Balance MT10v4, all 2,200 miles. Unfortunately, New Balance discontinued that model. But with my feet rebelling over Altras, I decided to try a different New Balance minimal shoe, the MT10v1. It has no arch and very little padding, giving one’s feet a unique ground feel. Jay decided to try them, also.

“They’re so light, it’s like wearing house slippers,” Jay marveled.

“I prefer to think of them as modern day moccasins,” I laughed. “It’s the closest I’ll ever come to hiking barefoot!”

“Yes! Strap-on calluses!” Jay agreed.

Our feet informed us of each small item on the trail!

Our new shoes added a novel dimension to the trail. Hemlock and fir needles covered the path in a thin woven layer, like a yoga mat which blunts the outlines but lets one feel every dimple and bump in the ground. Small pine cones and hemlock cones gave a satisfying crispy crunch as we stepped upon them, reminding me of the sound of Rice Krispies. Twigs had a bouncy “crik-crack”, reminiscent of carrot sticks which had lain in my lunch bag for two days. Clumps of usnea, or beard lichen, felt like marshmallows squishing under my toes. And when we reached a snow bank, the crunch of ice crystals sliding and compacting beneath my feet made me think of teeth crushing peppermint pieces. Fun!

The path in Oregon is quite different from the trail tread in southern California. We had transitioned from dry sand and dirt to needle-carpeted ground. Due to the large amount of hikers on the southern portion of the PCT, it was usually easy to tell which way to go – one only had to follow the sandy path that had the most footprints. Here, we have hiked over 24 hours without seeing another person. There is one set of footprints ahead of us on this trail, which show up faintly sometimes when we cross a snow drift. This isolation has set me wondering about finding our way.

What happens when a tree covers the trail? What if we get so much snow we can’t see the path? Of course, we have GPS, but what if we need it for several miles and the battery gets drained? What are the markers here?

One tree isn’t too bad, but a grove of downed trees could make the trail very hard to see!

On the Appalachian Trail, there are white blazes painted along the whole 2,200 miles. “There are blazes here, also,” Jay reminded me. “They’re a bit older than painted rectangles. Look for axe marks in a specific pattern, much like the small letter ‘i’ on the tree trunks.”

“Oh, right!” I exclaimed. “I remember seeing those when I was a kid!” And naturally, as soon as I began looking, I saw many.

Sometimes, when the trail took a small curve, the blaze was marked to one side of the tree trunk. And occasionally we saw a double blaze, marking a complete change of direction, such as on a switchback.

We began running into more snow drifts, especially whenever the trail switched to a north-facing slope and rose above 5,500 feet. I started to see the blazes as necessary, not just comforting.

Sometimes a cut log also signaled the presence of the trail.

A couple of times we saw very old Pacific Crest Trail markers.

About once a day, a modern PCT marker would appear.

We continued to be charmed with nature, especially whenever the trail dropped below 5,500 feet. The Pacific wren sang, sounding as if he were having a party all by himself in the top of the tree. A red-breasted nuthatch called, “yank, yank”. Every time we stopped for a meal, a gray jay came by to check us out. He would look around with an opportunistic eye, then fly off to wait until we were finished with our repast. At lunch near Desane Lake, we saw a hooded merganser fishing for his own midday meal. In the early morning and late afternoon, a Swainson’s thrush serenaded us with beautiful flute-like melodies echoing through the forest.

We hiked through an old burn area, dotted with stark trunks towering above optimistic new growth.

Usnea, or beard lichen, adorned many trees, waving gently in the breeze and giving notice of the excellent air quality in these mountains.

We also saw many examples of a striking orange and black fungus.

I close this post with flowers, the jewels of the forest.

an alpine white marsh-marigold (I think) and purple shooting stars

Opulence to Austerity, or, A Tumble Down Maslow’s Hierarchy

June 4, 2018

There is no denying, the last two weeks of May saw us living in the lap of luxury. Double bed, hot running water, unlimited food within arm’s reach, dry shelter in the rain – all the trappings of civilization, which so many people take for granted. Our basic needs were being met with abundance!

On our last day in Eugene, we attended church with Jay’s parents. A massive pipe organ sent shock waves through my system, delighting me as the organist skillfully wove melodies and counter melodies. A visiting young men’s choir, singing glorious acapella harmonies, lifted me with transcending joy.

The afternoon saw us at King Estate Vineyard, indulging in a cheese and fruit plate along with lovely Pinot noir wine. I think this meal went a bit beyond just meeting one’s basic needs!

After satisfying our stomachs, a fascinating tour of the vineyard gave me food for thought as I satisfied curiosity about a new subject.

Family – sharing with each other, laughing and talking and telling stories, knowing we belonged together – this was the true highlight of yesterday.

And so today, we have returned to what some would consider a stark existence – the Pacific Crest Trail. Jay’s sister and brother-in-law dropped us off at Willamette Pass. Happy hugs were exchanged, and I blithely shouldered my pack, eager for more adventure!

Towering hemlocks muffled our footsteps as we entered the forest. Silence reigned as sunbeams lanced through deep shade, outlining a tree trunk here, spotlighting a wildflower there. A sense of dislocation permeated my being.

“It’s as if we’ve been snatched from Tatooine (Luke Skywalker’s desert home) and plumped down on Endor (forest home of the Ewoks in Star Wars),” Jay joked.

We hiked for three miles, enjoying our new habitat. A flower known as vanilla leaf posed next to a tree trunk, while pink trillium called good morning from beside the trail.

The rhythm of hiking began to lull me with familiarity, until suddenly I topped a rise to see … WATER! Astonishment coursed through my body. Even though my brain knew that lakes dominate much of the Cascades, actually seeing rippling blue water caused a disruption in my subconscious. The desert of southern California felt very far away.

Lower Rosary Lake with the Pulpit in the background.

By evening, my left Achilles tendon ached, and my pack had mysteriously gained weight throughout the day. As we lay out our dinner, I laughed over the contrast from yesterday. Our trail food could be classified as nourishing, but never sumptuous. The forest, with its quiet beauty, was so very different from the soul-thrilling music of Sunday morning. And yet, happiness pervaded my inmost being.

“Sometimes it seems that we humans need a return to the basics in order to be healthy,” Jay mused. “My brain wasn’t designed to stay at the top of Maslow’s hierarchy all the time. Maybe that’s why it’s a pyramid. We spend most of our time at the bottom – satisfying basic needs.”

Raisins, nuts, cheese, chocolate, and sardines.

I looked at Jay and smiled. Food, shelter, beauty, and a loved one. For what more could I ask? Maybe we hadn’t tumbled too far down Maslow’s hierarchy after all.

Taking Time to Smell the Roses

May 14, 2018

The Pacific Crest Trail traverses some very harsh environments, from baking desert valleys to frozen alpine mountain tops. These austere conditions often force hikers to push their bodily limits. Though Jay and I have been very lucky with the weather, we, too, have felt the extremes of this environment. Regularly carrying several pounds of water, often hiking over 15 miles per day, enduring pitiless sun, getting buffeted with gale-force wind – it all adds up. We knew that we needed a break, a complete rest, not just one zero day doing chores.

Ten days ago, while talking with his parents on the phone, Jay learned that they were concerned over their cat-sitting arrangements for an upcoming trip. He volunteered us to watch over a very cute, strong-minded kitty cat.

May 14-18, 2018

So, from Inyokern, CA, we took a bus to Gardnerville, NV. This also allowed us to see the eastern edge of the Sierra Nevada Mtns as we traveled up Hwy 395. Miles of snowy peaks accompanied our travel!

We picked up our car and spent the night with a friend in Gardnerville, had dinner with our son and his girlfriend in Reno the next day, then drove on to Eugene, where we settled in with Clementine, the aforementioned cat.

May 19-31, 2018

And so we have been enjoying civilization for the past two weeks. We’ve slept a lot. I caught up on this blog. We’ve taken short walks to Delta Ponds, on the Willamette River. Eugene is beautiful in the spring! The flowers flaunt their beauty for the world to see, while birds enjoy the water.

We’ve enjoyed cooking and eating the kind of food one can’t get on the trail or even in a restaurant!

Breakfast – hot tea, blueberries, salad, eggs over-easy, and paleo pancakes!

A typical dinner included baked fish with chard and lemon accompanied by a salad of mixed greens, cabbage, cauliflower, onion, red peppers, avocado, and goat cheese.

A friend of my mother-in-law invited me to swim each morning. We also spent one whole day visiting two old friends.

And we’ve worked at making friends with Clementine.

The first few days, she very obviously missed ‘her’ people. She would jump up beside me on the couch and ask to be petted. But when I obliged, she would only tolerate a few moments of stroking, then her tail would begin to twitch and she would jump down, sitting with her back to me, tail lashing furiously. I could imagine her thinking, ‘Can’t this human do anything? She doesn’t even know how to pet me correctly!’

One day while I was typing on the computer, Clementine seemed determined to snuggle, climbing all the way into my lap. I petted her, and the teeniest purr started deep within, only to be quelled instantly. Encouraged, I kept stroking. Clementine closed her eyes, still not completely relaxed, but heading that way. My eyes wandered to the computer, thoughts returning to my interrupted blog. One hand kept petting the cat while the other hand began surreptitiously typing. Clementine’s eyes flew open, legs coiling beneath her. With a bound she left my lap and stalked across the floor, tail quivering with indignation! I could imagine her thinking, ‘How dare she! The cheek of that woman, to think she could pet me and type at the same time! That’s it, I’m done with her!’

One thing Clementine did love from the beginning was to be outside with us. As I sat in the sun on the back deck, the cat would wind around my legs. I would reach down with her grooming comb, and Clementine held still while I pulled loose hair from her fur.

Clementine getting groomed while watching a bird.

After ten days of caregiving, Clementine was beginning to accept us. She put her paw on Jay’s chest when he sang to her, a sure sign of approval. And yesterday she let loose with a full, continuous purr while sitting on my lap – at least for a few moments!

What next?

We will return to the PCT in a couple of days. We’ve enjoyed our time off trail, and it has been lovely to know that the snow continues to melt in the high mountains!

When we started in March, we agreed that we would be hiking from March through October. We still hold to that goal. I’m looking forward to quiet nights and sun-kissed days.

Since we are already in Oregon, we have decided to return to the PCT at Willamette Pass, mile 1,908. We will hike north, to Canada. We think it will take us about two months. Then in August, we will find transportation from Canada back to Walker Pass, and start hiking north again, hoping to finish the high Sierras during August and then hike through the rest of California and Oregon in September and October. It will be very interesting to see whether we can finish the whole PCT in one go, hiking at our slow pace. We will strive to keep the idea of pilgrimage in our hike, seeking to learn from our journey, not just check off miles. I hope the readers of this blog will continue to enjoy reading of our trek, chopped up as it might be. I know I’m looking forward to seeing the trail again!

P.S. I will continue to take notes and try to post blogs regularly. There are fewer towns along the PCT in northern Oregon and Washington than there were in the first 650 miles, so there will probably be a lag of a week or ten days between each time I get a chance to post. I’ll keep writing as I hike!