6-16 Japanese Pharmacy, Double Dinners

Cold damned morning.  I've perfected the art of putting on sandals, running to pee, grabbing my bear can and jumping back into my sleeping bag as quickly as possible.  I do everything I can while in that bag.  Anyway, Charlie appeared a bit better this morning, so, after waiting a few hours for some kind of response from the rangers, we decided to press upwards toward Tyndall Creek.  

Some hiking time was spent worrying about the altitude before Charlie, who was developing a headache, suggested we start asking hikers if they had medical training.  The next group of three, a Japanese family from LA, happened to have a nurse among them.  She was in her early 60's, I think, and was quick to chide Charlie for stopping his blood pressure medication.  From her oversized pack, she pulled an equally oversized bag of pills.  Both men also pulled meds from their packs.  Trail Nurse then handed Charlie several pills designed for altitude sickness, several baby aspirin, a bunvh of salt pills, and a couple of Viagra as substitutes for the altitude pills in a pinch.  She insisted he repeat back her instructions for a medication regimen. He did.  And immediately took altitude sickness medication.  We thanked the group profusely.

Symptoms improved slowly.   Hiking pace quickened.  At an intermediate water source, we encountered a High Sierra Trail hiker who showed us an alternative route if the pills didn't do the trick.  Now, with solutions piling up, we were much more confident for Forester Pass.  At Tyndall, Charlie was clearly doing better, but understandably annoyed at having had to miss Whitney.  Tomorrow is his birthday, and we will be climbing the highest point on the trail.  This could be a really excellent birthday if the pills work.  Anticipating a tough day, we all consumed our extra dinners for a carb load and attempted to get a good night's sleep.

leaving crabtree

more water!

barren and windy

6-15 Crabtree Meadow and Why Plans Are Fluid

I woke up with a pressing need to urinate, as usual,  stood up, found a tree, then grabbed my bear can from the locker and jumped right back in my bivy, making breakfast and eating it in the warmest conditions available.  Yes, my bag and bivy have a little food smell around them, but if that hasn't accumulated anyway over 760 miles, I'd be very surprised.  It was worth the minimal risk just to be warm.  Just as I was finishing up, Charlie (Navigator) exited his tent and took a similar walk.  He also disappeared back into his tent, and Carol (Pit Stop) emerged a few minutes later.  She walked over and said that Charlie had been dizzy and lightheaded all night, and had nearly fallen when standing up.  He's the kind of guy who will suffer in silence until a problem is too big to ignore, so this worried us both. Elevation seemed most likely, though other theories included inner ear/sinus issues, blood pressure drop due to his meds (which may have become unnecessary at a sustained elevation of 10k or so), or a pinched nerve in his neck, since there seemed to be a correlation between lying on his right side and the symptoms in the night. Regardless, I decided to stick with them until the issue could be resolved; I could run for help or assist Carol if necessary.  I'd brought eight days of food, anyway, since I wasn't sure of my own altitude tolerance, so I was in no danger of running out if it took an extra day or two.   And this is why plans are fluid, man.

To be honest, I have no problem taking a little extra time in this beautiful area.  I walked a mile and a half to Rock Creek ranger station, left a note for assistance, returned to camp, then hiked fairly slowly (for Charlie, who was still ahead of us even with these symptoms) up a couple of passes with them to Crabtree Meadow. Water is everywhere up here in comparison to all the trail behind me.  Deer were grazing as we entered the clearing.  I hiked packless and in my sandals up the mile and a half creekside trail to the Crabtree ranger station and left a note there as well.  On my way, Pockets and Hugs were gutting a lovely golden trout they'd just pulled from the river on a segmented Japanese fly rod. I'd like to pick one of those up immediately! Gods how I miss fishing.  I asked the girls (Pockets and Hugs) if they'd teach me how to use a fixed line fly rod and they seemed excited to show me if we ever get the chance.

Back at camp, Charlie was feeling alright, so we planned to all hike slowly to Tyndall Creek tomorrow, then get him over Forester Pass the next day, since, at 13,200', it is the lowest elevation exit point for us now.  Cottonwood Pass is too many miles back to be an option.  If all goes well,  we will take the Onion Trail through Kearsarge Pass to Independence the following day.  Hopefully one of the rangers will respond in the meantime and get him something for the altitude sickness.

Now, I am watching seven deer and an equal number of marmots spread themselves over this huge meadow.  Through the bivy mesh, there is just enough distortion to wonder if I'm watching young bucks or mule deer with very large ears. The creek is rushing below me, filled with colorful fingerling golden trout.  Stark outcroppings surrounding Whitney backdrop the whole diorama, and I will try tomorrow to take a picture that can do this place justice.  My only wish at the moment is that I could be enjoying this place under better circumstances.  It is wonderful, but I am worried about my friend.

Rock Creek

So lovely. So pointy.

6-14 Real Campsite!

In nearly every photo of the PCT, there is water, green plants, rugged terrain.  Until this point, those photos are a myth.  I live in the desert and love it, but today, finally, I am camped on a bed of pine needles,  have my bear can stowed in a real bear box, and am listening to a nice, wide, shallow creek while I watch the expansive meadow in front of me for wildlife.  My clothes, washed in river water, are hanging dry above me.  It takes seconds, not minutes, to fill my gallon ziploc bag with water for sterilizing.  This was worth the walk.

My day was spent hiking with Pit Stop and Navigator over surprisingly deep sand littered with rough-edged boulders.  Jokes throught the day centered on the beach which was missing its ocean. In a meadow below us, early in the day, I saw a distant black shape moving around near a rock.  I really miss my damned binoculars.   We all had knee pain from the downhill, rocky sand; additionally, there was a sharp shooting pain in my right hip for the last couple of miles to Rock Creek.  Upon stopping here, all my pain evaporated into elation at dipping my dirty, wrecked feet and legs into cold rushing water.  

Tomorrow will be my last day hiking with these two St. George miscreants, since they plan to take the detour ip Whitney.  I love hiking alone, but their companionship was a great motivation for me to push through the altitude.  They've certainly convinced me that we will all be hiking together after this thing is done, exploring Utah, Arizona and Nevada and finding microbrews along the way.  

Note: three whitetail does just before dusk

first of the lakes

Pit Stop and Navigator

another photo by a sign...

Into real fotest

6-13 in the Shadow of Whitney

There was a nearly full moon still well established in my view when dawn surrounded it.  No pictures could compare to that sunrise, tall peaks in the background.   I took my time exiting the bivy in the cold, but still managed to get on the trail by seven.  Several uphill miles got me up to 10,600, where I found Pit Stop and Navigator finishing their first break.  We were all happy to be reunited,  and I spent the rest of the day hiking with them.  We got water from a couple of clear spring-fed creeks, dropped down to 9700, then climbed back up to 11,200, where Navigator had planned to camp.  Fine choice; the area appeared bear-free, flat and fairly wind-protected.  We rushed down our suppers, stowed our bear cans in a secure location,  and ducked into our respective warm localities.

All day, when a saddle was reached, the bare ass of Mt. Whitney, tallest peak in the lower 48, mooned us.  I have no desire to climb that damned thing again, but many PCT hikers take the side trip up, since it only constitutes one extra day.  I'm content to worry about Forester Pass, the 13,200' highest point on the trail with its downslope on the north side.  Though I see little snow on Whitney,  I am not looking at its cold dark side.  And I decided to play this game without microspikes or ice axe.  We shall see.

moon at sunrise

camping on top of the world

sierra panorama

frozen camp

6-12 Above 10,000 and Some Questions Answered

6-12 Above 10,000 and Some Questions Answered

I fear altitude sickness.  A couple of times I've experienced mild symptoms,  mostly headache and lightheadedness.  Hitting the Sierras on this trail has had me worried.  But, today's climb allayed this trepidation somewhat.  Having camped around 8000', my body adjusted well, and I was only mildly panting up past Olancha Pass and over the 10,300' crossing.  Pit Stop and Navigator were great motivators, and it was nice to chat while gasping for air.  At a small trickle of water, Navigator noticed a small family of grouse which we stalked with our cameras.  Mother clucked calmly at her several children while we clicked away only a few feet from them.

After getting water at Death Canyon (naw, I'm not kidding,  and it it a fairly tasty water source), though, I started to drag on the climb and pulled off a bit earlier than the other two.  I don't like letting my damned neuroma run the show, but I was tired anyway, so I made camp and vowed to catch them in the morning.

Question: What do you eat?

I almost always eat the same stuff.

Breakfast

"Shart" is a mixture thst I've created consisting of:

1/2 scoop electrolyte drink mix

3/4 cup dried instant oatmeal

1 scoop protein powder

2 VIA coffee packets

1 cup cold water

It is shaken, left to sit for a few minutes, then drunk cold

Also a package of pop tarts

Snack

One of the following:

Protein bar

Package of corn nuts

Handful of Trader Joe's trail mix

Lunch

6 water crackers

6 big slices of dry salami

6 big slices of parmesan or mozzarella

Also lunch "shart" consisting of electrolyte drink powder and a coffee packet in a cup and a half of water

Snack (as above)

Dinner

Two handfuls of potato/stuffing/gravy mixture

One packet tuna

Mixed together cold with a couple cups of water

Also a half tortilla slathered in Nutella

Occasionally potatoes are substituted with a tortilla and mayo

Question: Do you always sleep in a bivy?

Nope, I usually cowboy camp.  Nothing has crawled into my sleeping bag yet.

Question: How far ahead do you plan?

 In general terms, I plan the rough number of days to the next town.  Nothing elaborate here.  When I know there is no good resupply coming, I will mail food to the next place that receives hiker packages.  But really, I can resupply at a gas station if I have to.  It really doesn't have to be a huge ordeal.

Daily, I figure out my water options and give myself a minimum goal.  If I go over it, I'm happy.  But I always know where the next water is.

Pit Stop stomping down the trail

snow plants

some riparian goodness

6-11 Sierras Start Here

Pit Stop and Navigator dutifully made some noise in the morning to wake me up.  Switching back to a diurnal schedule is going to take me a few days.  They took off a half hour before me, leaving me time to exchange contact information with and say goodbye to Half and Half.   I had such an instant connection with him that I couldn't fathom leaving without knowing how to catch up with him in the future.  Packing up, I remember trying to decide where to carry betsy Ross' painted rock, which she'd wanted artfully placed on the trail somewhere.

I walked to the trail register, signed my two trail names, and enjoyed a hilly few miles in soft dirt with ponderosa shade.  At the Kern River bridge, I drew a liter of water and decided to place the rock.  In the confusion of trying to fit in my bear cannister, it seems I'd left the damned thing at camp.  So, instead, I made a rock stack near the bridge and took a picture to send to Betsy later.  

Beyond the bridge, the trees diversified; cedars and firs and an occasional Sequoia entered the mix.  Substrate switched from loamy to rocky and back again.  Near a burned area, I nearly walked right past Pit Stop and Navigator, sitting very close to the trail.  I was looking down, a condition that I've dubbed trail myopia.  They called out to me and we chatted for a minute; when I took a break a couple miles ahead, they nearly trail myopia-ed past me, which made us all laugh.  After my break, I caught up to them and we all walked to the next water through low sagebrush scrub with dark clouds gathering overhead.  There were thunderous rumblings just as the trees near the river came into view. Excellent luck.  Only a few drops, but we were dry and warm in the tree cover as the wind and cold consumed the unprotected valley all around us.  An hour later, the sun came back out.  We all noted the similarity to Colorado weather.

Since we seemed to have the same pace, we all continued together, camping in a flat ponderosa-covered spot above the trail.  We threw our bear cannisters in the same area and hoped they'd be there in the morning.  I slept uncommonly well in my bivy with the air mattress.

on to the mountains

bridge. a rarity.

rock stack for Betsy Ross

6-6 to 6-10 It's a Trap!

Three of four packages were waiting for me when I returned from Grumpy Bear's breakfast on day one.  An old SUV had come at eight to take loads of hikers the four miles to the bar down the road where the pancakes were endless, but the eggs and meat were finite and closely guarded.  I stayed behind after the first load of hikers was returned to the store and taught Far Out how to make some basic pool shots.  I'd missed playing on a table, having a beer with locals, and engaging in conversation not related to hiking.

The first three packages contained the Isabella resupply, my bear can and some excellent items sent by David, and new, desperately needed shoes.  The missing fourth was to provide me with socks and sock liners, a ground cloth, and an air mattress to help me sleep and stay warm in the 12000' areas to come.  Upon package distribution,  the store proprietors started me a tab.  Packages were received at $5/day; general store items were priced with a markup commensurate with the time and labor required to drive down to Ridgecrest,  purchase them at Costco, then bring them back up the hill.  Not cheap.

Truly, I needed a few days off to rest my feet and hip and heal my now-infected finger.  My missing package worried me a bit, but I took it as a sign to rest up, relax and eat/drink for a day or two.  I mingled with Windsong, Pinecone,  Jackass, Molasses, Ewok, Shreck, Shamiko, Manbearpig, Dogger, Twisted Hair, Cheesemeyer, Mover, Otto, Catdog, Karma, Crash Test, Half and Half, Pit Stop, Navigator, Star Rider, Sunshine, Vibes, Doc and Scheise Ja.  There were games of "never have I ever," there were insightful moments of painful realization all around, there was excessive pancake consumption, a record 19 hikers managed to squeeze into a pickuptruck on another ride to Grumpy's breakfast.  People began to leave and others took their places.  A package arrived for me.  Half my shipment, the socks and ground cloth.  No company phone number provided.  Grrr.  Would there be another?  Was the order cancelled?

Internet is fickle and expensive to residents and businesses in Kennedy Meadows.   The internet cafe doles it out sparingly to a chosen few, and I have not enough interest in listening to stoner stories nor patience for stoner etiquette to figure out how to become an internet-user at Tom's.  Furthermore, only a very expensive pay phone connects hikers to the outside world (now known as "the Matrix").  There was no way I knew to find out whether I'd received an email regarding the missing items.  My solution was to just enjoy some time off and play more pool at Grumpy Bear's, this time having ridden in with a trail angel named Betsy Ross, who had chatted with me and shared her artwork with me at the general store.  Dogger, Twisted Hair and Cheesemeyer watched us for a couple hours trading her nice, worn-in 19oz cue back and forth.  Excellent shots were made and missed.   We were evenly matched and both very much enjoyed simply playing the game.  I was renamed Hustler.  

Ms. Ross surprised me and Far Out the next day by walking down to the camping area and taking us for a picnic to the river with Spirit, her lovely dog.  We walked up the shallow river-bottom, sat in a deep spot and listened to the willows and water.  She gave us meatloaf sandwiches and organic fruits and vegetables and we drank good beer and fresh-squeezed orange juice.  Rocks were artfully stacked.  Spirit rolled in something revolting and we all got soaked trying to wash the stench from her.  Then, hearing of my plight, she offered use of her computer, and I finally was able to get a timeline for leaving.  Package due Tuesday or Wednesday.  

Far Out took off early Monday afternoon, and I spent a few hours on the porch chatting with Half and Half and a few others off and on.  Half and Half humored a couple hours of my questions about his walnut orchard and vineyard and life in general.  We had immediately established that we had a great deal in common, and I felt like our conversation left out a sizeable portion of the usual bullshit.  He was instant family.

When Betsy Ross rolled in, I introduced them, and Half and Half suggested a trip to the river with some wine.  Catdog joined in, and I had another moment on the South Kern free of the hiker herd.  Betsy stacked rocks as an art installation.  We sipped wine and told stories until dusk.  Catdog and I returned to the store with Betsy, leaving Half and Half to camp by the river.  I envied him.

Tuesday morning, I got my bear can together, shipped a resupply to Independence, sterilized my water bottles, put my pack back in order and tried out my new shoes.  Much tougher soles, less ventilation, hopefully a bit more supportive.  I evaluated my still-ugly finger wound; Vegannaise had given me a eucalyptus poultice a few days before, though I am unsure of its efficacy.  No pus had exuded from it in over a day, but the flap of skin which had been nearly flayed from me was healing short of its mark.  I expect a big scar with a ridge from the little space between the top of the flap and the finger.  Not infected now, though.

After doing my chores, I came up for breakfast and saw Half and Half, who had gotten a ride for the two and a half miles back to the store.  He was meeting friends in the area, and decided the store would be a more interesting place to wait.  With him were Pit Stop and Navigator, a couple I'd met at the Saufleys.  We sat on the porch talking for most of the morning, then Half and Half met his friends and invited us all to camp with them at the campground by the river.  Betsy showed up soon after and offered to drive me down after UPS showed up, just in case my package was a rare on-time case.

"Maniak," was yelled from the front door and I leapt out of my seat.  Free!  Package arrived!  I was packed within the hour.  Spent the night stacking rocks in the river with Betsy and Spirit, chatting with my new friends,  and wishing I'd ordered the medium NeoAir mattress.  Ah well, I can put my clothing bag under my hanging-off feet; it will force me to elevate them at night.

Tomorrow, fattened with cheeseburgers and beer, I get to climb to 9 or 10 thousand feet with a pack heavier than before.  Brilliant!

kennedy meadows general store with Far Out

Betsy Ross stacking away

I think these are done

stay...

Spirit, the awesome dog

6-5 Long Haul

Had to make up for my short day.  24 miles up a few thousand then down quite a few thousand.  Such a long descent.  Still, the mended shoe let in fewer rocks and my re-readjusted pack was fairly tolerable.  The Kern River finally came into view in late afternoon. Pulling water from it, a water strider dipped into my bottle and I watched it mill around for a bit before using my bandanna to strain it out.  River water has a distinctive flavor, something like algae and feet combined.

Far Out and I met up again at the river and walked the final 5 miles into Kennedy Meadows together, reaching the general store porch in the twilight.  Many friends and a good reception.  We camped in the back 40.

700

late into KM

6-4 Cutting It Short

Too much elevation lost and gained.  I crashed after 11 miles today, giving up and camping near Chimney Creek.  Sometimes, you need a short day.  Up a few thousand, down a few thousand, rocks in my cut-open shoes.  I borrowed a needle and dental floss and sewed an athletic tape patch over the cut in my left shoe to stop the gravel coming in.  I filtered several liters of water, vowing to drown-hydrate myself if necessary.  I heard the temperatures down in Mojave, not far, but a few thousand feet down, had finally cracked 105 degrees.  Up here, with just enough clouds to create humidity, the temperature must have been at least 85, maybe 90.  Killya hot when you're climbing.  

Cool breeze off the little creek, though, and cicadas in the willows.  Not a bad place to be at all.

6-3 Out of Walker, A Naturalist and a Naturist

Pinecone and Windsong  took off last night, Far Out around 9 this morning, and myself and Dogger at nearly 1030.  I lingered, talking biology with Jackalope, who has a PhD in it.  Brilliant woman.  When I asked her what she's doing now, she replied that she builds houses out of mud and sticks.  

I hiked up out of the pass, eventually panting and pulling off to let Dogger pass me up. Halfway up the ascent, I found Far Out and we chatted and rested through the heat.  A day hiker passed us.  Far Out took off, and I departed the shade tree about 20 minutes later. Rounding Mt Jenkins, that tan, uncircumcised day hiker reappeared.  He wore a wide-brimmed hat, calf-length socks, sturdy Vasque boots and a hydration pack.  Nothing more.  Though I am not offended by nudists, my brain immediately delights in dressing them up like crazy fleshy paper dolls.  "I'm dressing you with my eyes," I thought, amused.  He seemed disappointed that I was content to shoot the shit with him, unoffended and disinterested in his nakedness.  Just another hiker.

The climb continued around, sidehilling forever, forest disappearing into dismal burned areas..  And then back down, again.  Exhausting day.  I camped near the only sure water source, the spring-fed Spanish Needle Creek.  At dusk, I met up with Far Out there, and he pointed out a tiny brown scorpion right under my trekking pole. Them are the scary ones.

bye, bye Walker Pass

nudists like this mountain, evidently

6-2 Jim

Yogi, Okie Girl, Jackalope, and her young son, Bearbait put together a pancake breakfast with endless coffee.  Sometime around 10, Jim, a 73 year old volunteer, appeared in a Toyota T100 to drive us to town with the recycling.  I sat in the cab with Pinecone, since we were most prone to motion sickness.  From this trip, I learned all about alpaca and rabbit ranching, the values of certain old, rare beer cans, and heard a tear-jerking story about the necklace hanging on his rear view mirror.  He gave us a few hours to hit the stores and walk to the post office, if necessary.

I resupplied, mailed some things to Kennedy Meadows and ordered a shipment of socks, a ground cloth and a damned NeoAir mattress so I could sleep.  There was fast food and an amazing ham and cheese pastry.  I wished for more time to think things through,  but was fairly satisfied with my resupply decisions.  I'd planned to reevaluate in Kennedy Meadows and bounce half of the stuff on to Independence,  which has limited resupply options.

Jim picked us all up and brought us back to Walker Pass, this time sharing his experiences as a hiker and observer.  Like me, he does not understand the constant competitive rush to Canada.  He said that he knows I'll make it because I take my time.  Of my friends,  he was most worried for "the tall one" (Pinecone), whom he felt would have a hard trip if she made it.  He didn't elaborate except to say that she was very serious.  We then lapsed into levity and anecdotes. He offered to value any rare old steel beer cans I might come across, then promised to pop back in the next morning.

We ate spaghetti again, told stories with Yogi and Dogger (a hilarious AT veteran with a bright pink patch in his white beard), and planned to leave sometime the next morning.  

6-1 Walker Pass, Yogi and Jackalope

Before the walk into Walker Pass, I tried to adjust the difficult and annoying lower back pad on my pack.  I succeeded in making it even more uncomfortable,  and I'd vowed,  by the time I arrived, to throw the damned thing out and get a new one.  Pain in my back combined with pain in my feet from hiker swelling.  I'd grown a shoe size and had already cut my shoes to pieces trying to relieve pressure on my neuroma.  Gorgeous scenery, trees appearing and fading again into desert, passed by with me barely noticing due to general grumpiness.  Every so often, even though I feel it happening, I cannot pause to remember that this is not work and that I should be enjoying it.  The worst trail moments are the ones I miss due to pain and distraction.  

Growling into Walker Pass, I was unprepared for and at first, barely aware of the rhythmic clapping, increasing in speed and intensity as I approached the "water cache" sign and neared a couple of EZ up shade structures.   I looked over with a baffled expression on my face.  When I got in range, a hiker handed me a generic can of root beer and clapped me on the back.  Yogi, author of the most-referenced book of the trail, the book carried, at least in pieces, by nearly every hiker, handed me a huge quesadilla.  I had to finally smile.  Far Out, Windsong, Pinecone and Coyote all greeted me.  Bastard kindness all around.  I know it's just trail magic, but sometimes it feels like charity, and I really don't know what to think about that.  

We ate spaghetti with a huge group at dinner, I chatted with Mover and Grasshopper, who were both skipping through, performing some hiking/hitching dance up the trail.  After huge piles of food, I pulled up a spot under a big pinion pine next to my buddies and planned a resupply trip into Lake Isabella for the next day.

morning before Yogi

5-31 Mayhem and Magic

It may be true that I camped within a half mile of a road, that I sleep at unpopular times for hikers, and that, if only a cursory look around were given, one might have missed my bright fucking orange sleeping bag.  I still cannot forgive Ewok for waking me up with the gentle hippie percussion of his huge, sonorous steel drum at 7:30. There are enough night hikers for me to feel justified here. Rarely can I sleep much at all; my legs jump around with crazy electrical current most nights and I flip from side to side bemoaning the lost fat pads that used to make my hips comfortable. Having ended at 3 the night before, gotten to sleep around 5, and been awoken at 7:30, I was angry.   I yelled that night hikers were trying to sleep.  The drumming stopped.  I felt like a bit of a prick.

Walked down the trail in a grumpy mood, worried about water, hoping the cache had been magically stocked.  A mile from the road, I saw Far Out ahead of me talking to a couple of day hikers and holding...a beer!  I strode down and was introduced to 3 hikers from last year who had picked a hot Saturday to perform trail magic.  They handed me a cold Budweiser from a backpack and instructed us to take the trail to the parking area and find the little supplemental cache of water and treats that they'd brought.  There were beers and cookies, grapes and sodas and there was a 5 gallon jug of water.  Across the road, we could see that the main cache hadn't been stocked yet, so we took a small amount of water and sat under a big pinion pine drinking all the carbonated things available.  A few more hikers showed up doing the same thing.  Most of them had had to walk the 3 mile alternate to get more water after the first dry cache.  

An hour later, a car pulled up.  When the dust cleared, I saw that it was filled with water jugs and gatorade and Starbucks coffee drinks.  Magnanimously, I went down to help.  And gatorade is really hard to pass up.  Strangely, these were also just random trail magic suppliers.  They offloaded much of their burden and explained that they were helping out because of reports that the cache was empty.  During their explanation, a third vehicle pulled in. The actual cache folks.  At the same time, Windsong and Pinecone appeared with a crazy story.

As we all helped pull down the empty jugs and fill them, the girls explained what had brought them in behind us.  They had counted on the Kelso Valley cache, but, seeing it empty, had pushed on, hoping that this cache had water.  This had happened the previous day, however, when both caches had been dry.  Arriving at this cache with little more than a liter between them, they'd acquired another liter from a friend and backtracked a total of 14 miles to the alternate route spring.  What a shitty detour.  And now, the cache was triple stocked and the couple who run it were offering us all sandwiches and powerade  We feasted and drank.  Our moods improved.   Eventually, we all scooted up the mountain in the evening, drunk on liquids.

What a great day.

1000km!

feeding the ants to distract the bastards

looking ahead

5-30 Cooler Water

I met up again with Far Out this morning as he was passing by my camp.  Our different sleep schedules keep us overlapping at around 9; I leapfrog him in the night.  My screwed up finger had gushed a bit overnight, and there were blood droplets glistening on the Erodiun and Eriogonum leaves on the right side of my sleeping bag.  He appeared both amused and concerned about the injury.  Since I'd just butterflied it closed, I spared him a view of it.

We met up again at the empty Kelso Valley Road water cache.  He was sitting in the thin shade of a lone Joshua tree as I came down the hill.  His posture told me the cache was empty.  We walked over to a pair of coolers surrounded by coyote-scattered garbage.  He said there was still some dirty, fairly revolting water in the coolers from melted ice and offered to take it with his filter, which pulls out particulates, so I didn't have to use a bandanna with my UV filter.  I could then take the liter or so of cache water which had somehow been left floating in half-submerged jugs.

With this bit of water, bypassed by less resourceful and hastier previous hikers, we determined that we could make it to Walker Pass if necessary.  This meant being able to skip a three mile alternate to a spring and planning for the second cache at Bird Spring Pass to be empty.  It also would require more night hiking and severe rationing.  Walking from the cache at noon, when we'd met up, was out of the question, so we set up a half-ass camp in a sparse collection of nearby Joshua trees to wait for evening.  I hung my jacket between a couple of the sad yuccas for more shade. It was a hot afternoon.

We finished our 20 for the night at around 3am, just four miles and a thousand feet or so above the second water cache. I camped under a few extant Joshua trees within a familiar Mojave landscape and watched meteors drizzle down the night sky like heavy raindrops.

lookin back

excited about cooler water

5-29 20's Forever

Made it to 611 or so.  There is spotty water out here, so I filled six liters at Robin Bird Spring.  It took some time, the water trickling out at a desert pace.  Many other hikers had planned on a fire tank with complicated instructions for water extraction a few miles down; nearly every hiker planned on the Kelso Valley Road water cache at mile 615 or so.  I decided that I wasn't interested in getting off trail just because I didn't want to carry a few extra pounds.  Besides, the spring water tasted good, and there was always the warning to heed regarding not counting on caches.  A guy from the UK smugly reminded me that there was probably water at the aforementioned locations.  I suppressed the urge to smack him and told him that I preferred to be prepared for this damned drought.  About an hour later, as I was preparing to leave, he asked the crowd if anyone had spare gauze for his foot-wrapping experiment.  I told him that since I was prepared, I happened to have some extra.  He promised me a beer sometime.

Around 10pm, cold and sweating through a snag-tangled patch of ash-sand, I lost my balance stepping over a downed, burned tree.  My left hand shot out, trekking pole awkwardly smacking my thigh, and grasped at a ragged, broken branch to stop my imminent tumble.  Safely on the other side of the obstacle, I realized that my index finger was gushing blood.  Sharp, burned tree branch had sliced to the bone on the inside part of the finger, grazing the webbing between it and the middle one.  Nice to have an extra liter of water to irrigate the wound.  Too bad I gave that asshole my gauze.  It bled heavily for about half an hour as I stumbled another mile to make my goal of  20.  Most of my gear acquired blood droplets by the time I'd unpacked my sleeping gear and first aid kit.  A few gauze pads and some serious pressure finally chilled it out, and I attempted some sleep.

600 in my shadow, baby

the gopher snakes love me

5-28 Food, Sleep, Repeat

I like night hiking.  I rarely fall asleep before 2am, so it suits me.  But I need to sleep late for it all to work out.  Most other hikers can't respect someone who wakes up after 5am, so as I sit making my breakfast at 8:30, I get eye-rolls and throat-clearing from passers-by.  People have different rhythms, and I'm tired of defending mine.  I've learned when I function best, dammit, now quit thinking I'm a slacker.  

Aside from that, it was a lovely day.  Desert scrub transitioned into oak and willow as the sandy valley bottom gave way to great chunks of limestone mixed with clay loam.  There was little elevation change all day, maybe 3000' in total over 19 miles, and persistent wind kept the heat to mere annoyance level.  Around 3pm, I found a pile of hikers at the tiny drip of a stream that was the only water source for 35 miles from highway 58. We all had to wait in line to fill from the dingy little spring; it took 5 minutes to fill my one liter bottle each of 4 times.  Far Out, Coyote, Windsong and Pinecone were all about to leave as I got there, but it was nice to talk to them briefly.  They all understood when I expressed my desire for some time alone after so much social interaction.  It was refreshing to have such understanding friends.

Around dusk, I took a little break to watch the sun setting through crazy, irregular windows of swaying ponderosa needles.  Under the newly blackened sky, I threw my pack back on and felt my hip flexor immediately rebel.  No idea what I did, but the next 4 miles were rather painful. I settled for a flat spot in a burned area a mile from my goal, and now am dreading how this damned thing will feel tomorrow.

exiting the wind farm

Crotalus-eye view of a gopher snake

welcome to the wilderness...with everyone else. waiting for a slow trickle of water

5-27 A Note from Mile 573

I took my time leaving Tehachapi. Drank coffee at Starbucks in the heat of the day, slurped Vietnamese vermicelli, visited the bookstore next door, then resupplied carefully at Albertsons. Planning for eight days instead of six or seven for the next 140 miles, just in case my speed hasn't increased, is hard in a drought year. So much water to carry.
While stuffing all the extra crap in my pack, I took my phone out of airplane mode to check messages. Another crazy coincidence occurred. A former coworker had texted me while driving through Tehachapi on her way to Texas just a few minutes before. Suddenly, I had a chance to catch up with Marisa over a beer at the Pub, a ride to the trailhead, and some awesome home-smoked trout all for the price of a beer.
After she dropped me off at Cameron road, I hiked through dusk and well into the night, catching a banded gecko and lyre snake, and playing with a defiant kangaroo rat that didn't want to get off the trail. The wind drained my energy, though, and I stopped here to recharge.

5-27 Slackin' Away from Tehachapi

I am in a Marriott room with four other hikers. Thank you, previous job, for the hotel points! There is gear strewn all over the floor, clothing draped on all surfaces, food on the beds, occasional food wrappers and beer bottles in the interspaces. This is one of the longer food and water carries, and everyone is trying to stretch the capacity of their light packs. There is grumbling and groaning. 6-8 days worth of food, 4-6 liters of water, and for Far Out, an added bear can. For once, I am proud of my skookum pack and its capacity.
It's late, and I haven't resupplied yet. I'm using my one little trump card on this stretch...I did the 8 miles from Tehachapi Willow Springs Road to Highway 58 as training right before starting the trail, and I am skipping it now. Instead, I am starting in a hot afternoon and will walk through the night, my favorite way to hike. Night hikes are truly lovely.

the kids and their crazy pile of crap

5-25 to 5-26 To Tehachapi

Today's 10 miles started with a mile of plant identification with Windsong and Pinecone. Then they grooved on ahead while I slowly plodded at 3mph downhill, carefully trying to keep my new gait consistent. Yesterday, fighting the damned wind, I'd slipped back into old ways of walking while trying to stay on the mountain. Pain had started to seep in, and I really wanted to avoid a deluge.
Wind turbines squeaked and growled above me for miles. I observed Tehachapi Willow Springs road for over an hour before I got there. So stinky and tired. Eight of us hitched into town at once, dancing on the road shoulder.
Two nights at the Marriott, with laundry and showers and time at the Doghouse will cure all ills.

5-24 Ever Propelled by the Universal Solvent

Camping dry takes some planning.  I am very careful with water, usually carrying a liter more than most hikers. Call it a desert rat's paranoia, if you like.  When we reached the 50 gallon water cache, I grabbed three liters, bringing my total back up to five.  Yes, 11 lb.  Not the end of the world, but it adds up.

Day 2 of the Mojave led me up and up through my former workplace, and after several energy-draining hours, I finally hit the silty Tylerhorse Canyon spring, only six miles from my starting point and at nearly noon.  Some days tie anvils to your feet and drag you through cold molasses on a hot day.  Evidently, everyone on the trail was just as drained.  The only shade tree, a huge scrub oak, had nine hikers sprawled under it in varying degrees of recline.  I waited four hours to continue.  And there was nothing but up and wind.  

Ahead was a hill, both the straight up and straight down parts. It was followed by a mountain, with long, flat switchbacks up 2200 feet.  The wind picked up to a steady 35-40mph.  Gusts to 60.  I was blown off the trail a few times and onto the ground twice.  A large garter snake appeared just in time for me to trip over my trekking poles to avoid squashing it.  I flipped on my headlamp and continued uphill against the wind, stopping to catch another juvenile gopher snake.  I'm a sucker for snakes.

Around 9pm, I saw Windsong and Pinecone shining their lights against the burned out oaks and rabbit brush.  They'd saved some space in the moderately windblocked ridgetop near the water cache.  Grateful and exhausted, I hid from the gusts.  At midnight, the goddamned wind stopped, just to spite me.

imagine 60mph wind gusts here