Day 22
PCT Mile Marker 1272.09 – 286.47
Miles Hiked 14.38
It was a viciously cold night. I gathered my electronics into a bag and put them in the bottom of my sleeping bag so they wouldn’t die.
I put on All Of My Clothes.
I woke up over and over, shivering.
Pull the sleeping bag drawstring tighter around my face.
Push extra stuff sacks by my feet to take up a little more space. Less space for me to heat.
Grab my backpack’s rain fly and wrap it around the outside of the foot box of my sleeping bag.
Put on gloves.
So, so cold.
Finally I just started doing sit-ups in my sleeping bag. I generated extra body heat and finally fell asleep.
It didn’t last long.
Four bouts of sleep and sit-ups later, the sun finally started kissing the sky.
And my abs were sore.
The cottony mist clung to the crevasses between the mountains. As I walked, the sun burned it away into the sky where it became gossamer, torn threads of tule.
Six miles of steep downhill.
4,000 feet down.
My knees ached as I danced around and over and under the poison oak.
Ages later, at the bottom, I crossed the railroad tracks and found a small, forgotten, weed-lined path that led to the river.
I stripped off my leggings, socks, and gaiters. I got my collapsible bucket and scrubbed all my clothes with biodegradable soap. Rinse, repeat, rinse, repeat. No poison oak please.
No Whammies.
I scrubbed and rinsed all flesh that may have been exposed, and when I felt relatively clean, I threw myself in the river, dress and all.
It was hot, and the water was cool, and I was happy.
I drip-dried as I walked into Belden. I went to the bar and asked if I could buy a can of beer to take with me to camp. The guy said, “The cans only come in twelve packs. If you want a single, it only comes in glass.”
So obviously I didn’t get one. I didn’t like the vibe there anyway, so I scooted right out of town and started back up the next 4,000 foot climb on the other side.
Two miles later, I found a tiny trail to a tiny creek. I pushed through the bushes to the other side, and to my surprise, the trail kept going! I set up camp right on the trail. Not a great campsite, but My Own Secret Spot.
Just as I settled in, another hiker poked his head through the bushes too. “Oh, hello,” I said. “You had the same idea as me!”
He was Joe, on a month-long hike with his brother Mark.
One Lunar Cycle, they said.
They followed the trail all the way down and then came back to get me. They said the sites were large and beautiful and right next to the river. It even came with firewood.
Sold. See? The Second Spot is always the best.
Joe built a fire and we shared some Jack Daniels and pretty soon I was surrounded by banana slugs and the three of us just had a fine time laughing until nearly ten o’clock.
The moon peeked over the ridge, wearing a halo of frosty air, and it was time for bed.