Striking Fear In The Hearts of Beasts

Day 52

PCT Mile Marker 1632.15 – 1653.42

Miles Hiked 21.27

So, so cold all night. And I was so tired, I left my electronics on…all night. Batteries were low on everything in the morning.

But I got my favorite. My favorite is the early morning hiking on soft downhills. Watching the sun come up in fits and spurts. Waiting to see if we’re gonna be friends today or not. Once it did come up, the flowers wet with morning dew cooled my legs.

Crash-crash-crash-crash-crash went a bear zipping away from me through the woods.

As the sun came up, I went down the mountain, so I was in shade for a large portion of the morning. Which actually felt pretty good. Because I was in a hurry.

The Post Office closed at 4pm. And I had 21 miles to cover by then.

I crossed a small stream and bright orange butterflies circled me. A butterfly hurricane. A thousand million of them. I put my arms out and turned around and around while the butterflies swirled and twirled and laughed with me. I was alive and happy and it was a beautiful day.

Crash-crash-crash-crash-crash went bear #2. He stopped down the hill and watched me. Fear in his eyes.

Fear of the Great and Mighty Icebox.

Awwww yeah. Striking Fear In The Hearts of Beasts.

I got to a creek crossing and took off my shoes. I waded across and put my socks and shoes and gaiters back on. I walked around the corner…and there was another stream crossing. Shoes and socks back off, crossed the stream, looked at my map app… “You Are Not On A Recorded Trail”. What???

So I crossed back over both streams again. A hiker was crossing upstream from me. 

Me: “Look at your maps! Something’s wrong!”

She kept going.

I ran back up to the trail until my app said I was in the right place. I ran back down the trail and plowed through both stream crossings and hollered at the hiker again. She looked at her maps and decided to keep going. Fine. Whatever. See if I try to save your ass again.

I went back across both streams again and put my socks and shoes back on. I went back up to the trail and took a turn. It didn’t feel right. It felt…abandoned. I kept going. Until I got to the old bridge that had been washed out.  

I looked at my maps a little closer. Yep, right there…bridge washed out. Use detour by crossing two creeks.

THE POST OFFICE CLOSES AT 4!!

OMG I just killed so much time. I ran back to the stream crossing. Shoes and socks off, tore across both crossings. Shoes and socks back on, took the four minute detour, and was back on trail.

But the next one was washed out too. So frustrated. I took my shoes and socks off again and wandered around on the banks for five minutes trying to figure out where to cross.  

On the other side, shoes and socks back on. Poison oak everywhere. Panicked, I started jogging where I could. Where the path wasn’t too washed out.

I got to a road walk. The houses on this road are the kinds of places you live only if you don’t want to be around any other humans.

Beware of Dog

Private Property

No Trespassing

Forget The Dog – Beware of Owner

After a long jog on a paved road, my feet were trashed. But I was getting so close to the Post Office!!!

I got there at 3:22, and I couldn’t believe it! After such a difficult day! 21 miles and still made the Post Office hours!  

Post Office Lady: “No. Your box isn’t here. I remember everyone’s names, and yours is unique. I would’ve remembered it. It’s not here.”

Me: “Are you sure?”

Post Office Lady: “Yep. I’d remember. I don’t have it. Sorry.”

Me: “Will you please double check?”

Post Office Lady, hollering from the back room: “Nope! Not here! So sorry! Oh here it is!”

Me: “Meldown Averted.”

Post Office Lady: “What?”

Me: “Nothing. Thanks.”

After a hundred stories about her life, she finally released me back into the day. So I bought ice cream and a beer from the store and went to the RV park to get a shower and do laundry.

The owner told me a hundred more stories about the area…they changed the name of one area to Happy Camp because when it was named Murderer’s Bar, they couldn’t get any hookers to go down there. The name of the town was supposed to be Sciad Valley, but the Post Master had pretty cursive writing, so it was recorded incorrectly as Seiad and stayed that way. People here don’t like other people around them, so they usually plant poison oak around their properties and places they like to go. Keep everyone else out.

I stood in the shower, paint peeling from the sides, water all over the floor, stains on stains. I turned up my head and looked at all the spiders on the ceiling. Some dead. Some alive.

I closed my eyes again.

I planned on moving on out, but I was advised that there were about five tent sites on the next climb, and about ten people already headed up. I couldn’t imagine climbing a thousand feet up in elevation just to discover there was nowhere to pitch a tent.

So I gave in to peer pressure.

And I camped at the RV park.

And I bought another beer.

And I hung out with other hikers.

And it was a beautiful night.