Day 24PCT Mileage 1297.08 – 1313.24
Miles Hiked 16.16
Bitter, bitter cold. It’s so cold all the time. I slept with my gloves on again and just shivered through the night, hoping against hope that next time I woke up, it would finally be morning.
I didn’t do any sit-ups because sleeping pads are loud and I didn’t want to wake up Sean or Kale.
Brrrrrrrrrrr
Finally I couldn’t take it anymore and I just got up and made coffee. Hoped that would warm me up. I kept the lighter in my pocket overnight so it wouldn’t freeze like yesterday. I figured I would really want coffee today. There was no coffee yesterday since I couldn’t light the stove.
Kale came out of Sean’s tent and scoped the perimeter. She weaved in and out of the trees, her nose high in the air. I watched her tawny ruff and she moved. All stealth and serious. And I smiled and sipped my coffee.
Sean and I were concerned about the upcoming section of snow, so the two of us studied maps and went over possible work-arounds. Ultimately, he and I agreed to just go look at how scary the snow was and make some determinations from there.
“Do you have a trail name?” I asked.
“No, do you?”
“No,” I said, “but I thought your trail name was Dogman. Those people yesterday referred to you as Dogman. Like it was already your name.”
“Oh! Well I guess I’m Dogman then. I’m gonna call you IceBox,” he grinned and kept walking.
“To match my cold, dark heart?”
He laughed. “No, because you said you’re always so cold, and you sleep with your gloves on.”
IceBox. I thought about it for an hour. IceBox. Back when I was a working stiff, there was a sign on my door that said ‘Incubator’. The heater was always on full blast in my office. I even named the heater because I loved him so much. Fred.
Hmmm. IceBox. I did start in Truckee, after all, and I did hike through all that snow…
Kale cruised behind Sean as the three of us headed down the dreaded snowy area. I cut a huge switchback and just went down the dirt. Surprise, right? Anyway, it was super easy to avoid. The rest of the snow was basically level. Not Remotely Super Sketchy McSketcherson.
At some point, Sean and I realized there was no more snow. Whatever scared people who were going Southbound, it must have already melted. It was Dry Trail.
Score. Heart Attack Averted.
Sean waited for a friend to meet him at the next road to pick up Kale. There were several waterless stretches ahead that were over ten miles, and it wasn’t fair to make her hike through.
I tried to go ahead, but Kale had already decided I was part of her doggie pack, so she kept running down the trail to get me. So sweet. “Go see your Papa,” I’d tell her, and she’d go running all the way back to where Sean was waiting at the trailhead.
The next water was at Little Cub Spring, about ten miles away. That was the stopping place for the day, by necessity. I carried four liters of water. Water is so heavy. Was that too much water ? Too little? I figured I’d know the answer soon.
The afternoon sun burned the trail into a dusty film. It proofed up around my shoes as I walked. It settled on my calves, then my forearms, and finally my nose. I put my umbrella up and trekked on.
The landscape changed dramatically with every mile. Open, dry meadows peppered with some sort of evergreen that grew so evenly, it’s branches looked like one of those decorative serving plates with rounded tiers getting smaller the further they go up.
Volcanic rocks lumped their way out of the ground with phlox and mule ears. Tiny pink flowers, and happy blue ones with little white faces. Cat Paws lying close to the ground.
Mt. Lassen’s snowy head grew closer, and the views were non-stop fabulo-so.
The sun was soft on my neck. The air heavy with the first days of summer. Heated Pine-Scented Air. The world smelled so clean.
Sean caught up to me and soon there were bear tracks in the trail. Pretty good sized bear at that. After a while, the bear was below us. Very Close By. Mr. Bear grunted deep in his throat. Loud. Loud enough to tell me he was there. Loud enough to convince me not to hang around. He didn’t have to tell me twice.
Sean wore a size 14 shoe. I had to nearly run down the trail just to keep up with him. Why do all my hiker friends have such big feet? It was motivating to follow him, though. To get through that waterless stretch as fast as possible. To see how far I could push myself.
So I ran. At the 7 mile mark I was really getting worn out by the grueling pace. By the 8 mile mark, I noticed I was having trouble focusing on where my feet were going. By 8.5, I was stumbling. By 9, I ran my left foot into a rock so hard I gasped and almost fell.
“Uh oh. That’s not good,” I thought. Then I sped off to catch Sean again.
I hit that same foot on a few smaller rocks, and then it was a sharp and windy descent of 3/10 mile that felt like 2 whole miles, and Little Cub Springs finally made an appearance. Along with some deer who mostly stood around staring for a while.
I collapsed and did my stretches on my mat. I couldn’t believe how far I’d gone.
I made it! ME! I did that! I’m awesome!
Dogman said he is a Trail Angel in Chester, and sometimes puts up PCT hikers who come into town. He said if I can pull off fifteen miles tomorrow too, I could stay at his family’s house. I could meet his family, charge my electronics, take a shower, do laundry, eat real food…I was sold.
Fifteen miles? That’s nothing.
I could do that.
I could do anything.