I'm laying in the tent with Chris right now. The bushes and trees outside are alive. There's a little spring nearby where the frogs are harmonizing, up on the slope it sounds like a scene from a Redwall book with warring racoons and who knows what else.
After Moreno Lake on the 27th we hiked through unexploded bomb territory, rose up into Pine Valley, crossed Highway 8, and worked our way around into Long Canyon. The views from Thing Road and the trail beyond it were spectacular. Chris caught his first horny toad of thr hike. We put in 17 miles that day and camped by Long Canyon Creek. On the 28th we hit our first patches of snow heading up to Mt. Laguna. It started out as just a little, but pretty soon I was high stepping, trying to avoid getting my socks wet. I found a red pack spoon in the snow. The tiny town of Mt. Laguna was only a quarter mile off trail, at the general store we got some good trail info from Jon, one of the brothers who owns the place. We ate as much fresh fruit, hot pockets, and chips and salsa as our stomachs could handle. Our SPOT GPS signal from the night before didn't go out, so we had a slough of worried messages from our parents when we turned on our phones. The snow subsided as we broke out of the trees and came out over the Anza Borrego Desert. We saw the many biomes of the Cleveland National Forest all in one day. At our camp, the end of a 16.5 mile day, we met our first Trail Angels, Ole Miller and his wife, who had a trunk full of water for us, and tips on where other stashes were down the line. A former professor and school teacher, Ole Miller now spent time enjoying the local scenery and lending valuable aid to all of us crazy PCT hikers.
We had to really put the miles on on the 29th. We hiked 25 miles, all in the heat of the desert, having to make a few frustrating and excruciating detours around private land. At one point we hung down into a fire reserve cistern to filter some precious water. Finally we dropped down from Granite Mountain into the valley, three miles West from Julian, a town famous for its apple pies. Although we each could have had a pie to ourselves, six bonus miles were not in the works. We camped in the middle of the valley, between two roads and another PCT water stash. The night was nerve-racking. The coyote yips first started from the north, then more came in from the south. We pulled in whatever we could to our tents, and kept our headlamps pointed at the bushes. The yips got closer. Soon there were some coming from the west and the northeast. Coyotes were seemingly everywhere around us, and we couldn't gauge how many there were. They aren't naturally aggressive animals, and don't often exceed 40 pounds, but the sheer numbers put us on edge. When dawn broke, all was well. The coyotes never got closer than the other side of the nearest bushes.
This morning we had to tackle Grapevine Mountain and cross over into the next valley where the town of Warner Springs is located. The camp spot we aimed for wasn't that far as the bird flies, but on trail it was a grueling 24 miles of steady rising and falling switchbacks under the cruel desert sun. We had to dig deep today. At first the trail design seemed sadistic, as a short, steep switchbacks over the ridge would have saved a dozen miles on the mountain slope. I realized that this stage is meant to be a test. Of the people who quit the hike early, most do so in Warner Springs, a total of just over 100 miles into the trek. If you can deal with the heat, the insensibility of the trail, the desert, and all of the treats that come with it, then you can and should keep on going. We were all hurting today, the blisters on our feet are fresh, backs hurt, sunburns sting, and we even encountered our first rattlesnake. They sound just like they do in the movies. Chris passed it first and caught it's attention, and Ryan and I had to slide down the skree a bit to pay it a wide enough berth. We came across another PCT hiker, Free Range, she's from Davis and is just section hiking from the border to Warner Springs. We made it the 24 miles we intended today, finishing in exhaustion and near delirium, but, save for the possibility that we get picked apart by foxes in the next five hours, we should make it into Warner Springs around noon. We'll have hamburgers. We will have beer. And, the next day, we will keep on walking. We passed the test today.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Kindness and Adventure with the Border Patrol
I'm writing this from a the Moreno Lake campground, powered by the shaver outlet.
We made it to San Diego yesterday morning and we were able to grab a pancake breakfast at Robert Walker's with my mother and Rod before they headed down to Mexico. We grabbed some last minute supplies in the city, and caught a the rail out to El Cajon to take the bus to Campo. We sat next to a perceptibly crazy woman who said she had died a million times and then 'turned into a fish.'
Our first experience in El Cajon was mostly pleasant, a fellow traveler accosted us for starting the PCT so early, but we got in some last second carb loading in down at the Main Tap Bar (credit: Wallace, Scott). A very helpful man named Antonio sat in the back of the bus with us and was very intrigued with our adventure. Everybody on the overloaded bus got off in Tecate except for us and one other woman. We got in with the driver, Israel, who gave us some good advice about Campo.
Campo, a town of 3,000 along Highway 94, butts up right against the border and is home to a fairly sizeable Border Patrol operation. We walked the 1.3 miles down to the border and celebrated reaching the Southern Terminus Monument of the Pacific Crest Trail. Just starting the adventure seemed like half the battle. The view Northward was beautiful, a few rolling hills and buttes in the desert sunset. Southward was a big red fence. It was just after 6 PM, so we figured we'd hike a couple miles before setting up camp. Border Patrol vehicles were running all over the place, and one agent stopped to ask us about our shoes. We were excited to talk gear, but it turned out he just wanted to see our tread so he didn't end up chasing us at night. After 2.5 miles we decided to set up camp right on trail. We were partway through setup when a big Ford pickup passed by on the dirt road below us, turned around, and parked fifteen feet away. We were dead silent, but waited to see what would happen. A door shut, another opened, and then a large, long haired German Shepard bounded up onto the trail towards us. My trust in dogs deteriorated greatly after living in Tibet, so I figured I was done for, two miles into the journey.
The dog stopped, and his Border Patrol handler called him off. We introduced and explained ourselves, and the agent, Aric, not only greenlighted our camping, but showed us a much better spot! We got to talking with him, and he gave us permission to build a fire, so we learned about his job and the latest border action while collecting twigs. He noticed our wood selection was pretty poor, and said, "I noticed a good wood pile close to here a few years ago, I'll go get it for you". Sure enough, he returned in fifteen minutes and before long we had a nice blaze going. Aric had been an agent for 23 years, stationed in Campo and living with his wife and two kids in San Diego. He was an avid sportsman himself, and had even hunted up in Alaska in my hometown, Cordova, with Dan Nichols, the father of a fond classmate Jon from elementary school! I know it's a small world, but getting firewood from a Border Patrol Agent in the middle of nowhere who has been to your own middle of nowhere hometown and knows the same people you do is pure amazing. We shared stories into night, pausing intermittently to listen to ongoing pursuits nearby on his radio. There were two chases in progress, and when one seemed like it required Aric's expertise, he bade us farewell, and drove off with his trusty four-legged companion, Orion.
The next morning we started our first full day trek, destination Moreno Lake. It was only about eighteen miles, but we were all a bit humbled by our heavy packs. We either need to eat more or nothing at all! The day had spurts of wind and rain, but we decided we preferred cold to otherwise typically hot weather when we rounded the top of Moreno Butte. One patch of the desert was completely charred, making for a surreal landscape in the fog. We tested out Chris' fancy water purifier in two of the streams we crossed, it worked quite well, although the silty water still comes out a tad yellow.
We camped at the grounds by Moreno Lake and had our first freeze dried food dinner. We thought that would be the highlight when, for the second night in a row, a large Ford truck pulled up... Out stepped Aric! He was on duty, but the lake was within his zone, and by car we were only ten miles from Campo. He had taken his chainsaw up a service road and chopped up some firewood for us! He hung out with us while we made our fire and we swapped some more stories. His incredible kindness for three young fellas setting off on an adventure was something impressive and super inspiring as we face 2,600 more miles of trail!
We made it to San Diego yesterday morning and we were able to grab a pancake breakfast at Robert Walker's with my mother and Rod before they headed down to Mexico. We grabbed some last minute supplies in the city, and caught a the rail out to El Cajon to take the bus to Campo. We sat next to a perceptibly crazy woman who said she had died a million times and then 'turned into a fish.'
Our first experience in El Cajon was mostly pleasant, a fellow traveler accosted us for starting the PCT so early, but we got in some last second carb loading in down at the Main Tap Bar (credit: Wallace, Scott). A very helpful man named Antonio sat in the back of the bus with us and was very intrigued with our adventure. Everybody on the overloaded bus got off in Tecate except for us and one other woman. We got in with the driver, Israel, who gave us some good advice about Campo.
Campo, a town of 3,000 along Highway 94, butts up right against the border and is home to a fairly sizeable Border Patrol operation. We walked the 1.3 miles down to the border and celebrated reaching the Southern Terminus Monument of the Pacific Crest Trail. Just starting the adventure seemed like half the battle. The view Northward was beautiful, a few rolling hills and buttes in the desert sunset. Southward was a big red fence. It was just after 6 PM, so we figured we'd hike a couple miles before setting up camp. Border Patrol vehicles were running all over the place, and one agent stopped to ask us about our shoes. We were excited to talk gear, but it turned out he just wanted to see our tread so he didn't end up chasing us at night. After 2.5 miles we decided to set up camp right on trail. We were partway through setup when a big Ford pickup passed by on the dirt road below us, turned around, and parked fifteen feet away. We were dead silent, but waited to see what would happen. A door shut, another opened, and then a large, long haired German Shepard bounded up onto the trail towards us. My trust in dogs deteriorated greatly after living in Tibet, so I figured I was done for, two miles into the journey.
The dog stopped, and his Border Patrol handler called him off. We introduced and explained ourselves, and the agent, Aric, not only greenlighted our camping, but showed us a much better spot! We got to talking with him, and he gave us permission to build a fire, so we learned about his job and the latest border action while collecting twigs. He noticed our wood selection was pretty poor, and said, "I noticed a good wood pile close to here a few years ago, I'll go get it for you". Sure enough, he returned in fifteen minutes and before long we had a nice blaze going. Aric had been an agent for 23 years, stationed in Campo and living with his wife and two kids in San Diego. He was an avid sportsman himself, and had even hunted up in Alaska in my hometown, Cordova, with Dan Nichols, the father of a fond classmate Jon from elementary school! I know it's a small world, but getting firewood from a Border Patrol Agent in the middle of nowhere who has been to your own middle of nowhere hometown and knows the same people you do is pure amazing. We shared stories into night, pausing intermittently to listen to ongoing pursuits nearby on his radio. There were two chases in progress, and when one seemed like it required Aric's expertise, he bade us farewell, and drove off with his trusty four-legged companion, Orion.
The next morning we started our first full day trek, destination Moreno Lake. It was only about eighteen miles, but we were all a bit humbled by our heavy packs. We either need to eat more or nothing at all! The day had spurts of wind and rain, but we decided we preferred cold to otherwise typically hot weather when we rounded the top of Moreno Butte. One patch of the desert was completely charred, making for a surreal landscape in the fog. We tested out Chris' fancy water purifier in two of the streams we crossed, it worked quite well, although the silty water still comes out a tad yellow.
We camped at the grounds by Moreno Lake and had our first freeze dried food dinner. We thought that would be the highlight when, for the second night in a row, a large Ford truck pulled up... Out stepped Aric! He was on duty, but the lake was within his zone, and by car we were only ten miles from Campo. He had taken his chainsaw up a service road and chopped up some firewood for us! He hung out with us while we made our fire and we swapped some more stories. His incredible kindness for three young fellas setting off on an adventure was something impressive and super inspiring as we face 2,600 more miles of trail!
Friday, March 25, 2011
Heading to the Trailhead
Chris and I got a ride from our dear friends Jordan Johnson and co-pilot Dan 'The Man' O'Hern from McKinleyville to Redding at 10:30 Wednesday evening. It's now 1:30 AM Friday morning, Chris, Ryan, and myself are on a bus in Anaheim heading to San Diego. We caught the Coast Starlight Amtrak train in Redding at 4:30 AM on Thursday. Ryan had already been on the train for twelve hours from Portland. The ride South was pretty relaxing, we went over our gear and enjoyed the fine cuisine in the dining car. We were also rejoicing over a bag of two dozen cookies that Maria McGoldrick made for us, however, a mystery caper stole them halfway through the trip. We walked the whole train, hoping to catch the culprit red handed, but to no avail. The train conductor had swiped one earlier in the afternoon, and paid her compliments to the baker. I suspect that, with the taste of peanut buttery goodness still reverberating on her tongue, she couldn't resist the impulse to abuse her authority and steal the rest of the cookies.
Shameful. When my body wastes away in a ditch on the side of the trail two weeks from now I will blame her selfishness for my demise.
We rallied from this setback. Our train was a little part of history when it rerouted away from the coast after San Francisco Bay and headed down to Bakersfield, and then up and over Tehachapi pass and it's famous Loop. It had been years since a passenger train had gone this way. We crossed over the PCT three times on Thursday. We'll reach Campo, and the trailhead, tomorrow afternoon.
The planning, supplying, and talking is over. The journey begins.
-Arny
Shameful. When my body wastes away in a ditch on the side of the trail two weeks from now I will blame her selfishness for my demise.
We rallied from this setback. Our train was a little part of history when it rerouted away from the coast after San Francisco Bay and headed down to Bakersfield, and then up and over Tehachapi pass and it's famous Loop. It had been years since a passenger train had gone this way. We crossed over the PCT three times on Thursday. We'll reach Campo, and the trailhead, tomorrow afternoon.
The planning, supplying, and talking is over. The journey begins.
-Arny
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