We survived the windy night on the edge of Mt. Baden Powell, as did the tent, though the wind threatened to break the poles at any given moment. We waited until mid-morning for the snow to soften up before we tackled the summit. Luckily, some Japanese climbers with crampons had broken in some steps in the snow up to the top. The climb was really slow going, at some points we were ascending straight up a staircase in the snow. The view of the Mojave increased with every step, a totally different environment than the one we were standing in. Chris had his mojo going that morning, and at points I swore he was running up the mountain in the distance ahead of Ryan and I. I slipped at one point, but dug in quickly with my hands and shoes. We reached the false summit, plodded along the windy ridge, and shortly after 11 AM we reached the top of the 9,407 foot peak, dedicated to Lord Baden-Powell, lieutenant general of the British Army and the founder of the Scout Movement. Getting to the summit was definitely a confidence boosting achievement, and the view of vast desert to the north and the smog covered basin to the south was quite the prize.
We dropped down after a brief break to the ridge running west off the mountain. We lost the trail in the snow, again, and worked our way down into a burnt, sloping chute where we knew the trail was. We weren't sure if we were above or below the PCT, and, frankly, didn't really care where it was at this point. We carved steps into the snow around to the next bend, a tiring, slow process. We worked back up to the ridge, finally, and relocated the trail shortly thereafter. We lost it a few more times, but reckoned over the snow patches and worked our way into a forested area where Little Jimmy Spring and Trail Camp was. After refilling on much needed clean, fresh water, we stumbled into camp, exhausted and wet from all of the snow hiking. Despite going at it hard all day, we only made eight total trail miles. Luckily, Little Jimmy Camp Ground was just snow free enough for us to set up our tents. There were little wood ovens set up at the camp as well, which Chris got light to dry our socks and shoes. I accidentally burnt a pair of socks so badly that they were no longer usable, so I just tossed them into the fire. Less to carry in my pack.
The next day we found our way down to HWY 2, where we had to take a road detour around threatened frog habitat. We passed several decrepit, small time ski hills that didn't seem to have much of a window of operation. After approximately three miles we regained the trail off of the Angeles Crest Highway and descended along an old road. For the first time in a few days I actually felt hot again, and shed my coat, which had been on for over two days, even while sleeping. We took a wrong turn at one point and ended up in the middle of a paint ball park. Fortunately, paint balls were not flying, and we found the trail again shortly thereafter. We were back in the desert at that point, winding up the side of a slope into another burnt area. We accidentally passed our intended campsite, which was unrecognizable after the fire, but camped a mile and a half up ahead on a flat saddle, with a few of the lights of Palmcaster below, and fresh water not too far away. We put around 28 trail miles under our belts that day.
We awoke early for a long day, and realized that we were actually in the middle of a closed section of the trail when we got to the intersection of the road below. The trail had been closed following the Station Fire two years ago. We didn't have much choice at that point, and pressed on to Acton. The recovery of the desert ecosystem after the fire was fascinating for me, however. At one point we were hiking through a grove of burnt trees, but the flora below was blooming with healthy green grass and vibrant pink flowers. A deer pranced down the ridge and across the trail no more than fifteen feet before me. It was clear how wildfires were just a part of nature's course, and that patch of trail was among my favorites so far. We camped that night next to an empty fire cistern, and I waited to go under for the night until the sunset faded to black that night. I was reminded of how lucky I was to be on this adventure.
We practically snuck through the rest of the closure the next morning down to the road to Acton. The last patch of trail went right by a ranger station and winding frustratingly around and over every ridge and rise it could reach, without discernable reason. We were hoping to hitch a ride on the road into Acton, but ended up walking the entire 5.5 miles into town. We passed by Tippi Hedren's (Famous for Hitchcock's 'The Birds') Shambala Wildlife Preserve, and were treated to the roaring of African lions. The road walk was both miserable and exciting, as we reached the much anticipated 49er Saloon in Acton for a much needed departure from freeze dried food. We caught a taxi ride into Palmdale to spend a few rest days after the long 110 mile section. Our driver, Salvador (From El Salvador), dealt in more than just transportation, we learned. We finished the day off with In'n'Out and the NBA Playoffs.
Our first rest day in Palmdale was spent resting and resupplying. The city is quite spread out, and we rode the bus out to East Palmdale, and then across to West Palmdale. Being in the middle of swarms of preteens at the Antelope Valley Mall made us feel as if we had traveled over a million miles from the slopes of Mt. Baden-Powell. Overall, however, our impression of Palmdale and nearby Lancaster is that they are perhaps modern day Sodom and Gomorrah. As a rule, we will not look back as we catch back up with the trail tomorrow, lest we turn into pillars of salt like poor Lot's wife in the Bible.
Sunshine, Afroman, cheap property, hamburgers. Righteousness?
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Blog for the week. www.storyinthesoil.com
So sorry it's been awhile since the last blog. With the wind whipping up and threatening to blow us and our tent off the side of Mt. Baden-Powell, it seemed like a good time to get one last message in before we took off into the sky.
We stopped at Deep Creek Hot Springs on the 18th, about halfway through our day. This section had been closed due to a slide, but it had since become passable, unofficially. We were greeted at the hot springs by some naked people. Conversation felt rather inorganic, as Chris, Ryan, and I collectively and silently decided not to strip all the way down. I never thought I would feel overdressed on the PCT. A naked man offered me marijuana. I did not want the naked man's marijuana, so I politely declined.
The trail continued along the side of the steep canyon, with the creek rapids raging below. We came across a hiker named James who warned us about a rattlesnake on the trail. We gave it some space, but it seemed pretty docile and lazy. We walked with James, from Riverside, out of the canyon. We emerged next to the Deep Creek Dam. James suggested we check out the spillway before we crossed the creek one last time. The cement spillway was warmed by the afternoon, and our voices echoed off the graffiti covered walls in incredible fashion. Later that day another hiker found a dead body about a mile from the spillway. I'll post more details about that if we hear anything. Our creek crossing involved much debate and a bit of back and forth walking, as it was much higher than usual. We eventually found a nice sand bar to cross, and our feet received great mud baths. The trail hardly existed on the other side, as we fought around bushes and through mud to get up to HWY 173. We walked another five miles before setting up camp next to a large puddle lake on what may or may not have been private property. We could hear the trains heading in and out of Cajon Pass hooting in the distance as the sun fell behind Mt. Baldy.
Chris has already written extensively about the 19th, our short day to Silverwood Lake, passing by more dams and crossing the 173 again. I will add that Silverwood Lake and its Marina were surreal paradise during the week. I'm sure that it gets quite crowded during the weekend with folks from the Basin. There were three showers at our campsite. Two were unacceptably mediocre, lukewarm and low pressure. One was Ryan's. Either he's easy to please or lucky.
The 20th was only 12 miles to Cajon Pass. We popped up the first ridge of the day and met Lion King, a jolly, breathless hiker on his way south. He only fist bumped because he was 'hiking dirty.' A bit farther along as we hiked the spine of a ridge winding towards the pass, we ran into Freefall, a fellow very involved with the PCT. He was coordinating the kick off party in Lake Moreno. From where we spoke we had a great view of the 138 below us, and I-15 in the distance. Their intersection was our destination. We dipped into a canyon and popped out alongside the 15, a monument to the builders of the Sante Fe Trail, and a McDonalds. We got our food right before they lost power for unknown reasons. Patrons and employees reacted with vastly varying degrees of panic and concern.
Everyone is in transit in Cajon Pass. There are three gas stations, a McDonalds, a Subway, a Del Taco, a dude named Moses who sells bomb tacos out of his van, and the most improbable Best Western on earth. We would stay there for two days.
On the second day Chris and I climbed up Cajon Summit, a quick 1,000 foot jaunt above the highway and railway intersection. There's a flagpole up there, with a tiny shred of America still attached. We had a great view of the Mormon Rocks, slanted protrusions of the San Andreas Fault. The 138 stretched west towards Palmcaster (Palmdale, Lancaster, indiscernible, hence Palmcaster). The 15, which is born in San Diego, strikes north, heading to Barstow in the Mojave, then Las Vegas, Salt Lake City, and the Canadian border, where it turns into Alberta Highway 2 (The Queens Highway) and continues up to Edmonton, pearl of the Alberta, and terminates at Peace River, home of the bachelorette from the fifth season of 'The Bachelorette...'
Where was I? Right, on top of a mountain.
Our first day back on trail was the 23rd, which involved 22.5 miles and an ultimate gain of 5,000 feet elevation. We waved goodbye to Moses, and dipped through tunnels beneath the highway and train tracks. My right ankle started throbbing early on, as we crested the first ridge. We dropped into a desert valley where we came across a cupboard with water for hikers. There was a mother mouse with babies hanging off her teets in there. We started climbing again, straight into a cloud. I was behind Chris and Ryan, and could hear them whenever they rounded a chute or crossed up a switchback, but I could not see them. I saw a few quail before we broke out of the cloud layer by a road.
At that point we had 7.5 miles and over 2,000 feet left before camp. They were long miles for me. The pain in my ankle had become much worse, and I was stepping as if I had a peg leg. Stopping would do no good though, so I kept plugging away, trying to keep my mind off the pain. I fell well behind Chris and Ryan, but they waited for me before the final two miles. Those two miles seemed even longer. We lost the trail for a bit in the snow. At one point I fell, and through the exhaustion and pain I picked myself up, despite the lack of inspirational music one would expect to be reaching a crescendo at such a moment. At the end of one last cruel climb, 8,300 feet above sea level, was Guffy Campground, the most beautiful I've seen so far. The sun was dipping and painting the sea of clouds below us light pink. We noted the beauty, then zipped up in our tents for a cold night.
My ankle felt almost like new after being elevated all night. We couldn't get any water from the cistern because it was frozen. Snow really slowed us down today. Especially above the barely operational Mountain High ski hill. It took us 3.5 hours to get 6 miles to the Grassy Hollow campground and interpretive center. We spent almost an hour in the little, warm museum, drinking refreshing water and learning more about the local flora and fauna. A few miles past we dropped down a gulch to cross HWY 2 (not in Alberta) and began climbing Mt. Baden-Powell. The ascent quickly turned disastrous. Post-holing up nearly two miles of mostly snow covered switchbacks, we discovered our desired campsite, and water source, was somewhere underneath the snow we were standing on. There were simply no other options that we could get to farther along in the afternoon, with snow covered slopes in all directions. Defeated, we descended almost a mile to the last flat spot we saw. It wasn't so windy when we set up camp, but it is rather exposed, and we're getting pummelled now. We didn't really have much of a choice. I convinced Chris and Ryan that the yellowish water I got from the bathroom faucets at Grassy Hollow would be safe for our dinners after a good boil. I made a high stakes bet against anyone contracting giardia. Again, not much of a choice.
Happy Easter everyone!
Check out www.storyinthesoil.com! It is our official page and will replace this Blogger site!
We stopped at Deep Creek Hot Springs on the 18th, about halfway through our day. This section had been closed due to a slide, but it had since become passable, unofficially. We were greeted at the hot springs by some naked people. Conversation felt rather inorganic, as Chris, Ryan, and I collectively and silently decided not to strip all the way down. I never thought I would feel overdressed on the PCT. A naked man offered me marijuana. I did not want the naked man's marijuana, so I politely declined.
The trail continued along the side of the steep canyon, with the creek rapids raging below. We came across a hiker named James who warned us about a rattlesnake on the trail. We gave it some space, but it seemed pretty docile and lazy. We walked with James, from Riverside, out of the canyon. We emerged next to the Deep Creek Dam. James suggested we check out the spillway before we crossed the creek one last time. The cement spillway was warmed by the afternoon, and our voices echoed off the graffiti covered walls in incredible fashion. Later that day another hiker found a dead body about a mile from the spillway. I'll post more details about that if we hear anything. Our creek crossing involved much debate and a bit of back and forth walking, as it was much higher than usual. We eventually found a nice sand bar to cross, and our feet received great mud baths. The trail hardly existed on the other side, as we fought around bushes and through mud to get up to HWY 173. We walked another five miles before setting up camp next to a large puddle lake on what may or may not have been private property. We could hear the trains heading in and out of Cajon Pass hooting in the distance as the sun fell behind Mt. Baldy.
Chris has already written extensively about the 19th, our short day to Silverwood Lake, passing by more dams and crossing the 173 again. I will add that Silverwood Lake and its Marina were surreal paradise during the week. I'm sure that it gets quite crowded during the weekend with folks from the Basin. There were three showers at our campsite. Two were unacceptably mediocre, lukewarm and low pressure. One was Ryan's. Either he's easy to please or lucky.
The 20th was only 12 miles to Cajon Pass. We popped up the first ridge of the day and met Lion King, a jolly, breathless hiker on his way south. He only fist bumped because he was 'hiking dirty.' A bit farther along as we hiked the spine of a ridge winding towards the pass, we ran into Freefall, a fellow very involved with the PCT. He was coordinating the kick off party in Lake Moreno. From where we spoke we had a great view of the 138 below us, and I-15 in the distance. Their intersection was our destination. We dipped into a canyon and popped out alongside the 15, a monument to the builders of the Sante Fe Trail, and a McDonalds. We got our food right before they lost power for unknown reasons. Patrons and employees reacted with vastly varying degrees of panic and concern.
Everyone is in transit in Cajon Pass. There are three gas stations, a McDonalds, a Subway, a Del Taco, a dude named Moses who sells bomb tacos out of his van, and the most improbable Best Western on earth. We would stay there for two days.
On the second day Chris and I climbed up Cajon Summit, a quick 1,000 foot jaunt above the highway and railway intersection. There's a flagpole up there, with a tiny shred of America still attached. We had a great view of the Mormon Rocks, slanted protrusions of the San Andreas Fault. The 138 stretched west towards Palmcaster (Palmdale, Lancaster, indiscernible, hence Palmcaster). The 15, which is born in San Diego, strikes north, heading to Barstow in the Mojave, then Las Vegas, Salt Lake City, and the Canadian border, where it turns into Alberta Highway 2 (The Queens Highway) and continues up to Edmonton, pearl of the Alberta, and terminates at Peace River, home of the bachelorette from the fifth season of 'The Bachelorette...'
Where was I? Right, on top of a mountain.
Our first day back on trail was the 23rd, which involved 22.5 miles and an ultimate gain of 5,000 feet elevation. We waved goodbye to Moses, and dipped through tunnels beneath the highway and train tracks. My right ankle started throbbing early on, as we crested the first ridge. We dropped into a desert valley where we came across a cupboard with water for hikers. There was a mother mouse with babies hanging off her teets in there. We started climbing again, straight into a cloud. I was behind Chris and Ryan, and could hear them whenever they rounded a chute or crossed up a switchback, but I could not see them. I saw a few quail before we broke out of the cloud layer by a road.
At that point we had 7.5 miles and over 2,000 feet left before camp. They were long miles for me. The pain in my ankle had become much worse, and I was stepping as if I had a peg leg. Stopping would do no good though, so I kept plugging away, trying to keep my mind off the pain. I fell well behind Chris and Ryan, but they waited for me before the final two miles. Those two miles seemed even longer. We lost the trail for a bit in the snow. At one point I fell, and through the exhaustion and pain I picked myself up, despite the lack of inspirational music one would expect to be reaching a crescendo at such a moment. At the end of one last cruel climb, 8,300 feet above sea level, was Guffy Campground, the most beautiful I've seen so far. The sun was dipping and painting the sea of clouds below us light pink. We noted the beauty, then zipped up in our tents for a cold night.
My ankle felt almost like new after being elevated all night. We couldn't get any water from the cistern because it was frozen. Snow really slowed us down today. Especially above the barely operational Mountain High ski hill. It took us 3.5 hours to get 6 miles to the Grassy Hollow campground and interpretive center. We spent almost an hour in the little, warm museum, drinking refreshing water and learning more about the local flora and fauna. A few miles past we dropped down a gulch to cross HWY 2 (not in Alberta) and began climbing Mt. Baden-Powell. The ascent quickly turned disastrous. Post-holing up nearly two miles of mostly snow covered switchbacks, we discovered our desired campsite, and water source, was somewhere underneath the snow we were standing on. There were simply no other options that we could get to farther along in the afternoon, with snow covered slopes in all directions. Defeated, we descended almost a mile to the last flat spot we saw. It wasn't so windy when we set up camp, but it is rather exposed, and we're getting pummelled now. We didn't really have much of a choice. I convinced Chris and Ryan that the yellowish water I got from the bathroom faucets at Grassy Hollow would be safe for our dinners after a good boil. I made a high stakes bet against anyone contracting giardia. Again, not much of a choice.
Happy Easter everyone!
Check out www.storyinthesoil.com! It is our official page and will replace this Blogger site!
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Earthquake anniversary and Big Bear Lake
Oscar de la Hoya used to train in Big Bear Lake to take advantage of the high altitude and close proximity to the LA Basin. We trained in Big Bear as well, if by 'trained' you mean 'ate a lot.' The town of Big Bear Lake slows down considerably when the ski slopes close. At the moment only the highest runs were still open. The Village was fairly muted, most shops were shuttered. The businesses that were operating were happy to see us. The lady at Virginia Lee's Hot Dogs treated us like a mother would. I made another cake, this time a double layer, but I didn't have enough frosting.
As some of you might know, April 14th was the first anniversary of the earthquake in Yushu. I spent much time walking along the water and reflecting, as well as figuring out what else I can do at this point from this side of the Pacific. The town is still in full rebuilding mode. My co-teacher at Kunpen Vocational Training Center (one of the NGOs we are supporting) is still in Lhasa with his family. Yeshi, the director of the woman's school we are fundraising, is in Xining, the provincial capitol, training and staging for her return to Yushu. As our trip progresses, and the website evolves, we will have a clearer way for all of our supporters to see how their help will translate over on the plateau. Our current fundraising objective is a mobile classroom trailer for Yeshi's school, and she is $2000 US away from being able to purchase and transport it to Yushu from Xining!
We put in two full days of relaxing before hitting the trail. We got a late start on Saturday morning, having to wait quite awhile at the bus stop next to El Pollo Loco. The MARTA bus system helped us out quite a lot, even though it only ran hourly. We walked nearly the length of Big Bear Lake on the north side, running into a few hikers on their way up to Bertha Peak. The trail heading north from the lake was inundated with falling trees. Snow came up a bit too, but wasn't much of a problem for us. It was an issue for a guy we saw on a nearby jeep trail with a moped, we're still not sure what he was thinking. We passed through a scorched zone eight miles later on, camping right on the edge of it at Little Bear Springs campground. The full moon popped up over the hills and turned into a spotlight, and with it, the distant thumping of a heavy bass sound system. Somewhere not too far away a rave party raged on beyond dawn. It was still thumping, perhaps in the absence of conscious dancers, as we packed up the next morning. Civilization was always reminding us of its proximity.
Strategic planning led to a short day of hiking today, only thirteen miles to Deep Creek Canyon Bridge. We rested often, and one point lost the trail by Holcomb Creek, and had to dodge around in the sticks and heated alpine underbrush to relocate it. We crossed Holcomb three times, once requiring us to remove our shoes and take to the waters. The trail climbed out of the canyon and back into the desert for a few miles before dropping back down to Deep Creek and its famous bridge. We met a section hiker named Crazy Nuts who had done the whole Triple Crown a fee years ago (the PCT, the Continental Divide Trail, and the Appalachian Trail). He had some good tips and encouragement for us. We camped on the sandy banks of the gurgling creek.
www.storyinthesoil.com
As some of you might know, April 14th was the first anniversary of the earthquake in Yushu. I spent much time walking along the water and reflecting, as well as figuring out what else I can do at this point from this side of the Pacific. The town is still in full rebuilding mode. My co-teacher at Kunpen Vocational Training Center (one of the NGOs we are supporting) is still in Lhasa with his family. Yeshi, the director of the woman's school we are fundraising, is in Xining, the provincial capitol, training and staging for her return to Yushu. As our trip progresses, and the website evolves, we will have a clearer way for all of our supporters to see how their help will translate over on the plateau. Our current fundraising objective is a mobile classroom trailer for Yeshi's school, and she is $2000 US away from being able to purchase and transport it to Yushu from Xining!
We put in two full days of relaxing before hitting the trail. We got a late start on Saturday morning, having to wait quite awhile at the bus stop next to El Pollo Loco. The MARTA bus system helped us out quite a lot, even though it only ran hourly. We walked nearly the length of Big Bear Lake on the north side, running into a few hikers on their way up to Bertha Peak. The trail heading north from the lake was inundated with falling trees. Snow came up a bit too, but wasn't much of a problem for us. It was an issue for a guy we saw on a nearby jeep trail with a moped, we're still not sure what he was thinking. We passed through a scorched zone eight miles later on, camping right on the edge of it at Little Bear Springs campground. The full moon popped up over the hills and turned into a spotlight, and with it, the distant thumping of a heavy bass sound system. Somewhere not too far away a rave party raged on beyond dawn. It was still thumping, perhaps in the absence of conscious dancers, as we packed up the next morning. Civilization was always reminding us of its proximity.
Strategic planning led to a short day of hiking today, only thirteen miles to Deep Creek Canyon Bridge. We rested often, and one point lost the trail by Holcomb Creek, and had to dodge around in the sticks and heated alpine underbrush to relocate it. We crossed Holcomb three times, once requiring us to remove our shoes and take to the waters. The trail climbed out of the canyon and back into the desert for a few miles before dropping back down to Deep Creek and its famous bridge. We met a section hiker named Crazy Nuts who had done the whole Triple Crown a fee years ago (the PCT, the Continental Divide Trail, and the Appalachian Trail). He had some good tips and encouragement for us. We camped on the sandy banks of the gurgling creek.
www.storyinthesoil.com
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Long delayed update: Snow for Daze
The last leg to Idyllwild was both treacherous and beautiful. We rolled along Spitler Peak first, which made for some exhausting trail. As we approached 8,000 feet we had a great perspective to the south, where we could see Cathedral City and a large portion of the Salton Sea. We started running into quite a lot of snow as we rounded Apache Peak. At first it was just snow covered slopes that we had to delicately posthole, with the trail poking out the other side. But by early afternoon after a bit more climbing we started losing the trail a bit. Finally, we rounded a point and were greeted by the sight of endless snow. We took it slow, taking deliberate steps, watching each others backs. When we finally came to a dry patch, we had lost the trail completely, and had to rely on the GPS to try and recover it. We climbed to the top of the nearest ridge, and then dead reckoned our way down through the forest to the nearest waypoint. We were soaked from being in the snow, though I had an advantage with being so light. There were times when the snow was hard and thick enough that I could kind of prance on top of it like Legolas. We found some old hiker tracks a little ways down, and those led us to a tree with a PCT logo on it.
Unfortunately, the trail was still two feet under snow, and with a huge climb around Tahquitz Peak up ahead, the effort of holding onto the trail in such conditions would hold us back from getting into town by nightfall, which would be very dangerous. Therefore, we chose a heading down the valley and up the other side of the ridge where the trail spur to Idyllwild was. The valley held a stream in it's palm, which ran with the most refreshing snowmelt water. We crossed back over the trail once, coming out alongside Tahquitz with a great view of Suicide Rock, a small dome that had apparently been named in tragedy. Using the GPS, we finally located the trail, and with it, the switchbacking spur down to Idyllwild. Within a couple thousand feet of descent we departed the snow line, and descended with fat gray squirrels down to the parking lot. Shockingly, there were two foreign hikers at the trailhead who had the intention of climbing up to the disaster we had just escaped, starting at 6:15 PM to boot.
As we reached the outskirts of town we encountered a fellow named Pat. He had a big Santa beard and offered us a ride into town. We got a quick tour of Idyllwild and its amenities, the best places to eat and whatnot. Pat's Chrysler had OK DEAR on the license plate, he claimed it was his wife's. We would see him three more times around town before we left.
On the sixth Ryan's parents, Mark and Cindy, drove up to visit us. Mark was accepting an award at a medical conference down in San Diego, so our timing was perfect. The McKinstry's have been our support team, shipping us our resupply boxes along the trail. They bought us pizza and beer, which we made quick work of. Unfortunately, Mark and Cindy couldn't stay long, and headed back to San Diego in their rented neon yellow Ford Azeo.
While in town, it was critical to eat as much as possible. Idyllwild, referred to as 'The Hill' by locals, facilitated this need quite satisfactorily. We scarfed down eclairs, burritos, yogurt shakes, exotic jerky, margaritas, beer, hot chocolate, anything we could get our hands on. It didn't take long to feel local, I even have an account at the video rental store now.
We ended up staying a third day because it was snowing on the eighth when we awoke. We figured to take an alternate route regardless, there was no way we could go back the way we came, with fresh snow, and then climb higher to round Mt. San Jacinto. It would be foolhardy. Instead, on the ninth we headed North on the 243. The 243, named the Esparanza Firefighters Memorial Highway, runs 25 miles to Banning on US Highway 10. We had the option of following it all that way, but we decided to turn off on Black Mountain Road, which would take us up past 8,000 feet on the other side of San Jacinto. Even if it had deep snow we wouldn't lose a wide road like we lost the trail. The climb became exhausting once we got to snow level, pulling our feet up one after the other. The road crested the ridge, and took a beautiful stretch at the top where you could look out from among rock outcroppings to the Mesa Wind Park and the city of Banning to the west.
We were triumphant when we finally reconnected with the trail, but again, there was no holding onto it. Our best bet was heading directly towards the North face ($$$) and then locating the trail where it went down from there. For awhile we were bushwhacking again, fighting branches and chaparral to hold the course of a stream heading where we wanted to go. We came across a jeep trail, which led us to what was essentially a hanging, bowl-like valley along a steep face. We literally made circles up and down the rim of this valley, searching for the trail, but to no avail. With the sun in its closing credits, we found a patch of the jeep trail that had no snow on it and set up a frigid camp there. The wind kept blowing out our Jetboil, so we cooked our food in our vestibules and scrambled into our sleeping bags with full layers on, expecting a cold night. As soon as we zipped up snow started falling on our tents. I purposely ate three Clifbars before I went to sleep so that my body would produce more heat. With all of our preparation, we actually had the coziest night of sleep ever. I watched the wind whip violently at our rainfly from a tiny peephole out of my mummy bag.
We woke up late with a fresh dusting of snow around our tent, but we were alive. Chris found the trail down the mountain right away. After a frustratingly gradual descent we were back in the desert, over 6,000 feet below where we started. The Desert Water Agency set up a little water fountain by the road, where we rested by a rock and reacclimatized to the new biome. Bob, the water security, drove down to us in his truck. His job was to park on the street heading up to the pumping station and make sure no one tried to climb up the face that way. Beyond the trailhead and east to the next point was all private property belonging to the Water Agency, including the face above that, which, according to Bob, was the seventh steepest in the country. The bees we heard buzzing nearby, as well as the hive we hurried past coming down the mountain, were 'Africanized,' he said, 'you can bet your life on it.' No thanks. He gave us many warnings about the desert, 'Everything out here wants to bite you or stick to you,' as well as a few other politically incorrect comments that we laughed along with nervously.
We beelined across the wash, underneath Highway 10, and around the patch of houses that is West Palm Springs Village (No Services... Read: No Food.). Trail Angel David rolled up in a golf cart before we passed behind a ridge near the Mesa Wind Park operations building. He gave us a Pacifico to share and told us about San Gorgonio/Banning Pass (the fourth deepest in the country, he said) and what to expect ahead. He was very nice, and would be leaving water and supplies at the highway underpass for future hikers. We camped that night beneath the whirring of wind turbines. Rodney Dees, a major supporter of this endeavor, was the lead constructer of this whole wind park, which dotted the whole pass.
On Monday morning we got an early start and headed up one ridge, down the other side, up another, down to Whitewater Creek, which was only slightly treacherous to cross, and then up yet another rise, where we were greeted one final (hopefully) south facing view of Palm Springs, the Coachella Valley, and, yes, glimmering way in the distance, the Salton Sea. A straight walk to El Centro and the Mexican border from here wouldn't take more than, say, five days, tops. Flat the whole way. We spent the rest of the day following Mission Creek up its canyon, crossing it 24 times. Mission Creek, Whitewater, and Snow Creek over by Bob make up 5% of the water used by the greater Palm Springs area. The rest is water siphoned from the Colorado River, which is actually drawn over here from pipes reaching Los Angeles to the west. Mission Creek, or whatever cut this canyon, used to flow right into the Sea of Cortez, before the Colorado River threw up enough sediment to cut this region off (This is why the Salton Sea is endoherric, no outflow in any direction.) We made camp on a small hill cut by centuries of water flow. The 23 miles we put in were exhausting, so we relaxed by a small fire and put in for the night.
We climbed up to 8,800 feet the next morning. I was personally starting to wear out, and the sight of deer prancing up the ridge and passing us made me feel both hungry and inadequate. My right shoulder was really bugging me that morning, a sharp tugging pain around the trapezius. I had already switched out my frameless GoLite Pinnacle pack for an Osprey Exos that had a better weight distribution (I accidentally ordered a small one first, so I walked from Warner Springs to Idyllwild with a ridiculously small backpack. I have the large now.). What was becoming clear was that this pain was something I would have to live with, and was very likely related to a certain nasty hydraulic deck winch injury I suffered last July. With some adjustments, I can minimise the pain and go most of the day without it bothering me. It's not affecting my feet, so I'll keep on walking for now.
It was mid afternoon when we came across two large grizzly bears and a full grown male lion. Randy Miller's Predators In Action is located right on the trail, just a minute off of Highway 38. We were thankful for the cages, of course, but they were so small that we felt rather sorry for these Mega-Fauna beasts reduced to just another trail oddity. Let that be the only lion we come across.
We descended into camp close to seven, wearied from dealing with more snow and 22 miles of a constant grade one way or the other. To our surprise, there was already a fire going! Two other PCT Thru-Hikers that we had been following in the logbooks ahead of us were there, Spitfire and Rehab (All PCT Hikers use trail names. Ours are GameTime, Juggernaut, and Fresh Prinz.)! Rehab gave us some Bratwurst because we were low on food, and we all talked and kept the fire sparking in that damp valley late into the night.
We will meet them again, no doubt about that.
We pressed the pedal down today to get to Big Bear Lake. We had our first views of the Mojave Desert, before passing Baldwin Lake, named for Ernest 'Lucky' Baldwin, the San Francisco millionaire who started a gold stamp mine on Gold Mountain here in 1875. Past Highway 18 one can see modern mining operations underway. The midsection of the day was a bit taxing. The past few years of low rainfall killed a lot of trees, and subsequent wind storms and lightning has blasted trunks and branches all over the trail. We cab only hope that our trailblazing and twig snapping has made the path to Big Bear a little easier for those behind us.
We came into town with empty stomachs. They were filled.
Unfortunately, the trail was still two feet under snow, and with a huge climb around Tahquitz Peak up ahead, the effort of holding onto the trail in such conditions would hold us back from getting into town by nightfall, which would be very dangerous. Therefore, we chose a heading down the valley and up the other side of the ridge where the trail spur to Idyllwild was. The valley held a stream in it's palm, which ran with the most refreshing snowmelt water. We crossed back over the trail once, coming out alongside Tahquitz with a great view of Suicide Rock, a small dome that had apparently been named in tragedy. Using the GPS, we finally located the trail, and with it, the switchbacking spur down to Idyllwild. Within a couple thousand feet of descent we departed the snow line, and descended with fat gray squirrels down to the parking lot. Shockingly, there were two foreign hikers at the trailhead who had the intention of climbing up to the disaster we had just escaped, starting at 6:15 PM to boot.
As we reached the outskirts of town we encountered a fellow named Pat. He had a big Santa beard and offered us a ride into town. We got a quick tour of Idyllwild and its amenities, the best places to eat and whatnot. Pat's Chrysler had OK DEAR on the license plate, he claimed it was his wife's. We would see him three more times around town before we left.
On the sixth Ryan's parents, Mark and Cindy, drove up to visit us. Mark was accepting an award at a medical conference down in San Diego, so our timing was perfect. The McKinstry's have been our support team, shipping us our resupply boxes along the trail. They bought us pizza and beer, which we made quick work of. Unfortunately, Mark and Cindy couldn't stay long, and headed back to San Diego in their rented neon yellow Ford Azeo.
While in town, it was critical to eat as much as possible. Idyllwild, referred to as 'The Hill' by locals, facilitated this need quite satisfactorily. We scarfed down eclairs, burritos, yogurt shakes, exotic jerky, margaritas, beer, hot chocolate, anything we could get our hands on. It didn't take long to feel local, I even have an account at the video rental store now.
We ended up staying a third day because it was snowing on the eighth when we awoke. We figured to take an alternate route regardless, there was no way we could go back the way we came, with fresh snow, and then climb higher to round Mt. San Jacinto. It would be foolhardy. Instead, on the ninth we headed North on the 243. The 243, named the Esparanza Firefighters Memorial Highway, runs 25 miles to Banning on US Highway 10. We had the option of following it all that way, but we decided to turn off on Black Mountain Road, which would take us up past 8,000 feet on the other side of San Jacinto. Even if it had deep snow we wouldn't lose a wide road like we lost the trail. The climb became exhausting once we got to snow level, pulling our feet up one after the other. The road crested the ridge, and took a beautiful stretch at the top where you could look out from among rock outcroppings to the Mesa Wind Park and the city of Banning to the west.
We were triumphant when we finally reconnected with the trail, but again, there was no holding onto it. Our best bet was heading directly towards the North face ($$$) and then locating the trail where it went down from there. For awhile we were bushwhacking again, fighting branches and chaparral to hold the course of a stream heading where we wanted to go. We came across a jeep trail, which led us to what was essentially a hanging, bowl-like valley along a steep face. We literally made circles up and down the rim of this valley, searching for the trail, but to no avail. With the sun in its closing credits, we found a patch of the jeep trail that had no snow on it and set up a frigid camp there. The wind kept blowing out our Jetboil, so we cooked our food in our vestibules and scrambled into our sleeping bags with full layers on, expecting a cold night. As soon as we zipped up snow started falling on our tents. I purposely ate three Clifbars before I went to sleep so that my body would produce more heat. With all of our preparation, we actually had the coziest night of sleep ever. I watched the wind whip violently at our rainfly from a tiny peephole out of my mummy bag.
We woke up late with a fresh dusting of snow around our tent, but we were alive. Chris found the trail down the mountain right away. After a frustratingly gradual descent we were back in the desert, over 6,000 feet below where we started. The Desert Water Agency set up a little water fountain by the road, where we rested by a rock and reacclimatized to the new biome. Bob, the water security, drove down to us in his truck. His job was to park on the street heading up to the pumping station and make sure no one tried to climb up the face that way. Beyond the trailhead and east to the next point was all private property belonging to the Water Agency, including the face above that, which, according to Bob, was the seventh steepest in the country. The bees we heard buzzing nearby, as well as the hive we hurried past coming down the mountain, were 'Africanized,' he said, 'you can bet your life on it.' No thanks. He gave us many warnings about the desert, 'Everything out here wants to bite you or stick to you,' as well as a few other politically incorrect comments that we laughed along with nervously.
We beelined across the wash, underneath Highway 10, and around the patch of houses that is West Palm Springs Village (No Services... Read: No Food.). Trail Angel David rolled up in a golf cart before we passed behind a ridge near the Mesa Wind Park operations building. He gave us a Pacifico to share and told us about San Gorgonio/Banning Pass (the fourth deepest in the country, he said) and what to expect ahead. He was very nice, and would be leaving water and supplies at the highway underpass for future hikers. We camped that night beneath the whirring of wind turbines. Rodney Dees, a major supporter of this endeavor, was the lead constructer of this whole wind park, which dotted the whole pass.
On Monday morning we got an early start and headed up one ridge, down the other side, up another, down to Whitewater Creek, which was only slightly treacherous to cross, and then up yet another rise, where we were greeted one final (hopefully) south facing view of Palm Springs, the Coachella Valley, and, yes, glimmering way in the distance, the Salton Sea. A straight walk to El Centro and the Mexican border from here wouldn't take more than, say, five days, tops. Flat the whole way. We spent the rest of the day following Mission Creek up its canyon, crossing it 24 times. Mission Creek, Whitewater, and Snow Creek over by Bob make up 5% of the water used by the greater Palm Springs area. The rest is water siphoned from the Colorado River, which is actually drawn over here from pipes reaching Los Angeles to the west. Mission Creek, or whatever cut this canyon, used to flow right into the Sea of Cortez, before the Colorado River threw up enough sediment to cut this region off (This is why the Salton Sea is endoherric, no outflow in any direction.) We made camp on a small hill cut by centuries of water flow. The 23 miles we put in were exhausting, so we relaxed by a small fire and put in for the night.
We climbed up to 8,800 feet the next morning. I was personally starting to wear out, and the sight of deer prancing up the ridge and passing us made me feel both hungry and inadequate. My right shoulder was really bugging me that morning, a sharp tugging pain around the trapezius. I had already switched out my frameless GoLite Pinnacle pack for an Osprey Exos that had a better weight distribution (I accidentally ordered a small one first, so I walked from Warner Springs to Idyllwild with a ridiculously small backpack. I have the large now.). What was becoming clear was that this pain was something I would have to live with, and was very likely related to a certain nasty hydraulic deck winch injury I suffered last July. With some adjustments, I can minimise the pain and go most of the day without it bothering me. It's not affecting my feet, so I'll keep on walking for now.
It was mid afternoon when we came across two large grizzly bears and a full grown male lion. Randy Miller's Predators In Action is located right on the trail, just a minute off of Highway 38. We were thankful for the cages, of course, but they were so small that we felt rather sorry for these Mega-Fauna beasts reduced to just another trail oddity. Let that be the only lion we come across.
We descended into camp close to seven, wearied from dealing with more snow and 22 miles of a constant grade one way or the other. To our surprise, there was already a fire going! Two other PCT Thru-Hikers that we had been following in the logbooks ahead of us were there, Spitfire and Rehab (All PCT Hikers use trail names. Ours are GameTime, Juggernaut, and Fresh Prinz.)! Rehab gave us some Bratwurst because we were low on food, and we all talked and kept the fire sparking in that damp valley late into the night.
We will meet them again, no doubt about that.
We pressed the pedal down today to get to Big Bear Lake. We had our first views of the Mojave Desert, before passing Baldwin Lake, named for Ernest 'Lucky' Baldwin, the San Francisco millionaire who started a gold stamp mine on Gold Mountain here in 1875. Past Highway 18 one can see modern mining operations underway. The midsection of the day was a bit taxing. The past few years of low rainfall killed a lot of trees, and subsequent wind storms and lightning has blasted trunks and branches all over the trail. We cab only hope that our trailblazing and twig snapping has made the path to Big Bear a little easier for those behind us.
We came into town with empty stomachs. They were filled.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Maintenance Note
First off everybody, I had no idea that the blog was being posted in Impact font the whole time, it was coming up normal on my iPhone. When I brought up the blog on an actual computer, I was shocked at how unreadable it was. This has been fixed, but please post a comment if something like that happens again. We want to make this a pleasant reading experience! It sounds like it comes up differently on different devices, so we'll try to streamline it.
Secondly, I'm working on moving everything to the Yushu fundraising website, www.storyinthesoil.com. The old blog posts will be there, and so will the new ones. I'm working on posting photos from the hike as well as pictures from Yushu and other parts of Tibet. My latest Yushu movie should be up there soon as well. This could be an intermittently slow process, but we'll get there!
Thanks for all of your support everybody! There will be a real blog post soon!
Secondly, I'm working on moving everything to the Yushu fundraising website, www.storyinthesoil.com. The old blog posts will be there, and so will the new ones. I'm working on posting photos from the hike as well as pictures from Yushu and other parts of Tibet. My latest Yushu movie should be up there soon as well. This could be an intermittently slow process, but we'll get there!
Thanks for all of your support everybody! There will be a real blog post soon!
Monday, April 4, 2011
Wanting for Warner Springs, Middle of Nowhere Mike, and the Coachella Valley
The walk into Warner Springs was relaxed and full of excitement. We crossed paths with an experienced thru hiker who was headed south to bounce back north. He was definitely old school, and we were amazed that someone would want to go through that previous patch twice, especially for what seemed to be a time killing procedure.
There's not a lot to Warner Springs as a town, but it sits in a green, paradise valley, literally an oasis in the desert. On the north end sits a reservoir, the rest consists of grassy fields, blooming with noxious yellow flowers, all owned by Warner Ranch. There's a spattering of rock outcroppings, including Eagle Rock, which resembles a magnificent bald eagle lifting up its wings, about to take flight. We climbed onto its head, huge lizards were scurrying in and out of its cracks. The surrounding environment was such a departure from the dry and barren landscape we had just passed through.
Following a stream into town, we had one more obstacle in our path before we reached town. A rattlesnake popped up along side the trail, Chris just happened to be leading again, and he jumped backwards abruptly like a marionet. The snake held ground along the trail, which seemed to narrow to tiptoe across without passing into the strike zone. We yelled at it and slapped our hiking poles on the trail in front of it. Chris was able to get past on the slope down towards the stream, but when I started along the same path it turned its head towards me and started moving. I backed off, and it slithered across the trail, down the slope, and over the stream, rattling the whole way.
Warner Springs is a town of just over 200. They have a high school, which serves a wide area, a golf course, and a spa resort with a naturally heated hot spring pool. The resort actually had very generous PCT hiker rates, so we opted to stay a couple nights to get a healthy rest day in. From the sounds of it, we're waiting for the snow to melt in the Sierras either way, so we might as well not push ourselves unnecessarily the first 600 miles. 111 miles deserved some celebration and relaxation.
We had a nice meal at the clubhouse, picked up our resupply box, and did some laundry. The grounds of the resort were pleasant, and pretty sparse during the week. Everyone was real nice, and, getting the sense that we were in the middle of nowhere, we felt as if the whole valley was somehow lost in time. It had been many years since Warner himself fended off the Garra rebellion, holed up on the very same grounds until he ran out of bullets and took off on horseback with his young native servant. The rebellion was later squashed, and today residents from Los Angeles and San Diego flock out here to while away their twilight years on fun noodles in the sulphur pool, lapping at an imperceptibly slow pace, their faces drawn blank by the steam, their minds filled with no more than the good ol' days and the subtle, dated elevator music.
Once upon a time, Bing Crosby had took a liking to this place, so did the Manson Family, and, now, so did we, even if it gave us the creeps sometimes. The waitress at the restaurant muttered to herself about her boyfriend while pouring our water, and seemed surprised when we overheard her. Everyone treated us well for the most part, even though we didn't have any passable semi-formal wear for the perpetually vacant fine dining room. When it came time to leave, we had nearly forgotten what it was like to not live in the lap of decaying luxury.
We did 18 miles on Saturday, winding our way up onto the lip of the valley, where we had great views of a glider being towed by a prop plane. Chaparral was comically dense. The wind was really whipping up in the late afternoon, a storm system was moving in. We pulled off the trail near the Riverside county line and knocked on Trail Angel Mike's door. Mike lives in a desolate house in the middle of the desert. When he first moved out here five years ago he had no idea what the Pacific Crest Trail was, nor that its hikers knew his house to be a safe haven under the previous owner. Mike built a nice shack that hikers could sleep in, and had set up an old projector in his garage for movies. There were a few other people visiting his house when he arrived, he greeted us with eyes barely open, laughing and groaning, "nobody's home!". He pointed us to the shack to put our stuff down, and invited us in for chicken. Mike, who, when asked what he did out there, replied, "nuthin' man," had become very involved in the PCT scene. One of his guests was a fellow who went by Warner Springs Monty. They were organising food for the big PCT kickoff party in Moreno Lake later in the month, as well as the Cinco De Mayo event that Mike hosts here in the middle of nowhere. It sounds like doing the PCT on schedule consists of hiking from party to party, we were well ahead of the crowd. Mike is also a huge USC fan, and one of his prize possessions is a big Trojans helmet chair. We all watched Avatar in the garage, then helped check a gas line on a plateau away from the house that the previous owner had levelled for desert rave parties. All in all, the evening wasn't anything close to what we were expecting, and it just added to the awesome quirkiness and fascinating cast of characters of our adventure so far.
We crossed the Riverside County line early the next day. The hike took us along a rocky slope, with clouds pouring over the ridge above us and descending into a soupy mist in the valley. Through a few patches we could see Mt. San Jacinto, our short term destination. The weather cleared up, and we had a pretty easy 19 mile day with nice little breaks next to streams and big rocks. We filtered water from another fire cistern, and ended the day by the Anza Hiker Haven, a little wooden shelf in the desert with water and log books to sign in. We were right by a dirt road, which led out to several ready to build lots overlooking Anza, we watched the sunset from there, making out shapes in the rock outcroppings, then made it an early night. The wind blew hard that night, and pulled one stake out from the rain fly.
Today, Monday, is my birthday. Not really much of a deal out on the trail. We had a real pretty hike today though, we climbed up a thousand feet onto a plateau where the Pines To Palm Highway ran through the San Bernadino State Forest. Ten miles into our day, and one mile off trail, we enjoyed a real meal at the Paradise Cafe, which is at the junction of the 74 and PTP Highways. The restaurant switched owners this year, and the waitress said she was a big fan of the hikers, she made sure we were well hydrated and fed. It was also frequented by bikers, and town gossip batted around just like anywhere. You could see San Jacinto's snowy peak out the window, it was getting closer. The hike picked up in elevation when we got back on trail, we passed by some big rocks, a rattlesnake that was more scared of us than the other way around, and a Russian couple who had left St. Petersburg when it was still Leningrad. Ryan said the trail reminded him of Eastern Oregon. We kept on climbing, up past 6,300 feet. We could see quite nicely into Coachella Valley, specifically Desert Hot Springs and Rancho Mirage to the East, and Lake Hemet to the West. It's been encouraging to follow our progress based on the Imperial and Coachella Valley. We could see the southern tip of the Salton Sea on the 28th, the northern tip yesterday, and now we'll be up by Palm Springs before we know it. We hiked down a bit to camp near small Cedar Spring so we could stock up on water for our 21 mile day into Idyllwild tomorrow.
There's not a lot to Warner Springs as a town, but it sits in a green, paradise valley, literally an oasis in the desert. On the north end sits a reservoir, the rest consists of grassy fields, blooming with noxious yellow flowers, all owned by Warner Ranch. There's a spattering of rock outcroppings, including Eagle Rock, which resembles a magnificent bald eagle lifting up its wings, about to take flight. We climbed onto its head, huge lizards were scurrying in and out of its cracks. The surrounding environment was such a departure from the dry and barren landscape we had just passed through.
Following a stream into town, we had one more obstacle in our path before we reached town. A rattlesnake popped up along side the trail, Chris just happened to be leading again, and he jumped backwards abruptly like a marionet. The snake held ground along the trail, which seemed to narrow to tiptoe across without passing into the strike zone. We yelled at it and slapped our hiking poles on the trail in front of it. Chris was able to get past on the slope down towards the stream, but when I started along the same path it turned its head towards me and started moving. I backed off, and it slithered across the trail, down the slope, and over the stream, rattling the whole way.
Warner Springs is a town of just over 200. They have a high school, which serves a wide area, a golf course, and a spa resort with a naturally heated hot spring pool. The resort actually had very generous PCT hiker rates, so we opted to stay a couple nights to get a healthy rest day in. From the sounds of it, we're waiting for the snow to melt in the Sierras either way, so we might as well not push ourselves unnecessarily the first 600 miles. 111 miles deserved some celebration and relaxation.
We had a nice meal at the clubhouse, picked up our resupply box, and did some laundry. The grounds of the resort were pleasant, and pretty sparse during the week. Everyone was real nice, and, getting the sense that we were in the middle of nowhere, we felt as if the whole valley was somehow lost in time. It had been many years since Warner himself fended off the Garra rebellion, holed up on the very same grounds until he ran out of bullets and took off on horseback with his young native servant. The rebellion was later squashed, and today residents from Los Angeles and San Diego flock out here to while away their twilight years on fun noodles in the sulphur pool, lapping at an imperceptibly slow pace, their faces drawn blank by the steam, their minds filled with no more than the good ol' days and the subtle, dated elevator music.
Once upon a time, Bing Crosby had took a liking to this place, so did the Manson Family, and, now, so did we, even if it gave us the creeps sometimes. The waitress at the restaurant muttered to herself about her boyfriend while pouring our water, and seemed surprised when we overheard her. Everyone treated us well for the most part, even though we didn't have any passable semi-formal wear for the perpetually vacant fine dining room. When it came time to leave, we had nearly forgotten what it was like to not live in the lap of decaying luxury.
We did 18 miles on Saturday, winding our way up onto the lip of the valley, where we had great views of a glider being towed by a prop plane. Chaparral was comically dense. The wind was really whipping up in the late afternoon, a storm system was moving in. We pulled off the trail near the Riverside county line and knocked on Trail Angel Mike's door. Mike lives in a desolate house in the middle of the desert. When he first moved out here five years ago he had no idea what the Pacific Crest Trail was, nor that its hikers knew his house to be a safe haven under the previous owner. Mike built a nice shack that hikers could sleep in, and had set up an old projector in his garage for movies. There were a few other people visiting his house when he arrived, he greeted us with eyes barely open, laughing and groaning, "nobody's home!". He pointed us to the shack to put our stuff down, and invited us in for chicken. Mike, who, when asked what he did out there, replied, "nuthin' man," had become very involved in the PCT scene. One of his guests was a fellow who went by Warner Springs Monty. They were organising food for the big PCT kickoff party in Moreno Lake later in the month, as well as the Cinco De Mayo event that Mike hosts here in the middle of nowhere. It sounds like doing the PCT on schedule consists of hiking from party to party, we were well ahead of the crowd. Mike is also a huge USC fan, and one of his prize possessions is a big Trojans helmet chair. We all watched Avatar in the garage, then helped check a gas line on a plateau away from the house that the previous owner had levelled for desert rave parties. All in all, the evening wasn't anything close to what we were expecting, and it just added to the awesome quirkiness and fascinating cast of characters of our adventure so far.
We crossed the Riverside County line early the next day. The hike took us along a rocky slope, with clouds pouring over the ridge above us and descending into a soupy mist in the valley. Through a few patches we could see Mt. San Jacinto, our short term destination. The weather cleared up, and we had a pretty easy 19 mile day with nice little breaks next to streams and big rocks. We filtered water from another fire cistern, and ended the day by the Anza Hiker Haven, a little wooden shelf in the desert with water and log books to sign in. We were right by a dirt road, which led out to several ready to build lots overlooking Anza, we watched the sunset from there, making out shapes in the rock outcroppings, then made it an early night. The wind blew hard that night, and pulled one stake out from the rain fly.
Today, Monday, is my birthday. Not really much of a deal out on the trail. We had a real pretty hike today though, we climbed up a thousand feet onto a plateau where the Pines To Palm Highway ran through the San Bernadino State Forest. Ten miles into our day, and one mile off trail, we enjoyed a real meal at the Paradise Cafe, which is at the junction of the 74 and PTP Highways. The restaurant switched owners this year, and the waitress said she was a big fan of the hikers, she made sure we were well hydrated and fed. It was also frequented by bikers, and town gossip batted around just like anywhere. You could see San Jacinto's snowy peak out the window, it was getting closer. The hike picked up in elevation when we got back on trail, we passed by some big rocks, a rattlesnake that was more scared of us than the other way around, and a Russian couple who had left St. Petersburg when it was still Leningrad. Ryan said the trail reminded him of Eastern Oregon. We kept on climbing, up past 6,300 feet. We could see quite nicely into Coachella Valley, specifically Desert Hot Springs and Rancho Mirage to the East, and Lake Hemet to the West. It's been encouraging to follow our progress based on the Imperial and Coachella Valley. We could see the southern tip of the Salton Sea on the 28th, the northern tip yesterday, and now we'll be up by Palm Springs before we know it. We hiked down a bit to camp near small Cedar Spring so we could stock up on water for our 21 mile day into Idyllwild tomorrow.
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