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!
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