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.
Let me guess, Chris is Juggernaut!
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