Getting a ride back to the trail via fire truck was definitely a first for me, but hey, that's Wrightwood for you. A trail angel and retired firefighter I stayed with named Leroy drove me back in his vintage, pickup-sized fire truck with bells and all and we parted ways. My mission was to catch up to Rambo and Mcflurry, who opted to camp near the trail last night to get an early start. Fueled by a wonderful trail angel breakfast, I wizzed up to the summit of 9,400 foot Mt. Baden-Powell where throngs of day hikers and boy scouts awaited me. They saw me as sort of a novelty for attempting the entire PCT, which made feel like king of the hikers for a bit. However, the next section followed a ridgeline, which brought constant up and down and some tough terrain. I slogged over to the next water source and made my way through a crowd of boy scouts to meet back up with my friends.
A couple miles of trail ahead of us were closed due to the endangered mountain yellow-legged frog breeding there, so we let the lovers be and took the reroute along the Angeles Crest Highway. Motorcyclists and sport cars howled by until we came to a campground near the PCT, where we were greeted by a former thru-hiker weekend tripping with his four year old son. He cooked us up some bratwurst while his son quizzically looked at our packs and gear. Yes kid, things can get that dirty. After great food and conversation, we went a little ways to set up camp, where I noticed my feet had gotten quite bruised by all of that road walking. I looked forward to walking on cushy trail from now on.
The next day brought hot weather and a very drawn out ascent in a burned area with no shade (I guess Leroy can't get them all), but that wasn't what we were worried about. We learned of a plant called Poodle Dog Bush that often grows in burned areas. It can cause a rash when brushed up against, and we heard reports that it was growing close to the trail. We spent the day mentally blocking out the heat while keeping our wits about us enough to avoid the poodle dog bush. We got to a fire station where we filled up for an 18 mile stretch without water the next day, making our packs significantly heavier. To conserve water, we cooked dinner before heading two more miles to our campsite, but the wind in the valley kept trying to blow our stoves out. Whatever, I don't mind my ramen with a little bit of crunch.
The next day was even hotter than the previous day, so we took a three hour long siesta before we started hiking again. Since there was a campground with a snack bar eight miles ahead, we made good pace motivated by pints of cold ice cream. Many other thru-hikers seemed to be cooling off as well, especially a guy who had accidentally dropped one of his liters of water down a hill. I definitely wouldn't want to be in that situation during a hot day such as this. Since the campground sat right near train tracks that brought commuter trains to and from LA, we got poor sleep. But that didn't worry us much, because the next day, we were headed into Agua Dulce where we would go to Hiker Heaven.
No, we haven't died, at least not yet. This establishment is perfectly engineered to serve the needs of a thru-hiker, offering showers, laundry (with loaner clothes), wifi, gear repair, and most importantly, places to get out of the heat. I had fun relaxing and hanging out with other hikers, until I downloaded the latest water report. Just when I thought the desert would be over soon, I saw that one hundred miles ahead of us lay the driest section of the PCT. It would require thru-hikers to carry up to five liters of water at a time (eleven pounds!!) and would force us to get up extremely early in the morning to beat the heat. Basically, we're destined to be overburdened, sleep deprived zombies, a real fun way to hike for sure. I dreaded the thought of hiking that section so much that it made me sick to my stomach. That morning, I walked into heaven, but I left with a vision of hell. I hiked the next day on the fence about my thru-hike, wondering if there was any good that could outweight the horrible section to come.
Later that day, we arrived at a trail angels house that they called Casa de Luna, which felt very akin to an AT hangout spot. I was suddenly flooded with memories of the AT, good times and bad. Then it hit me: no matter how many bad moments I had on the AT, there was always without fail a good moment right around the corner. I started feeling more hopeful as the day went by, and I decided to focus on how magnificent and wet the high sierras and the rest of the trail will be. We thru-hikers all gorged on a nacho bar and had great conversation before passing out for the night. I believe that every thru-hike has a turning point, something that steers it in the right direction and gives confidence that things will work out for the better. I hope my time at Casa de Luna was just that.
No comments:
Post a Comment