Between Two Peaks

I'm sorry, did I say before that hitching north and hiking in minimal snow would be easier than the desert? Boy, was I mistaken. But first, I must say that the drive up to Lake Tahoe and our time there was a well deserved luxury. After a fellow AT hiker named Rev gave us a ride into the town of Ridgecrest, Rambo, Mcflurry, and I loaded up our rental Chevy SUV and tried not to stink it up too much. As we drove north, the beasts that are the high sierras loomed over us to the left, and we gazed in awe and felt glad to not be going through them anytime soon. Seeing peaks still plastered with snow in June made me think I was looking up at the Himalayas. We drove through quaint little towns, knowing they would later be our lifelines when it comes time to trek through the most remote section of the PCT.

After being surrounded by pristine mountains and small towns all day, the casinos and packed boulevards of Lake Tahoe were a shock to the senses. We immediately checked into our motel-turned-hostel and found jeans in the hiker box for each of us to wear. Despite there being no other reasonable place near trail to drop off our rental car, we had a blast exploring the city and trying our luck at some slots and table games on a hikers budget. We spent the next morning trying to find a cup of coffee under five bucks and then started hitching north. A girl right out of college was the first to pick us up, and she picked our brains about thru-hiking since she was interested in completing one someday. Our next hitch was from a guy who had been hiking in Northern California for a while, and he told us there was still significant snow until the town of Old Station.

After some research, I learned that not only was Old Station a town literally consisting of a general store and a ranger station, but also that it was as far from anything as you could get in Northern CA. The only alternative was to go all the way up to Oregon, but we all wanted to give Northern CA a fair chance. Accepting that we had several long hitches ahead of us, we started making a cardboard sign at a nearby post office, only to be accused of panhandling and thrown off the property by an employee. I guess she hadn't met any thru-hikers before. The next day was a blur of Norman Rockwell-esque towns, sticking my thumb out to cars that mostly didn't pick us up, and answering the same questions to the people who did. Another gas station, another full car passing us by, another driver shocked by how we could hike this long. Not that we didn't appreciate the gesture of being picked up, but when we got as far as we could that day, we were about ready to collapse. Who knew that hitching was just as exhausting as hiking through the desert.

Our final hitch the next morning was by a forest service employee, and we got a valuable botany lesson which made me appreciate this area even more. As soon as we saw the PCT again, we were invigorated and quickly ascended the ridge where we saw two huge snow-capped volcanoes: one north of us and one south. We were truly in Northern California. Familiarity slapped us in the face pretty soon after though, as we had to take a long, steep side trail to a water source. Though this was out of the norm for Northern CA, it made me realize that if there's one thing I miss about the AT, it's that you are your own boss. You can do as many miles as you want, whenever you want. For much of the PCT, water and heat have been our bosses, and I was more excited then ever to start thru-hiking this trail for real.

As it turns out, the cold is not a very nice boss, but more on that in a bit. The next day brought flat but rocky terrain, but we all recharged by having lunch at the nearby Burney Mountain Guest Ranch. As the cushion in my shoes was starting to wear out (the rocks definitely made me notice), I looked for new insoles in their store while Rambo and Mcflurry continued a couple miles to Burney Falls State Park. By the time I got there, I hadn't been able to find them among the throngs of tourists, so I camped a little bit past and got an early start the next morning. I had heard that day was calling for rain and colder temps, but because the trail was not yet cut back for the hiking season, I ended up getting soaked and chilled to the bone. When I topped the foggy ridge by noon, I knew for my safety I had to just make camp and bundle up in my sleeping bag.

The next day was just as wet and cold, and putting on soggy clothes put an immediate damper on the day. Continuing on the ridge, I eventually ran into snow. The reports I had looked at were correct when they said the snow wasn't as deep, since it was in patches. What it failed to mention was that it was drifted about twenty feet high in some spots, turning the ridge into a slippery roller coaster. When the trail wasn't right on the ridge, I was forced to side hill on preverbial slush with no discernable path. I was forced to constantly look at my guide app just to make sure I was still on trail. The constant use, together with the cold and humidity eventually zapped my phone of any battery life, meaning I was stuck up on the ridge.

At that moment, I knew it was time to bail. I remembered seeing on my app that tons of logging roads hugged the north side of the mountain, so all I had to do was descend and I would eventually meet up with a highway. Once off the ridge, I slid down, slowing and steering myself with my poles while dodging trees. I actually felt confident doing what's called glissading, since I had done it many times this previous winter in New Hampshire. Once I met my first logging road, I continued down and chose my direction at each fork based on intuition and a little luck. Eventually the road became gravel and then pavement, and I rejoiced like a mad man. When I heard some cars in the distance, it was like someone had lifted an extra pack off of my shoulders. I got a ride into the town of Mt. Shasta in no time, and I celebrated being alive. Now with the matter of what to do with the rest of Northern California.......