That Other Oregon Trail

Phone not charging. My fears were confirmed as I plugged in my phone at a Mt. Shasta gear shop. The cold and humidity on top of that Northern California didn't get the best of me, but it did some damage to my phone. I would stop by Radioshack in the morning to fix it, or even replace it. Before they opened, I purchased a pocket fan at Rite Aid and performed phone surgery at a nearby O'Reillys as a last ditch effort. I was relieved when I saw the lightning bolt come onto the screen. I wouldn't need to redownload my maps, but most importantly, I can still write what had happened for you all.

As I walked out of the supermarket, I was greeted by a guy named Dusty who I thought was another thru-hiker. As I hadn't seen Rambo and Mcflurry in days, I asked him what he thought of the last gnarly section of trail. Apart from strangly describing it as "enchanting" rather than the more accurate "deadly", I realized he wasn't a thru-hiker when he picked the skateboard up from behind his pack. He explained to me that he considers himself to be part of a prophesied "rainbow people" who keeps the woods around Mt. Shasta healthy by spreading good vibes to others. He tokd me him and many others live in a makeshift camp on national forest property called the Buddha Hole, and invited me to spend a night. Not wanting to stealth camp in town, I accepted and found myself at a literal hippie fest, complete with bongo circles, communal dinners, and VW Microbuses parked all around. I had time traveled to the '60s, and had a groovy night making organic sandwiches and jamming on my uke around a fire.

The next morning, I relived my childhood by watching the new Captain Underpants movie, sitting in the back of the theater in order not to shock families with the smells of both thru-hiker and hippie. At a Taco Bell, I saw Rambo and Mcflurry and was sad to hear that they would both be quitting the trail due to the snow levels. I wanted to give the PCT my best shot though (while still coming out alive of course), so I opted to skip the last 200 miles of California which according to my maps looked like even worse sidehilling. I decided that I would hitch up to Ashland, Oregon and hike north based on a report of less steep ridgelines and lower elevations. I would hopefully run into a couple more thru-hikers, and of course get a shower.

When I woke up the next morning, I swallowed and a sharp, familiar pain radiated from my throat. I must've caught strep throat from one of the kids at yesterday's movie, making me delerious and struggling to function as I picked up my microspikes from the post office and hitched to Callahan's Lodge near the trail in Ashland. I used that day and the next to recover, watch movies, and camp in a designated PCT hiker spot out back. Getting back on trail, I experienced Oregon's meadows, lush forests, and plentiful water and had a flaskback of the AT. Even more of a flashback came the next day when I got to my first shelter of the PCT and wrote a joke in the shelter log followed by my trail name. I must say that I miss writing in shelter logs, as it gave even more personality to people's trail names and allowed me to see who was ahead on trail. As I perused the book, I realized that I would be hiking alone for a while. I just didn't know how long.

My flashbacks of the AT ended though when I ran into snow just near Mt. McLaughlin, starting with patches but eventually getting to the point where I had to keep looking at my map app to see if I was still on trail. From then on, I grudgingly referred to it as "playing the game." Beyond my expectations, I came across a section hiker who told me about a trail parallel to the PCT called the skyline trail that he thought might have less snow, and if not, a bailout farther down that would bring me near Crater Lake. I decided to take it, but with more of playing the game on laborious snow, I took the bailout and got a short hitch to Crater Lake National Park, where I felt somewhat treated like a celebrity by people who's definition of a hike was walking from the parking lot to the  visitor's center.

As I got up to the rim (technically not part of the PCT), I started my hike around it when a ranger stopped me to check my permit. Because I thought having the PCT permit would allow me to backcountry camp in whatever national parks it crossed through, I show him that, to which he replied that I would need a different permit to camp. With a more prying tone, he then asked me if i was high on drugs due to my eyes being red. I explained that I most likely got sunburned on my corneas from following the blazes up to the rim without my subglasses. Because the ranger station was closed and I didn't feel like possibly dealing with another machiavellian ranger, I hitched out of the park and over to the nearby Diamond Lake Resort. I called my dad for Father's Day, cleaned out a breakfast buffet, and rested like a champ.

I realized that hiking the Oregon part of the PCT is like playing the computer game Oregon Trail, except no matter how well you do, you eventually die from getting your blood sucked out by mosquitoes. I applied tons of deet buy I still had to constantly swat clouds of them away from my face or else I'd breathe them in. On top of being alone for a while, navigating annoying snow drifts and blowdowns most of the day, and ending it with a frigid waist-deep ford, I let off some steam and seriously reassessed my trip. I decided that I would hike a hundred more miles and hang out in Bend, Oregon for as long as it would take for my AT friend Wookie to catch up. I figured by then some snow would melt and the mosquito population would drop.

I hiked a couple more days, having to put my beloved ukulele up for adoption at a shelter due to it snagging on blowdowns. With so many of them and the sheer lack of people to hear my playing, it wasn't worth carrying around anymore.  One perk about this section of trail is all of the pristine ponds i come across. I eventually got to the town of bend where I explored the downtown, sampled microbrews, and camped on national forest land just outside of town. I attended church, and an older outdoorsy couple I had chatted wi th invited me to stay at their house. I was thankful to fully recuperate, get to know them, and explore the town on a bike. After about a week, I got reaquainted with my pack and got back on trail to meet up with Wookie. It will surely be nice to hike with someone else again, especially since he isn't afraid of snow and has a southern accent. Like the trail, it's all about the small perks.