Monthly Archives: June 2013

Day 37 – Sulphur water and melted soles

June 8, 2013
22 miles today
Mile 702

Left camp intent on arriving and Kennedy Meadows, which is the gateway to the High Sierras. Most hikers are happy to leave the desert and head into the mountains, but I for one will miss her. The desert can be an oppressor if you reject or disdain her. But if you embrace her, she is an avid and faithful lover who will always reward your senses. As she did, yet again, this time.

Red Beard’s breakfast

Signed the trail register, at the start of the hike, by writing a note to a fellow hiker behind me. I questioned the speed of his hike and insulted his statehood. Trail registers act as a bush telegraph. You can leave message for those behind you and inform yourself about those in front of you. It gives the Internet a run for its money.

The first spring was located in the ruins of an old mining camp. The water smelled of sulfur, but the Gatorade vendor was not in residence so alternatives were nil. As we filtered, Slack sat down next to a small bush. This annoyed the rattlesnake in residence. Luckily the snake decided to move on rather than display his displeasure by putting the nip on Slack. ‘Twas a close call though.

Climbed up to a pass and then headed downhill for one last visit to the desert. Passed through yet another big burn. The soil here is pure sand. After a fire, all that remains are leftover pine stalks. It ends up looking like the Sahara with worms coming up for air. I mulled over two rumors I had heard. One, that after our bear run-in, yet more bears had shown up. Two, that the Powerhouse fire would be contained on June 10, after scorching 50 square miles. Forests seem to have a hard time of it here.

Arrived, after 17 miles of hot trek, at the Kern River. A beaver had dammed the river creating a post-card swimming hole. Accomplished bathing and laundry with one jump. Doc reappeared with six liters of Gatorade that he had back humped five miles from Kennedy Meadows, once again demonstrating his dedication to the needs of his patients. A pool party ensued.

Kern River meets beaver dam

And then to Kennedy Meadows where I opened a tab at the General Store and picked up various packages. The main package included a bear vault to store food in, new shoes, and an ice axe and crampons. Not enough snow this year to justify the axe and crampons, so they’re headed back. But I think I’ll hold on to the bear vault due to recent company.

Steve Halteman
On the Pacific Crest Trail
Hiking the PCT for the Kids of Escuela Verde

If you’d like to help out and donate, please click here!

Day 36 – Bear 1 – Hikers 0

June 7, 2013
30 miles today
Mile 680

Awoke back in California to the shout of pancakes. Ate eight. Had to let out the hip belt yet again. Am five pounds over my starting weight of 193. While everyone around me continues to lose weight I continue my march to obesity. Here is my list of excuses, what do you think? I’m 49 so my metabolism is slower. I’m a runner, so walking is not physically demanding and thus my body is not burning that many calories. Couscous and oatmeal, my dinner and breakfast every day, are incredibly fattening. I eat like a starved hog every time I’m in town. Or my desert body is in insulation panic about heading into the snow of the High Sierras. The whole subject is curious.

Learned about a new lottery system for rafting the Grand Canyon on a private river trip, from a hiker named Bagpipe. Note to future.

Left camp heavily loaded internally and externally. Carrying the full complement of 3.5 liters of water as there are springs in five and nineteen miles respectively. Unfortunately, for my spine, the first spring glows with uranium. Which makes it even more unattractive than the aptly named “Dirty Diaper Spring” I passed yesterday. The climb from Walker Pass, named for Senor Walker, an early 1800’s explorer who stumbled upon it, was long, hot, and stunning. Made my way past other pancake laden hikers who I had so recently had the pleasure of their company. Doc, who is supercharged by pancakes and has a hike total of 54, took off never to be seen again.

Arrived at the spring after 19 miles ready for a cocktail. Skipped filtering and drank straight. At the spring for the soon to be famous Battle Royale of PCT 2013 were Toots Mcgoots. Orbit, Slack and Red Beard. Lunches were spread. A relax started. Commotion. A young male bear cub joined the party, he being hungrier than us. Hikers scattered. Smokey headed straight for Slack’s pack and began to tear into it. I yelled at him and he charged me. In my defense I heroically fell on my ass. That panicked Smokey and he fled up the tree two feet in front of me. Karma and Halfway showed up, the latter just missed being hit by a shit bomb while passing under the tree.

Smoky arrives without lunch invitation.

Orbit vs Bear

Bear in tree

A quick strategy session was concluded. Some would watch for Mama bear, whose potential arrival would escalate the situation dangerously. Others would fill water bottles. And the rest would stand guard with hiking poles. Then we would retreat as quickly as possible. But the withdrawal was impossible without water for the coming miles.

Bear wins

With our food packed away, and all of us up by the spring, Smokey came down from his lofty perch and renewed the assault. Now Smokey probably weighed all of 70 lbs, but when he charges and you see the length of his nails up close, one feels the odds are in his favor. The hiking poles and shouts in various languages, however seemed to even things up. Smokey’s repeated charges were all repulsed and we were able to escape with no casualties. Though one of Toot’s socks was half eaten. We placed a note on the trail warning other hikers of the standoff to come and returned to the climb through the Animal Kingdom.

After Smokey we passed deer, rabbits, squirrels and snakes, including a large Western Diamondback just off the path. It was a wonderful day that couldn’t get better until it did.

After 30 dusty miles some angelic soul left a case of black stout cooling in a stream at our finishing point. Even begin to try and imagine that first meeting of stout and windpipe.

Good night Smokey.

Steve Halteman
On the Pacific Crest Trail
Hiking the PCT for the Kids of Escuela Verde

If you’d like to help out and donate, please click here!

Day 35 – Spaghetti and blue mini skirts

June 6, 2013
20 miles
Mile 650

Early climb

Opened my eyes to the immediate destination, a 1,500-foot climb to the top of a peak. Not much light as 4:45 a.m. is still in the grip of night, but enough to get going, the coolness providing a quick push to the summit. Once on the crest, the path turned humanitarian and rolled along pleasantly through pine forests that scented the path in a way air freshener companies could only dream of.

The Oracle

The mood, as it has been on every day of the walk to date, was one of low-grade euphoria. All was clicking physically and mentally. The body had its job to do but the mind was free to wander off trail. Endorphins released as needed. Sights appeared at three mph, which provides a surplus of time to digest them. Distractions are limited to only those that you can create. Minor adjustments to pace manufacture opportunities to socialize or alone time. It’s just a great way to go about your day. Walk down the trail, nothing else. How can anybody get irritated doing that?

Yogi trail magic kitchen

An ever-increasing descent brought me to Walker Pass. Rumors of a food spread laid out quickened the pace. Known in the vernacular as trail magic, some people just have nothing to do other than walk away from their normal lives, drive into the mountain and feed a bunch of hungry hikers. Cue my applause. Au-natural hiker was there, wearing a flash blue mini that did his legs justice. Now known as Coppertone, he was as compassionate as ever. Also there was Yogi, a genuine trail celebrity, who had authored a well-known guidebook to the PCT, as well as a number of others. The order upon arrival, “Eat and drink till you no longer can,” which I did for the next six hours. When the last of the spaghetti ran out, I still could, so off we went on our own and made Pad Thai. The ingredients were scrounged, none of them Thai, but as I closed my eyes, I could see the streets of Bangkok.

So ended a fine day that began gazing at a summit and ended as I fell asleep on the sand at Kho Phangan Beach. Kop Khun Krap.

Sleeping in Thailand.

Steve Halteman
On the Pacific Crest Trail
Hiking the PCT for the Kids of Escuela Verde

If you’d like to help out and donate, please click here!

Day 34 – Chasing the clouds

June 5, 2013
22 miles
Mile 630

Today was dominated by heat, the kind that oppresses one’s enthusiasm. The path started at altitude but freefell into the desert below. Two water caches were located at mile 615 and 630. Translated into hiking, this meant walking seven miles to drink up once again. The ever-present competition of desire that every backpacker must resolve: Thirst vs. weight being the critical decision of the day. Too much water will break your back. Too little water will break your mother’s heart.

All day the temperature rose. For whatever reason, there seemed to be a large body of hikers clumped together on this particular day. I was able to observe various heat coping strategies which seemed to come down into one of two camps. Hole up in the shade and wait for the heat to pass or keep moving toward the water source. The vast majority of hikers fell into the former. Thus every large Joshua tree, which provides the only available shade, in this neck of the desert, seemed to house a waiting hiker. Personally, I fall into the later, as I usually go light on water, I really have no choice. I have to keep moving, but I don’t mind it. Moving across the desert, a hostile sun, under hat, water in hand, racing against time can bring a sense of contentment and self-containment. Arrivals confirm your calculation of thirst to weight. Beats TV anyway.

As I neared the end of the day, I found myself descending along a very long ridge. The sun continued its pounding. Suddenly the lights were dimmed. Curious, I looked up and saw an honest to God small cloud. My personal sunshade. It was also making its way toward Canada along the same path I was. Immediately, I felt a deep love. I quickened my pact to stay under my benefactor. The wind strengthened its push. Soon I found myself in the ridiculous position of running across the face of a mountain trying to catch a black circle. Just as I was about to repossess my love, she was murdered by the sun. Shakespeare would have captured my grief well.

Fell asleep, far from any artificial light, watching the big screen for shooting stars.

Steve Halteman
On the Pacific Crest Trail
Hiking the PCT for the Kids of Escuela Verde

If you’d like to help out and donate, please click here!

Day 33 – Attack of the Stealth Bomber

June 4, 2013
25 miles today
Mile 608

Woke up early, alone to writing. Laying in a meadow of view to the sky was open. Suddenly a B-2 Stealth Bomber made a pass through the dawns light. Felt like an exposed Taliban.

The rest of the morning was the mundane pack up, food up, water up and throwing an ever-increasing diameter of pebbles at Doc’s head in order to assist him in exiting sleep, his favorite state of consciousness.

Met a hiker on their first day hiking the PCT. They planned to go to Canada, but were carrying 40 pounds of food and water in addition to their gear. Tried to suggest a lightening of the load without being obnoxious. Probably failed.

As the next spring was 17 miles on, I loaded up with 3.5 liters of water. The sun was already hot to the touch. Took off in good spirits, though my knee remained in a foul humor.

Fire line

Soon came to fresh burn. The fire had been a large one and probably within the last two years. The new plant growth, what little there was of it, being less than 4″ high. Tried to recreate the drama in my head. The fire started in some trees and was blown north. I surmised this because the fire line cut starkly along a distinct line through the forest. A road to a wind farm kept the flames form moving east. As the path passed west of the wildfire, it was obvious the firefighters had used the PCT as their skirmish line, their victory apparent. But the fire, with wind as its ally, carried the day with its remaining directional outlet. For the next hour I trudged north through a cooked wasteland. A hastily dug fire break with heavy machinery being the dam that finally stopped the advance.

Passed a heat prostrated hiker lying in the shade waiting for the dark. Curious how the sun affects different hikers in such a variety of ways. Pushed on to the spring. Arrived with my last sip of water a distant memory. That first gulp of icy spring water defied adjectives. A long siesta followed by the last eight miles of perfect, gentle, down sloping pine beds. Our camp was next to yet another water fountain of the earth, with a picnic table to boot. Shared our camp with Papa Bear and his son, Chris. The conversation was good and centered around a country to the north that was still a ways off.

Sun throws in the towel

Steve Halteman
On the Pacific Crest Trail
Hiking the PCT for the Kids of Escuela Verde

If you’d like to help out and donate, please click here!

Day 32 – Switchbacks & more switchbacks

June 3 , 2013
25 miles today
Mile 583

One last gorge and then back to the trailhead. Said our farewells to Mr. O’D and began to climb out of the heat. Two mule deer were not impressed with our intrusion. As always, my hiking was low energy after a zero. Plodding along past endless windmills did nothing to lift my spirits. Still, progress was made. The goal was Highway 58 where a water cache was placed. The distance between the start and 58 being 8 miles, on my one-month trail anniversary.

From the PCT handbook, “The shortest route between two points is a switchback.” The engineers who laid out the trail were zealous in their observation of this truism. Back to the Handbook, “A longer switchback is superior to a shorter switchback,” and finally this gem; “The longest switchback of all will win the engineer accolades.” I contemplated these unique design philosophies as I attempted to reach Hwy 58 via a series of switchbacks.

“Gentlemen,” I yelled back through the up swell of history, “your goal is that highway right there, let us go directly to it.” Their response: “A straight line would encourage you to focus on your objective and arrive at it shortly, which is nonsensical. Much better  to move parallel to your objective repeatedly gaining some eight feet of descent at each turn, after a football field length traverse,” your objective never a distraction. Just mindlessly moving back and forth across the face of a mountain suppressing the maddening urge to hop from switchback to the next straight down the mountain. The PCT is 2,660 miles long. A crow flying from the start to the finish of the PCT would cover 1,165 miles. That’s around 1,500 miles of switchback. Engineers are marvels, perhaps not familiar with the actual location of Canada.

Mr. O’D drove up the 58 to meet us at the water cache. Lying underneath his truck I pondered the charisma of shade. Soon it was time to begin the big climb up from the pass and back into the mountains. But first I had to walk along the freeway for a mile through the remnants of a disposable culture. According to Mr. O’D, who used to collect cans, the five most common cans tossed from cars are in order of commonality. 1) Budweiser, 2) Coke, 3) Coors, 4) Pepsi, and 5) Miller. Now you know.

Arrived in camp, spent from carrying a pack loaded with 6 days of food and 17 hours of water. To take that pack off at the end of the day held commonality with an orgasm. Perhaps even superiority.

Steve Halteman
On the Pacific Crest Trail
Hiking the PCT for the Kids of Escuela Verde

If you’d like to help out and donate, please click here!

Day 31 – Mr. O’D and remembrances of times past

June 2, 2013
0 miles
558 miles total

The passing trains of Mojave called me to consciousness. As today would be a day of non-advancement I was slow to move. I mulled over the day to come. Usually zeros are for complete rest, but Mojave is unusual as is our host, Jim O’Donnell. Why not dedicate the day to seeing the Mojave region the way I saw it growing up as a kid. The itinerary solidified.

Our host, Jim O’Donnell

Some background. Mr. O’D was my teacher in junior high. Math to be exact. A subject that I would comfortably fall into the bottom five percent of any given range of students. Yet somehow Mr. O’D figured out a way to make me learn, and grasp that horrible subject.

But it was so much more than that. Mr. O’D taught me that it was OK to live a life outside every conceivable norm and have a hell of a time doing it. Words will never capture him, but ten minutes with him will enlighten. So do yourself a favor if you’re ever waylaid in Mojave, stop by the only donut shop in town and savor the show.

Mr. O’D is also an explorer and herpetologist. He took me, and other kids, all over the Western United States/Mexico exploring and catching snakes. We took risks that would be impossible in today’s culture of litigation. Why not give my friends, who are from every region of the States except the Southeast, a tour of those days?

So off we went. First, we explored the commercial plane dumping grounds of the Mojave Airport as well as its new spaceport where for $250,000 you too can touch space. Next we swung through California City where I had actually lived. The third largest city in California area-wise, it was set up to be land fleece for gullible East Coast investors. Own a piece of the California dream for a couple grand, even if your lot is miles from the middle of nowhere. To Cantil, where a shift in the winds is rapidly swallowing one house at a time in new sand dunes. There Mr. O’D lived until it became untenable.

Downtown Randsburg

On to Randsburg and Joburg, two tiny mining towns that hold on, beating off ghosts that want to occupy. There we ate banana splits at a soda fountain and shot pool at “The Joint” whose 100-year-old proprietor and barkeep had just passed.

Mine exit.

Nearby we tracked down a mine whose tunnels I had explored extensively as a kid. Its entrances had been sealed—liability again, but there is always a way in. And there was. Slack, Orbit, Doc and Red Beard got a taste of the bowels. On to a vertical mine shaft with a twelve-second-rock drop. Math says that is 1,400 ft. I say a hell of a long way.

Back to Cal. City the back way, always the back way, where we stumbled upon an abandoned house and mining works. Going through the detritus of a life lived and trying to create a story from it is a great pleasure. Yet another mineshaft was discovered for more fun and games. I will never tire of this stuff.

After pizza we hit the back roads hunting for snakes and kangaroo rats that prefer the warmth of asphalt. How to do it? Pile everyone all over the truck in any manner—they can hold on. Drive slowly down the roads all eyes peeled. When someone sees something they scream out the identifying word, and the brakes are hit apothekeschweizer.de. Everyone piles out and tries to put the grabs on it. The catchings were slim, but the fun was not. Maybe hunting was out because of the otherworldly smoke haze that blanketed the sun throughout the day, a reminder that the Powerhouse fire was up to 25,000 acres with 2,000 firefighters fighting the fight.

We arrived back in Mojave, well after midnight, exhausted from our restful zero day.

Sometimes fun is just the better option.

Thanks again, Mr. O’D.

Steve Halteman
On the Pacific Crest Trail
Hiking the PCT for the Kids of Escuela Verde

If you’d like to help out and donate, please click here!

Day 30 – Powerhouse is hungry

June 1, 2013
8 miles today
Mile 558

The beginnings of the sun gave a shout. Ate the last of my food and downed some water obtained from the last water cache. A critical cache set up on a very dry section of train, it is stocked by the kind Messrs David and Larry of Tehachapi. Good on them.

On the move by 6:15 a.m. we made out way downward toward the desert and Mojave, cutting through high plateau forests scarred by fire and dirt bikes. Our old friend the poodle bush reappeared and gave an enticing bark. Background scenery was provided by the mushroom cloud of the now-named Powerhouse Fire. Its appetite still unsatisfied at 3600 acres. Nine hundred firefighters made it their business to murder Mr. Powerhouse.

The path sucked through an endless number of wind turbines. Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh as they beat the air, so far responsible for the deaths of 200 plus eagles, as they scan the ground and not the air when they fly. Which one, my fellow environmentalists, clean energy or eagles? I want to look at my cake. I want to devour my cake.

After eight miles, we arrived low. A confession. I went to Junior High and High School in the unloved burg of Mojave. It is said that Mojave High doesn’t bother to have reunions because the escapees would never return and the trapped don’t like ot talk aoub ti. The path of life is twisted through and I find myself looking forward to the homecoming. My ex-teacher and current friend, Jim O’Donnell is waiting at the trailhead, as is au-natural hiker. This good soul is still dishing out root beer floats in his sexy mini.

Mojave is still there, even more reluctant to look in the mirror. A freeway bypass seems to have shrunk the town, but like a brawler with a sub 500 record it swings on. We stop for donuts in a shop that was the Mojave library. Across the street is one of my father’s churches. As I listen to Mr. O’Donnell’s stories, through the din caused by passing trains, I am content.

Another hiker arrives at the donut shop and announces that although their website say otherwise, the Mojave post office is closed Saturday. My bounce box is there which makes this development unfortunate. It is, however, small town America, one of which I live in during the seventies. Return to said post office. Bang on door until head appears. Find right combination of words for that head to compassionately receive my needs, wants and desires. Wait patiently for breach in parameter security. Door opens. Receive said bounce box. Thank profusely. Mojave is a great town.

A text arrives. Orbit and Doc have hitched to Hiker Town and burning out a thirty-plus mile day in order to catch up. Will reunion at the trailhead sometime late evening. All goes according to plan and by 10:00 Orbit and Sons is back in action.

Our home in the Mojave in front of Jim O’Donnell’s house.

The conversation was good as we sat in front of Mr https://mannapotheke.de/cialis-generika/. O’Donnell’s trailer and caught up under a smoke-hazed moon. Soon the long day made its demands on us all and we laid down where we conversed. Alone to my thoughts, I tried to figure out why I loved the thrill of natural disasters so much, because I so hated their effect. But I didn’t get far as sleep held the stronger hand. Mr. Powerhouse, however, decided to skip sleep and continue to feed.

Steve Halteman
On the Pacific Crest Trail
Hiking the PCT for the Kids of Escuela Verde

If you’d like to help out and donate, please click here!

Update – Mile 740 on June 10th

Note to all of Steve’s friends following his incredible adventure!

Just wanted to update you on Steve’s progress. He is still in California, but is in a “no cell” zone and has been for a few days. He was able to send me a quick email on June 10th. (I was hounding him for news and, like many of you reading his blog, was wondering how he was doing!) Here’s what he said:

“I’m alive at 10,500 feet will try to send everything if I can ever get to a place working blowing 100 miles an hour mile 740”

From this message, I am gathering he was about a day’s walk from Lone Pine, but assuming he would not want to go 22 miles off the trail to access the town (see the map below):

PCT Map: Steve’s location on June 10th, Mile 740, just North of Ash and Bear Meadows,

At an average of 22 miles per day, and assuming he stayed on the PCT, that would put him somewhere near mile 784 at his starting point this morning, which would be in the John Muir Wilderness area near Silver Lake.

Map of the PCT, mile marker 844 near Silver Lake. Estimating that this is where Steve is on the morning of June 13th!

Let’s see how accurate I am! I’m sure we’ll be hearing from him again very soon.

Meanwhile, please remember that he is doing this to raise money for the Escuela Verde in Costa Rica. Thank you to all of you who have donated. He really appreciates it. The link is below for anyone interested in learning more about how to help these great kids!

A big thank you and a shout-out to Half-Mile for providing all these great maps to the PCT. If you’d like to check them out more closely so you can monitor Steve’s progress, visit Half-Mile’s site here.

Thanks for following Steve Halteman’s journey for the kids of Escuela Verde.
Cirina Catania
Webmaster, Stories from Steve

Steve Halteman
On the Pacific Crest Trail
Hiking the PCT for the Kids of Escuela Verde

If you’d like to help out and donate, please click here!

Day 29 – Walking with Scorpions

May 31, 2013
23 miles today
550 Miles total

Gravel pile also known as sandblaster

The wind gathered strength thru the night turning into a menace. I camped behind a bunker in an effort to escape the nearby giant gravel pile that was being turned into a sand blaster. At some point, I had to take a leak. Standing straight in the blasting wind, was a challenge. Suddenly it began to rain. The impossibility of setting up a tent in this wind hit me hard. Some seconds later, I realized the updraft between my legs was causing my urine to arc upward and hit me in the face erektile-apotheke.de. I was so relieved that I didn’t have to set up my tent. A little face pee was minor in comparison.

The aqueduct continued to be our guide to the next water stop. The sun was hot so we rested. I took off my hat and Brad, a fellow hiker, pointed out that I had a scorpion on my head. I asked him to knock it off with a stick. It was one of the smaller, nasty breed and also dead. I believe it was in my hat and had cooked over the last seven miles. Fire, plague and pestilence. What next?

No sign of the fire in the morning, but by the time I had climbed up through an endless wind farm it had returned to form. We learned eight miles of the PCT were now closed.

Wildfire day two

Orbit and Doc were still stuck at the Andersons with no way to catch up other than a twenty mile road walk around the eight mile section. I slogged on as the heat built, and the wind, so brave in the night, shunned air conditioning the day. I cursed not carrying more water, but at 8.5 lbs per gallon, it is a burden to the back and mind. I figure one liter per ten miles works for me. As long as the urine is clear, copious, and not in your face, all is good.

Finally arrived at Tylerhorse Canyon and its blessing of a stream. Had lunch, calculated the miles to my destination (short) and turned siesta into a verb with a number of others. Woke up and moved on. Came to a steep canyon that with a bridge would be a 400-yard walk, but was a one hour down and up without one. The desert around, as always, so beautiful in its simplicity.

Received a shout out message from Walter Menck with his usual excess of style. It made me laugh through a mile of climbs.

What a hell of a day. Pissed in my face, groomed a Scorpion, and went to bed with an owl that kept asking the same question. I give thanks.

Sleeping on a river

Steve Halteman
On the Pacific Crest Trail
Hiking the PCT for the Kids of Escuela Verde

If you’d like to help out and donate, please click here!