June 21, 2013
15 miles today
906 miles total

Awoke to cold sunshine and a warm fire. The lure of a town destination sped my departure. It was resupply time, which was obvious as I put my pack on. No food equals a happy back. Left camp and started down a chaotic valley. At some recent point the front of a mountain had sheared off and collapsed onto the valley floor. The result was rock jambalaya. Must’ve been quite a show.

Took stock of 50 days on the trail and decided to put in an order for 50 more. Quite the lifestyle. Today was national naked hiking day. Probably the most noncommercial, non-corrupted holiday on the American calendar. What can you market to a naked hiker? As I passed various naked hikers they seemed to be moving quickly. It was cold. Sorry, no photos.

The trail rolled on for a while and then decided to stay high in the Pines. Came upon a six point buck and had a sociable stare down at 50 feet. Both of us lost interest at about the same time and moved on. Eventually the path switchback dropped down through a wasteland that was part fire burn and part trees Snapped off at the midpoint. I learned later the sequence. 11 years ago there was a fire that weakened the forest. A year and a half passed, and a tremendous wind storm passed through. It was similar to a tornado without the cone. Wind microbursts of 180 mph were recorded. That violence was the tree snapper. The PCT became a chain sawed tunnel through a wasteland of downed trees.

Arrived at Reds Meadow, a well-known pack station. Here in 1971 Richard Nixon planed to build the Sierra freeway as a crossover point through the Sierras. Of all people, Gov. Ronald Reagan showed up for a horse ride, fell in love with the place, and subsequently led the victorious fight against construction. Kudos to Mr. Reagan on that one.

Ordered my chocolate shake and sat down in the shade. Tragedy interrupted affairs rudely, as is its nature, when Slack learned that his Australian friend, Luke, had died base jumping in Moab, Utah. He took it hard. Sudden cell phone coverage, after days or weeks without, always brings an avalanche of news. You just never know what kind.

A hitch brought us to downtown Mammoth Lakes. A new plan was hatched. Instead of Motel Six, why not try to rent an off-season ski condo. So while everyone waited in front of Vons, I walked into a real estate office and stated my proposal. Of course the agent there, Jess, owned a condo in Kiana resorts, a somewhat defunct development some 25 minutes north of me in Costa Rica. We hit it off as we discussed folks we knew in common. She called her friend, and soon after we were the two night owners of a condo, a block away, that slept seven. All the amenities and a Jacuzzi for less than the drab and mundane motel anonymous.

Home sweet home accomplished, it was errand time. Food and gear were restocked. Repairs made. Stomach occupied by a burrito that measured 6″ x 10″ taste irrelevant. Residents for the night, Blast (myself), Slack, Orbit, Red Beard, Drop Biscuit and Lorax. All was in order for tomorrow’s complete and total feet up zero. As my head hit the pillow and my backside the mattress, I marveled at the wonder of a bed. But not for long, as I was gone.

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

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