July 29, 2013
10 miles
mile 1616

The usual mammoth town breakfast lured us from bed. An early start back to the trail dismissed without discussion. All to errands and resupply. Having to print, sign and fax a document sent me hunting. The library closed, I despaired. I asked the checkout lady at the supermarket. “Oh, go down to the Shell station, walk in the back office, ask for Shana, and tell her Marilyn sent you.” I love small towns. On the way down main street I passed a deer eating a front yard. Assuming it was a pet I tried to pet it. It wasn’t.

Shana took care of my business in a saintly way. She refused payment and said “just pass it on.” Living near the PCT makes people very nice. Packed up by noon and headed for the old-fashioned soda fountain for a chocolate malt. There hikers gathered like flies on….ice cream. The day drifted. The magnet for nonmovement a free barbecue in the park that evening. We tried to break away and made it to the pizza joint next door. A simple meal and then we go. Damn, it had a pool table and beer. The struggle to depart crushed.

And then a hand from the heavens. The woman running the restaurant offered us a ride to the trailhead when she closed up shop at 3:30. Fate beckoned, and we helped her shut things down. A sad farewell to the boys. I motivated them by leaving the first half of a novel. May their testicles soon return to even harmony. A quick drive up, filled with stories of a lifelong Etnaite and then we were back at it.

Unfortunately, my water bottle returned to Etna. Always a problem, do I have, with water bottles. Thus my first 10 miles were waterless. The hike was cool as the Earl Grey fire skies screened out the sun. Slack and I had a long conversation about the transitional point in life he found himself in at the age of 21. I did my best with answers.

Bells heralded our arrival in camp. A large herd of cows being busy polluting the only water source. Dinner and to bed early in an attempt to recapture sleep lost to horseshoes. The bells rang on. I pretended I was in Switzerland, which made the sound romantic, and led to my desired destination.

In memory of Pat Taylor who died today. Pat told me that there was a speed between walking and running. I laughed at her. Then she showed me on a furious hike up the San Francisco peaks. “What the hell are you doing?” I screamed from behind. But I wasn’t laughing anymore nor was I keeping up. In essence Pat taught me how to hike the PCT before I even knew what it was. Everyday I do my Pat Taylor impersonation on the PCT in appreciation. Today I added a rock to my pack. I’ll carry her to Canada and leave her at the trailhead. It’s the best I can do.

So Pat, piss on traditional dying. Keep on hiking like you have a naysayer on your tail. The image I’ll keep is of you pulling away and disappearing round the bend.

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

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