Category Archives: On the Road

Day 67 – Lost in the pass

Day 67
July 8
14 miles
mile 1169

Light made its way through windows and I awoke without being subject to divebombing. Red Bull to roofing and Lemonade to yoga. A most sincere thank you to the both of them for their unlimited hospitality. Let’s face it, they open their doors to a group of unwashed unknowns based solely on Otter’s recommendation. As Redbull said, “The trail has given us so much, we want to give back whenever we can.” True trail angels. And ones I hope to emulate.

Novel wall in lemonade shop

Breakfast at the well-named Squeeze In. Fueled by omelettes, we said our goodbyes to doc at the Greyhound depot. Then Otter returned us to the trailhead in a truck borrowed from Redbull. A debt of gratitude to Otter for his hospitality. Otter, in his typical humbleness, forgot to mention that he is a Triple Crowner a couple of times over.(AT, PCT and CDT) Said our farewells and were off, but me not so fast. My right knee was miserable. A limp developed. A formal contract, no more races.

Truckee Lake from Donner pass

I got lost in my head to distract the pain. Soon that translated into lost on the trail. As I marched towards Summit Lake the PCT went toward Castle Pass. I woke up at a trail juncture where I ran into Tortuga. She faced the same dilemma. What the hell happened to the PCT? To solve the puzzle she backtracked. I compounded my problem by choosing a trail that my gut told me would meet up with the PCT. Eventually, a half-mile bushwhack confirmed the valuelessness of my gut on this one. Coming out of the bush I arrived at yet another juncture at the same time Tortuga appeared. Together we figured out where the PCT wanted to go and followed it there.

Wild railroad tunnel from Donner Pass

Caught up to Orbit and Slack in front of the Peter Grubb hut. A now closed hut built in honor of a 19 year old rock climber. He had died while on a bicycling trip to Europe in 1939 as the clouds of war gathered. I limped on. The day was short due to the logistics of our arrival in Sierra City as well as our late start. I was happy to end early. The Mosquitoes had the same emotion about my arrival.

Figured out a way to get a gym workout out of the forest and then got down to the serious business of Ramen preparation. Viking appeared. Born in 1980 in Leipzeig then of the GDR. He was nine when the wall came tumbling down. His memories of those times made even my tired Ramen fascinating. He gave me some horse cream for my knee and I went to bed dreaming of a return to full speed.

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 66 – I think I’m going to throw up

Day 66
July 7
27 miles
mile 1155

Did Red walk through the night? A first thought. Up early to see the sunrise from inside my bag. Stayed in my office to catch up on writing. Then born to the world or at least oatmeal. Packed up and was off like a herd of turtles as the old family expression goes.

Lights on in bedroom

Writing blog

Through the early part of the day the trail rose and fell according to the whims of geography. Lake Tahoe would occasionally make guest appearances on the right. As I was hiking solo, my gaze was often off path, drawn to this or that. Unfortunately the PCT is a jealous mistress who requires constant attention. Ignore her obstacles at your peril. Multiple times that day I was nearly brought to my knees by a root or curved rock. After each near takedown I would scream the same unutterable. And then refocus on the path in front of me, swearing attention. Within minutes the eyes to wander. Repeat process.

Lake Tahoe as horizon

With time the trail returned to a high ridge. The Tahoe rim Trail veered toward her namesake but the PCT stayed high above the tree line. The route went knife edge. My left hand presented a massive forested valley. My right the deep waters of Lake Tahoe. My stretched shadow raised its hand in greeting. I love these times. Passed a ski resort and red signs that spoke of avalanche dangers. Not today methinks. The high times were ended by a series of descending switchbacks as the trail looped around the back of Squall Valley. There a year or so ago, my daughter learned to ski and snowboard. Happy memories flooded.

Squaw Valley Ski Resort nude

A wrong turn had me summit Granite chief mountain. A pretty good return on my error. Back on the trail I caught up with Doc and had a good final chat. Doc plans to get off the trail in the upcoming town of Truckee to pursue an education, girlfriend and future in Ohio. We spoke of the angles and the need for Uncertainty in life. We climbed up to Tinker Knob, the difficulty of which encouraged much thought before word utterances. A lack of oxygen forces one to choose their words carefully. Caught up with Orbit and Slack on top of Tinker Knob and watched the spread of a new wildfire on the next mountain ridge that shaded the sky the full spectrum of gray.

To the left

To the right

Back to it, and Orbit’s words came to me, “When Red gets back, we need to refocus and put the hammer down.” Another knife ridge and I pulled up behind her, and inquired about this hammer. The race was on. Over the next 5 miles we alternated between racewalking and running. The contest ended with the words “I think I’m going to throw up.” Good times.

Came upon Roller Pass, which is a cross between a cliff and a hill. Here, a team of oxen would pull each pioneer wagon, one by one, up the steep slope. At the top was the pioneers reward, a first view of California. The Donner party missed this turn and ended up trapped in early snow, late cannibalism, and a place in the books of history.

Twins

Traveling companion since Mexico

A rocky, pounding descent brought us down to Donner Pass where warm Pabst Blue Ribbon quenched the thirst generated by a dry trail. Otter was already in Truckee and had secured us lodging for the night. As we wanted to give Doc a proper sendoff, a divergence off the trail to civilization was in order. To Truckee then. And that is how we met Lemonade and Red Bull, fellow through hikers. Lemonade picked us up at the trailhead and drove us to Safeway where we picked up party supplies. Then to their very hip apartment where a cleaned and polished otter awaited.

A splendid evening ensued. Red Bull and Lemonade had laid out an incredible spread based on their thorough knowledge of a through hikers bottomless appetite. The conversation was first rate as one would expect from a couple with such an extensive library. We learned some of their life in Truckee and how it came to be, of Lemonades quick visit to the States from her native Sweden that became a life there after meeting Red Bull. And of their CDT hike together and still together.

To dessert in honor of Doc’s departure. A gift to us from his recently visited parents. Angel food cake, whipped cream and strawberries with Ben and Jerry’s chasers. A toast to the arrival of Docs future.

Finally the weight of the day arrived and all available floor space was given over to eyes shut.

Traveling companion since Mexico

Day 65 – Jiffy Pop, blueberry cobbler and snow women

July 6, 2013
26 miles
Mile 1128 on the journey:

Tahoe Rim Trail

The mosquito alarm went off early so I rose to write. Caught up as the others stirred. Orbit was first to take off. Slack drifted off to his constitution but was interrupted preact by the arrival of two rangers bushwhacking. I had just finished removing traces of our fire along leave no trace procedures. The Rangers delivered a fair and extended dressing down about the prohibition against fires in the desolation wilderness. In our defense we had observed a number of fires as we rounded Susie Lake, but rules are rules. We returned the area to pristine condition under their watchful eye. No more campfires, but we went out in style with Jiffy Pop.

Rock imprisoned but not forever

Off, and making good time. Missed a signpost, took the wrong turn and saw a beautiful lake for my screwup. A lot of families on the trail. Good to see kids taking their parents backpacking. Ran into G Bird, a German woman who was having problems with the psychology of the trail. She’ll come out on top. Then Viking with his ever present bear bell.

Snowwoman

Crested Dicks Pass where Orbit had left one of her signature snow women as a sign to Red to pick up the pace. Speaking of which Red will rejoin the trail today after his embrace of a friend. Hopefully he can make up the miles within a week. Not easy, but I have seen with my eyes Red fly on land. Had my hiking permit checked yet again by rangers and then sped toward lower elevations. The Rangers mentioned on departure about obeying the speed limit.

North side moss hanging on

Lunch with Slack, Orbit, Veggie and Ole around a mosquito birthing center. Doc failed to arrive as has become his habit. More miles. Passed two trees violining each other with every gust of wind. Heard that an Oak tree in Yosemite Valley had fallen on a group of people killing one and injuring many. Fate is always out there lurking.

Trust fall

The PCT had joined with the Tahoe Rim Trail by this time. Took an afternoon’s rest by a lake where Orbit charmed two sodas off some campers. More miles, and the strange sensation of a car coming at me in the woods. I spun around in defense, but nothing. Turns out I was standing next to a road I couldn’t see. Then a long line of monster trucks. You never know what you’ll see standing amongst pines.

A climb to yet another pass where an unexpected spread of cherry tomatoes, home grown strawberries and gingersnaps awaited. Foraging is as much luck as art. A climb down as Lake Tahoe presented herself. Rounding the bend, my cell phone found a signal. Siri gently broke the news that the Orioles had narrowly lost to the Yankees. I said some unkind things about the state of the world and walked it off. Fell in with Otter for the final hiking conversation of the day and learned a little about the life of an itinerant golf pro.

Camp was on a ledge shaded blue by the waters of Lake Tahoe. Couscous went down as I listened to each recount the events of their day. Storytelling is much in style along with PCT and there was some good ones. Doc, who had finally appeared, made group blueberry cobbler which was a fine dessert to both a meal and a day.

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 64 – Thank you Mike & Jen

July 5, 2013
10 miles today
Mile 1102 total

Up to tea and scones. Mike to his bike ride and Jen to teach a gym class. What trust to leave three people, known less than 24 hours, alone in your house. We did our best to honor that trust and then back to the brothel. Our appreciation once again to Mike and Jen. Met Doc at Safeway. He looked refreshed and none the worse for wear. There too we ran into Otter. If you’re going to have chance encounters with PCT through hikers, ground zero is the town supermarket.

We abused Tashi’s hospitality one last time by having her lug us back up the mountain to Echo Lake for a reunion with the PCT. There we joined the usual group of through hikers in front of the store going through the 12 steps of reorganization. Viking was there, obviously preparing for the end of times by packing 10 days worth of food. One last orange sherbet, a fine representative of civilization, and back to it.

The trail kept to the touch of Echo Lake for 2 miles. Though crowded, I appreciated its tendency to stay level. The lake itself was lined with quaint cabins. Judging from the architectural detail I would surmise that quaint came with an agonizing price tag. The path pushed on towards Aloha Lake, and the crowds dissipated. I was in front of Doc, Slack and Orbit. I rounded a bend and came upon them swimming. Wrong turn somewhere. Tried my hand at impromptu poetry at the break. Good for a laugh but not much else.

Aloha Lake

Aloha Lake was populated by hundreds of mini islands, I fantasized about hauling a kayak up to conduct a proper survey, explorer style. Filed to future plans. And then a turn to Susie’s Lake where we set up a restful, windy home far from the holiday crowds of South Lake Tahoe. A collective exhale.

The hotel at Susie Lake

And then Orbit’s surprise, Jiffy Pop popcorn. Everyone back to 10 years old as we watched in wonder as the aluminum foil expanded into it a balloon over the coals. Simple joys are usually the best.

A helicopter flying erratically and circling overhead capped the night. At one point we actually thought it was going to crash, so bizarre were its flying patterns. But luckily not. Show over, as well as the day, it was to bed with the wind.

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 63 – Spoiled at the Carson Pass Visitor Center, then ate flies

July 4, 2013
20 miles today
mile 1092 on the journey

Perfect

The day bloomed across whitewashed trunks and I set off towards South Lake Tahoe and a country’s birthday. Offroaders had torn up the trail as far as they could until the terrain repulsed their efforts. I plodded along slicing glacier bowls horizontally. The pattern of sharp down, groove the curve and then scramble up Repeated repeatedly. After 6 miles Carson Pass was within range. A trickle of hikers became a flood as many were free from work. A rumor of donuts at the Carson Pass visitor center quickened my pace and destination enthusiasm.

The visitor center was staffed by volunteers a cut above, many cuts above. The first question “would you like a slice of watermelon?” The next, “anything else?” Yes and yes. Orbit and slack pulled up as a platter of french bread, butter, hummus, guacamole, Three different kinds of gourmet cheese, finely sliced cucumber, grapes and the aforementioned watermelon were placed in front of us.Had a wine list been presented I would not have registered Shock, because I was in shock. The volunteers asked for nothing in return but conversation, which ranged wide. We talk of early climbing days and characters who had populated the ranges. Of Indonesia and Nepal. Their knowledge of trails as well as trails of the world was expansive. I tried to contribute to the conversation between inhaling my picnic, but it was easier and more entertaining to listen. Hey, full thanks to the fine volunteers at Carson Pass.

Ambled on. Passed a large woman with a large dog. The dog looked interested in my leg so I said “hello big un” to indicate my friendliness. The woman turned to me and said “are you talking to me?” “No!” I returned in panic. She smiled, joke on me. The path began its long slow pour into South Lake Tahoe. Hung out at a bygone cabin and had a formal bath in the lake to spruce up for town. In other words I dove in the lake with all my clothes on. My drying line was more hiking. As I steamed a horse fly landed on my beard, just below my lower lip, looking for a bite point. Non instinctively I sucked in my lower lip, and drug him into my mouth with my front teeth. Then I spit him without breaking stride. Probably the next step in my trail evolution will be swallowing him but I’m not there yet.

Arrived at the trailhead/highway 50 at about the same time as a couple and their dog that we had been playing pass tag with throughout the day. They pass, or we pass, depending on breaks, speed or dogs rolling in snowbanks. Their friend was picking them up in a van and they offered us a ride into town. In town, their generosity continued it streak. Mike and Jen, professors at the local community college, opened their doors and vacationing kids bedrooms to three oderous through hikers. The kindness and generosity of people all along this trail needs to be trumpeted, but it goes unsung because it is not newsworthy. I’ll do my best here. Thank you Mike and Jen for your kindness, hospitality and good unto others. And also for the Q-tips which I used to pull something that once had wings out of my left ear.

Deposit by Jen at the heart of South Lake Tahoe we beelined to an all you can eat Indian restaurant. The clientele was almost exclusively Indian which immediately established the restaurants credentials. We did the usual damage to the restaurants profits, but the main event was the arrival of doc, returned from lost in the forest. He caught up on his tail of misdirection, adventure, woe and guiding his parents through the high Sierras. But the good doctor was ready to rejoin orbit and sons and hike properly again.

Soon Tashi joined the party. A climbing friend of Slacks, we had first met at the hot springs in Bridgeport. There, she had arrived after dark, so we had an extensive conversation completely blind. This I was meeting her for the second time but seeing her for the first time. Our party moved towards ever higher vantage points for the start of the fireworks. It was quite a show though a rude Pine refused to move out of the way. The highlight to me were the fireworks that blossomed into smiley faces which made me think of my daughter. The evening closed on party rock high over Tahoe. The vantage point allowed one to digest both the city and solar system with a click of the eye. Tahoe was not done celebrating but we were. We dropped Tashi and Doc off at the brothel. A rental house so named because all its inhabitants are females. I’ll never forget Doc’s frightened face as we drove away. Orbit’s extensive navigational skills, honed on the back roads of Albany, New York brought us back to Mike and Jen’s place on Hunk Papa Road. There to sleep. Thanks in order to the lovely Tashi for her car loan. And finally feliz cumpleanos de Estados Unidos.

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 62 – Lightning strikes and I race with Valentino

July 3, 2013
27 miles
Mile 1067

The price of a mosquito free night was a lack of flat ground. Thus I awoke in a ball at the bottom of my tent having slid down there throughout the night. Back on the road by 7:30 AM chasing miles. Almost all of the geology now is volcanic. Eroded crags point to the sky and meadows are filled with conglomerate boulders that have tumbled down from high points. A conglomerate boulder, to my untrained eye, is made up of many smaller boulders cemented together by volcanic ash. The skyline is harsh, but balanced nicely by plush meadows filled with wild flowers encouraged by the recent rains. Walking through the meadows stirs the plants, which scents the air with clean, strong smells. Impossible not to enjoy the miles.

Two on the road

Came upon Eileen and her horse Valentino. They are trying to become perhaps the first horse and rider to do the entire PCT in one season. Apparently Valentino had been spooked by the snow on forester pass and was no longer a fan of the fluffy stuff. Every patch finds him being walked around the offensive material. At one such spot we met. Having once ran a 100 mile race that had both human and horse participants, I decided to engage in a friendly competition with Valentino to see who would finish the day first. Valentino’s response was “give it your best shot,” and then he took off in a gallop. I inhaled dust, but the day was young.

Valentino and Nemesis

Came upon some trail magic left by Waldo, a 2012 PCT hiker. One last Coors was left in the cooler and Orbit and I split it, toasting our two month anniversary on the trail. It made for a fine late breakfast. Cheers Waldo. Soon followed by a lazy lunch of bacon jerky and warm mozzarella burritos. I cut the laziness short though because Valentino was pulling away and I could feel it.

Mount Suribachi Iwo Jima from World War II with raised American flag on the PCT

Bonsai tree with pack for scale

It took me a few miles but I finally passed him on a long downhill and it was his turn for the dust. The path flattened out and meandered through pine forests populated by stagnant ponds and my buzzing nemesis. The building thunderstorms seemed to stimulate their aggressiveness. With the race well in hand, I took a short break to purify water and feed the mosquitoes. Valentino snorted “sucker” as he blew by. Off in hot pursuit to no avail, as the race was over a quarter-mile later at the blue lakes road where Valentino awaited his nightly pick up. All hail Valentinus victorious.

Volcanic crags

The thunderstorms added lightning to their repertoire and I began to look for a home. It was around mile 24 but frustratingly no flat spots with water presented themselves. The trail left the comfort of the pines and climbed upward toward a barren, exposed volcano. With lightning now striking in front and behind me, I was not enamored with this trend though the view packed a punch. Spooked a few deer off the path. One trotted about 50 yards off and sat down on its butt, front legs straight like a dog. That I had never seen.

Highwater marks

I had a solicitous conversation with the trail. Surely you’re not going to drag me up over that mostly exposed ridge in a lightning storm? The trails muteness an affirmation. Resigned I climbed. To pass the time I would count the seconds between flash and crash. As always in such times alternating between fear and charged with life. After a couple of miles the trail began its drop toward the lake. I’d live to walk another day as always – until the day I don’t.

The camp around a greatly reduced lake was ideal and mostly bug free. With chores over early there yet remained light for a read with a log pillow. Viking, a mountain guide from Germany who looks the part, showed up and told a tale of a great hike in Iceland where you can cook sausages in hot springs. A plan began to form…

Viking

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 61 – Missing Red Beard and lunch before the storms

July 2, 2013
27 miles today
Mile 1045

Returned to the trail courtesy of Preston who had field work to do in the area. We talked more of Preston’s research. Much of his field research takes place in the winter. Sonora pass is closed seasonally because of snow. How to get there? How about hitch a ride with the Marines in one of their tanks? Fun solutions are better. Speaking of fun, he was once cross country skiing through fox habitat on the lookout for scat. He crested a snowbound ridge and came upon 500 Marines engaged in an epic snowball fight. If only warfare could be so civilized.

Thought of UB on the ride out. Ran into him at the motel. He seemed at his limit mentally and physically and was headed back to San Francisco for a week of rest. The trail had handed him a beating. But like any boxer headed to the corner he would be back for the next round. That you could see in his eyes. Crossing paths with him again before Canada a certainty.

Pretty

Ran into Muk Muk at the Sonora Pass trailhead and got caught up. Said our farewells to Tortuga who had Hitched out with us from Bridgeport. And we’re off, sadly and strangely without Red Beard. Starting at a pass always means a climb up and that is how we engaged, Charged with adrenaline but slowed by three days worth of food. Everywhere there were grasshoppers who, when they flew, sounded like baseball cards hitting bicycle spokes on a hot August afternoon.

The terrain continued its trend toward volcanic. Old cinder cones began to appear. This was a good thing as crushed ash makes for soft walking. Of interest today as both of my knees were feeling centarian. Lunch was by a stream, against a rock that had a perfect La-Z-Boy angle. This sky was crystal blue during the appetizers and dark gray by dessert. Within the first post lunch mile the thunder had started and drizzle had commenced. Patches of blue remained and I wanted to race toward them, but the slotted track I was on constantly veered back towards the muck.

Storm over volcano cone

The thunder crescendos increased and the sky tension built. We raced on to camp. Then a mighty crack of lightning that drained the storm of its enthusiasm. We were scott-free, or so we thought, for the storm seem to reinvigorate the mosquitoes. They returned with hunger.

Home for the night just above the snow patch

So we kept walking, until a windblown pass high above all. There we made home and watched with pleasure as the slipstream sucked mosquitoes over the edge and hopefully to their doom.

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 60 – Ceiling view at the Silver Maple Inn

July 1, 2013
0 miles

Unfamiliar surroundings as I opened my eyes. Where was the sky? Oh yeah I’m in a bed in the Silver Maple Inn. And that above me is what is called a ceiling. And nothing has any particular interest in eating me. Perhaps I shall go dine. And so I did, extracting roughly 3,000 cal from their continental breakfast.

Our Silver Maple corner

As always in a town, it was a time of news. Both good and bad. Red Beard received the roughest of all. A good friend had lost his battle against cancer and had but a short time left. Being the man that he is, Red jumped on a bus to Reno, then a flight back to Seattle, to say a proper goodbye. His plan to be gone for a week will put him far behind us. But knowing the speed of red There will be a reunion down the trail at some point.

Spent the morning battling a communication and blog deficit. Had successes but the sand never stopped pouring downward and soon the sun was directly overhead. The plan was to return to the trail in the early afternoon. But a long lunch and a finicky resupply in a store with limited resources pushed the departure time ever back. The store was without couscous and my dinner prospects dimmed. An afternoon thunderstorm and shower further dampened a trail return enthusiasm. Time ticked and a meeting was held. SlacK, Orbit and I concluded that a day of leisure was in order. The cloud lifted and I exhaled.

Ran into our old friend otter and new friend Tortuga, on the street and rebooked our room as group.Then tracked down a fine corner office, encounsed myself, and completed all the requirements of a modern life as the afternoon ran towards evening. Satisfied, with the workdays production and the league standings of the Baltimore Orioles, I was happy to see Preston pull up in his truck with dinner plans in hand.

The evening meal took place in Preston’s Department of Fish and game trailer. The food was a bulking concoction created by Preston that was outstanding In both taste and appearance. Eaten communally on group plates using chips an enormous amount was consumed. The atmosphere was relaxed and old-fashioned, as orbit slack Preston and I took turns telling stories. The highlight was Preston telling of an early climbing accident in Pennsylvania.

Preston, at the time 12, and his older brother Jared who was 16 were free climbing along a cliff. In English, without ropes. Preston was above his brother when he fell. The ground was 80 feet away. Preston had fallen about 4 feet and was picking up speed when he sailed by his brother. Jared took his best shot. He let go of the rock with one hand, and jammed that hand into space and took a grab. That grab seized Preston’s wrist. Gently he placed Preston back onto the rocks and the climb continued. Parents were never told and that was probably for the best. Preston continues to climb but always remembers his closest call for caution.

Dessert was dark chocolate and lobotomy bock. Then to mattress and pillow. My last thought was probably a first for my life. What would it have been like to have had a brother?

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 59 – Man parts at risk & escape from horror lake

June 30, 2013
17 miles today
Mile 1018

Slow to attempt the dreaded exit but the demands of my constitution withdrew choice from the process. My wait caused a rush. Because it was a double, my exposure time was also doubled. They found me quickly. I looked down at the horror. Both testicles were crawling with feeding mosquitoes. Why scream? Slapping would be suicidal. I pushed for all I was worth. Both hands red with mosquito blood from my self imposed spanking. I began to panic and considered a mid-constitution retreat to my tent. Finally the sponge passed. My business done, I fled to my tent to nurse the damage.

A new kind of flowers

Equally slow getting out of camp. The oatmeal from the hiker box was non instant. Thus I had to restart the fire and boil water while the incessant buzz drilled a hole in my head. With no flavoring I masticated the mud like oatmeal mule style. By departure everyone was long gone and I walked alone, except for my groupies trying to lay eggs in my ears. The goal was Sonora pass and a hitch into Bridgeport for resupply.

Looking down at breeding lake

I kept moving. What choice was there? And then the blessing of geography. The trail began to climb, and climb some more. The pines were left behind, as well as the water. Deprived of breeding pools the mosquitoes too were soon in the rearview. The ground turned Arid, barren and volcanic. I was thrilled. Eventually the path topped out at just under 11,000 feet and stayed there. All was stunning with snowcapped peaks as far as the eye could digest. I was skipping with joy. Back to crossing snowfields and looking down on all.

Path to freedom away from my oppressors left behind in the Pine Forest below

Switchback

Started sputtering and bonking so I sat down to a buffet lunch that involved eating everything of edible weight still in the pack. Then a sprint to the pass for the hitch in. The first ride was quick. Pete, a retired fireman and Vietnam vet, was up from the valley to escape the heat and capture fish. He gave us a ride to the 395 juncture for Bridgeport. Along the way he pointed out the Marine Mountain warfare training center, where the Leathernecks practice for North Korea.

Cool pool near lunch spot

Cars sped by as we broiled. Then a bomb went off in Slack and he started jumping up and down screaming a name. A truck locked up its brakes and slid off the road. A new style of hitchhiking I thought but whatever it takes. Turns out the name was Preston, which happened to be the name of the driver, which happened to be Slacks great slack lining buddy. We rode into Bridgeport listening to the excited catch up. The world just keeps shrinking.

Preston

Showered, and the tub ran black with filth and mosquito corpses. Laundry, and I suspect that water did the same. Had a long chat in the laundry mat with a gentleman from Cameroon. About what I expected in Bridgeport. He explained the government of Cameroon and it was the first African set up that has ever made sense to me. Twelve tribes in Cameroon, each send two representatives to a council of twenty-four that runs the country. A benevolent dictator oversees all, but has no real power other than to replace one rep with another from the same tribe. A model of balance perhaps?

Preston ferried us to Mexican for a feed. There the conversation focused on his work with the Sierra Fox. An animal that only lives above 9000 feet and of which there are only seven left in the world. They have been around North America since the Ice Age. Preston spends the winters setting up camera traps for his PhD work at UC Davis. Despite spending months in the field he has never seen one live. Their problem is global warming. He explained the pros and cons of captive breeding and concluded that it wouldn’t be worth the expense. Dinner was wrapped up by a toast to Orbit for passing her 2011 high watermark. From now on out all will be fresh to her eyes.

Darkness found us soaking in natural hot springs set next to a river with not a care. That would soon change for one of us, but for now all was buzz free bliss.

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 58 – One Thousand Miles! (and still a blood bag)

Woke up in the unpleasant company of party guests waiting for breakfast. Each of us isolated in our individual castles, we communicated by shouting. Veggie, the mean guitar player of Tuoleme Meadows and Hitch, a novelist, were there too. Hitch arrived late in the evening wearing a large mosquito head net. She told a good story of blowing a large snot rocket, forgetting about the head net. The resulting mess both grim and hilarious.

Hell Beach at Benson Lake

A lake on the run

A feminine tree

My morning constitution was shaping up to be a potential tragedy. That kind of exposure to winged vampires was chilling. Except it didn’t happen. First time on the trail without my morning regularity. I blame dinner, which was highly irregular. All of it came from the free hiker box and none of it was couscous which I had run out of. The first course was mashed potatoes, bland and blocking. The second course was hot cocoa, or what I took to be hot cocoa in a clear plastic Ziploc bag. I poured it in the cup and added boiling water. It swelled and expanded, eventually taking on the appearance of a Brown sponge. Everyone had an opinion as to its identity perhaps carnation instant breakfast or protein powder or hot chocolate gone rogue. So I ate it because hunger is the mother of consumption. It did not taste of a food group. At the halfway point I stopped eating as I realized what it was. It was some form of an emergency female contraceptive device. Thus this morning I have a contraception sponge damming my colon waiting to stop procreation. I’m sure.

Escape route from Benson Lake

The rush through clouds of hate to departure. Life is movement. Death is packing. I retreated through the swamp and pushed to higher ground with dreams of escape. It was not to be. All day they probed. I smeared on DEET, which will give me the cancer later in life. It worked with movement. Stopped, they found a way to pump always. Now I have empathy for hamsters. Sooner or later I had to stop for the night, I knew it and they knew it.

A PCT leg under assault

Thus the day had a rushed feeling to it. Every time I paused to look around or snap a photo, it was snack time. Dreams of a mosquito free pass or lake or anywhere a delusional fantasy. Even the midday swim involved swallowing mosquitoes because you have to surface and breath. So we walked on. I even considered pushing on to the next town Bridgeport through the night though it was another 20 miles on. The scenery was still achingly beautiful. It was just viewed through the prism of hundreds of black dots. The major milestone of 1000 miles should have been a fine celebration. Instead it was a quick snapshot during a panic dance.

1,000 mile marker going north in a very very long state

Traditionally, the night brings relief. So we walked in that direction and the miles piled up. Left Yosemite and entered the toiyabe wilderness. The mosquitoes did not respect the boundary. I saw deer everywhere flicking and twisting spasmodically brothers in our abuse. Hope left, and we stopped. The anticipated buffet again. I bent down to fill up water and received a neat line of hypodermic’s across my plumbers crack. I had to eat and that is how I found myself sitting on a log, bathed in the smoke of the fire, shoveling more lifeless mashed potatoes in my mouth under a lifted net and contemplating the nature of insanity. The low point of the trip. Oh for a return to the kindness of the desert where mosquitoes are grilled to death for their cruelty. But when it’s all said and done it still beats 9 to 5.

Trapped blood bag soon to be harvested

Panic dove into my tent and killed all the infiltrators with non-Buddhist glee. Free from my tormentors I finished someone else’s sojourn in my cocoon with a smugness bordering on ecstasy. 1000 miles indeed.

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

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Stories from Steve

Steven "Blast" Halteman – Author, Adventurer

Category Archives: On the Road

Day 67 – Lost in the pass

Day 66 – I think I’m going to throw up

Day 65 – Jiffy Pop, blueberry cobbler and snow women

Day 64 – Thank you Mike & Jen

Day 63 – Spoiled at the Carson Pass Visitor Center, then ate flies

Day 62 – Lightning strikes and I race with Valentino

Day 61 – Missing Red Beard and lunch before the storms

Day 60 – Ceiling view at the Silver Maple Inn

Day 59 – Man parts at risk & escape from horror lake

Day 58 – One Thousand Miles! (and still a blood bag)