August 15, 2013
33 miles
Mile 2073

Came to with a Smaka story in my head. Lia, at times, wants to be a wildlife biologist. On her cross-country road trip she discovered a new species, a frog snake. She snapped multiple photos to document her find and started working on a name. Her description: a long, thin serpent body with a frog head and two arms. Its movement accomplished by the arms hopping the head and body forward. A sudden deceleration from scientific greatness with closer examination. It was a snake eating a frog.

Moved on and out. Thrilled not to have pushed on in the night for the scenery about me. Movement slowed as I tried to take in the meadows around and the lurk of Mount Jefferson above. Stunning everywhere. I climbed to a pass that put me on a more equal footing with Señor Jefferson. There, Mt. Hood presented for the first time. Riches. Down and across the longest snow section of the entire trail so far. I attempted to glissade (a seated slide down a snow slope) for the first time. I ended up with a soaked ass, 3 inches of forward progress and a grade of ridiculous.

At the bottom of the pass, I turned wrong at a junction. I came to a lake. A sign informed I was on Indian land. An Indian drum circle was in progress. I stopped for a listen. Lost is the new found.



Recovered the trail and pushed on to a lunch branch off to the Olallie Lake store. They’re a person (no name to protect identity) treated us to an amazing lunch (details not provided to avoid possible retribution against host). Many thanks indeed to you who will go unnamed. Left the store full of caffeine and ready to run after two hours of porch lounging. After 4 miles of hiking came upon a man wearing an official hat and carrying a large amount of communication gear. Are you through hikers? Our affirmative response was radioed ahead.

Turns out he was a scoutmaster of the Baden Powell Service Association Scout Group. We rounded a bend and there was the troop. Would you like a banana or a snack? No were okay we just ate. How about an ice cream sandwich? Absolutely. Dry ice is the answer to your question. The ice chest logged palaquin style by scout attendance. Their summer project random acts of trail magic. We were their first through hikers. How about a shot of whiskey to wash that down? Stunned affirmative nods. And uncapped. Straight from the bottle. We had walked into a twin peaks episode. Pictures, thanks and farewell. My kind of scouting and surreal event of the hike hands-down. Definitely not repeatable.
Caffeine, sugar and alcohol make a potent fuel. We destroyed the last 15 miles. Cutting through air I slalomed downhill through pines lit orange by the setting sun. It was a good day to be alive. Then my left big toe developed a pinched pain. I ignored it in the name of progress and staying airborne, until it became too much. I stopped to take off my shoe and investigate. Didn’t have to. Looking down I saw that a wood wishbone had positioned itself on the front of my shoe, one branch under the sole, one branch over the toecap, thus the pinch. What a strange trip of a day.



Camp by Warm Springs River, arrival 9:15. No more two-hour lunches, a foolish vow. Set up to cowboy camp. The heavens began tepid weep. Exhaled and set up the tent. The heavens dried up. Exhaled and cooked dinner. To bed at 11 waiting for a tent justifying rain that never came.

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

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