July 21, 2013
27 miles
Mile 1472

I fell asleep. A new breed of mosquito was being developed in the area. About the size of a baby hummingbird and capable of stealth I was quickly in over my head. Their tactics both advanced and treacherous. They’d buzz me a few times to inform me that they controlled the air. Then they’d pull back out of range of my flailing, the psych terror portion of the opening operation complete. An absence of buzzing convinced me of my sleep security. Out I would ease from my sleeping bag. With the coast clear I was safe to nod off. Their moment. Detecting the change in breathing patterns they landed in waves on the acres of exposed skin. The blood feast was on, especially around my eyes. Eventually the loss of blood trended toward coma. Which is where I would have ended up had my bladder, engorged with a half liter of hot chocolate, not alerted my surviving reptilian brain.

The angry buzz as the dinner party scattered allowed me to figure out my recent history. Swollen, blinded and screaming, I gave in to mandated fate. In personal darkness I set up my tent in the bright moonlight. Once inside my sight returned and I killed their rearguard with glee. The moon as my spotlight. My body worked through the night to resupply my veins with blood. As is the way of modern war, both sides declared victory, though neither side can ever truly win, as all generals know.

Good morning quiet as I fed my pack. Some good alone time over oatmeal. And then off to my morning constitutional. Which was ambushed by the arrival of Red Beard, Apparently my night stealth maneuvers were so successful that I ninjad right by his campsite. Both our water bottles were on E. The next water source was 7 miles away. So good conversation made a good distraction from thirst and my mashed finger. And I’ll tell you what, seven hot, dry miles makes chilly water taste better than anything—-anything.

The miles passed by lazily. The sun was in a punishing mood. It only went after your strengths and left your weaknesses to themselves. All was push. All toward Mount Shasta. Often through depressing clear cuts. Lunch was welcome, though five days of unrefrigerated heat had morphed my Swiss cheese and salami into a gelatinous goo. What can you do? Pour it on a tortilla, shove it down and wait for the inevitable post lunch havoc. Poisonous calories are still calories.

Reluctantly back to it. Another long waterless stretch along a high exposed Ridgeline. The same punishment reward cycle awaiting arrival at a spring. Gold spring, as it is called, was a bit hard to find. So I built a cairn (stacked rocks) with a directional indicator to ease location for those behind. I named it Slack’s Cairn in honor of his hatred of all cairns. Back to the process. Crested a pass, ducked under some power lines and voilà the sun started going down as did the trail. The speed picked up. Water was everywhere and all was smiles. For a while.

Since Burney Falls, Red Beard’s feet have been going to hell. A blister, under the callus on the ball of his right foot makes walking very painful. His shoes, as well as mine, are worn out after 800 miles. Blisters have also returned for me. I think our shoes are the culprits. Slack, who is wearing sandals, is in worse shape shoewise. The ground heat has melted his sole glue. Thus he has taken to walking barefoot at times because his sandals no longer resemble sandals. These are desperate times. New shoes for both Red and I are 30 miles away but we have to get there. As Red hobbled along compensating to his left foot to relieve pressure a pain developed in his left shin. He believes it is a shinsplints which is what forced him off the trail 2011 after 1700 miles. His fear of a shinsplints return is palpable.

We spent the night at Butcher Knife Creek where he gave his feet a good ice water soaking. We ran through the various scenarios/solutions. Not very promising. It looks like he might have to get off trail for a while. Which would mean the end of our hiking days together. A sad end to a tough hiking day having this discussion. Let’s hope optimism makes a comeback.

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

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