Tag Archives: Hiking the PCT

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 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

If you’d like to help out and donate, please click here!

Day 57 – Just a blood bag in my forest of Zen

Billy Goat, Red and I

The morning followed it’s normal flow. Pack up and get going before the mosquitoes stirred for breakfast. Because that’s what we were. As we had camped in an unusual bend in the river I had to walk far for my morning constitution. This I did. I found a nice isolated spot, And in the midst of my business a hiker walked by. Apparently my wanderings had drawn me back to the PCT like blood to an artery. I rushed to maintain the shreds of my dignity.

Shapes laid out on granite

A heatwave was in the air and the mercury raced upward as the morning wore on. Thus I was happy to enter a flat forest of crowded pine. The shade was magical and the quiet immense. I stopped and listened. Nothing. Even the nearby stream was a silent float. Slowly the birdcalls and insect buzz entered the audio picture. I just stood there and took it all in. My forest of Zen. I tried to keep my focus on the quiet as I followed the trail but as always my mind revolted and wandered off in its own direction.

Trail arc due to water hazard

Climbed down into a canyon to Virginia Creek. Described as a sometimes dangerous Ford, in this low-water year I didn’t even get my feet wet. Caught up with my friends here for lunch and mosquitoes. Then climbed up and out of the canyon along a creek lined with slabs of granite. Then through a series of undulating mini passes that were just right. There was no stopping as the mosquito nation has declared war. Even on the move they were at you. So much beauty but no ability to stop and stare. Imagine being in the Louvre trying to take all the art in but with hundreds of mosquitoes trying to eat you. You get the picture but really you can’t see it.

Mini pass

Fred 2 graduated from Mosquito Academy in a class of 2,785,000. There he learned to identify blood bags, hunt them, extract life force and survive their aggression. He was tight with Fred one, three, four and seven and they made a pact to drain blood together. On their first day out they hovered in a shaded forest as taught. It wasn’t long before a blood bag approached at an incredible speed. Fred 4 in his high pitched drawl said excitedly “let’s do this.” And in they went. Why Fred two hung back, he will never know, but he did. Fred three went first. His approach was good on the long bottom stick mechanisms of the blood bag, through which blood was coursing, but he got tangled up in the matting and crashed to earth. Fred one landed at direct center of the blood bag where they had been taught the organ that pumps lifeblood is located. Tragically the organ was shielded by protective fabric. As Fred one plunged his extractor hopelessly the five pronged killing web of the blood bag smashed him without mercy. Fred seven flew directly into a hole at the front of the round top part of the blood bag never to be seen again. His scream marked his passage into the darkness. Fred two followed Fred four in. He had an instinct, and was willing to bet his life on it. Fred four landed cleanly on the front, top, flat section of the blood bag and plunged his extractor quickly. Quicker still was the five pronged web that killed him as he drank. Such horror. The sound was sickening, but also Fred twos chance. As the webb rested on Fred four. Fred two lightly touched down on it’s back. The blood bag did not notice. Sliding his Excalibur in, Fred two grinned as the nectar of life engorged him. Later, resting on the bottom of a leaf, Fred two wondered “why me to live and the others to their death?” It was a good forest for thought.

Fred two at the scene of his greatest victory

I scratched the bite on my hand as I climbed Benson pass. The goal was Benson lake on the far side. It was a race with the building thunderstorm making its way in the same direction. I crested the pass at the same time Billygoat arrived in the opposite direction. The conversation was short as the mosquitoes controlled the pass in direct violation of the No mosquitoes above 10,000 feet rule. I was happy to put the pass and it’s storm behind me as I have little luck with lightning. I’ve been knocked off my feet by it, had my house struck by it, and had a friend killed by it.

Canyon to come

The descent to Benson lake was long and pounding, but also a visual feast. The swamp before the lake was not, but it’s bite toll was worth the sandy beaches and breeze of the lake itself. Had a swim and waited for the others. A ranger showed up and checked my hiking permit, a first on the PCT. The others arrived as Did the mosquitoes en force. Their patient ambush a success. It was a massacre. Soon we were all trapped in our individual cubicles as the murderous hordes circled. The sound of their fabric ramming like raindrops. But soon I was in Italy as a flipped the pages of “the sojourn” oblivious to the wants and needs of my enemy and their blood bag lust.

Meadow trail of excellent flatness

Day 55 – Half Dome awe and a bedroom in the pines

Good morning, Taft Point, sitting on a 1500 foot fall

An outstanding day. Proper tea for breakfast and then a shift back to the slacklLine. All of Taft Point was ours to soak up sun and take down oatmeal. Deer wondered about as people walked across a thin strap. Orbit and Red got in on the action by rigging up a harness that allowed them to slide across the chasm while seated under the line. I had my fatherhood to consider and passed. Instead I played tour guide to the various folks who began to wander in. Their reactions priceless when they first rounded the bend and saw Slack or Max out on the line. One Irish lady said in a thick Dublin accent “Oh Christ, will you look at the balls on that one!” I couldn’t agree more.

Red Beard doing his thing

Orbit trying out slack line

Showtime over, we packed up our gear and took down the line. Elliot logged the 80 pound gear bag the mile back up the hill as is the Marine mentality. We carpooled back down to the valley floor for sandwiches and farewells. Back to four we decided to continue up the Yosemite Valley toward the Tuoleme Meadows and the PCT rather than try the hitchhiking route.

Our goal was half Dome and beyond. This is a very popular hiking route in Yosemite. Every day 400 permits to climb half Dome’s steel cable staircase are issued. The hike is so popular up to Nevada Falls (at the 3 mile point of the 8 mile hike to Half Dome) that the trail is actually paved. The juxtaposition of my grubbiness and speed to the pristine condition of the hikers around me was fun to experience. The trail climbed straight up the river valley, passing through a short tunnel then emerged into the mist trail.

Nevada Falls although both viewers have ADD

There the pounding of Nevada Falls coated hikers in an air-conditioned fine spray. Then straight up a stone staircase to the plateau above Nevada Falls. The fine engineers of Yosemite knew that the straightest line between two points was the fastest way to get there. They shared none of their PCT brethren’s affection for switchbacks.

A fine swim in a deep pool above the falls capped that part of the hike and reawakened the senses. All the while battling aggressive, engorged squirrels intent on reading our snack bags. Read the sad, cautionary tale of a teenager who had been swept over the Nevada Falls on June 1, and whose body had yet to be found. More straight stair climbing brought us above yet another falls and then a straight march to the trail juncture for Half Dome. As bears were known to roam here we piled our packs on top of a very large boulder, perhaps out of their reach.

Half Dome with moon and steel cable in view

Unburdened, and with climbing papers of dubious quality, we flew the 2 miles up Half Dome.The path morphed more from a wide thoroughfare to a narrow stone staircase and finally the famous steel cable route. The last family of four on the mountain were just exiting the cable route as we arrived. They graciously turned the keys to the dome over to us. With leftover gloves we scampered up. The climb up looks tough and it is tough. Every year there are fatalities from falls and lightning strikes. I was impressed with the wide variety of skills and capabilities that make the climb every day.

The steel cable route but with picture turned vertically

On top, a giant boulder playground to run about. But first a rotating sit down. It took quite a while to soak in the 360° of awe. Such a sweep of mountains. I strolled through the cairn towers of rocks that commemorated the dead ancestors of climbers. Added a few myself. Then a nap on a slope that overlooked the Yosemite Valley. But all good things run out of time. As the sun went down so did we. Ass first or face first is the choice. Ass first is the bigger thrill, I’ll leave it to the imagination which we chose.

On top of Half Dome, me NOT

On solid ground we raced the dark back to rescue our packs. Reburdened we took off in the moonlight in search of water, rumored to be scarce along this trail. After a mile the rumors proved misleading. Flatness abounded amongst the pines for a bedroom, couscous on someone’s leftover fire, and to sleep in record time, satisfied with a day well played.

Taft Point sunset

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 54 – What’s 1,500 feet among friends?

Trapped

Awoke to grayness and rain that still hung around unwanted like a headache. Struggled to leave shelter but an exit into the elements is eventually mandatory. Packed away damp and headed for the post office/breakfast. The breakfast shack opened its doors first And I had a bland, overpriced breakfast saved by a large bottle of fiery Thai cock sauce. As the postmaster slumbered I ran into Billy Goat, a through-hiker with a full gray beard, he has hiked the PCT more times than anybody bothers to count. Well-known and easily recognizable, he is quite the celebrity and hiking circles.

Red Beard with green boa received in care package

Finally the window rose to package world and the USPS came through once again. Both packages were there and soon we were stuffing brownies and caramels down our gullet in the drizzle. Thanks Cirina. Finished the bounce box shuffle in record time as plans were finalized around me. Then my bounce box began its journey to Sierra city and I down the Yosemite Valley. Two options ride or walk. The walk was 20+ miles, the ride 45 minutes. Always ride, when you don’t have to walk, especially when 2600 miles of footwork shadows you. Thumbs out, a short interlude, and a ride all the way into the valley from a couple of fellow hiker trash.

The entry into Yosemite Valley is an experience rather than a sight. Immensity, monster falls, sheerness and tourists, tourist everywhere. The combination is reasonable due to the charisma. Our destination was Camp Four also known as Climbers Central. There we found Max, Slack’s friend who had driven down from San Francisco, loaded with slack line gear. Slack lining is the modern cousin of tight rope walking. The difference is slack lining involves walking on a 1 to 2 inch strap rather than a rope. Some slack lines were rigged up in Camp Four and us newbies gave it a shot. I was quickly convinced that I did not, nor would ever, possess the requisite balance.

A plan cracked the egg. The five of us piled in Max’s Prius hybrid and climbed 4000 feet above the valley floor to Taft’s Point. A short hike brought us to the lookout and a sheer drop. There Slack and Max began the process of improvising a slack line short of a variety of required bits and pieces. The slack line was minimalized to functionality. Taking advantage of pre-existing bolts the slack line stretched 100 feet between two rock juts on the same cliff. From fall contact point to slack line was 1500 feet in altitude.

Alternative route for the PCT as Slack walks on with backpack

The crowd that gathered was small due to the lateness of the day. The mood was similar to NASCAR with its risk/destruction fascination. My heart raced as Max and Slack rigged the line without safety harnesses. Standing inches from the edge, they went about their business, oblivious to doom. I practiced wincing at a safe distance.

Slack in Shiva dance

The river below

Nap time

The first step out onto the line and Slack was home again. From my valley experience, I understood the challenge and was that much more impressed. Eyes forward for scale, hands out and up in a Shiva dance, Slack made his way across, then a 180° turn and back again. The most non-dangerous, dangerous looking thing I’ve ever seen. Also it was very interesting from a sport angle. There was nothing aggressive about it, it was almost feminine in its beauty. As comfort levels improved, tricks appeared. Eventually Slack took a purposeful dive to check his safety harness. It held, as the alternative was unthinkable. (Some slack liners enjoy free soloing without the safety harness. To each his own). Back and forth went Slack and Max, the latter trying out a horizontal plank for giggles.

Eventually the sun took a dive and we tried to pick out the headlamps of the climbers making their way up El Capitan on the other side of the valley. The goal: To beat 24 hours, though the record is two hours five minutes, which is analogous to the marathon record. Found a spot back in the trees to savor civilization as Max is a tea importer. There, around the fire, we were treated to a Chinese tea tasting. Cup, after sample cup, as I tried to detect the highlighted subtleties. It was the obvious ending to an unusual day.

Slack was on top of the world, as not only had he indulged in his passion, but also his twin brother Elliot had brought a reunion. Recently returned from a stint in Afghanistan, and still in the Marines, they had not embraced in over a year. Having driven from Washington, Elliott was obviously in pain as he watched his brother over the chasm and wondered just how truncated the reunion would be.

The conversation centered around IED explosives and tea which blended well. Sleep came easy as the rivers of China coursed through my veins. And through the night the slack line waited in anticipation of the mornings efforts.

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 53 – Rainbows in the muck and music for Fumiko (sort of )

June 24. 2013
21 miles today
Mile 942

The suspicious clouds from the day before confirmed their ill intent by dumping rain and snow on us through the night. Poked my head out of my tent and saw that the wind had turned the weather horizontal. I pulled my head back in. Everything can wait in such times. I wrote three days worth of blog entries until the thing that can’t wait couldn’t anymore. Out into it.

The weather let up enough to break down camp. All my warm clothes put away as they must stay dry for the evenings. Normal hiking clothes with rain pants and jacket where the wardrobe of the day. Move faster to warm faster. Had some cold oatmeal to warm an empty colon and was off. Right off a sweet kiss from mother nature in the form of a low rainbow over our lake of the night. I smiled, then winced at the slap in the face as the horizontal rain returned. Outside my tent it stung.

Departure rainbow

And so it went throughout the day. Rain, sleet or snow depending on your altitude. Shoes soaked, but the rest of me relatively warm and dry. All that needed to be was stuffed in a giant garbage bag inside my pack and thus also stayed dry. Was actually pretty fun cheating the weather of its abuse. While crossing a log bridge over a river she proved her cunning. Waiting until I was far enough out she sent a mighty gust of wind. I dropped to my knees to avoid going into the drink. The gust died out and I made a run for it. The follow up gust blew me off the bridge at the midpoint. Luckily there was a support column halfway which I landed on rather then a swim. Point mother nature.

Donahue Pass in summer

Ran into Double Sprainbow and Olie (?), two through-hikers who dropped off the trail at Lonepine to get hitched. Now knotted, this storm was part of their honeymoon.

Climbed up over 12,000 feet to Donahue pass, the gateway into Yosemite. Turned and said my farewell to The Ansel Adams wilderness. The weather at this altitude had murderous intentions and I did not linger. My destination was a warmer meadow some 3000 feet down where my picnic awaited.

As I flew down through the slop I came eye to eye with a four point buck. He won the stare down as the devil was on my tail and patience was short.

Crossed paths with multiple southbound hikers in various states of preparedness for what was to come. Came upon a group of sullen teenagers slogging upward. I smiled inwardly remembering my time working at Outward Bound. I guessed these kids were three or four days out from their attitude. After the adrenaline had worn off but before the toughening and Esprit de Corps kicked in.

Planed out at the meadow. The weather hung around. Lunch was damp tortilla, Swiss cheese and sausage burritos with suicidal mozzies joining the downward passage. Delicious! Got to thinking about why toilet bowl water spins in different directions above and below the equator. Anything to get my head out of the weather. The rest of the hike involved a long, flat, beautiful glide down the Lionel Canyon Meadows. The serpentine River accompanied by every step and provided the soundtrack. After 10 miles or so i dumped into Tuoleme Meadows And it’s seasonal civilization.

Some PCT trivia. This year 1000 through hiking permits were pulled. Probably 700 to 800 hikers are actually on the trail. If historical averages hold, probably 400 to 500 will complete the entire 2660 miles on foot. It is a record number of hikers.

Arrived at the TM store and finally caught up with Orbit, Red Beard and Slack. The store had closed 30 minutes earlier so I missed picking up my bounce box and devastatingly the fresh brownies that Cirina had overnighted. Breakfast it is. To make up for it, Red had bought me a cheeseburger and lovingly wrapped it in his sleeping bag To keep it warm. Compassion is something Red has in spades. Watch him in action and that is obvious. Washed the burger down with one of Orbits beers and all was right with the world.

Home was a campground behind the store. Had the good fortune to find a campsite with warm coals in the fire pit and a supply of wood Eager to burn. Couscous as a burger chaser. And then veggie, a through hiker, wandered over with his guitar and played some StorySongs. Even played Rockytop which was Fumiko’s favorite until Justin Bieber came along. Fell asleep in my tent still being serenaded by music played as it should be.

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 52 – Tent Cities & Mountain Overseers

June 23, 2013
15 miles today
921 miles total

Slow to rise from the darkness of my loft, but one of Slack’s mammoth Mammoth breakfasts demanded. Our town departures are like trudging up molasses mountain, slow and nonprogressive. This one was no different. It is tough to Leave the soft and loving embrace of civilization.

At 11 AM the new group arrived and we took that as our cue to depart for the mountains. We made it as far as the coffee shop, two blocks away. After stimulus and more button pushing we were off. To the hills, or the mammoth version of Schatz bakery, whichever came first. After a couple of bear claws, we committed to the bus stop, though some argued for lunch.

Devils Post Pile

Public transport delivered us once again to Red’s meadow where we rejoined the flow of the river PCT. Heavy packs and gallons of ice cream slowed the initial progress. I passed the Devils Post Pile, which reminded me of rock french fries stuck together that were one by one peeling off. Soon there came a fork in the road. The JMT (John Muir Trail) and the PCT split for a while before rejoining. The JMT is harder and more stunning. Stunning every time.

Blow down from distance

The pace picked up as the miles piled on and the town lethargy slipped away. I wound past lakes and under mountains filled with snowy crags and cathedral spires. The weather was obviously going south as the clouds built around the mountains. So the hurry was on to reach camp. But care was required. Around every water point swarms of zombie mosquitoes lurked. I knew from World War Z that if I was quiet and moved steadily I could slip past unmolested. But if I lingered or made a noise, blood would be drawn. I lost about a pint due to clumsiness.

Mountain Overseer

Camp was around a dramatic lake guarded by a mountain overseer. The lake was crowded with campers and all but the very last campsite were occupied. The last site however, so hard to get to, was the very best. We crowded our tents onto the only flat spot and set up shop. Tonight was a super moon, When the moon is closest to earth. It teased us with light for sometime before making its conversation stopping, grand entrance over the lip of a mountain. The clouds around it returned to daylight with illumination. When the moon was fully up, I went fully down.

Good night Overseer

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 50 – Rock Jambalaya, National Naked Hiking Day – Oh My!

June 21, 2013
15 miles today
906 miles total

Explain this one

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.

Blowdown

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.

Fire and blowdown

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

If you’d like to help out and donate, please click here!

Stories from Steve

Steven "Blast" Halteman – Author, Adventurer

Tag Archives: Hiking the PCT

Day 62 – Lightning strikes and I race with Valentino

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)

Day 57 – Just a blood bag in my forest of Zen

Day 55 – Half Dome awe and a bedroom in the pines

Day 54 – What’s 1,500 feet among friends?

Day 53 – Rainbows in the muck and music for Fumiko (sort of )

Day 52 – Tent Cities & Mountain Overseers

Day 50 – Rock Jambalaya, National Naked Hiking Day – Oh My!