Tag Archives: Pacific Coast Trail

Day 96 – The day Taylor Swift went away

August 6, 2013
37 miles today
Mile 1829 on the PCT

Back to it at 5:30 as today is to be long. The first thought popped into my head, “The future just happened. Get used to it.” Its original, I think but I have no idea where it came from. Maybe it is in response to the “live in the present” talk that is common on the PCT. Anyway it stayed in my head bouncing around. Got the others up. Slack seemed low energy and unenthusiastic. He talked about not being able to keep up. I encouraged and sympathized, but in the end these are only words to give. Hiking is a solo sport. It is up to the individual to both move and decide how far to move. Each to his abilities and skills. Never have I seen anything so independent.

Veggie’s fading shirt

Orbit and I set off at the same time. I ran by her my solution to yesterday’s long-suffering jigsaw, as I have come to respect her opinion on such matters. With some minor tweaking she signed off. All good, I greeted the tardy sun to my right.

Caught up with Max and Slack and took a break to layer down. There I realized I had left half my solar charger on a log back at camp. Without it I am Taylor Swift less. I contemplated a 14 mile return trip to where I was standing now. Weighing balance, Taylor went mute. Still there was hope. Slack’s sweeping abilities are legendary and Veggie told me Slack was last out of camp. At second breakfast, Slack appeared smiling, I smiled, and Taylor sang.

More miles to go. Crossed over a long slag heap of shale. The flat rocks rang like bells when I stepped on them, but even there I couldn’t make music. Came to the last stream before a 20 mile waterless stretch. The GPS called it a northbound water alert. The stream itself was full of horseshit and swarming with hundreds of newborn toads. A last chance to drink a lot and carry a lot. The camel theory works.

Horse contributions to water quality

Hatchlings

The trail passed through a long burnt section. The fire must have been moving fast as the trees seem to have been singed to death. Their skeletons bunched the trail. Not long ago a chunk of burned tree had fallen and missed me by about 6 feet. So I was conscious as I moved through the fried landscape. Survived to arrive at a shaded lunch.

Post lunch I dragged and the others pulled away. I pissed and moaned internally about the weight of the water, the crappy air and aging. Finally got bored of grousing and popped in Taylor. As always she explained the tragedies of romance to me in such a way that I was shortly back up to speed. The body always stronger then the mind allows it to be.

World War One battlefield

Crossed paths with a southbound Triple Crowner. (Has completed the PCT, AT, and CDT.) Born in Israel, he had come to the states to hike and never left nor stopped. We chatted and departed as is the way. At mile 37, came to a lonely highway. Turned east and marched toward Mazama Village and it’s delights. After a mile I shortcutted across a patch of forest. There my toe to a stump. It took 20 feet of flailing before I finally went down. Point of impact, same scabs as last time. Ahhh the hiking life.

Crawled out of the forest and joined my friends for liquid. Then I met two huskies who had convinced their owners to take in the PCT with them. Then to all-you-can-eat soup and salad. Followed by generously donated pizza. Our hunger an aura that hovers above us. A return to my bloody forest for a homestead. I cowboy camped. Slack set up his tent. His good night consisted of “I heard a thunder storm is coming.” I looked up at Sagan’s billions. Weather forecasts are for fools being my final thought.

Sun behind veil

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 95 – Hiking through the haze, I got clarity

August 5, 2013
21 miles today
Mile 1792 on the PCT

Veggie arrived late but Slack lay down to the night elsewhere. Two picture windows allowed in the morning wake-up call. I rolled out in time to catch Orbit’s science experiment. A dedicated coffee drinker who had runout of cooking fuel, there was a wild look in her eyes. In a corner of the shelter she found some old lighter fluid. Desperation breeds innovation. Through radical experimentation she figured out a way to make lighter fluid boil coffee water. The morning entertainment over, I filled my pack.

The morning hike passed through old-growth forests that had somehow escaped chainsaws. Then a curious turn. Slope after slope of torn and tumbled volcanic rock. It looked like the children of Gods had thrown handfuls of gravel thick across the landscape as part of some game. Mile after mile it went on. The trail makers must have spent months cutting a path through the rocks. The explanation I got in the end was that they were Shrapnel created when Mt. Mazama blew her top. Mount Mazama, 180° different, is now known as Crater Lake.

The former Mt. Mazame

The PCT butted heads with Highway 140. 2 miles away lay the Fish Lake Resort and homemade pie. Easy decisions are pleasant for the brain. An attempt to hitchhike proved hopeless, so I called the resort and explained our desire and ability to spend an obscene amount of money in their restaurant. A car was sent out and we were soon busy reducing their inventory. There also were Commando (wearing his kilt), Spitfire, Geared Up and Dora the Explorer. We weren’t the only ones with weaknesses. Full and with plans to quickly return to the trail. A pool table cruely shattered these dreams. Eventually a ride from a 1975 PCT through hiker made our dreams a reluctant reality. At the trailhead I returned the lunch favor to a waiting Slack and northward was resumed. But not for me. A strong 4G signal allowed me to set up a journaling office under the pines. Good news poured in through the Internet and I was in a fine mood as I set off at 5:30 PM. It was 11 miles to my spring of water destination.

I was alone and moving well. The only distraction was the thick fire smoke that drenched every step. My new pack-a-day habit turned me contemplative. Since I was on a roll I decided to return to an old and so far, in three months, a seemingly unsolvable problem. Today was the day. After a couple of hours of hammering, a breach, and then the answer poured out. Relief more than satisfaction. If nothing else, the PCT hands you that kind of time on a platter.

Blanket of haze

Some of the good news. Red was back on the trail. On a diet of reduced miles and free of shin splint pain, he is in good spirits. In the same frame of mind I pulled in to Christie Springs just as all were wrapping up the evening. I started mine and grinned through couscous. Even the mosquitoes had to respect this elevated state of affairs. Not a bite. Back to Studs War and a story of a German soldier at Stalingrad who slept on top of his dead comrades to insulate himself from the frozen ground. All is relative and full of perspective.

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 94 – Walking by braille to the Sugar Shack

August 4, 2013
35 miles
mile 1771

Awoke to tales of deer and a bear wondering through camp all night. They may as well have been someone else’s dream for all the effect they had on me. I wrote in late. By the time I rolled out of my bag at 9:30 Slack and Orbit were long gone. By the time I was ready to move out, Veggie had rolled in. He caught me up on some wild times in Ashland. It seems that Ole and Track Meet’s return to oval health has them back on the party circuit. We took off together for points North.

Dam, PCT style

The terrain in Oregon is easier which reflects well on the passage of miles. We chatted and flew. Came to a road crossing and met Ron Strickland and his wife. They photographed us and pressed bananas and cookies upon us. Ron founded the PNT (pacific northwest trail) that connects the PCT and the CDT. At 1,200 miles long it was recognized by Congress in 2009. He encouraged us to give it a go. His dream to connect it all the way to the Appalachian trail. My thought, one trail at a time for me is perhaps a wise thought.

Low on water, we had a quick dry lunch and pushed on. On the lookout for a spring with a faucet, we blew by a soggy area of trail. I called for Veggie to stop only to point out the large rattlesnake he had almost stepped on. Looking up he pointed out the dripping faucet that caused the puddle, that caused the rattlesnake to come down for a drink. All is connected.

Caught up to Orbit and Slack at the turn off to the Hyatt Lake Resort where they had detoured. Kindly, Slack had brought me a giant burger as well as some pizza. Veggie and I inhaled our second offering of lunch compassionately. A destination was determined. Brown shelter would bring the novelty of a roof to the trail and create a 35 mile day. The issue, the day was running late. The cure, walk faster. And off.

In the daylight we met Spitfire and geared up. The miles ran up as the sun went down. Passed a canal with a swift current that Samba planned to navigate on his sleeping pad. Back to the headlamps. Past camps in the dark and their snippets of sound. On went the headphones to accompany the bubble of light. Luminescent deer eyes provided atmosphere. And then a distant light. Orbit had found a road shortcut, that would save a mile. Wide, flat and free of obstacles it would save fading batteries because we could walk by braille. Lights off. And on to my late night star lesson from my Astro physics professor.

Shelter pump

Night bunks

10:30 PM brought us to our little log cabin. Sleepers surrounded the cabin but the cots inside were ours. A classic hand pump brought well water to the surface. All was to the turn of not this century but the last. Sleep easy in those simpler times.

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 93 – Where I become a film critic

August 3, 2013
9 miles
mile 1736

A genuine sleep in. And then an hour wait to gaze upon morning glories and take breakfast at the restaurant, Morning Glory. Worth the wait for the huge and unusual breakfast. The waiter warned me of my over order. I smiled. He back. Both confident in our positions. I chewed on the last sprig of parsley, my smile retained as well as consumption victory in the bag.

Moved back to downtown. Orbit to hunt for new shoes. Myself to the Christian Science reading room to write. The woman monitoring the empty room said, “Well, you’re only supposed to study religious material here.” My reply “My writing is somewhat spiritual.” “Why not?”, she sparkled.

Afternoon arrived and we took in the matinee, “The Way Back,” which was a small, excellent coming-of-age story. Check it out if the opportunity presents. The opening scene magic. Afterwards had ice cream for lunch where we ran into Sundog and Giggles. They filled us in on upcoming fires in Oregon and their possible effects on the trail. I’ve always loved the coming attraction part. Then Slack strolled in with his buddy Alex, our taxi ride back to the trailhead. The sound of Velcro being pulled apart was heard as we were torn away from the ice cream parlor. It was 4 PM.

Waved goodbye to the fine town and even remembered to grab my water bottle from Alex’s car, though Slack did not. While he hunted the shoulders of the road for a new one, Orbit and I set off. To pass the time, we conducted a postmortem of the film. Then I took a break and strolled the last miles into camp in silence. Upon arrival I listened to the news of the day. Orbit had seen a bear and Slack had shared the path with a squirrel for a quarter of a mile. I watched the video. The squirrel would run along about 10 feet ahead. Then stop and beckon Slack to pick up the pace. It was adorable.

Pilot Rock

Perhaps I solved the mystery of the exploding bluejays. Today I passed Pilot Rock where a sign informed that Peregrine Falcons nest there. Mated for life and always returning to the same nest for egg laying. Diving at 200 mile an hour, prey tends to explode upon contact with a falcon. As I observed a pigeon do once in Washington D.C. when a falcon decided it was lunchtime. Riddle explained?

Couscous and then to the reading mat. Studs Terkel’s, “The Good War,” an oral history of World War II, is the selection on tap in my personal reading room. In it he interviews a generation called on to do things that mine was not. I fell asleep jealous and relieved at the same time.

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 92 – Pseudo criminals and frou-frou cocktails

August 2, 2013
4 miles
mile 1727

Woke up feeling surprisingly normal. Orbit also felt no ill effects. Coasted down to the familiar I-5 for the hitch into Ashlandia. A truck showed up shortly and dropped off a hiker. Orbit and I jumped in for the turnaround. And listened to the driver’s hard luck story of an inescapable criminal past that haunted his present. Both financially and prospects wise. “I mean what if I were to pull a gun out and rob you guys at the halfway point.” I’m just not that kind of a guy. But the system treats me like I am. I was glad for the hypothetical bent. Meanwhile Orbit is texting goodbye to friends and family in the backseat. Then he filled us in on a recent decapitation in Ashland. The Forest was sounding safer and safer.

Still, in the end, a cool guy and an interesting ride. He dropped us off next to the post office and I flipped him some cash for gas and to help with the hardluck. We parted well. Recaptured my bounce box and headed for breakfast. My familiar oatmeal immediately tapped out to Spanish omelette with chorizo. Then to the shop and kart where Orbit figured out a way around sending resupply boxes out ahead. Basically carry more food. Weight versus hassle and cost. Life simplified, we went back into town and met up with the recently arrived Slack.

Deer in downtown Ashland

Slack had multiple friends of friends in Ashland, so we waited in front of the co-op for him to arrange a home. These things take time, so I put myself to work observing life in Ashland. The world was alive in front of the co-op. Musicians jammed, panhandlers asked and the liberal world supported their co-op. People had time and many stopped to chat about through hiking. It was a good place to wait. And wait. Dinner approached with home still a horizon event. So Orbit and I, still draped in the stench of 50 miles, decided a shower was more important than money.

Tracked down a room in an old Art Deco motel that still had an attached garage. Renewed, we met Slack and his friends downtown for a massive Italian feed washed down with froufrou cocktails. Then on to an album release party at a local bar. The place was packed and electric with energy. The band good at times but leaning toward jamming. My least favorite form of music. To my mind music for musicians and not the audience. But clearly, I was in the minority judging from the enthusiastic reaction of the crowd.

The miles creeped up and sedated me. Soon we left the dancers to the dance of 2013. I preferred to go to sleep in the 50s. And probably the music too.

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 91 – Walking through the Stars

August 1, 2013
51 miles
mile 1723

The cathedral bells sounded at the appointed hour and I groaned enthusiastically. Orbit was in the same boat and already stirring. Needing coffee kept her in camp longer, so I was first to the trail. The plan was 40 miles give or take. On the trail by 4 AM and manufacturing miles. My strategy for a big day is to throttle back just a little and not push hard. That way the miles still come but without the accompanying exhaustion. Long hours will take care of the distance. And eat a lot, and then eat some more. I once gained 2 pounds during a 100 mile race so I know of what I speak.

Alpine desert at dark 30

Moved along in my private bubble of light feeling alone and content in the world. Every once in a while I shut off the light and went to still. The vast quiet electric. But the best part is the melding of the night sky with the forest. To me, in normal hours, the sky is remote and separate from the world I live in. I have no connection to it. But at 4:30 AM, on top of a mountain, I feel like I’m walking through the stars. I’ll leave it at that.

Dawn at 10 miles

The stages of light arrived. In procession. I began to be able to make out the animals behind the glowing eyes. I followed one deer’s tracks down the path for more than three miles. Orbit caught up to me and then the deer, a six-point buck. For whatever reason, the early miles a burden, but I kept gently pushing and aggressively eating. The milkshakes finally wore off and my pace picked up. As I passed through a long meadow and it’s resident crows, I realized that I would soon leave California after 88 days and 1698 miles of trail. What a great, and very long state. My thanks for the hospitality and good times.

Orbit becomes an Oregon resident

Yep

Welcome to the hotel Oregon. Such a lovely place, such a lovely place. Signed the register after 26 miles and walked into Oregon. Was it Orbit or I first mentioned a half-century as we entered Oregon. Probably it’s best to blame Orbit as she is the more fanatical hiker. But really why not 50 miles? The math worked, I think. Or at least she said so. I just kept going, which is the only way I know of to pileup miles.

A big event. Collided with the first southbound hiker of the season. His name was Bobcat. Had a great chat comparing notes. He was shooting to arrive at the Mexican border by the end of September. He told us that there were about 80 northbound hikers in front of us. This made sense as we were running into fewer and fewer hikers on the trail. We parted on opposite paths not to meet again.

At mile 43

The path kept climbing, eventually depositing us on a barren ridge line. The wind picked up and threw haze and clouds over the crest. The sun dimmed and we cut through it all. Forty miles came and went. The temperature went down the stairs into the basement. I put my down jacket on. The atmosphere turned a good spooky. And then, Eureka, a catch of warm mountain dew at mile 43. Caffeine breeds adrenaline. A long downhill breeds speed. Adrenaline plus speed equals goal arrival. How’s that for algebra?

That goal was the Ashland Inn. The night took over. The day began with headlamps and would end with them. I came upon Orbit stopped on the trail. The tracks on the path plus noises in the bush plus darkness made company a good idea. I agreed. In good spirits, our yapping was wide-ranging as we closed in on the Inn. It’s menu ever-expanding in our optimistic imagination. The path itself began to collect its toll. A cut here, a stubbed toe there, but it didn’t matter because the beer was going to be delicious. Or not.

Collapsing meadow house as Oregon border approaches

The Inn was a shadow within a shadow. A table and a tap was all that was available. On them the sign read welcome PCT hikers. Enjoy but no camping. What to do but push on. All went to slope. Finally a dip to a road. There, some flat bordering an ominous looking fence. A close examination of the sign on the fence. “If you can read this you are within range.” Maybe not this flat. Kept putting the nose northward. Tired now. All the dew used up. And then a cairn. And some steps up a slope. And a home. 10:30 PM. 51 miles in the bank after 18 hours on the move. Right on. A blurred dinner and my next memory was the sunrise.

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 90 – Blackberries being the theme of the day

July 31, 2013
27 miles
miles 1672

All left early, but I remained in my office. Down until my constitution, location limited to a long straight dirt road. Looking back I discovered a misperception. Alone I was not. Rabbit Stick remained in his red sleeping bag, yellow pack to the side. The walk to constitutional liberation turned long. There were no curves,. Privacy required passing the horizon. The mandates of decorum met, I returned to pack. As I passed Rabbit Stick I said good morning to a red log and an old, rusted out, yellow gas can. Hallucinations, both real and imagined, are ever present in the forest.

Packs awaiting mules

Shortcut

All downhill to Seid Valley, accompanied by the crash of Creekwater. I sped up as there were burgers and shakes in that Yonder Valley. Passed over a wooden culvert held together barrel style with metal straps. Ancient beyond me. Emerged from the forest and onto a dirt road which then morphed into asphalt. Road walking is free from obstacles so I left reality behind. Wondered around in my thoughts picking and choosing. Brought back to reality after an hour or so by a sense of desire. The road was lined with blackberries. Few walk these roads, so they were all there for me, and free, so I took more than three. The burgers could wait as I ate my way to stomach pain distention.

Sometimes the PCT follows a road

Dyed purple I strolled across the Klamath River and into the Seid Valley Café where I ordered a blackberry shake on a trend. And kept on ordering lunches and shakes. Full past full, I went outside to the picnic table to plan my resupply for the next 2 1/2 days. There are two theories of resupply. Buy as you go or send packages of food to yourself at prearranged destinations. I am of the former. The picnic table was crowded with the latter. The surplus bountiful. I was handed enough of the leftover bounty to accomplish my resupply without entering the store.

You never know what you will see on the trail

The sun had turned hot, as the 4,000 foot climb got underway out of Seid Valley. A fire had burned off the forest umbrella so that same sun went to work on my milkshakes. Between too much food at lunch and the new food in my pack I felt like I was pulling a Vons shopping cart behind me. To pass the time I thought about Rabbit Stick’s age numbers. He basically found two significant age groups on the trail. People in their 20s just starting out in their careers, lives etc. And retired people in their 60s. The youngest on the trail he had run into 18, the oldest 75. People in my age group 35 to 50 the rarest because we were enmeshed in capitalism and family. To confirm his findings I thought of all who I was hiking with. All of Orbit and Sons were in their 20s, myself the elder. Thinking of all this did divert the intensity of the sun but it never lightened the cart.

In Costa Rica, it’s known as the tourist tree because it resembles a peeling nose

Spring surrounded by flat called a halt to the day and relief to my pull. We shared our campsite with a trail maintenance crew from AmeriCorps’s. A guitar appeared. Good night turned cold in apology for its counterparts excess. The conversation centered on sustainable building practices. I learned about a new method that involved ramming earth into tires. And then a realization. The post office in Ashland, Oregon was closed on Saturday. To receive and send my bounce box as well as send out resupply boxes for Oregon would require a full postal day. It was Wednesday night, and 55 miles to Ashland. To arrive in Ashland on Friday morning would require a big Thursday. A post office run was called for. The alarm was set for 3:30 AM. The motor revved. Time to put all those shakes to good use.

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 89 – Mio my, all jacked up

July 30, 2013
29 miles
mile 1645

Late to the trail because pen was in hand. My pledge to hike first snapped. Writing at night infeasible for too many reasons to recount. So the cows and I to the trail at 9:30. Their bells providing the rhythm. Why the bells? To scare the bears or make locating them easier were my best guesses. They stopped at the next lake. I kept going. The early trail rough going. Complicated and full of rocks, it required concentration and two-foot drive. I gave it that, as my last fall still smarted.

The trail today followed a narrow altitude band, the floor 6,000 feet, the ceiling 7,000 feet. But within the band it resembled a dribbling basketball. So my progress was honest. The fire in Southern Oregon was still funneling smoke into the local atmosphere so I probably averaged about a pack of cigarettes every 10 miles. Tried to enjoy them, as well as the vistas and scenery, but my hiking was manic. The culprit—mio.

Two foot drive track

For those of you not in the know, mio is a water additive. Every day on the trail I cycle liters of water through my system. The taste, especially with water purifying drops, monotonous or nasty. Mio saves the day. A few squirts and suddenly I’m drinking berry pomegranate juice. That’s a smile bringer. Anyway, at the last store only cherry mio with caffeine was available. So today I was slugging what looked like Sangre de Cristo. Not being interested in the taste, theory or habit of coffee I rarely have caffeine in my system. Thus my supercharged hiking up and down the basketball pattern was mysterious to me as was my decision to walk right through lunch. When I finally sat down at two to eat my heart was still racing. I had caught up with Orbit and Slack, who were relaxing around a cabin. I couldn’t stop talking. Slowly it dawned on me, I was completely jacked up on Mio, my future drug of choice.

Good looking hills

I had entered the Marble Valley, that lay in the shadow of Marble Mountain. A white edifice that resembled the White Cliffs of Dover. Of interest in Dover, the first four blocks inland from the shoreline would have a rowhouse missing here or there. I asked a local “why?” “Oh, the Germans had a big gun in France whose maximum range was four blocks inland here. They would lob a shell over now and then to let us know who was boss. We never rebuilt to remember.”

Came across three spooked female hikers. They jumped when I rounded the bend. Apparently they had come upon two separate bears in one hour. What luck, I had seen one bear in three months. Having left the cabin at three there were some miles still left to cover. We hiked as a group taking turns at lead. The air purer there as we were all ravaged by methane. I stopped for a second. From my angle I spotted an ancient canteen that had been left under a bush probably in the 60s. It was tin and the canvas covering had rotted away. I displayed it on a rock pedestal for those to come.

Triple tree

With conversation as a distraction, the miles dissipated. The path helped as it began a 22 mile descent into Seid Valley. The pace quickened. It felt like five miles an hour, an insane speed. Well you had to be there. Pulled up at Buckhorn Spring in the shadow of a triple tree. Loaded up with water for a dry camp and plunged. Arrived into final camp at 8:30. There Swiss Army, Storytime and Rabbit Stick were already laid out.

The State of Jefferson lives on

Rabbit stick was gathering ages of all the hikers he came across searching for an average. So far it was around 28 years old. Today we tried to come up with all the names of the hikers we had met. Made it to 110 trail names. Back to Rabbit Stick. He was the first American and 11th overall to row across the Atlantic. It took him five months of unsupported rowing to arrive in Florida from Africa. In his head he meticulously restored over 200 Ford model A’s in those five months to keep mentally occupied. He found that preferable to tackling the big questions of life. At 70 now he looks like he’s ready to row back. Inspired, as I lay down, I hummed “row row your boat” as my lullaby ticket to dreamland. And, no, I did not consider repeating his feat. Really.

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 88 – In memory of Pat

July 29, 2013
10 miles
mile 1616

PCT annual conference post ice cream

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.

Purple haze

Haze daze

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.

Sunset attempt

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 87 – Killer Quail and Horseshoes

July 28, 2013
21 miles
mile 1606

Time for the morning commute. The town of Etna on the agenda. Orbit off first. Slack without movement. Then some groans about a mule kicked stomach. I listened to the symptoms. Could be my old nemesis Giardia. A parasite that causes sulfur belches mustard shits and swollen belly. Many of the water sources yesterday had been visited by cows. There, they made no distinction between toilet activities and drinking. Perhaps that was the origin of Slack’s distress.

The two of us got going but it was soon apparent that Slack’s hiking day would not be long. Fortunately, we crossed a highway after a few miles where Slack lay down to his illness. Being horizontal was his only relief. Which is where he stayed, as the traffic was nonexistent. I passed the time speaking with a history teacher who was doing a sectional southbound hike. He told me about the state of Jefferson and it’s near formation.

Tired sign

Jefferson was to include a large chunk of northern Nevada, California and Southern Oregon. The residents of these areas felt that they were being ignored by their respective state capitals. The idea was to break away and form their own state. It was to be named after Jefferson, an advocate of states rights. It’s symbol two crossed axes, because they have been doublecrossed by both politicians and judges. The announcement of succession was made, toll booths were set up on incoming highways, and government structure implementation begun. One small problem, the founding fathers horrific sense of timing. The announcement was made on December 4, 1941, three days before Pearl Harbor. World War II patriotism squashed the dream, but the sentiment runs strong still.

First signs of fire haze

The first vehicle by stopped and whisked Slack away to his fate. His condition worsening, I figured whatever lay ahead had to be better than hiking. The trail confirmed this as today was an up-and-down affair. I climbed to a ridgeline where I caught up with Orbit. She announced that she would hike slowly and savor nature. This was genetically impossible. She tried, and her effort was admirable but her heart wasn’t in it. Soon she was back to the blur of 4 mph. I however stayed with the nature viewing experiment. A fire in Southern Oregon had brought haze. Valleys filled with gray as though the skies had fallen into them. I breathed it all in, and coughed a lot.

Chipmunks and Quail were everywhere. Earlier Orbit had a baby Quail run into her leg. Slack saw a big chipmunk eat a smaller one. My interactions with chipmunks was limited to long stare downs. Lunch was served promptly at mile 16 next to a warm Lake filled with newts. Newts are a cross between salamanders and tadpoles. They’re brown on the top and orange on the bottom and can reach seven inches in length. Endearingly, they bark when caught. Swimming in a lake full of them is superior to the more mundane swimming with dolphins, manta rays, or sharks, etc., foisted on tourists everywhere. I did so with delight.

Directional lake

Town fever hurried the five miles and soon I was looking, downing Cheezits at Kirby’s love van with Seminole, Emily and Orbit. The first van by obligingly stopped and we were on our way to Etna. Our ride givers were hippies fleeing a commune filled with sickness and headed for a rainbow gathering at the Buddha Hole by Mt. Shasta. That sentence was probably a first for the English language. Dropped off on main street where humans were apparently banned on late Sunday afternoons. We beelined through the movie set to the soon closing brewery. The first order of any town visit being liquids and solids. For the record I inhaled through three root beers, one stout, one ham sandwich, one hamburger and one towering root beer float.

A Viking on the right who has breached the city wall and has pillaged the city market

Next a roof, but not before Slack appeared, looking semirecovered. We made our way toward the Etna motel. On the way I passed Viking sitting in front of the market vacuuming ice cream. Since Viking carries enough food for the apocalypse, he is never seen in towns. I captured the unusual event on film to confirm that even Vikings are weak for luxury at times. He growled that he would return to the trail within the hour or after four beers whichever came first.

The Etna motel was very fine and appeared empty. The anomaly was we just got the last room. The explanation—a motel full of hikers has an empty parking lot. There we cleaned up and relaxed to a TV reality show called “Naked and Afraid.” The premise being two naked and afraid people are dumped off the bush somewhere to survive for 21 days. Having once been on a reality TV show called skinny-dip I knew that 80% of what happened on such shows is not. So I gave up quickly and went to work on the journal.

Soon Veggie, track meat and Ole turned up and the night quickly veered toward the only business open on Sunday evenings in Etna. With only three locals in residence comparing work place notes, the bar was ours. The following entertainment to choose from darts, jukebox, pool table, bartender storytelling and Horshoe pits out back. We took advantage of all.

Ole, who once made a living airbrushing nipples out of fishnet bras for a lingerie company to protect the sanctity of teenage boys’ squinting eyes, filled me in on recent history over beers. The boys were waylaid in Etna because they were waiting for antibiotics to fight a most unusual affliction. Both Track Meet and Ole, not a couple, were struck with swollen left testicles. Admirably, no jokes were made about this sensitive issue. I wish them a return to balance in their lives.

Our bar

A good night passed well, with a soundtrack from the 60’s and 70’s, ending in the early morning where it must, out back in the Horseshoe Pits. There, the bartender told stories of his import export days, back in the Go-Go 80’s, delivering a certain South American product for certain rock stars. A local guy serenaded on his guitar about love and loss. And Orbit and I took on Veggie and Ole in shoes. All were hopeless at the game and the target score was constantly lowered. But to see Ole throw a shoe was spectacular. The process. At 6’7″ he would stand ramrod straight, and christen the throw with a name. For example, “The Hurricane,” then he would explode in spasmodic motion winging the horseshoe in a SideArm, reverse discus maneuver that endangered all spectators but rarely the target. It was visual beauty. Orbit, always the fierce competitor, finally and mercifully ended the night with a ringer. To bed I went unrefreshed, unrested and happy.

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

Tag Archives: Pacific Coast Trail

Day 96 – The day Taylor Swift went away

Day 95 – Hiking through the haze, I got clarity

Day 94 – Walking by braille to the Sugar Shack

Day 93 – Where I become a film critic

Day 92 – Pseudo criminals and frou-frou cocktails

Day 91 – Walking through the Stars

Day 90 – Blackberries being the theme of the day

Day 89 – Mio my, all jacked up

Day 88 – In memory of Pat

Day 87 – Killer Quail and Horseshoes