June 21, 2013
15 miles today
906 miles total

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.

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.

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!

Awoke to intense light. Felt like a dream I couldn’t escape from, no matter how I shifted. Turns out the door to the hive hut has a 16″ x 16″ window, and I had chosen to sleep where the
morning sun poured through that window and focused on my head. Thus anointed I had no choice but to arise.

Spoke with Drop Biscuit who was taking the ESPN challenge. Translated every Sierra pass naked. All so far for her photo documented, worthy and honorable goal.

Headed down from the pass quickly as all the water sources were frozen and I was thirsty. Lost the race to warmth and had to layer up as the wind was sharp and cut deep. The descent today was incredibly pleasant. It was inconceivably long, about 20 miles, and therefore easy because it was so gradual. Also it was a reverse mirror recreation of yesterday’s ascent. Like watching a great movie from a whole new angle. Finally, whoever created all this had the good sense to install a fissure in the Earth’s crust that allowed hot water to make its way to the surface right at the end of the descent.

Never one to pass up hot springs, I along with Orbit, Slack and Red, made the mile and a half detour off the PCT. The springs were earned as we had to cross a fairly dicey river twice to get to them. On my first crossing I was actually spun 360° by the current, but managed to stay on my feet throughout the entire dance. Caught a small garter snake as I exited the river with frozen feet.

The springs were divine. Perfectly deep and hot, slightly sulphery and floored with fine mud. The sensation of deeply cooked water passing up through one’s toes must be imagined. My reluctance to break my bond with the hot springs was painful. A return through the ice river and a steep climb returned us to the PCT. Then payment for the days descent, as a series of violent switchbacks returned us to altitude.

Hunger had the upper hand as I arrived at our lakeside campsite. A large bear was running amok charging campsites, but I was too tired to worry about anything but couscous. Fortunately James, a newly minted paramedic, paid a visit with three Freshly caught trout in hand. Diet supplemented I was content as I, as well as the bear, retired from the days activities.

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!

Camping next to a river is sometimes a good idea, last night was the other part. By the time I left the fire micro environment, condensation had soaked my sleeping bag. So I set up my tent in the dark and crawled into it to escape the wet. Awoke to ice crystals.

The objective today ambitious. Cross Mather Pass, descend the golden staircase, cross the everlasting Muir Pass, fly down the other side and camp at Wanda Lake. We almost made it, but as always that really wasn’t the point.

Myself, and the ice crystals waited for the warmth of the sun to make its way down the valley wall. Thus the start was late at around 830. Climbed, and quickly arrived in a mammoth amphitheater above the tree line. From my low point a spin showed my eyes mountains in every direction. I kept my attention alert as yesterday Red Beard had seen a wolf at about this same altitude.
The path up to Mather pass was well laid out and not a grind at all. From the High Point the Valleyview north was a showstopper. Sheer grey walls poured cascades of spilled milk down to the pined carpets that floored the valley bottom. This water in turn filled lakes that would overflow by waterfall to the next lower brother lake. I spent much of the day following along listening to their music. The race of water downhill always beating me. Even when we parachuted down the golden staircase the water was speedier in descent.

At The bottom of the valley of the Palisades I took a dogleg right for the valley of the Kings. Now I was moving uphill against the current of water, altitude and my own limitations. The pass lived up to its reputation as a hard-hard pass to reach. Again and again what appeared to be the pass was just a trick played on your certainty. I climbed out of forest, and into stunted trees, then shrubs, to grasslands and finally just rock and snow. Each successive bowl holding yet another lake and the promise of more climbing ahead. It felt like a ladder that might not have a destination.



The day grew late and the stomach empty. Finally, climbing over a snowbank at 7 p.m., I spotted a hive-shaped pile of rocks that spoke of man-made. This was the John Muir hut built in 1930 by the Sierra Club. It resembled the charcoal kilns of death Valley. The hives insulating qualities proved to charismatic and the night was passed listening to 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!

Started the morning by watching the drip rings formed by trout feeding on mosquitoes. Gorge yourselves, I thought. Left as UB was trying to help out the mozzys with his fly fishing pole.

Took one last look at the now named Glenn pass. Often described as one of the scariest passes on the PCT, it was merely a long up and down hike. The reason being the lack of snow this year, estimated at 40% of normal. Though there were some snow patches, on the descent, they weren’t challenging. Water levels, for purposes of fording streams, are conversely lower. I hope the mosquito population follows suit.

Assume for the purposes of today’s hike that everywhere I looked I saw beauty, that all the scenery was stunning and spectacular and that basically I made my way through a postcard. It was just one of those days. Adjectives fall short. 360° gorgeous. Initially it can be overwhelming. Then you get used to it. Then you take it for granted because it is without contrast. To avoid this final stage I would take my shoes off at every break and look at my toes to remind myself of ugly and provide needed contrast.

The trail fell and Rose, Valley to pass, as is the pattern of the Sierras. Each step of descent a loan that must be paid in full on the corresponding ascent. You can avoid the thought but one always knows its truth.

Passed two days hikers coming in the opposite direction. They were both wearing full bug head nets, mine which is in my bounce box. Seeing them in nets is a bad coming attraction. Like seeing cars coming in the opposing lane with their windshield wipers going and you in a convertible without a top. On the subject of day hikers, they smell funny, kind of artificial with their deodorants sprays and perfumes. It’s offputting. Thru hikers, on the other hand, smell natural and of the forest. It’s quite neutral and unobtrusive. At least that’s my take.

The pass of the day was Pinchot at 12,050 feet. I called it La Pinchita because her curves were soft. Ended the day in a valley next to a canyon stream on La Pinchitas backside. Took an ice bath, then chased the bone cold away over the fire. Pancakes, conversation and a ukulele wrapped up the efforts of the 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!

Retracing my steps back up the Kearsarge Pass with a loaded pack forced my eyes downward. The beauty was still there, but observed only at rest breaks. On the downside of the pass, said my farewell to Kearsarge and rejoined the flow of the PCT.

Right away I came upon Litehouse, a hiker from Scotland, who was resting by the side of the trail. He was suffering from a wicked looking infection on the back of his knee andorrafarm.com. My guess was a spider bite of some kind. He was on his way to Bishop to track down a doctor. I gave him some antibiotic cream and wished him speed. Out here we are all our own ambulance.

Climbed yet another pass which I didn’t even learn the name of because I was lost in the misery of pack weight. But from the top I could gaze down on the three holes of azul that were collectively known as Rae Lakes. The original plan was to take a full day of rest on their shores. But plans fall apart as is their nature. So from noon on we called the lakes home.

The first order of business was starting to turn the 5 pounds of materials hauled into pancakes. That accomplished and cooks exhausted before bellies were full it was naptime. At one point I woke up in time to see a first in my life. Slack was sleep eating. Lying in the sand, under the direct sun, he was softly snoring. At the same time his hand was flopping around near a bag of M and M’s. When the hand would eventually track down one it would drag across his face and drop it in his mouth. A lazy chew would ensue. The hand would then rest for a few minutes and then the process would start over. The snoring never stopped. Wonders never cease. I fell back asleep before I could warn of the dangers of choking.

Awoke to a stack of pancakes, margarita in a bottle and a Father’s Day card. Red beard, slack and orbit knew that being away from my daughter on this day had been tough on me. As good friends, they did what they could which meant the world. I was emotional in appreciation.

A fire capped the day. UB and mock mock showed up for a Whitney reunion. And then Messenger, an Israeli, stumbled in from the dark to complete the party. Messenger came into his name because he hiked most of the PCT southbound last year. He would constantly relay messages From northbound hikers to their friends behind them. Thus the moniker.

Good conversation, warmth and trail gossip rounded out the Rae lake’s experience. Happy Father’s Day to all who do it.

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!

Hikers and smartphones slept in, exhausted by their efforts to catch up with the non-PCT world. The day started, and the TV came on. The incredible pace and speed of information delivery stunned me a bit. I guess moving along at 3 mph tends to slow all the senses down. I gave up on the box and focused on my cheesecake breakfast. Then it was out to the pool to write. There a young guy taught me ” if it’s for free, it’s for me, and I’ll take three.” One has to keep their ears open.

The morning slipped out the back door as the afternoon came through the front. Motel 6 wanted their room back so we moved our base of operations over to the Vons picnic grounds. I dropped $125 on seven days of food and the four of us spent the next four hours in front of Vons gorging and packing food for the hike to Mammoth. My hats off to the graciousness of our Von’s hosts.

The packs worthy of a benchpress, and procrastination exhausted, we walked to the edge of town and stuck out our thumbs. It took three rides to reach the trailhead. Tina first, who recalled us with her own hitchhiking stories. Then a mom and son duo headed out to clean out a local casino and finally Tom and his wife who had hiked the PCT in 1985. In that year there were 20 other hikers on the trail. Their tent alone weighed nine pounds, which is more than Orbit’s entire pack. This year one son is on the PCT, the other on the CDT- Continental Divide Trail, doomed to repeat the sins of their parents. And, of course, in this very small, big world we have mutual friends in Flagstaff, Arizona.

The lateness of our arrival at the trailhead made our hike back up Kearsarge Pass short-lived. We camped under, around and on a large boulder balanced on the edge of a lake. I drifted off savoring my father’s day conversation with my daughter. She told me of the wonder of her life and the PCT PowerPoint presentation she had delivered to her class. I miss her so.

Rose to the beckoning call of civilization. Answered because the bear vault was down to its last cliff bar.(between roughly mile 750 and 1000 Bear proof canisters are mandatory.) Everyone recognizes the necessity, everyone despises their weight and awkwardness. Thus the plan was to leave the PCT, climb over the reputedly lovely Kearsarge Pass to a trailhead and then hitch into Lonepine for resupply. And if the stars aligned a dentist.

Was a tad anxious about my new footwear as the hike started. The night before I had lost my footing in a stream and one shoe went into the drink. I cook dried the shoe next to the fire and accomplished both. As my attention wandered my insole cushioning melted. It’s aromatic bubbling finally alerted orbit. At least they are lighter now.

The pass met all of its advanced PR and even surpassed it. At the High Point one looked down on a slide of a valley that didn’t level out until the desert floor thousands of feet below. Great gray granite spires splotched with snow provided the edging. A series of navajo shaded lakes connected by cascading streams formed the floor. And groves of Pines gave it all texture. No amount of willpower could prevent a summer swim.

After 4 miles of descent we arrived at the trailhead. Warm root beer left by a trail angel was the cherry on top of the Kearsarge Pass. The wait was short for a ride. Wayne, a fire instructor, crammed us into the back of his pop up, Cabover camper and took us all the way to Bishop, where a dentist eagerly awaited my business.

The Motel 6 was incredibly hip, along the lines of a Soho apartment. The calories consumed voluminous and rich. My mouth returned to full Chomper status. Gear supply stores galore. A bakery named Schats. And Rustys, a bar full of pool, pinball, margaritas and dancers searching for the rhythm, any rhythm of 80s rock. All overlaid by the incantations of a local rodeo and it’s excited announcer. What more could you ask a town? Kisses Bishop

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!

June 13, 2013
25 miles
Mile 784

Sleep never arrived, but my little radio helped me pass the hours. First it was Christian radio and their grievances with the devil. Then a pointed critique by Noam Chomsky on the murder of Osama Bin Laden. And lots of average pop music. Finally the BBC with their dispassionate analysis of everything. Which is where I was at 4 AM when the door busted open and Pac Man announced, while standing on Red Beard, “The Pac Man is here and he is cold. Move over.” Followed by, “It stinks in here. I mean it really stinks in here.” I was too tired to explain to him that his head was in the methane cloud and that all he had to do was sit down. One by one climbers came in from the dark, drained by the cold. The night was over though the clock didn’t know it.

I waited in the methane infused warmth, and then rushed outside at the last minute, for the sunrise. Found a hole to slide down into so that the wind could only beat on my head. Exchanged Good-Mornings with the sun and took one last look around before escaping down hill. But first I paused to affectionately pat the walls of our shelter. Though climbers had been killed inside it by lightening strikes, I felt a deep affection for its efforts on my behalf.

Submerged quickly to another world of sunny meadows and streams of honey. Reorganized, and took off for Forester Pass some twelve miles away. Forest Pass, at 13,200 feet, is the highest point on the actually PCT. Like all passes, its long slow work, a view, and quick fast fun. The real challenge of Forester though was psychological. Its V-shaped snow chute visible from many miles off, the question “I have to go there?” had plenty of time to deteriorate resolve. Which was already in short supply due to sleeplessness. As always though, stubbornness carried the day and the pass.

Though the backside trail was blocked by snow at several points, our descent into Kings Canyon was rapid. Arrived on flat ground spent and hungry. Dinner was a mysterious and vile green Vietnamese rice. Since I eat to reduce pack weight I choked it down, but I don’t recommended it, even to deserving enemies. Lights out at eight.

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!