Tag Archives: PCT

Day 113 – Lost and in a foul mood

August 23, 2013
23 miles
Mile 2313

As it must, the rain began during REM. Light and gentle. The first response to any minor irritation is to ignore it. Offended the god of rain ratcheted up the intensity a notch. Okay, okay I pulled out my tent and threw it over me as a waterproof blanket. Not the response desired, so crank it up. Alright, already. Shit. So at 3:50 AM we set up tents. Mine went up, but a combination of faulty headlamp and stake resistant earth sent orbit back to the waterproof blanket option. The heavens moved toward Ark phase in frustration. I loaned her my headlamp and convinced her to try a new location. Muttering darkly she got the job done. Satisfied, the rain began to taper away.

Cloud impersonation

The morning light gray, grumpy and antagonistic. All wet including all that I owned. I wrote, Orbit walked. Late out of camp with 12 miles to resupply, and not a calorie on my back, I plunged hungrily through the steam on a mission to a menu. My marching trance was broken by an explosion on my left. Thinking IED I jumped into the right side forest. Adrenaline drenched. A sound like 1,000 swirling swords swished by my left ear. I ducked. The big brown bird I had spooked flew away. Instead of trying to identify it, I contemplated it’s taste.

Don’t remember much of the hike after that. Only that I climbed high onto a ridge and stayed there knowing a shortcut to the White Pass store involved following a chairlift down the ski slope. I turned left at the first chairlift I saw. Premature, as the shortcut trail is actually marked on the PCT. I boogied down. Rainier appeared doing the same cloud imitation song and dance. The chairlift ended. Now what? I just kept following runs downward. Took a couple of black diamond runs. Rusty, but did okay. Eventually the longcut brought me to the promised store.

All my packages were there. Thank you Jill and Cirina. As was extreme hospitality and all that was needed. By the standard set of bizarre circumstances I was down to one sock. Try walking miles with that situation. So thrills with a new pair of socks and the fourth and final pair of shoes. Same model, but a faster color. We ate, Interneted, ate, greeted newly arriving hikers, ate, ground dried possessions and try to guess the rest. Orbit off at five, myself at seven, after journel headway and following the Orioles in a close one.

Headed up the trail and into the dark. My new shoes a cushion of cruising joy but too fast for conditions. Snagged on a root, I gently went down. As the dust cleared I noticed Huckleberry’s near my face. A very pleasant lay down snack. Sometimes in life it’s better to stay down after a knock down then get up for more abuse.

Beware of the longcuts that lurk behind the friendly face of a shortcut

Close to the rendezvous at 10 o’clock I missed an arrow on a sign and turned very wrong. Content, plunging toward Death Valley with a good soundtrack going, the sinking feeling was suppressed. The stop. This is wrong. Out with the GPS. It, as confused as I was by the thick forest, sent me here and there. Now we were jointly lost. Sitdown and think. Time for a massive backtrack to the abusive sign and origin of my inattentiveness. A black humor settled. Five hours and 10 miles. Not one of my shining performances. Finally an arrival post midnight. What to do but set up my shrine of respect to the rain gods and shut it all down. Spent the night chasing lost sleep.

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 112 – The long climb to elevation

August 22, 2013
38 miles
Mile 2290

Awoke to winter temperatures at Killin Creek. The great challenge camping is to leave a warm bag for a cold world. But birth must happen. The art is conducting the majority of your morning business from your bag. True masters like Lorax, are completely packed and fed upon exit. I’m not there yet. Far too spread out, my warm steamed away as I gathered gear.

Lightning bolt for speed. Last opportunity for goof around before mandatory respectability at age 50.

We have come upon a new group of through hikers. Mango, Doc H, Robocop, Bird Man, Thunderbolt, Kiddo and Kindergarten Cop to name some. All was downhill through a forest tunnel to start. The path, of fine sand. Mt. Adams stayed behind on good behavior. Orbit saw two elk who bellowed at her. Came to Lava Springs where the water boiled out from beneath a large lava flow. Then a monster ant cone built of pine needles bonded with spit. Later I was to learn they are common in Washington and can grow to five feet tall. This later information did not diminish my earlier discovery delight.

Ant cone with Obrit’s mustard catcher for scale

The hike followed a now established pattern. Hike 10 miles in three hours, 15 minute break, 10 miles, 30 minute lunch, 10 miles, 15 minute break, then the remainder. Sometimes alone, sometimes conversation. Always forward or fueling for forward.

Climbed to a high plateau pocketed with small fetid ponds. Each pond harbored it’s personal squadron of assault mosquitoes. Always they go for the arms. I’ve concluded that the fine hairs on our arms have an evolution developed sensitivity that alerts the brain to mosquito landings. Violent swinging of the arms challenged their landings. But many managed. And many died for that initial success. The agony was the thick huckleberries that one could not stop to pick.

All is going well. An average day on the trail that was about to turn unaverage. But before that came the rain down. Just a spattering rain, but it collected on the overgrown trail. Walking through saturated brush is comparable to being slapped with wet mops. Finally you break down and dig out the rain jacket. Which keeps the rain out, but the sweat it. The end result the same.

First crest of Cesped Pass. Phone camera inadequate for necessary scale

Left the tunnel and began a long, big climb to elevation. Change came at the pace of the push. Now Adam’s reappeared. Surrounded by massive valleys of pines happy to be free of fire. Took the third break of the day at around four PM. Everything still unremarkable but not for long. More climbing, another 1,000 feet, toward Cesped Pass. Over a lip and it all started. Long volcanic ranges capped with spiraling lava fingers burning skyward. Which shadowed massive meadow amphitheaters carpeted in wildflowers. Waterfalls everywhere for effect. Bees serenaded. Neither my eyes nor a camera could take it all in.

Climbed again and the same discovery on yet a grander scale. This time we followed the curve of the bowl hopping waterfalls as we went. I kept thinking so this is what it is like to walk through a postcard. Came to some backpackers camped on a ledge. They had planned to do some long miles but came to this spot and froze. For two days they had been sitting there staring at the view.

Orbit crossing snowfield of pass before Knife Ridge

Started climbing again. This time to a pass at 7,500 feet. Rounded a turn to two backpackers staring at a staring at them Pica. So this was the squeaky toy impersonator. Picture a shrunken Koala on speed. Very cute. They asked us where we were going. “Lutz lake.” “Not today you’re not.” A little alarming so we picked up the pace. Ever upward through meadows populated by pre-Buddhist Bon Rock stupas. Thick with tents all out to see the sunset slam into Mount Adams.

Left the trees and zigzag raced the approaching night. Passed a work crew party and then across the longest snowfield of the trail. Stopping often to smell the view, but the clock was relentless. Finally to the Knife Ridge and awe. No other word. The mountains erupted and captured the sun. High above all, far above the clouds, was an unusual shape. With focus, it was shockingly the summit of Mount Rainier. The scale unreal. I sat down, munched pretzels, and try to soak it into my memory. I pulled out my camera and took a photo before the battery passed away.

view from Knife Ridge in Goats Rock National Forest

These were mountains from dreams. But not a place to sleep. Time to hustle. The trail followed the Knife Ridge for a couple of miles. Up-and-down, across snowfields and avalanche chutes. Slow going, the rock rock slag hostile to feet and progress. A mistake, at times, would translate into a lack of tomorrow’s. A few close calls but mostly just excitement in the greying light. Caught up with orbit at the turn off the Knife Ridge. We shared the last of our snacks and turned downward to the calm.

Sunset finds Mt. Rainier doing an excellent imitation of Mount Fuji in Japan. Time to get off the ridge.

Orbit about to drop into the valley of waterfalls and wildflowers

Still buzzed with the gift of our late crossing, and giddy to be off the ridge we made good progress. Out came the headlamps. A large snowfield on the side of a peak took on the shape of Homer Simpson’s ghost. A sure sign of good exhaustion and bad hunger.

Mount Adam’s sunset show getting ready to start. Crowds not visible.

A truism that is also true. The last miles are the longest. The more we walked, the further Lake Lutz faded into the distance. Finally yelled tag at 9:30. The two established sites were full, so we found our home in the forest.

The last supper before tomorrow’s resupply. I ate everything available, but still remained in caloric deficit. The weather check. Stars buried in blankets of clouds. Too tired to aknowledge the suggestion we cowboy camped. To bed with a smile. For to me, hands-down, the best day of the hike.

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!

Steve H

Day 111 – Sunset in Three Acts

August 21, 2013
37 miles
Mile 2253

Behind on writing so I stayed in the office longer than usual. Orbit took off around seven. Won’t be seeing her anytime soon. In my opinion she is second-fastest female on the trail this year. All fast twitch muscle. She is quick on the flats and down. But her specialty is uphill, where her speed is of the now-you-see-her-now-you-don’t variety. She actually looks forward to endless uphill slogs, which is demented. In 111 days I’ve never seen her passed. If she didn’t need coffee hourly I probably wouldn’t be able to keep up. Though recently, and ominously, she’s taken to eating spoonfuls of it directly. The last throes of an addiction that will undoubtedly lead her to a 12 step program. She’ll be happy though, as long as the steps are uphill.

Out of camp by 730. The trail empty. Passed through some old growth including a whopper that had to be 20 feet in diameter. Grew bored with myself. Tried talking out loud but feared a slip into insanity. Internal dialogue is one thing but external solo conversation feels crazy right away. Then grew bored with the forest. 10,000 trees cloned. It would be five hours till I saw another human being. Just one of those days you walk into and have to walk out of.

Came to a highway where a local Buddhist temple had left a food cache and blessings. Never heard of monks giving out alms and blessings at the same time. I was impressed though the food had long ago been cleaned out. The patron saint of travelers and people resident in hell looked down on the cache from a shrine. A curious grouping. Perhaps indicative of a destination.

Caught up with Orbit and learned that we were one more day further away from resupply then I thought previously. Have to stretch what I have. Which is possible but psychologically challenging. Suddenly my mind settled on starvation and it’s possibility. Hunger pains began though my stomach was full. The brain is a pain in the ass at times. Luckily the path was in huckleberry season so picking fingers soothed the panic temporarily. How do bears survive on this meager offering?

Central glacier of Mount Adams basking in final light

Started a big climb to 6,000 feet right after lunch. Nodded off a few times but stumbled back to consciousness quickly. Turned to my radio to wake up but it died after 10 minutes. Stuck with me, which I guess is the definition of life. Entered a major burn area on the slopes of Mount Adams. The fire was in 2012. The land was raw and reeked of sour charcoal. A sign warned of falling trees, especially in windstorms. I kept my eye up.

Burnt trees of Mount Adams waiting for the ground

Mount Adams is a big one at over 12,000 feet. A bit annoyed too. I heard three major avalanches as I rounded her base. My goal was killen creek on the opposite flank. I reengaged with the PCT as all grew beautiful. A wallop of a sunset had Adams blushing at its charm. My pace lifted. Rock-hopped a glacial river in the last light. With two miles to go figured I was home free. A miscalculation. Out came the headlamp. The light illuminated a problem. The path was white sand with white rocks protruding. The white light couldn’t distinguish between the two. Progress slowed to an even slower crawl. Over 100 unutterables were screamed. My toes shortened.

A sunset in three acts. Act One.

Act Two.

Act Three.

Alpine glow post sunset

Finally a light. Orbit was on a ridge, high over the camping area, waiting. It seems all the people I didn’t see on the path were in the campground. No room in the inn. So we made do on the ridge. In return for our inconvenience, a smoke cloud rolled in and painted the globe moon orange. That’s what I call a fine consolation.

Peephole or moon shrouded in fire smoke

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 110 – Bee stings, mountain lions and bagel mouth

August 20, 2013
36 miles
Mile 2216

A heavy morning sky full of sweat. No rain. But if you listen closely you can hear it gently soaking your worldly possessions. Still warm inside my bag, I lazily left them to their fate. A brightening of the sky my alarm. Time for miles. Out of camp by 730, Orbit earlier.

Directional rays indicating North

Fought my pack’s insistence on returning to a rub spot on my tailbone. I adjusted straps, it worked its way back. Finally gave in and accepted a deepening. Caught up with Spoon Man and shared the trail for a while. Learned of his life dedicated to long walks and bike rides. Each paycheck a step closer to the next adventure. Seasonal work, seasonal passion. He seemed content with the balance.

As I neared Trout Creek I was on alert for the home for wayward and aggressive bees. Never saw it but paid my toll of one sting passage. Immediately found a small flashlight on the trail. Figured someone under assault must’ve dropped it. Carried it forward in pursuit of its owner. Came to a sign warning of mountain lions in the area. Credible through hiker spottings were tacked on. The theory of mountain lions goes as follows. If you see one he isn’t hunting you. If one is eating you, know you were hunted. Thus there is nothing that worry will help and so I don’t bother with it.

A long 3000 foot climb left me searching for diversion. So I watched ants. These days black ones. Since Mexico I have been crossing over and on the lower kingdom of ants. I’ve probably slaughtered thousands with my size 13’s. But if I took my last step on the PCT, and lay down, I am sure their revenge would be complete. I eyed them waiting. Not today amigos. Orbit had picked a sun-drenched spot for lunch with a big view of Mount Adams. I dumped all that was damp and listened to it’s stunned crackling. Orbit napped as I stuffed bagels and cheese down the drop pipe. Slowly my body slid drowsily to horizontal. Woke up remembering I had been eating. Knew this from the bagel in my hand and the chewed bits still in my mouth.

Smurf mushroom

Took a couple of miles to wake up from the sun. Talked for a while with a clean-shaven southbounder. Only later did it dawn on me that it was Scott Williamson, a trail celebrity on par with Billy Goat. He has done the PCT probably more times than I can count on my fingers and toes. His speed record of 64 days only broken this year. A little Hollywood to break up the day. Word is that I passed him on his way to recover his title.

Ladies and gentlemen, our next stop will be Mount Adams

Washington is known for its ups and downs. It delivers. I accepted, unlike the post office. Shooting for a destination at 36 miles, I needed some assistance. Put on the radio and listened to an hour of commercial free music out of Portland. Starting at five it was aimed at easing the commute from work. Why not? I’m applicable. My work is commuting and avoiding crashes.

Pushed by the beat I arrived home at a very early 8 o’clock. An easy commute today. Joined Sharon who was introducing her son Roman to the joys of backpacking. His demeanor pointed to a future PCT through hiker. They graciously shared their fire and even boiled up some water for my dinner. Orbit arrived grinning with donated gummy bears. We passed the evening swapping tales with our hosts. A bulging moon came up and chased shadows across the landscape. Our cue. Good night and good bed.

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 109 – Now I understand “going postal”

August 19, 2013
25 miles
Mile 2180

Conditioned to wake up at 5 AM by the howler monkeys of Costa Rica it has become my natural alarm. Back to the grind of toil, for it was Monday and the start of the work week. Rough days on the trail are often greeted with, “It beats working.” A concurrence.

Plugged away till 8:30 when the post office would consent to give up my packages. Fueled by leftover jalapeno breakfast pizza, I smiled at the postmaster and asked for my bounce box and food package sent by a friend. “Just the one.” “No, two.” “Just the one.” Investigation, UPS reported the package undeliverable. Why? Back to the postmaster, “Oh, I refuse any UPS or FedEx package sent general delivery because there is no money in it for the post office.” Charge a fee to pick it up. I replied, “That way everybody gets what they want and the post office makes money. Your way, nobody gets what they want and the post office makes nothing.” He smiled and said, “No.” I fumed homicidal as my jalapenos attempted backflips. Peter principle in action. I witnessed three incidents that morning of the postmaster explaining refused packages.

I let it go and went food shopping. But it kept coming back to poke at me. Packed up and hugged my bed goodbye. Our parting emotional with shared grief. Bench sat in front of the hotel in respect of checkout time while Orbit ran last errands. The poking continued. The lightbulb illuminated. My sister had sent my passport to the tiny Steheekin post office via general delivery. The black thought was she had sent it via UPS. A call to the Steheekin post office confirmed this much. Yeah, UPS delivers by boat. They just throw the packages on the dock. We have nothing to do with it. So my passport is just sitting on the dock? Yeah, hope it doesn’t rain. Now I know what an onsetting ulcer feels like.

Religious sign. Note PCT trail symbol on right

Playing bridge chicken

Crossed the Bridge of the Gods into Washington. The 50 Cent pedestrian fee waved for through hikers. The upbeat toll collector said “Make sure to walk against traffic.” There being no sidewalk. A large paddlewheel steamer passed underneath. I placed myself in another century until I saw two paddle borders riding wake. I chewed on donated cherries, dodged traffic and asked the gods of the bridge for help. Apparently the gods had also suffered package abuse for I had my answer by Washington. Called the Steheekin post office and privately contracted a postal worker for dock passport watch.

A better century

Surf where you can find it

Back to the simplicity of the forest. Altitude wise, the Columbia River flows at under 1000 feet. “C” stands for crest. The disparity engulfed my afternoon. Blackberries sweetened it. The radio softened it. A comedy sketch came on. The Black Angus restaurant has a nationwide team on high alert in case the G goes out with any of its signs. Or this from the DJ after playing U2 during a string of commercial free music. “I got no problem pulling out my Bono in the middle of a set.” It’s hard to laugh and climb at the same time.

Hood receding into PCT history

Ran into a number of new to us through hikers. An advantage of moving up the pack is meeting new people. Crossed paths with Dora and thanked her for the tall boys. A Southbounder Zeke La Freak warned me of a hornets nest down on the trail. Every passerby encountered a sting. I contemplated strategies. More climbing. Various ailments started seeping their way into my consciousness. Aging a detriment. Caught up with Orbit and swapped stories to distract.

A familiar pattern returned. Dark and no home. 9:30 again and my jalapenoes wanted company. Tired. A side trail. We rolled the dice. Came up lucky. A large flat spot with no checkout time. Stomach topped off and to the horizontal. Didn’t crack the book, didn’t count the stars, just closed my eyes to the end of the day. Ready for the repair of sleep.

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 108 – Morning sunrise, sunset to a friend

August 18, 2013
25 miles today
Mile 2150

Sunrise from below

Morning was cold as we had slept higher than the sun. The sunrise from below, slow to warm. We left the village in shifts of pairs. Being the second shift we were out by 6:30 AM. I thought of the night. I had difficulty letting go of the day as I had learned, with signal, of the early death of an acquaintance.

Early morning hiking

Finally fell asleep, but was awakened by a cacophony of snoring and flatulence. Everyone seemed to be on it. Thru hikers are probably the only subset of American society where farting is both openly accepted as necessary and as a method of informed commentary. By the way the average American male farts 14 times a day, females 11 times a day. I would consider thru hikers to be above average folks.

Goodbye Hood

Mount Saint Helens topless

Stayed high for 6 miles, giving Mount Hood its due every break in the trees. Then a flip-flop to the other side of the ridge brought me to a talus slope. Suddenly the earth gave up a big view. Starting on the left, the decapitated Mount Saint Helens. Though because of poor behavior her saint status should be reconsidered. Center, Mount Adams. And to the right Mount Rainier. I grabbed a handful of raspberries and took in the show.

Orbit decimating blackberry population

Decided to take the eagle creek alternate which routes away from the PCT for 15 miles. It passes through the densest concentration of high waterfalls in North America. Who can resist waterfalls? A spring rest, followed by a big fall straight down a ridgeline. Impossible not to exceed the speed limit. Eventually the pounding stopped as the trail joined the creek and it’s more gentle wandering. Waterfall after fall vied for attention. No two alike. Can a waterfall ever be boring? At times the trail cut into solid cliff to scoot around narrow falls. And the highlight, tunnel falls. A high tight cascade approached on a three sided rock cut trail. A misstep on the fourth side would be unfortunate. Standing back to watch, I saw Orbit approach the falls, walk into it and come out the other side. A tunnel being both the secret and namesake.

Orbit on the edge

Tunnel Falls

Orbit about to disappear

And reappear

The crowd thickened as it was a Sunday of respite. Came to Punchbowl Falls with its big pool running deep. Climbed down to a leap point but a posted personal narrative of crushed vertebrae changed our thinking. Canada being our primary responsibility. The temperature moved up and the trail stretched long. The path rocky and intent on chipping bone. Finally the crowded parking lot and the relief of asphalt walking. Joined an old touring road for when cars toured, now converted into a bikepath. It’s borders thick with neglected blackberries . We paid attention.

The Bridge of the Gods is the gateway to Cascade Locks

The bike path led into the town of Cascade Locks, the last whistle stop in Oregon. Unwashed and non-presentable we secured shelter and food in close order and proximity. A shower, sediment flowing into a hole. And then a tackle of a backload of work from the softest office bed I’ve ever had the pleasure of. I couldn’t stop sighing. Meanwhile orbit watched Rainman. I swear she came up with the toothpick answer before Dustin Hoffman’s character did. At midnight I shut it down and burrowed in.

I held off sleep as long as possible just to savor the kindness of a civilized mattress. I’m sure I slept smiling.

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 107 – Here’s Johnny!

August 17, 2013
28 miles today
Mile 2130

The lure of a breakfast without end sped awakenings and departures. Food, the great motivator of the masses. I forewent any formal breakfast and was the first to begin the climb to temple. The Timberline is located high on the slopes of Mount Hood. Famous as the setting for the film “The Shining” in PCT circles it is much better known for its three daily all you can eats. I zeroed in on the first one, shut off my brain and began grinding upward. A religious fervor undoubtedly shining in my eyes.

Here’s Johnny!

Insert twins and say, “Redrum.”

At first soft pine forests, then, progressively, the terrain turned raw. Great ash canyons carved by glacier melt took over. Stride shortened as I pushed up old ash dunes. Dancing waffles prevented rests. Altitude gave way. Over a rise and there was Mount Hood. It’s snowy peak belching clouds. A pivot and Mount Jefferson and the sisters rising up out of a gray inversion and my past. Volcano row. Where I had come from, where I was going. Around the bend and there she was. The Timberline, built in the depression by hungry craftsmen, before incompetency took over the architectural profession. It was a sight. A pilgrim to His Holy.

Hood with offspring waterfall

Hood with friend on high

I was formally seated in the beamed cascade room despite the varied offenses of my appearance. My waiter long used to PCT refugees was to the point, “Please begin,” and I did. The beauty was it tasted better than my limited imagination had imagined. After two hours I threw in the napkin. Veggie, Orbit and Greenleaf soon thereafter waived their white napkins in surrender. Our waiter fist-bumped us in effort appreciation. A running group noticed our starvation and offered bags of leftover sandwiches. We gratefully accepted. Lunch secured, it was time for a waddle around the Lodge to look for moments of Shining.

Came upon the Waylo Room. Ping-pong table and piano beckoned. Veggie and I had it out on the table, while Orbit played a series of concertos for background. The game halted when she consented to play one of her original works written when she was forteen. It captured the angst and magic of that time like nothing I had ever heard. More waddling. Raided the abundant hiker box. Took an aperitif in the attic bar. Stalling. Finally ended up on the front patio adjacent to a 40-year class reunion. Seated in Adirondack of procrastination, we prepared for yet another goodbye. Veggie’s mother and sister will arrive tomorrow and he will take a few days of rest with them. Good hugs and off, but not. A sympathetic reunionite brought over two boxes and said “cram as much as you can in them from our private buffet.” I love the timberline meal plan. Happy 40th, you’re all looking good.

Makeshift bridge

Mount Hood up close and personal

Loaded down with meals, our leaden waddles moved us slowly north, the path thick with day hikers. Ant skiers moved about the distant slopes in August. The PCT at this point was part of a 40-mile circumnavigation pilgrimage of Mount Hood. It followed a mountain base pattern of knife cut topography up a ridge, down the canyon and across a glacial melt till it chose to drop away. There we turned our backs on hood and headed down. A detour to Ramona Falls and her allure then a long slog up to a new ridgeline fueled by the 40-year lunch. If you’re up you must go down, as the PCT is never static. By the bottom my knees sounded like jake brakes on an 18-wheeler.

Ramona Falls

The final act in the timberline meal plan was held by a pass, Forest Road, in the unrealized hope that a passing motorist would be providing beverages. If it is a pass, dessert will involve ascent. Early in it we passed under massive power lines that crackled with effort. As a kid once I had carried a fluorescent tube under such lines and watched it light up. Stopped to photograph Hood in Alpine glow and then moved on quickly, a cancerous Pac-Man in hot pursuit.

Hood chute

The sky blackened, the terrain turned steep and flat campsites turned into an Iraq WMD search. The hike marched past its 9:30 deadline. Tired and slipping concentration brought on the stumbles. A known campsite lay an hour away. Gave up looking as each side forest search took the headlamp away from the path, resulting in slowing or stumbling. At 10:30 we joined a community of four others clustered on a cold ridgeline. Perhaps asleep before rolling out the bedroll.

Main tentpole in timberline

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 106 – Attempting to find the “inner forest” – ended up just walking

Day 106
August 16, 2013
29 miles
Mile 2102

Woke feeling ungrumpy even though I had slept on a hump that left my head and feet equally dangling. Packed fast in a non-thinking rhythm that comes from doing it the same way every morning. Out of camp first and on my way. Tried to look at the forest in a new way but it insisted it was the same. So I tossed around old ideas and came up with old solutions. Stymied, I finally just walked.

The price of light

Pull-up bars I can’t comprehend

The forest had an industrial feel to it. Like a crop, it had either recently been harvested or was waiting to be. Logging roads bisected the PCT regularly. The wildlife steered clear of this agricultural approach. Came to a lake that was popular with Oregonians. The path followed the shoreline then turned up an arm. Unsettling to be weaving through so much human activity. Got run off the path by two mountain bikers, which are prohibited the entire length of the PCT.

Good irony

Came to a massive spring and sat down for a 10-mile snack. Orbit caught up full of numbers and hiking strategies for the September 3 plan. She had been crunching numbers all morning. So involved with her phone calculator that she had walked into a low hanging branch. The forehead snap so violent that she was reversed and ended up walking south for a few paces. I listened intently and asked her a few questions about adjustments that would feed her enjoyment through the afternoon. I left her to it and returned to the trail.

An attempt to float the PCT ends in failure

Stopped by a southbound day hiker named Rob. He handed out apples and Kit Kats in exchange for conversation. Happy to oblige. Still at it when Veggie and Orbit caught up for their rations. Onto it and lunch after 20 miles at a spring. There I adjusted my hiking plans a bit. The result of which I was I was able to eat two lunches in one sitting. Eating to reduce pack weight and not for pleasure made this an amazing meal. Emperor from Germany showed up for introductions.

Welcome

Another six miles and a highway. There, Tallboy trail magic beers begged for consumption. We obliged. Then Veggie and Orbit hitched the two miles to a Chevron for carry out dinner. I hung out at a picnic table under the shadow of a bizarre multi story pull-up bar and journaled. I worked long as the hitch back proved tough. American distrust of hitchhikers is pervasive and cemented by the media. Got in my work out, just as delivery showed up. We ate the bizarre combinations that only a convenience store can provide for dinner. It was after eight and still seven miles to go. Through the shadows, charging towards the famous Timberline Resort breakfast buffet, a full moon assisting our headlamps. After a few miles we came to another picnic table and pull-up bar combo. It’s charisma acted as a non-passable gate. We called it a night. Make up miles belong to another day. Asleep to the low watt glow of a steady moon ball. The whirl of Orbit’s number crunching barely audible.

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 105 – Ice cream sandwiches c/o our favorite Scout Troop

August 15, 2013
33 miles
Mile 2073

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

Racial diversity in flowerdom

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

Backside of Mount Jefferson

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

Extremely optimistic young pine tree

Lunch View Lake

Snack View Lake

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

Our favorite Boy Scout troop in the world! Ice cream sandwiches and whiskey. Right on.

Our favorite Scout troop in the world! Ice cream sandwiches and whiskey. Right on.

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

Mount Jefferson

Mount Hood in the far distance

The minutes before headlamp

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

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

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

Day 104 – Goal: Border by my birthday!

August 14, 2013
33 miles
Mile 2040

Our remote camping spot proved unremote. Within 100 feet lay trail junctions and parking lots. Passing early hikers, intent on the trail, conducted conversations at alarm bell levels. Thus, we did wait. Nearby was a magic catch. I scored a root beer and a Mountain Dew to accompany my oatmeal. A passing trail angel in a robe generously offered to get us high. I decided to stick with oatmeal and sugar water for breakfast. I packed up and reviewed our night conversation to see if it made sense in the daylight of intelligence.

Mount Jefferson

Numerology has entered the picture. Its denial would be troublesome. Its obeisance a challenge. I’ll lay it out. My lucky number is three. Always. Every team jersey I wore was number three. Orbit’s lucky number is three. We both started on May 3. We both would like to finish the trail in four months or one third of the year. That would allow Orbit to surpass her Appalachian Trail finishing time of four months and two days. Four months would be September 3. Which happens to be the day that I turn 50 on this earth. To get to the end of the trail and Canada by September 3 and my birthday would require us to walk an average of, you guessed it, 33 miles per day. Three countries, three states. Who could ignore this? We can’t, won’t and are going for it. Wish us luck.

Orbit’s treehouse

Three-Fingered Jack

The path climbed through dead forests that provided no oxygen. Sad, but gifting a perspective of geology that would otherwise be obscured. Around a dog leg and the haunted crags of Three Fingered Jack Mountain. There is that three again. We passed under the shadows of his mangled hand. The power of a snow year obvious from the crushed trees at the bottom of avalanche chutes. A most beautiful of mountains.

Dead line

The day cool. The past bipolar in it’s confusion between both long stretches of water absence and excess. Lunch was at the serene Rockpile Lake. The sight of water brings out my appetite. The absence also. Perhaps I have something in common with the path. Nineteen miles to work for after lunch. NPR assisted. Massacres in Egypt and plans to halt global warming by injecting sulfuric acid into the stratosphere were equally disturbing. Soon I returned my attention to the forest.

A long downhill was fueled by handfuls of picked wild blueberries. I approached a well-stocked camp with horses. Closer inspection revealed the horses to be morphing into lamas. I paid for the diversion of eyes with a severe stumble. The campers grinned. To cover up my indignity, I inquired about the availability of a gin and tonic. Unfortunately their mixologist was on break. However, one camper advised me that the upcoming stream was dangerous to cross. He suggested I would need water shoes. I look down at my only shoes and shrugged..

Oregon skyline without the trail

Orbit and the dark caught up at the same time. She hadn’t heard the beast that stomped and snorted through the previous night. It had woken me. I guessed a bear or elk or something from mythology. Still thinking about it when we came to Russell Creek and it’s milky glacial melt. The current was nasty and aggressive. The darkness pitched in an ominous bent. Upstream and downstream were searched. Patience rewarded with a doable rock hot. Happy for dry feet I immediately plunged into a deep mud puddle.

Packs heavy with lugged water we passed stream after stream unmarked on our maps. Pushing to possibly meet a friend of Orbit’s at a distant trail juncture, we ran into the demands of sleep, this time by a highway of water. Soothed, I reached for war, but my hand never made 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!

Stories from Steve

Steven "Blast" Halteman – Author, Adventurer

Tag Archives: PCT

Day 113 – Lost and in a foul mood

Day 112 – The long climb to elevation

Day 111 – Sunset in Three Acts

Day 110 – Bee stings, mountain lions and bagel mouth

Day 109 – Now I understand “going postal”

Day 108 – Morning sunrise, sunset to a friend

Day 107 – Here’s Johnny!

Day 106 – Attempting to find the “inner forest” – ended up just walking

Day 105 – Ice cream sandwiches c/o our favorite Scout Troop

Day 104 – Goal: Border by my birthday!