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!

June 12, 2013
15 miles today

Plans evolve as information arrives. A simple comment changed everything, but I’m getting ahead of myself. The plan itself was to have a very leisurely morning, then hike eight miles to the base of Mt. Whitney, at 14500 ft, the highest mountain in the continental U.S. We would then store most of our gear in the meadow at the base, climb up five miles to just above Guitar Lake and camp. Early the next morning we could climb the remaining four miles to the summit in time for the sunrise. Plans like promises.

Breakfast was slow and communal. Red Beard had carried in pancake mix. Slack mixed up peanut butter from some dehydrated mix he had found in a hiker box. Lunch box tossed in olive oil. I figured out a way to turn my pot lid into a frying pan that would fit over my stove. And Orbit told everyone she believed in them. And that is how we passed the long morning, mesmerized and salivating as Red lovingly cooked up 30 sand dollar sized hotcakes. His method entrancing. After one side was cooked he would slide a small spoon under the cake and move it few inches off the pan. There he would wait, the cake balanced precariously, until the Zen moment hit him to flip. His accuracy rate hitting the tiny pan was a staggering 87%. Completely worthy of one of those knucklehead cooking shows.

The plan started according to itself. Moved along rock strewn paths through the kingdom of the marmot. A beaver like animal that is always fascinated by the rock around the corner. Arrived at the base meadow in the afternoon with visions of a sun soak, food and nap followed by a casual stroll to Guitar Lake. However, a PCT hiker walked into the vision. He mentioned that he had been on top of Whitney that morning and that a small hut in the summit was unlocked. Gears shifted. If we hustled, we could climb 4000 ft in time to see the summit, sleep in the hut, catch the sunrise, the make our way to Forrester Pass. Being the oldest in the jump I did not abuse caution. We were off by 3:00.

The photos will explain the scenery to you in ways that I cannot. Again and again I stumbled off path because my eyes would not stay down. The 7.6 miles to the summit never allowed for the next step to be lower than the previous but the pack was light, so all was good. Eventually the trail arrived at the edge line which was interspersed within Nepal like rock bridges that fell away sheerly to ones right and left. Then through some snow and a final clamor to the high point. Can one ever tire of hiking down on the rest of geography?

The sunset was still locked in future, but the cold wasn’t, so I headed for the hut. There to greet me, were Mok Mix and UB, two PCT hikers with the same plan as us. The hat was on 8’x8’ closet. UB said he was sure I would fit. I smiled as I said “And the three other behind me?” UB smiled back. All would be fine. It was 6:30 PM.

We crowded in. Various mathematical formulas were proposed to solve the sleeping puzzle, none of which appeared promising. Dinner formed and the hut being to warm. Feeling returned to the extremities, but so did my old high altitude nemesis nausea. Thus, what little I could get down was self force-fed. Sunset commenced and I gave it the respect it deserved, but the minute the green flash didn’t appear I fled the stabbing cold back to our oasis. Conversation dominated the dim light and the highlight was UB’s story. A condensed repeat.

UB heard of the PCT while living in San Francisco. He decided he could knock if off in 90 days. He trained hard at the gym and started the trail at 6’3” and 195 lbs. His first step took place on April 17. To complete the trail in 90 days would require 90 consecutive 30 miles days without a break. Challenge the PCT to a duel and she will shoot back. UB started fast and light putting up big miles. He lived on gel packs. The one night a mountain lion circled him during a night hike. In the ensuing standoff a cactus tore up one leg and recluse spider bit the other leg, which translated into a one-week hospital stay. Back on the trail he pushed hard to make up the miles. By the end of the first month he was down to 165 lbs and his body reeked of ammonia. A sure sign he had begun to consume himself. Rest and fattening sloe him. But still be pushed. Then he blew out his knee on a fast downhill. Another medical visit to be fitted for a knee brace.

The low point came, as it always must in a comeback story, on the descent into Walker Pass. A misplaced step, a fly in the eye, who knows? But UB broke. He hurled his hiking poles off a cliff, then his stove. He went to the dirt and rallied against the injustice of the trail. Tears exhausted, he sat up. What exactly does one do alone in the middle of nothing after beating the earth? No words of sympathy, ho helping hand. You get up and move on. And that is what UB did, but with a new destination, San Fran over Canada. As UB looped into Yogi’s Trail magic kitchen Walker’s Pass he figure his PCT sojourn was over. But the trail had warmed up to UB and gave a little love. “How about an ice cream sandwich?” were the finest words he heard under the blue roof. With that simple question, Ub returned the trail in spirit. Then he met Mok Mok, an Australian woman who counseled patience. UB began to see the trail as an experience rather than a race to Canada. Realizing he had taken as many zeros as hiking days to date, he changed his approach to savor over speed. When I met him on Whitney he couldn’t stop laughing at himself. I love guts.

We lay down in a contortionist jigsaw and attempted to summit sleep. For me it was not to be as nausea had brought along its high altitude had brought along its high altitude buddy insomnia. Still I was smug in my warmth, as the cold grew ever angrier at the intrusion of our shelter.

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 11, 2013
20 miles today
Mile 761

Woke up warm and danced a prone jig. The plan hatched, delivered on to higher altitudes. Slithered out of my shelter and found a rock in the sun with just the right meadow view and wrote down the events of yesterday. Slack accused me of being a modern day Thoreau. If only. Wrote my two pages and slipped them into a Ziploc, along with the last nine days. AT&T is not fanatical about blanketing the PCT with cell phone coverage. Without which I can’t scan the pages and send them off to Cirina who types and posts them. Maybe from the top of Mt. Whitney, though an unfortunate wind would render memories lost.

Fell into the automatic rhythm of the morning-breakdown, oatmeal and pack and walk. Left a note for Doc. MIA as to future plans. What could have happened to him? He was leaving Kennedy Meadows right behind me. Maybe he had patients to attend to. Always the mysteries.

The trail passed through miles of a landscape of granite sand interspersed with boulders and bizarre pines, seeking purchase in the sand. Their root patterns so shallow that a good shove would seem to tip them. Their weathered color beyond my words, but within reach of a great painter. I was fascinated by the fallen pines with their twisted core nude to the world. I stopped repeatedly to stare at the tree ruins, no two ever alike. Lost in my inner world, it took awhile to register the snowballs whizzing past my head. Orbit, Slack and Red Beard had waited in ambush. Their aim questionable, their arms more so. I was uninjured.

Arrived at an alpine lake for a long relax on the grass banks, followed by a dive into the freezing water. No rush as the day’s miles were not long. Met Lunch Box, a dentist to be, who would later catch us a trout for dinner. Off again, and quite clean from the dip.

My pack singing and talking as I went. When heavily laden, a pack makes noises that sound amazingly human. Constantly I search for who called out only to realize I am alone. Conversely and perversely when someone actually does call out, I ignore them because they are my backpack.

Came across a stream that was thickly bedded with wild onions. Dinner perked up. Pulled into yet another meadow camp from a dentist’s office poster. You know the ones that inspire calm before the torture. The thought of dentists bringing to mind the tooth that is yet again in my pocket. The talk around the fire that night was of an ambitious plan for climbing Mt. Whitney and Forester Pass on the same day. To the night.

June 10, 2013
25 miles today
Mile 741

The change is startling in its immediacy. The air is clearer, vision crisper, and all about is vivid. Julie Andrews comes to mind. Within, things change too. Just like when you return to a family reunion and find yourself falling into old roles, a return to the desert brings out my inner-kid, jokes, stories and all around goofiness. But the mountains are different. They instill a calm contentment that permeates my interactions. Perhaps I am even more adult like, though I resist even writing that.

Awoke, not true. Got up from a sleepless night only when the sun blessed my head. I had cowboy camped in a valley meadow at 8,600 ft. The bitterly cold air had hung low all night. Now it was in my bones as I drank from my water bottle clinking with ice. I whined to my compatriots who had all slept warmly. They, who had all grown up cold, smiled at the turning of the tables on the desert kid. I needed a plan, which in the end consisted of three steps to sleeping contentment. One, wear all the clothes I own to bed. Two, set up my tent every night to trap warm air. Three, figure out my sleeping quilt. Red and I looked it over. Turns out I’ve been sleeping with it upside down. Cue chuckle. Also discovered lots of bells and whistles on it that should provide more warmth. Optimism returneth.

Picture a seismograph in a big earthquake. That’s what an elevation gain and loss chart looks like in the High Sierras. Now strap on a heavily laden pack and you understand the day. The newfound adult calm is fortuitous; else there would be temper tantrums. So why do it? If you could trade eyes with me you would trade places too. In a heartbeat.

Headed down the trail I was lost, lost, lost in my thoughts. I glanced to my left and six feet away was Orbit lost her own thoughts. Problem was she was headed in exactly the opposite direction. It startled me tremendously. Where the hell is she going? Wait a minute, where the hell am I going? What’s going on? Turned out to be just a particularly tight switchback. The whole day was like that. Thoughts to awe, as the miles rolled past. Future courses of action, that had been drowning in murkiness, finally emerged from the muck. I now know what had to be done. Back to the awe.

Climbed to 10,600 feet and looked down at the drained and much abused Owens Valley where L.A. is a vulgar world. Our vantage point was a sheer drop that Slack dreamed of BASE-jumping from. I just remembered youthful urges. Later we summited a minor little peak and were rewarded with a wobbly, rocking boulder the size of a VW bug. Slack got on and I tried to rock him off the mountain. He was disappointed with my failure.

All day I experienced the fear the Taliban must endure. Over 25 sorties of fighter jets zipped directly overhead. Some of the flybys were 200 feet off ground. They sizzled the mountain and our senses, as we ducked repeatedly. I counted the bombs on their wings to pass the time. The hot-dogging was wild as I watched them doing barrel rolls through tight mountain passes. The training purpose was obvious. Those mountains were cousins to the ranges of Afghanistan. Hope they all come back.

A six-mile descent, that did an excellent imitation of 12 miles, brought us to a meadow with stream.

Arrived at 7 PM and declared home. The test of sleep ever-looming.

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 9, 2013
14 miles today
Mile 716

Kennedy Meadows is a fly-catcher, sticky tape kind of place. Some hikers had been there for over a week. With only 200 residents, services were limited, but what was there was directed at hikers and extending their stay. All you can eat options abounded. Having an open tab at the General Store allowed purchasing on impulse without pain. A large deck encouraged loafing. And, finally, packs engorged with heavy bear vaults and multiple days of food discouraged a return to the trail. Lethargy crept.

Awoke on a patch of dirt behind the General Store, knocked a large scorpion out of my shoe (they seem to have an affinity for me) and completed my morning adulations. Went down to the deck to wait for the sun and all you can eat pancakes. The crowd, a mix of locals and hikers was large and the wait long. By the time I had finished my pancakes it was time for a hamburger lunch and a beer. Time was abusive and our departure began its failure. Around two we rallied, closed our painful tabs and made a run for it. Four of us made it out. Doc, who was right behind me, got sucked back into the vortex and has not been seen since.

Climbed to a swimming hole for a last dip before a 2,000 ft ascent into the Sierras. While everyone was in swimming I hid two perfume strips in Orbit’s pack that I had torn from a Vanity Fair. Being completely opposed to all convention it was a cruel trick to play on her. The smell of the unwashed does not offend, but the stench of perfume turns her stomach. Her laughs of disgust when she finally discovered both strips rang through the mountain air.

Self-discovery is part of the trail. As I hiked a sudden flash of insight stopped me dead in my tracks. I backed up two steps and looked down and saw what my shoeprints looked like for the first time. Nice to recognize something that had been following me for over a month.

And then there it was. Over a rise, and a gigantic, majestic meadow reached up and grabbed all my senses at once. A door closed on the desert and opened on the mountains.

We were in the High Sierras at last.

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 8, 2013
22 miles today
Mile 702

Left camp intent on arriving and Kennedy Meadows, which is the gateway to the High Sierras. Most hikers are happy to leave the desert and head into the mountains, but I for one will miss her. The desert can be an oppressor if you reject or disdain her. But if you embrace her, she is an avid and faithful lover who will always reward your senses. As she did, yet again, this time.

Signed the trail register, at the start of the hike, by writing a note to a fellow hiker behind me. I questioned the speed of his hike and insulted his statehood. Trail registers act as a bush telegraph. You can leave message for those behind you and inform yourself about those in front of you. It gives the Internet a run for its money.

The first spring was located in the ruins of an old mining camp. The water smelled of sulfur, but the Gatorade vendor was not in residence so alternatives were nil. As we filtered, Slack sat down next to a small bush. This annoyed the rattlesnake in residence. Luckily the snake decided to move on rather than display his displeasure by putting the nip on Slack. ‘Twas a close call though.

Climbed up to a pass and then headed downhill for one last visit to the desert. Passed through yet another big burn. The soil here is pure sand. After a fire, all that remains are leftover pine stalks. It ends up looking like the Sahara with worms coming up for air. I mulled over two rumors I had heard. One, that after our bear run-in, yet more bears had shown up. Two, that the Powerhouse fire would be contained on June 10, after scorching 50 square miles. Forests seem to have a hard time of it here.

Arrived, after 17 miles of hot trek, at the Kern River. A beaver had dammed the river creating a post-card swimming hole. Accomplished bathing and laundry with one jump. Doc reappeared with six liters of Gatorade that he had back humped five miles from Kennedy Meadows, once again demonstrating his dedication to the needs of his patients. A pool party ensued.

And then to Kennedy Meadows where I opened a tab at the General Store and picked up various packages. The main package included a bear vault to store food in, new shoes, and an ice axe and crampons. Not enough snow this year to justify the axe and crampons, so they’re headed back. But I think I’ll hold on to the bear vault due to recent company.

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 7, 2013
30 miles today
Mile 680

Awoke back in California to the shout of pancakes. Ate eight. Had to let out the hip belt yet again. Am five pounds over my starting weight of 193. While everyone around me continues to lose weight I continue my march to obesity. Here is my list of excuses, what do you think? I’m 49 so my metabolism is slower. I’m a runner, so walking is not physically demanding and thus my body is not burning that many calories. Couscous and oatmeal, my dinner and breakfast every day, are incredibly fattening. I eat like a starved hog every time I’m in town. Or my desert body is in insulation panic about heading into the snow of the High Sierras. The whole subject is curious.

Learned about a new lottery system for rafting the Grand Canyon on a private river trip, from a hiker named Bagpipe. Note to future.

Left camp heavily loaded internally and externally. Carrying the full complement of 3.5 liters of water as there are springs in five and nineteen miles respectively. Unfortunately, for my spine, the first spring glows with uranium. Which makes it even more unattractive than the aptly named “Dirty Diaper Spring” I passed yesterday. The climb from Walker Pass, named for Senor Walker, an early 1800’s explorer who stumbled upon it, was long, hot, and stunning. Made my way past other pancake laden hikers who I had so recently had the pleasure of their company. Doc, who is supercharged by pancakes and has a hike total of 54, took off never to be seen again.

Arrived at the spring after 19 miles ready for a cocktail. Skipped filtering and drank straight. At the spring for the soon to be famous Battle Royale of PCT 2013 were Toots Mcgoots. Orbit, Slack and Red Beard. Lunches were spread. A relax started. Commotion. A young male bear cub joined the party, he being hungrier than us. Hikers scattered. Smokey headed straight for Slack’s pack and began to tear into it. I yelled at him and he charged me. In my defense I heroically fell on my ass. That panicked Smokey and he fled up the tree two feet in front of me. Karma and Halfway showed up, the latter just missed being hit by a shit bomb while passing under the tree.

A quick strategy session was concluded. Some would watch for Mama bear, whose potential arrival would escalate the situation dangerously. Others would fill water bottles. And the rest would stand guard with hiking poles. Then we would retreat as quickly as possible. But the withdrawal was impossible without water for the coming miles.

With our food packed away, and all of us up by the spring, Smokey came down from his lofty perch and renewed the assault. Now Smokey probably weighed all of 70 lbs, but when he charges and you see the length of his nails up close, one feels the odds are in his favor. The hiking poles and shouts in various languages, however seemed to even things up. Smokey’s repeated charges were all repulsed and we were able to escape with no casualties. Though one of Toot’s socks was half eaten. We placed a note on the trail warning other hikers of the standoff to come and returned to the climb through the Animal Kingdom.

After Smokey we passed deer, rabbits, squirrels and snakes, including a large Western Diamondback just off the path. It was a wonderful day that couldn’t get better until it did.

After 30 dusty miles some angelic soul left a case of black stout cooling in a stream at our finishing point. Even begin to try and imagine that first meeting of stout and windpipe.

Good night Smokey.

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 6, 2013
20 miles
Mile 650

Opened my eyes to the immediate destination, a 1,500-foot climb to the top of a peak. Not much light as 4:45 a.m. is still in the grip of night, but enough to get going, the coolness providing a quick push to the summit. Once on the crest, the path turned humanitarian and rolled along pleasantly through pine forests that scented the path in a way air freshener companies could only dream of.

The mood, as it has been on every day of the walk to date, was one of low-grade euphoria. All was clicking physically and mentally. The body had its job to do but the mind was free to wander off trail. Endorphins released as needed. Sights appeared at three mph, which provides a surplus of time to digest them. Distractions are limited to only those that you can create. Minor adjustments to pace manufacture opportunities to socialize or alone time. It’s just a great way to go about your day. Walk down the trail, nothing else. How can anybody get irritated doing that?

An ever-increasing descent brought me to Walker Pass. Rumors of a food spread laid out quickened the pace. Known in the vernacular as trail magic, some people just have nothing to do other than walk away from their normal lives, drive into the mountain and feed a bunch of hungry hikers. Cue my applause. Au-natural hiker was there, wearing a flash blue mini that did his legs justice. Now known as Coppertone, he was as compassionate as ever. Also there was Yogi, a genuine trail celebrity, who had authored a well-known guidebook to the PCT, as well as a number of others. The order upon arrival, “Eat and drink till you no longer can,” which I did for the next six hours. When the last of the spaghetti ran out, I still could, so off we went on our own and made Pad Thai. The ingredients were scrounged, none of them Thai, but as I closed my eyes, I could see the streets of Bangkok.

So ended a fine day that began gazing at a summit and ended as I fell asleep on the sand at Kho Phangan Beach. Kop Khun Krap.

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!