Monthly Archives: August 2013

Day 98 – Two dangerous words, then another

August 8, 2013
28 miles today
Mile 1877 on the PCT

Cars busying up the nearby highway prevented a sleep in. Thanked the rain gods for passing on night terror and considered my options for the day. Decided hiking would be best and set out. Still eight miles to water, but I had a half liter, so I left the water in the cache to others.

Mount Theilson

Mount Theilson


At six miles, rounded a corner to find Orbit smiling and looking upward. Two danger signs. The object of her affection: Mount Thielson, a 9162 foot peak. Thielson is craggy and sharp, with a pinnacle that looks like it was drawn by a Disney animator. To me it looked hairy. “It’s only about (another danger word) a mile up.” “Why not?” My unconsidered reply. Veggie and Slack appeared. “Yep.” “Yep.” I downed as much food as I could during their deep reply and we were up.
Mountain art on the way to the pinnacle

Mountain art on the way to the pinnacle


We started by walking, which flowed into slide shuffling as the pitch sharpened, which transitioned into four point simian movement as the scree turned nasty. Finally after an hour we reached the actual rock pinnacle and began climbing. Fairly technical and bordering on needing a rope, but with good holds, quite doable. The challenge was not letting the 100 foot fall become a thief who would steal your self-confidence. Past a tricky part and to a cozy crows nest summit. All were smiles at the world falling away around. And as always it was worth the effort. On top was a logbook. In it a young Jason wrote “I pooped myself on the rock part, but I’m happy I’m here.” Well covered, Jason.
Reflecting pool

Reflecting pool


On the way up

On the way up

Getting closer

Getting closer


Stormclouds gathered for their afternoon assault as we started down. I thought of Jason as I slowly made my way down the rockface. I made sure to hold tight in two ways. Then the fun scramble surf down to a fast lunch without water. Still trying to swallow when I hit icy Thielson Creek 2 miles later. Should I drink or should I delay gratification and treat. I’ll take parasites any day. They were delicious.

The thunder had started but didn’t seem overly enthusiastic. The day itself was getting on so I did also. It was 16 miles to the next water which was where I would camp. Sahara Oregon has been surprisingly dry so far so water has been determining night homes, Rather than mileage desires. Walked with Orbit for a while. An interesting conversation was interrupted by my observation of a blue peanut M&M on the trail. I turned around to dare her to eat it. But she was already chewing and smiling.

Walked through a hot pink sunset and arrived in Canada just as it’s last lingers bled away. Rudely, the mother of nature had placed the spring four tenths of a mile down the mountain slope. Perhaps I grumbled at cartographers as I hiked ever downward chasing a four tenths that forever raced ahead and down. The thought that each step needed a repeat danced poorly and miserably in my brain. But one must do what needs to be done. A quiet dinner and perhaps seven lines of war before the eyelids slammed shut.

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 97 – Orbit becomes a PCT legend & I bow to Crater Lake beauty

August 7, 2013
23 miles today
Mile 1852 on the PCT

Fell asleep in the pages of war. Woke up to the real thing. A massive cannonade at 2:30 signaled the start of an attack. I tried to ignore the onslaught. After an extended artillery bombardment of our position the pitter patter of bullets indicated that the enemy was drawing near. The intensity increased. No heroics for me. I surrendered quickly. And meekly, by putting up my tent. Soon the storm was directly overhead dumping rain and putting on a sound and light show. Ignoring weather forecasts is for fools.

Woke up part two to a wet and gray world. Drizzle is eased when a comforting omelette is loving and nearby. I started to pack up and head over for an embrace. A sudden violent cramp rushed me to toilet. With no time to dig a hole I miraculously spotted one already dug. I filled it. Emergency over, it came to me that I had just blocked the exit to someone’s home. I apologized the best I could but some ground dweller is going to have a crappy morning and learn hate thanks to me. Sometimes we do wrong in the world.

Slack & Veggie moving around the backside of Crater Lake.  Notice Veggie's strategic ass flap.  This covers a large gaping hole in his shorts.

Slack & Veggie moving around the backside of Crater Lake. Notice Veggie’s strategic ass flap. This covers a large gaping hole in his shorts.


Into the warm dining hall. For some reason all the PCT hikers were seated in a far section apart from the civilized. Their wall of collective odor a hint. All were still talking about “the event.” PCT legends usually build up around a sustained effort. This person completed the trail in 64 days unsupported or this guy wore a wedding dress the whole way or this woman walked the trail 17 times. But every once in a while a single event will create an instant legend. This happened yesterday. It seems Orbit was eating a hot dog coated with mustard while sitting on the ground in front of the general store. Multiple legend witnesses were seated around her. A large blob of mustard fell to her calf and ran down it. (Orbits calf, a general description. Though shapely, at that point, it was covered in the mud, crud and the beer of multiple days of hiking without any form of washing. A large swollen spider bite featured prominently. Through all of this grows a thick forest of hair that challenges both mosquitoes and cosmopolitans view of American womanhood.) Back to the mustard. As the blob made its way through all of this following gravity, Orbit casually reached down with her dog and swiped the blob back on by dragging her hotdog up her leg. She then took that bite. Silence, then pandemonium. “No! You didn’t just do that!” Her studied and deep response “Do what?” The PCT summed up in a single moment and a legend birthed.

Feeling in need of refinement myself, I took a lukewarm four minute $.75 shower and watched the water run black. Then put back on my filthy’s. A quick resupply and then set off for the trailhead. Every cold wet step I regretted my snap decision to rinse out my shorts during the second half of my shower. As we came up Ole and Track Meet came down. A good reunion, but as always, another close call when it comes to hiking together.

Wizard Island and me

Wizard Island and me

Veggie, Slack and Orbit

Veggie, Slack and Orbit


Climbed 4 miles to the rim of Crater Lake in a steady rain and cold gloom. There a warm café with top-end prices and bottom end food فياجرا جيل. A quick lunch and then a 26 mile waterless stretch awaited. The plan was to walk into the night and knock off as much as possible. But an immediate return to the misery outside was too much to ask. Hot chocolate and journal work delayed for one hour. It was a debated hour, but the waiters prevailed. At four we would go.
Crater Lake and my friend

Crater Lake and my friend

Four and still gloom and doom. At 4:03 the storm fled and glorious sun smiled on Crater Lake. Out came the cameras and smiles. A strategy of waiting actually worked for once. For five miles we circled the rim trail stopping often to gaze at Wizard Island and the bluest of blue water. At 1,900 feet it is the deepest lake in the States. Seventh in the world. By average depth it is the deepest in the world. It has frozen over twice in recorded history. My question is why doesn’t it fill up and overflow? I’ll let the photos do the adjectives’ work.

A view

A view


We flew along in good spirits that only good weather after bad can provide. The trail stayed kind as the light faded. Dinner at 8:30. Veggie and I wrapped up our review of the collective unconscious and I pushed on alone to escape the gathering cold. Orbit and Slack were happy as I left. Slack had gotten down on his knees and proposed to Orbit that she become his future climbing partner. He then handed her a rock. She accepted. My congrats.

Flying once again. The right temperature, trail, music, frame of mind. Through a tunnel of darkness. Core warm, belly full. I’m trying to describe perfection or is near to attaining it as I’ll ever get. Of course it can’t last. But that’s okay. A windstorm had knocked tree after tree across the path.The PCT turned into a miles long hurtling event. Tough going in the dark. But as Taylor Swift would probably say, “What doesn’t kill you makes you more romantic.”

Finally 20 miles into the dry stretch I hit the highway around 11 PM. There someone had left it a few gallons of water. But a passing night car will always cause a PCTer to slip back into the forest. I pushed on a little, found a flat and waited for the others. The usual track down and to bed we were. A good night and a good coma in record time. All thumbed their noses at the weather gods by cowboy camping. Nunc pro tunc.

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 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

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

Horse contributions to water quality

Hatchlings

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

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

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 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

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

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.
Day 94_Sugar shack

Shelter pump

Shelter pump

Night bunks

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

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

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

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

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

Orbit becomes an Oregon resident

Yep

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

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

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

Packs awaiting mules


Shortcut

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

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

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

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

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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

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

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

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

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!