Category Archives: Escuela Verde

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

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

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.

A sunset in three acts. Act One.

Act Two.

Act Two.

Act Three.

Act Three.

Alpine glow post sunset

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

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

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

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

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

Religious sign. Note PCT trail symbol on right

Playing bridge chicken

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

A better century

Surf where you can find it

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

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

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

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

Goodbye Hood

Mount Saint Helens topless

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

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

Orbit on the edge


Tunnel Falls

Tunnel Falls

Orbit about to disappear

Orbit about to disappear

And reappear

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 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!

Here’s Johnny!


Insert twins and say, "Redrum."

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 offspring waterfall

Hood with friend on high

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

Makeshift bridge

Mount Hood up close and personal

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

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

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

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 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

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

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

Extremely optimistic young pine tree


Lunch View Lake

Lunch View Lake


Snack 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 Jefferson


Mount Hood in the far distance

Mount Hood in the far distance


The minutes before headlamp

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

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

Orbit’s treehouse


Three-Fingered Jack

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

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

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!

Day 103 – Sisterhood

August 13, 2013
19 miles today
Mile 2007

Cheated death by opening my eyes. Some other day, I suppose. My coffin back to a closet with the light of morning. Juice was delivered to me. I was really starting to enjoy my space. I became reluctant to come out. My fellow residents encouraged me to come out of the closet. A big step. Eventually, with their support, I felt safe enough and came out. It was better to be out. I felt more comfortable about myself. A new day and a new start.

Live mountain over dead forest

Live mountain over dead forest


An abbreviated town day. Resupply, laundry, paperwork, mail, computer work and so on. The requirements of civilized life compressed into eight hours. Sandwiched between bouts of binge eating, (a nutritionist suggested to a fellow hiker that binge eating was acceptable for through hikers,) a departing lunch of sushi, followed by panicked milkshakes as the trail drew near.
Leah, Orbit, Sisters and Sisters

Leah, Orbit, Sisters and Sisters

But the real show was the 21-year-old Smaka Sisters. Identical to the distant eye, covered by tattoos that distinguished when closer. Mirror personalities when closer still. Two completely different individuals when they opened up. As they walked down the street they would silently bump into each other at intervals, seemingly to exchange information like the phones in the commercial. Descriptive words that could be attributed to one or both: musicians, profane, snowboarders, artists, wild, welders, risk takers, jokesters, knife throwers, partyers, and slingshot experts. Dressed to the hilt as New Yorkers, they drew stares wherever they went. Their unspoken response: You want to stare we’ll give you a show. I knew them for 20 hours and enjoyed their company tremendously.
Five of us, plus packs, plus all the Sister’s possessions for a move to Portland, were jammed into a small Hyundai. Various laws were humiliated as we groaningly climbed back up the pass to the trailhead. A sad parting beneath a volcanic observatory, and back to the cinder grind. Our goal, a second pass called Santium Pass some 19 miles distant. A late start promised a late walk. A promise delivered as the sun angle low. The path turned west. The sun so bright that I felt I was hiking into high beams. I had to stare at my feet to move forward.
Observatory of rocks

Observatory of rocks


The dark set in. We came to packs by the side of the path minus carriers. A mystery. A ways on, a familiar laugh carried up the trail. We hid in the bushes. Soon Ole, Track Meet and Slack began their pass back from a quick touch of 2,000 miles. We jumped from the darkness screaming. They jumped back into the darkness screaming. Age old human entertainment. A reunion. Some small talk and a real goodbye on the trail where it belongs. The boys plan to hang in Bend for a while. Orbit and I plan to push hard for the border. Barring unforeseens our paths will not cross again on the PCT. We all know this. It is the way. Hiking is not a team sport. Groups of independent individuals may move together for extended periods of time. But in the end, everyone must hike their own hike. Alone or with others or both. All alone in the end.
Unknown guardian

Unknown guardian


The dark swallowed us each as we moved South and North. Soon, our own quick celebration of 2,000 miles. And more to the night. Focused movement and the silence that it brings. The sound of silence broken by the pitch of climbing motors. A highway cross and left beer. A halfhearted attempt to climb away from the noise. A home in a field of burnt out trees. A beer and a bagel for dinner. And an internal combustion lullaby to sleepland.

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 102 – I try out my new coffin

August 12, 2013
41 miles today
mile 1988

Up and on the road by 6:30 AM. A third-party cowboy-camped nearby asleep when we arrived and yet to stir at our departure. Jealousy at such a fine sleep. The sun circled up and started in on the lakes. Their steaming a reflection of a renewed acquaintance. I watched two River Otters play in the new light, their exhales carrying across the caused ripples. It’s good to walk in the early hours.

Lake tries to cool the sun in the early morning hours 1

Lake tries to cool the sun in the early morning hours 1


The path forward

The path forward


Crossed paths with Bandleader yet again. He is pushing to meet his father at the Timberline Lodge. A lost zero when calculating their reunion led to bad math. Which translates into 40-mile days as punishment, should he want to be there punctually. He took it all in good stride and strides well.
Broken top mountain

Broken top mountain


Wandered for miles through damp, mossy forest. Immersion in a landscape creates a permanent reality in one’s head. This is all there is and all there ever will be. An end to permanence causes a shock. And so it was when I broke out of the forest to behold the first of Triplet Sisters. The three volcanic mountains are fraternal, not identical. Can triplets be identical? Regardless it was quite the eye feast. Also on the new pallet were the aptly named Brokentop Mountain and Mount Bachelor. Luckily, the glue of the PCT suppresses the urge to leave trail and start climbing. The path gathered residents. Passed many day hikers, also multiple dogs schlepping packs. Two Rhodesian Ridgeback’s caused a bout of homesickness, being twins of my own. Then a pack train for horses allowed us to pass and then gleefully tried to run us down on a big uphill. The terrain pushed the forest back. A second sister made her debut. We forged down a wide glacier-formed valley. An uninvited lava flow had rudely covered about a third of it, the meeting point stark.
A lava wall

A lava wall


The miles flowed past like a boat floast on a lazy river. Lunch in a meadow cut by a shallow stream. Entertainment provided by the Pack Train’s arrival and refusal to cross said stream, much to their cowboy’s unsuppressed frustration. More float. We would easily make our 8:00 PM meeting time. The pace quickened as Orbit’s excitement at seeing her friends grew. I turned on a radio station, the only one I could get. It played the 60’s through the 80’s. Restored to my youth, I sped up in nostalgia of that faster time.
Orbit heading skyward through last stretch of lava

Orbit heading skyward through last stretch of lava


Obsidian chunks

Obsidian chunks


And then, when all was looking good, the trail turned on us. The float went over a waterfall. Into the lava fields we plunged. The last 10 miles were tortured. Twisting and turning, up one side and down the other, and forever crunching. Our speed butchered. But, oh, so beautiful. To see it, though, required a full halt. Eyes off-path plus movement equals trail suicide in the fields of our Lords lava. Orbit was having none of it. It was reunion time and she pulled away. I took in the sun’s retreat across the landline of lava. Savoring it and the trail magic mountain dew that fueled my final steps.
Obsidian falls

Obsidian falls


An emergence from lava onto a dark highway and alone. No signal to call. What to do but sit down to war. In the midst of a battle, an only chance, car. Aces in the back with a warm root beer and listening to Orbit and her friend, Lia, playing the catch-up game. As always, Orbit had gone down a different branch, thus our emergence on two points of the same highway.
Moonscape

Moonscape


Diamond ground

Diamond ground


First up, the Town of Sisters. A saloon fed me a pork sandwich that I will forever be grateful for. Then to a further reunion in a hotel room in the town of Bend at the well named Bend In Hotel. There we met Lia’s identical twin sister, Logan, followed by a surprise out of the bathroom from a third close friend, Leah.
Everyone carries their load

Everyone carries their load


Two sisters await

Two sisters await


Departing view of sisters

Departing view of sisters


The happiness and estrogen were bouncing off the walls. Orbit was finally surrounded by females. Out came a banjo and spoons. Music flooded. I faded. It was after 11. Time to hit the town. I passed and bid good night and crawled in the closet. Seven feet long by shoulder width, it felt like a Temple Grandin hugging machine. I closed the door to seal the dark. My thoughts arrived at a conclusion. “So this is what a coffin feels like. I think I’ll be cremated on that approaching day.”
Yet another day surrenders

Yet another day surrenders


End of show

End of show

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 101 – Long live leftovers

Day 101
August 11, 2013
33 miles today
Mile 1947

Thoughts of Jack’s parting words echoed through my awakening. “It is an honor to serve folks walking so far.” Right back at you, Jack. It was an honor to sit at your table. Left my tent lethargically suffering from a food hangover. Cockadoodlepoo as Ole would say, room for more. Crossed the tracks to the better part of town. Thought of the locomotive Veggie and I had beaten across our intersecting paths the other night. The conductor had tooted us but then cut his lights to limit our blinding. It’s the little things.

Tried to summit the mountain of leftovers, in fact we all did, but like all summits, there is wisdom in knowing when to give up and turn around. More fatalities on Everest happen on the way down then on the way up. Today was not to be our day to conquer. We left the summit for others and at 11 we withdrew and headed for the trailhead. Tammy, being her father’s daughter, smiled in triumph but did not humiliate the vanquished. It was good to see my friend and renew our ties. As I struggled away, I was immediately made aware of the impact on my knees of thousands of new calories.

Scene of the breakfast battle

Scene of the breakfast battle


Luckily, there was mercy in trail terrain. The path lazily passed the gorgeous, Catholic-inspired, Rosary Lakes. Each one beckoned a float of my bloat, but I stayed true to purpose. Slack caught up to me and we sorted through upcoming plans. He is coming up on his old stomping grounds of Bend and Sisters. His thoughts are of a couple of days catching up with friends and climbing. The pause would allow a reunion with Red Beard. Our meeting ended when we came upon Veggie, Ole and Track Meat already feeding their next growth spurt. Slack sat down to join the feast. The steaks of Tammy’s buffet not yet two hours old in their stomachs. Beyond my ability to grasp, so I kept walking. And walking.

Found my stride. On my own for hours with no recognizable footprints to track, my own plans began to percolate, then a familiar shadow, Orbit, caught up. Her lake rest had allowed me to pass. She told me her East Coast friends were passing through and could pick us up at the trailhead Monday night. This would require a push of 74 miles in 33 hours. Feasibility hatches plans.

Two good sounds from the forest today. Many trees had grown into contact in this area. Every gust of wind caused a rubbing groan. The other was the constant chatter of chipmunks. The sound similar to stepping on a child’s squeaky toy.

I lived on the fuel of leftovers into the night. Skipped lunch. Finally sat down after nine hours by a lake to attempt a bagel. The mosquitoes were having none of it. There, swarming prevented even a bag opening. So be it. Kept pressing. At 9:30 we called it. 10 1/2 hours, 33 miles and still fueled by the Dean Family generosity. A little soup, a big war and a day brightened by an old friend.

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!