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!

Day 100 – Happy Century Day!

August 10, 2013
0 miles today
Mile 1912

Big sound screamed wake up, ever-increasing, ever more alarming to the groggy. Reached for the panic button to pump adrenaline and flee. Then the locomotive passed. The wisdom of camping 100 feet from train tracks a morning topic. Wandered down to the store for a bulk cereal and milk breakfast. Took it by the fire pit that had been taken over by PCT hikers, the heat of the fire good against the chill of an Oregon winter morning. Happy Century Day to Orbit and Myself.

The Alaska hikers, with their huskies, departed just as Ole and Track Meet appeared, their pursuit complete, and then my reunion with Tammy Dean, an old and good friend who I had taught with in Japan and who is now the CEO of a bumper car company. At times I have modeled on her bumper cars at tradeshows. This demonstrates either the height of friendship or a serious misjudgment of talent on her part. She came bearing cupcakes, toys, friends and the keys to a pontoon boat.

The friends were Martha and her three kids Alma, Sam and Jacob. Loaded up the boat as the sun suddenly showed promise. I was appointed captain. As soon as I figured out F, N and R on the shifter, we were off. Buzzing around the lake at full throttle with five bearded pirates made boarding other boats difficult to resist. Decided to spare the children from bloodshed and instead stopped and ordered a full bathing for the unwashed. Then Martha tortured us with descriptions of the menu at her organic restaurant. An oncoming storm forced a retreat to Harbor. There, my pathetic attempts to dock resulted in an injury to deckhand Slack. Leaping for the dock to end the hopelessness, he came up short. A ricochet. Blood in the water being part of the life of a pirate.

Jack and Sandy, Tammy’s parents pulled up to complete the reunion. No two better people live in Oregon. Jack is famous for having lived to tell about a chainsaw that pierced through his stomach and out his back. They had brought 18% of a supermarket and every form of portable barbecue that exists. His simple challenge “you can’t eat it all.” “But we can,” the collective response. It was on.
Dau 100_Old-school bridge
An umbrella tent went up, for the rain came down. Steaks came and went. Ole tried to regain his lost 40 pounds in one afternoon. A silent concentration hovered over the picnic table, and then a savage realization that the battle was unwinnable. Jack smiled as one by one his victims fell away from the picnic table. He continued to cook and gloat in the rain. A roll call of his victims, Veggie, Slack, Orbit, Track Meet, Ole, and Blast. Jack’s victory pose consisted of holding a plate of steaks and gently asking “room for another?”

PCT general meeting concerning average mileage

PCT general meeting concerning average mileage


Games on the grass with Alma and Sam followed and then a run into a supermarket for resupply. Getting caught up with radio station music put everyone in fine spirits. With multiple musicians jamming in the giant truck cab, improvised riffs on impoverished pop songs had laughter echoing. Upon return the mandatory face paint by Alma’s face design. The winter moon came early and the cold began to bite.
Action billiards

Action billiards

Bar Facebook photo immortalizing PCT raid

Bar Facebook photo immortalizing PCT raid


In search of warmth, we moved to the fire pit, but it was over its occupancy limit. So it was off to a bar. Warm and with three pool tables, we were good to go. People kindly ignored the target painted on my forehead, Veggie’s dropping ass flap and our general malodor. The bartender even took a group photo of the PCT raid for the bar’s Facebook page. At midnight, shop shut down and we returned to air that hinted of snow.

Back at camp where the conversation revolved around news that two hikers had broken the speed record for the PCT this year. A man finished in 59 days and a woman in 60 days. The man was supported while the woman was not. This smashed the old record of 64 days. Crazy impressive. But as I walked back to my camp by the tracks, meteors showering overhead, I wondered how many games of pool did they get to play?

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 99 – Goldilocks meets Waylon and Willie

August 9, 2013
25 miles today
Mile 1912

Awoke to a specific destination. A longtime friend will meet me and new friends at Shelter Cove on O’Dell lake. The plan is to diverge from the PCT in six miles onto the Oregon Skyline Trail. Then follow it to the Cove. All seems attainable. Orbit, being the only one smart enough to carry maps on a hiking trip, set off first. I second, some 20 minutes later. At six miles, Orbit left a wooden arrow indicator and a section map. I left the map for Slack and Veggie and dutifully turned right. After a mile another arrow, I turned left, my Goldilocks imitation perfect so far.

A nag as I hiked, sign after sign I did pass, but no mention of the Oregon Skyline Trail. As the miles passed I turned my back on the nag. The trail was not much used, Orbit’s footprints were thus clear. If she was lost so was I, if not, not. I relaxed to a fate not in my hands. But oh how I wished she were taller, as I face whipped spider web after spider web. If it was the Skyline Trail, then the name was a fantasy, because the path passed through low, swampy terrain. Scrub pine and mosquitoes supplied the vista. The sky was up there, but never at eye line.

Atmospheric rainforest moss

Atmospheric rainforest moss


More arrows and twists and turns. I kept picking up breadcrumbs. To pass the time, I listened to NPR, all interesting until the presidential news conference. The big news was yet another wildfire threatening the PCT, this one again in the Angeles national Forest – 20 mi² and 16 Homes destroyed. Bearing down on Cabazon and Ziggy and the Bears I wished them spared. As I listened to the President come up with the incredibly original political idea to form a committee to study the problem, I came to a T-road juncture puzzle. Heeding Mr. Obama’s advice I decided to sit down and wait to form a committee.

As the last of my sparse food became stomach tenants, Slack and Veggie arrived. Veggie had grabbed Orbit’s last map offering. We tried to study it. The issue, Orbit has 20 negative 10 vision, so she had shrunk her maps to microscope scale. This makes the paper lighter, but unreadable to normals. The arrows had dried up so we were left with the postage stamp. I could just make out a black line, a red line and a blue ink smudge. I declared the smudge to be Crescent Lake, the black to be our road and the red to be our destination trail. Alternatives, none. I picked a possible direction and we walked.

A pine eats its namesake PCT symbol

A pine eats its namesake PCT symbol


More signs but no skyline. False turns and explorations. Arguments and doubt. A gaining certainty on my part that we were on the right track. The gut instinct I’ve learned to trust over the years. On a path we ran into three women on horses. They bestowed a photocopied map that had readable information. Then proceeded to point us in the opposite direction of where their map said Odell Lake was. I went with the map. Some more chatter but I was short and obstinate. A way I get when hungry.

And then they matched. We were winding through a horse camp and the map said Horse Camp. If that is true, then the path must be “there.” I pulled out Orbit’s map to cross check. Low and behold there was a tiny horse head. I couldn’t believe it. Then I couldn’t believe it, because I scraped it and it turned out to be a smashed mosquito. We walked to the “there” and, multiple trumpets, there began the path to Odell Lake. Orbit signaled approval of our arrival by leaving another postage stamp on the trail post. And of course, still no Skyline Trail sign. I think Oregon disowned their skyline.

I strapped on the headphones, cranked up NPR, and jammed down the highway to hotdogs. I listened to a long discussion about top female corporate execs leaving the corporate world to raise a family, and changing their mind and the difficulty of reentering. I shuttered with pleasure at my avoidance of the hooks of a corporate life. The stories stacked up, as did the miles. My attention diverted from starvation. The path left the swamps and turned down into a fantastic gorge. The falling stream crashed through the headphones. Rainforest thickened and moss hung theatrically. What skyline there was withdrew. I closed in on dogs.

Waylon and Willie

Waylon and Willie


And then Orbit under a tree with a proper six pack of beer and a beeline to the store, the hotdog even bigger than my inflated imagination, followed by everything else edible in the store.

The night turned grey and cold. Oregon summer weather. The forecast miserable. My friend to arrive tomorrow. A big group fire was going on. I drifted over. A seat was put under me, a beer in my hand. My chill lifted. Two guitars appeared. I listened to Lukenbach, Texas, through the sparks. My smile grew ever wider. Thanks Oregon Skyline Trail wherever you are, and happy 100th day to Red Beard and Slack.

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 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

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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!