July 26, 2013
30 miles
Mile 1555
Hitching out of Mount Shasta
Up at six. For whatever reason, the sunrise had wings. Decided to shake up my hiking strategy. Condensed, I’m going to put the hike first. Get up and go. Everything secondary to movement. So I skipped writing and was on the path by 6:30. My goal, 30 miles every full hiking day, as long as my knee cooperates. We will see, which sounds much better in Spanish – Vamos a ver.
Flying sunrise
Enjoyed hiking through the cooler hours. Passed a couple of hikers that I had passed a couple of days before. My pace is quicker, but their superior ability to limit town exposure will have us arriving in Canada at roughly the same time. Savored the light show that brings the world into focus every morning. Ran out of water long before the 9 miles had passed to the next water source but the coolness kept me from uncomfortable. Still it was nice to see the wildflowers that always surround a spring.
Owwiiieee !
Lunch was at Deadfall Creek around mile 17. As I put mile 16 in the books my mind and stomach were already sitting down to dine. My left foot, however, was still in the present, which was a rock that halted it’s forward progress. A backpacker is by nature top-heavy. Two things happened simultaneously. I tilted forward. And my right foot rushed North to compensate. The rush ended quickly when the right foot met the rocks ambush twin. Nothing left but the fall from grace. Managed to get my hands, but not the necessary unutterable, out. The landing was hard and skidding. I lay stunned for a long time listening to the rocks I dislodged rolling down the hillside. Took note of the blood on the trail and a deer upwind grinning at me. Got up very slowly and searched for the bloods exit points. My arms and hands were torn up and a couple of good shots to the ribs but I would walk on. The anger welled. I tore the offenders from the earth and threw them down the hill wishing they were full of nerve endings like me.
Tornado forming?
Stumbled to the creek in a foul humor. There I ran into a group of senior day hikers who showed compassion for my dirty, bloody wreck by loading me with leftovers. The trail taketh and giveth away. I cleaned up in the creek and then gorged. Orbit rolled in and we caught up as the weather entered into its own foul humor. Pushed on to Chilkoot Creek as the rain came down. Rain jacket to body and all critical backpack material stuffed in a large trash bag liner. It being July the rain naturally turned to hail. Into the mix entered thunder and then lightning. Timed to my crossing of a pass. The mother of nature having issues with me today.
The hail starts
Hail carpet
I raced for a home that was low. Robbers Meadow appeared and that is where I called it. Tapped out to the weather. Set up in the rain and easing hail. My core was wet and iced so I got in my bag and hid for an hour. Wild gusts of wind tried to collapse my tent. I wondered why not a tornado? Finally the shooting stopped and it was safe to crawl back into the world.
Bed for the night
Found enough dry wood under a tree to get my stove going. The fact that dinner was hot was more important than its taste. I looked up. Nature, with its short-term memory, serene to all horizons with stars. I watch the various airplanes fly at each other, but the real show was the vastness of space free from artificial light. Eventually I found it overwhelming and returned to my sleeping bag and death row.
Steve Halteman
On the Pacific Crest Trail
Hiking the PCT for the Kids of Escuela Verde
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