Old Station

I slept in the exact same stealth camp I made last year. The ground was level with a little trough just the right size for my body. I slept like a rock. I slept in.

I got everything put away and went down to the pool by 7am. I soaked my feet and talked wtih 3 other people who were guests at the ranch. One was a man named Peter who was an illustrator who lived on the Mesa in Santa Barbara. Maybe I would see him at the Daily Grind back home someday.

For breakfast I had french toast with sausage and two blueberry muffins, 2 perfect, flaky croissants, coffee and grapefruit juice. Yesterday and today were the chef's days off so the food was not as incredible as last year, but it was all delicious and better than most places. The croissants in particular were to die for. I was stuffed.

I sat with Janet the writer again. We talked about Nepal. She had been there in the 80s when travel there was more difficult than now.

We heard there was a real thru-hiker outside so she wanted to interview him. I wanted to hit the trail.

I met the hiker, Moosa, and said I'd see him later at Old Station. Away I went down to Warner Valley Campground where the trail continued. I didn't want to do Drakesbad's secret shortcut to the trail on so full a stomach. It was too steep.

I climbed the trail up into the woods again. I walked along the pleasant trail, startling a mama deer and a baby faun. I passed some nice lakes and contemplated swimming, but it was too early.

At the junction with the lake-blessed alternative route, I opted to take the official PCT route and see what I had missed the other two times I had hiked through the area. I was sorely disappointed. It was indeed a boring, dry dirt road. I should have hiked along the lake route.

I timed myself to Badger Flat. I was hiking 3mph.

At the trail register at the park boundary, I met a section hiker with his dog. I signed the ragged register and found my signature from last year.

The hike through the pine plantation was as boring and awful as ever, but my feet did not hurt and I felt strong. I motored along as fast as I could go. I reached the junction to Old Station store and post office a little before 5pm.

When I arrived, Boon was sitting there waiting for Moosa. When I told him Moosa had just started eating and planned to hit the pool afterward when I left Drakesbad, he seemed a little annoyed. I told him he'd probably be no more than an hour behind me. He showed up faster than that.

The three of us went to the Hideaway and got the grand tour from Firefly. Huff-n-Puff made dinner for us. We showered and did laundry.

Tomorrow begins my thru-hike.

Near Drakesbad in Lassen National Park

My mom and Lowell dropped me off at Highway 36 around 8am. In less than 4 hours I had arrived at the North Fork of the Feather River. The forest and views seemed so different from last year when I walked through smoke in the later season. Things were green. The air was clear. Lassen loomed.

I sat next to the river and bridge for a while. I was not sure of the time since somehow my watch had gotten screwed up, but it still seemed like morning. I only had 10 miles left to get to Drakesbad. I could take my time.

The trail spent most of the rest of the day climbing gently over a ridge and then after entering Lassen National Park, the trail descended toward Boiling Lake and then Drakesbad and Warner Valley Campground.

I decided not to visit Terminal Geyser. I like the pretty colors of Boiling Lake best of all the features I have seen in the park. I had been through this stretch now 3 times.

I saw Lassen looming so close now I could touch it. It amazed me that just the other day it was far away.

I saw a buck with large antlers near Boiling Lake. It disappeared rather than run crashing away.

When I reached Drakesbad, I went inside the main room and a girl sweeping up said she believed dinner was all booked up for the evening. I was disappointed, but I was welcome to use the pool. I went down and soaked for an hour in the hot water. The water seemed much hotter than last year. My feet did not hurt like last year, but 20 miles was 20 miles and the floating in the hot water felt good.

I knew there was a copy of the Yogi book in the office, so I got dressed and went inside to borrow it in order to figure out my resupply strategy for Oregon and Washington. Inside the office, I spoke to Billie who said of course there would be dinner for me. On the way back to the pool with the book in hand, I passed Ed who gave me a hug and said there's always food for PCT hikers. I should come for dinner near the end at 6:45. Hooray!

I sat at the pool with the Yogi book and got a lot of useful information for how to resupply in the town-scarce states of Oregon and Washington. Basically, I have to buy all my Oregon food in Ashland and mail it ahead and all my Washington food in Cascade locks and mail it ahead.

At 6:45 I lined up for dinner behind young men getting seconds and thirds. I got plenty of barbecued hamburger, corn, potato and salad.

Later one of the guests introduced me to the editor of the PCT Communicator who wanted to talk to hikers for an artical. I sat with her until dusk swatting mosquitoes, drinking red win and talking about the PCT.

I soon had to go into the woods before it was too dark to set up my tent. As I snuck away, Ed commented that I did not eat very much. I had been so well fed the last two weeks I felt all filled up. I hoped I would have foom in the morning for breakfast.

I thought later how I had started my hike trying to repeat sections I had done before in different time schedules so that I could see the same areas differently. Not so this section, which seems optimal to do so that you get breakfast and dinner and a dip in the pool at Drakesbad. How on Earth would I be able to manage wtih all the deprivation and loneliness to come?

Highway 36 (Mom's house)

I got up really early by headlamp. I had a lot to do. I didn't know why, after having survived the deserts of southern California, but I was worried about the 13 mile stretch without water. I felt I had a lot to do to get ready for it. I needed to pack and I also needed to fill all my water bottles and make sure I took care of all water-related needs like teeth brushing before I left. I had the brilliant idea to make pudding in my cookpot and carry it with me carfully for an extra two cups of water. I put the pot in a ziplock and wrapped it in my warm hats to keep it cool. So I did all that while battling horrendous mosquito clouds and I was off down the trail by 5:45.

The hiking seemed relatively easy and my extra rest had done me good. Before I knew it, I had walked 7 miles in 2 hours. I don't usually walk that fast!

I ate my pudding at Humboldt Summit. I had not lost a drop in the morning's hike, and it was still cold and delicious. A car was parked at the trailhead. Maybe I would meet the owner.

The area around Humboldt Road surprised me. Before I had reached the road, I had been walking through interesting rock formations. It had reminded me of the area near Tahoe a little with mule ears blooming and rocky open areas along a crest. I could see Mt. Lassen in the distance looking larger all the time. I walked through interesting rock spires with vistas of mountains in front of me.

I ended up walking a semi-circular route all along the mountain crests that I could see from the hoodoos before Humboldt Summit. As I neared Butt Mountain, the last mountain of my route, I could see back to where I had come among the spires near Humboldt Road.

As I began the climb from the 6100 ft "lowest saddle" to the 7510 foot Butt Mountain turnoff, I looked up and saw Billy Goat headed my way. It turned out it was his car I had seen at the trailhead. He was nice enough to stop and talk to me a while. We talked a lot about food and how nice it is to be living out in nature. Billy Goat lives on the trail. I told him that I didn't feel that I needed to live on THIS trail to be happy. I had learned of so many interesting and beautiful places in my own backcountry on my journey from Santa Barbara to the PCT. I was looking forward to exploring those in the future. Any trail to live on would do, I figured. Amen to that, he said.

The climb to Butt Mountain was gentle and my two liters plus 20oz of water plus 2 cups of now-eaten pudding were lasting well. I skipped the water at Carter Meadow.

I met a section hiker going southbound who had climbed to the top of Butt Mountain. When I passed the turnoff I had a better idea of his accomplishment. It looked like a windswept, rocky crest surprisingly high in elevation.

I began the descent from Butt Mountain still unsure if I would make it to Highway 36. The trail went down forever. I was glad not to be walking up. I passed the halfway monument and stopped to read the trail registers. Not many of the thru-hikers this year had actually come up north this far. I figured that most of them managed to reach the High Sierra after the weather had improved and that most people would end up doing a regular thru hike. It was going to be lonely up here alone.

I finally reached Soldier Spring after beginning to worry I would run out of water. I drank some lemonade and decided it would be easy enough to complete the 3 or 4 remaining miles, although by now I was limping a little after rest breaks.

I descended through private property, clear-cuts and ranches, and at a sign that said 1.4 miles to the highway I called my mom on my phone to let her know I was almost there.

When I reached the highway, my mom and Lowell pulled into the parking area at exactly the same moment I walked off the trail.

They took me home where I washed my pure black feet and they fed me a delicious dinner. It looked like a zero day tomorrow since I had missed the post office today and I would need to deal with all my packages through to Ashland and also their own schedules. No problem. I felt I had earned it with a trip that spanned 24 mile, 30 mile, 19 mile and 27 mile days.

Here are pictures from this segment.

Cold Spring at mile 1308.6

Someone whose trail journal I have followed (crow) says you can't find a place more disappointing than Belden. To me, it did not appear they had breakfast. It was only 6am when I went through, but there were no hours posted on the door and looking in the windows, it appeared the restaurant was more oriented around the bar anyway. I made my own breakfast and ate it on their patio. Then I set off for what I expected to be a long day of climbing.

The climbing began gently, then the trail seemed to become old. The tread was very steep, not like newer PCT tread. I thought I might not be on the PCT, but then Justin, a section hiker hiking from Old Station to Yosemite appeared. We talked for a while. He seemed like a nice young man. He was surprised by the lack of water in some places on the PCT. It wasn't like the AT, he said. I've heard that a lot from people. Plus the condition of the trail with so many sticks and such faint tread surprised him. I told him that almost nobody hiked this section of trail last year so that may be why the trail is almost nonexistent.

I stopped at one nice creek and dunked myself completely in the water. That felt nice. I stopped at another creek and ate like I had been starved for days. I found out that broccoli and peanut butter is a good combination. My snacks overall were woefully inadequate.

After my feast of a lunch, I continued upward. At almost 2pm I finally reached the top after a couple of false summits. That made for an 8 hour uphill slog. I was rewarded for my efforts with both Shasta and Lassen in view at the same time.

On the other side, going down from Frog Mountain, there were still some small patches of snow. A small sign pointed to Frog Spring, 200ft. I decided to visit the spring and take a rest. The spring was a delighful little creeklet bubbling right from the ground.

The trail went down for a little while, then leveled out. There were lots of fallen trees over the trail. Soon I found myself at the lower edge of a long, green meadow. I coul dhear a large, loud animal bellowing somewhere. It sounded like Chewbaka from Star Wars. Was it Bigfoot? It was very loud, but I decided it sounded much like cattle, although much louder and more destressful. I was headed for a cattle trough in a couple of miles so it made sense.

The trail went gradually uphill toward the cattle trough. I was dragging myself. So tired. When I reached it, it was called Cold Spring, and there was a parking area on unpaved Humbug Road nearby with people sitting near their cars. I sat down next to the spring and pulled out the cous-cous I had added water to earlier. It had "cooked" itself perfectly and made a tasty snack.

There was a camping spot next to the spring. I pondered whether to camp for the night so early. It was only 4pm. I was tired. This was the last water for 13 miles. But if I stopped now, that woul dmean 27 more miles to Highway 36. I could get back to mom's earlier if I got in a few more miles now. But I did have food for 5 days, so rushing was not necessary. I decided to take a long rest to think it over and try in the mean time not to let all the curious insects buzzing all around me not bother me too much.

In the end, I decided to stay at Cold Spring. The section hiker in me chose pleasure over pain, I guess.

I set up my tent so I could have refuge from the green and yellow bees that wouldn't leave me a lone, the giant ants that kept crawling up my pants, the small flies and the raging mosquito clouds. I made dinner and set it aside to cool and cook in its own heat, jumped in the tent, chased out the green and yellow bee that follwed me, then shut the door to my refuge from the bugs. Ahh. I could take off my hat and long sleeved shirt and socks and finally really rest. It has been so hard to rest on the trail. Anytime I've almost fallen asleep when trying to nap, ants have crawlen up my pant legs and woken me up.

My hope now was for a good rest that would have me sailing up to 7510 ft. Butt Mountain turnoff tomorrow.

Belden Equestrian Trailhead at mile 1288.6

I got going before 6am. But I kept stopping along the way for water, to eat breakfast, to drink, to snack. Still, I made good time and got to Buck's Summit a little after 10. It was about 11 miles to there.

I looked at the Data Book and Belden was about 12 or 14 miles away, but I didn't want to reach Belden tonight. My preference was to get close, camp out for free, and arrive in town in time for breakfast, if they had any. So my plan for the day was to not rush.

I thought I saw a bear. I saw some prints and then I heard a large animal flee through the brush. All I saw was the rounded, brown back of the animal bounding away. The animal was relatively quiet, especially compared to deer which seem to crash through the brush when the flee. I could hear its soft feet.

The forest was very pretty and lush. Large white flowers adorned the underbrush. Thimble berries were in bloom. Lots of small creeks and springs made getting water easy. Occasional open areas let me see the views. It was very solitary out here, too, walking a trail with few thru-hiker footprints and knowing almost none of the thru-hikers were out here this far ahead.

When I reached Buck's Summit there were horse trailers. I followed fresh horse poop and tracks. At Clear Creek I met the horses and mules and their two owners, two men out on a fishing/hunting trip. It looked like they were going to catch a big bottle of Crown Royal more than anything else. I sat and talked to them for a little while. They let me know about the lack of water between Clear Creek and Belden. I thanked them and then set off. My plan now was to find a nice spot to eat around 4pm and then continue on to a dirt road listed in the Data Book for my camp. The dirt road would hopefully be flat and allow me to avoid the long, steep drop into Belden.

The trouble was, there were few trees on this portion of the PCT and it was very hot out. I never did find the dirt road, or possibly I mistook what the Data Book was referring to. I expected to see a real trailhead or something. Instead, the trail was simply wide like a road for a little while. I had been descending but I finally found a shaded spot near some rocks to cook my dinner and ate there. But there was nowhere to camp in the area, so I continued down the trail hoping maybe either the dirt road was still ahead of me or that there might be a little campsite on a switchback.

I descended through an open area. I could fathom the incredible drop coming ahead. I found a little surprise spring the hunters had not mentioned and drank a little extra water there. The trail was very overgrown and at times I could barely find it.

Soon I began to switchback in earnest. I searched for little nooks and found a few, but it was still too hot and sunny to stop. I felt committed now to the whole descent. I kept arguing with myself: Go all the way to Belden and have an ice cold beer? No, then I'd have to pay to sleep. Stop at the next little nook and get breakfast? No, I really want a beer!

Eventually I ended up all the way at the bottom at the railroad tracks. I crossed them and found a trailhead parking area and disturbed some naked people sleeping in the back of a flatbed truck. I decided to set up camp in the parking area behind the outhouse where the naked people could not see me. Now I did not have to pay to sleep and maybe I'd have a chance at some breakfast in the morning. The bummer was that if there was one thing I wanted more than anything right now in this scortching summer heat it was to have an ice cold beer and to be able to say I walked 30 miles today. As it was, I thought I had hiked only 29.

It was so hot I had to eat my Hershey bar with a spoon and I slept with just my bivy sack and no sleeping bag until about 1am when I could finally use my sleeping bag.

Seasonal Spring at mile 1259.8

I'm not really sure where I camped for the night. I took a guess that I had hiked about 25 miles. I had a hard time finding a campsite at the end. It was getting on toward 8pm so I took the first thing I could find. It was almost level. I could make it work. The mosquitoes were terrible there.

My mom and Lowell drove me up to Quincy-La Porte Road and I began hiking around 10:30 in the morning. The trail went mostly down until I met the Middle Fork of the Feather River around 3pm. There were 50 fallen trees along the way. Someone was camped at the river. I stopped there for something to eat and to fill my water.

I bumped into the remainders of the Donner Party. Only two remain. One was the woman I shared a room with in Lone Pine at the hostel. I couldn't remember her name. They both looked very tired.

I met some section hikers. One was a woman hiking with two young guys. She was friends with Rockstar. One was Trekker, a man from the PCT list. Trekker said I looked too clean to be a thru-hiker. How insulting! I'm not a thru-hiker, certainly, but give me a day and I'll be just as dirty as one. Trekker is part of the reason I had a hard time finding a campsite. I passed one level spot and thought, since Trekker was behind me then, that he would need it more than I. After that spot there was nothing for a very long climb. I hoped Trekker took that spot.

I saw something blue and squiggly run away from me. A skink? I saw a baby faun. It was only about 18 inches high at the shoulder and had strangely stubby little legs. It made a lot of noise as it hopped stuntedly away from me. I had startled it from under a log. I watched it go for quite a long time.

At times the forest was so thick, with warm still air and a thick carpet under my feet, it felt almost like going indoors to walk for a spell. The forest was lush and green and dark like I remembered it from when I left the trail at the end of Section O last year in Dunsmuir.

I played my pennywhistle after the sun set and heard birds chirping around me. So I stopped to listen to them instead. It was warm all night. I realized I did not need to carry around all the warm layers I had used in Yosemite in the snow and cold anymore. I planned to send all that stuff ahead.

I could hear snoring by the wee hours of morning. I thought it was Trekker, but it turned out to be two trees rubbing together.

A ribbon of bright orange on the horizon was beautiful through the trees. It was time to get up, go find water and have breakfast.

Did I complete Section I? You be the judge

Does it count to say that I completed Section I of the PCT if I mostly didn't actually walk on the trail? I say that I did. You be the judge. Here are my most recent posts since my last batch.

• Tuolumne Meadows
• Tuolumne Meadows again
• Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne
• Above Pleasant Valley at trail junction
• Near Macomb Ridge Pass
• Near Kennedy Canyon Creek
• Bridgeport
• Another night in Bridgeport

Meanwhile, here are photos from my trip east from Santa Barbara to the PCT, Through the Desert and Into the Sierra.

Another night in Bridgeport

Crazy sounding honking noises came from each tree nearby my tent last night as the sun went down. Small birds swirled in circles around my tent in the morning, cheeping as they went by me. It was very cold at dawn, but also dry. Even my clothes, which I had worn in the hot spring were dry by morning.

I set off back to town early enough to do a little shopping before breakfast. I really wanted to find a map to help me through Section J. Lenny's map had been so handy. I could not find any maps of the area, however.

I went to a little coffee place to use the Internet and update my journal. I tried to call Tony but was unsuccessful. I met Lenny and Chuck for breakfast, but I was late and they had already eaten. They waited as I ate an omlette.

Chuck let me take a shower in his hotel room. It had been at least 9 days since I had washed my hair. Even when I had swum in the rivers, my hair had stayed dry and so never had gotten clean. It took four applications of shampoo before it was clean.

I started thinking about my options. I really did not want to go back out there. I had had enough. I wanted to enjoy myself and not just endure. I wanted to experience the beauty of nature and not just survive its extremes. I knew I had pushed the upper limits of my abilities and crossed the line a few times, too. I wanted to feel safe. And yet, a part of me was amazed and proud of what I had just come through. The accomplishment felt great. I felt strong and powerful. Nature had thrown a lot of obstacles my way -- some of my deepest fears involve water -- and I had taken them all. I almost wanted to say, bring it on. I wasn't sure which pulled harder at me, the adventure and great stories to tell or the quieter, calmer, more sublime experiences I really prefer.

Whenever it's hard to decide something, sometimes the best thing to do is nothing. So I committed to do nothing today.

As I was sitting in the park I saw two hikers arrive into town. I tried to chase them down, but they disappeared. I figured they would turn up later, and later they did. They turned out to be Rob and Fluffy Puff. They had hiked southbound from Echo Lake through Section J. They told me that it had been mostly covered in snow and that they had spent a lot of time postholing and route-finding and even had gotten off-course by about 5 miles. Elephant Back mountain had been treacherous and frightening. I felt so let down. I did not want to do this anymore. They didn't want to do it anymore either and had come to Bridgeport to rest and figure out what to do next. I told them about our experience in Section I and gave them tips on crossing Falls Creek early before the Tilden Lake outflow in case they were going to continue.

I found Lenny and Chuck at the Pony Expresso and told them about meeting Rob and Fluffy Puff and their experiences in Section J. Chuck looked so let down. Lenny was unfazed.

Chuck mentioned that cellphone service was good from his hotel balcony so I went up there to call Tony. I had a nice talk with him. Then I called my mom. Friends were coming to visit her tomorrow. It seemed like the best thing to do would be to take a bus up to her neck of the woods and visit for a few days. I now had a plan that didn't fill me with dread.

Lenny decided to return to the trail. I said good-bye to him and thanked him for helping me through Section I. I could not have done it without his help. He seemed disappointed I would not be coming with him. He is hard-core, but he needs company, too.

I planned to hike back out to the hot spring for another cheap night under the million stars. But I bumped into Rob on the way and we sat for a while in his hotel's living room. I then realized that if I didn't wash my clothes, I would be very offensive to others on the bus tomorrow. Rob said he'd do my laundry for me since I have nothing proper to wear when my laundry is being done. Since I had nothing to wear, I got a room.

I wasn't sure what I would do after visiting with my mother. But snow would have a chance to melt and days would have a chance to pass. Maybe someone would come out soon with a chainsaw and clear all the deadfall from the section I needed to do between Quincy-LaPorte road and Chester. That section is my last missing piece before I can resume my hike from last year and finish to Canada, weather and conditions permitting. And it's so full of deadfall that it sounds as bad as the snow.

Chuck decided to take the bus tomorrow, too, and try to get to Tahoe. Our group of three through Section I has broken up. It was so good to be with others. I could not have done it without Lenny's snow and route-finding skills and Chuck's moral support. They were my trail magic this section. The trail giving me what I needed just when I needed it.