Tall Mountains, High Winds, Infernal Deserts, Face-Slamming Ice, and Big Miles

To backpack from the Mexico-California border to Wrightwood (369.6 miles) it took us thirty-four days.  To backpack from Wrightwood to Kennedy Meadows (332.5 miles) it took us 23 days.  At first glance this might not seem like much; a mere eleven days quicker for what would be a roughly six hour drive on the highway for a right-lane driving traveler.  To a Pacific Crest Trail hiker, this difference in mileage means one thing: Big Miles.  Our first day out of Wrightwood we managed 14.5 miles, but yesterday, we managed a monstrous 25 miles.   Our bodies have finally adjusted to the rigors and demands of thru-hiking, and with them, so have our appetites.

Despite the seemingly low mileage, our first day in this long section was by no means an easy one.  We hiked a few miles to Vincent Gap and from there summited Mt Baden Powell, which brought us up about three thousand feet in less than four miles to an elevation of 9359ft.  Baden Powell’s switchbacks were available for most of the ascent but we did have the fun of moving over ice and snow for the last quarter-mile.  Going up Baden Powell on a weekend also gave us the unique experience of hiking a popular day-hike with day hikers and I must say—there is a certain kind of satisfaction that one gets from doing an extremely difficult hike with a backpack containing enough equipment and supplies to backpack for a week and still be able to pass every day hiker along the way.  After Baden Powell, and after all the day hikers went their separate ways, we continued on to Little Jimmy campground.  This little bit of bravado came with both benefits and costs—pedial pangs and an amazing sense of satisfaction.

The PCT hiker that comes up must come down.  The following day we had to lose most of the elevation we gained ascending Baden Powell, immediately regain it by nearly summiting Mt. Williamson to the north, and then embarking upon a knee-breaking drop—a couple of thousand feet down, a couple of thousand feet back up, rinse thoroughly and repeat.  This day ended where the trail’s water source let us, Camp Glennwood, a Boy Scout camp with no Boy Scouts in sight.  We greatly appreciate there being water here and the fact that the Scouts allow PCT hikers to access their water.  It’s a shame that in this is wonderful little wooded area that other travelers here feel the need to shoot their firearms at the Boy Scout’s building, picnic tables, and ovens.

Enter the Poodle-dog Bush.  The 2009 California Station fire left vast tracks of forest in the Angeles National Forest areas burnt to a crisp and a pesky little turricula has had no qualms taking over large swaths of these burn areas.  The plant looks and smells like marijuana in its early stages but there are no redeeming medical attributes to it.   Older plants take on an innocent baby Joshua Tree-like appearance, but do not reach to the heavens.  The tops of many of these plants look like the heads of the Instant Martians that tormented both Bugs Bunny and Duck Dodgers, but there is little to laugh about when traversing these little nuisances.  Poodle-dog Bush’s stalks and leaves contain tiny needles, and its leaves and flowers contain a lovely and easy to spread oil.  Either can produce a rash that’s worse than poison oak.  On top of all this, Poodle-dog Bush is unavoidable on the PCT.  We went through this section, the worst of which was on Mt. Gleason, slower than we traveled through Mt. San Jacinto after the big snow storm.  Its presence evoked all sorts of foul and defamatory language, and initially caused us to hike more carefully than we ever hiked before.  Eventually the density of this damn plant caused us to give up on negotiating a neat little path around each patch and we opted to partake in some Poodle-dog Bush destruction.  We shoved the bottoms of our feet over the bottom of the stalks of these plants and we broke their little Poodle-dog necks without mercy.  I found myself so upset that I often caught myself trampling and breaking these plants even when it was unnecessary.  Each such occasion was complete with a revelation of both futility and superfluity, and then a slight sense of remorse in the lingering and unneeded destruction we were creating.  The end of this day began our acquaintance with three other thru-hikers—Rubs, Southern, and Lucky Nalgene—who had also just gone through the Poodle-dog Bush madness.  I suspect that thru-hiker comradery aside, our common foe that day made us all instant friends.

Mt Gleason wasn’t the last of our Poodle-dog Bush encounters, but it was at least the end of the Poodle-dog nightmares.  From here we were able to make better mileage and hike with appreciation for nature instead of frustration.  We also hiked past a section where some mechanical Poodle-dog Bush massacres had occurred.  The stalks were very obviously chopped in a uniform and violent fashion that left miles of trail after the Messenger Flats area free of the plant.  We cheered.  When we camped at the North Fork Saddle Ranger Station, we met Ranger Todd, an awesome individual who left water caches out for thirsty hikers.  He also had some bad news for us: a Poodle-dog Bush rash could take anywhere between two hours and ten days to manifest itself.  Great.  The following day after the ranger station, we decided to indulge ourselves.  We camped at the KOA campground outside of Action, California.  Here we bumped into some of our old trail neighbors, Twist and Tailgate, as well as Dreamlaugher.  At the KOA for five bucks a piece we all indulged in showers (and a little creative in-shower laundry).  Here there was also relatively easy access to beer and take-out from a local restaurant, and a whole lot of hiker chat.

Tucked away in a little known part of Los Angeles County is the quiet community of Agua Dulce.  The Pacific Crest trail after winding through Vazquez Rocks County Park pours directly into this town, specifically on Agua Dulce Canyon Road.  One can experience downtown Agua Dulce in its entirety in a matter of hours and for a PCT hiker and every restaurant offers a generous hiker-discount.  Travel down the boulevard, take a right on Darling Road, and in about a mile or so a thru-hiker will find the home of two amazing people—Jeff and Donna Saufley.  Copernicus departed early to spend some time with his girlfriend, but I stayed and loved every minute of my nero and zero days. 

Staying with the Saufleys is a magnificent treat and heartening reminder that there are people in this world who enjoy being benevolent for the sake of benevolence.  Here Donna does everyone’s laundry and when she is unable, a past thru-hiker with an omni-present smile (and extremely tight hugs) named Sugar Mama lends her hands into the laundry-room brawl with some of the most putrid and filthiest clothing known to man.  The Saufleys also have a trailer for hiker use which has a shower, bathroom, kitchen, couch, television, a large collection of movies, and plenty of cozy areas to crash, slouch, and lay upon.  Around this homely property there are also as many chairs as there are dogs (there are a lot of happy dogs running around this place) and a large collection of white tents complete with cots that were erected and set by the Wolverines (a rough and roving band of generous trail angel labor) just before we left to continue our hike.  If there was anything a hiker needed that wasn’t in this little Hiker Heaven, the Saufley’s also had a small fleet of bicycles that I and many others had no reservations about making use for; Agua Dulce was a town that was very good to our stomachs.

I don’t recall the television ever being turned on while I was there.  The environment was so perfect for hiker-trash socializing, drinking, and toasty evening campfires that the television seemed to receive absolutely no loving.  The environment also provides for an opportunity to talk in greater length with our trail neighbors.  Our first day in we met up with Twist, Tailgate, Rubs, Southern, Lucky Nalgene, and Dreamlaugher.  The topics that arise during zero day conversations rarely change (food, gear, food, the trail, food, and excrement.  However, every so often the combination of a place like the Saufleys, staying up after seven or eight in the evening (hiker midnight), a few beers, and a toasty campfire will produce discussions about why we’re hiking.  Thru-hikers are all crazy.

Leaving the Saufleys wasn’t easy, and the weather and terrain weren’t particularly kind to us.  We hiked a tough 17.2 miles over a number of manzanita and lilac covered hills with few opportunities for shade (albeit we took advantage of every shaded chance to stop) to a water source we planned on being dry—the Anderson’s Hiker Oasis.  While carrying our five liter water insurance wasn’t pleasant, the presence of a well-stocked cache was a blissful experience.  Here we enjoyed a small beer cache and drank an extra liter of water without worrying about depleting our own supplies too soon.  This cache was also the most colorful and playful one to date, it was complete with a amble quantity of lawn chairs and old Halloween decorations.  Who doesn’t like hydrating in the presence of Dr. Victor Frankenstein’s monster?

The following day we made a mid-day stop at the Green Valley Ranger station where we hitched a ride to Joe and Terrie Anderson’s home, also known as “Casa de Luna,” for a little bit of hippie daycare while waiting out the afternoon heat.  The Andersons spoiled us with shade, beer, and a very filling lunch of grilled chicken, hotdogs, and potato salad.  Before departing we signed the banner and posed for a picture with all the other hikers present, complete with a full moon from Terrie just before Joe snapped our group portrait.  Joe took us back to the trail and we continued on through similar terrain as the day before, with the exception that a lovely and cool breeze kept us company until we reached another water cache.

We took our mileage up a few notches and returned to a wooded area with plenty of shady oak trees.   Our water sources today became guzzlers.  This type of water source is normally used for forest fires by CDF and the USFS.  These concrete slabs collect rain water, pine needles, and a very unusual flavor that even filtering could not remove.  Tang and Swiss Miss packets aided in helping us swallow down this yellow-hued foul-tasting liquid.  That evening we camped at Bear Campground, a campground with neither bears nor flat areas suitable for a comfortable night’s sleeping.  The area was littered with glass and bullet casings of various calibers, and was torn apart by constant SUV and ATV use.  When one is tired enough though, almost any place will do just fine.

From Bear Campground it was a hot but easy 13.6 miles to the Mojave Desert and Hikertown.  Hikertown is an unusual but welcome sight.  The front yard of this home is decorated with an old west theme complete with buildings for a miniature barber shop, post office, dry goods store, city hall, church, bottle store, and so on.  For a small donation we secured for ourselves comfy little trailers, home cooked meals, and a room with a generous amount of shade, couches, and most importantly, a shower.  Here we met up with Rubs, Southern, and Lucky Nalgene again as well as the Colonel, Clay, and Running Wolf.  Much to my surprise, Running Wolf, who also hiked in 2010 remembered me and just about every little bit of information I shared with him when we met last at McIver’s Cabin.  The man has the memory of a bartender.  All of us were able to borrow a vehicle and get a ride into a local store in Lancaster as well. 

It’s a strange experience riding in a vehicle when one has been walking everywhere for so long.  Fifty-five miles an hour down a highway for a few minutes feels like a dangerous and uncontrollable speed that calls to mind memories of The Gods Must be Crazy.  Now, if only a single empty glass cola bottle descended to the earth, we might have very well carried it further into the Mojave to rid our mobile hiker neighborhood of it.  The small little country store was amazing—salty chips, fatty ice cream, and cold beverages.  All of us guiltlessly devoured our purchases on the spot.

Most of the Hikertown crowd left that night to make a dent in the scorching and shade free Mojave walk, which should be more appropriately called the aqueduct walk and water tease because the section rarely leaves the well-covered and secured Los Angeles Aqueduct.  There’s nothing like being hot and having an inaccessible man-made river below one’s feet.  Here we pulled off a monstrous 23 mile hike to arrive at Tyler Horse Canyon with its cold and crisp water.  The Canyon, despite being windy, was a perfect area to camp at.  Not but an hour into my slumber though, I awoke to Copernicus shining his light into a bushy area up the canyon and yelling out “hey! get out of here.”  I quickly arose, half dressed, and adding my own headlamp’s light to the area and could only make out a faint shadow and a pair of eyes.  The eyes were low at first and then ascended slightly when all of our light became directed at it.  Wonderful, they were at about the height of a mountain lion’s.  Then the eyes climbed again to an even greater height and the animal’s shadowy outline became more apparent.  It was a damn cow.  My thoughts instantly circled around the possibility of this intruder bringing multiple friends to the creek for a drink, leaving their entrails everywhere, and possibility crowding us out.  Lucky for us our bovine visitor and all of her friends opted to retreat up and over the canyon.

We had a glorious and ambitious goal of hiking twenty-five miles to Highway 58 and hitching into Tehachapi the following day.  One can easily hitch a ride from Tehachapi-Willow Springs Road several miles before the highway; however such a choice would leave us with twenty-five miles with no on trail water in another sweltering section complete with a large climb to the next water source.  After navigating our way through the numerous hills just prior to Tehachapi though, our resolve blew away with the high winds produced by the Tehachapi area that wind farmers love and PCT hikers hate.  At their peak, these winds approached speeds of nearly fifty miles per hour.  Hiking with the a nice breeze to one’s face is always a wonderful condition to hike in but these winds felt like we were fighting linebackers all the way until the road.  We caved in and it took very little convincing on either of our either of our parts to hitch in early and enjoy a long nero and a full zero in Tehachapi.

Tehachapi was a nice stop.  We found our trail neighbors—Rubs, Southern, Lucky Nalgene, the Colonel, and Running Wolf—staying at the same hotel we hitched a ride to and they seemed just as exhausted and annoyed with the high winds as we did.  Like the Poodle-dog fiasco we seemed to be once again united by a common foe (not to mention our similar level of appreciation for the aqueduct walk).  Tehachapi is a very welcoming and well-stocked town that is unfortunately very spread out.  The hotel we stayed at rented bikes and this made traveling to the Post Office, the local grocery store, and other locations a little easier.  Nonetheless, being in town can also be an awkward reminder of how finite time is when in towns resupplying.  The competing needs to do so much in town—calling friends and loved ones, run errands, unpacking and repacking, stuffing our faces silly with fatty and high carb foods at delicious cafes and restaurants, filling out postcards, and the desire to simply rest and do nothing—make the time fly by and there’s always something that time simply does not allow, like updating our blog or finishing a good book.   In my case, not finishing the books I packed into my resupply packages has slowly become something of a burden.  Combined with my PCT Data Book, my journal, my pocket dictionary and thesaurus, when I don’t finish a book or academic journal I usually end up carrying the old and the new.  Pretty soon I suspect I’ll become the official roaming PCT library.

The next day we set a new record, 24.9 miles.  We blazed through the wind and heat up to Highway 58 and became acquainted with some new neighbors—veterans of the AT, Bonelady and Swiss Cheese, as well as Bucket.  We all hunkered down under a highway overpass a mile or so after the highway crossing, soaked in the shade and cool air, ate, and conversed.  Like all our trail neighbors before, we instantly took a liking to these folks.  There’s something shared by all thru-hikers that makes sharing time and trail as effortless as sitting on a comfy couch.  In the late afternoon we continued our journey, climbing over numerous dry hills, and eventually found our way to our planned stop—Golden Oak Spring, a cool pipe fed spring complete with the chitchat of several dozens of frogs gossiping the evening away.  That evening we also met a usually mile-intensive Australian thru-hiker named Swami.  We felt destroyed after twenty-five miles and this man is apparently pulling off as many as forty-miles a day and can still walk into camp at the end of the day with the same stride and energetic face that he began the day with.

Nothing feels like a slower pace and a shorter day after a long hike.  And when I say slower and shorter, I mean doing a 19.2 miler after doing a 24.9 miler.  Big miles generate satisfaction but they don’t bode well for the views and for photographs.  While it is still easy to take in some spectacular views and scenery, especially compared to how much one normally spots while driving, there seems to be quite a difference between two to two and a half miles per hour and three to three and a half miles per hour.  The former allows one to turn one’s head more often, it permits brief stops at the tops of saddles and hilltops, and it makes the air taste and seem richer.  The latter demands a higher pulse, more and deeper breaths, it requires one to wipe sweat off one’s forehead more frequently, and it typically allows for shorter breaks.  This 19.2-miler day wasn’t anything special, but slowing down made it more so.  It is very fascinating how such small differences in foot-velocity can change a day. 

Towards the end of this day I experienced a rare day-sighting of a bobcat.  At first I thought it was a dog and was expecting to see its owner poke around the same corner on the trail.  Nope.  A split second later the distinct ears and feline sideburns that only a bobcat has came into recognition.  The kitty was too quick for my camera but had we been moving faster the sounds of our feet would have long ago scared it off.

The next two days brought us back into the desert—the “final” desert section on the Pacific Crest Trail.  After the first few miles from Robin Bird Spring we enjoyed the last bit of forest for this portion of Sequoia National Forest and then descended down to a low and dry Kelso Valley Road.  There’s an interesting mixture of feelings that accompanies the loss of beautiful sequoias and the gain of… well, not so beautiful yuccas and joshuas.  The demise of our shade is one thing and the heat is another.  Fortunately for us there was a water cache at this road and we were able to drink a little extra as we had done at the Anderson’s water cache and there was a lone cluster of joshuas that offered enough shade for myself, Copernicus, Bonelady, Swiss Cheese, and Bucket to be able to hide ourselves from the Kelso Valley Sun Monster until the afternoon cooled off. 

The day did cool off but the wind decided to go Tehachapi on us at times.  On some occasions these high gusts of winds were very welcomed, they helped propel us over these high desert sands; but then on others they were like work of the trail devil himself, denying us passage up another hill or around another spur.  Kudos to Bonelady though.  I can’t say I have ever seen a female hiker that was so apt at keeping her skirt down in so much wind.  If only we could have been as skilled at keeping the sand that came with the wind out of our mouths and eyes.  The trail itself was also somewhat cruel in this section and I partially longed for the solid footing we were unknowingly blessed with on the aqueduct walk.  This section was mostly soft sand atop more soft sand.  It’s like walking on a beach, uphill, while trying to carry a heavy cooler, for hours and hours on end.  Soft sand has a wicked way of denying one’s muscles their full potential.  When one steps hard, one expects resistance from the earth, and those individual step-by-step fights with the earth make comfortable walking possible.  When the earth refuses and offers submission, one can only curse the sand and push on.  Our reward for all these high winds, soft sands, and tough trails arrived a couple of days later at McIver’s Spring and Cabin with cowpie flavored water.  Those darn beasts were probably still upset that we denied them water at Tylerhorse Canyon, pushed on ahead of us, and then went to town on this water source.  Unlike the guzzler water we cured with Tang and Swiss Miss, no amount of filtering and powered beverage mix seemed able to remove this flavor.

Adversity makes the rewards on the PCT all the more enjoyable.  Coming down to Walker Pass proved to be the beginning of one of our favorite nero days.  We had planned on working something out with Erin and Kenyon Hess, who live nearby, but weren’t sure what exactly because our arrival date was so tentative and their schedules so busy.  We didn’t have reception at Walker Pass and opted to try hitching a ride into Lake Isabella, it took awhile, but even the hitch turned out to be great.  An older couple, who were both retired from the Forest Service and now work at China Lake, picked us up.  They were more than happy to take us exactly to the place I wanted to go—Nelda’s Diner—and even offered us a couple of cold Kona beers from the back of their truck’s ice chest.  God bless their souls.  Nelda’s is the crown jewel of Lake Isabella, in this humble hiker’s opinion.  Their food is both amazing in quality and quantity and they have quite the extensive milkshake menu, one hundred flavors.  Rubs once remarked that ice cream is a food group for hikers.  Copernicus and I wholeheartedly agree.

From Nelda’s we were able to get a hold of Kenyon, were asked if we’d like to stay the night at Camp Whitsett, and within hours Erin, accompanied by a three-week old Penny came into town and got us.  Penny cried for a good portion of the initial ride but after a lighting-fast changing by Erin in Kernville, I can’t say I’ve ever seen such a youngster sleep so well in a vehicle that took so many twists and turns.  I wish I could sleep that well.  At Whitsett, we were spoiled.  Kenyon allowed us to use one of the staff cabins—Chief Crazy Horse, the use of the showers, and laundry.  Then, as if being clean and with a bed wasn’t good enough, they offered us one of the finest meals a trail angel has yet to offer: chicken, tri-tip, potato salad, pasta salad, corn on the cob, dinner rolls, chips, and beer.  All of which by the by, was cooked extremely well and in such a quantity that even we were not able to eat everything in sight.  The generosity, the environment, and the spirit of being on a Boy Scout camp made me reminisce and miss the days when I worked at Mataguay Scout Reservation.  It is always nice to be in the company of good and pleasant people.  In the morning before we left, the camp’s kitchen staff cooked, and we were invited to partake in a large quantity of camp food and converse briefly with some of the camp’s directors. Thank you very much Erin and Keyon, and thank you very much Camp Whitsett.

Sometimes we do manage to surprise ourselves quite a bit.  We weren’t able to get back to the trail until about noon but we managed to get ourselves up to the first water source, that was 16.6 miles from the highway to the first crossing of the Spanish Needle Creek, at about seven in the evening.  Damn good mileage.  Since that day too, the terrain has been changing quiet a bit.  The desert is long behind us and the Sierra Nevadas are becoming more and more what most people expect them to look like.  We even managed to enjoy an awkward quasi-snow storm of sorts on our way to Manter Creek’s PCT crossing.  Cold and high winds that knock face-slamming ice off pine trees in late May is not typically what one normally expects, but the change from the desert heat is welcome nonetheless.  We also had a surprise catch-up with Rubs, Southern, and Lucky Nalgene.  We just can’t seem to lose these guys but their company is always welcome.  That day we hit a new record—exactly twenty-five miles in one day.  Twenty-five miles before five in the afternoon, plenty of time to enjoy the last of the sunlight and the evening, and no Australians to one up us, who in their right mind couldn’t be happy on this sort of day?  With Southern California almost over and Kennedy Meadows—the gateway to the high Sierras—so close, the feeling is indescribable.  Goodbye tumultuous and waterless Southern California.  Hello Central California, home John Muir’s “Range of Light.”

Yesterday we arrived at the small community of Kennedy Meadows and are staying with another trail angel, Thomas Figueroa.  Tom is amazing and his generosity seems to know no limits, it’s always nice to know there’s places and people like this along the trail.  They add to the experience and they humble us.  It also seems like almost everyone we’ve met along the way is here.  It’s time to celebrate, fatten up, sleep, rest, and prepare for one of the best sections of the Pacific Crest Trail—the Sierras.

-Oddball 

Desert, Mountains, We Hike it All

Cabazon: Land of lizards, snakes, high temperatures, and...dinosaurs? This is where Section C officially starts. One might also say that it starts underneath a freeway, in a dusty tunnel underneath Interstate 10 where the only relief from the hot desert air comes from the shade of the overpass, and a few coolers of cold drinks left by those amazing folks, the PCT trail angels. Technically, we started the day where we left off the night before, on a bumpy road crossing close to the small town of Snow Creek. Our contingent was again three-strong, as Brett decided to join us once again for a stroll through the alluvial plain that emerges from the North face of San Jacinto peak into the Cabazon pass. At this point, following the trail becomes a game of finding the signs, as there are many washouts and other trails crossing the Creosote-filled plain. Reaching the I-10 after a short hour of walking, we came across the infamous "trail-magic" much spoken about on the various forums, mailing lists, and books about the PCT. After consuming some cool beverages (thank you Angels) and signing the register, we continued on. Brett bid us farewell as we continued onward to Cottonwood Canyon. The middle of the day was approaching, and both Oddball and I soon realized that the day was going to be not so inviting for hiking. The temperature was quickly reaching 100 degrees F and we decided the best decision was to retreat for a few hours to another trail angel's house to wait out the heat of the day. It was at Ziggy and the Bears hiker retreat where we met several other hikers doing the same. Ziggy and Bear are two trail angels who formerly lived in Anza and offered their yard and generosity to PCT hikers passing through. They purposefully moved to Cabazon to do the same, and now their backyard is once again a full-on hiker oasis complete with cold drinks, hiker boxes, snacks, and shade. The generosity of these people is amazing, and we thank them for providing a valuable stop on a hot day. Around 3:30pm we continued up Cottonwood Canyon and stopped at the Mesa Wind Farm field office. Here we were greeted by one of the workers who invited us in for some cold water and snacks. We did not decline, as the heat was still stifling and was not going to cool off until the sun set behind the hills. Watered and fed, we rested in the shade a while longer before heading up the canyon, passing the vast array of wind-turbines quickly spinning and generating power from the constant breeze created by the San Gorgonio Pass. Quickly gaining and losing about 1000 ft in elevation, we arrived at Whitewater River near dark and decided to camp at the former Trout Farm which is now a nature preserve. Benadryl was on the menu for me that night, after a generous bee offered up his life and stinger into my index finger before departing the wind farm that day.

    After a nights rest, we continued up Whitewater Canyon and crossed the cold waters of Whitewater Creek. I doused myself in the cool waters in anticipation of another warm day. It was shortly after the crossing where we encountered our first official rattlesnake of the trip. Coming around a corner, I looked up just in time to see the four-foot long Red Diamond rattler sunning itself just a foot off the trail. It did not seem startled, as it did not rattle and just slowly crossed over the trail as to say, "Hey guys, don't bother me, and I won't bother you." We took a few pictures and continued up to Mission Creek, which to many is a long, hot slog but to us "desert rats," a welcome section with many great views of steep canyon walls and a constant-flowing creek in which to filter good water. Although the day was long, we were rewarded with a creekside camp in the shade of several large oaks and the first of many pine trees we were to be seeing for the next few days. Twist and Tailgate (formerly Seth) were already set up, so we turned the camp into a small party and spent the next few hours sharing stories of snow-capped San Jacinto and the past 100 miles.

   The next morning started off with a moderatly-steep climb, finally getting back into the Scrub Oaks and Junipers marking the Upper Sonoran zone of the San Bernadino wilderness. Also encountered that day were some of the much-discussed Poodle Dog Bush. If you haven't heard of such a ridiculous sounding plant, well, neither had I until researching this hike. Apparently the plant thrives in recently-burned areas of Oak and Ponderosa Pines, which constitute much of the San Gorgonio and San Gabriel Wildernesses. Although these first encounters consisted mostly of dead and dying plants, the warnings of extreme rashes and painful blisters following contact with this seemingly gentle shrub had us weaving and ducking to avoid any contact with the prolific Poodle Dog. Climbing higher and higher, we bumped into two other thru-hikers, Robocop and Happy Pants, who were resting in the shade of a Pine Tree. Filling up on water from a cold spring, we continued around steep ridges that provided astounding views of the Coachella Valley as well as San Gorgonio Peak. Around mile 15 of that day, we came upon another strange sight. Hidden from sight not 10 miles outside of Big Bear City on Highway 38 is "Randy Millers 'Animals in Action,'" a property with many fenced cages housing animals very much not native to the San Bernadino wilderness. Think "lion, tigers, and bears...oh my!" The PCT passes right along the outskirts of this property and the animals are very much visible from the trail. Although not many seemed to be around that day, we did spy a rather large Cinnamon Bear and another larger Grizzly Bear lounging in their cages. Also surprising were the existence of huge paw-prints alongside human shoe-prints on the trail. Fortunately, it sounds like the animals get taken out for walks once in a while. We arrived at our destination for the day and crashed hard, looking forward to a short day preceded by two zero days in Big Bear.

  The next day was a short one in terms of hiking. We took a quick pace out of Arrastre Trail Camp and didn't stop but once along the 10 mile stretch until reaching Highway 18. We were able to get a ride from Doug, the property manager of the Fawnskin cabin at which we were staying (thanks Mom!) to our residence for the next three nights. After getting the rundown on the cabin and bidding farewell to Doug, we quickly dropped our packs and headed to the North Shore Cafe, where once again, it was feasting time. A Reuben for Oddball and a hot Pastrami Sandwich for me along with some delicious corn chowder, we reveled in the feeling of being full of delicious non-trail food. My exceedingly wonderful girlfriend Erin showed up a few hours later, bringing with her many treats and beverages for the following couple of zero days. She had even brought home-made dough for a truffle oil and mushroom pizza that night! YUM! Oddball's girlfriend Jen came up later that evening and we all carried on in that tiny little cabin, enjoying having a warm place to rest while the wind whipped around the lake creating a very cold evening.

   We spent the following couple of days in and out of the cabin and the town of Big Bear Lake, eating, doing laundry, eating, buying food items for the trail, watching movies and eating some more. At the end of the two days, I am almost certain I made up the calorie deficit I had created in the preceding four days of hiking. Although thats probably still incorrect. What a great diet plan: eat everything in sight, still lose weight. I should write a fad-diet book.

   The morning of the 28th was crisp, clear, and without a breeze. Erin drove Oddball and I back to the trailhead, where Erin and I embraced one last time before heading out. This part is never easy. Although I do get the chance to see her once again in Agua Dulce, I would miss her dearly for the next two weeks. Back on the trail, we climbed along the Southern Ridge above Big Bear Lake, enjoying views of both the lake to the south and Lucerne Valley to the north. We passed a few day hikers, and wound up camping at Delamar Spring Junction. Aside from the sounds of guns going off, a few off-road vehicles, and the occassional howling coyote, the spot was ideal for camping.

  April 29th: have we really been hiking for almost a month!? This was the question in my mind as I awoke that morning. We broke camp and hiked through a very long burned section that day. Although forest fire is very much a tragedy in most cases (albeit necessary in nature), we found some beauty in the vast spectrum of colors produced by the wildflowers in this section. Yellows, purples, reds, and oranges contrasted with the charred black of burnt manzanita and chapparal. 17 miles completed that day, we camped underneath a 90-foot steel and wood bridge spanning a fork of Deep Creek. I took a swim in the chilly water and spent the remainder of the night defending my dinner from the many ants crawling about our riverside camp.

  Heading down Deep Creek Canyon was our M.O. for the last day in April. Although the Creek was full and flowing, we spent most of the day just looking at it from 100 feet up. Although the highlight of the day was the arrival at Deep Creek Hot Springs, a popular (clothing optional) destination for day-hikers and bathers. We picked a spot in the shade of a few trees and rested our weary feet. There seemed to be some activity in the nearby brush, which we both ignored thinking birds were busy scavenging day-hiker trash. As I was closing my eyes with my head resting on my thermarest, I heard another, much-closer sound and looked to my right. My eyes didn't focus immediately, but the quick movement of a small, black serpentine tongue triggered a reaction I can only describe as explosive. It was as if a hundred small catapults were placed underneath me and released at the same time, propelling me from my supine position to a fully alert defensive posture, with the only sounds coming out of my mouth being something like: "Aa-wa-wa-ahhhh SNAKE!!" And indeed, a rather large Diamondback had emerged from the bushes a mere 16 inches from my head, without so much as a rattle. Oddball and I both watched as this rather large serpent slithered its way around my tarp and sleeping pad, just flicking its tongue in and out, not seeming to care if we were there or not. It finally retreated back into the tall grass, only to be replaced by another, slightly smaller snake with similar markings. Our only guess was that there was a den in the brush I had layed near, and that they became interested in the stench of thru-hikers. I quickly moved my gear back to the spot in the sun, and the decision was made that our break was over. We packed up and hiked the remainder of the day laughing about the experience, and I remained extra-vigilent to say the least.

   After camping nearby a small stream, we hiked along a not-so-popular section of the trail which included some road walking, and which brought us close to Silverwood Dam and Mojave Siphon Power Plant. We encountered a little trail magic and had some fresh apples before making the minor climb up to Silverwood Lake. The remainder of the day brought us a cool breeze off the lake, some great California Poppies, and finally to Silverwood Lake Campground where we made good use of the running water and available power outlets to charge our various electronic gadgets.

   Wednesday, May 2nd. Visions of Big Macs and Quarter Pounders propelled us from our campsite to Cajon Pass and the I-15. Many a thru-hiker stops at this popular interstate exit to gorge themselves on cheap fast food before the climb up to Wrightwood. We followed suit and demolished a few burgers, fries, and ice cold drinks. I did something I would probably regret and totaled my calories using the convenient chart on the reverse-side of the paper placemat and found that my total caloric intake for the meal was ::gasp:: 2440 calories! But again, the PCT is the ultimate diet plan, and given the climbing we were about to do, I felt no shame. We decided before that this day was to be 23 miles, as there was a long section without water approaching, and we did not want to be without a water source two nights in a row. We huffed it another 12 miles and camped in the clouds atop a ridge that would have otherwise given us a grand view of the Cajon Pass and adjacent areas. However, we were just thankful that the wind didn't kick up and blow our tarp-tents off the ridge.

  As the previous day was a rather long one, we opted to hike 12 more miles to Guffy Campground, and use the next day to hike the remaining five miles to Highway 2 where we would catch a ride into Wrightwood. We encountered more of the dreaded Poodle Dog Bush, and performed in our own seperate ways, what I later dubbed, the "Poodle Dog Waltz." This is a shuffle-like dance that requires much balance and skill, along with much cursing and shouting as you weave and twist your legs and feet around, all the while avoiding the bristly leaves and oily flower stalks. Its quite complicated, however a video demonstration is in the works.

   After a restless sleep at Guffy Campround where the wind blew at (what seemed like) 50 mph over the ridge and made the trees roar with objection to the bending and swaying they had to do, we hiked 5 miles to Highway 2. We only had our thumbs to the road for 10 minutes when a fellow hiker and his dog persuaded a group of guys in a truck to give us a ride in the back of their pickup. We piled in the back and rode into Wrightwood while the wind assisted in blowing away at least some of the smell our bodies now produced after a week of hiking. We thanked the driver and proceeded immediately to the nearest diner to once again celebrate a completed section with an overabundance of delicious breakfast and coffee.

   Mile 369.5. Wrightwood, CA. The perfect place for a zero day and to rest up before heading West, then North along the Pacific Crest Trail. Next stop, Mt Baden-Powell, then Agua Dulce and the Saufley's place.

   We are continuing our efforts to raise money for the Wounded Warrior Project, and would ask if you have not donated, to please consider supporting this remarkable organization. Every donation is tax-deductible, and whether big or small is welcome in helping our brothers and sisters in arms.

https://support.woundedwarriorproject.org/individual-fundraising/taskforcepct/