 |
| Dusk at a campsite on unnamed cliff northeast of Tipsoo Peak, near Mount Thielsen |
Oregon was brutal and beautiful. At times the trail loved to play games with my mind by burying me in endless miles of forest with no views, no water, and offered me very little sense of direction. Other times the trail seemingly took delight in the destruction of my feet with generous amounts of large, loose, sharp, and ever-present volcanic rock. When Oregon was not trying its best to make my life a living hell it was a genuine master of rewards offering stunning views and providing some of snow fun that the high Sierras simply did not offer this year.
Before I even left Ashland I had decided I would
accept a personal challenge of either attempting to do Oregon in two weeks or
at the very least doing about thirty-miles or so a day. Oregon was
perfect for this sort of madness. Oregon's section of the PCT has few
large climbs, much of the trail is quite flat, and resupply points are at comfortable
distances apart from either other—a reality that one’s shoulders, back, knees,
and feet are easily grateful for.
 |
| Lava south of Brown Mountain |
At first southern Oregon looked remarkably like
Northern California, go figure. I was
excited about being on new trail for the first time since I started the PCT in
2010 at the southern terminus, but the trail itself was far from exciting. It was flat, hot, dry, and exposed. Despite my newfound badass status, I also
felt behind. I was hiking with Reststop,
Dude, Viper, Croation, NotaChance, and Aquaman and I was usually the last to
arrive at a common break site and the last to leave it. My first day out of Ashland I did 31.7 miles
but I also finished at 9:30 in the evening, about an hour after they did. This would also be the last day I would see most of these hikers, they were going to be averaging far more per day than I could.
Somewhere in the second day “Oregon” kicked
in. The trail remained dry and most of the
water was found off-trail, although at times off-trail locations like the Brown
Mountain Shelter were very nice detours.
It was also around here that I got my first taste of walking on long and continuous stretches of volcanic rock. My feet had been on it before in California near Mt. Lassen but not for any length that lasted for long; here this rock was present for hours on end. The colors that came with this terrain were quite unique in themselves—sharply differentiated black and red on the ground and a kinder separation of blues and greens upon the sky—and I took some comfort in knowing that what is hard on the feet is kind on the eyes. It was also this segment that I was acquainted with the new mosquitoes that came with this territory. Oregon's mosquitoes seemed infinitely worse than anything that ever managed to take my blood in California. They were faster, more persistent, and the irritation from each bite (even if left unscratched) seemed to last all day. It always seemed that the worst of California's mosquitoes could be outrun, just keep moving and you'll be fine. Not there. Oregon's mosquitoes will eat you even if you're hiking your fastest and they will follow you with a vengeance all day.
 |
| Crater Lake view from Rim Village |
Breaks from those mosquitoes seemed few and far
between and the dryness of this part of Oregon felt like some kind of punishment,
I didn’t have to carry a lot of food but the water sources were so far apart
that I found myself carrying a nice amount of water weight for most of these days.
My first great reward came after I broke
camp in the Oregon Desert (yes, Oregon has wooded deserts somehow). I woke up from the sound of a crashing tree,
took advantage of my racing heartbeat and packed up fast, and then after making
my way down to Mazama Village— for an early lunch, a resupply package pick-up,
and an extensive amount of socializing with other thru-hikers—I climbed up to
Rim Village where a long afternoon of hundreds of views of Crater Lake
began. About 7,700 years ago Mount
Mazama erupted, collapsed, and created a basin that holds 4.6 trillion gallons
of water; and without saying, this bad boy is quite a sight. Most people drive out here, have a look, grab
a burger, buy a t-shirt, and leave. I
like to think that sore feet, mosquito bites, salt-encrusted clothing, sun
burnt skin, and a huge appetite make Crater Lake more magnificent. Not only does it somehow justify the path the
PCT has chosen for me to take, in a way I feel like I earned it.
 |
| Approaching Mount Thielsen |
The trail after Crater Lake was frustratingly dry
for about twenty-six miles. I did not
enjoy having a fresh resupply in my pack and also having to carry enough water for
this long dry stretch. It was also
this section of Oregon where the forest started consuming me. For several miles at a time I was denied
vistas, water, and terrain features.
Even with maps, knowing where exactly one was at was generally a matter
of guesswork from one’s assumed pace multiplied by the number of hours
hiked. Like certain sections in Northern
California I found myself becoming bored with my music and running out of
things to think about. The time, more
often than not, dragged on. It is because of days
like this on the PCT that a place like Mount Thielsen, for me, became a place of
infinite beauty. Aside from simply being a sight to behold, it was
to one’s eyes what silence can be after hours and hours of defining
silence. One cannot help but smile and
enjoy every step where and when this beautiful mountain is in view. It also certainly did not hurt that the last couple of miles to Thielsen Creek were covered in snow and it was there that the long dry stretch ended. The water from this snowmelt
creek was also especially crisp, refreshing, and delicious. Additionally, I had the pleasure of enjoying Mount
Thielsen, its creek, and many miles with friends—Analog and Rattlebee. A
little further down the trail after the creek I also had the unique opportunity
to camp at the edge of a cliff with a far and spectacular view. The sunset that day, like Thielsen, made all
the difficulties of getting their worth it.
One has to enjoy places like Mount Thielsen because
there is not much to look in the following days.
The water on the trail remains elusive and the annoyance that accompanied
knowing that the next water source was constantly off trail meant that I frequently
decided to go thirsty and promise myself I’d get water at the next source, a promise that repeated itself often. Thanks to the trail angel extraordinaire, Lloyd
Gust, that mindset did not become my undoing.
At Windigo Pass there was a surprise water cache that Analog, Rattlebee,
and I drank from to hold us over until Summit Lake. The trail to Summit Lake was the worst
mosquito habitat that I have encountered anywhere on the PCT. I found myself eventually caving in and donning
a headnet and gloves despite the heat.
And still, a few mosquitoes found a way to get inside of my headnet and
through my gloves. Not every day on the
PCT gets to be a good one; I spent those last hours of that day screaming obscenities while
being eaten alive and it accomplished nothing except making those endless miles of view-less forest feel even longer.
 |
| Snow-covered trail east of Diamond Peak in Willamette National Forest |
 |
| Analog with Willamette's finest |
I got a break from those merciless miniature monsters the following morning when the trail, again, became covered in snow for several miles. I found the colors here, like the area around Brown Mountain, quite breathtaking. Here the mountain ridges were volcanic black, the ground snow white, and a thick and jagged layer of green trees separated the two. The water tasted great, there were a few places to glissade at, and the cool breeze that came over the snow and then upon my face was intoxicating. The moment ended when the snow melted and I had to begin looking for my spur trail to Shelter Cove for my next resupply. I goofed, got lost, added an extra couple of miles to my day, but arrived at Shelter Cove in time to collect a package, repack my pack, drink a cold soda, and listen to Analog tell me about a place with burgers, beer, and ice cream—Willamette Pass Resort. We got back on trail, crossed the pass, and then walked on the highway for a few minutes to get to promise land. Stuffing oneself silly rarely feels so good. Willamette Pass was also a nice location to wait the afternoon heat out, meet up with other friends like Clay and Hono, and watch the Olympics. After a great meal, delicious beers, and copious amounts of ice cream (as well as substantial amount of laughing from watching Olympic speed-walking) we knocked out a few more miles on the trail and spent the night in the Maiden Peak Shelter. Sleeping on a bench never felt so good.
No comments:
Post a Comment