Mile 205 - 285: Mission “Creek” Impossible

WHAM! geology 

Cruising in Cabazon

The day started slow and easy, but it quickly heated up. I had to walk a few miles to get to the highway, I needed to restock a bit before heading up toward the San Bernardino mountains. I came across a king snake that quickly held its ground, then darted off. I made it to the underpass to find a giant sheet of paper on the wall with PCT hikers signatures. As I was looking it over, considering where to put my own name, another hiker yelled at me from the other side of the underpass. They wanted to see if I wanted to split the Uber cost they had ordered and that was set to arrive any moment. Destination: In-n-Out. I ran from the wall, refueling called me. Traffic was a bit hectic with Coachella going on, and In-n-Out was a madhouse with a bunch of people seemingly trying to keep it together as they nursed their alcohol and chemical hangovers from the festivities. The fellow hiker and I parted ways, and I continued my resupply day. The day went fairly uneventfully, learned how great of a deal Dollar General was, and got back out into the trail. I hiked a few miles with a Jersey Mike’s sub in hand that I planned to eat at camp. I ended up eating it while hiking. I set up beneath a wind turbine, as the trail goes through a wind farm. People complain about the noise, I thought it brought a soothing white noise for the night.

To Whitewater and Beyond

The climb was hot and sudden. Still low elevation and exposed cliff walls made for an oven effect. The trail has been getting progressively quieter, I see people less and less. It isn’t the worst, I’m getting quite used to it. I don’t mind meeting up with others or camping with others, I do enjoy hiking alone. What pace, when to take breaks, how far, I like having sole discretion over those. The day was hot and inconsequential. I fawned over the sight of San Jacinto, snow still plenty visible near the upper portion of the mountain. I was sweaty and dusty, so when I saw Mission Creek, the next big leg of this mountain range, I immediately ran down, stripped naked, and laid in the water. It was near evening so I had dinner next to the creek while I dried off. I continued a few more miles into the early night. The trail becomes a bit nebulous on Mission Creek but I was able to find camp as the sun set.

At Whitewater Preserve - “I went for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown for going out I found I was really going in” - John Muir

Beginning of Mission Creek

Mission “Creek” Impossible

In 2024, Hurricane Hilary devastated Mission Creek with significant flooding that caused huge washouts and near complete trail loss. Can see here for what the Pacific Crest Trailside Reader caught on camera. This meant the day had no trail, but the point was to make your way up Mission Creek over 10 miles and thousands of feet. The footing was either deep sand that you lost all power in, large river rock that twisted your ankles, and boulders that could result in a broken leg with a wrong step. At first I really enjoyed it. Little pools full of life, constant variance, and geological features that’ entrap you in wonder. Then I quickly became impatient. The constant fumbling and slow, labored movements were taxing. You could see where folks decided a path, with footprints and trekking pole holes, and then where you decided your own path. Little disagreements drawn in the sand. I can hear the high pitch calls of hummingbirds around me.

I continued my way up the creek bed confidently, too confidently. Apparently there was a point where the actual trail resumed, I continued to labor up the creek bed, which would nearly spell disaster for me as the day went on. 

I saw on my map I was about 1000 feet parallel to the trail, but at some point the creek and trail would meet back up, so I pressed on. I walked on and turned a corner to see a 15 foot waterfall. The wall was completely wet, with no apparent way around, I was quickly working my head around a possible route when suddenly boulders came tumbling into the pool below the waterfall.

What I wish I had to deal with 

An older woman was on the slopes, I am guessing trying to traverse the near vertical valley wall to climb to the side of the waterfall. The problems? The slope on the valley sides were between 70 and 80 degrees and the section she was on was all loose scree and shale rock. The rocks I heard falling down was her path falling apart behind her, creating an escapable route. I stood there for a second, frozen, as I unable to help her in any way from below. I had to get to her.

I scaled the waterfall, finding some roots to cling onto and fighting the remnants of a tree at the top. She was about 15 feet away from the waterfall where she could now hear me, pinned against a lonely tree that had anchored itself into the rock. Her challenge was the shale between her and I stuck out and I knew it was not just far from safe, but guaranteed to fall apart if she put any weight to it. I told her to climb up, as it seemed the only way out it, and climbing high enough reached where there was some grassy patches, telling me that the soil had some grip, or so I hoped. I hoped I had not put her in even greater danger.

We made our way up, my path was much easier as I my approach was all grass and granite, but still about a 75 degree slope. I eventually got near her again, about 5 feet away. She had climbed nearly 30 feet from where she originally was. We saw a clear route off the scree and shale. 

“I need you to wait real quick, I need to test this shelf if it’s stable enough for you”, I say.

I put some weight on this shelf and immediately I feel the ground move from me. I lean back onto the safe granite against the valley wall and an area roughly 2.5 square yards shears off the cliffside in front of me, throwing giant boulders below, leaving a bare cliff where the shale and scree had clung to.

“That would have killed me”, she says.

“Yep. Now move on over and give me your hand”, I said calmly.

She inches closer until I can grab her hand where I pulled her into my arms. 

I’ve regained some sense of control now. That’s all I’m trying to do, move control to my favor. We still have to navigate how to get back down, as I too have climbed a route I can no longer return to. So we drive our feet and trekking poles into the near vertical face and climb higher, until I see a break where we can move horizontal. I know she’s tired, but I won’t feel safe until we’re on horizontal ground. I eventually find a path utilizing a granite wall to use for hand holds to eventually make our way down. As I lead I have softball size rocks come whizzing past me, she decides to wait until I’m completely down to keep moving, I appreciate this. We finally make our way down, roughly 45 minutes where I thought at any moment, disaster could strike. 

She admits she should have used her SOS beacon, but those don’t really work in valleys or even under tree cover, we verify there was no signal. She admits, she doesn’t know what would have happened had I not shown up, but we both know it wasn’t good. I knew we weren’t done yet though, we were still in a part of Mission Creek we didn’t belong in. We take a quick sit, I give her a Poptart and some trail mix to give her some strength. She was exhausted by the ordeal, which is fair for what she overcame.

We go not another 100 yards to find another 15 foot waterfall. I propose a route I see that would go up and around. 

“Why not just go straight up?”, she asks.

“Ugh, dammit”, I think, “this is not what I want her to do”.

I see the route and quickly make my way up. My fingers feel strong, the memory of whatever training I had still remaining. I recognize she’s dangerously tired for this move, I climb down to take her pack, so she can climb without the added weight.  She gets nearly all the way up, until the last move where I decide to pull her up to me again. 

I feel focused, calm, and sharp. I don’t know why but I don’t feel that hit of adrenaline in situations like this. Talking to a girl I like, lord help me. One wrong move from serious injury or death? Fine. 

We continued, had a few small falls. Tired feet mean mistakes, but they’re small mistakes. Talking of feet, we found some bear prints, they didn’t seem too fresh. Her phone thankfully has a topographical map so we can see where Mission Creek should meet back with the trail. As we reach the final stretch, the valley walls open up a bit, reducing their severe slopes, to find some folks, who I had met earlier. 

They were cooking up a snake on a spit. This day just gets weirder. Lioness, my new companion’s trail name, decides it’s safe and that she wants to set up camp. She’s beat up and exhausted, but safe. We take some photos together and I take my leave, hoping to get a few more miles in. 

She had revealed she’s legally blind, and she had meant to do this hike with her service dog, but had to retire him due to injury before starting the trial. I mention this because though I had quite the part in rescuing her (which I’m not going to be bashful about, I did a good job), she had to overcome and persevere a lot by her own constitution. Many moments were out of my control, and she hit the ball out of the park, one tough lady.

Lioness and I

I finally found where trail resumed based off some rock cairns. I decide to quickly bathe in the creek before the sun goes down any more, as the temperature was dropping. I set up camp, got tucked into my bag, and listened to the wind roar above me throughout the night in a way I had never heard my entire life. 

I hiked only 10 miles that day

Quiet

The resumed trail was pristine, I felt I was walking on clouds after walking up Mission Creek the day before, it was the best trail conditions I had been on this entire time. The ascents and descents were gentle. My bag was light as I was getting low on food, so I decided to do a sort of jog on the descents, convincing myself I was making up some lost time from Mission Creek. I got service again so texted some folks, only to lose it again the next ridge over. I eventually heard from Joe again, he was camping a few miles down. I decided to camp near him and make for about a 9 mile hike the next day to get to the highway to hitch my way in to Big Bear.

The next few days were low key. Joe and I got a place for Friday and Saturday night. It was supposed to snow Saturday night, so seemed like a good idea to be sheltered for a bit before going out into the cold weather. The night before heading into Big Bear the temperature dropped below freezing. I, not thinking, left my water filter out, which likely meant it froze. This breaks the tiny filaments that do the actual filtering work, so I had to buy a new filter in town, along with some leg thermals and new socks. My gear was starting to show some abuse. 

Still capable of cooking real food

Gabby’s Pozole had me waddling around I was so full

I saw some friends in the same complex as Joe and I, they were headed out Saturday.  The quiet days were welcomed after Mission Creek. I’m starting to appreciate the quiet of the trail, but I do like to come back and socialize. 

I have a long food carry in front of me, about 5 solid days. I’m taking a break from my tuna packets, attempting to mitigate the inevitable mercury poisoning if I kept eating it at the rate I have been. 

I didn’t think we’d be able to head out the day we wanted, bad weather came in and the morning we were to leave looked incredibly rough. High winds and snow, there was already a few inches on the ground. After an hour or so the sun came out and we decided to fare the outcome. It turned the landscape into a winter paradise and created a cold hike. I called my grandpa while taking a break on trail. He sounded good, I enjoy talking with him. I hadn’t thought of my grandma for a while, and realized how much I had missed her. Emotions aren’t a linear experience.

We continued on, agreeing to meet at a campground down the trail but Joe must have settled down a few miles back because I didn’t see him come in. I’ve enjoyed the mountains, but it’s time to warm back up and put in some more miles after that low week.

Me in 4 months