Mile 285 - 399: Oh, Poodledog!

Soothing Aches

Joe never showed up that night in camp. I figured he stopped just a few miles before. I’d later learn he went past the spur and went just past the camp. I guess I never saw his tent as I went down the trail that morning. Quickly after leaving camp, I descended shortly into a small, primitive parking lot for the campground I stayed in. There was Grizzly Gramp, Nevada, and Simon, an Aussie I’d been running into for a while. Once again, I did not get a photo of Nevada, one day it’ll happen. We gabbed for a bit, Gramp offered me some stuff, all I took was  some hand warmers, influenced by the previous nights. I played fetch with Nevada using pine cones, those puppy feelings still going strong. The day was pretty relaxed. Around midday I ran into some folks who had left a day before Joe and I did, relaxing by a stream. I set my feet in the water to relieve the swelling in my feet. I’m still managing some foot arch pain, but stretching is relieving, who would have thought.

The day went on lazily. I sat down and watched hummingbirds chase each other, they’re highly territorial, hoping I don’t become collateral damage in the dogfight. I meet up with Danielle aka Ketchup (a play on her “catching up”), someone from the group who left a day before me, and we finish the day making it to the hot springs. I’m famished and I don’t hesitate to set up camp and eat, the springs can wait. I finally make my way to the springs. I see some more familiar faces. Apparently a guy going by “The Tenderizer”, has been giving massages and magic mushrooms, so the springs are full of laughs. I stretch a little, catch up, then hop in the river next to the hot pool to get fresh. I didn’t consider how much of a shock it would be so I struggle to get my composure for a minute. I sleep okay that night.

SFW photo of some of the hot springs 

Silverwood Lake

The Race to Calories

The mix of sand, rocks, and dry grasses remind me of summers on the river, especially near Hat Rock. The lack of external stimulus and abundant time leaves room for memories and daydreams. My actual dreams that night revolve around finding the purpose of life, which seem a bit much to try to tackle in one night, as I haven’t figured it out over my entire lifetime. I entertain nihilism, hedonism, and other approaches, but eventually let it go. Life is what’s right in front of me now. My purpose is to get to McDonald’s. There’s a legendary McDonald’s at Cajon Pass, the lowest point between the San Bernardinos and San Gabriels on the trail. It’s a major milestone, with a 24 eat only McDonald’s challenge. I don’t think I can handle the challenge, but I’ve never wanted fast food so bad in my life. The final few miles are a perfect combination of consistent, gradual decline and firm sand, so I do a sort of jig jog as far as I can, hoping my foot doesn’t catch a rock. 

Desert Rosy Boa

I stepped into the air conditioned facility to see hikers stuffing their faces, pure bliss. McDonald’s feels so different from as a child. It used to feel like a local, fun, and personal place, now it’s all automated, almost brutalist architecture, it feels more industrial than anything. I get the Big Arch meal, medium drink and fries, 6 piece chicken McNuggets, a chicken sandwich, and a McFlurry. I would be lying if I didn’t say the Big Arch wasn’t actually my favorite. I feel the calories immediately feed my body. I go to the gas station next door to grab snacks to go and end up getting nothing because I have zero appetite now. I waddle my way back into the desert. It’s a climb to the next campground, about 5 miles out from the fast food joint. I get a stitch while going up a hill. These may be some slow miles, but that’s okay. I arrive in camp to find trail angels supplying a water cache, about 160 gallons of water. A good lot of hikers help to facilitate the process. Heavily fed, watered, I feel ready to make another long climb, up to the San Gabriel range.

If you know, you know 

Pushing Upward

I get out early, but the day is already hot. I leave around the same time as a group I met the day before. It’s hard, it’s boring, but my McDonalds calorie bomb seems to help me to keep pushing. A woman who I’ve been leapfrogging finally passes me and I try to catch her. After about an hour, I can feel the sweat being pushed out of my body with each step, I’ve got to slow down, and she drops me. These were some of my fastest miles yet. I decided to make my way down into Wrightwood after hours of hiking via the Acorn Trail, which is incredibly steep, knowing all too well I’d have to hike back up with a full resupply. I’d coordinated with my buddy Cam to stay with the same trail angels he was with. I change out of my pants and shirt into fresher clothes before entering town. In the transition, my sunglasses must have fallen off. Strike one. As I head down Acorn  Trail onto Acorn Drive, the area reminds me of my grandparent’s place outside of The Dalles. The houses, the acorns, the squirrels, the crunch of dry oak leaves among rocks, I feel transported to what that place was. It no longer feels that way to me, so I enjoy a feeling of the past. I meet Collette Budd in town who drives me to her house where I’m welcomed by Cam. We make fresh ceviche that night as Collette’s husband, Lee, caught a marlin and mahi mahi in Mexico a few days before. I have a couple beers and sleep horribly.

Fatigue Causes Mistakes

I take a slow morning. I plan on resupplying and getting back up Acorn Trail later in the day. I see Joe and we grab a late lunch. It’s his birthday the next day so he’s staying an extra day, I feel a compulsion to move on. The climb up Acorn Trail with a full pack is hard, but my heart and legs are getting stronger. Still, it uses a lot of resources to get to camp, and eat quite a bit. I won’t know it, but this is strike two.

My main goal for the day is to climb Baden Powell, the next peak, and call it a day. I’m hoping to reduce mileage and active recovery, aiming for 15 miles a day. It feels a bit more lonely than usual. I didn’t socialize much in Wrightwood as I was quick to resupply and get going. I don’t know why, it just felt right at the time. As I settle in for a late lunch, I realize I’ve lost my spork. Strike three. Not too much of my food requires it, but I do have my mashed potatoes which would benefit from a utensil. I find a piece of wood and whittle a spoon for the time being. I then realize what strike two was. I undersupplied. Or rather, I’ve already eaten an extra day and a half’s worth of food. I thought I was getting stronger and my bag felt light, wrong. I try to figure out how to ration it, and it doesn’t add up. My attempt at being thrifty was literally not buying enough food. A slight dread creeps over me. I’ve calculated my calories and my distance to the next real resupply. This is no longer an active recovery leg, it’ll be performance check. I know the day is short already, so eek out a little over twenty miles, but in order to get where I want to go, I’ve got to do roughly 75 miles over the next three days, not the active recovery I was hoping for.

Lonely Mountain Roads

The next day I think I see maybe one person. The feeling of loneliness is very pervasive today, I feel alone in these mountains. I realize I’m more present in that I can barely remember days before, there is only the hike and the next section. It makes for a different cadence of life that I think I forgot about. I do daydream a lot though, I don’t think you could call them fantasies as much as different stories that I create during movement. I’ve always considered being more on top of recording my daydreams to write short stories, but this blog is a start at least. 

The burn scars combined either the cool mountain weather and bright sun make me feel as if I’m in Fall. It’s nice to imagine it this way instead of the reality of the result of a massive forest fire. A nasty plant, poodledog bush, known as a fire follower, a plant that quickly plants itself after fires, can be found widespread. Its bite is said to be worse than poison oak, so hikers are keen to keep their eyes open in burn scars. Also, if you’re hiking around and smell some electric lettuce, that’s also likely poodledog bush, which has a very similar fragrance. I watch coastal cloud layers being pushed up the mountain, dissipating as they clamor over the Islip Saddle.

There’s a long section you actually have to walk on closed highway, part of the trail closed for the preservation of a highly endangered frog along the trail. Feeling inconvenienced by the detour, as the uniform, flat surface is actually the hardest on the legs, I think about the frogs. I use the effort to save endangered species as a subject to think about morality and the scale of time.

Poodledog Bush

I stumble into camp, like many times before, knowing all too well that each of the next two days will be the single longest walks I’ve done in a day in my life.