Mile 598 - 703: Gateway to the Sierras

 Rekindled

Setting up my tent the night before was tough, the wind was ripping through. By midnight it had calmed down, but the flapping of my tent must have created enough of a ruckus to keep critters away because once the wind stopped, an assault began. It first was a large rustling in the green grotto 20 yards away. Then I heard something rummaging in my bag. I grabbed my phone, turned the light on, and this little creature with great big eyes and a long tail was staring me in the face, must have been paralyzed by the bright light. Kangaroo rat. It scurried away and I closed my bag up. It must have felt slighted, because him and his friends decided to do parkour on my tent fly for a good 20 minutes, chittering and laughing the entire time. After a while it died down, must have gotten bored, but there was still large movements about 20 yards away. I knew it was bear country, but I eventually fell asleep. 

The morning is cool and my body is a bit stiff, but even after a frustrating night, my mind feels pretty clear. I pass 600 miles, and it feels like a new section altogether. 

I feel interested in my writing and notes again, trying to figure out how to better collect my thoughts, especially after the previous week. I think there were a lot of juicy nuggets that I missed. I think about how I ended up here, 600 miles on the PCT, what drove me to do some of the interesting things in my life, and why I felt tortured when life felt mundane for too long.

Growing up I wanted my life to feel like a story, to live the hero’s journey, to believe good will triumph over evil. So I do try to write that story each day, but like any story, there’s a lot of in between we don’t hear about. 

Between the Piutes and Scodies

My thoughts, my dreams, are lighter as I’m increasingly surrounded by rock, and oak, and grass. I never meant for the PCT to be a psychic endeavor, I didn’t want to project that on it, but it happened anyway, and now going through the desert of California and of my mind, and I feel excited to be headed to high country of the land and mind. I stroll through the woods, chipmunks bark at me, their tails flying up like flags in the wind. As I leave the Piute Range, I see the Scodies, dry and arid. The desert would have one more say before I enter the Sierras.

Bye-bye Piutes, hello Scodies

One Last Desert Bake

The area is very pretty, but I am fairly over the desert at this point. This leg of the trail is primarily sand, my feet sinking a little with every push of my feet. I’m happy to be wearing a hat, Joshua Tress drape themselves lazily over the trail at times, so I hit my head in the plant maces. Heavy and spiky, my hat at least buffers the latter. 

I’m still in the desert, but the blue of the sky is clear and vibrant, it reminds me of high mountain air. There’s definitely still dust around, I struggle with a blood encrusted nose everyday. This trail has served as a path for hikers, but I believe it also serves as an ecosystem highway. I see insects, lizards, and other footprints to suggest bigger critters, utilize the trail to move fast across the desert. The trail is packed down, the second you step off the trail, you realize how much packing in makes traversing easier, even in the relatively soft sections. This section is particularly dry however, with no natural water sources, trail angels supply large water caches of over 500 gallons. I take a heavy 5 liters up the last climb of the day into more forested grounds.

Mayan Peak

With access to only water caches, that means I haven’t been able to get as clean as I like, but this next day apparently a strong spring, McIver’s Spring, is along the trail. I feel like a chinchilla after a dust bath, so I’m eager to get washed off. So eager, I miss the turn off to the spring by a mile. What stops me is the view of the Sierras in the distance. I had been trying to manage my phone battery as it was close to dead and my external battery was done as well, so I turned it on briefly to take a photo and check where I was in the map. I know exactly where I missed it, and normally I would never do unnecessary miles, but today isn’t a long day of hiking with the only goal being a quick in and out resupply in Inyokern then back on trail. So I make my way back to find a spring and a little cabin. As usual, I throw my clothes off and get to scrubbing. This is one of the stronger springs I’ve come across, helping me get proper clean. Just as I’m finishing up some familiar folks start descending towards the little cabin. I was done washing anyway. I finish up by rinsing my clothes and continue my journey down to Walker Pass and try to hitch a ride into town. The time at the spring and the extra two miles puts my time back a bit later than I’d hope for. The grade down to the pass is easy, and the trail clean, time to run. I run for nearly half an hour, knowing that having sufficient time for a hitch is crucial to making this day work. I arrive at the pass, and most folks go right by me, but a local man with a fishing boat pulls over and gives me a lift. He’s spent a lot of time in these hills. I just had come down from the Kiavah Wilderness and he goes hunting there a lot and uses pack goats for his gear and whatever game he brings back. I love this and it makes me think of the goats I raised and took care of at Ahu Lani in Hawaiʻi. We arrive to Inyokern which looks like a stereotypical small, California desert town. There’s a burger joint, Classic Burgers, and a Dollar General. I’m set.  I spend too much at Classic Burgers, having one of the betters burgers of my life, get a resupply, then grab the bus back to Walker Pass, where I jam out another mile before making camp.

That Bites

I wake a bit groggy. I can’t tell if it’s the amount of grease I had the day before or the wind’s effects on my sinuses. My knee is a bit sore from running down that hill the day before. Nothing sharp, but still sore, my knees have been bulletproof until today. I take my first break in a nice camp, I decide I need some caffeine. As I’m seated, I’m assaulted by a hummingbird. The sound is terrifying that close to you, and I realize my hat looks like a giant flower probably. I jokingly plead for it to leave me alone, and it does. Right as that wraps up, a familiar group of faces shows up. We chat and I procrastinate leaving, so I just leave with them. Chops is in their group, who is the woman I tried to keep up with going up the San Gabriels. So I try again, but this time give up after 30 minutes. Some of these folks just seemingly float up hills. We all naturally meet up at the next water source. One of the guys, Yukon, sits solemnly. A rattlesnake had just struck at him, and hit the foam on his shoe. He was still reeling and reassuring himself that he had not actually been bitten. Once again, no rattle, just a strike. We decide a meeting spot and head out. I meet up with a more local person who is hiking the trail, Safari is her trail name, so we talk plants and critters of the area, which makes the time go by fast. We stop at what I think to be the meeting point I agreed to with the other folks, nowhere to be found, at least, Chops would have been the only one here at this point. So we continue on, and on, and on. I take a break at a stream to get cleaned up and wait a bit to see if any of the group shows up. No luck. So I ascend to the gap about 1500 feet above to go camp at a stellar spot. For the first time in days I work on the previous week’s blog, actually writing it. This feels enjoyable and engaging, quite a difference from the last week.

Good Riddance, Desert

My days are now are 20-22 miles, getting into camp with a few hours of downtime. This feels way better on my nervous system and my mental health. I don’t want to get off trail, I feel the sustainability of this approach. I hike quite a bit with Safari in the morning. We both know we are getting close to Kennedy Meadows so we make strong morning miles. We arrive to a Chimney Creek to find some trail magic. A bottle of Sutter Home wine and a few beers. A PBR lite, who knew it could get lighter? I slam it down and feel refreshed. We have one ascent for the day so we take it on. By lunch we go through about 12 miles, ready to take on 13 more to get to the Kern River. A dip in the river sounds like a nice goal. We separate on the long descent.

The ground is rocky and though I don’t feel tired, my feet are starting to act tired around mile 20, kicking and tripping every so often. I have plenty of energy to become frustrated by it.

 I decided I’m going to stop at the campground at Manter Creek at the bottom of the descent. As I arrive, looks like Safari thought the same. We agree, that descent was brutal on the feet for some unknown reason. This is one of the earliest times I’ve gotten into camp, probably around 5. There are a few thunderclouds above, but nothing serious, and the night goes by without a stir.

View of the South Fork Kern River

A Familiar Scene

This is the day I get to Kennedy Meadows. Every hiker has been excited to get here, and descending down into this basin, you feel the drastic change. There are some elements of the desert still present, but the landscape takes a whole new shape. The walk toward Kennedy Meadows felt familiar. It reminded me of central Oregon of my youth. I had a sinus headache, days of my nose bleeding from dry air and dust. The grandeur of the mountains weren’t enough to take my mind off it. I tried some caffeine to help. I jumped in the Kern River to cool off, rinse my body, and wash my clothes out. 

My bathing spot

The cold seems to help my sinus swelling a bit. There are facilities to do that in Kennedy Meadows at The General Store and Grumpy Bears, but the country boy in me can’t resist hopping in the river. It does remind me of younger days. I stay on the river for about an hour before heading back out. Arriving to The General Store is quite the event, with every hiker getting a big cheer from all the patrons, locals and hikers alike. I quickly see some friendly faces and I feel warmth drape over me. It’s been nearly a week just on trail, and a lot of processing, it felt good to come back to a grounded space. I forget to grab a photo with the boys, too busy just hanging out. I decide I’m going to go to Grumpy Bears, a restaurant, bar, event venue, store, whatever you need it to be. The packages my parents sent have already arrived and by the end of the day, I feel like I want to be on the trail again. But I’ll give myself a full day off. My skin was amazingly dry, all over, the desert urging me to become a lizard. One of the things I brought was a rough exfoliating cloth, like the ones they use at a Korean spa. I scour my skin and apply moisturizer, feeling like a seal by the end of it. There’s a small concert at Grumpy Bears, but I still find myself in my tent by 7:30. I’m pooped.

“Lasagna Cat”

I get plenty of social time, which has been good for my soul. Tehachapi Tanner gave Kennedy Meadows Tanner too much food via the food I shipped, so I don’t order food at any of the establishments, it’s more trail food for me. We’re required to use a bear canister to store our food throughout the Sierras so we have to reconfigure food and our packs. I get rid of a bag’s worth of stuff and drop it in the hiker box, adding to the loot. The day goes by slow, and I get antsy, I want to get on trail, but I know I should rest. I talk with friends about the next section and any plans. It’s a tough section, with an optional Mt Whitney (the highest peak in the lower 48) summit. Of course I want to summit, but we’re all trying to figure out this possible snow storm. Forester pass itself is over 13,000 feet. Different conversations, different approaches, there’s no consensus. I feel like leaving Monday at some time. I have enough food for a long trek, and I’ve got the gear to navigate snow. Personally, I want to send it. I get back to The General Store. Joe made it there and it is a lot closer to the actual trail. I reconnect with familiar faces over a few beers. I have a disturbed sleep, too much fear mongering over the coming section has my subconscious on alert.