Mile 1743 - 1927: Begin the Volcanoes

A Social Change

My legs and feet are still feeling a bit uncertain. My toes are getting progressively more numb with times of feeling like they are on fire, and what feels like being shocked on the outsides of my calves. Oh, how I hope I haven’t made a mistake with my shoes. The trail is low and easy, there’s very little climbing relative to NorCal. I come across Pippa, a girl I had met while in Pinecrest. It is always funny who you may come across. She’s headed south, doing some patchwork hiking. There are a few blowdowns but also, nothing compared to NorCal. But as I hop over this one log, I look down to see a natural basket of hornets that had made their nest right where I was hopping over. “Oooooooh shit!”, I yell as I speed past the log while I have a swarm of hornets buzz around me. Somehow I’m unscathed. Just up ahead is a canal, but the smell is horrid, so I continue 50 meters to see. Large group of people getting water at a spring. The canal, we assess, has sewage in it. Justine, who I had met in Mammoth and Pinecrest, had filled her water bladder with the petulant water, realized her mistake, and was sitting there with iodine tabs to sanitize her gear. I spend that time with her and talk story. Meeting a lot of familiar faces means I  go slower, but I really was not near anyone for the last part of NorCal, so I feel chatty again. There is a haze in the distance, the beginning of the smoke. It changes blue skies to more of a light grey.

 I begin to enter thick, indistinguishable forest, no sight out. This is the Oregon I know. I hadn’t lived in Oregon since college. I make it to the South Brown Mountain Shelter. A humble cabin, it doesn’t have a door but has a well and pump. Quite a few other people are here, and with a picnic table near, I gab a bit longer than expected. I was thinking to hike more that day, but I find more enjoyment in talking with people, and decide to camp for the night. Having clean, accessible water goes pretty far too. It is here I officially, to myself, give up the idea of hiking into Trail Days. Ambitious hiking of 35 miles each day is not realistic for me, and I feel a weight slough off my shoulders.

I’ve been trying to wake earlier, setting my alarm to wake me up, and this is the third time I’ve woken late to see there is no alarm set on my phone. I realize I’ve set it to “stop playing” instead of an actual tone to wake me up. Fixing this, I hope my next attempt at waking early works. Oregon feels quiet and subtle, its mountains match that sentiment. They roll lazily along the horizon, not like the more drastic mountains of California. Each day is quiet and almost mind-numbing with how easy the trail is these past few days. I come across another marten, that initially run away down a log. “Pspspspsps”, I call, like to a cat. This immediately catches its attention. I continue calling in this manner, staying still. It’s small round ears and black, beady eyes focused on me, curious as to what is actually making the noise. It gets quite close, the curiosity intensifying, until an actual squirrel responds. The marten is off, as its prey has officially given up its position. I continue on to let nature take its course. It seems the same crowd from the shelter the day before keeps choosing the same water sources. Like a watering hole, we all sit there, yapping at each other while we filter our water. Some folks decide to camp here, I continue on into the night.

My Biggest Day Yet

The smoke is building up. It holds the morning heat in and diffuses the light all around. I have to climb up and around Lucifer and Devil Peak this morning, and they seem aptly named. It’s dry, exposed, windy, and the smoke burns nostrils. I can feel the sweat on my brows and under my eyes. I get through this little Hell back into  spring fed forests, a nice reprieve.

Fire in the distance

I push myself to make it to Mazama by the end of the night. There’s always a little frustration in realizing how late that will be. The fire scar is one of the worst, and the water availability is some of the most challenging since the desert. I come upon the last water source for the next 13 miles, at least on FarOut. It’s been baking in the sun, slowly shrinking in the hot sun from evaporation and from every animal around. It’s full of tadpoles and even a friendly garter snake that takes a keen interest in my effort to collect the murky water without falling in. I also use a USGS overlay on my map that shows a pond a few miles from the highway to Crater Lake Village, I trust it will be there. I hike knowing that I can’t slow down, my eyes are wide as saucers from the cortisol. I gamble and win, the pond I suspected  to be intact is there, which is good, as the effort to make the miles, 33 by the end of the day, quickly drains me of water. I fill up, much easier than the previous pond, but my filter is about clogged now. 

I walk into the night while I listen to “Mutiny on the Bounty”, a historical account of William Bligh’s attempted journey to Tahiti to bring breadfruit to the Caribbean. I see a deer with its glowing eyes, then another critter dashing up a tree. Another marten, I’m always delighted to see them. We look at each other for a while until it launches itself from 20 feet in the tree to run into the forest. I finally make it to highway 62 to the village and make a road walk in. I make it to the campsite around 10pm, and struggle to figure out where I’m supposed to be. There’s a campsite for hikers, but everything and everyone is asleep. I stumble throughout the campsite and eventually choose an unreserved site to set up, I’ll be out early enough that it won’t matter. It’s nearly 11pm and I now I struggle to find the shower. Going through a burn scar for over 30 miles means I’m filthy. My feet are also incredibly sore, I won’t be able to sleep without some sort of treatment. I finally find the showerhouse and sit in the hot water. It’s nearly 11:30 by the time I crawl in my tent. Feet still a bit sore but I can feel myself finally calming down then drifting into sleep.

Nostalgia

I remember coming to Crater Lake years ago to go camping with my supervisor and friend from the University of Oregon Recreation Center, Cody. We camped down in the wilderness. We decided to go out to find a good clear spot to watch the stars. I had never seen the Milky Way so clear in my life until this point. We were mesmerized. Then we had to go back to camp promptly got lost. We must have gone around different trails for hours, finally finding our camp around 2pm. That next day we went up to the Crater Rim Drive, and I remember seeing this raggedy looking hikers, I thought they looked homeless. This was my first real interaction with the PCT. They piqued my interest, and I’d see portions of the PCT on other trails I’d go on, but it went out of mind for years. I sit here today, realizing I look no different from those scrubby hikers from over 10 years ago. I begin the Rim Trail, and quickly find a quiet spot that overlooks the lake while I have lunch.

Crater Lake

“I’ll fight ya for it!”

Wizard Island

The chipmunks are getting bolder. This one I wave my spoon at threateningly. When I was younger I may have tried to entice it with food. Now I feel highly territorial.  I see another plume of smoke to the northwest. I can now see two separate wildfires from where I stand. An ominous sign for the weeks to come. I come upon where the Rim Trail and the PCT meets, as the PCT takes a longer and less steep route to the west. At the trailhead parking lot, I see a girl where she has filled up her water from the water cache there. I ask to sit with her and we chat. I had seen her on trail, she’s faster than me, and goes by Mother Teresa. Some folks in Sprinter Vans give us some sparkling water which is eagerly accepted. Another guy comes in and joins us. 54 year old ER doctor who goes by Mayor, sits down. I immediately like the two and they’ve hiked around each other as well. I had been hiking around them the past few days. We all have the same end point for the day, right outside the park. The reward? Wind and cheese. They each brought a can of wine and I had a block of Parmesan. We set up and eat late, but laugh over wine and cheese late into the night, or at least, late for us.

Not at the same time, we all head to the next water cache, aiming for a 30 mile day. I had never been so reliant on water caches until Oregon, I didn’t realize how dry it was. Early on into the hike we approach Mt Thielsen, known as the “Lightning Rod of the Cascades” for its prominent peak that lightning seems to love. I feel nostalgic again. I had climbed nearly to the top a little over ten years ago, stopping short because I had started late in the day and didn’t have a light to get back. Though in college, I was still a fool. I look at its dramatic climb, and I feel I also was quite bold, or stupid. We skirt around it to the north side where there’s a large gaggle of people hanging around a glacial stream. I wash my socks out, the water so cold it numbs my hands. The cold water is perfect for what would be another hot day, the smoke building up again. 

Mt Thielsen

I push to make it Wendigo Pass, our 30 mile target, before it gets dark. I notice the days are getting shorter, even in the thick of summer. Overall, it takes us 13 hours to do the 30 miles, which also had generous breaks, and we feel elated at our speed. Mother Teresa, Mayor, and 

I now sit in a circle in the dark at the water cache that had been left to eat our dinner. Mayor gives me a hard time about my food and how I cold soak it. Asking if I even like myself, jokingly of course. He’s happy to see I finally have a spoon, as when he met me he saw me eating what thought was part of a roof shingle. We can see some curious deer about 100 feet off, no doubt attracted by the hikers here. I climb into my tent and within minutes hear a ruckus and some snorting. Mother Teresa went to the bathroom and something about that made the deer around very concerned. She still cowboy camped and just put earplugs in, while I listened to the deer stumble around less gracefully than myself throughout the night.

Give Me Shelter

The smoke is affecting my sinuses more and more. I had poor sleep, likely fits of snoring. But today promises something quite nice, a shortcut. There’s more lakes along this route as well. The challenge? Some of the trail becomes a bit nebulous, so there’s a risk of getting a little lost. I like a gamble, so I’ll take it. Since we had hiked so late, that meant it will take a while for the rest of this small hiker bubble to catch us today. Once again, Mayor and Mother Teresa are ahead of me, so I get to hike alone. Which I enjoy for the day. I take a nap before noon, drinking a bit of caffeine right before so they both hit me in about 30 minutes. I have to occasionally flick off a carpenter ant,  but the nap works. It’s a bit of “scene-roulette” type of day, from burn scars to trees so thickly covered in moss they look like giant sticks of cotton candy. I arrive to Shelter Cove, a small resort, to see dozens of hikers around. I step inside the store and see man immediately outstretch his arms in front of me. It takes me a second to realize it’s Joe. His bears has gotten much bigger, plus he’s wearing shorts which I never see him do. We hug and catch up. Upon sitting on the deck I see Mayor, Mother Teresa, and a few other faces. I have chicken strips and fries immediately handed to me. Apparently folks got stuck here with the fire north of this point, though the trail wasn’t closed, more of a result of fear mongering . The campground is filled to the brim. The food is aplenty.