Serendipity

So we hit the showers and the beds of the motel last Monday pretty hard.  But by Tuesday morning, we were ready to get moving.  We needed to hitchhike around Mt Lassen to catch up to where we should be on the trail.

This was nearly 110 miles; hiking would've only been 45, but that was a straight shot through a national park, and we now had to go around. 

Our first lift was from Rick, a former US Airborne Ranger driving trucks.  Great guy, full of a great sense of life, and duty, if perhaps a little too focused on Obama.  C'mon Rick, it's the system!!   :-)

Rick took us about 50 miles, and we had to wait less than 5 minutes to find Dan DeKock slowing down to help us.

Dan is a sixth-grade school teacher and, as we travelled another 50 miles with him, we realised he has some lucky students.  He described the geological history of the terrain we traversed, taught us the names of our favorite trees, and animals (turns out we've seen antelope and mule deer so far), and was a general source of enthusiasm and wisdom.  Amazing guy.

We stopped in Chester for lunch.  Chester is like going back to America from the 70s.  No strip malls, with all independently run restaurants and shops.  It was heaven, and from what I can tell of the pricing, an incredible holiday destination.  We may be back.

Finally Janice, a wonderful Lutheran lady, took us the last 10 miles to our place.

In all, we hitched for 110 miles, and it took us 3 hours (minus lunch time) to get there!

The St Bernard Lodge is a wonderfully quaint B&B, with Sharon doing her best to make it feel like a home.  They have nice, cosy rooms, a bar, pool table, games, hot tub, and a great view out the back.

The blister meds my dad had ordered from REI arrived (thanks Dad!) and as we tucked in to a couple of really great burgers, we debated whether to get back on the trail in the morning.  My feet were feeling much, much better after only 36 hours, and we'd be able to get 3 days ahead of schedule, instead of one day behind, which would make future delays less of an ordeal.

But the universe had other plans for us.

As we prepared for bed, Dan, the teacher from earlier in the day, had read the previous blog post and decided to invite us to join him, and a bevy of friends, for a light hike up to Rim Lake the next day.

It would be 6ish miles of hiking, and ascending about 1200 feet.  Just enough to test my feet and get us out there without a full-on day.  Perfect.

We met up with them and the day unfolded like few in my life.  I dont really feel I can do it justice here, but I'll try.

There were 6 adults and 11 kids between 8-15 yrs.  Everyone had a wonderful energy and we were soon trekking.  The third little mountain lake we came to was about 3500 ft altitude, tranquil and beautiful, with a rope swing off some boulders to about a 20 ft drop.  The kids were in heaven.  (Photos from this are on other camera).  

We then finished the climb up to Rim Lake, at 4200 ft, which means when standing at certain parts, you can see trees 1000 ft below.  The sheer scale is a naturally made slice of majesty.  We tucked into a picnic, and enjoyed some home made drinks Dan had brought.  

The kids ran around the lake, the boulders, and generally got up to mischief.  

Meanwhile I got to know Dan, Joanne, Scott, Dean & Celeste a lot better, and generally fell into a mood of transcendent gratitude - one of those times you just hope the tape recorder in your brain is working and you hope you'll never forget.  At one moment, Dan looks over at me, in what I can only imagine was an awed expression of peacefulness on my face, and says simply, "Welcome to California."

Indeed.  We went swimming in that heavenly lake just after, and it started to rain, such that the lake was warmer than the air, and the energy of such a group swimming, the warm vibes and positive energy were sublime.  Somebody said these days don't just happen, you gotta make em happen, and I thought how true.

Afterwards, they invited us to go boating, water-skiing, etc, on Lake Almanor.  As if it couldn't get any better!

While I was genuinely yearning to get back on the trail, I was also keenly aware that the point of this trip is Ben's Rite of Passage, and I couldn't help but notice how, as the day had wore on, Ben was spending more time with the two 15/16 year old American girls, who it must be said, seemed to be fawning over him a bit, too.  I watched him deftly flit between casual flirting, and ignoring the girls to play with the boys, then back to being witty and clever with the girls.  Ben is a pretty impressive kid, and it may be I've had prouder moments of him, but if so, I can't remember them. 

To top it all off, for the six mile drive of dirt road down from the mountain, Dan asked/let Ben drive the truck down to, as he whispered to me, help give him a bit more street cred with these teenage girls!  I'm officially starting a Dan DeKock fan club.

So as Rites of Passage days go for Ben, it was a pretty momentous day.  And as a soulful restorative for me, beyond description.

THANK YOU so much Dan and the entire cast of awesome people, including Amy who was so welcoming at her lake house.  We can't wait to show you some London hospitality.

We're now heading back on the hike, still managing to leave half a day ahead of schedule.  We've amended the itinerary a bit - instead of stopping in Belden we'll be staying at Buck's Lake Lodge on Tues or Wed of next week.

A Rough Start

That was truly brutal.  I guess from a neutral perspective it included everything we wanted - breathtaking beauty, immense difficulty and simple courage.  But as I lay here off-trail, in a motel room we hadn't booked, at a time we hadn't planned, preparing to hitchhike up to where we're meant to be, the word that sums it best is brutal. 

I'll start at the beginning of the week.

On Friday, we hiked around Redding for some last minute supplies.  This was fun.   My mom had pleaded with us to take a gun, so Ben got into the spirit and considered his options.

As a minor cultural point, it bemused us both to see the royally fixated newsstands of America. 

We then hitchhiked out to Burney Falls.  Whilst most people sensibly ignore hitchhikers in America, the fact you can still hitch a ride, relatively easily, is a true credit to American culture.  We had to travel 50 miles, so expected to need 2 or 3 rides.  It took us about half an hour to catch our first lift.  

Our angel was Luba, a blonde California girl, born in Moldova, and adopted by Americans. She'd had a rough week, and  picked us up to distract herself from these thoughts. We enjoyed a lot of laughs in about our hour together, and learned that Luba is consistently one of those rare souls that, when faced with personal challenges, rather than get self absorbed like so many of us, looks for chances to help others.  She ended up taking us the whole way; if you're reading this Luba, thank you so much.  Keep the faith and come stay in London any time.

We were then on the trail, and after so much talking about it, it felt great to be doing it.  Within just a few minutes, we were graced with Burney Falls itself.

We enjoyed the splendor of that scene for a few moments, and headed south.  Buying supplies had taken a LOT longer than planned - we were starting the hike at 5pm instead of 11am - so were only able to get a few miles before we pitched camp in a secluded glen.

The next day started well - we were making a brisk pace for the first few miles, until the sun really started to shine on us. Ben looked like he might have sun stroke, with a ruddy complection, warm forehead and hazy eyes, so we stopped for a good, long afternoon break - from 12-3, to let the worst heat of the day pass us by.  As we would come to realize in the coming days, this place is just HOT this time of year, around 100 F every day so far. Add strenuous hiking and heavy backpacks, and you have a recipe for fatigue.

However, those factors are not why we're in this motel room.

That afternoon, we hiked about 8 more miles, during which I had a sharp sting on the soles of my feet. Just a few weeks ago, I had hiked about 30 miles in these same shoes and socks, so I knew it couldn't be blisters.  But whatever it was  sure did hurt.  I checked my feet during a couple of breaks, no blisters.  Ho hum, I thought, I'm just a tenderfoot I guess.  Man up and hike on.

Big mistake.  The next morning I woke with two walnut sized blisters, blood red in color, like I've never seen before, at the centre of the sole of both feet.  I didn't think to take a photo of them, but I did call my dad, as I couldn't remember whether you're meant to drain them or not.  He couldn't remember either, so while he did the research, Ben and I had hiking to do.  With Ben leading the way, we hiked what for me were 10 agonizing miles.  Each and every step felt like I had a thumbtack in my boot.  And we were hiking over rocky, craggy terrain, so every step was a little game of Tetris, trying to figure out how to place each foot on the rocks without placing the blisters directly onto a jagged edge.  The plus side - I didn't notice the heat or the weight of the pack at all!

All this while, Ben found his stride and is literally owning the hike.  He speeds off, so far ahead I can't even see him, waits for 20 minutes for me to catch up, repeat.  Experienced hikers coming north, who've just passed Ben, comment on the spring in his step.  

During the last couple of miles, with Ben about a mile in front of me, while I hobbled along on our walking sticks like crutches, I turn my ankle over.  Came crashing down to the ground so hard, in such pain, I saw nothing but white for a few seconds.  Attempting to scramble to my feet, in the blazing heat, with that pack, I felt like an upturned one-legged turtle trying to right itself.  That whole scene was just torture, but if only it was filmed, it'd be a funny YouTube video.

Fortunately, when I finally made it up to him, Ben was at a shaded water cache where we could break for a couple of hours.  There I had better reception, called my dad and found out I should bleed the blisters.  Here is one post draining.

Gotta love the sterile trail conditions, eh? Irony is I've never really had blisters before, maybe one or two my whole life.  And now I get a couple of whoppers.  

We were still behind schedule on our hike, so after a nap and a meal and the application of all the blister/ankle meds we had, we headed off for a 7.8 mile leg.  The first 6 miles of this were much less painful than before - draining the blisters had clearly helped, and whilst the ankle was raw, I managed.

We were treated to some majestic views of Mt Shasta, and the upcoming Mt Lassen, but the greatest beauty to me was seeing Ben.  He was resolute and cheery, quick to help me when needed, but also happy to get on with it. I'd have been inspired by him even if he weren't my son.

It was all going surprisingly well, until the last two miles.  The pain from the blisters returned en force, almost out of the blue, to where every step was a grimaced victory, every mile a personal triumph.  

We arrived at camp, where Ben really did all the work, and I just fell into a heap on my sleeping bag, utterly exhausted.  For the day, we'd hiked 17.8 miles.

That night, I awoke to the musky smell of a bear.  Instantly alert, I grabbed my light and spray, rose out of the tent, and scanned the area, trying not to hobble too much.  I heard the bellowing call of probably a moose or elk, but I don't really know the various sounds (or smells) of these animals, so to me, in the pitch black, I could only think bear.  Whatever it was, it was calling out for a good hour, and even after, I didn't sleep very much at all.

The next morning we had 7.4 miles to the next place where we could refill on water.  The ankle was a bit swollen, having had no ice, but it was walkable.  

Ben was, again, spritely and diligent, packed up camp while I changed bandages, and off we went.

The hike itself was a repeat of the previous afternoon - I was surprised by how little pain I had for the first few miles.  To be clear, every step still hurt, it just wasnt debilitating.  I used various techniques during these miles, found things to be grateful for, sang songs, told Ben dirty jokes, anything I could, and more than a few laughs along the way.

At the end of this leg, when we got to the water source, it had run dry.  Our own stores were already bone dry, and it was 6 miles to the next water.  I knew we couldn't make it without aqua.  I finally cried uncle.  I had hiked over 30 miles on blisters, over 15 on my ankle, but was unwilling to do any without water.  We hiked about two miles down to a road, hitched a ride to the nearest town, and here we are just outside our motel room, looking forward to our showers.

My feet now have three days to recover, (is that too long/short for blisters?) and we have to hitchhike the 60 miles to where we're supposed to be to resume the hike plan.

Some beautiful moments, and a respectable total of 48.8 miles hiked in the first 3 days, but for me, a brutal first leg.

Here we Go!

So it begins.

We're just so excited to get going...with a tinge of sober awareness.  Any true adventure should have a bit of danger.  This one has some, but for all the ballyhoo, in the history of the PCT there has never been a death from a bear attack, or any animal*.  Our dangers are more likely to be down to lack of available water, poise or stamina, and I'm certain we'll be strong in two out of those three areas. 

The weather forecast has a heat wave and drought hitting California.  Over the next three days of hiking, we'll spend two days hiking in 41 C / 100+ F degree weather, during which we'll hike 34 miles between water re-supply points.  So that's almost literally a baptism by fire to start the hike, and hydration will be key.

While that makes me nervous, I also marvel at our modern world, and how we're able to know, and prepare, for this before we embark. 

We're ready.

Of course, that's not going to stop the achingly beautiful nature of a mother's worry, wishing farewell at the airport.

Today was a big travel day, 19.5 hours in planes and airports.  The last leg from San Fran to Redding was my favorite - there's something romantic about those smaller prop planes.

I'm now having a beer in the Hilton, and if I have another one, or a blog post, in the next 6 days, something's gone wrong.  The hike starts in the morning, with a little supply shopping, followed by a little hitchhiking out to the trail.

Night.

*When bears and other wild creatures realize what easy prey we are, they head to far more populated areas than the PCT to enjoy their easy pickin's.  

The Hike Plan.

Stock photo, just getting into the spirit...

We board a plane for California 3 weeks from today, so the plan is coming  together.  Today, I finalised the miles we hike each day, the extra time required to climb the steep bits so we know when we'll finish each evening, so I could book where we'll be staying on our rest days, all that sort of thing.  

About every 7 days, we're coming off the trail for a shower and a nice cold beer.  Today I called every lodge/ranch, just to make sure the reservation was confirmed and that they stock cold beer.  Thank goodness I did.  The original plan meant we would arrive in a town called Belden during the same evening as a Techno Music Festival.  Can you imagine?  Taking your son half way around the world to connect with him, to bond, to, as Thoreau said, "live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and to see if we could not learn what it had to teach".   Can you imagine, in the midst of that, arriving to the repetitive percussion of a mind-numbing rave?  

To be fair, a rave in the Sierra Nevada Mountains would probably be pretty amazing, but not the sort of Rite of Passage we had in mind, so I changed that part of the plan.  Everything else has gone pretty smoothly.

Until, that is, I looked at the handy chart that Craig's PCT Planner creates for you once you've finished working out all the details.

The profile for elevation gain of the specific section of the hike we'll be doing.

Over the 26 days, we will hike 38,000 feet of elevation gain, or nearly 10,000 feet more than the height of Everest.  Or put another way, to the height that planes fly.  Or more than 7 miles of vertical distance.  Groan.

Here's the plan summary for when we'll be doing which part of the hike.

So you can see, from the 11th of August to the 20th of August if you think of us, just know that after climbing nearly 2,000 feet a day during that stretch, we're probably sleeping pretty well.