12 days on the PCT

Day 0

June 5-7, 2018

I’m the kind of girl who hears there is something wild and dangerous nearby and immediately puts it on her to-do list. An uber driver recently gave me the scoop that I could take the bus by my house all the way to the trailhead of the PCT. It was obviously destiny.

I’ve dreamed of doing the PCT for a long while but there is a lot of saving and planning required (both of which I'm terrible at) in order to dedicate yourself to the full 2,650 miles. The majority of thru-hikers start between April and May. I figured the biggest drawback to starting in June would be some dramatic desert heat and drier water sources. For most people it was essential to start this early in order to avoid the snowfall of the Sierras, but I only had 2 weeks of travel time and I wanted to stop before bear county anyways.

To be honest, I have never camped alone before. I don’t even own a tent. This whole backpacking thing is new territory to me. Though I tend to not heed most hiking warnings, I decided it might be smart to take the essential precautions this time. I acquired the minimum in necessary supplies; a mini water filter, 2 x 2L bladders, and a lite-weight sleeping bag rated for 35-40 degrees. The rest of my gear would have to do. If my old school backpack could handle the 20 lbs. of textbooks I had tortured it with throughout the years, the gear for this trip was going to be a cakewalk.

I printed out the first 220 miles of notes and water reports, folded them into a Ziploc bag, and tucked them away. Ready as I’ll ever be!

Day 1 (PCT mile 20)

June 8, 2018

20 trail miles— Campo to Lake Morena

Personifying badassery at the Southern Terminus.

This adventure began in a typical Kathy fashion; miscalculated and uncoordinated. Directions really never have been my thing. The good news is, I always seem to figure it out. (Disclaimer: I consider getting truly lost to be a win in adventure terms 😊* )

*I smile because doesn’t everyone enjoy having to bushwhack themselves back to the trail?

Gotta stop to see the off trail wonders.

I took the earliest bus, getting in to Campo at 10:21 am, and walked the 1.5 miles from the bus stop to the Southern Terminus (just for the bragging rights of a picture with it**).

The Mexican border wall.

**I didn’t actually intend to take this detour, I just followed the direction the bus driver pointed me. I'm pleased I can say I started from Mexico and mean it though. Even if I did forget to sign the log book…

I then proudly marched my first mile in the absolutely wrong direction (due East along the border wall) before turning around and marching those (now) 2.5 miles back to where I originally spotted  the trail markers.

The large green dot is where the bus dropped me. 

Red dots are the path I took. 

The pink dots are the path I meant to the take,

 leading to the little green dots where I continued on the PCT. 

At least now I understood that the trail markers guiding me to the trail, were actually THE trail. I blame my backpack for cutting off the circulation to my brain and preventing me from figuring this out.

Raw moment of anger at helpful inanimate object (backpack).

A couple miles further along, I found a fluffy bag that looked like a rain poncho, and it felt like words of encouragement from the universe. I tucked it under one shoulder strap and my flannel under the other and it made the weight of the backpack seem like something that could pass for bearable. I then spent the next hours lost in my own made-up songs, distracting myself from the melting desert.

I finally checked the time as I walked the service road approaching Hauser Creek. I could sense daylight fading to a close. 7:30 pm and a deep walk into a valley and back up a twice as large hill still lay before me.

Similarly as ominous, was the raven circling and foreboding caws over the area just down the road from me.

My curiosity led me further, until a medium-sized cat and I walked with equal shock some slow steps closer to one another. Not knowing what to do next, I stepped back out of sight around the bend. As I fumbled for my pepper spray, the cat darted down into the valley.***

I can now take ownership of my irrational fear in that moment. I was fully convinced this was a mountain lion cub and I was about to be mama bait at the bottom of this dark valley.

The future I avoided.

So instead of the 5 miles along the trail to Lake Morena campground, I continued 7 miles on the road, and felt no shame in it.

A junk yard I passed on my walk along the service road.

I found a ranger around 10 pm outside the station who gave me a ride to the special PCT camping area. He told me one other man from Japan was sharing the site with me and that I couldn’t hang my hammock on any of the trees….

The site was definitely not as extravagant as the RV’s and trailer's surrounding me. But we had a concrete shaded picnic area, so, there were some perks.

After seriously considering sleeping on the table, to politely heed the ranger's hammock warning…

I walked as deep into the forest area behind the site as I knew it would take to not get caught, and set-up my hammock there.  

Bundling in my hammock the next morning.

This was the first night I realized my sleeping bag wasn’t going to be warm enough. From 2 AM until the sun came up, I shivered. In all my layers, in a little ball, in that poorly selected sleeping bag.

Wasn’t my elevation only 3,000 ft? This was only going to get worse…

***no bob cats were pepper sprayed in this making of this chapter

Day 2 (PCT mile 32.6)

June 9, 2018

12 trail miles— Lake Morena to Cibbets Flat Campground

So guys, remember that rain poncho I found?

Chio and I made acquaintance the night before through a half grunt and blinded headlamp exchange.  We interacted only by the mutual settling of our gear after that.

Until he noticed the rain poncho.

Chio asked me in broken English,

“This yours?”

(insert spotlight from the heavens)

The rain poncho was actually Chio’s tent.

The next morning, as I was packing up for the day, Chio gifted me with a chocolate Cliff bar, and … this inflated Japanese package branded for what looked like a chocolate waffle?

A gift, for bringing him his tent, he told me.

Someone taught this boy well. American girl’s respond well to chocolate. 

Admittingly, I really wasn’t interested in the addition, (I already felt I was carrying too much food) but I sized up his lot enough to know he could spare it. This guy was like the Mary Poppins of backpacking. His pack was massive! Even still, I never figured out how he fit all the things he would unload from it, all back in.

I set off for the trail before I witnessed even half of his trinkets get hidden away.

(I also set-off still too naïve to check the elevation forecast. Silly, silly me. I thought Fred Canyon meant I was looking forward to some downhill for a while.)

I was in high spirits as I ate lunch in the cool breeze and shade of Boulder Oaks Campground. Outhouse and water source pairing are just so sexy to any amateur backpacker like myself.

I was over the 1,000 ft of incline by the time I came face to face with some more dramatic incline at the turnoff for Cibbet flats. The mile off trail was worth the early rest. There were only two campsites left unclaimed when I got to the flats around 4 pm. 

After trying my hammock in every possible position (literally 6 different ways), I found it only fit in one place; A gusty gateway between trees, where all the wind collected. I didn't mind though, the breeze felt nice. The echo of laughs and cans cracking coupled the campfire smoke in the warm wind that rocked me. I was sound asleep before the sun even set.

I woke up again around 3 AM, cold and restless, until the sun rose.

Day 3 (PCT mile 40)

June 10, 2018
8 trail miles— Cibbet Flat Campground to Burnt Ranchera Campground 

My phone was dying (a reoccurring theme you will learn) but I was excited for just 8 more miles until Mt. Laguna and hopefully a solution to my sleepless nights.

I passed Chio and later, was passed by a couple of day hikers. I laughed as I met up with them again in the parking lot of Burnt Ranchera. The lady was taking a celebratory picture of her partner as he soaked his feet in the cooler with a beer in hand.  They offered me one but I declined. I had something of a sleep-deprived/caffeine-withdrawal headache and was set on getting to the store for a solution.

The best solution I could find was a tarp that looked like too much for my already bulging backpack. I set my phone up to charge at the visitor’s center, as I lay in defeat outside, hoping maybe I could do some research on a place in Julian when it had some juice. I also had an internal debate over whether I could live on protein bars until tomorrow or if I should buy some more food. I eventually decided to return to the store.

Chio walked in as I was checking out. He told me he was ready to skip. (translation- he was a thru-hiker who wanted to hop on a bus to somewhere further north.)

I did some research on my phone as I waited for him on the patio. When he joined me, he asked if I’d like to sit for a drink with him.

Me and Chio sitting on the patio of the Mt. Laguna store.

I found this gesture endearing. Our exchanges had been comfortably awkward before this point. We both were stubbornly interested in hiking our own hike, but consistently glad for the company when we passed. I think we became friends in the moment we shared a laugh on that porch together.

He went on to hike further that night, while I was content with the prospect of a real dinner and shower in my future. I stopped by the hiker friendly Pine House Café on the way home. I had just been dreaming of vegetables!

I spent that night at the best site in Burnt Ranchera. It was reserved just for me*!!

[ Note to self, if I ever go back to this place, spots 28 and 30 are VIP]

*okay ya, maybe not reserved for me. But it had great tree cover (aka privacy), and hammock trees, and I’m stealthy (and cheap) so… the reservation holders wouldn’t be there for another week and I squatted on their spot.

Which didn’t change my pattern of waking up at 2 AM shivering…

But I was super clean and my campsite was sexy so life was good.

Day 4 (PCT mile 59.5)

June 11, 2018

18 trail miles—Burnt Ranchera to Sunrise Trailhead 

I learned to minimize my water carries within the first few days. As I drank 12 lbs. down to zero, I understood the power of a much lighter bag. I now calculated my water in terms of source distances.

When I left camp that morning, I planned for 5.4 miles of water.

5.4 miles later, at what I thought was the Mt. Laguna “Visitor’s Center”, I found myself lost in an abandoned mobile home community.

Some of the abandoned buildings.

My water was down to droplets but even the toilets were dry.

A dry toilet bathroom entrance.

Random chimney on the way back to the trail.

1.2 miles to the Gart faucet...

The Gart faucet was swarming with bee’s. I was cutting it close but dehydrating still sounded better than bee stings in that moment.

I swear there were more bees than it appears.

If the Pioneer mail picnic area 4.9 miles from here didn’t have water, I was really going to regret this moment.

I ran into Chio and I really think he read my soul.

Me: [so excited to see a familiar face] “CHIO!”

Chio: [startled from looking off into the distance] “water very close”

I still don’t know how his auto-response knew what I was thinking.

I powerwalked that last mile to a tank of green water and have never been so thankful.

I hydrated up and ate lunch at the picnic tables. Chio sat with me a while, but I was on the road again before his ramen was done.

Some of the decor from the Pioneer mail rock. Best trail names I've seen yet.

I got to Sunrise Trailhead around 5 pm. With no phone to guide me to the nearby water, I struggled for the next hour to locate it. Some nice bikers pointed me in the completely wrong direction, but they donated some of their water, so at least they had good intentions.

Eventually I found the valve in a horse trough, in the middle of a beautiful field. Nothing at all like the “windy boulder field with lite traffic” as advertised by the notes.

The off-trail path to water. Where are the boulders?

I did laundry, took a liberating open-field bucket shower, and set-up camp with my hammock between two horse ties.

The horse trough with my hammock set-up behind it.

Chio met up with me a couple hours later and so generously let me borrow his back up battery to charge my phone.

I fell asleep to the sounds of creaking frogs and scurrying mole rats with a sky full with bright stars above me. I nearly slept until morning without being struck by cold. I think this was my favorite night.

Cute lil' frog!

DAY 5 (PCT mile 77)

June 12, 2018

18 trail miles—Sunrise Trailhead (to Julian) to Scissors Crossing 

I really started to understand the power of the sun on this day. There seemed to be a pattern.

In the early morning, I would pray for the warmth of its rays.

By the time I packed up camp, I couldn’t wait shade from it.

Particularly, on this day, I was cooking in my own sweat by 6 am.

A glimpse of the sunrise as I took off from camp.

Although there was barely any incline, it was the 100-degree sun rays and non-existent shade that challenged me. That, and the 12 lbs. of added water weight I had to carry. Thankful for the highway in sight, I finished the last of those 6 liters on the walk to my hitch.

Thriving agave of the relentless desert.

Hitch-hiking was another new experience. It was a social experiment of sorts. I tried all sorts of strategies. It started with just a thumb in the air, transitioned to a full above the head wave with two arms, and progressed to a “please, please, please” prayer hands as the rare car passed me. Every car that passed was so disheartening. Until finally, one would pull over, and I'd forget how heavy that pack on my back was, and sprint to open the door before those people changed their mind. At Scissors Crossing I was fortunate enough to catch a couple of hitches.

Ryan with long hair from the Ramona Albertson’s gave me a ride to the Stagecoach RV park. This place sucked in terms of what I needed to resupply. A gorgeous motorcycle instructor that had just driven straight through from Dallas TX gave me a ride back to the crossing. A state park employee eventually got me the 12 miles up to Julian. All of these strangers confided in me I was their lucky first experience picking up a hiker. (Go me!)

I got to Julian around 4:15 pm, totally oblivious to the fact that almost everything closes by 5 pm. I walked down to the Diner, sat in a booth, all too ready to reward myself with a beer and some food. Sadly, this pairing wasn’t an option here, so I got my food to go. I purchased a beer from the liquor store next door and took my picnic to the shade of the cemetery at the end of the road. Strange as this may sound, this place was a sanctuary. A nice breeze, warm food, and a private picnic. I was chilling in a sports bra with the tombstones. I like to think they didn't mind the company.

Picnic Paradise.

After resupplying from the market, I eventually hitched a ride back to Scissors Crossing with an interesting pine tree farmer named Ed. I say interesting because this guy had everything from bird taxidermy to crystals at the foot of his passenger seat. Although Ed had only planned to go 6 miles down the road, he was "so impressed" by my travels, he took me the full 12 miles to the crossing (This may or may not have been due to how the good conversation paired with the koozie covered generic beer he sipped on along the drive). Ed confided in me that he never did fulfill his childhood dream of riding his horse across America. Maybe it was the fact that I had made some headway in my dream, or the fact that he told me about 5 times he was “so impressed” with my journey, that I left his car feeling happy and inspired.

I set my hammock up on the pillars under the bridge as the sun set. I’m not sure if this was considered kosher camping, but after the afternoon I had spent in the cemetery, I was beginning to take a liking to this rebellious hobo lifestyle.

My hammock set-up below the bridge.

I finally slept all the way through on this night.

Day 6 (PCT mile 101.1)

June 13, 2018

24 miles—Scissors Crossing to Barrel Springs 

I was catching on to the sun’s tricks, so I set an alarm for 4 am to be packed up and, on the trail, before she lit me a new one.

Beating the sun on my way out of the valley.

What I hadn’t learned yet, was that the trail could be a real tease too. It was a long hot day of a slow and steady incline. Up until this point, I had been a stubborn hiker, stopping only to eat, and the occasional 30 seconds of standing like a table to relieve my shoulders from the weight of my bag.

A surprise water cache; volunteers set this up to help with the long gap between sources.

Today, I took ownership of some nice sit breaks. Mostly because I was completely disconnected from time and distance traveled. My phone was on the last of its life, so I turned it off to preserve it. I was constantly caught between trying not to be concerned with my whereabouts and trying to calculate them, at the turn of every corner. My goal was Barrel Springs (mile 101.1), so I knew I would get a sign I was close when I reached the congratulatory 100-mile land marker. It was a day full of disappointment as I continuously rounded endless mountain ridges, expectantly, until I finally reached the marker. They really pump you up, too, because it was followed by 3 more “100” signs just like it, as if I was in on this celebration with all the people that walked before me. This helped to soften my grudge at the darn sign for taking so long to show up.

Yay! 100 miles!

At Barrel Springs, there were plenty of great trees to set-up my hammock with, but something felt so right as I just lay on it in the sand. Maybe it was because I was finally feeling a glimpse of defeat. Although the site was beautiful, for the first time, I was struggling with doubt.

My feet throbbed as I fell asleep that night. I reminded myself it was only about 8 miles left to Warner Springs. I’m not a quitter.

Day 7 (PCT mile 127.3)

June 14, 2018

27 trail miles—Barrel Springs (to Warner Springs) to Mike’s Place 

It was like a walk in the park to Warner Springs, which certainly helped to lift my spirits. Just an open field with the occasional tree and creek crossing. I wish I had pictures of its serenity, but I was preserving my battery specifically for what would be on my path today. The glorious Eagle Rock! It really is as astounding to stand before as they say it is. You could only imagine the little bubble of frustration that arose as I realized my phone was too dead to capture it…

Thankfully, everyone else and their mom has posted pictures of Eagle Rock on the internet.

When I finally arrived at the volunteer center, I forgot every pre-existing doubt I was having. A nice woman welcomed me in, gave me a heads up there was wine in her future, and warned if I wanted a ride to the near-by grill I would have to pull myself together in the next 45 minutes. (Turns out the volunteers were closing early to celebrate themselves) She also warned me, they like to keep their country club nice, so I should try to disguise the “stinky hiker” look I had going on.

The building used to host a thrift shop in the past years but had since shut down. They now lent out the back up of used clothes to hikers. I hurriedly bought some food from their resupply store, picked out some clothes, and threw myself together.

The dress I borrowed from the community center. Taken just outside the doors of the grill.

At the club, I got the VIP treatment. The waitress profiled me so well; she brought me both my beer, and the first pour foam. HOLLA! I filled up on a sandwich and bought an entire pizza for the road*. She even brought it out with a full roll of aluminum foil and let me pack it up myself. (Yes, I think this might have been another moment of hiker hobo swag.)

*Shout out to my health teacher who taught me pizza is the most complete meal. I literally ate pizza for my next 4 meals. Kind of hated pizza for a hot minute after that.

MmM...Beer!

Anyways, I made it back to camp and was excited to meet another girl names Caitlin from Minnesota. She had been resting up all day and was planning to head out as soon as the day cooled off. I really had never considered night hiking. Mostly because bringing up the rear of hikers solo seemed dangerous enough. It gave me comfort to know she knew two other boys who would be returning to camp to do the same. I did some laundry, took the most refreshing bucket shower, and contemplated my next move. My spirits were full again.

A video I took from the hiker hut. I can only imagine how fun this place is in peak season!

I decided to take off with Caitlin. We left camp around 6:30pm.

An easy-breezy beginning to our hike.

 Minor road blockage set-back.

 Back at it.

The boys caught up with us soon after. We discussed our plans, and I brought up having the number of a trail angel who was just 17 miles ahead. The boys only wanted to do about 5 miles that evening, but Caitlyn was in. I texted Mike, and he let me know we could stay in his motorhome if we got in too late to set up camp. By our calculations, we were hoping to be there by midnight.

A lovely inspiring view .

After getting lost in the darkness for over an hour, and the boys catching up to straighten out our course, we final split.

That hike turned into a walk of respect. 2,000 ft of sweaty incline in the dark.  As we surveyed each camp site we passed, we tested the other: “Just say the word, we can totally camp here”. Both of us tempted, but too stubborn to give up, we trudged on. We finally found Mike’s motorhome around 4 am, as a light drizzle started to fall. Caitlin collapsed on the couch and passed out within minutes. I set my sleeping bag up on one of the twin cushioned beds in the back. Neither one of had ever been so thankful for such a glorious reward. We slept until the heat of day woke us.

The motorhome of motivation at Mike's place.

Day 8 (PCT mile 45.4)

June 15, 2018

18 trail miles—Mike’s Place to Muir Woods 

An art installment done by one of this seasons' hikers at Mike's Place.

The morning was real treat. We met Josh, who was watching the property, and the boys showed up shortly into our chatting. Vadim walked in just itching for coffee (essential for “to make Nutella” as he would put it). Josh brewed some up for us and threw on some music as we hung out enjoying the rewards of our morning.

See if you can spot the gift that really lifted our spirits that afternoon...

We sipped on coffee and compared our travels.

Caffeinated and content.

When we noticed a scale hanging, we couldn’t resist knowing the size of the boy’s bags, so weighed them out to be 65 lbs. each (without water)! This knowledge definitely put me in my place to stop complaining about my bag. Then again, I still didn’t see the need to pack out a full kitchen set…

Farmer Joe exhausted from his 12 mile morning hike carrying his 65 lb bag!

Vadim getting ready to prepare breakfast. You can see a glimpse of the "hiker box" in the room just beyond him.

After some good hangs, I snagged a shirt from the hiker box (yes this is gross but my shirt was grosser), and Caitlyn and I were back on the trail again. 

Caitlin pinning a bird feather in her hair for good luck.

It was a lovely overcast day. 

The view coming out of Chihuahua Valley.

We breezed through the majority of the hike but were regretting leaving so late as the sun began to set.

A graceful cloud lights up the sky.

We were becoming wearier of the strange eyes that starred back when our headlamps hit them in the night.

We finally stumbled upon the kooky decorated Muir woods around midnight. Upon opening its little library, we were ecstatic to find two butterfingers minis, just waiting for us. You don’t even understand how much the two of us had been dreaming of chocolate. It was magic.

Muir wood's was adorned with life sized cardboard cutouts of John Muir, Henry Thoreau, and Walt Whitman.  The free library carried print out copies of Muir's "The Mountains of California".

Though we had both been hopeful a shower would be here too, I was just as content to find the water of the tank warm and a bucket and chair laying around. I took the opportunity to soak my feet with some lavender oil. At this point in my life, after chocolate and a foot soak, life couldn’t get any better.

I plopped down on the ground for another night of cowboy camping. Even the many tarantulas and scorpions didn’t faze me anymore. The simplicity of it all was everything.

Day 9 (PCT mile 179.4)

June 16, 2018

6 trail miles—Muir Woods (to Paradise Café) to Idyllwild 

Another morning of dead phones made 6 miles feel like more than it was. Both of us were out of food so were excited about the prospect of a real meal in our future. I had been dreaming of apple pie and ice cream since missing out in Julian.

We spruced ourselves up behind some bushes, and immediately caught a hitch with some German men in their convertible rental car. Paradise Cafe greeted us with the smooth sounds of music, a shaded patio, and a plethora of adorable dogs (!). We were overjoyed to be there. As soon as we tagged down a waitress, Caitlin and I ordered appetizers of apple pie a la mode and a beer. We followed this up with some sandwiches and fries and were astonished that both of us nearly ate everything off our plates.

Apple pie heaven at Paradise Cafe.

Due to a fire closure, we decided to hitch a ride to Idyllwild from there. We found a ride with this stunning 50 yo. feminist name Aveon, who had just broken up with her wilderness boyfriend. She pumped us up with woman power along the drive.

Once in Idyllwild, we picked up some groceries from the store, and found a campsite at the local campground. We were both in a zombie mode of exhaustion at this point, and grateful to be rooted in one spot long enough to gather our bearings. (Just for a little clarity on our state, we wandered around that grocery store for about an hour and a half and only came out with $40 worth of groceries each)

The average picnic table pack-out. The fruit of out grocery store labor.

After taking a nice sunny nap in my hammock, I went down to the local Laundromat to properly clean my hand-me-down shirt and hopefully deep clean the endless dirt out of my socks. Since I was the last one there, I claimed a left behind Old Navy fleece as my own, and added it to the collection of clothes I’d been gaining to combat my freezing cold nights.

Not even the additional layers I collected helped me that night. 8,000 ft of elevation is definitely a much colder place.

My sad little sleeping bag.

Day 10 (PCT mile 183.3)

June 17, 2018

11 miles—Idyllwild (to Strawberry Junction) to San Jacinto Peak 

We decided to scope out the town in the morning. We stopped by the Idyllwild Bake and Brew for a coffee and sat by the fire while we planned out our day.

The plan was to drop the majority of our packs, 5 miles up the Deer Trail at Strawberry Junction, which would once again put us back on the PCT.

On our way up the Deer Trail.

We then wanted to take a detour up to San Jacinto peak and return back to Strawberry Junction to camp. After a lazy morning, we finally headed out. We made it to the junction around 4 pm and packed lite bags for a sunset snack and an anticipated walk back in the dark. Little did we know; the evening would have a much different plan in store for us.

or so we thought... (Strawberry Junction)

The hike up was beautiful! It was nice to see some scenery different than the desert we’d been trudging through for the last week. However, after a long duration of steep incline, and a dangerous spook from a rattlesnake in the brush, we were becoming discouraged if we would really make it to the peak in time.

Pictures from the path up to San Jacinto peak:

Lucky for us, we made it to the top with 30 minutes to spare. A group of 4 boys joined us just minutes before the sun made its final farewell. As they bravely took shirtless victory photos at the top, I sat in a shivering little ball eating pickled ginger and hoping the time-lapse I had saved my phone battery for was turning out as epic as I hoped it would (it didn’t). When the sun finally set, all 6 of us were just as excited by the spectacle as we were to leave this cold and windy mountain top.

View from the top of San Jacinto.

Feeling accomplished.

Enjoying the sunset.

Caitlin and I were so beat by the hike, we were worried for our ankles at the prospect of such a steep descent in the dark. We agreed it was best we stay in the emergency hut set up just below the peak. The dusty sleeping bags and emergency blankets might prove a bit too grimy for the average hiker, but we were hiker trash at this point and this was as epic as it got. Plus, much warmer than the good-for-nothing sleeping bag I had awaiting me down the mountain.

Found everything we needed in the emergency hut.

As both of our phones died from our picture happy day, we agreed first one up had to wake the other. Even covered in the smell of dust we both slept relatively well.

Day 11 (~PCT mile 192)

June 18, 2018

14.5 trail miles—San Jacinto (to Strawberry Junction) to flat near Fuller Ridge Trailhead 

The 5 miles back to Strawberry Junction left us feeling lazier than we expected. Thankful for a shaded rest, we sat down for lunch and eventually a nap back at camp. Unaware of the time, with two dead phones, we agreed to wait for the day to cool before putting in any miles. That, and neither one of us was feeling too great. Caitlin shared some natural supplement capsuls to help my health. I had declared her trail name to be “Medicine Mama” by this point. After spending the last few days with her, you’d know how well this name fit too.  

Many warned that it was a dry and hot hike on the backside of Fuller Ridge, so we were thankful to have packed out a good amount of water from a stream while coming down from the peak.

Yummy stream water.

After reviewing some notes, we decided to aim for about 20 miles that evening, to put us closer to our next water source (22.4 miles ahead). Our bags were both pretty heavy from our recent food pick-up, so we had been taking risks with our water carries. We were counting on night hiking to help us conserve enough hydration.

We reached the ridge around 6 pm, as the harsh rays of the sun became just soft enough to manage. Not knowing for certain how far we'd gone, or even the time, really added a hovering stress to the journey. Pretty bizarre to feel so completely lost while following a well-marked path. That night, we were both too tired by midnight to reach our goal of 20 miles. I suspect we did about 9 before deciding a good night’s rest would be the morale boost we both needed.

There was a lot of “Ugh” in me that night. I was so dishearten by this lack of progress. Oh ya, and I started my period. Caitlyn lent me her puffy jacket as a sign of encouragement. I snuggled in my sleeping bag on the dirt but still awoke freezing before morning. I used the jacket as leverage to coax Caitlin out of her tent when I saw the sun. Dead phones meant partner wake-up coaxes.

Day 12 (PCT mile 220)

June 19, 2018

17 trail miles—Campsite (to Cabazon Burger King) to White Water Creek Preserve 

We realized very quickly what a poor mistake we had made on quitting those 20 miles the night before. The heat was unbearable by (what we suspected to be) 10 am and I was well out of water. We found the last sliver of shade we could beneath a small bush. Using Caitlin’s trekking poles and rain-fly, we extended the shade, and crouched within the dirt and rocks.  For the next hour, we sat in contemplation as to how to continue.

I had been hiking in thick socks, pants, and a long sleeve up until this point, to protect my skin from burning. Neither one of us had sunblock. In order to reduce water loss, I changed into the dress I had been too stubborn to part with in Warner Springs.  After pairing it with the thin socks Caitlin gifted me, I was ready as I would ever be to tackle the dash for water.

We soon passed a 200-mile marker which made us realize we were actually 2 miles behind where we guessed we were. Water was still 6 miles ahead.

Caitlin had half a liter of water left. I had a trash bladder full with what smelled like eggs rotting in a compost bin. You couldn't dare me to drink such a repulsive liquid.

That is, until, that true moment of desperation hit, about 2 hours into this mad break for water. I chugged that half liter of garbage down like it was Gatorade. Nausea followed immediately. 

Every aching bend left us hopelessly wondering where this water source was. We felt like we were going in circles along a ridge that was making no progress towards the bottom of the valley. We could see the Snow Creek community lingering just below us like a tease in the distance. We were past the point of defeat as the trail started to take up on an incline. I went into survival mode; As Caitlin trudged on, cursing our situation behind me, I made a dedicated bolt to power hike until I found water.

Same.

I had become quite good at patience games by this point. My strategy was to count the seconds. At this point, I estimated water was two miles ahead max. A travel time of about 30 minutes. Multiplied by 60 seconds. Approximately 1800 seconds until I would admit defeat.  

I think I counted to about 400 when I finally saw a water fountain at the end of the trail. I practically ran to it. Just this YMCA looking water fountain in the middle of the desert. I audibly started praising Jesus. I chugged a full liter and looked behind me, hoping to see Caitlin and reassure her. The water was real and we had made it!

I filled another bottle, hoping I wouldn’t have to retreat back to save her. Luckily, Caitlin was just in my sight as I looked up. I went up to greet her with the full bottle. She thanked Jesus too.

I appreciated that Caitlin accepted my mad dash tendencies, as this wasn’t the first time. It seemed every time we got within a half mile to a place, I would just get too excited and dart ahead. She named me “Fast Break” for it (that, and I was always craving Fast Break candy bars).

We cowered in balls of defeat under the shadow of a boulder. After chugging as much water as we could digest, we rested. Our limp body sprawled into shade optimizing positions. Too exhausted to move, we both fell into a lethargic spell. When we realized how and where we had just fallen asleep, we decided it was time to move forward towards town.

Just praying for a hitch, we walked the full path to the interstate intersection before catching a ride. In my hobo hippy dress and Caitlin in her boy scout honors flannel, we caught a ride from a disability driver into Cabazon (I have to admit, this was the first hitch I was sketched out of; I initially thought this big white van pulled over to kidnapped us).

The kind man dropped us off at a Burger King just 8 miles up the road. We promptly plugged in our phones to charge and I bolted for the gas station next door to get some aloe vera for my sizzling red arms.

We certainly were a sight. Two hobo girls, rubbing on aloe lotion in the middle of the restaurant. Sitting on two different sides of the room where the only outlets were. Accompanied by bags bigger than our bodies.

By the time we finished our food, it was dark, and unsafe to hitch. We decided on getting an Uber to the Whitewater Creek Preserve.

As we walked on to this beautiful site, it finally dawned on me that my journey was over. I had scouted this place out as my victory finish location. My heart wasn't ready to give up the trail (my body certainly was).

The exact location where I threw in the boot. (not my boot)*

*Spoiler alert: I actually continued 5 miles on the trail with Caitlin the next evening but didn't have enough food or time to travel past there logically. Oh ya, and every seam of my backpack was on the verge of giving way. This boot marks the place I turned around for the Preserve and Caitlin headed off for Big Bear.

The Aftermath

The ranger station at the Preserve

Decorative pool in front of the station

The preserve was a magical place. In the light of morning, we finally saw where the engulfing sounds of flowing water were sourced. And appreciated how generously the large and lush trees protected us from the sweltering sun.

My hammock set-up in the trees

It was quite literally an oasis.

The designated wading pool.

We spent the afternoon laying in the shade between dunks in the refreshing wading pool. Our energy levels were at an all time low after the journey we had endured the day before.

Happy feet

As the Preserve was a dead zone for phones, it was hard to scout out how I would return home. Eventually, I linked up with a friendly volunteer, who gave me a ride to San Bernadino where I caught a bus.

Homeless looking me upon finally returned home at 2 am the next day. 
Featuring: The dress from Warner Springs & The fleece I found in Idyllwild.

Caitlin continued on for Big Bear.

A creek crossing a couple miles past the Preserve.

At the end of it all, I think the most valuable lesson I learned, was how important people are to me. Every action, of those I met, and even one's I didn't, made a huge impact on my experience. Although I set out on this trail, assuming it would be a lesson of solitude, I was grateful to learn I was never alone. They say food and water are what keep you alive, but nothing filled me up the way the people did.

An entry from the log book of Muir Wood/s

Left to right: Caitlyn, Vadim, myself, and Farmer Joe together at Mike's place

Follow my friends as they further their adventure on instagram:

Caitlin: @trail.witch

Vadim: @vadimdor_