Mile 609 To 631

Burned Trees

I again wake to awesome stars, then panic and touch my bag. It is damp, but nothing of biblical proportions. In fact, I am pretty sure I hear Noah putting away his tools. Today lack of water is the problem. The water report says the Kelso Road cache is no longer maintained and neither is the one at Robin Pass. We resign ourselves to the miserable side trip to Willow Springs at 11 miles.

The hike begins in burned out trees. There are so many trees blown down that it feels like the Pacific Crest Obstacle Course – over some, around others, and even under a few. This section clearly needs maintenance, but nothing bars our progress.

We meet a couple of southbound section hikers. They are worth their weight in gold because they have current information about where we are headed. They tell us they walked by two water caches, but could not remember exactly where. They must be Kelso and Robin.

PCT Log / Journal

When we arrive at Kelso there is a small cache. About a half dozen partially used 2.5 gallon jugs are spewed about. There is one unopened which Smiley, who we just met, took to his beast of a pack and brought back empty. I don’t even have enough storage capacity for 2.5 gallons. “I get thirsty,” he says. We top off our liter bottles and move on.

Since the southbound hikers were right about Kelso, we decide to skip Willow Spring and hike on through. We drop below the tree line and it really feels like a dry barren desert. We are lucky it is not nearly as hot as it could be.

There are towers in the distance. I turn on my cell phone and am surprised to see 4 bars.  I quickly try to call my wife Terri and the bars suddenly go away, as if to say “Who us? Oh no, we were just stretching.” What is the point of those bars? If they were power bars or ice cream bars I could eat them, but these are totally useless. Three bars walk into a cell phone. The cell phone asks “Are you staying long?” “Only until Rick tries to make a call.” Ugh!

When I get to Robin Pass the water cache is almost completely gone. There are empties everywhere with one 5 gallon jug about 1/3 filled. I top off a few liter bottles, but cannot take what I want. There are five hikers I am traveling with coming behind me, and they need water too. This will have to last us for tonight’s dinner, tomorrow’s breakfast and the next 20 miles. The southbound hikers told us only of two caches, and we have now seen them both.

As I am lying here writing this a beautiful bobcat comes out from a bush and enters my cowboy camp. He freezes two feet from my two feet. We stare at each other. He seems puzzled by my presence, but not afraid. We have a moment. He moves towards Rum Monkey’s cowboy camp. Rum Monkey is not noticing, so I wave my arms. Nothing. I make pointy ears with my hands. Nothing. I snap my fingers and point at the cat. Nothing. I whistle softly and Rum Monkey lifts up his head and looks at me. The Bobcat bolts, never to be seen by Rum Monkey.

View

Mile 588 To 609

Drying “Yard Sale”

I awake to a clear sky filled with awesome stars, which belie what has really gone on in the night. A flood of dew so torrential that it would convince Noah to start working on his ark, has drenched everything I own: my sleeping bag, tarp, clothes, electronics, food bag. Did I mention everything? If I wait for the sun to dry it I will miss walking in the cool morning, which is the reason to rise so early. After coffee, a smashed Little Debbie cinnamon roll and granola with powdered milk, I pack up everything soaking wet. At some point today I will have a break and a “yard sale” where I will spread it all out to dry.

Robin Spring

For four miles we march through the burn area. We even start seeing our old friend the poodle dog bush, who seems to love it after a good fire. We break back into trees which are green and scenic, but even more important, cool and shady. When we reach Robin Spring it is a most pathetic trickle. I have to break open my pack and get out a small pot to catch the water and pour it in the filter bag. There are cow pies everywhere. Yum. We do not take too much, because there is another water source in 7 miles.

The water at Landers Campground is the best we have seen. It is crystal clear and has excellent flow. We decide to camp here. Our next stretch is a water challenge. On the PCT the next water is 43 miles away. We could load up here then cover the ground in two days, with one dry camp. About 11 miles in there is an alternative trail, which adds a mile, but more important, a lot of elevation loss and regain. I prefer the first option, but Todd is pushing the second. He drinks more water than I do, so I think we will be doing that one.

600 Mile Marker

Mile 566 to 588

Looking Back at Tehachapi

I called Kern Transit last night to find out the bus schedule back to the trail for this morning. I was told the trail is not a scheduled stop, but if I ask the driver he will. I was also told the bus picks up by Kmart at 4:20am, 6:08am, 8:58am, and 9:28am. I preferred the 6:08, but that might mean missing breakfast. I asked the women in the hotel lobby what time I can get breakfast. The hot food will not be out until 7:00, but they start setting up the other food at 4:30am. Perfect. Food at 5:00, bus to trail at 6:08.

I wake to discover I have kicked a pillow off the bed, knocking the cell phone charger cable out of the wall. The phone I thought was fully charging overnight is now at about 30%. ARG! Good grief, what a blockhead! I proceed to the breakfast area where the only thing out is coffee. I drink a cup as I watch a man start to setup. He brings out a bowl of fruit. I take a banana and eat it. He brings out a tray of pastries. I grab and eat a bear claw. He brings out microwavable egg like McMuffins. I zap one and eat it. He brings out milk. I make cereal. Frankly, if he opened a can of Friskies for his cat I would eat it, the Friskies I mean.

We hike to the bus stop where a woman is waiting. She is expecting a bus, but not a bearded man with sticks and a pack, so she jumps out of her skin. She is waiting for the bus to Lancaster. When we mention we are going to the trail, she says we want the same bus. As I look at the schedule at the stop I realize the woman at Kern Transit read me the weekday schedule, not the weekend schedule. It is Saturday and there is not going to be a 6:08am bus, or even an 8:58am bus. The next Saturday bus is 9:25am, a full three and a half hours from now. When I ask the woman what time she thinks the Lancaster bus is coming she says, “Oh I can never figure out that schedule. I just come sit and wait.” When I point out it will be three and a half hours, she just sighs, as if she is waiting for Godot. There is no “I guess I will go get coffee,” no “I can go home and come back in three hours,” no anger or frustration. Just a resigned sigh and a smile.

Todd and I head to the main road to hitch. Traffic at 6:00am on a Saturday is pretty light. Not a single car is heading our direction. For kicks I hold up my “To Trail” sign to cars heading in the opposite direction. A pickup truck whips a u-ie and the driver says hop in. A business manager from a turbine maintenance company just dropped his kid at practice and was heading to get coffee. He decides coffee can wait and rescues us instead. I know I should not continue to be amazed at such kindness from strangers, but I am.

Buggy Water Trough

The hike from the highway is steep, but we are blessed with freezing cold winds which frankly make it pleasant. The descent on the other side turns to rocky rutted fire roads through more wind farms. It is getting hotter and not nearly as nice. Our first and only water for the day is 17 miles in. It is a buggy concrete trough, from which we filter and drink. We take about 4 liters. Our next water will not be for another 18 miles which we will not reach until tomorrow.

We enter an ugly burn area. We hope to get through, but end up camping on a exposed ridge. The wind on the ground is not too bad, but the turbines above are spinning like crazy all night.

Wind and Burn Area

Horned Lizard

Zero

Rick, Susan and Todd

Even in a hotel I wake with the sun, ready to get a jump on the 6:00 am to 9:00 am breakfast buffet. It is nothing spectacular, but plenty of coffee and calories and I indulge in both. Susan helps with last minute transportation, including a trip back in time to a Kmart, where I replace my fraying camera “fanny pack”, a term which continues to keep the British in stitches. Susan takes some pictures, offers hugs goodbye, then heads home to be there in time for Frank Kellogg’s memorial service.

Since I have some down time, I decide to describe the process of blogging from the trail with my Droid Max smart phone and a WordPress application. The application uses a built in tiny software keyboard. Let me set the stage.

After setting up my cowboy camp (I have only used a tent 3 times on this trip) and finishing my meal and assigned chores, I pull out my Droid. I hop in my sleeping bag and prop my head up on my backpack and anything else I can find. If I lean to the side even slightly, the application switches from portrait to landscape, even though I am clearly wanting portrait. As the sun sets it gets cold fast and I wonder why I did not purchase the gloves that work with a touch screen. My warm gloved left hand holds the phone. My freezing right hand stabs the screen in traditional Columbus style typing: seek, find, and land.

The screen is very well lit. So much so that it attracts every nat, mosquito and moth within miles. The hummingbird moths are particularly startling and entertaining. Rest assured by the time the entry is drafted, more insect eyes have seen it than human eyes ever will. They also create a lot more buzz.

The Google keyboard was clearly modeled after a puppy. It is highly excitable and eager to please. If I type the letter H, it randomly suggests words that start with H. Hog? Happy? It even suggests H? as if to take credit for what I have already done. If I add the second letter, like HI it might jump in with Hike? His? Or Hiccup?

If I spell a word incorrectly, it says something that seems to mean: accidentally select this and I will permanently add this misspelled word to the dictionary. “But it is wrong,” I yell at the keyboard! “But since you have added it to the dictionary, now it will be right,” counters the keyboard. “Don’t you want it to be right master?”  “Yes, but this isn’t,” I yell at the keyboard. “Keyboard can tell master is unhappy. Keyboard feels shamed and will now go into a system folder and chew up random files.”

Now if Google keyboard had been modeled after a cat, as I type it would simply turn away, mumble that no one cares what I write, and proceed to lick itself.

Because my spelling is so atrocious, Google keyboard really struggles. Sometimes it starts guessing strings of words, because clearly what I am typing can’t possibly be a single word. For my first attempt at Tehachapi, Google suggests “teach a pie”, which I struggle to imagine making sense in any context. You can see how quickly we frustrate each other. There are even times we exchange words we later regret. At least I do. If, when reading an entry, you think there really is a better way of saying this, I probably think so too, but lost that battle with the keyboard.

Entries are stored locally, and can only be uploaded when I have data service. In the southern section this has been surprisingly common, but the next sections are much more isolated. It is likely there will be long stretches without updates. You should still be able to track my location and physical progress, but you may have to wait to see blog updates. Just rest assured, I am still out there under the stars, pecking out drivel with my frozen finger.

Tomorrow we will enjoy the end of the rain and snow, and begin to walk again.

Mile 562 to 566 (Nero)

Somewhere inbetween

We wake to the continuous howling wind and realize yet again why these monstrous turbines were placed on this particular pass. No bother. Today we are heading just 4 miles downhill to highway 58, where we hope to find sister Susan and her Camry coach waiting to whisk us to town. When we arrive her car is there, but she has wandered up the wrong trail hoping to meet us. If not blocked by an aggressive cow, who knows where she would be.

We pick up Whiskers, another thru-hiker, and make our way to town. It is predicted to rain today and tomorrow, so our zero day tomorrow is well timed. We have breakfast at a cafe, pick up Todd’s resupply package at the post office and check into the Best Western. Shopping at the grocery store is like a thru-hiker reunion. Everyone is there scrounging for Snickers bars and other supplies for the 7 or so days it will take to get to Kennedy Meadows.

As the temperature drops, the rain turns to hail and snow in the hills around us. We are very glad not to be out there in it. We watch local news hoping to find weather information, only to realize how little we have missed the negative drivel known as the evening news. We turn to an air disaster movie marathon and fall asleep.

Hotel in Storm

Mile 541 to 562

Barren

I wake before the sun, but seem to be slow getting around. The wind is blowing everything every which way, and I have to filter water. The stream trickle is so small I have to scoop it with my coffee mug and pour it into the filter bag. I filter and carry 4 liters, enough for today and tomorrow morning if necessary. The first major climb is treeless and barren. Part way up nature makes a surprise but serious call, and I have to scramble off trail in search of a location to answer. I fall behind the group and spend the rest of the morning catching up.

At the top of the 7 mile climb I find the group in chairs at a water cache. I could have gotten away with carrying about a liter instead of four. Ugh.

We work our way through miles and miles of turbines. The wind repeatedly blows my sun hat off, which deploys like a parachute with the cord around my neck. After being nearly choked out several times, I switch to a beanie, which looks ridiculous in the desert, but keeps my balding head from burning and my neck from strangling.

Our goal today is to be within striking distance of Highway 58, where we hope to meet my sister and trail angel Susan tomorrow morning. I rest midday in the shade, then press on. We find a couple of small bushes high on a ridge, in the middle of a wind farm. It is blowing hard, and surprisingly cold. We are surrounded by fast spinning turbines. If any of them blast raptors out of the sky, which they are known to do, we will wake up covered in feathers.

Water Cache

Mile 517 to 541

Open Aquaduct

The door to my Hiker Town bungalow does not latch and the wind bangs it open and closed all night. I am just thankful not to be cowboy camping, with desert sand blowing all in my face. I get up early to take advantage of the kitchen. I make and consume 4 servings of four-cheese instant mashed potatoes for breakfast.

We leave Hiker Town before sunrise to walk the aqueducts. The first is open water and we wish we had a canoe. I chuckle at a warning sign that says I “may” drown. Apparently, after serious consideration, permission to drown has been granted.

Closed Aquaduct

The second is a buried pipe, which I hike directly on top of for miles and miles. Eventually I come to a sign painted on the pipe that warns it is under extreme pressure, stay 100 feet away. We are fenced in by local property owners and we could not be 100 feet away from the pipe if we wanted. We wonder if we may die from an explosion, or perhaps that permission paperwork is still being processed.

Although we are walking next to and directly on top of enough water for all of Southern California, we have no access to any of it. There used to be access holes where PCT hikers could lower a scooper, but those have all been sealed. Our next water source, a leaking plastic blue drum, is 16 miles away. Most of the hike is flat, through sandy aqueduct access roads, surrounded by shrubs and Joshua trees.

After getting water, we snack and sleep under a bridge in true hobo fashion. There are eight of us, and we look like a homeless encampment, minus the shopping carts. We are resting up for a big windy climb through a massive alternative energy windmill farm. Again there is a warning about no trespassing because of extremely dangerous wind turbines and underground power lines, and a special note saying open to PCT hikers. Apparently our permission to die has been granted here as well.

We stop to camp at a tiny trickle of oh so yummy seriously needs to be filtered water. There is no more water for the next 28 miles, unless someone has set up a cache, but those are difficult to count on. So I guess we may actually die.

Under Pressure

Joshua Tree Shade

Mile 478 to 517 (road reroute)

Road Walk

I pack up in the dark. We decide to do the road walk to Hiker Town, and I want to beat as much of the heat coming off the asphalt as possible. We are complaining about the heat, but frankly we are very lucky. Most seasons are much hotter. The Anderson’s offer a pancake breakfast, but we are heading out too soon. The coffee, however, is fabulous.

Everyone that stays at Casa Luna has to have their picture taken in front of the banner. Someone asks Terry to be in the picture, but she declines. Her husband frames the picture and counts down. When he gets to 3, Terry spins around and moons the entire group. In the split second that everyone reacts, he snaps the picture. Some are laughing, some are shocked, some are turning away. Every picture, of every group of thru-hikers, all season long, season after season, is taken this way. Terry laughs and says, “Now you know why it is called Casa Luna.” She gives hugs to everyone and drives us back to where we last left the trail.

We hike as a fairly large group, jumping out of the road whenever a car rips by, but otherwise we hog the pavement. The road is tearing up my feet worse than any trail. We make one convenience store stop for junk food, but otherwise it is a death march to Hiker Town.

Hiker Town

Hiker Town is an interesting “hostel.” It is made up like a tiny ghost town with little stores, a post office, a jail, etc. Many of them are little bunks you can sleep in. There are also trailers and a common garage area with couches, kitchen, bathroom, shower and laundry. Hikers here are preparing to face the ironically waterless aqueduct march. There is water cached 16 miles out. After that, nothing for over 40 miles. In fact, there is none there either, but there is a road to hitch to Tehachapi.

Hiker Ghost Town

Mile 462 to 478

The Anderson’s run Casa De Luna, also know as the Hippy Day Care. It is 16 miles away, fewer miles then we normally target, but it is hot and they provide thru-hiker comfort. It’s exactly what we need.

From the high ridge there is a long sweeping down. I try to enjoy it, but across the valley I can see a monster up. Sometimes it looks so far away I catch myself thinking, “Is that a road?” But then I can see tiny backpackers, carrying tiny backpacks, way off in the distance. Numbers is carrying a reflective sun umbrella which can be seen for miles. The flash is depressingly far away.

Water Pipe Drip

I am carrying a lot of water. Too much it turns out. Our first source is a trickle from a plastic pipe stuck deep in a pathetic spring. It takes forever to fill my Sawyer water bag and filter. As we press on we come upon a hidden oasis of shade, chairs and bottled water. Bummer. Why was I carrying so much? Later another hidden cache. And even later another one. This is ridiculous. A hidden cache only helps the totally unprepared and reckless. The prepared, who carry the correct amount, are made a laughing stock. If I didn’t, however, the caches would not have been there and you would be reading my obituary instead of this gripe.

Truck Hitch

At the highway we try to hitch to the Anderson’s. The first car to stop is an unmarked Sheriff with two officers inside. What are we doing they ask, now with their lights on. “We are trying to get to the Anderson’s, we are thru-hikers.” Well I might as well have said “We are here for your women and children, we are from another planet.” Eventually, after explaining the entire movie plot of Wild, one says “All the way from Mexico, huh… Your feet must hurt.” They decline to offer us a ride, which given the cage in the backseat, we are fine with. A few vehicles later we are riding in the back of a pickup truck, hoping our friendly Sheriff does not notice.

Required Hawaiian Attire

When you arrive at the Anderson’s everyone is sitting out front in Hawaiian shirts, the required attire. There is a long, slow building to fast, clap for each new arrival. The first thing you must do is pick out a Hawaiian shirt from the rack, then have a beer or soda. There are camping areas in the back, portapotties, showers, battery charging stations, rock painting, and lawn bowling (with bowling pins and bowling alley balls). The one serious rule is: do not let the dog out.

I help make dinner by setting up the propane powered industrial size stove, and cooking Nacho cheese. Every night is taco salad with all the fixings, and every morning is pancakes and coffee. About 40 hikers are here tonight and it will be like this every night for several months. We are like Monarch butterflies, or perhaps more like locusts. The numbers this year will be record setting.

Tomorrow we face another reroute, and everyone is trying to figure out which of the three road walk options to take. None of them are official, so it is up to us to decide. The one with the most road miles also has the most water. The one with the most trail miles has something like 38 miles with probably no water. We sleep on it and will decide in the morning.

Hippy Day Care

Mile 444 To 462

The KOA is full of cub scouts and boy scouts. Last night was their loud movie night, projected on a giant sheet and definitely cranked to 11. The grass area is full of thru-hikers who normally go to sleep with the sun. It is funny watching the party age beer drinkers grousing about being kept up past their bedtime by a bunch of 8 year olds.

It has been very hot and I want to beat the heat up the big climb. I start packing up in the last of the setting moonlight. I make instant coffee and chomp on the last slice of cold pizza. It is delicious. As I pack up my stove, I notice a stream of ants on the table. What are they doing? They appear to be headed towards the pizza box. When I shine my light on the pizza, I see a massive crowd of angry ants wondering what monster just ate half their friends? I remember the time my brother Rob ate ant infested Almond Roca. We laughed and laughed about that. Somehow this time is not quite so funny. Todd tries to give me the trail name “Anteater,” which I graciously decline.

PCT Gold Spike

Leaving the KOA we pass the PCT golden spike monument. I guess this is where the final trail connection was made. On the way up the hill I keep hearing strange haunting sounds, but not clearly enough to know if they are coming from down in the valley, or just in my head. Todd reminds me there is some wild animal shelter and they even have Michael Jackson’s old leopards or similar cats. He said he thought the noise was the animals being fed, or someone playing adult videos way too loud.

Tilted Vasquez Rocks

We hike under Highway 14 and through and around the amazing Vasquez Rocks. If not on a mission, this is definitely a place to rock scramble on massive tilted formations.

In Agua Dulce I have a great meal, resupply food, then chill at the grocery store for about 4 hours in front of the no loitering sign. It is just way too hot to hike, and being well below the tree line, there is no shade in sight. At 4:00 pm. I start to hike. It is still hot, but not like it was at 1:00 pm. Several hours of walking later, I crash at the top of a ridge, where about a half dozen other thru-hiker’s are huddled. It may be my last cell service for a while. I do not even cook, but just eat bars and globs of peanut butter. I try to sleep, cowboy style, under the full moon.

Loitering Schmoitering

Mile 430 to 444

I wake at 1:30 am, only to remember how stupid I am. I plug the phone into the charger again and set it next to, but not in, my sleeping bag. I pray for Lithium forgiveness and fall back asleep. I wake at five to find one of the blue lights on my external battery off, meaning 1/4 of the power went somewhere. Did it go in my phone, or just leak all over my Tyvek ground cloth? I press the button on my cell phone and almost cry for joy when I hear the annoying “Droid” as it powers up. The greatest news is that no one has to know I do not know my wife’s cell number.

Snake Blocks Trail

We press on towards the Acton KOA. It is much hotter today, and we are feeling it. On the way I come upon a group stopped dead in their tracks. A huge agitated rattlesnake is blocking the trail and there is no way around. The group has been here for over ten minutes. I take some video, then encourage the snake across the trail, feeling very brave.

A few minutes later a racer snake rips down the hill and ends up between my legs, and on my foot. As I complete my stride, the poor snake goes flying. I think the snake and I shared a moment of excitement neither of us will soon forget.

My plan was to resupply at Agua Dulce, but most hikers are instead heading to the KOA. It is the last chance for a shower and laundry for awhile. I will still need to resupply some food as we walk through Agua Dulce, which has an actual grocery store. I mostly need snack bars. Todd has shipped a resupply to KOA and has way too much. His left over Pasta Sides and instant potatoes will tide me over. I am not sure if the grocery store will have a medium sized fuel canister, so I purchase a huge one here. I do not look forward to carrying the monster, but at least I can cook. Tonight, however, we order pizza, a large Canadian bacon and pineapple, which we feast upon.