Mile 2226 to 2247

Ixnay leaves in the dark before us, thinking we will probably catch him. If not we have agreed to meet at the Lava Spring campsite in about 20 miles. Kevin and I pack up and stroll out quite a bit behind him. We have a fair amount of up this morning, going from under 4,000 feet to over 6,000, much of it through previous burn areas.

In one of the burn areas, we come upon a herd of elk. Seeing us the alpha female jerks her head down and back, as if a cowboy riding her just yanked the reigns. She arches her back and flips 140 degress and takes off, leaving only the thundering sound of her hoofs. The rest of the herd bolts in all directions, calves at their mother’s heels. The chaotic sound is exactly like the other morning in the dark, confirming that the herd we heard was elk. It would be great to work for a company where the leader changes priorities and directions and everyone else immediately joins in with this same level of unquestioning enthusiasm and drive. I do not see a passive aggressive cow in the herd.

We continue to climb by hazy views of Mount Adams, made so by the smoke but also because we are staring into the sun. We round a corner and get our first glimpse of Mount Rainier. The blue haze has erased the mountain’s bottom, but its snowy crown floats majestically in the sky. My camera’s autofocus is quite confused by the spectacle.

Kevin’s ankle is bothering him so we stop by a milky white creek to rest. After snacks we push on just west of Mount Adams where we must ford a wild, silty and extremely cold glacier stream. Kevin crosses in his flip-flops sandals. I cross in my hiking shoes after taking off my socks and removing the insoles. We rest on the other side to allow my shoes to transform from totally soaked to just damp. We also enjoy dried flattened bananas smothered in peanut butter and Nutella, wrapped in flour tortillas. Yes, you are free to try this recipe at home.

We re-enter a lava field, all too familiar from our days in Oregon. Here however we enjoy the squeaking, warning cries and busy scurrying of adorable pika. Out of the lava and back in the shrubs, I round a corner and come upon a large white furry ball about 15 feet ahead of me. I stop dead in my tracks as a head with horns rises from the bush into view. It is a lone beautiful mountain goat, probably pushed lower than normal by the fire. It stares me down and brings to mind the story of a hiker who was actually gored to death by one of these seemingly huggable beasts. Before I can engage my camera Kevin rounds the corner and sends the adorable monster scampering away. It is the first time Kevin has seen a wild mountain goat and not just a thru-hiker named Mountain Goat. It is also perhaps the first time he has saved my life.

We reach the camp a full hour or so behind Ixnay. The water at the spring is crystal clear and cold. We battle meat bees as we cook and eat, then quickly retire behind the protective mesh of our tents.

Mile 2208 to 2226

I wake in the middle of the night wondering why someone has built a smoldering fire in my tent. At least that is what it smells like. I can hear Kevin in his tent opening a bottle and taking a drink. In the other direction I can hear Ixnay opening a bottle for the opposite reason. I have never seen a risk-reward analysis that would convince me to attempt that in my tent.

Kevin and I wake for good a little before 4:30am. We pack up and hit the trail under headlamps before 5:00am. We hike by what should be the beautiful Sawtooth Mountain, but frankly it is pitch black. We turn a corner and hear complete chaos and breaking branches as very large animals scramble off in all directions. We tell ourselves they are deer or elk, rather than a mother bear now separated from her three cubs or a pride of mountain lions.

As the sky lightens to a smoky haze we come to our first couple of flat spots by a road crossing. We are now passing the thru-hikers that passed us yesterday. As we pass Mosquito Creek I am reminded that they have not been bothering us. Perhaps there is an upside to all this smoke. At Forest Service Road 88 we find trail magic – that is if a cooler full of warm beers before breakfast is magic.

We eventually reach Forest Service Road 23. We were told by a southbounder to walk down the road until we get to the falling rocks barricades for cell service. I call the Trout Lake store and am provided phone numbers of trail angels. Before we can even call, a truck pulls up and a man says, “You’re headed to Trout Lake.” It was not so much a question as a demand to get in. While we are loading another car pulls up and a man says, “I was gonna get them, but I see you’ve already got them.” I am starting to think there is a bounty out for us.

On the way to town I ask what kind of trout are in Trout Lake. He just shakes his head. There are no trout in Trout Lake. In fact there is no lake in Trout Lake. We are heading to Trout Lake for hamburgers and I am starting to doubt there will be ham in the hamburgers. I also ask about the lack of huckleberries. Apparently this was a short early season and we missed it. They couldn’t even pick enough for the firefighters charity huckleberry pancake breakfast. They had to buy them and it destroyed their profits.

At the Cafe we do get hamburgers, sweet potato fries and huckleberry shakes. On the menu the huckleberry shakes are $4.75, but on the board there is an advertised special: huckleberry shakes $5.00. We are clearly very special, as reflected on our bill.

The grocery store is the only other action in town. We resupply with reasonable selection and very decent prices. Everyone is extremely hiker friendly. We sort our pile on the porch with what seems like the whole town watching. Looking at our candy bar selection some even ask us if it is Halloween.

Our hitch back to the trail is as easy as the one to town. One phone call and a wife sends her husband to come get us. He is here in about 2 minutes and drives us the 13 miles back to the trail. At the trailhead there are two horseman and four horses. They are looking for a camp but are disappointed that a hiker is already there. It is Ixnay holding spots for us. We are very glad to see him.

When I go to get water one of the horsemen is bathing naked in the creek, with a big bar of soap, determined to get to every nook and cranny. All the while he is talking to me like we are standing outside of church having coffee and waiting for our wives. Needless to say, I get my water upstream.

We settle in, have dinner and try to sleep, as cars continue to buzz down the forest service road.

Mile 2188 to 2208

Ixnay gets a jump on us again, leaving while we are still packing up. From our tent site we enjoy smoke haze views back on Mount Hood. We finish the remaining bit of our climb and dash the 5 miles to the piped spring. It is a 1″ PVC pipe jammed into the ground, allowing the tiniest trickle to spill onto the trail. Ixnay is there just finishing up his load. We filter water and push on.

We reach Crest Camp, a car camping spot with picnic tables and a pit toilet. The toilet is surprise magic for Kevin who was just commenting on a particular pending and increasingly urgent task. Unfortunately his pit stop is stopped by a locked and closed for business door. Charlie Brown has never Ugh-ed and Oh Good Grief-ed louder. The tragic-magic sends Kevin off to the bushes for a disappointing alternate plan.

As promised by yesterday’s southbounder, Sheep Lake and Green Lake are anything but lakes. Sheep Grass and Green Grass would be better names. As we break a Japanese northbounder appears looking very sad indeed. He apparently did not get the translated memo and is now down to just a slurp of water. I refill his bottle from mine since I am always carrying too much. He is very appreciative and asks to take my picture. I guess I will be in the Japanese slide show in addition to the Alaskan one.

We hike towards Berry Mountain, where a posted sign warns the harvest limit for Huckleberries is 3 gallons. We have hardly seen any berries for days and are now very much looking forward to our 3 gallons each. Suffice it to say we did not find 3 berries each, let alone gallons. Even Mother Nature is jerking our chains with this tragic-magic.

We push on towards our next water at Blue Lake. Kevin and I get ahead of Ixnay who is carrying more food and a heavier pack. At the lake we make cheese and salami bagel sandwiches, and pretend not to notice the skinny dippers and nude sun bathers at the lake. When Ixnay arrives he is apparently distracted by the natural beauty because he does not notice us. He then goes on ahead thinking he is behind. We now have to quickly pack up and chase down the guy who is trying to chase us down. His significant lead allows the chase-chase to go on for miles. Luckily he stops for water or we may still be going.

We are in a long stretch with no tent sites listed on the map. Our strategy is to find any flat spot within striking distance of Forest Service Road 23, our hitch spot to Trout Lake. The pickings are slim so we settle for a spot sooner than I would like. This will make a long tomorrow for Kevin and me, so we plan to get up and leave in the dark. Ixnay does not need to go into Trout Lake so will enjoy a more leisurely day.

Mile 2165 to 2188

We wake and pack up early. The sun is rising later and the canyons and trees are blocking satellite signals and sunlight, so it is very dark in every sense. Ixnay leaves first, in search of a good bathroom location. This section is very steep so small campsites like ours and privies are at a premium. During last evening several hikers stopped, clearly coveting our little spot, but lacking room were forced to move on. As we hike this morning we wonder how far they had to keep hiking to find a spot. From the looks of it they must have gone a long, long way.

We climb 1600 feet then give all that back plus more as we drop through the Wind River Experimental Forest. Kevin wonders what the experiment is all about, as it looks like a pretty normal forest to us. Our last chance for water is at Panther Creek. There are hordes loading up here, both northbounders and southbounders. We have each come down long steep 2,000 foot declines and glance at each other knowing what the other faces as a steep incline. “Poor suckers” we are all thinking.

The southbounders are all discussing the awesome trail magic they got at the forest service road. It is Sunday and the do-gooders are out in force serving hot meals and cold drinks. By the time we struggle straight up to Forest Service Road 68 the magic has gone tragic. Everything is put away. There is one car left, the back of which is loaded with ice chests, chairs and pop up tents. It may be better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all, but I am pretty darn sure it is NOT better to have craved and lost than to never have craved at all.

All day where there should be great views there is smokey haze. We are not sure which of the many fires has brought us this malaise. Southbounders who were at Trout Lake 3 days ago say they saw 500 firefighters arriving. Trout Lake is our next resupply stop in a few days. Ugh.

We setup at a dry camp on a ridge. There is a piped spring 5 miles ahead which we are warned will be our last water for over 10 miles. The next two lakes appearing on our maps are said to be completely dry. Frankly, I am thirsty right now just thinking about it. I fall asleep and dream of running water.

Mile 2144 to 2165

During the rainy night flashlights flash light throughout our camp, followed by the distinctive sounds of clanging tent stakes. The PCT section is doubling in size. In the morning I can see the additions, but they are oddly out of place. Some have luggage by their tents and one tent is large enough to house a family of twelve. These are clearly not PCT hikers. Because the $27 a site regular campground is full, car campers are pretending to be $3 a night PCT hikers. We leave this problem for the campground host to sort out. We simply laugh, pack up and head to breakfast.

Because it is so early, we are looking for anything open. The Inn across the street has an “Open” light flashing and we walk our way into the Inn. We order eggs, pancakes and coffee. The woman serving us refuses to smile. The more she doesn’t smile the more determined I am to make her. I smile and thank her for everything: for bringing the menu, for explaining the menu, for bringing me coffee, for refilling my coffee, for bringing our food. This woman never cracks, not even a fake half smile. Then, when I have given up all hope, she brings the bill on which she has drawn a huge third-grade looking smiley face. I feel as though Boo Radley has just hidden a doll for me in the hole of a tree.

Now that we are done with all our purchases we can cross over to the land of sales tax. We hike towards and up on to the Bridge of the Gods. The car toll for this bridge has been 50¢ since 1936. As pedestrians we cross for free, apparently not because we are special, but because there is no place to walk. “Stay close to the left side, and good luck,” yells the toll lady. We walk across the Bridge of the Gods into oncoming traffic, afraid we might meet our Bridge God sooner than intended. The Bridge surface is a see through grate, so when not staring at oncoming cars, we are staring at out feet and the Columbia River far below.

Once in Washington we begin our assent. Ixnay catches up and hikes the rest of the day with us. We meet a woman from Alaska who insists on taking our picture. She is section hiking the PCT, but last year when she gave a program to her local community everyone just wanted to hear more about the thru-hikers. She appears to be responsive to her audience.

We camp next to a stream, have Mac & Cheese for dinner and fall asleep less than 500 miles from Canada.

Zero miles

The wind picks up in the night. I can hear people staking and re-staking their tents in a desperate attempt to cling to this earth. It feels as if my shrinking body weight is the only thing holding my Tarptent down. I fear if I get up to pee my tent will leave for Washington without me.

The good news is the rain has not yet started. The bad news is it will. We head back to the Bridgeside restaurant for omelettes and coffee. There are other thru-hikers there planning their what-do-we-do-about-all-the-Washington-fires strategy. Everyday it seems to get worse. My current plan is to hike as far north as possible, which right now seems like Glacier Peak. From there we hope to hike west to a road off the PCT to get a hitch (or ride from Terri) around to Harts Pass. It is a rough road to Harts Pass, but from there it is only 30 miles north to the Canadian Border. Of course so much can happen between now and then that there is no point worrying any more than that about it.

We resupply at the local grocery store to get us to Trout Lake which is 4 to 5 days north. From there we will buy supplies to get us to White Pass where Terri is sending a box. We sort our food on a picnic table surrounded by storm clouds but so far dry. We kill time by walking the locks and learn that Bridge of the Gods comes from an ancient land slide that blocked the river. After prayers from the natives the river is allowed to pass under the slide so the salmon can migrate up and be eaten by the locals. Apparently the salmon’s prayers to be left alone went completely unanswered.

After a quick ice cream we hunker down in our tents. It is now raining in earnest so we try to nap, hoping to get a break at some point for dinner.

The rain stops and we head up to the Alehouse for pizza based calories. On the way it starts to rain again then stops. It starts and stops several more times. It is as frequent and unpredictable as the spot fires popping up all over Washington and the hourly trail reroutes of reroutes.

Rain or shine tomorrow we climb. We will go from under 200 feet to over 3,400 feet in about 11 miles. We want to believe that a zero day helps us recover, but sometimes it just makes us lethargic.

Eagle Creek Alternate
Mile 4.6 to 15.5

Today timing is everything. We want to see the amazing waterfalls in Eagle Creek so we don’t want to hike before dawn, but we also want to avoid the hordes of hikers drawn to this beautiful place. We sleep in about an hour past normal, which seems just about right. As we hike past a variety of campsites tucked into the ferns we see few people stirring and those that are, are still making coffee or packing up. We are successfully avoiding rush hour.

We hike along cool pools, flowing cascades and breathtaking cliffs on our way to Tunnel Falls. The trail is a tiny ledge on a sheer wall, made slippery wet by the drifting mist. Bolted to the cliff-side is a cable railing for the faint of heart. The trail horseshoes up to the falls and dips briefly behind in a cool wet tunnel then reappears as a cliff ledge on the other side. Our timing is perfect. We have this magical place all to ourselves. We take a variety of pictures and video but none do the falls any justice.

We continue down Eagle Creek past Loowit Falls, Punchbowl Falls and Metlako Falls, all spectacular in their own right. Tunnel Falls, however, is clearly the main event. As we move further down we begin to encounter more and more hikers coming up, until it begins to feel about as private as a stroll through Disneyland’s Tom Sawyer’s Island on a summer Saturday afternoon.

A group approaches and I can hear a man say to a woman, “You ask them.” She then asks where we have come from. When I mention Mexico she squeals with joy – “I have cheese sticks for you!”  Apparently she carries cheese sticks in hopes of encountering thru-hikers because everyone knows we crave cheese. She insists on taking the wrapper even though we are heading out of the wilderness and she is heading in.

We pass a salmon hatchery and end up on a bike path to Cascade Locks. There are delicious blackberries everywhere, significantly slowing our progress. We walk to Cascade Locks and straight into the Bridgeside restaurant for char burgers and shakes. We have a window view of the Columbia River Gorge and the Bridge of the Gods, which takes the willing from no sales tax Oregon to the sales tax Washington State. We decide to stay another day on this tax free side.

We make a quick stop at the post office to pick up my new shoes. It brings to mind the sheer joy captured in the Time Life photo of an Austrian boy receiving new shoes during World War II. For thru-hikers, however, that joy is mixed with fear. Even the slightest change to footwear, new insoles or new socks, risks starting the blister process all over again. This box has new shoes of a completely different brand with brand new insoles. Oh Bridge of the Blister Gods be kind to me.

At trail Angel Shrek’s we do laundry and shower. While getting ribs at the brewery, we learn it is expected to rain and that most thru-hikers are staying at the campground at the locks. It has showers, electricity, WiFi and grass to set up on, all for only $3 a night. We pack up, pay Shrek for laundry and leave his backyard dirt pile which we fear will become a mud pit for a beautiful greenbelt park.

Tomorrow we will zero. We will work to survive the rain, plan our food for the next leg and fatten up with the fattiest of foods.

Mile 2109 to 2125
Eagle Creek Alternate 4.6 miles

In the middle of the night two giggling girls wearing headlamps weave through our camp, waking me. Their parallel lights and erratic behavior simulate the common courtesy typical of a drunken driver. At about 3am a torch-less north bounder pounds by on the trail. The vortex pull of Cascade Locks and the Oregon border appears strong, even in total darkness.

When we wake for good Kevin scrambles and is packed to go a full minute ahead of me. Later he tells me he did not want to hear about a blog entry that starts: “Lacking the pull of a breakfast buffet, Kevin lounges lazily until…”

Today our goal is to reach the PCT alternate trail known as Eagle Creek. Like the Rim trail at Crater Lake, almost every thru-hiker chooses this beautiful parallel option, if only to walk the cliff ledge that leads behind the famous Tunnel Falls.

The elevations today are mostly easy, following a high ridge line. We pass Lolo Pass and go around Sentinel Peak, Preachers Peak, Buck Peak and Indian Mountain. The alternate trail branches off at Indian Springs and is notoriously steep with really no switchbacks. I am pretty sure my dot watching father will notice we are off the official PCT and conclude something has gone majorly wrong. On our way down we are very glad we are not going up. About 4.6 miles down the alternate we find water and camp. I eat the last of the hiker box mystery meals. This one is something or other with couscous.

Tomorrow we plan to enjoy the Eagle Creek waterfalls and make it to Cascade Locks in time to pick up my new shoes at the Post Office.

Mile 2092 to 2109

We wake and thank the wind god for drying our tents and gear overnight. We are less than 3 miles from the buffet and Kevin has never packed up his gear more quickly. We are on the trail by 6:00 am. Our love for the wind god quickly blows away as we enter a torrential sand storm, which polishes everything we have, including our corneas. Although there is hardly any daylight I put on my cheap sun glasses and stagger in the even darker. I hike with a finger in my ear to keep the sands of time from counting down the hours in my mind. On the plus side our normally filthy skin is being exfoliated as we walk.

According to a notice in the Olallie Lake hiker box, the Timberline breakfast buffet is $14.95 and goes from 7:00am to 10:00am. We are right on time, except that the start time is actually 7:30am. The curse of Olallie Lake continues. To kill time I stand in the men’s room mesmerized by the hot water faucet and soap dispenser.

At 7:30 we abandon any pretense of civility and plow down the row of plenty. It is time for our first episode of “Buffet the hunger killer.”  My first plate is piled with eggs, sausage patties, sausage links, ham, salami, potatoes and frittatas. I wash it down with several cups of coffee and berry smoothies. My next plate has a huge Belgian waffle divided into fruity territories – raspberries, blackberries, and blueberries, plus one traditional section with massive globs of butter. I create a Mount Hood sized mound of mash-potato-thick whipping cream and smother the entire concoction with maple syrup. After more cups of coffee and smoothies,  I am ready for a plate of fruit and pastries.

There is a scene in a Monty Python movie where an obese man is gorging himself at a restaurant. The waiter asks how he is doing, to which the man says “Better”.” Too quickly the waiter relies “Oh, good.” The man clarifies by saying, “No. Better get a bucket. I’m going to be sick!” The scene ends when the waiter offers the man an after dinner mint, then runs for cover. The mint of course is the straw that breaks the camel’s stomach and he literally explodes sending his entrails and undigested food throughout the restaurant. As Kevin and I finally push away from the buffet table, we feel we are just one mint shy of a similar ending.

Once our phones are charged and water bottles filled, we waddle away from the beautiful and historic FDR works project/boondoggle known as Timberline Lodge. About 150 feet from the lodge we stand in front of a sign scratching our heads, partly to remove the sand and partly to remove the confusion. The sign reads 550 miles to Canada. On our way into the lodge Kevin pointed out a sign that read 498 miles to Canada. I am not completely clear on how plate tectonics work but apparently while we were filling our plates at the buffet, Canada migrated 52 miles north, probably irritated by something the U.S. said.

We hike to the torrential and dirty Sandy River, which we eventually figure how to cross on a precarious log and driftwood natural semi-bridge. We walk by several other muddy waters including the aptly named Muddy Fork.

The last 2.7 miles to our camp is straight up. Although I had rinsed out my shirt in one of the clean streams, it is all for naught, as we sweat like pigs on the home stretch. We pitch our tents, make quick meals and fall fast asleep.

Mile 2073 to 2092

We wake surprised that our wet tents have dried in the night, thanks to a warm gentle breeze. We down granola and powdered milk and re-enter the green tunnel, which is getting a bit old. We are passing the huge Timothy Lake yet we can never really see it. I guess you can’t see the lakes for the trees either.

We filter water at a very cold and clear stream. Our planned campsite has a seasonal spring but we are not sure what season, so we load up with too much. We pass a trail split to Little Crater Lake but decide to pass, fearing we may re-encounter first-ever-PCT man and I am just too tired to shake his hand repeatedly.

As we hike we begin hearing the strangest, loudest and most persistent screeching I have ever heard. I pride myself on being able to identify a wide variety of forest birds and animals, but frankly I got nothing. Kevin declares it Sasquatch mating calls and we move on. Sure science may have benefited if we stayed and solved the mystery, but there is a buffet north of us and priorities are priorities.

We climb up and down Wapinitia Pass, ending up at Highway 26 where we find trail magic. The sodas are on ice, so refreshingly cold. I feel great about my selection until I realize mine has 160 calories and Kevin’s has 190. Suddenly mine feels as weak as water.

We press up and over Barlow Pass and the magic-less Highway 35. Our goal is to be within striking distance of the Timberline buffet. As we are on the final climb to camp it begins to rain, and does so off and on the rest of the way. We set up camp in the rain. We cook and eat in the rain. We climb into bed and sleep in the rain. But rain or shine, tomorrow we will be gorging at the buffet and life will be good.

Mile 2052 to 2073

I wake in total darkness to the gentle sounds of rain. I scramble out of my tent, wake Kevin and help him put on his rain fly. I doubt it will rain hard or long, but everything is getting wet. I toss his pack into my tent and dive back in.

When we wake later we have a quick breakfast of bagels and pack up our wet gear. We re-enter the green tunnel and remain there for most of the day. The shade is nice but not helpful for drying our wet things. We stop frequently, not because of Kevin’s blisters but because of my aching back. I pop some of Kevin’s hiker skittles, or Ibuprofen as some like to call them. At each break we snack on one or another of our various candy bars. My mouth is hurting from too much candy and we have 3 more days of sweetness.

At one of our breaks a group of 3 women and a dog catch us. The women are excited we are PCT hikers and proceed to tell us what, when riding on their horses, they normally offer to hikers: nectarines, apples, cookies and candy. But since today they are walking they have absolutely nothing. It is like the old Let’s Make A Deal show when Monty Hall asks Jay to tell the contestants what they would have won if they had just selected the correct curtain. I lie and tell them that their smiles and words of encouragement are enough to feed our souls. In reality, our souls and our bodies are starving.

We filter water at a creek and hike on to a dry camp by Timothy Lake. We make our meal by combining things we took from the hiker box, including a Bearcreek chicken soup and a bag of what seems like veggie pasta mix. While eating our meal an extended family of Mexicans, numbering around veintiuno, climb way up from the shore of Timothy Lake carrying all manner of gear and toys: rafts, paddles, life vests, popup tents, ice chests, barbecue grills, lawn chairs and bags of who knows what. It takes the hombres about five trips each to get it all. They look at our tiny pile of gear and laugh.

As we finish our meal our dry camp becomes a wet one as it starts to rain. At least I get to put Kevin’s rain fly on in the fading daylight rather than total darkness.

Mile 2036 to 2052

We sleep in knowing Olallie Lake is just 6 miles away. In addition to resupplying we hope to catch a burger or two for lunch. Starting late also gives us more time for Kevin’s blisters. I retrieve and filter water from the surprisingly scummy lake. The filter will take out the dead bug wings, tiny moss chunks and little swimming larva, but it clogs up my filter and slows the whole process. I heat filtered water in a pot and we soak Kevin’s foot. After clean-ish and dry, we use a fair number of the second skin bandages from REI.

The hike to Olallie Lake is not bad but the resupply is. We need 5 days of food for 2 people. What they lack in selection they make up for in ridiculous prices. There is also no kitchen and therefore no burgers. Not even microwave frozen pizza like Shelter Cove. I hope not to meet again the guy who told us we could get burgers, if only to avoid a possible murder rap.

They do have a hiker box where other people dump stuff they no longer want. I snake everything that looks like food. There is a plastic ziplock bag with freeze dried peas and white squares of what I have no idea. There is a bag of something that might be vegetables mixed with instant rice. There is a powder that is probably milk, though could just as easily be plaster-of-Paris.

We do an inventory of what we had left and what we just got and make a list of the things we have to purchase: 30 snack bars, 4 dinners, bagels, granola, and stuff to eat and drink right now. Since calories are king and selection poor, we skip the $2.50/Cliff Bars and focus on candy bars. A Baby Ruth at $1.50 has 280 calories, more than the Cliff Bar. We fill our sacks with Baby Ruth, Snickers, Pay Day, Peanut M&Ms and Twix. I feel like a kid at Halloween and fear I will feel just as sick afterwards. In case you are wondering, a root beer, Kern’s mango nectar and 10 servings of Fritos is a very poor substitute for a hamburger and shake.

With no reason to hang around we push for strategic miles. Strategic miles are ones that time our arrival in a few days at Timberline Lodge, made famous for its role as the exteriors in the movie The Shining. For PCT hikers it is even more famous for its killer breakfast and lunch buffets. For fans of the movie, I have no idea if they serve red rum. For non-fans, that is murder spelled backwards.

We hike about 10 miles to a spring with water qualities more reminiscent of a septic pond. We camp close enough that we can hear the cries of disappointment as each arriving empty-bottled thru-hiker faces reality. For dinner I have pea something or other and Kevin has a Knorr Side. We fall asleep trying to forget Olallie Lake and praying the Timberline Lodge buffet is more than a fantasy.

Mile 2016 to 2036

I wake to the loud nostril snorts and branch breaking rampage of a ticked off buck. Apparently he owns this ridge and is making clear we are not at all welcome. When he eventually discovers our peace offerings of salt, in the form of human urine near a tree, he calms down. At least we had the decency to bring house warming gifts.

After checking out of our rooms with a view, we hike into the green tunnel. It is a living incarnation of the expression “can’t see the forest for the trees.” We spend the next 9 miles dropping 2,000 feet in elevation. We reach milky white Mill Creek, which is running wild and a safe crossing location is as unclear as the water. A thru-hiker and a couple of section hikers with a dog are scouring the shore. I join them climbing very high upstream in search of safe passage. Kevin eventually tires of our efforts and plows across the rushing water. I climb back down stream and follow his lead. Oh to be young and so confident. Now we just have to climb back up the lost 2,000 feet in the next 9 miles.

As we cross Jefferson Park we catch up to a Forest Service Ranger. Kevin experiences his first can-I-see-your-PCT-permit drill. We are lectured about a variety of things, including not stepping on greenery near shore when getting water because we might injure the insects which are “the life blood of the forest.” I wanted to ask what lecture he was giving the insects that were sucking the life blood out of me, but instead I just smiled and nodded. In the 4 million or so steps it has taken me to get here, I am pretty sure a squashed insect or two requires major medical. I keep looking at the ranger’s feet and wondering how he hovered here.

As we climb the steepest stretch up to the summit and across the border to Mount Hood Wilderness, we are treated to more spectacular views of Mount Jefferson and its icy glaciers. At the summit looking north, we can now see Mount Hood creating its own weather of swirling clouds.

After a break we push on towards Breitenbush Lake Campground. There are a surprising number of couples, families, dogs and horses coming our way. Looking at my watch I realize it is Friday evening. This is the get-a-jump-on-the-weekend crowd. On the way down the steep slope of loose stones, Kevin slips and falls backwards, miraculously flipping into the air a fist size rock with his lunging pole. It seems like it soars 15 feet in the air, but in reality is probably only 14 feet 11 inches. Kevin is completely unaware as it thuds just behind his head. Had it thudded directly on his head, he would be permanently unaware.

At our campsite we are rewarded with a tilted picnic table, a pit toilet, and a couple of goofy deer trying to get to lake for water. We try to get a backpacker’s night sleep, while the rest of the camp is just getting started with their campfires and red neck noises.

Mile 1992 to 2016

The trail is an excellent teacher but we are not particularly good students. We camp on the shore of a beautiful cove and are again surprised when we wake with soaking tents and sleeping bags. Where is this moisture coming from?

We pack up and leave before the camp breakfast, which I am sure is as awesome as these people have been to us. We target Rockpile Lake, which is 19 miles ahead, as our water and dinner spot. We hope to push on another 4 miles beyond that to a dry camp on a ridge, but to get there we have to endure 16 miles of completely burned out forest.

Along the way we catch up to Ixnay who left the cove before we did. We join forces to push each other along past Three Fingered Jack, Minto Pass and on to Rockpile Mountain and Lake. On the way Ixnay tells us colorful stories of his life, which fascinate us. Besides, we don’t have cable TV.

Ixnay grabs some water and pushes on. We stay to relax, filter water and cook an early dinner. Dinner now means we do not have to carry water to the dry camp for cooking and cleaning. While eating our dinner we are joined by a couple of graceful deer, who come to the lake to drink. Later they are joined by their two very naughty fawns. We know they are naughty because we watch them walk into the lake, drink water, then defecate directly into the water we have been filtering and cooking with. Our cries of “Oh come on!” have no impact on them. We are pretty sure they were laughing as they left the lake.

We gather up our things, including our suddenly not quite as refreshing lake water and push on. We reach the dry camp on the ridge which has an excellent view of Mount Jefferson, but no view of Ixnay. He must not have been impressed with the fairly wind exposed site, but it seems good enough for us. We pitch our tents and retire, pleased there are no mosquitoes and strangely no ants. We fall asleep hoping they do not know something we don’t.

Mile 1977 to 1992

We wake late, but dry which is a very nice change. I filter water from the way too warm to seem normal lake while Kevin tends to his feet. As we hike out I again notice footprints we have been following since early yesterday. There is a deer, a dog and a barefoot small person. I have no idea if they are related but I expect to turn the corner and see someone in rolled up blue jeans, a straw hat and a corncob pipe. At the lava fields the prints disappear. I fear the small person will perish in this rugged moonscape. I feel better when I think perhaps it is actually a juvenile Sasquatch from the known colony, in which case he is probably fine, but the deer and dog he’s hunting are done for.

To plan a massive trail like the Pacific Crest National Scenic Trail requires a great deal of coordination and compromise. I imagine in the meeting someone said “Oregon has some really neat lava fields, we should route the trail near it so people can see it.” Then someone else said “In order to really appreciate the rugged beauty and texture we should route the trail through a small portion.” Then someone else said “Or we could twist and turn the trail through miles and miles and miles of lava until their shoes are completely destroyed, their feet bloodied, and they cry like little babies for mercy.” So why did that guy’s argument prevail?

Along the trail we meet a 78 year old section hiker who is really struggling. I ask if he is all right. When he describes his back pain I ask if he has Ibuprofen. He says “No but that could really help.” I call out to Kevin, who has a stash for his feet. I pour about 6 into the man’s hand, thinking it will last until he can get some more, and before I can turn around he pops all 6 into his mouth and swallows. I said “Did you just eat all 6 of those?” He smiled. I said “I really don’t want to be responsible for your kidney failure.” He just smiled again.

Because we are running a little under in planned daily mileage, we need a little boost in the food department. Every southbounder we meet raves about the Big Lake Youth Camp. It is a Seventh Day Adventists church camp that is very friendly to PCT hikers. They offer WiFi, power, showers, laundry and the same vegetarian meals they serve the youth campers. It is all offered for free though donations are appreciated. Tonight we are served a bean burrito bar with everything you can imagine including cheese, rice, fresh avocado, tomatoes, olives, sour cream, lettuce and salsa. Kevin and I are ready to join the church and move in.

I call Daniel and he tells me he and Cindy have just crossed into Washington, to start their new life. I tell him he needs to get out there and put out those Washington fires so we can make it to Canada.

After dinner we pitch our tents on the shore of Big Lake next to Ixnay. Tomorrow, if Kevin’s feet will allow, we hope to get in some bigger miles.

Mile 1956 to 1977

Camped on grass, with fog pouring off Sisters Mirror Lake, we wake completely soaking wet from dew. If you dipped our tents in the lake, the lake would probably get wetter. This will be another stop to dry gear day.

Kevin puts on his beanie cap and gloves, and we walk toward South Sister. She is the first of three volcanic mountains with patches of snow or glacier ice still showing on her rounded top. Peaking over her shoulder we can just see Middle Sister, whose top appears more to the point.

At a lunch time break we spread out our yard sale of gear to dry. It is frustrating to pack and unpack multiple times in a day, but we will definitely appreciate waterless gear tonight.

We hike on and enter the permit controlled obsidian area with sharp shiny rocks all around us. We imagine Native Americans chipping off pieces for their arrowheads, which they undoubtably used to puncture and drain their painful blisters from this high friction foot destroying God forsaken place. Obsidian Falls is a beautiful and unexpected treat, followed by an even better cold water spring.

Heading by North Sister we get into some really nasty lava beds. The rocks are loose, rough and varied in shape. The trail is hot, dry and steep. It feels impossible for our feet to get purchase. It is however absolutely perfect if your goal is a sprained ankle or a strained calf.

We finally reach tiny South Matthieu Lake, which oddly has very strict camping rules. All the good sites are posted “Restoration – No Camping” or “Day Use Only.” Camping is only allowed within 15 feet of three wooden posts. The posts, perhaps as a joke, are placed in the three least desirable locations. We select the most of the least and pitch our tents. It is very windy, which is great for blowing away mosquitoes and dew, but cold and noisy for sleeping.

Mile 1936 to 1956

I wake before Kevin and struggle in the dark to make coffee from one of those single serve speciality cup injecting trash creating makers. I have read somewhere that coffee sales are significantly declining because of these machines. I am unclear if this is a result of the single serve rather than whole pot phenomena, or if people are just giving up completely because it is too darn confusing. Label me a coffee pot belly.

Eventually I am noisy enough that Kevin wakes and we head to breakfast. We stuff ourselves with omelettes, potatoes, cereal, juices, breads, fruits and frankly whatever is not hidden behind a locked door.

At 10am we walk to REI to purchase more blister supplies and to exchange our lifetime guaranteed Darn Tough brand hiking socks, which now have several more holes than are actually necessary to insert our feet. There is confusion about whether this is a normal REI product return with proof of purchase required, or a manufacturer guarantee return. At first I think the guy is simply going to kill me to complete the lifetime guarantee, but eventually he agrees to take the 4 pairs of socks. Apparently these socks are Darn Tough Negotiators because when I try to pay for the $10 Second Skin blister kit, the clerk says I don’t owe anything. In fact he gives me a couple of dollars in change, saying something about a buy 3 get one free deal on the socks. Kevin and I give him our best “are you sure this is right?” looks. I come in with 4 pairs of holey socks and leave with 4 new pairs of socks, a blister kit, and change!? I am pretty sure if I included a handful of beads I would be leaving with Manhattan and the Louisiana Territory as well.

We pick up some sandwiches and walk across town to the Cascade Lakes Highway which is really more like a two lane road through a business park. Kevin suggests we head down past the round-about so people will understand which way we want to go. He holds up a “PCT Elks” sign as we walk and like magic a truck pulls over. A couple of former forest service employees with their two dogs are headed out for a hike. They drive several miles past their intended destination to take us to our trailhead.

After downing our sandwiches and pawning our trash on some other good Samaritans we hike back up to the PCT. Our next water opportunity is in 6 miles at Sisters Mirror Lake. Since we got such a late start and we are testing various blister strategies, we call it a night. The lake is a very popular water spot, so it is crowded with a nice mix of day, section and thru-hikers.

Mile 1936 to 1950

We spend extra time tending to Kevin’s blisters but we are running low on bandage and Ibuprofen. Our goal is to get to Elk Resort for a nice meal and beg, borrow or steal first aid supplies. We load up on water and head out.

The trail is mostly downhill as we hike past Desane Lake, South Lake and Horseshoe Lake. We are still making okay time as we head up towards Dumbell Lake.

We have been hearing and seeing a water tanker plane and a smaller plane making multiple passes around us yesterday and today. It seems like there must be a fire south of us, but we are not seeing smoke. On the trail we encounter a very confused man in bright yellow heavy clothes, carrying a pick, and smelling like a campfire. He asks what trailhead I started from, which is always confusing to answer. Do you mean on April 3rd at the Mexican border? He mumbled something about trying to figure how far he has to go to get out. I don’t understand why he doesn’t just go out the way he came in. Later we heard there were several smoke jumpers for the fire, which may answer my earlier question.

Along the way we run into John, a section hiker we have seen several times the last few days. He recommends that rather than go to Sisters in a couple of days, we should hitch to Bend from Elk Resort today. Our options for first aid store selection will be much better, including an REI. In fact, since he is local and we seem to be hiking at the same pace, he offers us a ride. Or rather he offers that his wife who is picking him up at Elk Resort will give us a ride.

She agrees and they give us a quick tour of Bend and drops us off at the Hilton Garden, right next to the REI. We do not look nor smell like the rest of Hilton’s clients, but apparently my credit card has the power of forgiveness. Kevin does the laundry while I hike in my girls short shorts to RiteAid for blister supplies. Drivers, including the ones at the hotel front desk, always underestimate walking mileage. Either that or it now takes me over 15 minutes to go a quarter mile. I return with critical supplies, including a pile of two-for-one Snickers bars. After a mud slide of a shower we have a meal at the local service impaired grill and shakes from Ben and Jerry’s.

Tomorrow we will tackle REI. Tonight we tackle the TV remote control and end up watching The Maze Runner, with Kevin mumbling after every scene, “That’s not how it happened in the book.”

Mile 1912 to 1936

Our sleep by the shelter is less than satisfying. The trail crew talks loud and late into the night. When they finally retire an owl keeps the conversation going, but we’re not sure with who, who, who. In the early hours some insanely loud insects start their shift. We pack up quickly and hit the trail while the trail crew sleeps, probably exhausted from all that keeping us awake stuff.

From the shelter we hike to Bobby Lake for water. We probably could have made it to Charlton Lake, but it was not listed on Guthook’s elevation profile. Bobby Lake is beautiful. Kevin’s feet not so much. I filter and Kevin again tends to his blisters, though things are not going well in that department.

We hike through a long stretch of burn area. There is nothing like miles and miles of shadeless dead trees to make you appreciate the live ones. It is eerie crossing this standing and downed telephone pole farm. The wild flowers at the base of some of the poles reach out to cheer us up, but are mostly unsuccessful. It is just too hot.

We break for an early dinner at Brahma Lake. I take a quick swim while Kevin fights with his blisters. Just as the dehydrated beans are rehydrated and ready for tortillas, we experience a hydration bonus in the form of a thundershower. I scurry to set up my tent and toss in our gear. It comes down pretty hard, but not very long. In fact, it is just long enough to get everything wet and move on.

After dinner and drying we repack and push on to what is described as a scenic pond. Kevin arrives at camp and declares he cannot go on much longer like this. We need a solution to his blisters, but are kind of at a loss. We may stop at Elk Resort tomorrow and beg for more first aid supplies. We also may have to hitch out to Sisters in 60 miles for more serious help.

Mile 1904 to 1912

We wake to golden mantled squirrels and chipmunks climbing all over our cowboy camp. They are interested in both our food and the surrounding huckleberries. Knowing how and where thru-hikers urinate at night, Kevin and I are less interested in these berries than the rodents are, who complete amazing acrobatic leaps to pluck the higher fatter juicy ones.

After a lazy breakfast we pack up and move to the tables by the general store where we have access to power outlets, WiFi and ice cream. Kevin and I pre-rinse ourselves and our dirtiest clothes by swimming in the lake. Socks in particular have to be pre-rinsed before laundering. This typically involves dipping and squeezing about 30-40 times, watching the the residue transition from espresso, to dark French roast, to mild Columbian, to very weak Sanka. It never approaches anything resembling clear water.

We put on our laundry time outfits, often taken from the hiker box. I wear a pair of girls short shorts while Kevin opts for his leotard looking base layer. After laundry we head for the showers. There is a rumor that one of the showers gives 3 minutes for $1.50, but the other one gives 5 minutes. Unfortunately no one seems to know which is which. Kevin takes the one on the right. I take the left. On the count of three we start the showers. After 3 minutes, Kevin screams “No!” I, however, enjoy another 2 minutes of heavenly bliss.

After eating trail food that won’t fit in our packs and ice cream that always fits in our bellies, we pack up to go. We hike back up to the trail and head north. Any miles today just knock down the daily average required to reach our next resupply in 6 days. We pass several beautiful lakes and then stop to eat dinner and filter water by the northern Rosary Lake. We press on a few more miles to Maiden Peak Shelter. The shelter has been taken over by a large group of PCT volunteer trail workers. We thank them for their service and pitch our tents nearby.