Day 114-116: Heatwave

July 27-29; Mile 1539-1601

Day 114

Mary drove me to the trailhead the next morning, almost a full week since I’d left the sunny parking lot. It was quiet as I hoisted my pack and set off up the trail. The terrain was flat for the next few miles, and yet I sagged under the weight of my pack. I’d jammed as much food into my bag for the 5-day section as I’d probably carried for 7 or 8 days in the past. But when you’re hiking at least 20 miles day after day, eating 4000+ calories each day is essential.

The trail led along some rocky cliffs as it began its perplexing turn south. For about 30 miles I’d be heading mostly away from Canada before curving back northward. In the meantime I enjoyed the views, including an inflatable unicorn bobbing along the surface of a small lake far below.

I reached a saddle with a tree casting enough shade for me to huddle for my lunch. Though I was back at elevation, the air was thick and hot, and I prayed for rain – or at least for the distant clouds to come shelter me from the relentless sun.

The afternoon was filled with wildflowers dotting the hillsides, growing out of the thin, rocky soil. I gathered water from a spring where someone had shoved a broken trekking pole in place to act as a pipe; I’d seen a lot of leaf civil engineering at springs and trickling streams, but this was a first.

The trail was gentle, the views sweeping – and yet I felt slow, as if I’d lost my momentum. Why was I out here when I could be at home with Dov, enjoying neighborhood walks, home-cooked meals, and the Great Indoors?

Leading up to the wedding – when my body felt like each day was stretching it to its limits – I’d keep repeating ‘Just 11 days. I can make it 11 days.’ And then it was only 10, then 9, and so on. Now my mantra was 7 days. I’d reach the Oregon border in just over 7 days. I had been walking toward that moment for almost four months; I could make it 7 more days.

Dinner was spent at a deserted campground by the road. I ate with two folks from Tacoma – Stretch and Denial – as we swapped stories of Washington adventures. The thermometer on Denial’s pack read 88 degrees at 7:30 at night, and we all suffered through our hot dinners amidst the sweltering heat.

With a stomach full of couscous and curry, I lumbered up the trail to finish off another mile or so before bed. At my planned campsite I found a first for the trail: no room. Thankfully a hiker mentioned a spot just ahead at a switchback where you could fit a tent. I set up in the dim light as the whine of mosquitos filled the silence. The ground was sloped and the air stayed thick and warm – not ideal sleeping conditions – but I was glad I’d come back. This time I was going to walk into Oregon.

Day 115

Sleeping fitfully, I woke to the sound of my alarm with a groan. But I knew the heat was coming.

I packed and left before 6, hiking up to the Trinity Wilderness boundary. Another hiker had paused to admire the sign, and as I came up behind him he turned around.

“The forecast for today and the next few days is 104. That’s deadly hot. Stay cool out there.” It was going to be another day of hiking from water source to water source.

The views of the Trinity Alps were gorgeous: jagged granite peaks dotted with the occasional lake. A helicopter flew past and circled the ridge a few times, either as part of a search and rescue mission, or to look for fires. Neither option seemed good.

After hours of solitude, I spent the next half hour passing group after group of backpackers. They were all part of a summer program; as we trudged past each other through ash and charred forest, with the temperature in the upper 90s, I wondered if this was the best introduction to backpacking.

I’d reached another burn section, this one fairly recent by the ash beneath my feet and the lack of vegetation, and I looked ahead for a place to wait out the midday heat. The next water source was a gash of greenery through a hillside of gray and black, and I found a small stand of trees nearby that cast shifting patches of shade.

I rested in a pool of sweat, chugging water and Gatorade during the two-hour break. As the shade flickered and failed, I began to get antsy; and so I set out once again into the oven. I immediately felt nauseous and paused in a sliver of shade cast by a burnt tree. I spent the next hour hopping from one patch of shade to the next, grateful whenever a gentle breeze brushed past.

Clouds began to gather above me, and the sky rumbled thoughtfully. Thankfully I was past the high, exposed section of trail, and I descended through burn zone after burn zone, with short respites of healthy forest. At the last water source, I dunked my head and soaked my feet in the icy water. My stiff new shoes were making my feet ache, and the heavy food bag wasn’t helping.

After hours of feeling slow, I powered myself up the climb by listening to some music, pumping my legs to the quicker tempo. The camp spot had a few other folks already set up, but I found a nice flat spot for my palace of a tent. Soon after Stretch and Denial joined me.

“I thought you were planning to go further to get to town tomorrow,” I called as they dropped their packs.

Apparently Stretch had gotten new shoes in Shasta at the gear store, but they were different from her usual pair, and her feet had exploded in blisters. I certainly knew how that could slow someone down, and I wished her well. Hopefully she’d be able to change shoes in Etna tomorrow. Meanwhile, I was planning to add Etna to the growing list of NorCal towns that I’d skip past in my race to the border.

Day 116

I packed up in darkness as hiker passed with their headlamps twinkling. The trail led past beautiful living forest in the morning full of cool shade. There was a short rocky outcropping with a nice view over the surrounding valleys, and then it was back into the wonderful shadows.

The surrounding slopes were striped gray and green where burnt stretches of forest butted up against healthy ones. Up close the older burn areas were full of ghostly, silver trees with a carpet of emerald bushes at their base.

As I passed into grassland I heard metal tinkling in the distance. Honestly the first thing that came to mind was people stirring cocktails; I blame the heat. Once my brain started functioning again I realized that I was hearing a herd of grazing cows! Folks generally complain that NorCal is just burn scars and cows, but it had not been living up to its bovine promise until now. I spotted the dark shapes sauntering across the slope to my left and called out to them: “Moooooo!”

Another hiker came up behind me, and I ducked my head in embarrassment and kept hiking.

As I was nearing Payne’s lake for my lunch break, I ran into Jonah! He had paid for my birthday beer way back at the Paradise Valley Cafe, and I’d never gotten the chance to thank him. We chatted all the way to the lake and then swam in the refreshing water together. I floated on my back, completely at peace, while he filtered some water.

He was planning to head into town that afternoon, and so I stayed behind at the lake and napped in the shade for a few hours. I pulled on my bugnet pants and pulled my hat down over my face to ward off the flies, and it was surprisingly pleasant.

I left around 3:30 with my pack full of water and began to ascend to the ridge. Clouds swirled above as I paused at the high point. I was perched atop a granite ridge with views down to the blue lake below, and beyond toward the valley where Etna lay. A thin column of smoke curled upward from a distant ridge line to my north. Suddenly the sky rumbled ominously, and I took off running. I was completely exposed on the ridge, and I was above 7000’ – not a good place to find oneself in a thunderstorm.

Thankfully the trail descended from there all the way to the highway, and most of it was in the trees. Every time I reached an exposed stretch, I reassessed: “When was the last thunder?” “How far is it to the next covered section?” “What do the clouds directly overhead look like?”

As I barreled down the trail, I kept checking my arms to see if the hairs were standing on end. I’d repeat “I’m okay, I’m okay” until I reached the tree cover, my mind blank with fear. To a casual observer, I probably looked insane.

The sky was a mass of dark clouds with sheeting rain in the distance. As I hurried downward, the thunder condensed until it was almost constant; every ten seconds a new rumble would echo throughout the forest.

At last I reached the road. It was a bit late to try hitching, and I was alone. My planned camp spot was only a few miles further, and from what I could see the trail looked forested. Unfortunately I’d need to ascend a few hundred feet before I’d be able to set up my tent. But the thunder had ceased a while ago. Alone, I dithered beside the road: going into town or camping in a thunderstorm. In the end I chose the storm.

I passed the 1600 mile marker ten minutes later, unconvinced that I was making the right decision. After a mile the thick tree cover gave way to stretches of rocky ridge, only this time I had to climb upward instead of racing down. I pushed my legs to their breaking point, hauling myself upward with my trekking poles, alternating between “I’m okay” and “Come on legs; get to the trees.”

There was someone a hundred yards ahead of me, and I was glad I wasn’t the only fool out here. I finally reached the camp site, a well-protected spot with trees and soft ground. Thunderheads swirled to my right, the clouds awash in the golden light of sunset. I stretched my aching body; everything hurt from my mad dash through the storm. As I curled up inside my tent, the sky to the north flashed white as lightning arced through the clouds. Wind gusted through the stand of trees, shaking my tent. It was going to be a long night.