Day 17-20: Wind and Snow in the San Jacintos

April 21-24; Mile 151-193

Day 17

I arrived back at the trail at 9am after getting a ride from Grumpy again. He had talked about how climate change was actually just the Earth’s tilt increasing and how he didn’t believe most scientists because they’re “just trying to make a name for themselves.” I made some kind of noncommittal noise; a ride is a ride after all.

It was a long, hard day spent battling the wind. Plus I realized soon after starting that I’d left my block of aged cheddar in Idyllwild. Also my kula cloth. Oops.

After 6 miles I reached the junction down to Tunnel Spring. It was a steep 1/4 mile down to the source, where water flowed into a metal trough blooming with algae. I filled up enough to last the 11 miles to Apache Spring, plus enough for camping overnight. This section didn’t have any water sources on trail until mile 177; instead hikers had to rely on springs that were steep hikes down away from the trail. Lugging 3-4 liters back up those hills was a pain. But suffering from dehydration was worse.

Back at the ridge line I hid beneath a bush to eat lunch. The wind howled around me, and apart from two other hikers I hadn’t seen anyone in a while. There was a storm forecasted for that night – it seemed everyone had taken shelter down in Idyllwild.

I enjoyed the sweeping views down toward Palm Springs as I followed the ridge line. There were many dead trees along the path, and I hurried past as the wind sent them creaking and swaying. I’d read about a campsite that required a little bushwhacking, but that was more protected from the threat of falling trees. I found it around 5:30 – there was a small cave formed by two massive boulders slouching against each other.

The temperature plummeted, and I shivered as I prepared my dinner: couscous with salmon and shallot. I nestled my tent close to the cave entrance, wary of the impending rain and snow. I also noticed the main guy line beginning to fray, and tied a butterfly knot to isolate the weak part of the strand – thank you crevasse rescue class for the knowledge. The wind was relentless, but I was fairly protected and was able to fall asleep before long.

At some point during the night I heard a crash in the distance. The drizzle had turned to driving sleet, and there was a flash of lightning. I spent the rest of the night diligently knocking the snow off my tent so that it didn’t collapse.

Day 18

I awoke to more snow and wind – perfect conditions for hypothermia – and so I rolled over and went back to sleep. The forecast had said the snow would stop around 11, and that the wind would die down around 3, and so I planned to leave my little nook after lunch. I didn’t have enough water to spend an extra day getting to Apache Spring. Except, there was water all around me! I shoveled snow into my water bladder and added some of my water to help it melt. And then I waited.

After leaving the relative safety of my cave, I hurried through a tree graveyard full of twisted, bone-white remains from a fire that ravaged the area. Each time the wind halted me in my tracks I looked up with trepidation. This was no place to pause for pictures.

After a mile the trail wound up a ridge line devoid of anything that could provide shelter from the gale. The forecast had said 35 mph with gusts up to 45; on the exposed mountainside I felt its full wrath. I had to brace myself repeatedly as the force snatched the air from my lungs. With both feet and trekking poles planted, I was still pushed backward. Alone and cold, I decided to retreat. As I turned to concede defeat, the wind knocked me down the trail so that I had to crab-walk with my face uphill to avoid being lashed against the rocky ground.

I huddled beneath a bush for almost two hours waiting for the gale to ease up. It didn’t. I tried half-heartedly once again to scale the rocky slope, but by then my arms were almost numb with cold. Aware of the very real threat of hypothermia, I retreated to the camping area and set up my tent so that I could curl up inside my sleeping bag. It wasn’t even 3pm.

It’s especially important to keep eating so that your body can keep itself warm. I cobbled together enough snacks to make a decent dinner; with the wind howling outside there was no way I’d be able to cook anything. After forcing down the food I stared at the inside of my tent and thought how nice it must be to have normal hobbies.

Day 19

I woke up feeling toasty warm in my sleeping bag. With the previous day’s chill fresh in my mind, I started hiking in my wool tights, puffy, and rain jacket. I was boiling within minutes. Yesterday where the wind had shoved, today it merely tugged.

In the desert I’d try to be on trail before the sun rose so I could cover miles in the chill morning air. But here amongst the snowfields and thin air, the sun’s warmth was like an old friend: welcome and comforting.

The trail snaked past bushes with an inch of ice coating their leeward side. Apache Peak rose ahead of me, the first of the day’s many obstacles. Two years ago someone had died after falling on this section of trail, and that fact was at the front of my mind as I surveyed the steep, snow-covered slope. Thankfully there was a good bootpath through the snow, as parts of it felt unlike anything I’d hiked on in Washington: it was the consistency of disintegrated styrofoam. I took my time, keeping three points of contact with the trail at all times.

As if steep drop-offs and snow weren’t enough to contend with, there were also about 80 blowdowns that required climbing over, under, or around. And lining the trail were sections of poodle dog bush: a whimsically-named plant with a horrid nature. To brush your skin against it meant developing painful, blistering boils. Plus it smelled like evil marijuana. I crawled along.

At least the views were spectacular: a frozen aerie above a mountainside that plummeted down to the desert floor. I was very glad to have waited a day for conditions to improve. As an added benefit I was able to melt more snow so that I could avoid the long slog down to Apache Spring.

Around 5pm I found a spot near Saddle Junction that was clear of snow. My shoes and socks were soaked from trudging through slush for hours. It had been a long, hard day with over 4000’ of climbing. Yet as I curled up in my sleeping bag, I was wide awake. I could hear crunching outside my tent. An animal? For ten minutes I listened, rigid as a board, before realizing it was my tent doors rubbing together. Bemused, I pulled them taut, put in some earplugs, and went to sleep.

Day 20

Today was incredible. I woke up at 5:30 but it was still too cold, so I waited almost another hour before getting moving. My shoes and socks had all frozen overnight, and I had to tug the icy laces apart to squeeze my feet inside.

I was on snow for most of the day, passing above 9000’ twice. Back in March when I’d been reading reports for this area, most of the snow had been melting rapidly. But I knew it could always snow in April, and so I had sent my microspikes in a box to Paradise Valley Cafe. They proved invaluable throughout the day as I crunched along icy trails and snowy slopes.

At the north fork of the San Jacinto River I ran into Carly and Andrew, two people I’d briefly met in Idyllwild. It was so nice to see familiar faces after the cold loneliness of the past few days. This was the last water source for 19 miles, and I groaned under the extra weight.

I finally reached the snow line and continued downward with views of the desert and highway far below. I would descend over 8000’ before reaching that tiny strip of asphalt.

At camp it wasn’t absolutely freezing, so I was able to lay out my foam pad and stretch. Soon I was joined by Tinder and Tailgater. They’d skipped Fuller Ridge because of the snowstorm, and they told me about a woman hiking the PCT who’d become lost in the snow and stumbled into someone else by luck.

I was certainly glad to be out of the wind and snow.