Day 92-95: Alone

July 5-8; Mile 1153-1229

Day 92

In the morning I packed up and walked over to the view toward Donner Lake. There was a nice wooden swing hanging from a tree branch, and so I hopped on and pumped my legs until I was teetering back and forth with Donner Lake between my feet.

I grabbed my pack and clambered back down the side trail to the PCT. The route led past several stagnant ponds with swirls of algae floating on top – what I referred to as “desert quality” water sources – before reaching a nice flowing creek. I set up my bag to filter water while I ate my oatmeal breakfast. I ate a fresh plum to celebrate reaching three months on trail, and then I packed up and hiked on.

The trail came to the I-80 freeway and led into a drainage tunnel. Water was cascading out of the end of the tunnel, but thankfully it was only 1-2 inches deep inside. The smell was putrid, and I hurried through. Then I emerged into bright sunshine and saw the second tunnel. Knee-deep, stagnant, grayish-green water lay waiting at the entrance. There was no way I was going to soak my shoes and socks in that. So I switched to my crocs and waded into the filth. It didn’t smell as bad as the first tunnel, and thankfully the water ended halfway through, but as soon as I exited I walked straight into the nearest clear, flowing creek to wash off.

The trail began its climb to Castle Pass, and soon afterward it led past one of the only huts along the trail. It was boarded up, so I kept hiking. I passed into Round Valley where signs warned about the endangered yellow-legged frog – the same frog that had diverted the trail back along the Angeles Crest.

I climbed up to a nice view for lunch, my legs and feet aching from the previous day’s adventure. I was going much slower today, but that just meant I had time to appreciate the smaller things, like all the balsamroot. And then I finally had service so that I could look up the difference between balsamroot and mule’s ear. I’d heard two people refer to the yellow flowers by the unfamiliar name, and I’d been wondering if they were different plants or just regional slang.

It turned out that they were in fact two distinct plants, and that I’d been misidentifying a lot of mule’s ear as balsamroot the past week. However, there were clumps of balsamroot mixed in amid the mule’s ear, and I spent the next section of trail identifying the two by their leaves. I passed two day hikers and excitedly shared my newfound knowledge, and they laughed and said they’d been debating that exact question of what plant the yellow flowers were.

The trail climbed up to a beautiful ridge with a rocky promontory overlooking a grassy meadow. Rolling hills faded into the distance as the clouds scudded across the sky. Meanwhile my body was hurting, and I hiked slowly for the last mile to reach camp. I was looking forward to a good night’s sleep to rest my weary feet.

Day 93

The trail began by ascending to another flower-filled ridge line. Shadows danced across the hillside as puffy white clouds swept past. A cold wind blew near constantly, and so despite the intermittent bouts of sunshine, I pulled on my puffy and gloves.

I spotted several clumps of actual balsamroot amidst the sea of mule’s ear. In the distance peaks crouched beneath the layer of clouds, clinging to their final patches of snow. I looked north, hoping to catch of glimpse of the sleeping Mt Shasta. But – like my excitement to see the Sierras near the end of the desert – I was a few hundred miles early.

I followed the trail down, down, down to where it crossed Pass Creek on a bridge. I scrambled down to the water and had a leisurely lunch eating my last plum and some couscous while soaking my feet in the cool water.

After a short climb through the woods, the trail continued its long descent along open views of the valley. I reached my planned camp spot by 5pm and enjoyed another foot soak and plenty of stretching. I’d descended to a mere 5000’, and the air felt thick and warm.

I camped next to two hikers – Sammy and Alex – that had gotten southbound permits but ended up rearranging their hike due to the massive snow levels still gripping Washington. They’d heard of a group that had tried to start from the northern terminus and covered only 11 miles in 2 days. Technically they were the first SOBO (southbound) thruhikers that I’d met on trail. In a normal year the two groups would often meet somewhere in Oregon, but the snow levels up north were far from normal. I had a feeling I’d be seeing a lot more SOBO hikers skipping around in the weeks ahead.

Day 94

I bid farewell to the two hikers from Colorado, wishing them luck on their journey, and then hiked the few miles to the road into Sierra City. Ahead of me lay the longest climb since I’d left the High Sierras: 3000’ up to the ridge line.

I stopped at Switchback Spring to fill up my water bottles for the climb ahead and got to chatting with another hiker named Straggler. We ended up hiking together for the next few miles, talking about weddings, the Mormon church, and the emptiness of the trail over the past few days.

I’d somehow fallen among several groups of hikers that I’d never met. The people I knew were either ahead of me or somewhere behind, and though I never camped alone, it was the loneliest stretch of the trip so far.

The trail turned from dirt to a jumble of rocks as it switchbacked through verdant slopes below the Sierra Buttes. The jutting rocks far above lent an air of majesty to the ridge, and I stopped repeatedly to admire them from different angles.

I reached mile 1200 and paused to add my own mile marker since I didn’t see one and there hadn’t been one for 1100. A minute later I rounded a corner and saw the existing milestone.

After another hour of climbing I finally reached the high point – and my lunch spot. I reclined in the shade of a gnarled tree and ate my couscous as day hikers tromped past on their way to the fire lookout atop the Sierra Buttes. One hiker stopped to chat and offered me some granola bars and jerky.

The PCT had originally stayed high on the ridge line, but somewhere along the way it was rerouted down into the basin with several lakes, losing about 1300’ and regaining it once again on its way back to the ridge. And so I wove downward to Tamarack Lake where I stopped to swim amidst the summer heat. I passed Packer Lake and Deer Lake before reaching my camp spot. It was the third day in a row that I’d done 19 miles, yet I was feeling good. I set up my tent with a view toward the imposing Sierra Buttes and watched from my sleeping bag as the evening light on its face faded from gold to pink to violet.

Day 95

The trail stayed high above the Round Lake basin, where pools of dark blue water shimmered far below. I paused at a rock outcropping for a snack and was treated to my first hazy view of Lassen Peak!

I climbed upward through forested slopes until reaching a bright green saddle dappled with wildflowers. I paused for lunch while the flies swarmed around me and had an excellent view of Lassen Peak as I started to switchback down.

The day was hot, the air thick and humid. I guzzled water by the liter, grateful for all the trickling streams that flowed past the trail. As I finished filtering water at one of them, I ran into Stealth. She said there was a heat wave coming, with temps forecast to reach the 90s. I wilted slightly at the thought of tromping across exposed sections of trail in that heat. At least there were flowing streams and lakes here, unlike the desert.

I reached camp after one last steep climb and set about stretching in the shade. My clothes were soaked with sweat, my feet covered in dirt – I was looking forward to showering in town tomorrow.