Chasing Alpenglow

First, an interlude from this Interlude: during the month of August I will be participating in the Washington Trails Association Hike-a-thon. This group is responsible for much of the work done to keep the trails in Washington – including the PCT – looking beautiful and free from obstacles or erosion. Every dollar raised will help maintain our trails in years to come. If you’d like to donate, you can visit my page here: https://give.wta.org/fundraiser/4014891 And feel free to make it interesting… Donations contingent on how far I make it into Washington? On how many blog posts I

July 15-19; Mile 1421-1529 Day 102 The day started with a short hike to Rock Creek, where a bridge spanned the gorge and a waterfall spilled out the other side. Annet and I ate breakfast at the bridge while discussing our plans for water that day. We were in a stretch reminiscent of Agua Dulce: wide open views and bright green brush with tiny off-trail springs for getting water. I enjoyed having a lighter pack, and so I endeavored to visit multiple off-trail sources that day instead of carrying extra water weight. Annet’s plan

July 13-14; Mile 1396-1421 Day 100 Fifteen miles stood between me and the next resupply town of Burney. When I woke that morning at 5:30, hikers all around me were already packing up their tents and heading off down the trail. Thankfully the terrain ahead was relatively flat and vaguely downhill. My feet led me through oak savanna, past dirt roads and paved ones, until reaching a hydroelectric plant. I was drenched in sweat by 10 in the morning, and my clothes were filthy from walking through the burn area.

July 10-12; Mile 1331-1396 Day 97 Howard and I rode to the spot where the PCT crossed highway 36 west of Chester. There were a few thruhikers trying to hitch into town, and they stared when I got off the motorcycle and donned my backpack. I had reached the burn area. For over forty miles I would travel through ash and blackened trunks until reaching Old Station. Or so I thought. The first few miles were eerie in their silence. No birds chirped, no

July 9; Mile 1229-1234 When I woke up I felt like my feet were covered in ants. I pulled off my socks and saw several red, angry welts around my ankles, the sides of my feet, even on the soles. They were itching like crazy. Suddenly I remembered the cloud of flies at lunch the day before. I’d taken off my shoes and socks to let my feet cool off, and apparently they had been biting flies. Walking was agony. I only had five miles to reach the road, but every step rubbed against

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

July 4; Mile 1129-1153 Despite the low mileage the day before, I ended up sleeping in and didn’t start hiking until after 7. I looked ahead on the map to see where I might camp that night, and noticed that Donner Ski Ranch was just out of reach – 24 miles away. I’d heard that hikers got free beer when they stopped by, and that there would be fireworks over the lake that night for the 4th. But with such a late start, there was no way I’d get there before dark. I hoped I’d at least

June 30 – July 3; Mile 1069-1129 Day 87 I woke up to a layer of dirt in the morning. Sigh. I packed up and hiked away from the beautiful lake, skirting around melt water ponds before climbing up toward Carson Pass. I passed through fields of wildflowers on my way to the false summit, and then I got a view of the two snow fields that I’d read about. People said they’d used spikes and ice axes, but they didn’t look too bad from a distance.

June 28-29; Mile 1031-1069 Day 85 The trail began as a gentle dirt track, and my legs sped up to the pace I’d been accustomed to hiking in Washington. It felt good to hike fast again. I passed fluttering fields of balsamroot* about to burst forth. (*it wasn’t actually balsamroot, but that’s what I wrote in my journal, and the alliteration was nicer this way). I spent the day admiring all the rock formations along the ridge lines, many of them like great fortresses standing guard above the valleys.