PCT 2024: Dixie Fire pt 1

June 12-14; Mile 1235-1277

Day 2

After spending the night in Reno, riding three buses to Quincy, catching a ride from two local trail angels (including turning back when the other hiker in the car forgot her shoes) – finally, finally I was back on the PCT just after 5pm.

I was entering the Dixie burn scar, a section that had technically been open in 2022, but which I had skipped much of for several reasons. Based on the notes I had about different camping options away from dead trees – hazards which are often called widowmakers – I could either go 3, 6.5, or 8 miles in the 3.5 hours before dark.

Impatient to get moving, I started off along the trail and promptly lost the route under all the dead branches littering the forest floor. I could still see the road when I finally got back on track.

The section was filled with tedious stretches of route finding and clambering over fallen trees, interspersed with fields of lupine and mule’s ear bunches just starting to bloom. Even the stretches of charred trees had a thin carpet of green beneath them. Compared to the short section of the Dixie burn that I had done through Lassen two years ago, this part had recovered substantially from being just ash and dust.

I’d covered 6.5 miles by 7:30 – my decision point – and so I trundled on through the deadfall, stumbling on tired but determined legs. I spotted a tent through the trees, and Jet and Just Right introduced themselves as I set up for the night in the quickly-falling gloom. Swarms of mosquitos hounded me as I choked down a quick meal of oatmeal – anything to avoid cooking and prolonging the onslaught. The two hikers next to me had started hiking the CDT earlier in the year, but were forced off by snow conditions. And so they had made a lateral move latitude-wise to the PCT.

I lay in my tent, too warm for my quilt, listening to the birds and bugs settle down for the night. The first sleep is always the hardest for me on a backpacking trip, and though I didn’t fall asleep until nearly 11, I was just glad to be back walking in the woods.

Day 3

I woke at 5:15 as the Australians next to me were packing up. After the previous night’s speedy miles, I was feeling pretty good about the day’s further camp spot option at mile 17.

The hiking was absolutely miserable. Dry, fallen trees that sliced at my skin gave way to thickly overgrown bushes that snagged and slapped and concealed fallen branches just waiting to trip. I had expected ash and dust, and instead found myself wading through a lushness that rendered the trail inscrutable. Branches came up to my shoulders, and I had to feel for the trail with my feet while shoving aside walls of foliage.

My legs were a patchwork of scrapes and scratches by the time I reached the lofty bridge across the Feather River. The day was heating up, and I was mentally exhausted after just 6 miles. I had lost the trail so completely in one place that I’d been forced to trek cross-country to a nearby forest service road that crossed the trail again after half a mile.

I spent a peaceful three hours at Bear Creek inside my tent, hiding from the bugs and the heat. I still had 7 miles and 3000’ of climbing awaiting me after lunch. Thankfully the climb was steady, and the trail wound back into forest that was merely singed instead of charred, which made for pleasant afternoon shade.

The final mile was beautiful. The trail rolled along the top of a ridge lined with balsamroot, with sweeping views to the east. I camped beside Lookout Rock on an airy ledge above the valley. In the night the Big Dipper blazed just outside my tent door.

Day 4

The day began with a gash of orange sky above the distant horizon. I watched the sky lighten while snuggled in my quilt before starting to pack up at 5:15.

The trail was gentle and rolling, with sections of recent trail maintenance. It felt like heaven to walk through living trees without clambering around searching for the trail. The route was cool and shady until Bucks Summit, where the path widened and headed upward through sunny slopes.

It wasn’t long before I reached the lingering patches of snow near Spanish Peak. I was back into burn scar, but the landscape was peppered with interesting rock formations jutting up through the ground.

I finally reached my camping spot beside a creek outside the burn zone. One other hiker was ensconced within their tent, and I found room to set up despite a large chunk of snow taking up an entire tent spot.