PCT 2024: Lionshead Fire pt 2

July 14-16; Mile 2043-2089

Day 28
I spent the morning walking through the ash and blackened trunks of the Lionshead burn scar. Five miles of recent burn lay between me and the Ollalie Lake Resort. The trail was rocky from erosion, sometimes difficult to follow, and puffs of fine ash pillowed upward with every step. Small ponds lay scattered throughout the burnt stumps, and I tried once more to imagine how the land had looked before it was ravaged in 2021. 

I reached the resort by 8:30, and a couple were sitting eating cereal by the lakeshore. They called out to me as I dropped my pack on the porch outside the little store. “Are you hiking that Pacific Trail?” 

“That’s right.”

“How do you find the trail when you’re out there?” I thought of my wrong turn the day before. Apparently not very well. 

And then the old stand-by, “And you go out there all on your own?” I smiled and said yes, much to their consternation. 

Inside the store were shelves full of staples most thruhikers would likely be carrying at any given time. I bought about a day’s worth of food, plus a cold soda and some cheese and applesauce to go with my breakfast. Sitting on the porch enjoying the beautiful view of Mt Jefferson, I reflected again on how lucky I was to be out here. Every breakfast came with a mountain view, and with every camp spot a beautiful sunset. Despite the burn scars, the ash and deadfall, so much beauty still remained in the sections I had missed in 2022. 

After an hour I was ready to get back on trail. I ran into Moses as he was hiking into the resort, and then it was back into the burn scar. But before too long I found myself once more surrounded by greenery. The miles passed in a lush blur after so many days of charred trees. 

Jude Lake was my planned lunch spot, but the murky pond water was far from inviting. I stopped just long enough to do some foot maintenance before soldiering on through the midday heat. I was almost 15 miles in before I took my lunch break at the creek through Lemiti Meadow. 

There was another hiker relaxing in the shade past the creek, and I asked if I could join. We got to talking and soon realized that we lived about a mile apart in Seattle. He was also doing a section of the trail, but he was headed southbound. After he packed up and left, I set up my tent to dry out and escape the biting flies. I snoozed in the afternoon sun, debating between doing another 3 or 6 miles, when a hiker appeared nearby. She was looking for a place to set up her tent away from the snags further back. I mentioned that I’d be leaving soon and she was welcome to my spot. But when she heard that I was only going another 3.5 miles, she asked if she could join. “It’d be really nice to camp near another woman out here.” 

I was happy for the company and told her which camp spot I was aiming for. She finished filtering her water and headed out while I packed up my newly-dried tent. 

The trail had a steady climb in store for me, and I powered upward while listening to some music. The green tunnel was a welcome source of shade in the slanting sunlight, though the trail occasionally led through clearcut swathes with views of the nearby hills. 

Before long I spotted the hiker – Dr Dolittle – up ahead. While setting up our tents, we realized that we had hiked the trail the same year, and that we had even started within a few days of each other. I called out names of folks I had met about two weeks into my hike, and Dr Dolittle recognized almost all of them. We had a fun time reminiscing about all the people we had hiked with, and it turned out that we had been at Mike’s Place the same day. 

It was fun to have a friend to camp beside again, and she was certainly glad to be camping near someone given the earlier sign to watch out for bears.

Day 29

The morning began with miles of descent, and the time flew by as I hiked through the green trees. My mind wandered in the quiet of the morning, reflecting on the existence of Three-Fingered Jack in Oregon and Seven-Fingered Jack in Washington. Were they the same Jack? Did people hike both in order to complete a full set of fingers?

After three miles I came to a forest service road, one of the many in this section. I stopped to check if my phone had signal, and when I looked up I noticed a huckleberry bush in the full sun with three dark purple berries among the foliage. These were the first ripe berries of the season that I had seen after walking through miles of berry bushes.

Not once in the past 400 miles had I cried – despite the frustration of navigating through snow, the bleakness of walking through burn scars, the agony of hiking with blistered feet. But the taste of those huckleberries brought tears to my eyes.

This chapter of my life was ending. I had started the day with thoughts of Washington, feeling like I was ready for the end. But that quiet moment in the forest as I tallied up the miles I had hiked and the days I had left – it reminded me of the feeling as I left Steven’s Pass of wanting to absorb the entirety of what remained. The days were numbered, and the numbers were rapidly dwindling.

Dr Dolittle caught up to me as I sat filtering water beside a little wooden bridge over a creek. We decided on a spot to stop for lunch, and then I asked about her trail name. She had encountered more than her fair share of snakes in the desert, including two at Mike’s Place alone. And when other hikers heard her talking to the wildlife in an attempt to remain calm, she got her name.

The next six miles were a pleasure: sun filtering through the mossy trunks, smooth dirt trail free from blowdowns, hot enough to feel like summer without being stifling. When I spotted the campspot where I had planned to stop for lunch, I checked to see if my phone had service, and was able to call my husband for a quick chat.

Dr Dolittle arrive a little while later, and we passed the lunch hour sprawled in the shade. She was having trouble hiking at a casual pace mileage-wise: she was on track to complete her trip about three days early at her current rate. I tossed out random side trail suggestions as I scanned the map near Mt Hood, saying she might as well hike the Timberline Trail instead of taking a double zero on trail at Timothy Lake. But she had come prepared with three books, so, no need to face the snow fields up there.

We parted ways that afternoon, and I was sad to see her go. It had been fun to be part of a hiking unit again. But I had miles to go before I slept, and today would be my longest day yet this summer.

My legs kept up a valiant pace toward Timothy Lake, and I listened to music to keep me moving along. Water sparkled in the late-afternoon sunshine, and I began to pass day hikers and casual backpackers. The trail led past a slew of camp sites along the lakeshore, but I passed them all in favor of a spot near the north end where the water was a deep turquoise and the trail was empty. I turned off the trail and followed a side path down to the camp site. After nineteen miles of dirt and sweat, I waded into the cool, clear waters and basked in the idyllic slice of nature.

Too soon I was climbing out of the water and drying off. The skin of my feet had turned to leather over the past few hundred miles, but the muscles and ligaments still complained when I passed the sixteen mile mark each day. As I headed toward twenty, I felt like I was shuffling, despite the flat dirt track. Finally I reached my campspot near the turn-off for Little Crater Lake, and my eyes alighted on a cooler beside the signpost. Trail magic! There were ice-cold beers and a box full of cookies, chips, and gushers. Oh joyous day! It was a wonderful send-off to an under-appreciated section of the PCT.

As I lay in my tent contemplating making dinner, someone called out to ask if I was thru-hiking. He turned out to be the purveyor of the beer and snacks – trail name Sprout – and then he asked if I wanted to join for dinner at the campground nearby. Cheeseburgers, potato salad, fresh fruits and vegetables versus another pot of whatever I’d been eating the past six weeks. Truly, it was no contest, even though it meant adding another mile to my total for the day.

I had such a wonderful time chatting with Sprout about thru-hiking while eating the delicious dinner he had cooked. He walked me back to my tent around 8:30 so that he could pick up the food and drinks he had left out – I was glad I wouldn’t be camping fifty feet from a pile of delicious bear bait. We stopped to admire the deep blue waters of Little Crater Lake, a forty-foot pool fed by a spring in a dissolving layer of siltstone. Back at my campsite there was a new tent near mine, and we hailed the thru-hiker who was inside. She went by Fancy Feast and had started at the end of March. The two of them talked about the AT and the peanut butter cookies Sprout had left in the trail magic box, convincing me to take one for later. I fell asleep with a full stomach and pleasant thoughts.

Day 30

I snuggled deeper into my quilt, savoring my final morning of Oregon. With only 7.5 miles to go before my rendezvous at 11am, I could afford to take a leisurely approach to packing up. Spurning my regular oatmeal breakfast, I ate one of the peanut butter cookies from Sprout as I walked through the quiet forest. The sudden influx of pure sugar made my stomach hurt, and I cast around for something savory to balance it out. A handful of Cheetos went down easily, and somehow I actually felt better. 

At the next road crossing I came across a yeti danger sign. The morning’s reading was at the low end of medium, thankfully. I continued on through the trees, and before long I had my first view of Mt Hood in what felt like days. 

Two thruhikers hurried past, their sights set on the buffet at Timberline Lodge. The woman who had camped next to me the night before had talked about getting there for lunch – but it was 18 miles away, and I remembered many of those miles being a slog through sandy volcanic grit. A mile later I met them coming the other way; they had missed the turn-off for the water source, the only option for the next 11 miles. 

The rest of the miles passed by in a mix of rhododendron and huckleberry bushes, sun-dappled trail, and mossy trees. I reached the road crossing that marked the end of the Oregon miles, and one final parting gift lay beside the trail: a cooler of cold gatorades with “Trail Magic” written in sharpie. 

Several hours of transport lay ahead: the drive with my PCT friend Portal into Portland, the Amtrak up to Seattle, the light rail ride north. I would be home less than 24 hours before heading back to trail. But I was ready to be back in Washington and to face the last 126 miles of my endeavor.