PCT 2024: McKinney Fire pt 1

June 19-22; Mile 1600-1650

Day 9

Kevin, Carie, and I enjoyed a relaxed breakfast at Trinity Lake before packing up and driving 90 minutes along narrow, winding roads to the little town of Etna. We arrived in the middle of a power outage, but thankfully the distillery was still serving pizzas from their oven. We had a pleasant meal, a quick stop at the local museum to hear stories from the 93-year old docent, and then I stopped at the library to charge some electronics and connect to the wifi. Kevin and Carie returned to Trinity Lake, and I spent the next several hours in Etna before riding with Handy – a friend from my 2022 thruhike – to Etna Summit trailhead.

As we ascended the ridge line past the parking area, views opened up toward peaks turning pink in the fading light. I remembered running up these slopes two years ago as thunder rumbled overhead, desperate to get through the open areas and into the tree cover. I moved along at a relaxed pace, enjoying the cool mountain air and the snow-capped views. We set up camp at the same spot I stayed last time, but this time no menacing column of smoke lurked beyond the horizon. Instead we were treated to a nearly-full moon blazing like a searchlight into our tents during the night.

Day 10

I woke to the buzzing of my watch and quietly packed up my gear. The next six miles would be a repeat for me; and as I hiked through the morning shade I was filled with memories of the morning when the McKinney Fire had erupted and I had been forced off trail.

The trail led past a few short patches of snow before traipsing through miles of deadfall. I passed in and out of old burn zones – the trees stripped down to a ghostly silver – as I hiked along the upper flanks of the ridges of the Marble Mountains.

Snow-clad peaks in the Trinity Alps appeared to the south, one of only two places in California with glaciers (the other being Mt Shasta). In the far distance I could even make out the hazy Mt McLoughlin looming just beyond my end point. Truly, I was back in the high country; the trail would stay close to 6000’ until we dropped down to Seiad Valley.

After a lunch break near a saddle with a view toward Mt Shasta, Handy and I hiked on into the afternoon, scrambling up, over, and around piles of dead trees. It was slow-going, and I added more scratches to the patchwork across my shins.

I paused for a shade break at 1:30 at tiny Marten Lake, its stature more that of a puddle, and soaked my feet in the icy melt-water stream nearby. The next few miles of trail were gushing with snowmelt streams, and sections of trail remained buried beneath a layer of sun-softened snow. I hopped from rock to mud to tree branch, trying to keep my feet dry as the trail disappeared beneath the rushing torrent.

Before long I came to several short snow traverses, two of which were “no fall” traverses. The trail was a ribbon of rock that hugged the side of steep slopes, and the snow lay waiting in the gulleys, trailing off far below. I donned my microspikes and placed each step carefully in the soft snow, focusing only on my feet and refusing to look downslope.

I caught up with Handy at the bottom of a basin filled with snow. He had waited until I arrived to cross a snow bridge, the meltwater whispering threateningly below the surface. We trudged up the snow slopes, sun blazing all around, and made for the notch in the peaks where the trail crossed onto the west side of the ridge.

Once we were safely across, I whooped at the sight of the lake below us, the heady rush from getting past the snow coursing through my veins. We met a southbound hiker named One Step and exchanged information about trail conditions. After that it was just a few more miles until camp and rest for our weary legs.

Day 11

Gentle slopes and meadows speckled with flowers greeted me the next morning. It was a wonderful reprieve after the difficult day before. Apart from occasional blowdowns, the trail meandered steadily through trees. Beyond each burn scar lay healthy forest; beyond that more deadfall.

I descended into Marble Valley and stared up at the sheer walls of granite far above, basking in the glorious views. Streams trickled through grassy slopes crisscrossed with deer tracks. I sprawled beside the boarded-up forest service cabin and ate breakfast in the resplendent valley.

The trail switchbacked up to sheer granite cliffs bleached white by the morning sun. I crossed paths with two hikers, one of whom had hiked 700 miles of the PCT in the 1970s.

I sailed upward through more valleys filled with veins of snow, more towering peaks of the Marble Mountain Wilderness to my east. Everywhere I looked, I was struck with awe.

The final challenge before stopping for lunch was a tricky snow traverse on the northeast aspect of a ridge. I stopped to wait for Handy, and together we side-hilled our way across half a mile of snow fields.

Lunch was spent at Paradise Lake, and since it was the summer solstice, we both swam in the lake to celebrate. Mud oozed up around my toes as I waded in, my feet sinking past the ankle into the thick layer of muck. The water was cool and refreshing after 10+ miles of hiking.

The climb up from Paradise Lake was steep and hot, leading to exposed slopes reminiscent of parts of the desert. I hiked along the wide-open flanks, my feet aching and ready for camp.

Handy and I shared the spot with a backpacker headed toward Eureka, whose off-leash dog had killed a fawn earlier that day. Yuck. At least we weren’t hiking in the same direction.

As dusk settled around the trees, eight deer materialized from the gloom in search of salt: trekking pole handles, shoes, and above all else the places we had urinated. I watched them from my tent, giggling at their antics, until the other camper loosed his dog to scare them all away.

Day 12

The horizon was a gentle pink as I left camp the next morning. We would spend the day descending down from the heights of the ridges and peaks to Grider Creek on its way to the Klamath River and the tiny town of Seiad Valley.

The trail was overgrown, crossed with downed trees, and steamy in the sunshine. Down near Grider Creek, poison oak bunches appeared again among the other greenery.

Handy and I spent a few hours beneath a bridge eating lunch and soaking our feet in the chilly water. He hiked on while I stayed to read and wait out some of the midday heat. It didn’t matter; stepping out from the oasis into the sunshine was like stepping into the oven broiler. Small patches of shade across the trail offered little respite: the air itself was hot, and the ground radiated heat.

As I came to the final bridge before the campground where we’d be staying that night, a little bit of magic was there to greet me: a cooler full of ice and sodas. I cracked open a Sprite and rejoiced in the sweet coldness.

Beneath the bridge was a perfect swimming hole, and I waded in fully-clothed, scrubbing at my legs and clothes to hopefully remove any poison oak oils. I seemed to be hitting all the poison oak highlights of the trail – it certainly went hand-in-hand with burn scars near creeks.

At least tomorrow Handy and I would get real food in Seiad Valley before the long climb back up to the high places.