Days 7-10, Miles 91-179: Cacti and Calories
Armies, per the quote of dubious Napoleonic origins, march on their stomachs. So do thru-hikers. Sometimes to their own detriment. But we'll get to that later. When we last left our merry band of hikers, back at Mile 91, your humble narrator described his first incident with a cactus. It was not to be the last. Later that evening, I walked down a side trail from our campsite to a water cache, a stockpile of gallon jugs maintained by volunteers to help hikers through a long dry stretch. Amid the semi-darkness of nightfall, and with my gaze distracted by the beautiful sunset on the horizon, I knelt to grab a gallon. And planted my knee firmly on a cactus. Instant pincushion.
Not coincidentally, I also now have a trail name: Quill (this is also a reference to my constantly taking notes for this blog throughout the day). Painful origins aside, it's not bad as trail names go. Anyway, the far worse inconvenience that evening was the howling wind that thrashed our tents like the inflatable figures in front of used car dealerships. On very little sleep, we set out early the next morning, making miles at a quick pace, if only to keep warm. By mid-morning, we hit Mile 100. In some ways, this was a huge accomplishment for us. But compared to our goals for the trail, it's just a very, very small start. We didn't linger long.
After our usual midday siesta, we hit a new kind of terrain: gently rolling hills, ruddy and amber with grass, swaying like waves in the breeze. After miles of baking desert, it was a surprise and welcome change of pace.
As we neared our campsite, we reached Eagle Rock, a landmark that is, as Piotr so aptly put it, "a rock that looks like an eagle." Couldn't have said it better myself.
That night we camped in a low bank by a small creek, our tents finally out of the wind's reach. On Day 8, we slept in. Most of us had shipped food packages ahead to nearby Warner Springs, and the Post Office didn't open until 8 (breaking camp after 6 is sleeping in for us). We had heard there was a compound 18 miles up the trail where volunteers provided pizza and beer to weary hikers, and we were eager to make it there that evening. However, enticed by pancakes and eggs at a Warner Springs restaurant, and conversations with hikers we hadn't seen in a few days, we didn't return to the trail until midday. Big mistake. All afternoon we hiked, our hottest day on the PCT so far. We climbed nearly 4,000 feet and descended another 2,000. Any other day we would have taken a siesta. Not today. No hiking, no pizza. For miles, the sandy trail criss-crossed a cool, gurgling creek, tantalizing us to dip our feet, soak our sweaty clothes, stay awhile. But the siren song of pizza was too strong. Finally, after miles of forgoing the pristine creek, we came across our last water source, still eight miles out from the mysterious pizza compound. It was a cistern of water, stagnant and full of algae and dead mosquitoes. We filtered it, added some purification tablets for good measure, and pressed on. This was not our longest or steepest day, but it was by far the most difficult, a lesson hard learned about trying to best the desert's afternoon sun.
Nearing the end, on wobbly feet, we passed through a beautiful boulder-strewn valley that we hardly had the energy to appreciate.
Finally, as dusk set in, we stumbled down a side trail to "Mike's Place." We found gigantic water tanks, dilapidated outbuildings, a ranch house and—wonder of of wonders—a brick, wood-fired pizza oven surrounded by hungry hikers and cooking volunteers.
Mike Herrera, the owner, told us he bought the property years ago, a plot surrounded on all sides by state park. When thru-hikers started rolling in, his hospitality met the challenge, and now Mike's place is the stuff of PCT legend. The pizza was very good, living up to all the hype, but it couldn't erase our bone-deep weariness after our afternoon race through the heat. We limped over to our tents and waited out another wind-thrashed night. We started late on Day 9 as well because, well, again, food. In addition to evening pizza, Mike and his team provide breakfast to hikers each morning. I found myself quickly pressed into service in the haphazard operation—mixing pancake batter, chopping onions, cooking potatoes. We filled ourselves on an excellent spread before setting out, groggy and bloated for our hike. We only made it five lethargic miles before we decided to take our siesta. Immediately, we flopped down in the sand of a dry creek bed, crawling under bushes for shade to doze away the afternoon.
We churned out another eight miles before camp that day, our legs on autopilot and minds still fuzzy. In another creek bed, we set up camp in the sand, canyon walls looming steep above us.
We got our morning routine back on Day 10, cranking out a dozen miles before 11 a.m. to finish this stretch of trail. This hike featured some great cliffside views and a water cache with a small free library and cutouts of Walt Whitman and Henry David Thoreau.
Unfortunately, a short section of the PCT is still closed due to a previous fire, so we had to get off the trail and hitchhike to Idyllwild, where the PCT reopens. This was exciting for me, though, because my brother Carter and sister-in-law Anna had rented a cabin in Idyllwild to meet up with me. Our hitch was once again all too easy, as a bearded man rolled up immediately and crammed a half-dozen of us into his small pickup. I met up with Carter in town and went back to his cabin for a much-needed shower. I'd been looking forward to our meet-up since I hit the trail, and it was a huge morale boost to see family and catch up.
Later, we met up with relatives of a family friend who have been following my hike and live in Idyllwild. They generously took our whole raucous, smelly hiker bunch out for drinks at a local brewpub and told us all about the town (thank you, Chris and Julee!). That evening, Anna became the most popular trail angel on the PCT when she hosted and fed our group a fantastic meal of mastacciolo and pie(s!) that even our ravenous hiker appetites couldn't finish off.
Tomorrow, we'll head for the summit of Mt. San Jacinto, which at 10,800 feet towers above all the previous peaks we've conquered. It will also mark the first snowpack we've hiked on so far, a preview of what's to come in the Sierras. We're planning to make our way up slowly over two days, giving me more time to spend with Carter and Anna as they backpack with us on the ascent. Idyllwild has been a welcome refresher, and I'm charged up for more family time and the new challenges that await up the mountain. But I'll keep a wary eye out for cacti and the temptation of junk food.
