Days 20-29, Miles 266-454: Trail Angeles

Somewhere around Mile 400, I walked by a young family, out for a Sunday afternoon hike in the Angeles National Forest. Timidly, a boy of about eight or nine approached me. "Go ahead, ask him," said his dad. The boy looked at his dad, then back at me. "Where did you come from?" he asked. I grinned and looked down at the kid. "Mexico," I said. The boy's eyes grew wide with amazement. "Told you!" his dad called out. "Now ask him where he's going." When I explained I was hiking to Canada, he looked at me like I had just climbed out of a spaceship. The family wished us safe travels, and we hiked on. After nearly a month of hiking, and in the midst of a grueling week of climbing, it was a much-needed reminder that I'm getting to do something pretty special. Even if it is quite a struggle at times. On Day 20, David, our Big Bear host, dropped us back at the trail. For all the snow that had fallen in town, the PCT, at a slightly lower elevation, was mostly clear. We walked by a few patches and saw the unusual sight of a snow-covered cactus.

With no steep ups or downs, we made good miles, walking in ideal cool hiking weather. We got a gorgeous view of Big Bear Lake and also walked through some sections burned out by wildfires. El Tigre made the wrong turn at a fork and earned himself an extra three miles of hiking. 

The next morning, we awoke to ice in our water bottles and frost on our tents. We got moving quickly to warm ourselves up. After lunch under a footbridge, we spent the afternoon hiking a ledge carved into a steep gorge with a creek far below.

We made camp by a creek, putting our sore feet in the frigid water until they went numb.

On Day 22, we started fast and kept moving, crossing creeks on logs and hiking long sections of burnout later in the day.

Eventually, we crested a hill and came upon Silverwood Lake. After miles of desert hiking, it was too inviting not to go for a swim. We jumped in, some making distinctly non-masculine noises when they entered the cold water. An older German came by and asked if it was customary for swimmers to bathe in the nude in this lake. We told him we had no idea, which he took as a yes. He managed to stay in the water longer than we did, so props to him. 

We camped near the lake, and some other hikers figured out they could get pizza ordered to the campground. Two friends we've hiked with at various times, Daniel and Stef, shared some slices with me, which I made the mistake of mentioning to the others guys later. They still haven't forgiven me. We woke up the next morning and made a mad dash down the trail. Ahead of us was the PCT's only McDonald's, just a quarter mile off the trail. We made a sinuous descent down long ridges, eager to stuff our faces. 

I went for the breakfast/lunch combo: sausage McGriddle, hash browns, breakfast burrito, orange juice, coffee, quarter pounder, fries, a Coke and a large chocolate shake.

Before you judge me, keep in mind that I've been operating at a calorie deficit almost every day for the better part of a month. It's almost impossible to eat enough food when you're hiking twenty miles a day. And any food you want to eat, you have to carry, adding to the calories you're burning. It's like frantically shoveling coal into the engine of an old-timey locomotive as it barrels down the tracks. After our hours-long siesta at the Golden Arches, I went to a nearby hotel to pick up a new sleeping pad shipped to me by Wanderlust Outfitters, a store in my hometown that's sponsoring my hike. My old sleeping pad had already required three or four patch jobs, so it was a huge relief to get a new model—one that hopefully won't require reinflating throughout the night. Later in the day, we realized the next stretch of trail was going to be a challenge. We had thousands of feet of climbing and a 22-mile waterless stretch before we could descend again into Wrightwood. We decided to start late and hike some of it at night, thus reducing our need for water. Some of our group passed the time by napping in a tunnel under the highway, like true hobos. 

Once underway, we climbed steadily, winding our way up the mountain. 

It grew dark and we continued on by the light of our headlamps. Rounding a ridge, we spotted a tiny strand of moving light thousands of feet below, the highway traffic passing through the valley we'd just climbed out of. Looking far in the distance at the civilization we'd left a few hours before, enveloped in darkness and alone on the mountainside, we felt like we'd made a daring escape. Someone let out a whoop, and soon we were all howling like wolves. Fittingly, a full moon came out soon after. We got up on Day 24 and climbed some more, eventually entering Angeles National Forest and its pine-covered slopes. We hit a road and caught a ride into Wrightwood with a local, dressed in head-to-toe denim, a handlebar mustache and a cowboy hat.

We resupplied on food and found lodging with a trail angel named Maile and her cat, The Dude. We're always grateful for showers, laundry and a warm place to sleep, and Maile made our stop in Wrightwood a good one. Back on the trail on Day 25, we faced an early challenge: four miles of steep climbing to the summit of Mount Baden Powell, at 9,390 feet. The ascent was grueling, but the view from the peak was a stunning 360-degree survey of Southern California. 

Just below the summit, we passed a tree estimated to be 1,500 years old.

During this section, we've also finalized our group's last two trail names. Matt is Granddaddy Longlegs for his graying beard and lengthy strides. Piotr has earned the moniker Aquaman, because he's always the first to rush for a shower and carries more liters of water than the rest of us. Day 26 started with another steep climb and another gorgeous view.

A few miles in, we had to walk on the road for a while, as a section of trail is closed to protect an endangered frog. Rejoining the trail, we knocked out more ups and downs before finding a campsite at Mile 400. After trying unsuccessfully all day, I was finally able to get a Mother's Day phone call through to my mom, a great way to cap the day. On Day 27, it finally happened. Precipitation. Of all sorts. We hiked out to a chilly morning, with fog blanketing the mountains around us. 

When we stopped to take lunch, a fine sleet started falling, and we decided to press on. As we hiked through the afternoon, snow flurried around us. "Millions of people in Los Angeles County, and we're probably the only idiots getting snowed on," I joked.

We stopped for water at a Forest Service fire station, and just as we were ready to get moving again, it started raining sideways. The temperature was barely above freezing—we'd hiked just far enough down the mountain for the snow to turn to rain. Shivering, we took shelter behind some bathrooms at a nearby picnic area, undignified but mostly dry. 

Eventually, we decided to make camp at the picnic area when the rain cleared. With hours to kill, Aquaman, El Tigre and Granddaddy Longlegs made the inspired decision to hitchhike to a nearby town. They returned with chicken, beer and a huge shot of morale.

Later in the evening, a man named Craig pulled up and handed out In-N-Out burgers, Gatorade and snacks to us and some other hikers nearby. After a cold, wet day, some hikers were near tears at this unexpected trail magic. We went to bed with smiles and full bellies, a rough day redeemed by a stranger's kindness. Our first Marathon Day was Day 28. Twenty-six miles. It was pretty much like running a race, except we had full packs on our backs and ascended a vertical mile over the course of the day. The mile of uphill was topped the hike's 7,800 feet of downhill, battering our joints like the climbs did our muscles. And we had no water sources for the first 17 miles. It was a hard day, but we had some nice views to get us through.

Having gone as far as we wanted to go, we set up camp in an empty-looking dirt parking lot and hoped no cars would come looking for a spot in the night. On Day 29, we knocked out 10 early miles, winding over hillsides and through canyons with crazy rock formations.

By late afternoon, we made it to Hiker Heaven, a compound set up by a local couple with camping, showers, laundry and other amenities. We'll stay here for a day before getting back on the trail. 

At Mile 454, we're almost two thirds of the way through the desert, one last push away from the snowy Sierras. I'll try to keep hiking wide-eyed as we push north.