Days 75-88, Miles 1,017-1,284: Reunions
We're through. We've finished off the Sierra, and we're clocking miles in Northern California. Along the way, we've had reunions with old friends, hiking buddies—and dry trail. Day 75 marked our first reunion. We took a zero in Bridgeport and met up with Anthony, a buddy from D.C. Matt and I used to live in the same neighborhood as Anthony, and we spent countless hours hanging out before he moved back to California to work in local politics. He made the long drive to Bridgeport to spend the day with us, and it was a huge boost to see a friendly face in middle-of-nowhere California. The rodeo was in town, so we cheered on the cowboys as they rode their bucking mounts.
After we got our fill of the rodeo, Anthony drive us to Lee Vining, where we chowed down on barbecue and resupplied on food for the trail. We finished the day camping out by a lake. Following PCT tradition, we made a giant margarita in a bear canister. We'd been carrying the heavy, unwieldy contraptions for 250 miles, and our next stretch of trail did not require them, so we needed to celebrate before we got rid of them for good. The margarita and a huge bonfire made for a festive night, a de facto Independence Day for us, since we'd be on the trail for the actual Fourth the next day.
On our ride to the trail the next morning, a bald eagle flew over our car, a fitting start to the holiday. Anthony dropped us off, and we headed back into the snow.
We were excited to celebrate the Fourth in the wilderness for the first time, but not overly ambitious about making miles. After a long siesta, we hiked a bit more and set up a campfire, the only fireworks we'd get. We sipped the small flasks of whiskey we'd packed out for the occasion, then called it a night. Day 77 started with more snow. I slipped and fell and fell some more. I always seem to land on my left hip, the one still deeply bruised from my tumble off a boulder in Yosemite. We hit some dry trail in the afternoon and finished off a solid 20-mile day. Our next morning started with rock formations above us and flowers, sage and mint in the meadow around us. We soaked in the sights and smells, took a long siesta and made another 20 miles.
Day 79 brought a sight we hadn't seen in more than a month: people. For the first time since the desert, we started to see non-PCT hikers on the trail. We met a spry 82-year-old man who told us of his childhood herding sheep in the Pyrenees. He came to America, spent four decades making a living, and has now achieved his dream of living in a shack in the forest. We shared our own stories of our journey. In his thick accent, he repeated over and over: "You have guts!" We parted as impressed with him as he was with us. As we neared a road, we started to see more and more day hikers, all of them awed to hear what we'd come through. At the parking lot, we found a ranger station manned by a pair of volunteers. They provided us with fresh fruit, baked goods, candy and pop—our first trail magic since the desert!
The station also had a scale, where I discovered that I was finishing the Sierra 26 pounds lighter than I started the PCT, with more than half the trail still to go. The Sierra has taken a toll on all of us, requiring extreme amounts of energy for very little progress. That afternoon, we hiked through idyllic meadows until we came to Showers Lake. We'd talked about taking a leisurely swim, but the lake still had icebergs floating around, so we knew we wouldn't be staying in the water for long. We decided to get a group photo on one of the icebergs. Three of us climbed aboard before it cracked, sending Tigre and Gravy floating away. Matt jumped in and swam for their iceberg, which sunk when he tried to scramble up. I remained afloat on my ice raft, doubled over laughing. We didn't get the photo we wanted, but I think the resulting shots are even better.
The next morning, we hiked a few miles and hitched to South Lake Tahoe. Matt's parents had generously bought us a hotel room, so we were excited to sleep in a bed and get our first showers in 16 days. We made our first stop at a Chinese buffet, where we tested the limits of all-you-can eat.
After lunch, we picked up a care package from our friend Laura, complete with goodies, supplies and a painting of Lake Tahoe. It was incredibly thoughtful, and we were encouraged by her kind words and delicious treats.
For dinner, we tracked down a rumor that a local pizza joint offered free pies for hikers (true!). We got up early on Day 81, not wanting to miss a minute of our hotel's continental breakfast. We spent the rest of the morning buying three weeks' worth of food and shipping it to various resupply points up the trail.
The afternoon was spent at the beach, where Gravy, Matt and I got in on some competitive but mediocre games of volleyball and cooled ourselves in the waters of Tahoe.
In Bridgeport, we'd met a friendly couple who were spending their summer traveling in an RV. We found out they were in Tahoe as well (thanks, Instagram), and they agreed to drive us to the trailhead the next morning. This was well out of their way, and it saved us potentially hours of hitchhiking. They said they were just honored they could help us. The kindness of strangers out here is astounding. Back on trail, we hiked past a still-frozen Aloha Lake before reaching Mile 1,101. Cheryl Strayed, the "Wild" author and the PCT's most famous hiker, only reached 1,100 miles, so we celebrated passing her milestone.
On Day 83, we had mostly dry trail, and we cruised through miles, occasionally getting stunning views of Lake Tahoe.
On one of the few snow patches we hit, I got careless and neglected to take out my ice axe. I'd played it safe the whole Sierra, but with the snow almost behind us, I was tired of the effort and didn't want to hassle with it for a 20-foot stretch of snow. Big mistake. One of my footholds gave out, and I went careening 50 feet down an ice chute, skidding over some boulders at the bottom. Luckily, I only ended up with some road rash for my foolishness. The next day, we woke up excited to make miles. Mandy and Mamie, who we hadn't seen in a month, were headed southbound after flipping north to avoid the worst of the snow. They were heading back into the Sierra as we headed out, and we'd arranged to cross paths in Truckee. We knocked out 18 miles to Donner Pass, made famous by the party of settlers turned cannibals. Thankfully, we had plenty of food in our packs. At the road, we met a trail angel who offered us a ride and a place to stay, which we gratefully accepted.
In town, we met the girls and greeted them with big hugs. We had no regrets about our decision to go into the Sierra, but we'd still missed them terribly. They're awesome hikers, better people—and had helped our group's woeful testosterone-estrogen ratio. When they'd joined us for the last third of the desert, it had a marked change on the group dynamic, and we all agreed it was for the better. After dinner, we all headed over to Mandy and Mamie's hotel room, where we laughed over trail memories and shared stories of our adventures over the past month. Even though it was only for an evening, we were happy to have been part of each others' journey again. Too soon, we had to head back to our trail angel's house to get some sleep before we headed opposite directions.
On Day 85, we started off from Donner Pass, hiking through a bit of snow before hitting miles and miles of dry trail. We were in the clear.
Late in the day, I heard a crashing sound and turned to see the rump of a bear running down the hill away from me. I was glad to realize it was scared of me too. By the time we reached camp, we'd knocked out 30 miles. It was our first time hitting that mark, and we realized how strong we'd gotten in the Sierra. Finally clear of the snow and at a lower elevation, climbs don't seem as hard, distances don't seem as daunting and the miles are coming easier. We now hit at least 25 miles almost every day, a distance that would have seemed impossible not long ago. The following day, we made an early hike into Sierra City, a tiny mountain town. I was excited to pick up my new pack, which Hyperlite had shipped out free of charge after the Sierra put a tear in my old one. The only downside to this great customer service is that my gleaming white new pack will give me trouble convincing people I've actually been hiking.
A few miles outside of town, we made another reunion. Shutter, who is also hiking southbound, came our way as we climbed up a hill. We greeted each other enthusiastically, original Sandlot members back together for the first time since Mile 454. We spent a while catching up and offering commentary on each others' facial hair progress, until we had to part ways and make our miles.
As we set up camp later, some volunteers emerged from the woods with chainsaws and cold beverages. They told us there was trail magic just ahead, and we left our half-assembled tents to sprint up the trail and see. We found Old School, a 2016 thru-hiker, camped out with a well-stocked cooler, chips and cookies. As we went back for our tents, she brought out pasta and grilled up sausages. Some other hikers joined in, and we spent the evening eating and playing card games by a fire.
We got a late start on Day 86 because Old School wanted to send us off with pancakes. We spent the morning hiking past views of green slopes and deep blue lakes.
We hiked through some nasty heat in the late afternoon and were thrilled to come across our second trail magic in as many days. An older couple, Lionel and Ann, had set up at a trailhead with hot dogs, snacks and beverages. They told us their son had hiked the Appalachian Trail, and they wanted to serve the same role as the trail angels who had helped him.
We hung out with them for a few hours and decided to call it a day rather than knocking out two more miles to our planned campsite. The only thing slowing us down right now is free food. The next morning, we hiked steadily down as temperatures climbed. We wanted to knock out miles before lunch, because we knew a steep climb awaited. On our hike down, we saw three rattlesnakes, old friends from the desert back after a snowy interlude. By the end of the day, we'd total more than 6,000 feet each of climbing and descending. After the climb, we found a sign some trail angels had placed to offer assistance. We called and they offered to pick us up from the road three miles ahead and take us in for the night. Terry and Nancy have a cabin near the trail, and they spend each July hosting hikers.
We got much-needed showers, did laundry and ate dinner hot off the grill. NorCal is spoiling us. Our hosts were gracious and we enjoyed getting to know them, as well as seeing that many of our southbound friends had stayed there as well. After another amazing pancake breakfast (I may finally be starting to put weight back on), we got back to the trail and spent the day hiking a long, knee-busting descent to Belden. In town, we picked up resupply packages we'd shipped ourselves, found a swimming hole by the river and set up camp.
Matt and I picked not one but two care packages, one from our friend Sarah, and one from our friends Jen and Scott. Both were chock full of goodies, encouraging notes and updates on our friends. Even better than the snacks is knowing that we're remembered—that our friends are following us, thinking about us and missing us as much as we miss them. With a long climb out of town the next day, we went back to camp and feasted, storing up calories for the next day's hike. At least, that was my rationale for eating cookies by the fistful.