Days 89-105, Miles 1,284-1,716: The NorCal Blitz
For 24 of the past 25 days, we've been on the trail, racing up Northern California. We've had one rest day since South Lake Tahoe, a span of 626 miles. In one seven-day stretch, we hiked 198 miles. We're fatigued, sore—and finally in Oregon. Here's how we got through the last miles of The Golden State. Day 89 opened with crushing news: Gravy was leaving us. He decided he'd gotten everything he wanted out of the trail and was ready to return home to Wisconsin. He and I had talked about this decision for a while, and he seemed to be sure and content in his choice. Still, it was a sad, abrupt goodbye as we broke camp that morning. Other than Matt, Gravy had been my longest hiking buddy out here. We'd camped together the first night and hiked on ever since. In the Sierra, we'd walked and talked together every day, sharing the struggles of the snow and a lot of good conversation. After three months of hiking together, it was tough to watch him go.
The trail didn't allow us much time for reflection. We faced 7,600 feet of climbing out of Belden, the equivalent of the Sears Tower stacked on top of itself five times. We pushed our way through switchback after switchback, stopping at every creek to cool off and rehydrate. After a long ascent, the terrain opened up and offered us great views of the surrounding countryside. We made camp by a creek, joined by a curious deer who paced nearby, seemingly indifferent to our presence.
The next morning, we got a much-needed boost. After 10 miles of hiking, we reached the PCT's midpoint. We celebrated and sang "Livin' on a Prayer," belting out an off-key "we're halfway there!" at the chorus.
It was a surreal moment. I thought of how long we'd been hiking—three months exactly—how much we'd seen and done, how much we'd come through and all the people we'd met. After all that, I thought, we're only halfway? But what I really felt was the opposite. The PCT long ago stopped being a trip or an adventure. It's just life now. The rhythms and routines of hiking have become habit. We hike all day, take breaks when we're hungry or thirsty, go to bed when the sun goes down and wake up at 5 to do it again. It's simple, it's hard and I love it. And, I realized, soon it will be over. Timewise, we've long since passed the halfway point. At our current pace, we'll finish the trail in late September. That's two short months before I'm back in the real world, worrying about employment and housing and who knows what else. Post-trail life is known to be a tough adjustment, and I'm starting to understand why. But those worries had 1,325 miles to sort themselves out. It was time to keep hiking. In the afternoon, we watched Lassen Peak grow bigger as we caught views of it up ahead. We hiked over meadows and camped by a river.
We booked it through Lassen Volcanic National Park on Day 91. The park requires a bear canister for overnight camping, and since we'd already gotten rid of ours, we'd have to make it all the way through the park before we set up camp. The PCT only travels 16 miles within park limits, so this wasn't much of a problem. This day marked another milestone, though an imaginary one that only I cared about. At 1,351 miles, we surpassed the mileage of Frodo and Sam's journey to Mount Doom. I've always loved "The Lord of the Rings" books, and I was awed as a kid by the hobbits' epic quest. We may not have faced Nazgul or orcs on this hike, but we also didn't get trail magic at Rivendell or skip any mountain passes (we would have gotten over Caradhras). Anyway, thanks for letting me nerd out for a paragraph. In the afternoon, we ran into a friend from earlier in the trail. Tim, a retired teacher, had been with us on and off for much of the desert, often taking lunch together or setting up camp nearby. The last we'd seen him was in Bishop, nursing a torn finger ligament and headed home to Oregon to recover. Now he was hiking southbound toward us, and we were thrilled to see him back on the trail. We exchanged excited greetings and caught up with each other before heading our separate ways. "Woohoo!" he said as he walked off. "Trail magic!"
We grabbed lunch by a lake and enjoyed a flat afternoon hike to camp.
The trail stayed flat the following day, but it gained other attributes as well—hot, dry, exposed, hot. This was Hat Creek Rim, NorCal's famously long stretch with little water or shelter. On the rim, we saw Lassen Peak rising up behind us and the monstrous slopes of Mount Shasta dominating the skyline ahead. As the day warmed up, we flopped down under a shade tree for lunch and tried to cool off. That day, we got a text from Piotr. After a month rehabbing his back injury, he'd gotten back on the trail with Mandy and Mamie to hike the Sierra. Now, he told us, the injury had flared up yet again and he was getting off the trail for good. We were devastated for our friend. During his month of rehab, he'd texted us often about how much he missed the trail. We'd been thrilled to see him hiking again and we're holding out hope we could meet up in Oregon. We'd seen him tough out some serious pain in the desert, and we knew how hard he'd fought to reach this point. Going in, we'd known the stats about the trail's high attrition rate, but it really hit home as we lost our second original Sandlot member. Thankfully, Piotr seemed to be in good spirits and thankful for the experiences he'd gotten to have.
Later in the afternoon, we scared off some cows that had wandered across the trail, sending them sauntering away with moos of disapproval. By now we were exhausted, drenched with sweat and running low on water. As dusk neared, we reached the last water for miles, a stagnant pond surrounded (and presumably filled) with bovine excrement. The revenge of the cows. We put our filters to work, cleaning the water of bacteria but not the smell. By the time the water filtered, it was too late to press on, so we set up camp by the cow pond, ignoring the odor as best we could.
We finally hit more water on Day 93, hiking by a creek before hitting a lake with a fish hatchery. Scores of birds patrolled the water, their diets no doubt enhanced by man's attempt to boost the aquatic population. As we hiked above the lake, an osprey swooped overhead with a fish in its talons. Shortly after lunch, we came across a group that had set up a hiker feast—barbecue, sides, chips, cookies and pop. When there's trail magic, you eat second lunch.
We pressed on to Burney, where I picked up a care package from my Aunt Chris and Uncle Jim. Goodies, spending money and a note of encouragement—everything a hiker needs. When we hit the highway, we got picked up by a local trail angel with whom we'd been in contact. Mike took us to his house, where we met his wife Bri and three young sons. Bri's parents were also visiting, and we got to know the whole family. Watching the rambunctious boys run around the yard brought back many memories of summer days playing with my brothers. After showers and some food, Mike took us to his friend Scott's place. Like us, Mike and Scott are also hiking buddies, and they enjoy hanging out with the PCTers who come through town. Scott, a contractor, took us to his favorite bar. You won't find Cudbumpers on Google, because Scott built it in his backyard. The motto: "No one's invited, but everyone's welcome." We spent the evening sampling Scott's impressive beer selection, trading hiking stories and solving the world's problems. We walked back to Mike's house and set up camp—that is, we crawled into sleeping bags on the pontoon boat trailered in the lawn.
We took a zero the next day, our first day off in a couple weeks. The morning was spent watching TV and eating ice cream. After lounging around for hours, we decided to be productive, so we went out for burgers and milkshakes. That evening, we made a return trip to Cudbumpers, where Scott fired up his brick pizza oven. We took turns making custom pies, loading our favorite ingredients on Scott's homemade dough. After way too many slices, it was time to head back and get some sleep.
Mike dropped us back at the trail on Day 95, and we left Burney with great memories of the hospitality we'd received. Our hosts had treated us like family, and we'd thoroughly enjoyed getting to know them.
At Burney Falls State Park, I picked up some mail, a card from my mom with spending money inside. She said she was glad I was past the Sierra, and I couldn't help but agree. It was great to hear from home, even though I'd gotten to talk to my parents the day before. Moving on, we walked by the iconic Burney Falls before continuing back to the PCT.
We crossed a dam, hiked through pines and ferns and watched Shasta slowly grow bigger as we continued north.
That night, I cowboy camped for the first time in a while, laying out in my sleeping bag under the stars. A little after midnight, a few raindrops began hitting my face. As we scrambled to get our tents up, the pitter-patter turned into a full-on deluge, soaking us, our clothes, our sleeping bags and our tents. We went back to bed drenched, with little we could do but wait for morning. We hiked on the next day, getting soaked all over again each time we passed through the thick bushes and branches overgrowing the trail. The leaves were still wet from the night before, and all we could do was plow through and get soggy. Lunch break was a long one, as we emptied our bags and laid our gear in the sun to dry. We hiked on in the sweltering afternoon, soon soaked from head to toe in sweat. We found a sign warning us that the trail was washed out, followed by a handwritten note that the warning was overblown (the latter proved correct).
On Day 97, we hiked under trees and along a ridge line, walking deep into narrow ravines on one slope and making our way out on the far side. We took lunch by a creek in a rocky gorge, relaxing under trees by the bank. Tigre boiled some water and added instant coffee, powdered milk and Nutella—a hiker mocha, inventive and delicious. We spent the afternoon climbing—another 7,000-plus foot day—and made camp by the side of the trail.
We hiked into Castella early the following morning and picked up resupply packages. My parents had generously shipped out my next week of food, and I stuffed my pack to the brim with calories. While packing up the food, I downed Gatorades and ice cream treats from the convenience store. Plural, in both cases. Back on the trail, we faced a daunting afternoon. We started below the Castle Crags, a rock formation that juts out from the undulating green slopes around it.
Another 7,000 foot climb was waiting for us, and the temperature was at 97 degrees. We struggled up the exposed, rocky slopes, flopping down every 20 minutes under the shade of the nearest tree, panting and sweat-drenched. Woozy and jelly-legged, we arrived at a spring that marked the end of the steep stretch. After chugging a few liters of water, we wrapped around the mountainside to a vista overlooking Mt. Shasta and the Castle Crags. Just a few hours before, the Crags had been towering above us, and now we were on a ridge looking down at them in the distance. After a few more miles, we made camp by a small spring, as tired as we'd been in quite some time.
We didn't hike on Day 99. We trudged. That morning, we awoke as fatigued as we'd been the night before. We'd only taken one day of rest in the last 450 miles, and the previous day had sapped our reserves. Slowly, we got underway. All morning, we hiked in a mental fog, zoning out, wishing we could go back to bed and checking the time every 10 minutes to see if we were close to lunch. Near a lake, we finally stopped to eat. Calories, caffeine and chatty day hikers woke us up a bit. I spent some time playing fetch with a friendly dog that wandered over with a stick in her mouth. We spent the rest of the day continuing along ridgelines. Though the terrain was flatter than it had been in a long time, we were still exhausted after just 27 miles and happily made an early camp by a stream.
We woke up feeling better the following day, and we hiked into the beautiful Trinity Alps. Early on, a sluggish rattlesnake meandered across the trail, seemingly as groggy as we'd been the day before.
The path wound along rocky ridges, wildflowers popping up along the trail. Craggy peaks rose above green slopes and blue lakes. The wooded areas boasted meadows teeming with birds, butterflies and bees. Mountain springs trickled across the trail in rivulets. Energized by our surroundings, we knocked out a 30-mile day and set up our camp beside a river. Not a bad way to mark our 100th day on the trail.
Our hike the next day was a bit of a roller coaster, rolling up and down rocky, exposed ledges. We hiked through a burned-out area and caught views of jagged spires rising from the opposite slopes. After a long day of climbs and descents, we made camp tired but 28 miles closer to Canada.
Day 102 was more of the same: ups, downs and views of rocky peaks. A haze settled in around us, thickening throughout the day—smoke from a wildfire somewhere in the distance. Firefighting helicopters buzzed back and forth overhead, filling up on water before returning to the blaze. Although the fire didn't appear to be an immediate danger, we had no cell service and therefore no way to get any information about its status or the trail ahead. A little wary, we hiked on. By the end of the day, we'd clocked 31 miles, a new high.
We hiked downhill the next day, making good time until we came to an obstacle that slowed us down: blackberries. Bushes lined the dirt road we were hiking, laden with ripe berries. Every few minutes, we stopped to scarf down fistfuls of the sweet, juicy fruit. At one point, a bear cub scampered uphill away from us, our feast disturbing his.
By midday, we hiked into Seiad Valley, quickly ducking into an air-conditioned cafe for lunch. The temperature hit 107 as we waited out the heat of the day, a steep climb awaiting when we left town. We sat in the shade with other hikers, guzzling Gatorade and drenched with sweat. Seiad Valley, a tiny town of a few hundred people, featured State of Jefferson signs on almost every home and business. Jefferson is a proposal that would turn rural Northern California and southern Oregon into the 51st state. Apparently Seiad Valley is very pro-secession.
Around dusk, as the temperature dipped just below triple digits, we started the long climb out of the valley. As it grew dark, we put on headlamps and continued. We wound along narrow ledges, surrounded by the skeletons of burned-out trees, outlined by the moonlight. Looking to the south, we saw the red glow of wildfires in the distance. It was getting spooky.
Then Tigre came across a rattlesnake coiled in the path, giving us a scare. Soon after, as we were filling up water at a spring, I saw a scorpion scurrying toward Tigre. I shouted, and he leapt to his feet right as it reached the spot where he had been sitting. Another close call. We found a tiny ledge on a ridge and deemed it good enough to camp, having had our fill of pulse-pounding night hiking. We got a few hours of sleep and set out again on Day 104. We hiked more ridges and crossed through fields of wildflowers.
In the afternoon, we heard what sounded like wind chimes. Soon, we came up a hill and saw cows grazing in a field, the bells around their necks clanging as they walked. We knocked out some more hiking and made camp as dusk began to set in. Early the next morning, we hit another milestone: Oregon. One mile into our hike, we hit the border. After three and a half months, we'd finally hiked the length of California. Turns out it's a very long state. We crossed the imaginary line and kept hiking, the Oregon trees looking much the same as they had in Northern California.
After a morning of climbing, we took lunch with only 10 downhill miles between us and Ashland. For a long time, we'd looked forward to hitting Ashland and finally taking a day or two off. We'd pushed through NorCal in a hurry to make up for lost time in the Sierra, and in Oregon we'll get to enjoy the fruits of our labor. Back on schedule, we'll take days off for Crater Lake, Portland and the solar eclipse.
For now, we were happy to get to Ashland. We strolled downhill to the road and got a ride to our trail angel's house. After much-needed showers, I grilled up some pork chops and corn on the cob. A well-earned feast. Tomorrow, we'll sleep in. Finally.
