Lucy Ondo

CHAPTER THREE   (WARNER SPRINGS MILE 109.5 TO INTERSTATE 10 MILE 209.5)

LESSON LEARNED: Best not to over-think your choices.

Day 11:

Pacman and Mert hiked out of Warner Springs in the evening. I waited until early the next morning. The day started easily enough, with the trail keeping to the valley across private property through pastures and skirting along a creek.  I came upon Mert’s campsite up against a tall rock wall across the creek as he was eating breakfast. I stopped to talk. I spoke, and he grunted. Mert never said much.

By late morning the trail began a relentless climb in elevation. The trail ahead and behind remained visible for great distances as I made my way over a series of boulder-strewn mountains with scarce foliage before arriving at elevation with trees.

In the afternoon I leapfrogged with Halfmile and Deb. They passed me during a break and introduced themselves. We discussed footwear.

“Are we ever going to get to the top?” I whined in frustration at one of our stops lying backward on the high side of the trail, looking up through the branches of a pink flowering desert ironwood tree.

“I don’t think that’s the point,” Deb’s response was grudgingly noted. Halfmile, a short, sandy-haired man with a mild manner was polite and quiet.  His wife, Deb, small and frail had a ready smile. They both wore sun hats with neck protection popular with many hikers. He had recently retired and this was his first opportunity to thru-hike the PCT after hiking the trail in sections in previous years.

The sun was going down behind the mountains by the time I reached the water tank at mile 127. At the tank, a yell reached me from far back across the valley and I turned back to see Pacman’s arms outstretched, waving wildly. I shouted and waved back like a little kid.

“Hello…hello…hello.” Echoed across the valley.

Hiker Trash Mike’s place was just off the trail near the tank at the edge of a pine forest.  Trail angel Mike made his home available for thru-hikers to crash. I was happy to stay. In exchange for being allowed to stay overnight at a trail angel’s house, it is understood hikers are to donate $20 per person per night.

I took off my pack and dropped it with the other backpacks and found a seat at the outdoor table on the covered porch. Halfmile, Deb, and Pacman arrived shortly. Mert came later.

It was a bleak place. The main house had a deep porch where the hikers congregated. Across the yard, two small outbuildings were outfitted with bunk beds for hikers use. A work shed across the yard overflowed with junk strewn about. The house was off limits to the hikers. There was no accessible toilet.  The property owner was not around and the place was under the direction of a caretaker.  Despite the limitations, it was a welcome and pleasant stopover.  Hikers were happy to find water, companionship, and enjoy the meager hospitality.

Approximately twelve hikers stayed the night and the bunk beds had all been claimed by the time I arrived.

The heat of the day disappeared with the sun and the evening quickly turned frigidly cold.

The caretaker offered the hikers heated frozen lasagna for dinner. I helped the caretaker serve the food to be able to get in and warm up my hands a bit each time I fetched plates of food. It was a welcome opportunity to talk with the other hikers. I have an allergy to wheat, barley, and rye called Celiac disease and must be careful not to consume gluten, in this case, the lasagna. I enjoyed the aroma of the food as I passed plates around knowing I must be satisfied afterward with my own dinner.

It started innocently enough.

“Why aren’t you eating the lasagna?” An older hiker called No Go* asked. This is a subject I prefer to not discuss. Usually I just simply quietly avoided food I cannot eat without making a fuss.

“I have Celiac,” I explained and turned to change the subject.

“Well, you know that is psychosomatic. It’s all in your head. It can be cured with the right therapist.”

Helpful, very helpful, I thought. No use explaining Celiac disease is an autoimmune illness and not something wished on myself. I made no response but quickly started a conversation with another hiker while thinking to avoid this person in the future.

Later, I prepared my own dinner of instant potatoes and freeze-dried vegetables and pitched my tent on a small space of grass. I fell asleep listening to the music being played around the campfire by Spirit Fingers and Jambo.

Day 12:

Places along the trail make it easy for hikers to get caught up in a vortex with other hikers.  It becomes difficult to leave the company of fellow hikers and get back to the trail.  I had to sometimes remind myself to stick to my purpose.

On this morning I jumped up after breakfast of eggs and coffee and chided myself for taking so long to get going.

When I hiked out, Pacman and Mert stayed behind. I expected they would catch up. I was to see neither again.

It was a steep climb in the morning through the pine trees up out of the valley.

Rock Bottom had partnered up with two guys and another woman. I took my rests and lunch along the trail with the four. I was learning the younger hikers are fun to be around. Their exuberance became infectious. These four teased me about hiking in a white shirt. Three of the four hikers were later to quit the trail. I ran into the remaining young man in Oregon. He teased me again about my white shirt. He said the two women of their group were envious I appeared fresh and put together while they struggled along hot, dirty and tired.  I could not imagine anyone thinking I was not also struggling with the heat; hot, dirty and tired.

The trail was sandy and hot but not as much elevation gain as yesterday making the hiking less strenuous. The trail passed in and out of several arid desert canyons and over several dry and barren desert slopes.

Late in the day, I arrived at a water cache with jugs of water lined up on a wooden shelf. Hikers are told to not rely on the water caches, but in reality, they are a happy sight to hot, thirsty hikers.

As I stood drinking water with Mr. Green, several other hikers arrived. We were standing around enjoying the water when a man came up who did not appear to be a thru-hiker. He avoided inquiries to where he was headed. His unkempt hair stuck out under his baseball cap pulled low over his forehead as he avoided eye contact. He wore pants and shirt that were not normal hiking clothing. He carried no trekking poles, and his small backpack appeared to be army surplus issue. I suspected he might be a transient.

Mr. Green

Homegirl

The campsites on the map at mile 144 were situated on a hilltop surrounded by enormous boulders.  The ground was sandy with little vegetation. When I arrived, the area was overflowing with fellow hikers. Everyone hiking in this section must have had this campsite designated as the target for the night. Tents and bivies filled all available spaces.

A helpful young man offered to let me camp next to him. There was no room for a tent. By necessity, I cowboy camped. It would be my second and last cowboy camp. After this, I accepted I preferred the privacy of a tent each night. A tent might not add to my security in any meaningful way, it took time and effort to put up each evening and take down in the morning, but it did give me an added sense of privacy and personal space.

Day 13:

The day before, I had phoned my husband, Jim, to let him know to pick me up at Highway 74 at 10:00 in the morning. The PCT north of Hwy 74 was closed because of previous fire and flood damage to the trail. The trail was closed all the way to the intersection of the Devil’s Slide Trail and the PCT above Idyllwild.

Most of the hikers were planning to hitch to The Paradise Valley Café from Hwy 74 and then hitch on into Idyllwild to spend the night. Since I was near home, it made better sense to go the other way on Highway 74 and home. Eager to get to Hwy 74, I quietly departed camp in the dark, using my headlamp.

In the darkness, I noticed the transient man on the trail behind me. This was odd. It was uncomfortable hiking with him following. I hastened my steps trying to add distance between us.

As dawn was breaking, I came across trail magic. It was a well-organized setup with coolers of soda, fruit, and food. Two large garbage cans, one for recycling and one for garbage, stood nearby with rocks on top to keep lids secure.

I stopped at the table provided and drank a can of rootbeer without removing my pack. As I wolfed down the drink, the transient man arrived. Neither of us acknowledged the other.

A few minutes later, when I resumed hiking, I felt a rush of relief as he stayed behind at the picnic table. I suspected he might be living off trail magic and hiker boxes.

In the early morning light, I could clearly see fresh cougar tracks on the trail. The cougar was headed nobo (northbound) same as me. I followed the tracks for several miles, cautiously not stopping to rest. Cougars usually attack from behind and often when a person leans over or sits down. I stood tall as a precaution.

Trail closure sign at Highway 74

I covered the eight miles to Highway 74 in record time arriving hours ahead of the scheduled pick up.

I stopped short of the highway and cleaned up the best I could manage with wet wipes.

Seated by the edge of the road on the dirt bank, I waited for Jim.

Later, Rock Bottom and the three fellow hikers arrived and met friends waiting at the highway to give them a lift to Idyllwild.

About one year before the start of my trip I had asked my daughter to make no plans for me from April to September in 2014. My daughter thought I had absolutely lost my mind when I explained my plans. She could not understand my wishing to hike at all, much less hike for almost six months. Slowly and grudgingly she came around and had purchased the backpack from my Christmas wish list.  Instead of the camo color ULA Circuit on my list, she bought the backpack in color Purple Blaze. I teased she must have had my granddaughter pick out the color since it was purple. No, she responded sensibly. “If you fall off a mountain I want you to be visible to the search and rescue team.”

I had talked of hiking the PCT for several years. Jim assumed it was all talk. Early Fall before my hike I told him I was making plans. When I said I was going, the news had not been well received.

“Who’s going to take care of me?” he angrily asked. We were seated in a California Pizza restaurant just off El Paseo in Indian Wells having a late dinner after a movie.   He was upset. It might have been a louder fight in private. He insisted, “I won’t let you go.”

We were seated next to a wall of windows. I looked up at the red EXIT sign reflected brightly, repeatedly, in the windows. Loud music filled the air covering over our conversation. A large group next to us added to the general noise of the restaurant.

A moth fluttered briefly outside the window and flew away. I looked across the street to the brightly lit display windows of the Escada store and sighed, not because I changed my mind but because I knew it would be an uphill battle.

Over time, as I forged ahead with preparations, Jim realized I was actually going to make the hike. He slowly came around and began to be outwardly supportive.

Our friends, on the other hand, when hearing of my plans looked at me as if I had fallen from outer space and quickly changed the subject. The topic was an embarrassment to be quickly glossed over as not a proper conversation topic.  I finally started not to bring it up.

In the months leading up to my departure, Jim learned to pay bills online and go to the bank for money using an ATM card in the cash machine. He learned how to handle our rental properties. He took it all on. Having someone at home, looking after everything, was an advantage for me. I felt my good luck as I waited Jim’s arrival seated on the dirt bank along the edge of the road happy to be off my feet breaking up dirt clods and counting the marching ants.

I dipped my hand into the ice of the small red and white cooler at my feet in our car and brought out a cold orange soda. I had requested Jim bring a six-pack of orange soda; and not the diet kind. I drank all six cans on the 40-minute drive home.

Day 14:

A zero at home.

At home I had the opportunity to clean up my gear and order new hiking pants to replace the pants ripped in the seat on the rough granite rocks on the hike into Scissors Crossings. As much as I preferred the comfort of my NeoAir UL, I order a Zpad replacement for the balance of the desert section. Not only would the fold up Zpad allow for getting on the trail more quickly in the morning, but it was also easy and comfortable to unfold for a mid-day nap during the heat of the day. I ordered the new gear online to be picked up when I arrived at Interstate 10 (the 10— in California speak) for the next visit home.

I was not yet having trouble with my feet. I had started the hike with Salomon Ellipse GTX Hiking shoes I had trained in on day hikes around the Palm Springs area. Also, I had the Brooks Cascadia running shoes preferred by most thru-hikers but did not care for the amount of dirt these shoes allowed inside the shoe. I opted to start in the Salomon, however, on this visit home, I decided airflow was more important and switched to the Brooks Cascadia running shoes with Superfeet inserted footbeds.

Day 15:

In the cold morning air, the climb up Devil’s Slide outside of Idyllwild was pleasant. I spent the morning enjoying the views of Suicide Rock in one direction and towering Tahquitz Peak in the other direction as the trail wound upward through the forest. I felt enthusiastic about getting back on the trail and enjoyed the sun filtering through the foliage.

When I reached the top at Saddle Junction, the trail rejoined the PCT at mile 179.4 heading north at the end of the closure. Patches of snow covered the trail. The snow was slushy and brown making it easy to cross over.

In the afternoon, I stopped to filter water at a small creek. Above the trail, the water cascaded down under an overhanging tree, right in the middle of the stream sat an extremely obese hiker. As we both filtered water, I asked him about his hike. He said he had decided to attempt the thru-hike for his fortieth birthday. I did not see him again, but I hope his hike was successful. It would take guts to attempt a thru-hike when one is in poor physical condition.

I left him perched like a Buddha in the middle of the shallow creek as he sat in the dappled afternoon sunlight, his large camera slung around his neck, water flowing around him.

As a treat, I stopped early and pitched my tent with breathtaking views westward. By four in the afternoon, I was resting inside my tent at mile 188. As there was snow on the ground surrounding my tent, I went to sleep with my coat and cap on.

Suddenly, I woke in the night, sweating.  Stripping off the coat and hat, I crawled out of the tent to cool down. The valley below was filled with distant lights possibly from the towns of Banning or Beaumont. The moon and stars filled the blue-black sky. It was magic. I stood looking up at the sky filled with bright stars, in awe of the beauty of the silent, cloudless night.

Day 16:

Knowing it would be a long hike down from the San Jacinto Mountains, I started as soon as I could make out the trail. In the early morning, the patches of snow were solid ice making it difficult to navigate across Fuller Ridge. In some places, I had to steady my foot against my trekking pole for footing on the hard slick ice patches.  Crossing steep stretches of ice felt treacherous.  My heart was in my throat several times; my hands shaking.

Happy to be off Fuller Ridge, I stopped at the Black Mountain campground to make breakfast.  My JetBoil would not light. At the time I did not realize the auto light does not function at altitudes above 7,000′. I thought the fault was with the stove or the fuel canister. Disappointed, I packed up and hiked on without coffee or breakfast. In time I would learn to light the JetBoil with a cigarette lighter at higher altitudes.

Halfmile’s map noted: As the crow flies, it’s 4.3 miles from the Fuller Ridge Trailhead to the Snow Canyon Rd Faucet (WR206). On the PCT it’s 15.2 miles. The trail descends 6,040 feet.

Mid-morning I overtook the camp of four college-age hikers.

Wish the trail was always this well maintained

Sign on the descent

I hiked out of the trees in the heat of mid day.  Leaving the forest for the descent, I was soon surrounded by desert.  Scorched and charred remains of tree stumps stood above the grass, brush, and cactus with clear signs this area had once been forested before fire turned the area into dry desert.

In the afternoon I leap frogged with the four college students from Ashland, Oregon. At one point after seeing a rattlesnake on the trail, they thoughtfully left a warning sign. Each time I passed the group they kindly offered to share their water and snacks as they were concerned with my hiking alone. I declined their generous offers but was grateful for their concern.

The trail bed was made of large sharp rocks. Adding to the difficulty, low growing brush covering the trail in many places. Hiking through the prickly brush, each step went down into the unknown onto rocks below. I had no idea where I was stepping. Luckily, long pants protected my legs.  The college students were in shorts and not so lucky.

At four in the afternoon, I could see Jim’s car parked by the road below. However, the trail wound from one valley to the next in relentlessly long switchbacks. It took a couple of hours to finally arrive at the car. I was exhausted. The bottom of my feet hurt from the rocky trail. I was out of water. I was ready to go home.

Days 17-18-19:

Waiting for my new gear ordered on my last visit home turned one zero-day into three zero days.

Somehow the package containing the Zpad from REI ordered for two-day delivery was lost in transit. The pants had arrived from North Face, but no package delivery from REI. I waited.

It was difficult sitting at home thinking of missing out on all the miles I should be getting in each day. With too much time on my hands, I began to second-guess my choice of footwear.

I was planning to wear sturdy hiking boots for the high Sierras to be able to kick step in the snow. I began to consider perhaps I should start out from Snow Creek in boots, to become accustomed to hiking with the boots before reaching the Sierras.

The bottoms of my feet were sore from the beating they had taken on the rocks hiking down the San Jacinto Mountains. My boots might offer better protection for the bottom of my feet. I really liked my hiking boots. I had worn these boots on a trek through Nepal. I had backpacked around the Wonderland Trail with these boots. I had history with the boots. I decided to hike out in my boots instead of running shoes.

This was to be the first of my two biggest mistakes of my trip.