CHAPTER FOUR (INTERSTATE 10 MILE 209.5 TO BIG BEAR 9 MILE 266)
LESSON LEARNED: Never become separated from your pack.

Day 20:

Before sunrise, Jim pulled the car over onto the sandy edge of the road where the PCT crossed from Snow Creek just west of Palm Springs. A short wooden post knocked askew with a PCT emblem tacked on the edge confirmed the way westward on the dirt path.

Unloading my trekking poles from the trunk, I was pleased to notice a car pull up with another hiker. The young woman and I spoke for a few moments before taking off for Ziggy and the Bear’s a trail angel’s house about three miles across the valley on the other side of Interstate 10.

It was a flat section of trail crisscrossing washes and winding through scrub trees. I was soon out of sight of the two cars and the other hiker. The morning sunrise turned the rocky mountaintops golden while the valley remained a shady gray.

A cougar crossed in front of me, there was an electrifying moment as I watched the lean, graceful animal leap soundlessly out of sight. It happened quickly; too quickly for me to react in fear.

A cooler filled with ice and cans of soda had been placed underneath the Highway 10 freeway as trail magic. I stopped to quickly drink a can and the tall, attractive black woman hiker I had met on the road joined me. She indicated she had gone home to rest and her father had returned her to the trail. She introduced herself as Moxie.

Moxie and I talked a few minutes as we stood drinking. When we left the cover of the overhead freeway, I expected I would not see her again. It was unlikely I would be able to keep up her hiking speed as she was young. As it turned out I ran into Moxie again and again at various places along the trail all the way to Stevens Pass in Washington State.

Ziggy and the Bear are the trail angels near Cabazon where most hikers send resupply packages and spend the night. I stopped only to put my name in the PCT register.

Out front of Ziggy’s I waited to meet up with friends, Anne and Jim, as they were planning to accompany me on a portion of the trail for a day hike. As it turned out, I arrived at Ziggy’s before seven in the morning, at the arranged meeting time. They arrived well after nine in the morning. It was eight miles to the Whitewater from Ziggy’s. The cold morning hours had been wasted waiting. I could not continue hiking onward as Anne had offered to pick up my pack and bring it to me to save my carrying the backpack for these three miles. I was without my gear and had to wait.  Big mistake.

Jim and Anne balked at hiking the barren eight miles under the wind farms and preferred to drive over to the Whitewater where they could have a more scenic day hike. I reluctantly agreed, knowing I could comfortably hike these eight miles when I returned home in the fall.

Hiking up the Whitewater, I was surprised to see how little water ran in the Whitewater River. We crisscrossed the creek several times making our way upstream before eventually seeing the PCT sign signally the trail out of the canyon.

As I climbed out of the Whitewater, I realized I had made a mistake by wearing boots. My feet were hot; my socks became soaked with sweat. In the heat, my feet began swelling, making the boots too tight. Too late I realized the boots were not going to work in hot weather and desert hiking.

Anne, Jim and I stopped for lunch on top of the ridge looking back down into the Whitewater Valley. Seated on rocks in the distance, Spirit Finger’s guitar and Jambo’s banjo music filled the air. A light breeze kept us cool as we ate.

We enjoyed Anne’s lunch of apples and cheese slices.

After our goodbyes, I waited and watched Jim and Anne descended back into the Whitewater Preserve before continuing along the ridge toward Mission Creek.

The afternoon became hot under the unrelenting sun. The cool breeze from earlier had ceased and I hid from the sun under my umbrella each time I stopped for a break. The trail stayed high all afternoon weaving along the top of the ridge.

Late in the afternoon, I descended into the valley along Mission Creek.

An open area scattered with an outcropping of low sparse willow trees edged Mission Creek. I was happy to stop and take off my boots. Blisters covered my feet. There were blisters on my heels, between my toes, on the outside edge of each foot and covering the bottom of my feet.  The blisters causing the most pain were on the bottom of both feet. After observing the condition of my feet, I pitched my tent in the gravel wash at the edge of the creek at mile 226. It was a relief to soak my feet in the cold, clear water.

There were three other hikers camped nearby. As the evening progressed, several more hikers arrived and staked out tent areas. Some of the hikers were late from taking the wrong trail out of the Whitewater. Most of the other hikers knew each other. I listened to the laughter among the hikers as I sat inside my tent and carefully broke open each blister with a needle to make the fluid drain out. I swabbed the blisters with alcohol wipes before applying Neosporin and bandages.

In the evening I ate dinner with a couple of hikers seated on a fallen log and listened to the dancing water of Mission Creek flowing in front of us.  It was relaxing and cool following the hot afternoon of hiking.

A women hiker stood in the middle of the creek washing out her socks with soap.  I was appalled at this lack of hiker etiquette which includes not polluting water sources along the trail.

Moxie and Raspberry camped in the general area for the night.

Day 21:

Lying in my tent in the evenings, I studied the maps for the next day. I also looked at the water report. Planning water stops and the next camp destination helped keep my mind focused on the day ahead. Considering the entire trip was overwhelming. It was easier for me to plan for the next day and to look ahead only to the next resupply stop, keeping my mind focused on short-term goals.

I was up and hiking predawn, the first person to break camp. Before the morning was over, the other hikers camped along Mission Creek that night had all passed me on the trail.

The 5,000’ elevation gain took the biggest portion of the day. At each creek crossing, I filtered water and refilled my Smart water bottles to keep my total water at a maximum of 4 liters, not wanting to chance running out of water on this long hot climb.

By mid-morning, the heat was exhausting. Mission Creek changed from creek to a small stream. Occasionally a cluster of deciduous trees grew beside the creek. When I found trees large enough to cast a shade, I sought momentary respite from the sun.

In the late morning, a section hiker, Joe*, caught up with me.  He had left his truck up ahead on a dirt road and drove his motorcycle south to find the trail.

Joe and I took several breaks together, seated under trees, our feet resting in the shallow water. He had spent time section hiking the Continental Divide Trail (CDT). Each year Joe completed sections of the PCT. When we continued up the trail, it was at different speeds, and we leapfrogged each other meeting up when one of us stopped to rest and the other caught up.

As the morning passed and the trail gained elevation, the creek diminished in water flow until finally it became a dry creek bed.

In the later afternoon, I was the beneficiary of the most extraordinary kindness. As I lay spread out and resting under a large sagebrush, Joe came by. I knew he was low on water. I had a water report and he did not.

“There’s water up ahead in one mile.” I meant this as encouragement as I knew he was low on water and also struggling with the heat.

“Okay,” He replied and hiked on. I watched him disappear up the trail, trudging slowly, his large body bent forward taking short steps in his heavy boots. I stayed in the shade for a short restful nap stretched out on my zpad, managing to keep my head and shoulders in the shade of the sagebrush.

Joe returned shortly with water. He thought I was out of drinking water and had hiked up one mile and back one mile with sore feet, at the point of utter exhaustion to bring water to me. His generosity and kindness brought me close to tears.

Late in the afternoon, I reached the section of steep switchbacks. Looking down I saw Joe stop at a campsite below. I guessed he might have stopped for the night.

Just prior to reaching the top elevation, Poodle Dog bush lining the trail making hiking more difficult. I took great pains to avoid contact with the Poodle Dog Bush as I passed up the switchbacks.

I wanted to make it to the top of the mountain and was planning to camp at mile 246. During the last stretch upward, I was passed by an odd-looking person I had first seen while putting up my tent the night before.

He had walked passed our group of tents just at sunset shirtless wearing frayed cut-off jeans and sneakers. Instead of a backpack, he carried a blanket slung over one shoulder. His sun-bleached blond hair stood up in spiky clumps. I guessed he might be a homeless person with possible mental problems.

As he approached, I stepped off the trail to allow his passage. He swept silently by without a word and climbing quickly upward.

Nearing the top of the climb just as the desert gave way to tall pine trees, I caught up with Raspberry, one of the hikers from the night before. He had passed me in the early morning. Raspberry had recently sold his business and retired. He explained his motive for thru-hiking was because if he were at home, he would be in a Bark-a-lounger in front of the TV.

Raspberry was a large gregarious man in his fifties from Sacramento. He was at ease in the outdoors and said he loved to camp, a passion his spouse did not share.

Raspberry and I decided to camp at around mile 244 next to a small stream on top of the mountain because neither of us had the energy to make it the last two miles where the rest of the group had planned to camp. We pitched our tents on each side of an enormous fallen tree trunk near the trail.

As we completed the task of putting up our tents, the homeless person cowboy camped about a hundred yards down the trail from us. He had passed me, and I had not seen him again. Suddenly he materialized out of nowhere, to camp along the trail a short distance below us. It was unnerving. I was frightened of being stabbed in my sleep.

After dark, Joe passed our campsite, hiking with his headlamp. I invited him to camp with us, but he wanted to make it to his truck parked on a dirt road ahead. As he trudged on, I watched his headlamp bob along in the darkness and disappear around the bend.

My feet were in bad shape. The constant uphill climb in the heavy boots had worn the skin off the back of my heels. The layers of skin ripped from my heels left open, bleeding wounds. I disinfected the wounds and kept my feet out of the sleeping bag during the night hoping exposure to air night might help dry the wounds and stop the bleeding.

Day 22

I was on the trail faster each morning now that I was traveling a few pounds lighter. The extreme pain of putting on the boots and walking kept my focus on moving forward and away from the discomfort of not having coffee first thing in the morning.

After filtering water from the small cold stream, I was out of camp before Raspberry.

At this altitude, the air was refreshingly cool after yesterday’s oppressive heat. I made fast time on the trail in spite of the searing pain of each step.

At lunchtime, I found a sunny spot above the trail and laid out my pad to enjoy the territorial views of several surrounding mountain peaks. I took this rest time to dry out my socks and re-bandage my heels. The bandages from the morning application were not staying in place. Desperate to keep the wounds covered, I wrapped duct tape around my feet and ankles over the new bandages.

I am not certain when in the morning or during my lunch break, Raspberry passed me on the trail as I did not see him go by.

Shortly after lunch, I left the trail to check out the three historic cabins at Coon Creek Campground. From the 8000’ elevation, I was able to enjoy the stunning view back down into the Coachella Valley.

As I looked toward home, my mind wandered over of the simple pleasures of visiting with friends, playing golf, or drinking a margarita around the pool. I wanted my life back. I acknowledge this to myself. Then I repeated the words aloud; a soft plaintiff cry of loss and loneliness.  I stood looking down in the valley for a few minutes then turned and hiked northward.

At mile 250, the trail passed a grouping of caged animals containing exotic animals for the film and television industry. It was sad to see the grizzly bear in a cage. At least at this high elevation (8,148′) it was lower temperature for the animals. There was no one about, only the cages. It felt eerie, and I quicken my steps to get away from the discouraging scene.

I saw no other hikers throughout the day. Mentally, I forced myself to concentrate on anything but the pain of walking.  I could not afford to be distracted by anything but getting to the next out tomorrow.

The trail stayed high, and there were many locations with grand vistas of valleys and mountains beyond. As the day lost sunlight, I found myself on a windy ridge. In the strong wind, my hands and face became chilled as I made my way along. I began to worry if it was possible to locate a flat place suitable to pitch a tent.

Turning a corner, I spotted an open space and I was happy to recognize a tent. I asked Raspberry’s permission to camp nearby. I found a flat area under tall pine trees nearby and brushed away some of the pine needles and rocks.

It was dark by the time I succeeded in getting the tent up and securely staked out. It was my first time to pitch the tent in a high sustained wind. I was too cold and exhausted to prepare dinner. I crawled into my sleeping bag and tried to go to sleep.

The wind blew all night. I slept fitfully as the wind caught the fly and whipped it against the tent. The slap of the fly frequently woke me. I kept checking the time and wished for morning.

Day 23:

My feet were now extremely swollen and much too large to fit in my boots. I had to force my feet into my boots trying not to scream out loud.

It was a stressful day with each step agonizingly painful as I crept along the trail.  I had no choice. I had to make it out to mile 266 where the trail came to highway 18. It was a matter of survival. I could not stop and stay put.

Luckily, it was a scenic section of the trail and mostly downhill. After losing elevation, the trail passed through horse country with tall pines and open undergrowth. The last few miles, I viewed a ranch house in the distance.

Raspberry passed me right before the highway and telephoned for a taxi. He and the taxi were waiting to take us both to the hiker hostel in Big Bear.

On the ride down the mountain into Big Bear, Raspberry mentioned he was hungry, noting he was out of food. He should have said something earlier as I still had several days of food in my pack which I would have happily given him.

Raspberry went off in search of a place to have lunch. I yogied a ride to Motel 6 as the Big Bear Hostel, as welcoming as it was, did not offer a private room.

After two long showers to clean off, I realized nine of my toenails had turned black. There was no way my swollen feet would fit back into the hiking boots. I called Jim and asked him to bring my running shoes to Big Bear in the morning.

Day 24:

When I woke in the morning, I was disappointed to see the heel of my left foot infected despite having washed it with hydrogen peroxide and wiping the wound with alcohol wipes. I knew I had no choice but to return home until the infection healed. When Jim arrived with my shoes, I loaded up and went back home. I felt defeated and depressed.

It had taken me four days to hike to Big Bear. It had taken Jim two hours to drive up to fetch me.

I spent my days soaking my feet in Epsom salt baths and hanging my feet into our saline swimming pool. As much as I enjoyed the rest, all the hikers I knew were hiking on, and I would now be left behind again. It was depressing.

I re-read ‘Emma’ to keep my mind engaged in the light-hearted banter of Jane Austen’s book.

It took ten days for a new layer of skin to begin to form over the open wound.

*Joe is a pseudonym