Lucy Ondo

CHAPTER FOUR    (INTERSTATE 10 MILE 209.5 TO BIG BEAR  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 the road from Snow Creek. A dirt path headed westward not likely to be noticed except for the small PCT emblem on a short wooden post which was partially knocked askew. Unloading my trekking poles from the trunk, another car pulled up and I was pleased to see another hiker get out. 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 the 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 in grey shade.

A cougar crossed in front of me, there was an electrifying moment as I watched the lean graceful animal leap soundlessly out of sight.

A cooler filled with ice and soda had been set up underneath Highway 10 as trail magic. I stopped and drank a soda and was soon joined by the tall black woman hiker I had just met when her father dropped her off on the road. She indicated she had gone home to rest and her dad had returned her to the trail. She introduced herself as Moxie.

Moxie and I talked for a few minutes as we stood drinking soda. As we left the cover of the bridge, I expected I would not see her again.   It was unlikely I would be able to keep up to her hiking speed. 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 where I spoke with her last.

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

 

Out front of Ziggy’s I waited to meet up with friends, Anne and Jim, with whom I had planned to day hike.   They wished to hike a portion of the trail with me. As it turned out, I arrived at Ziggy’s before seven in the morning, the time we arranged to meet. They arrived well after nine in the morning. It was eight more miles to the Whitewater from Ziggy’s. The cool morning hours had been wasted waiting. I could not hike onward as Anne had offered to pick up my pack and bring it to me to save my carrying the pack for these three miles. I was without my gear.

After their arrival, Jim and Anne balked at hiking the barren eight miles under the wind farm and preferred to drive over to the Whitewater where they could have a more scenic day hike. I reluctantly agreed, knowing I could easily hike these eight miles at the end of my hike when I returned home in the fall.

Hiking up the Whitewater, I was surprised to see how little water was running in the Whitewater River. We crisscrossed the creek several times making our way upstream before eventually siting the PCT marker to head out of the canyon.

As I made the climb out of the Whitewater, I realized I had made a mistake by wearing boots. My feet were hot and sweating, my socks wet.   In the heat, my feet began swelling, making the boots too tight for my feet. These boots were not going to work in hot weather.

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.

 

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

 

Jim and Anne

 

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

The afternoon was very hot. 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.

Late in the afternoon the trail descended into the valley along Mission Creek.

I arrived at an open area scattered with an outcropping of low sparse willow trees along Mission Creek.   I was happy to stop and take off my boots.   Blisters covered my feet, at the heel, between the toes, on the outside edge of each foot and 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 progress 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 an alcohol wipe before applying bandages.

In the evening I ate dinner seated on a low log with a couple of hikers and listened to the dancing waters of Mission Creek flow by in front of us.

Moxie and Raspberry were among the hikers camped in the general area for the night.

 

 

Day 21

Each evening lying in my tent, I studied the maps for the next day. I also studied the water report. Planning water stops and the next camp destination helped keep my mind focused on what must be accomplished in the day ahead. It was overwhelming to consider the entire trip. 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.

The first person to break camp, I was up and hiking predawn. Before the morning was over, I was passed on the trail by all of the other hikers camped along Mission Creek.

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. The trail followed Mission Creek as it changed from creek to a small stream. Occasionally a cluster of deciduous trees stood together beside the creek. When I found trees large enough to cast a shade I sought momentary respite from the sun.

In late morning I was joined on the trail by another hiker, a section hiker Joe*, who had left his truck up ahead on a dirt road and drove his motorcycle south to catch the trail.

Joe and I took several breaks together, seated under trees, our feet resting in the shallow water. We spoke of hiking. He had spent time section hiking the Continental Divide Trail (CDT). Each year he hiked 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.

As the morning passed and the trail gained elevation, the creek diminished in water flow until finally there was no water, only a dry creek bed.

In the later afternoon, I was the beneficiary of the most extraordinary kindness.   As I rested under a spreading bush, Joe came by. I knew he was low on water. I had a water report and he did not.

“There’s water up ahead 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.

Joe returned shortly with water. He thought I was out of 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 a section of steep switchbacks, looking down I saw Joe stop at a campsite below. I guessed he might have stopped for the night.

On this section just before reaching the top elevation, Poodle Dog bush lining the trail making hiking more difficult. I had to take great pains to avoid 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 passed our group of tents just at sunset with no shirt wearing frayed cut off jeans and sneakers. Instead of a backpack, a blanket was slung over one shoulder onto his back. His sun bleach 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 by without a word and kept climbing upward.

Nearing the top of the climb just as the desert scape 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 was at home he said he would be in a bark-a-lounger in front of the TV.

Raspberry was a massive gregarious man in his fifties from Sacramento. He was at ease with being outdoors.

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

We completed the task of putting up our tents, when the homeless person who had passed me earlier 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 hoped I wasn’t going to be stabbed in my sleep.

After dark, Joe passed our campsite, hiking with his headlamp. I invited him to camp with us but he was hoping to make it to his truck parked on a dirt road ahead on the trail. 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 had been peeled away leaving 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 and traveling a few pounds lighter. The extreme pain of putting on boots in the morning and walking again kept my focus on survival and away from the discomfort of a lack of a stimulant as I no long prepared coffee for breakfast in my rush to be on the trail.

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

At this altitude the air was refreshingly cool after yesterday’s heat. I made good time in spite of my feet.

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, I applied duct tape over new bandages.

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

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 of the Coachella Valley below.

As I looked toward home, my mind wandered over of the simple pleasures of visiting with friends, playing golf, and drinking a margarita around the pool. I wanted my life back. I acknowledge this to myself. Then I repeated the words aloud.

“I want my life back.” It was a soft plaintiff cry of loss and loneliness.

At mile 250, the trail passed a grouping of animal cages containing exotic animals used for the film and television industry. It was sad to see a grizzly bear in a cage.   At least at this elevation (8,148 ‘) it was cool weather for the caged animals.  There were no people around, only the caged animals. It felt eerie and I quicken my steps to get away.

 

I saw no other hikers throughout the day. Mentally, I forced myself to concentrate on anything but the searing pain of walking.

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 the ridge. I began to worry if it was possible to locate a flat place to pitch a tent.

I turned a corner and there was space suitable for camping and I was happy to recognize Raspberry’s tent. I walked up and asked 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 strong sustained wind.  I was too cold and exhausted to take time to prepare dinner. I simply crawled in my sleeping bag and tried to go to sleep.

The wind blew all night. I tossed and turned and slept fitfully as the wind caught the fly and whipped it against the tent. The noise frequently woke me.   Each time I checked the time and wished for morning.

 

 

Day 23:

My feet were now extremely swollen and they were now too big for my boots. I had to force my feet into the boots. It was a painful and difficult day for me as each step was agonizing. I had no choice. I had to make it out to mile 266 where the trail came to highway 18.

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. From time to time a ranch house could be seen in the distance.

Raspberry passed me right before the highway and when I arrived, he had already 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 had ran out of food the day before. He should have said something earlier as I still had several days of food in my pack.

Raspberry went off in search of a place to have lunch and I yogied a ride to Motel 6 from Joe as the Big Bear hostel, as nice as it was, did not offer the privacy I craved.

After a two lengthy showers to clean up 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 realize the heel of my left foot was 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 with him. 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. It was depressing.

I re-read Jane Austen’s ‘Emma’ to keep my mind engaged with light-hearted entertainment.

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

 

 

• Joe is a pseudonym