Monday, September 19, Hike Day Two

We had a substantial breakfast in the beautifully appointed breakfast room. Our innkeepers at the Hillcrest Farm House were late-sixties and early-seventies. They had raised their family of four kids in this farmhouse. It was spotless with thousands of dust collecting plates, lamps, knickknack and brickerbrack.  Cleaning and preparing meals seemed like a morning to night full time Job. 

Our different hiking speeds showed as we were spread across the road heading to the Kerry Way trail. We passed a school and several farmhouses before meeting up with the trail. A med student from Amsterdam hiked with Kathy for awhile . She filled us in on the blue and red paint that are streaked across the sheep. Blue is for males and red for females. The females that have blue on their backs have been mounted by males. 

The weather was great for hiking overcast and cool. We continued with a mix of grasses and rocks, mostly open space but stands of trees and some conifer forest. We climbed over stiles a number of times to negotiate fences. We marbled at the miles of stone fences. I recalled Robert Frost’s poem, Fences. 

We could see a saddle in the distance and soon began our ascent. We weaved around the mud and over rocks. The going was slow up hill and slower down. 

At 11 km of our 20 km day, we arrived at The Stepping Stone B&B and had coffee and scones with jam and cream. 

After our break, we headed up a steep hill to find another difficult rocky, soupy download hill. At the bottom we were treated to a wide gravel path and then a chip seal road into Glencar. Our four course dinner was excellent.



Today’s the day I’ve been waiting for. We will leave the forest and enter the Goat Rocks Wilderness. It’s the high country with rocks, different formations, and views of the deep green forested valleys, blue lakes, and Mount Ranier watching over it all. 

We head up long climbs. More and more people emerge from different trails to climb up to precipices and sit and view. Most people have set up base camps and hike up to the edge. Fewer, like us, ascend and descend the edges of this area. We leave most of the chaotic-seeming groups of people, and we head out to what’s left of the Packwood Glacier. We can’t see what’s ahead except for two snow fields. The second one we see slides off forever. I don’t think you could survive a slid off this one. 

I’m reluctant to move forward. As I approach, I see that the entrance to the snowfield is a short fall-away spit of gravelly mud. I can’t stand in it without falling. I slide down on my butt. The snow is a bit slippery, but it’s a fairly typical tracked snow passage. All’s fine until we get to the other side. It doesn’t meet the trail. It’s well below it. I can’t seem to stand and walk up it or scramble over the rocks. The wet scree ground just crumbled away. I’m on knees then belly. Terry helps pull me up. 

Between the snow we slowly navigate the sharp, shards of clinking rocks. We do this over four snow passes. Then the fifth is the kicker. The ground is so unsteady even the big rocks you think you can depend on tumble away. I sit down to get low enough to spread my weigh and inch over the ground to the last snow patch. 

Terry takes my pack off. He turns back to help me and my pack starts to roll away. He jumps and almost snags it as it rolls over a big rock and drops away. Terry turns back quickly and accidentally kicks my hiking pole into a hole. I don’t want him to recue these items. I tell him not to. But he’s good and sure footed. Even though there is an ice bridge on the corner of the rock he must go around, he risks his life and recovers pack and pole. 

A young woman comes from behind . She, too, is afraid and shares our tension and apprehension. We make it across the ice and scramble up another treacherous hill. She goes down on bare knees, she’s wearing shorts, to pull herself slowly up. 

After this we’re on the knife’s edge. It tangles around five, six, maybe more sharp peaks. It’s exposed to death defying plunges on both sides. The wind is fierce. Up hill is OK. But downhill is slip-sliding scree. It takes its toll on my knees. 

Despite it being gorgeous with every turn, I hated the hike. 

We reach sanity and walk away from the knifes edge and turn a corner to a long, peaceful valley. Did we really make it? The quiet  was so healing. We find a flat spot for our tent that even seems peaceful despite a strong wind beating out tent all night.

Doug Anderson, retired music teacher, picked us up from Jean’s at 7:00 AM. He had a van and was very familiar with the road up to Potato Hill. During the drive, he told us about dropping Rocket Llama at the same trailhead in 2013. She started off in a blowing rain that became 3 feet of snow. For 8 days she was hunkered down in her tent while rescue teams searched for her. The search was national news. Rocket was 22 years old and it was her first time hiking without her father. TV showed her worried father and grandmother in a nearby town awaiting news. On the 8th day, the snow was hard enough to walk on, and Rocket followed a creek down to a forest service road where she bumped into searchers. In 2014 she started from Mexico again and successfully completed the entire trail. We hiked on and off with her in the desert that year.

A washout forced Doug to let us out 4 miles short of the trailhead, so we started walking. After about a mile, a Hoodoo campground pickup pulled alongside, and Charlie said to jump in. In about 10 minutes we were dropped at the trailhead.

We then walked for about 10 hours. We met the usual array of flying annoyances (flies and mosquitoes). A teacher stopped to talk to us and wanted advice on classroom management. Well every principal has to impart her or his wisdom. Hubris always extracts its toll. In this case it was Deb’s mosquito net left on the trail.

A few miles later we met two guys who were students at Williams College. They were so amazed that our friend’s grandson would be a freshman there next year. They checked their phones to see if he were on their counsellee list. Juniors counsel freshmen. When we walked on, they were still talking about how they would tell whomever got the grandson that they ran into someone who knew him on the PCT-which isn’t quite true. We don’t know this kid just grandma.

We never left the cool forest all day. Often the path was over-grown. But generally it was an easy day. We found a fabulous campsite by a gurgling stream. We thought we’d be alone but a girl showed up, and then the Williams Guy. And finally a young woman who erected her tent in haste a few feet from ours smack dab in the middle of the trail.  

This picture looks grainy but these are mosquitoes.

We packed our gear and said our goodbyes to Regina. She was hiking down to the ranch to get rid of her and our garbage and donate some unused gear and food to the hiker bins. Then, she was heading toward Muir Pass to summit the next day. She had decided to get off the trail at Bishop Pass. Prior to her departure, our camping buddy ” Where do people poop around here” offered her some sage advice regarding which trail to take. She asked him if he had hiked the suggested trail and he said no. She turned to him and said “I will take the trail that I am familiar with”. What a wise woman.
After hours of email tag with Terry, we had determined that divine intervention would guide our next move. If the universe wanted us to continue, then Terry would arrive with gear ready for the next section. If he arrived sans gear then the universe delivered a clear message that we had done enough. So we headed out surrendering our next steps. We would catch the 11:00 am ferry, but didn’t expect Terry until 5:00 PM because of the long drive up.
Without threatening weather and an easy downhill six mile jaunt with light packs, the return seemed uncermonious. At 10:20, we had the lake in view below us and we began the trek down over rocks and boulders.
For some unknown reason the trail disappeared before our very eyes. We looked to each other for guidance but all we could do is hike toward the lake. This hike in many ways was more challenging than other trails. Why you may ask? Because there was absolutely no trail and we crossed, climbed, crawled through brush and rocks. To our credit, we did not panic and continued moving forward, until we ultimately arrived at the landing for the ferry across Florence Lake.
The boat pilot was waiting for the appointed time to leave. We were the fourth and fifth passengers. The other three had followed the yellow bricks down. It was apparent how clear this path was marked at the landing, yet we never saw one brick at trailhead. Although the lake was low, it was still pretty in the sparkling light. The huge billowing cumulus clouds forming into whipped cream peaks over the mountains were just starting to show the dark edges that suggest storms. We didn’t care. We were across the lake in no time, where high on the rocks stood a man in shorts. Once he began to walk, we both recognized the gait as Terry’s.
The store at the top, which belonged to MTR as did the ferry concession, offered a wonderful selection of junk food. Donedidit even got a soda, Joaquin got chocolate milk and chips for all? We talked non-stop as we headed down off the glorious mountains into the Valley of the Shadow of Drought and the hundred degree heat. With no extra gear the universe guided us home.
Home. There is no place like home, Dorothy said over and over again. Max from the Wild Things just wanted to go home and be with people who loved him most of all. Max surrended being the King of all the wild things to return to his home. It was time for us to reconnect with our people and resupply the love associated with the home and heart.
Perhaps the divine will summon us to the wild things once again, and send an email attachment to you.

The day started with Joaquin and Donedidit traversing the San Joaquin River in search of natural hot springs. These hot springs are in the middle of a grassy Meadow. You stumble upon them as you see steam rising from the ground. 

A river crossing is an exercise in total and complete concentration as the current is powerful and rocks slippery. A misstep could be very dangerous. Joaquin and Donedidit completed this crossing successfully and enjoyed the hot springs. The return journey required equal concentration and determination. Donedidit always thanks the river recognizing the river’s power.

Did you know that drowning is the number one cause of death in the backcountry?

After our soak, we hiked  to the Muir Trail Ranch to see if we could use their internet. Joaquin needed to contact Useitup. Internet is very slow here and it cost $10.00 for 15 minutes. It takes 10 minutes to open an email! While waiting to use the computer, the massage therapist came into the office to discuss appointment times with store and reservation manager. Regina, our hiking buddy, asked the therapist for an appointment. Turns out she was available today and all of us had massages. This Muir Ranch is not looking as bad as the previous day’s rejection made us believe.

Our massages took place in a huge tent tucked in the back. You could hear the sound of San Joaquin River rushing by the tent. It was a gorgeous location to receive a massage. Donedidit had never felt so relaxed. 

At Muir Trail Ranch they have a plethora of resupply buckets for hikers to give food away or replenish their food supply with the other hiker’s give-aways.  You could find anything here from complete dinners to sunscreen. While browsing through the the resupply buckets, we met two interesting young men hiking the trail. They were both high school students, 15 and 16 years old from Sonoma County. It was amazing what strength and determination these young men demonstrated. If you can plan, organize, and complete the JMT, what could High School possible offer these young men?

You meet a different crop of people while hiking. One older gentleman shouted to Joaquin: “Are you limping, too” stating  he had horrendous blisters and thought so did Joaquin. Joaquin responded that “this is the way I walk.” He camped near us and later apologized to Joaquin. He also asked me (Donedidit) the $50,000 question: “where do people poop around here?”  I pointed to the woods above our campground and said “there.”  

  Donedidit crossing the San Joaquin River 

We waited for rain to pass, but it was only sprinkles, so we wasted more time crammed in our stinky, tiny tent. We’re tired of everything being wet. A cute pica skittered up hoping to gnaw more holes in Joaquin’s backpack cover, a black garbage bag.

We packed up and headed down to beautiful Marie Lake , a tarn rimmed by rugged mountains. We began the hateful task of feeding mosquitoes while we filtered water. Shortly, a solo female hiker, Regina, came down the trail. She appeared to be close to our age. She sat to rearrange herself and pack. She had a large water bladder hanging from the front of her neck. The liquid inside was yellow. It appeared to be a Foley catheter bag. The seat of her pants were patched with a large swatch of duct tape. We quickly became friends.

The three of us headed up Selden Pass a series of switchbacks. It was a short steep climb. Joaquin felt strong which she attributed to sleeping at 10,000 feet.  We were passed by a man in his early thirties carrying an American flag. We all converged at the top to take picture and wish each other a happy fourth. 

More hikers arrived and the conversation turned to today’s destination. It seemed everyone was heading to Muir Trail Ranch which was a mile or two off the trail. It offered gourmet food, showers, a hot springs, store and Internet. How could we resist? The turn off was only 8 miles down the trail. We were already behind and would need to modify our plans. Let’s do it in style.

We began at a bit faster pace then Regina, and we pulled away. The trail continued down through lush valleys with waters streaming from every direction. Our rock hopping skills have improved, and we skipped over stream stones with aplomb. Donedidit, being shorter than Joaquin, chose to walk through the water if stones were too far apart. This led to frequent changing between her Tevas and trail runners, no we don’t wear boots. 

When you stop on the trail you meet more people. At Sallie Keys Lake we were lunching on “Curry in a Hurry” when a father and teenaged son stopped to talk. The man, Russ@traildesign.com, had been in the backpacking gear design and sales business for sometime. He was interested in my titanium cup. He wanted to know where I purchased it. I told him Down Works a small shop in Santa Cruz. He said he knew Nick the owner. So this opened a long conversation.

Russ was from San Jose. Among the things we talked about was MTR, Muir Trail Ranch. They had just come from there. They spent two nights in a cabin. It all was wonderful “well worth the money.” They raved about everything. We were not planning on getting a cabin, but Regina, and her trail friend Jan, wanted us to share one with them. We were now seriously considering it.

Before we left, our lunch spot our flag bearing man approached with three men following closely behind. We decided to salute them and sing You’re a Grand Old Flag as they passed. They saluted back, and we could tell they’d been in the military. We later found out this was their four year anniversary of returning from Iraq.

A man passed wearing short tights, unusual garb for the trail or any man since the 1980s. He was headed for MTR. Then a group of seven young adults passed us heading north, they were camping at MTR and told us how to find the camping spot and hot springs at MTR. They said we could get a meal at the ranch. It wasn’t far off the trail. 

With this news, we started dashing down the trail. It was a couple miles of serious downhill switchbacks. We had leapfrogged with Regina several times when she or we had stopped. Now we were hiking closely. We came to a turn-off for Florence Lake. The three of us stopped to debate if this was the trail to MTR when the tights-wearing man came walking down the Trail. He told us he was coming from MTR, he said it was good, and it was only mile or so of all flat or gradual downhill. It started downhill and flat. We were sprinting giddily along, talking about getting gourmet items like chocolate milk, beer, French fries. 

Then after what seemed more than a mile, the trail started to climb. How could this be? The guy was so specific? We were beat up from the pounding downhill, and we were trying to book-it believing we could get a meal. Also someone had told us they had wifi that would allow us to make phone calls. We were on a mission. 

Finally, we found a turn off for the ranch. A guy was sitting on a rock. I asked him what he was doing and he asked me the same. I said we were going to the ranch to eat. He said we couldn’t. I ask if we needed to get a room. He said we couldn’t. I asked when the store closed. He said they didn’t sell much. I said we only wanted a beer. He shook his head. A soda? No. A bottle of water? No.

I couldn’t believe it. it seemed everyone was a, liar, liar, pants on fire. Trail rumors about places are rampant. I shouldn’t have been so surprised. But I was crestfallen for the next hour or so. Then with tents up we combined  two trail meals and dined with our new friends Regina and Jan. There were no mosquitoes, clear weather and despite the litter of tents a quiet 4th without exploding skies. 

   
  Donedidit & Regina summiting Seldon Pass 

Donedidit has many spiritual guides. From the start she noticed the many ways that the bear and the deer were with us. Yesterday as we headed blindingly on the Bear Creek Trail the lizards helped us on our way. Today we’re facing many fords. The streams and creeks are guiding us. She uses a mantra repeating, “I respect your currents and your power and the life giving wonders of water. I am strong and will tread respectfully across you.”

We crossed seven fords and were strong in facing each one. Thankfully the water was warm for Joaquin, and tolerable for Dr. Deet, formally known as Donedidit. We continued in wet shoes up the sharp climb to Marie Lake.  Once again the mosquitoes were our constant nemesis finding bare skin at wrist, faces and rears when it was necessary to expose them. 

The climb proved difficult for Joaquin. She’s still not acclimatized to 10,000 feet. Sometimes reaching our destination seemed so difficult. While constantly monitoring the clouds, fighting mosquitoes, shouldering heavy packs with essential food supplies that we could not force ourselves to eat, reapplying sunscreen and deet, drinking water, and finding water to filter. Key discovery: water equals hoards of mosquitoes and filtering water exposes skin for the mosquito buffet. Seems like they spread the word that we have removed gloves and mosquito netting. Come one, call all and you can eat at the flesh smorgasbord. We affectionately call them assholes. This leads to our next conversation: “WTF is their purpose and do they have assholes?” We ponder if these assholes maybe our true spiritual guides.” Their life expectancy is less than 24 hours. WTF???

BTW We heard on NPR that it is now ok to say WTF even though it has the f word in it because words like snafu have been added to our lexicon, and it too had the f word in it.

In case you do not know this, one of other spiritual guides is NPR. We admitted that we are NPR junkies and we’re unable to get our NPR fix, thus we have to recall and retell old NPR stories to satisfy our addiction.  Good thing we have a plethora of stored NPR driveway moments. 

Dr. Deet also sings entire scores of musical. Today’s performance will include a variety of songs from Oliver. As she sings she professes the she has a bad voice and cannot carry a tune. No animals have bothered us, and other hikers give us wide berth. Believe it or not, she knows the lyrics to the entire score of Westside Story. 

Tonight was a turning point for us. We no longer cared about picas, marmots or bears tearing into our tent. As the rain began while we we’re setting up, we threw our food in the tent to eat for dinner. Our hasty effort left the menu stark. It consisted of GORP, breakfast bars, Turkey Jerky (which only Dr. D. could eat), and mini candy bars. This was our most nutritious meal yet.

  Campsite

 Marie Lake

We are certain that this title has grabbed your attention. We left VVR on Thurs at 10:30 AM. It was a later start then we hoped for, but they don’t start the generator until 7:00 and we were stymied by fitting 9 days of food into an 8 day cooler, AKA bear canister. We got a lift from a man to the trailhead, that I might add cost us $10.00 a piece and a $5.00 tip. He was old afterall about Joaquin’s age. He recommended that we take the Bear Creek Trail instead of Bear Ridge as the climb would be more gradual and we would find plenty of water. This recommendation added 5 extra miles. He told us the majority of people take this route. 
What we soon discovered was not only did he forget to pull up his fly, he also gave bad hiking advice. The trail was extremely challenging and there were no other hikers. I understood how Moses felt as he lead his people to the promise land. He knew he was on a journey somewhere but was not quite sure which route to follow. We depend on our PCT phone app for directions, no we don’t have a map, and our app didn’t recognize this trail. Insert theme from Twilight Zone here.

Did we mention the mosquitoes yet?

Once again, thunderstorms were threatening. The trail took a turn and everything looked different, theme from Twilight Zone again. This section seemed rarely used, follage overgrown, bear poop and prints. We decided to turn back and devise plan B, insert theme from MASH here. At this point we thought the man was planning to return later to murder us, insert theme from Psycho shower scene. However, the trail was so treacherous we doubt he could even make it up the mountain. 

We hunkered down in the tent waiting for rain. We heard the tap, tap of hiking polls and Donedidit jump out of the tent to ask the hiker where we were. We were about three mile from the PCT. It was about six and not raining. But we decided to stay put and cook Cuban coconut black beans and rice.

Did we mention the dog that climbed trees? We have pictures, but the dog looks like a hole it the tree, so forget about it,

In spite of Donedidit’s constant use of Deet she is being eaten alive by Mosquitos . The Mosquitos know a good thing and the word is out! Let’s party on Donedidit’s blood. Not fun or attractive. Mind you we do not have a mirror and unless Joaquin says WTF is on the side of your head, I do not notice the lumps. Without a brush I now have dreadlocks! 

We finally hit the hay and were woken up at midnight with another 2 hour shower accompanied by lightening and thunder. These storms impact the various water crossings we must do tomorrow. No worry. 

Did we mention Mosquitos? BTW we are two days behind schedule:)

Happy birthday to Brendan 27, and Greg 68. 
Donedidit’s stone dancing injury. Will she survive?

  The day started early. Up at 5:00 am on the trail by 6:00 am surrounded by swarms of mosquitoes who had the early shift. 
The first two creek fords required skillful maneuvering with steady steps and rock dancing. The third ford was a bit more challenging with swift water and slippery rocks. Donedidit and Joaquin crossed several streams successfully without incident. During this crossing Donedidit’s hiking stick collapsed leaving her dangerously close to a complete fall. She recovered quickly, backpack remained dry but she skinned her shin. She and Joaquin took a short break after the crossing. While Donedidit changed her wet clothes, Joaquin filtered water. However, Joaquin’s water filtering effort was not a compete success and we had limited water as we finished the last four miles. 

To arrive at our next destination, Vermillon Valley Resort (VVR) we had to hike down to catch a water taxi. The lake is now reduced to 1/3 of it’s size. You hike at least 3/4 of mile across a dry lake to catch the water taxi to VVR. It is really brings home the seriousness of our drought. 

The ride over to VVR was pleasant. Skipper Todd skillfully motored us across the lake. It was the first time in 3 days that someone lifted our packs for us. 

We found a room in the inn, showered, ate lunch, did laundry and updated our journal. I (Donedidit) discovered on this trip that time on the trail is dictated by weather and the need to arrive at destinations at a certain time. When we stop to eat, check our feet for blisters, reorganize our packs, make or breakdown campsites, avoid rainstorms consume many hours a day. Avoiding mosquitoes and thunderstorms is a full time job! 

We woke in amazement that we had slept at all. We were wedged closely together at the foot of the tent in order to not sleep with heads downhill. We made due.
We fired up the Jet boiled for coffee, and Donedidit’s oatmeal. It was a bit of a late start at 8:00, but we had less than 14 miles to go.
We passed beautiful Virginia Lake with the wonderfully flat campsites our previous night’s destination. 
The hike up Silver Pass slowed Joaquin again as the thunderheads mounted. We were at the top of the pass with several others, and we all took off at breakneck speed to find some safety at lower altitude. About 2:30 we set up the tent near other hikers. Once again it was a hasty attemp coupled with a small opportunity to only get one sleeping bag out of its pack into the tent for some warmth and comfort from rocks and pine cones. We were so lucky to get setup in time. The storm was huge with drenching rain and scary lightning bolts and canyon booming thunder. It didn’t let up for two hours. During this storm we occupied ourselves by recounting our collective memories of “Dark Shadows”. We resurrected the character Barnaby Collins, the vampire and right when we contemplated the other characters and the superb acting a thunderous noise surrounded our tent. We both screamed like the characters from Dark Shadows and hugged each other. So there we are in a deep, dark forest in the middle of no where with a horrific thunderstorm, hoping Barnaby Collins will rescue us or any of the other fine actors, if they are not too busy. No cast members from Dark Shadows were available for rescue missions. 
When it broke, we hung tent, tarp, fly, and sleeping bags on trees and rocks to dry. We made Pad Thai, setup our bear canisters stools to watch the many hikers stream by. We all commiserated about the too close lightning strikes and torrential rain.
You probably can guess at our next problem. Neither of us thought about it, but rain brings swollen streams to navigate. People heading north warned us not to attempt fording streams this evening but to wait until morning. We ultimately surrendered to the fact that we needed to stay and camp before the fords on a flat campsite. 
After the rain the forest smells wonderful but it brings out an army of Mosquitos. We believe their only purpose is to annoy and bite harmless hikers. My new perfume is now “deet” a powerful and somewhat effective mosquito repellent. Joaquin does not share my love for “eau de deet ” and prefers to hike blindly with mosquito net hindering her vision and hiking skills. With all my deet I still have tons of bites. Damn Mosquitos.