1) PCT Update Numero Uno

Hello Everyone.

I don't usually write large group emails... in fact, I'm not sure I've ever written
one.
However, time is short here and I thought it would be good to let ya'll know
what's going on. I've probably not talked to many of you for some time, as
I'm not a great correspondent, and you probably don't know what I'm up to. I
figured that some of you may want to know what I'm up to. Some of you
already know what I'm up to, you may want to know the deeeeetails...

I didn't include everyone of the people I've emailed with in the past couple of
years in this message -- for instance, the propeller repairman and the audio
vacuum tube specialist and other sorts of people like that did not receive this
message. But most of the rest of ya did. So, if large group emails like this
piss you off... I'm sorry. You can just call me spam or something and go on
about your day. But, otherwise, hello! It's been a while!

My friend Chris Adams and I are walking up the Pacific Crest Trail from the
Mexican Border back home to Washington this summer. The PCT is a 2700
mile long trail that goes from the Mexican border to the Canadian border. Why
are we doing this? well... for no reason in particular. Not to save any thing or
change anything -- other than ourselves. It's a good way to insure that I
spend the summer Outside -- really outside. It's going to take 4-5 months.
We're going to get real tough and strong and take in a lot of cool sights, and
be distanced from the crazy 'real world' for a little while. Things are going to
slow down. Thoughts are going to flow more steadily and clearly -- hopefully.

We left Seattle after stressful weeks of moving, preparing, and finalizing

various projects. I moved all my stuff into storage just after I finished a
recording project with some Methow Valley Hip Hop artists.

All the stress started to peel back as we got onto the airplane headed for
Palm Springs. Things started to fall into place as things often do on a trip
like this -- when you let things happen to you, rather than expect certain
things to happen at certain times. That sounds a bit silly, but it all worked
out so smoothly.

We stepped off the plane, and inquired about the bus up to the high desert --
The man at the info stand decided to walk us out to the bus stop, just to
show us where it was. The bus only goes twice a day to the town of Yucca
Valley near Joshua Tree, and according to the schedule, we had already
missed the bus. But it was there. Running late I suppose. The Driver said
she would wait for us to get our bags from the claim, and just like that we
were off.

We had expected to have to wait around the airport for six or so hours. We
loaded up on some groceries at Yucca Valley, hopped another bus to the
town of Joshua Tree, got California burritos at Santana's where I spotted two
girls who looked like they were headed up to the park. I asked them if they
could take us up to the park.

Next thing we know, it's not even 1 pm, and we're sitting in Hidden Valley
Campground in Joshua Tree Park. Wow. The world of stress and preparation
and doubts and worries was someplace else now. It was hot and silent, and
for those of you who've been to Jtree, you know the state of mind that gets
induced there. Chris had never been, so I got to live his first experience
vicariously.

After about a week of adventuring around the desert and doing some climbing
when Eric came out from LA to meet us, we left the friendly park for the
beginning of the PCT at the Mexican Border near Campo, CA.

We'd never been to the Mexican border before. It's a strange and hostile
place. As we were filling up some gallon jugs of water in the parking lot of the
Post Office, an ominous man in a truck rolled down his window and said,
"that water's going to last you 16 hours out there." He drove off.

Campo is basically a border patrol headquarters. There must be over a

thousand vehicles there stationed to intercept illegal immigrants and drug
runners. We stopped in at the BP office to make sure we could proceed to
the trail with no problems they seemed to think we were silly and a waste of
their time. It's an intimidating place.

The border itself is a big metal fence behind another barbed wire fence. In
between the two is about 30 feet of sand where the patrol drives their jeeps at
high speeds up and down the line. Apparently, they groom out the sand each
night so that they can see the foot prints of Mexicans attempting to cross
into America.

Being here really brought home the strange reality of our country's
relationship with Mexico. It's hard to describe how many border patrol
vehicles and helicopters were there. How much fuel they must spend
charging up and down the line. And still, it seems many people enter the
country daily to attempt to hike through the hot desert with little or no water.

Eric took a few pictures of us at the Monument, and he took off back for LA.
There we were -- alone at this harsh terminus, with heavy packs and 2700
miles to go.

We started walking.

Along the way, the boarder patrol paid us no attention. If anything they
laughed at us. Two gringos with big bags. Guitar and Banjo. Gallon jugs of
water strapped on to the outsides of our packs. We were pretty green that
first stretch. Carrying way too much stuff. Too much food. Too much water.
We made about 12 miles that night to a camp on a ridge top before we were
totally spent.

There were constant reminders of the border and of the struggle of Mexicans
to enter the country. All along the trail were little pieces of cut up blankets
tied with twine. We figured these were little sacks used to carry water or
food. They were discarded all over the sides of the trail. Possibly to show
the way?... Helicopters flew low throughout the night.

The next day was very hot. There were warning signs in Spanish saying to
not expose yourself to the elements. They had icons of an angry sun,
vicious rattlesnakes, and other such scary things. We weren't sure exactly
the purpose of these signs. They lined the road that one would descend from
to reach the trail to get out of the border region. We figured they were some
kind of intimidation tactic. Funny that they weren't also in English. Though,
the sun was angry and hot. There was no potable water. There were snakes
and tarantulas and cactus spines.

We did not personally encounter any Mexicans. Other hikers we ran into did.
One offered a parched trio some water. They declined even though they had
no water.

Moving on from here, we experienced an unseasonal heat wave. Daytime

temps were over 100. We gravitated towards traveling at night, and
languishing in what little shade we could find during the day. It was hard to
sleep sprawled out under a juniper bush at high noon in this heat. But we had
to keep moving in the night time (with the full moon) to get to water.
There's a fine balance of carrying water through the desert: You've got to
have water, but the more water you carry, the slower you can move. 20 mile
pushes on five or so Liters of water became the norm. The pacific Crest Trail
Asscn. has established water cashes along the way. These are maintained
by 'trail angels'. Other places we found springs to filter water from. One day
we huddled in the shade of a giant concrete water tank for about six hours
until the temps dropped below 100.

One particularly hot day we decided to hitch a ride from the desert to the cool
mountain town of Jullian. Because we weren't really moving in the daytime
anyways, we figured it'd be good to get out of the blazing desert and get
some food and beer and such.

A lot of people hike the PCT each year, and many people in the areas that
the trail traverses are quite familiar with thru hikers. I was sitting on the side
of the road playing banjo in the morning sun, and without even thumbing, this
guy picked us up and took us to Jullian. It turned out he had hiked the trial a
few years ago.

It was good to hear his perspectives about how the body slowly adjusts to the
punishment of hiking 20+ miles day after day. After a few weeks, he said,
the pain and fatigue stops, and a state of hiker euphoria sets in. got to get
yer hiker legs.

Jullian is a small antiquated town which is remarkably like Winthrop. It was

funny to see how the two towns paralleled each other. They even have their
own sort of westernization committee. It was a big day for Harley riders in
from San Diego. It was a Sunday. The streets were filled with the same
kind of tourri that flood Winthrop on busy summer weekends.

Thanks to Francis, I recognized a good opportunity to start Busking. I set up

on the shaded sidewalk and played guitar and banjo and sang for a couple of
hours. I made Seven dollars! oh yea!... but it was fun. It was fun to see with
my own eyes some of the things Francis noted about busking. Namely how
Animals and small children are always sucked in by the music.. and then
their owners nervously pull them away and past you down the sidewalk. But
it was a good confidence test and builder for myself. Later I ended up playing
with some other local musicians on the street. And as one guy saw us later
that evening walking out of town looking for a ride back out to the dessert, he
called me by name from his truck and asked if we needed a ride! what luck!
Like I said, things tend to fall into place on a trip like this.
We got dropped off at the Scissors crossing, where we drank a tallboy of beer
in the shade of a bridge, and then headed up on granite mountain in what
would prove to be a ridiculous 40 miles of trail. You can walk from the
crossing to Warner Springs on the highway in 20 miles, or you can walk the
trail between the two in 40 miles. The trail here is one of the most silly ones
I've ever walked. It basically meanders around every ridge and gully on the
entire mountain. At points you feel like you are walking into the mountain...
into and all around every little nook and cranny of the hill. It made no sense.
You'd walk around one point, and see the trail going the opposite direction for
a mile around some other point. Like a big squiggly octopus. It was very
frustrating. round and round and round. At one point I got worried that we had
just walked entirely around the whole mountain. But finally the trail
straightened out and we moved past that section.

It's been interesting coming to terms with the limitations of our bodies. We've
seen lots of folks along the way who seem to be flying by us. They seem to
be pushing themselves incredibly hard through the heat and these first few
weeks of trail. It's been hard for Chris and I to not be affected by the
competition. It's hard to be passed. It's hard to see somebody fly by you
when you're succumbing to exhaustion. We're still struggling with listening to
our bodies rather than listening to ideas of competition and ideas that we
need to go a certain distance each day to keep up with some kind of time
line.

In the end, it seems you're just competing with your own body. Trying to
know when you can push yourself, when you have to push yourself, and
when you've got to rest.

We've been eating really well. Back in the Methow this spring, Chris and I
cooked and dehydrated a whole bunch of good food. Sausage and potatoes,
Macaroni and cheese, Curry... We've been eating the best I've ever eaten
outdoors. The food's been so good that The temptation for burgers and other
food from civilization has not been as strong as usual -- although still present
of course. We've been sending these meals and other supplies ahead in
boxes to post offices along the way. C/O general delivery.

Right Now, I'm sitting at the Warner Springs Lodge. After the first 100 miles
-- which proved to be even more difficult due to the unseasonably high temps
-- we needed some rest. Time to heal blisters and other abrasions, and let the
muscles rebuild themselves after 6 days of abuse. After traveling only at
night in six or eight hour pushes from sunset to sleep and then pre sunrise to
the point where it's too hot to carry on, we were pretty low on sleep. Last
night was our first night of more than 4 hours of sleep. This rest affords me
the opportunity to compose this message and check in with the world. I'm
pretty happy here with my cup of coffee, just out of the hot springs. The
sulfur turned all of my silver black. It's kind of neat.

So... while much has been omitted, and the rest has only been touched on,
that's what I'm up to. Walkin this trail. It's something I never really thought I'd
do, but am pleased to be doing. I can feel already that unless something
unforeseen happens, I'll at some point be making it the whole way. This is
hard, but it's satisfying. It's nice to be outside, to be in motion, to be
footloose and open and ready for whatever comes my way on this journey.

I must apologize to Chris for this one sided email. He wanted to have nothing
to do with the computer, so I took it upon myself to write. Hopefully I didn't
say anything that was wrong or leave something out...

anyhow... Hope all of you are well, and thanks for reading this if you've got
this far through my ramblings.

Lot's of people hike the PCT every year, so I'm not trying to say I'm special.
Anybody with willingness and patience could do this... But, I thought some of
you would like to hear about the adventure.

I don't know when I'll be near the internet again and have the downtime to
write... but there will be some more updates to come. Maybe pictures too!
Please forward this to anyone you think may be interested.

Happy summer!

ps. Francis, could you please get this to the luna folks? I don't have any
contact info there.

2 PCT update #2, from ridiculous to riduculoser

Hello all.

Didn't think I'd be near the Internet again so soon, but here I am in Idyllwild,
CA. With some interesting going's ons.

So, it was 105+ in a desert heat wave four or so days ago, and we ran into
below freezing temps and alpine conditions in a cold spell on our way through
the San Jacinto mountains en route to Idyllwild. From extreme to extreme.
Can't we have some middle?

After 30+ miles on Saturday, we staggered into the parking lot at the Devil's
Slide trailhead. I saw the familiar outline of a police vehicle, and a flashlight
shone in my eyes. Are you Matt and Dan he asked? Nope I said.

The mountains near Idyllwild received an unusual cold blast this weekend,
and at 8000 feet, 8+ inches of snow were on the ground. Search and rescue
was looking for some holiday weekend lost climbers near Taquitz rock.

Earlier that morning we had set out from near Highway 74 -- on the other side
of the San Jacinto mountains from Idyllwild -- with the intent of traveling
somewhere near 20 miles. As we climbed -- and descended, and then
climbed again up to 8600 feet -- we found ourselves in high alpine conditions
with lots of fresh snow. Luckilly a boot track was still visible in the snow
showing the PCT and the way to Idyllwild.

We walked through the clouds and falling snow -- me with puddles in my

shoes and freezing hands, Chris in Chaccos! (he was determined to hike in
them after chacco agreed to make him a new pair, no questions asked)

It became apparent that we were not going to want to camp up at this

elevation with our wet and minimal gear. After the 105+ week in the desert, I
had sent ahead some of my warmer clothes to Big Bear. Nobody expected
this crazy cold spell. (There were tornadoes in SoCal... a first i think)

At 5:00 pm it was already below freezing, and I was afraid my shoes would
be ice cubes in the morning if we camped in the snow. Even stopping for a
few minutes to eat tortillas robbed me of all my warmth. We realized that we
were going to have to push on to Idyllwild that night. Chris was angry, we
were both tired -- however the prospect of beer and food at the end of this
seemingly endless leg sounded pretty good.

The trail in the San Jacintos is pretty spectacular. When I wasn't deliriously
staring at the ground ahead of me, and when we weren't totally socked in by
storm clouds, the panoramas were intense! Much of this trail was blasted out
of rock walls, and the trail winds in and out and around of some crazy ridges
and pinnacles. At points, the trail connects two spires with a narrow bridgelike
path. In and out of the mist... cedar trees and pines, blue granite. It was
neat. But much of this went unnoticed as we shlogged allong through the
muck and snow.

So... we finally make it to saddle junction, and find the Devil's slide trail down
to Idyllwild. This trail is a bitch. Down some thousand + feet steeply on
endless switchbacks after 28 miles was no fun. Finally we saw the reflection
of license plates in our headlamps. Oh yea, it's memorial day. there were
tons of cars in the trailhead parking lot at 10 pm. Who knows what they were
doing...

After talking with the cop, asking where to eat, and which way to walk on the
road, we start down the road to Idyllwild. A search and rescue car flies by us
and then stretches to a stop. "have you seen matt or dan?" Nope we say.

Another car drives past my outstretched thumb.... then turns around way
ahead. "Are you PCT hikers," a woman asked? She opened up the back of
her car, we threw our wet packs in and sat down. A back seat of a car has
never felt so good.

We got into Idyllwild at 10:20 or so, and she dropped us off at the only open
establishment, Joanne's, a divey bar that rivals the Branding Iron in Twisp. I
got about 20 french fries for 4 dollars, and a beer.

I set up my shoes on the outside fireplace, and watched them from inside as
they steamed dry. It was cold outside now. Real cold. Chris and I were
drinking beer. They were blaring Led Zeppelin on an intense sound system,
and a bunch of real tough looking guys were getting belligerently drunk. We
talked about not looking at anybody the wrong way. This was a place where
you could end up in a fight without ever knowing what happened.

Drunks played with my shoes outside and actually helped me rotate them
when they got a little too toasty.

We were wondering what to do. It was cold. There was a state park nearby
that we were going to walk to and set up our tarp. It seemed like a long ways
away. We drank another beer.

At one point outside the fire, some people asked where we had come from. I
told them Highway 74, this morning. They didn't really seem to compute. I
got to talking to one guy who looked a little out of place -- not as tough, not
as drunk, not as intimidating... and rather quickly he invited us to stay at his
place. I'd heard him earlier talking about flying to luxembourg in a couple of
days, so he seemed legit.

I took him up on his offer, and said we were ready to go whenever he was.
He was ready. We paid our tab, crammed our stuff in packs and got in his
waiting car.
On the car ride home , we got to talking, and it turns out he is a professional
live sound engineer, and He has toured all over the world in the last 13 years
doing sound for big name acts. What a coincidence. I picked his brain about
all kinds of sound information, and we stayed up till 2 -- quite deliriously --
listening to his collection of live recordings.

This guy was definitely living the rockstar life. He'd spent the last 8 years
living near Joshua Tree, and had just recently moved to Idyllwild. Him and
his roommate who was also a sound guy had this huge house. Because
they're both on tour so much, they rent it out most of the time. He currently
tours with Jimmy Eat World, and also had toured with the Mars Volta. He
talked of having girlfriends in cities all over the world. He showed us his
pictures of him with Metalica and Pete Townsend. Slipped in with some
naked shots of women on his wild nights. I got the impression that these
pictures were not mistakenly slipped into the slideshow.

We fell asleep on the floor of a loft listening to some crazy old recording of
the nitty gritty dirt band. At some point a new concert started early into the
morning and i bumbled my way downstairs to turn off the crazy fast banjo.

"Crazy... so crazy," I thought. A few hours ago we were staggering up high in

the snow at 8600 feet. Worried about miles to go, and a cold cold night
ahead, and here we were in a snapshot of the rockstar life. Strange.

The next morning He took us back into town, and we had a monster
breakfast. Surprisingly, chris and I were still hungry after this, and the typical
post breakfast stupor never ensued.

We all realized that we had not introduced ourselves yet, and as we parted I
got our host's contact info, and gave him mine on a piece of paper on which I
wrote, "I will work for you." He didn't seem to take it too seriously, but he did
mention being able to help me out in the business at some point. I'm going to
stay in touch with him.

So, we went to the state park, set up our stuff, slept for most of the day,
made dinner, slept the night, and now it's monday morning. A coffee shop let
me use their internet -- because I was a hiker (i'm in their office).

that's it. We hear temps are going to get hot again as we climb up to 9000
feet briefly before descending down almost to sea level in 20 miles to cross
the 10 freeway where the wind farm is. We will then climb right back up the
other side and head towards my down coat and other items at Big Bear.

I forgot to mention before, that we are totally indebted to Baylie, who is

sending us all of our food and other things from home in Winthrop, and who is
also looking after Musashi and the blue van. Thanks again and again!

More later.

3) Wrightwood

We're having a hard time trying to find a place to take a shower in

Wrightwood. I'm not sure I've ever smelt worse than this. My red visor is
practically white with crystallized sweat. Dirt makes good sunscreen if you
don't care how dirty you look. So far nobody has noticeably been offended by
my appearance or odor. We're thinking that we will go to the pines motel
around 11 to see if they will let us shower in a room that somebody just
checked out of. Never hurts to ask. But at some point today a shower will be
mandatory.

We didn't stay at the Pines last night. $60 was a little much. We found a nice
wash to sleep in, conveniently located just behind the post office and bar. It
was our first successful urban bivouac. (saves lots of money)

Once again, the Wrightwood scene was very reminiscent of the bar scene in
the Methow. There was a Branding Iron like bar -- only two stories, and
packed with young locals last night. I sang a Sinatra karaoke song, and Chris
and I bumbled our way through a couple games of pool. Of course, I
scratched on the 8 ball shot.

We got into Wrightwood yesterday. It was quite a hike up from the 15

freeway. From about 3000 feet up to 8600, then down 2000 knee busting feet
to the outskirts of town, where a pickup truck was waiting to give us a ride.
(this was not pre aranged, except possibly by fate) We came out of the
forest, not quite sure where we were, and asked if this was the way to
Wrightwood, and the man said, "hop in the back, I'll take you there." It was
that easy.

On friday, we arrived at the 15 freeway and had a quintessential American

Experience.

I'm not ashamed to say that the night before we arrived at the point where the
PCT crosses under I-15, I fell asleep with excitement about rumors of a
McDonnalds at the intersection. I haven't eaten there for a while. But salty
french fries and cold soda sounded real good. Chris Was not as excited.

That night, we camped at the silverwood State park. At first we were just
going to hide in the trees somewhere and sleep. It's great traveling without a
car. Rangers never know that you are there. You can sleep anywhere out of
sight, for free. Use the facilities. (I guess this is freeloading, but they make
enough money from the 20 dollar entrance fee they charge vehicles, (not to
even mention camping). Also not having a car, is a huge relief because you
never have to worry about where you park the thing. Theft, vandalism. Dead
batteries etc.

So that night, as we somehow managed to walk a 22 mile day before 6 pm, I

approached the entrance station to inquire about a store 1 mile down the road
that might have beer or other refreshments. The store was closed. The girl at
the station dug this box of hot dogs out of the mini refrigerator, and gave us 5
hot dogs. I put them in a used graham cracker bag. We ate them raw. They
were good.

Since I'd already approached the ranger station, and because we got the free
hot dogs, we thought we might as well pay the 4 dollar hiker camp fee, and
be legit. We walked about a mile on pavement to our designated site
and cooked our mac and cheese which also had hot dogs in it (they don't
ever rehydrate too well). We crashed out before it was dark out.

Sometime in the night there was a gushing sound, and all of a sudden we
were getting wet. The sprinklers had come on to water the lawn (where the girl
had said we could camp) Luckily for us, we did not camp on the lawn, but we
still got all kinds of wet. Chris was pissed. It's funny. We paid the money,
went to our designated site, and then all of our stuff got wet. Even though
there was not a cloud in the sky.

So... going in spirals here... The Quintessential American Experience:

I-15 is a huge thoroughfare that goes from the LA area to Las Vegas.
Hundreds of semis must pass by every minute, and lots of travelers. It was
Friday, and we sat in a corner table back by the bathrooms in the roadside
McDonnalds. We sat there for over three hours escaping the mid day desert
heat. That's definately the longest time I've ever spent in a McDonnalds. Of
course, the food was a disappointment. The frys were not as good as I
remembered, and I drank too much soda. The cold stuff felt so good to
drink.
We saw all kinds of people walk in and out of there. There must have been
five different rushes that were followed by empty times. Families, couples,
singles... Old beater cars with a seven person family, and shiny beamers with
hot young couples headed to vegas for the weekend. All that was at this exit
on the freeway was the McDonnalds, and a gas station.

Anybody could stop off there, from all over the world. There were tourists.
there were businessmen. There were college party boys with their shirts off
and their super cleavage girlfriends. And there was us. Whereas people have
always talked to us every other place we went, Nobody even dared to make
eye contact with us. Vagrants. Smelly, dirty. With Backpacks! I felt like
such an outsider there. On this big adventure of sorts, doing things that many
people could not comprehend doing. These people seemed to be living such
a caged life. (my impression of course)

I wrote this axiom of sorts in my journal that night... it sounds kind of elitist,
but maybe i'm a snob... "You're lucky if you can view mainstream american
culture from the outside - in. Looking the Inside out -- if you're able to see out
-- is a place of self doubt and longing. Looking from the outside is a place of
longing too -- longing that things could be different."

I say it's the Quintessential Ammerican Experience because -- well i'm not
totally sure. I', thinking of Baudrilliard's "America" It just rings out in my mind
as what I associate with mainstream America. Freeway travel, fast food, a
location that only exists to accommodate transience. In between two cities
that are at the forefront of the generation of contemporary American Culture --
which is really some big illusion that exists in ideas that are pumped into our
heads by the telescreen.

But the coolest thing happened. When it finally came time to leave, we were
packing up our bags in the parking lot. There was a large Hispanic family
who had been dining in close proximity to us. Two young boys had seemed
quite interested in us. As we were packing, the family was saying their
goodbyes in the parking lot (They had rendezvoused at the junction).

These two boys were completely fascinated with us and our gear. They
listened to chris and I talking of our plans, of miles to go -- just over those
hills. Where we would camp that night, where we would get water, when we
would arrive in Wrightwood. They were totally wide eyed. It seemed they
had never seen anybody doing anything like this in real life before. They
must have stared at us for 10 minutes, tugging at their mom's arm asking her
what was that we just put in our bags.

It makes me so happy to think that perhaps just my presence there at that

time could inspire those boys to pursue adventures. To learn to explore our
country like so many of previous generations of Americans did. Their
curiosity was fundamental. You could see it burning in their eyes. They
wanted to go over those hills too.

But for so many of our culture who live the TV dream, going over those hills
is close to impossible, or just totally unnecessary. We are strong animals.
It's amazing how fast you can return to the wilderness and leave a place like
this behind and below once you start walking. just a couple of hours, and the
15 freeway is a speck of lights in the valley below.

Along those lines, I'm amazed at the shape I'm in now. I can walk up a
steady grade for miles without breathing hard. My legs don't get sore. I don't
stop at the switchbacks to catch my breath. It's just a powerful, smooth,
steady stride. It almost feels good to go uphill. I get some song in my head,
and I walk at that rhythm. I get on some mental tangent, and the time just
goes. At some point, a general fatigue sets in. That usually means it's time
to eat something.

It's gotten to where time just slips. Once I start walking, and get into the
groove, I have no Idea of how long it's been since I last stopped. I notice
when the shadows get smaller. I feel the heat of High Noon. Then I feel the
day ease into evening as the light gets more pleasant. This is when my feet
start to hurt. After about 18 miles, it seems there's nothing that I can do.
The feet hurt. Then I start thinking about dinner.

There's so much to write about. I've got all these ideas that I've milled over
for hours.

here's one.

This is almost a ridiculous metaphor, but i've been exploring it.

The PCT is a windy, sometimes brutally inefficient trail. You'll walk up, and
then walk right back down something. You'll walk in and out of canyons for
days, when you could have just gone over one hill to the other side. It gets
really frustrating. Coming down Fuller ridge on San Jacinto peak, the trail
winds and winds for miles. It's crazy to look at on a topo map. Finally, after
20 some waterless miles, you see the ground, and a water faucet about 300
feet below. But the trail does not go down. It goes sideways on two switch
backs that are over two miles long. You even walk up, while you're trying to
walk down. Damn this PCT I often think.

But this is the path I've chosen to walk. While it's frustrating, i'm trying to just
accept the path and every turn it takes. In some ways it's easier just to not
think about where I'm going, and just think about following the path. I've been
working on this.

This is not my usual way. I'm a mountaineer. I go up -- straight up -- when i

need to get up. I walk in straight lines. I make my own paths. I find my own
way. Usually the routefinding is the crux of all of this.

So, the metaphor I'm extrapolating here is about the larger sense of how a
path applies to life. One example is the idea of pre-destination (for instance,
Calvinism). The idea that everything has already been decided for you. All
the choices you make in life have already been made for you by some higher
power. It's no use to struggle. Just walk that path, and that's life for you.

In some ways, it's a great relief to accept a visible path ahead and to not
question its route or destination. I can't help but tie this to spiritual beliefs.
Having faith in a religion could be so easy. Questions could be answered.
The route is clear ahead, well marked and easy to follow.

I'm always making things hard for myself. Trying to find my own way.
Getting lost in the brush. Getting beaten up by the Devil's Club. Usually i get
to the same places that the paths go, but by a more difficult route. Maybe i
get there faster, or more directly, or sometimes much less directly.
Sometimes however, I go way higher and way further than any path goes.
And I cherish these extremes.

So this is my metaphor. Something I think about when I'm walking this crazy
squiggily trail. My mind wanders.

So much more to i could say, but really don't have the time: The first big
running water on the trail at Whitewater -- bathing in the creek. Ascending
back up into the San gorgonio mountains via Sweltering Mission Creek
Canyon. The strange hiker hostel in Big Bear, CA. The Burritos, and the
Beers. The hotsprings.

The hotsprings must be discussed. They were amazing. here is an excerpt

from my Journal:
Deep Creek Hot Springs 6/4?

Today has been the first day of the trip that I felt I have had the time and
occasion to really slip into the outdoors. To really feel a place, to be relaxed
in that place. To not have an agenda, and just six more miles to go. It's put
some things about this trip into perspective.

It's becoming a job. To a certain degree this is to be expected, but a

disappointment also. Nature and the peace it provides are whizzing past us
just as we wish the miles to do. Having a day like today makes me realize
how necessary it is to increase this type of occasion on our trip in the future.

The goal of completing the PCT could subvert the ultimate goal of spending
time outdoors. They could be at contrary purposes to each other in some
ways. The PCT really is a gerbil's wheel for a certain type of achiever.

Of course there's the challenge of completing the trail in a summer. Walking

from Mexico to Canada -- a noble challenge. But the ramifications of that
goal into the reality of a day to day, non-stop race against clock and calender
are not exactly pleasant or healthy to bear.

IT seems the best option is to carry on, keeping today in mind. Disregarding
the calender to a certain degree to boost overall enjoyment of the trip. If i'm
still walking in Washington, it may not matter what week of what month it is.
But Winter does come.

Arriving at the hot springs last night after a 22 mile day, after reading and
hearing about the place: nudists, drugs, rangers, vandals, blah... I had
constructions and apprehensions floating in my mind.

The place is quite peaceful. How did nudism become an 'ism' and it's
practitioners become 'ists'? Once all the constructs are dealt with, It's totally
natural to be naked amongst others.

The springs are built into the cliffs, or are the cliffs and rocks themselves.
Deep in places and hot. The hot water flows out of cracks in rocks and
bubbles up from the creek bottom. You can tread water in a 105 degree pool,
then jump into the adjacent river/creek to cool off.

It seems that most PCT hikers stay away from the place, and move through.
We stayed a whole day and two nights there. it was great!

We're definitely some of the slowest hikers (in terms of total distance
covered) out of many people we've seen. But we're getting a reputation to be
fun loving -- those crazy guys with instruments. Lots of people cut the straps
off their pack to shave off ounces. We've got a guitar and a banjo that each
weigh four pounds. And Chris doesn't even play yet. I keep telling him to
send the thing home if he's not going to play, but he keeps it. But he's yet to
play the banjo. I play it all the time though! lucky for me.

One last thing. The Benefits of thru hiking:

It's so great to be walking in one direction. To not have to return anyplce. To

keep moving forward, not look back, and to see new sights ahead and let the
past fall behind. To not have to worry about going back the way you came.
Going up Mission Creek Canyon was neat for this reason. I've always liked
exploring canyons, but I've never walked all the way up one, climbed to the
top, and not had to return to a parking lot or trailhead. This type of movement
is therapeutic, like Kerouac's travels. It's also escapism, but that's ok. I little
American Wandering. It's fun. I'm not running from anything too serious.

Thanks for reading this, if you got through all that. And thanks to all who
have responded. It's been great to hear from every one of you. If I haven't
responded, it's because I don't really have much time on the Internet after i
write a monster like this.

4) PCT update #4 -- 700 miles out of socal

"Hey, what's wrong with you?" the little boy said as he walked out the gate
onto the side of the road where I was sitting under the shade of the only tree
for 10 miles in either direction.

"Nothing," I said. "Just resting in the shade."

Chris and I decided to cut out 26 miles of the PCT by walking 16 miles in a
straight line across a corner of the Mojave desert on an arrow straight road.
At this point on the PCT, the trail is forced to make a huge U shaped detour
because of a large plot of private land with stubborn owners who denied
access to the PCT. The trail ends up following the one of the underground
aquaducts that provides water for Southern California. We thought skipping
these miles would be a good thing. (form talking to others who walked them,
sounds like we made a good descision).

It was about 2 pm, and very hot. I had been looking at this tree for about four
hours, eagerly anticipating the shade that I hoped it would provide. En route,
there was nothing. Just a flat expanse of exposed desert.

I had been sitting in the shade of this tree for some time as I waited for the
day to cool off so I could proceed down the road to it's end and a rendezvous
with the PCT.

The little boy and his sister asked me all kinds of questions about what I was
doing. I could tell he was Mexican by the way he exclaimed Mexico!!?? --
pronounced properly in spanish - -- when I told him where I had started
walking. They gave me a cold Sprite and filled up my water bottle. That
sprite fixed me right up. And at about 4:30 I was ready to start walking again.

The past two weeks have been extremely difficult. We walked 250 miles
(from Agua Dulce to Kennedy Meadows) in 11 days. Unknowingly to us at the
time, the temperatures broke record highs as we crossed the desert. I guess
that explains why it seemed so hard.

We attempted to walk at night, but we ended up running up a huge sleep

deficit. We were too tired to make good miles at night, but then because we'd
stayed up late, it was hard to get an early start on the sun. When the sun
cleared up over the hills at 6-7 in the morning, an instant blast of heat let us
know it was going to be another hot day.

Water on the trail was sparse. Every 20 or so miles there were spring fed
horse troughs from which we filtered our water. Several days we were
parched -- rationing our water sip by sip until we found the next water source.

Traveling early mornings and late evenings became our method -- with a few
blazing, sweat stinging pushes through the day. We tried to sleep through
the days, but lack of shade, incredible high winds and bugs kept us awake
most of the time. Ants crawled all over us as we tried to sleep. At some
points we encountered these awful blood suckers that would stealthily crawl
into some nook of your body and start feeding. They left strange marks which
have since faded. No icknesses have followed. (Our medic friend thinks
we're fine).

One night, after a 30 mile push, we were looking forward to the first good
night's sleep hopefully. However on the last 5 miles of trail, we saw several
scorpions -- including one at our planned campsite. While sleeping, both of
us dreamed of scorpions. While Chris zipped himself fully into his sleeping
bag and cooked through the desert night, I left mine open, hoping that no
bugs would intrude. Sometime early that morning I was dreaming of
scorpions, and before I knew what happened, I was awake, had shouted "oh
my god" and grabbed something off of my shoulder and threw it into the
bitterbrush. It may have been one of the giant crickets we saw.

Also on this section, we were out for 8 days -- our longest stint yet. 8 days of
food is heavy (when you eat like I have to). Add that with the extra water we
had to carry to make these crossings, and our packs were heavy.

Little Sleep. Little water. 112 (we heard) record temps in the desert. Not
enough food. Not much reward.

This all led to low moral. By the end of this stretch, we found ourselves
wondering what the hell we were doing walking these miles.

"who's idea was it to walk across the desert in the middle of summer
anyways?"

We came close to hitching a ride out of that hell, but we didn't. Somehow we
managed to get some sleep, and recharge a bit.

After waiting over an hour at Walker pass with a sign that read "Pct Hikers to
town" We got a ride -- smashed in the cab of a pickup with two Mexican
steel recyclers -- some 20 miles into Onyx. As I got in, I asked the driver if
he had enough room. "No," he chuckled. We must have stunk. Our legs
were almost black with dirt. Maybe that's why it took us so long to et a ride.
Even some other hikers we ran into thought we were exceedingly dirty.
At Onyx, we restocked on junk food at the cheveron station. I felt much
better after some hostess doughnuts, a microwave burrito, two cups of
coffee, an ice cream sandwich and a tallboy of icehouse beer. I think i had a
serious caloric deficit going on. We got a ride back up to Walker pass to
finish the 50 miles here to Kennedy Meadows.

Kennedy Meadows is a huge benchmark on the PCT. Not only is it at the

700 mile mark -- which is a little over 1/4 of the trail, it's the end of Southern
California. From here we head directly into the Sierra Nevada. Mt. Whitney --
the tallest peak in the lower 48 -- is less than 100 miles away. Water will be
abundant. We will be walking in snow. This is supposed to be the highlight
of the Trail. The Desert is behind us. Boot camp is over. This is where the
guy who picked us up in the first weeks near Julian said he found "Hiker
Euphoria"
We will walk about 200 miles until we hit a trail that will take us down to the
floor of Yosemite Valley. We plan to walk out of the Sierra to the town of
Bishop to get supplies along the way to avoid carrying 12 days of food.

We are waiting here at the Kennedy Meadows General store for a couple of
days for our bodies and minds to catch up with us. We are also waiting for
our resuplpy box to show up. The post service has been slow. This might be
our second box that doesn't show. We're hoping it gets here today or we may
have to wait till monday. If it doesn't get here monday I don't know what we''ll
do. Apparently, it's not uncommon for boxes to get hung up somewhere in the
postal service.

Moral is still fragile after the last couple of weeks. I'm hoping that the
renowned beauty of the Sierra will perk us back up. We've heard from others
who have hiked the trail before that everything is about to change. I hope so.
I'm done with So Cal.

Well. That's about all I've got for now. there wasn't a lot of time -- or energy --
to think about much in the last few weeks. No philosophical journeys...
mostly just counting down the miles and hours, and sips of water.

hope all's well with ya'll

5) PCT update #5 Sierras to Bishop

Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow
into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own
freshness into you and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off
like autumn leaves."

-- John Muir.

This is pretty much how it's been going. At this point on the journey,
our trail merges with the John Muir Trail, as it traverses the John Muir
Wilderness.

This is the most impressive wilderness I've experienced. It's not quite
as young and wild as the Washington backcountry, but it's immense.

Since leaving Kennedy Meadows, we've climbed steep passes to 13,000

feet, and descended into lush forested valleys almost daily. Each day of
about 18 miles involves descending steeply down, hitting a raging river,
and then climbing arduously back up switcbacks to snow and views.

But, it's been amazing. Our bodies are getting stronger and stronger. I
can't believe how my endurance has changed. It seems that "hiker
euphoria" is becoming a reality. My hiker legs have shaped up, and they
keep carrying me forward.

Some mornings though, when the sun is late to rise -- hidden behind a
peak -- i'm stiff, sluggish, and slow. I brave a cloud of mosquitoes as i
drink my coffee and try to wrap my mind around the miles ahead.

The mosquitoes have been relentless. One hiker I passed said, "they're
persistent." I thought this was a funny way to put it.

An indicator I've come to realize as I'm walking is one sign facing the
opposite way that does not mark a particular junction. This is a sign
that reads, "No fires beyond this point (10,000 feet). In Kings Canyon/
Sequoia Natn'l parks, you can't have fires above 10,000 feet.

These signs are also a progress marker. "What??!! we're only at 10?" I
may exclaim to myself after a couple hours of hard hiking en route to
another 12,000 foot pass.

Also, it's been great to have little fires below 10,000 feet. They keep the
bugs away. And there's nothing like a fire in the woods. Unlike
Washington, in California the wood actually catches on fire when you try
to burn it.

Unfortunately, there are many fires burning all over Cali right now. I'm
not yet sure how this may affect our thru hike.

Yesterday, after a 8 day walk through the wilderness, we Hiked over

Bishop pass (a steep 12 mile detour through the Palisade mountains) to
get food and supplies. The Bishop pass trail ends at South Lake some
20 miles west of and 7000 feet above Bishop. This is the most stunning
place I've ever seen with highway access: an immense alpine lake
surrounded by massive towering granite peaks.

We passed some climbers going down on the trail who took interest in
our travels. We looked authentic -- Quite dirty, tan now, moving
with hunger induced trajectory, and reeking of deet. Once they made it
down to the parking lot, they offered us a ride.
We tied our packs to the roof of their SUV, and we crammed four in the
back as we cruised down the long straight road that turns into West Line
street in Bishop. I'm glad that they'd been out for four days; our odor
was probably not as noticeable this way.

Down 7000 feet, we're back in the desert climate of Owens Valley, which
has been sucked dry by the Los Angeles Department of Water and
Power. It's over 100 degrees again, and smoke from California's fires
hazes the air.

Apparently, watermelon had been on the minds of the climbing crew.

Our first stop was the Supermarket. I then guided the crew to a Burrito
joint I have frequented in past visits here. Bishop's got kind of a
hometown feel for me.

Our waiter made us killer margaritas. The first real kick ass ones we've
had on this trip. We each got the two burrito combo. Ahh.... food is so
good.

Our new climber friends insisted on buying us dinner. Thank You! I

thought we were supposed to buy them a drink for hauling us down the
mountain.

Now, here's something crazy.

On our hike up to Bishop pass, we encountered at least 20 people

carrying Kayaks.

This is a 12 mile hike that easily gains and then drops 4000 feet of
elevation over very steep and rough terrain.

Apparently, The Bishop Pass trail is the best access plan for an intense
whitewater Kayak run.

After hauling a kayak, paddle, and about 5 days of food (80 pounds total)
up into the alpine, and then back down to the adjacent river valley, these
guys will run the raging mountain river that walked next to yesterday.
This thing was one big waterfall.

You think I'm crazy? These guys are nuts!

Our mood has greatly improved. The mountains have worked their
magic on us. Each night has been a camp at an amazing, clear blue
alpine lake. We've been doing fewer miles per day, and therefore
ending our days sooner with time to soak in the amazing surroundings
of our camps.

Descending towards the Rae lakes after climbing over both Forrester
pass (the highest pass on the trail) and Glen pass was like descending
into Eden. After a day of scrambling around in snow and Talus, the
vegetation got lush, and these lakes projected their cool up to us.

The highest lake is separated from the next lower lake by a thin Isthmus
that our trail magically traversed. In the middle of this land bridge the
High lake flows rapidly through a thin channel to the lower lake. It
reminded me of tidal flows between islands in the San Juan Islands. It
was pure glory.

The next Day was the Fourth Of July. In recent years, I've had the
privilege to be in the backcountry for many Fourth of Julys. I think
exploring Independence in the amazing and unique landscapes our
country has to offer is a very patriotic way to spend the day.

Our Light show came from one of the most dramatic cloud formations
I've ever seen. From our campsite at Marjorie lake, below Pinchot pass,
we sat on a huge polished rock slab and watched saucer shaped,
layered lenticular clouds form a huge wave over the range. We found
out later that this is a phenomenon called the Sierra Wave -- I think. It
was spectacular, and became even more intense with the colors of
sunset.

The momentum of this trip is washing the stagnancy out of my life and
thought processes. I was thinking about it one day as i was busy
loosing myself in a thought ramble.

I'll call it a thought ramble -- I'm walking along, and all of a sudden I'm
deep in thought, I follow some idea for several minutes, even miles.
Turning it over and over. These rambles that come are a blessing in
fact. With the mind occupied, it does not wander to thoughts of pain or
impatience.

So this particular ramble had to do with the concept of Arrival.

I feel like I am living in a constant state of arrival. In this way, new

things are constantly presenting themselves to me as I am constantly
arriving in new places. I am aware and open to what is changing before
me. My senses are sharp and ready to grab on to or deal with whatever
comes next. It's an openness that in some ways deals with the
vulnerabilities of uncertianty. But it's an openness that allows so many
wonderful things to happen. I'm just ready for whatever comes next. I'm
arriving into the moment.

I guess it's similar to "be here now," or "living in the moment." But for
me, now it's not a concept. It is life.

Even the thought of Departure can be approached as an arrival of sorts.

This morning, as I ate pastries and drank coffee at Erik Schatts Bakkery
-- a famous stop, I tried to make a list of all the things i needed to do in
Bishop, and I tried to write an outline of sorts for this ramble. I've not
been to successful at following it -- hopefully it all flows together.
There's a few things I'll have to write about later. IN particular, the
Kennedy Meadows General Store.

I've never been to a real country store before... a grubstake... I mean,

there's not many if any at all left. But, walking to a spot in the woods
where there's a store, where you can run a tab for several days, where
you can sleep out back, where there's a porch with real California all day
long beer drinking locals who are eager to run their mouths at the
hikers who pass through. It was a neat place.

So, that's about all. I've got to get off this computer before I run up a
huge tab that this Internet cafe that serves nothing but cyberspace... I've
had my fill.

More Sierras next. We're going to walk straight past Half Dome (maybe
climb/hike it) and into Yosemite Valley. We expect it to take about 8
more days.

Some Sad news. The banjo is going home. I'm happy for Chris that he
will not have to carry it anymore, but will miss playing it.

Today, I sat on a bench on the sidewalk near a busy intersection on

Highway 395 and played banjo. As huge cars and suvs packed full of
gear for the holiday weekend pass by It fascinates me how people stare
at me like a total unknown. Like something they've never seen before.
They point. Like I'm an attraction at an amusement park. Something so
real amidst the Mcdonnalds signs and the lines at the gas stations -- a
guy making music on the street. Some people rolled down their
windows at the stoplight. Others even smiled. Something about the
banjo really strikes a tone in people. I'm not sure what it is, but it gets
people's attention.

It's been fun traveling with it. I'm sad that Chris never got into playing
it. I think he would be quite good. He's got a good musical sense. But,
it was his idea to bring the thing. Hell, it was his idea to walk this trail
too. I don't think I woulda done it if he hadn't suggested it over drinks
last winter.

Cheers!

6) PCT update #6 -- Yosemite!

I wasn't able to get on the internet for the past while. So, I've got a little
behind in my postings. This one, was brainstormed and outlined in Yosemite
almost two weeks ago. So, I'm going to send this one now, and to keep with
the serial nature of these postings, i'll send the next update in a couple of
days.

Thanks to Mona, all of the photos I've taken are now posted on Photobucket.
Unfortunatly they're all out of order and unedited. You can see them, and
someday, I'll organize them.
the url is

www.photobucket.com/ChrisandGreg

from there you can select an album or somesuch.

Seven years ago, just after the 9-11-01 incident, I lived in Camp 4 in
Yosemite National Park for one and a half months. Returning to Yosemite
Valley, this time via 950 miles on foot from the Mexican border, I felt a wave
of familiarity and a sense of how far I'd actually walked.
The bathrooms that are the epicenter of Camp 4 brought it all home for me.
The routine of walking to those bathrooms to get water, wash dishes, brush
teeth, or to use the facilities reconjured much of the youthfully idealistic time
I spent there as a traveling climber. This seems a lifetime away now.
The stalls of the bathroom – which are orders of magnitude dirtier than
those of the nearby Yosemite Lodge – still bear the same graffiti that I
pondered back then.
"Climb Walls or die"
"Are all climbers bi?"
"When will we learn which one to burn?" is scratched above a rough
drawing of an American flag and a Marijuana leaf. I'm not really sure what the
message of this one is – I guess it could go either way.
All the writings on the walls here have become historical relics, as the park
service has made no effort to remove them – or to clean the restrooms at
all. I remember the night of the first big rain of the season when desperate
tentless campers were sprawled out on the floor of these bathrooms. I think I
would have rather braved the wilds outside.
The familiar clang of bear boxes rings through the smoky evening air as
campers retrieve their food from storage to eat dinner. In the fall, which is
prime climbing season, Camp 4 is filled solely with climbers who come from
all over the world to get on the walls of Yosemite Valley – the Mecca of Rock
Climbing.
Now however, there are very few climbers around. Large families with
screaming babies and gigantic tents fill out Camp 4. It's too hot, and the
swarms of international tourists are too thick for most sensible climbers. I
grab a beer from our bear proof canister that we appropriated as a cooler.

Ten years ago – almost to the day – my friend Mona took me on my first
ever overnight backpacking trip. I remember how my awkward 17 year-old
frame felt carrying that clumsy pack up the steep grade to the Necklace
Valley near Stevens Pass. I suffered a bit through that one, but that trip was
the stimulus and the birth of my passion for exploring the wilderness that I
realized was my new backyard. In the ten years since then, I've hiked and
climbed all over the west. And now I'm walking the long walk…
Mona is with me here now. She met up with Chris and I in Bishop, and
despite being "off the couch" from architecture grad school, she was right on
my heels as we huffed it back up Bishop pass with full packs to get back to
the Pacific Crest Trail.
The next section was a difficult nine-day carry to Tuolumne Meadows. For
some reason, my pack seemed unreasonably heavy. On the way back over
Bishop Pass, I slipped and fell. I told Mona that that was the first time I had
fallen on the entire trip. I fell three more times that day – including a swim as
I fell off of a slippery log crossing.
The next day coming down from the 12,000-foot Muir Pass into the
Evolution basin, I was tired to the core. I think my body's fatigue was
catching up with me after the last week's high of intense exertion in the new
surroundings of the Sierra. This week had a different color to it. The passes
felt harder, and the mosquitoes…
 Mosquitoes are outrageous in the Mountains in summertime. They just
won't let you be. You know you're entering into a volatile zone when they start
latching onto you faster than you can swat them when you're walking. You
start doing this funny dance, trying to walk faster while continually checking
limbs for and swatting at little grey things swelling with your own blood. At
some point you realize, "I need DEET."
100% DEET seems to work pretty good at dispersing the bugs. It's
incredibly toxic though. There is something ironic about going into the
wilderness as an act of cleansing, then daily slathering yourself with poison.
But, when you're there with the bugs, you need that poison.
While walking on the trail, boredom drives me to ponder silly puns: The
dirty DEET, the DEET has been done, time to do the DEET…
A couple times after stopping in a volatile bug zone, I nearly had a panic
attack tearing items out of my bag to find the bottle of repellant while groups
of ten bloodsuckers glommed onto each of my limbs and face.
In the morning, squatted down using the facilities that nature does not
provide, there's little you can do to keep the things off of your bare arse; not a
pleasant place for itches.
After several days in the woods, you start to feel a sluggish, sticky grime
that covers your whole body. It's a mixture of sweat, dirt, itches, and DEET
residue. Your eyes feel a little too wide open – grown wild to try to take in all
of the surroundings that over stimulate them.
A girl on YOSAR (Yosemite Search and Rescue) picked us up and took us
from Tuolumne Meadows to Yosemite Valley. She dropped us off at a
shuttle stop, and we quickly got on the bus to Curry Village for Pizza and
Beer. Nine days dirty with our ragged clothes and packs, we stood out
amongst the tourists under the dim fluorescent lights of the crowded Shuttle.
Yosemite is more of a resort than a park. It has been completely
commercialized and privatized. It is one gigantic money making machine.
Thousands of tourists flood the Valley floor, and flaunt their buying power with
their Euros. Massive lines flood out the doors of stores and vending areas.
Despite all this mess, returning to the Valley and seeing the rock massifs of
Half Dome and El Capitan is still awe-inspiring.
All the girls in bikinis and spaghetti strap tank tops quickly disrupted
whatever peace I'd made with my Id in the past few months on the trail.
Mona reluctantly left the next day after we swam in the Merced River and
drank unusually large margaritas that we made in Nalgene bottles.
The next morning as I was taking our trash to the dumpster in Camp 4, I
found a nice rug that somebody was disposing of. I grabbed the rug and rolled
it up with my flute and some reading material and headed out for El Capitan
meadow – the main reason I wanted to come to Yosemite.
For the two months I'd been on the trail, I'd been dreaming of laying under
the shade of the one oak tree at the back corner of that meadow and napping
and staring up at the huge wall of the Captain. It's like a huge painting or
movie screen – one that I climbed up a lifetime ago.
As I arrived at the meadow, the roads were closed, fire trucks and
helicopters crowded the area and people gazed up at the rock face with
binoculars. A rescue was underway. It struck me as odd, how nonchalantly
the ranger talked of a climber who had fallen on the Nose of El Cap, and of
how they were plucking him off of the 3000 foot rock face with a helicopter.
I'd heard of YOSAR's rescues before but had never witnessed one. It was
awe inspiring to see the helicopter lift off out of El Cap meadow with a
YOSAR paramedic dangling on a rope 200 feet below. The chopper lifted
straight up about 1500 feet and neared within 20 feet of the wall. With
practiced precision, the team got the injured climber on a portable hanging
stretcher and lifted him and his gear back down to the meadow in a matter of
minutes.
Seeing the climber who lay motionless in the stretcher, slowly hover down
to the waiting arms of medics was very emotional for me. He lay, almost
lifeless with his arms crossed over his chest. The medics carefully removed
his harness and all the gear that was clipped to it. I'm sure that just minutes
or hours ago that climber was soaring high above the meadow, focused on
and immersed in his ascent. I've been there.
And then somehow a fall. Click. Everything would be different. Within
minutes, him and his partner were plucked from the wall, and delivered to the
ground. There would be no summit, no descent, no hours of rappelling,
downclimbing, or hiking down. The climb was over. Like that.
YOSAR was so professional – with military efficiency. It was inspiring to
see individuals use their honed knowledge of climbing to save the lives of
others.
Eventually the helicopters left, and the meadow was quiet. I napped on
my newly found rug.
The next day was Saturday. The valley swelled with even more tourists. It
was one big traffic jam. It was time to leave. I scurried around picking up
packages at the post office and waiting in outrageous lines at the grocery
store to buy the necessary cheese and tortillas.
Chris and I parted ways that morning as he hastily left Yosemite to return
to the trail with the intent of hiking one more leg to Echo Lake at breakneck
speed and then leaving the PCT. From here I would be alone.

7) PCT update #7 -- The California Border

Leaving Yosemite on a Saturday, I had to look up in my book how to spell

Tuolumne as I wrote it on a sign to try to get a ride back up there. I can't ever
remember how to spell that, and it's always funny how many different ways
people mispronounce it. "Twalmie," is the phonetic sound.

I was excited stepping back out into the traveling-trail world by myself. Chris
had left earlier that morning. To this date, we'd done all of our hitching
together, and had never been more than a few hours apart on the trail.

He decided it was time to head for home, and he had a plan for getting there.
The last time I saw him, I was getting on a bus to go to breakfast, and he
was getting off that same bus to head back to camp 4. I didn't realize he was
going to take off right then. We didn't exactly say goodbye. But traveling on
the trail is somewhat impromptu, and sometimes there's not occasion for
things like goodbyes. Sometimes the goodbyes that you do say are with
finality because you don't know when or if you will run into that person again.

As I stood on the side of the road holding my cardboard sign, hundreds of

tourists in similar rental cars all passed me by in a steady flow.

Then a towtruck pulled up. Didn't even pull off the road, just stopped traffic.
"Get in" the guy said. He insisted he was going to Tuolumne, but then also
said that he was towing a broken truck back to Sacramento. He couldn't be
going both places; they're in opposite directions. We figured out he wasn't
actually going to Tuolumne, and so I got off where highway 120 heads up.
This was a tricky place to try to catch a ride from. A narrow road on a steep
hill. I ended up huffing it up the hill about a mile in my flip-flops with my
pack, hugging the brush on the side of the road as cars went by. I made it
to the first pullout, and waited there. As cars approached, I ventured out into
the road with my sign, and then back into the pullout to avoid them when they
didn't stop.

Eventually, An older man in a fancy car stopped and picked me up. He'd
come to Yosemite on a road trip whim, and he wasn't able to find camping
anywhere. He said he'd been coming to Yosemite for his whole life, and he'd
never been turned away. Despite his fancy car, he had a taste for
wanderlust, and was quite interested in what I was doing. He dropped me off
at the gas station at Crane Flat.

As I walked out to the road from the station, I spotted a dusty looking guy in
an authentic looking pickup. I thought to myself, "I'll bet he'll pick me up."
And he did. He turned out to be a Yosemite local who had played a strong roll
in activist efforts to keep the Park Service from further developing the
Yosemite area. He was headed out to hike North Dome, and he left me at a
trailhead.
Soon after, to my suprise, a single Thai lady in a rental car picked me up. I
could barely understand her as she asked me questions from the driver's
seat, but she got me to the PCT trailhead in Tuolumne Meadows. With my
jaw a little exhausted from making smalltalk with all four of the people who
helped me to get back to the trail, I stood in big line to spend some of my last
dollars on a hamburger before setting back out on the trail. (the trail goes
right next to the store and hamburger stand).

Once back in nature, and quickly moving away from the traces of the
monster of Yosemite park -- fewer day hikers and weekenders -- I realized
that It was much easier to make a personal connection with nature without
the presence of anyone else. Being alone for hours and days at a time in the
woods lets the mind wander to places that a single conversation could
destroy.

I had 150 miles to go to get to Echo Lake. I planned to walk 20 miles a day.
This proved to be a bit challenging because the terrain was far from flat. Each
day seemed to consist of going up and over and back down thousand foot
passes three times. At the end of these days, I'd find my spot for the night
and lie down in sweet and dizzying exhaustion.

Then I caught a cold. It's no fun to be sick in the backcountry when you've
got a time limit and still have to make miles. I'd brought nine days of food to
go the 150 miles which I expected to take eight days. I felt the need to push
on. I walked my 20 miles the next day, stopping often to saturate one of my
bandannas with snot. I faltered at 15 the next day.

I ran into some guys who gave me garlic. I ate the raw garlic, drank my
crystallized lemon juice and took the two vitamins I had left. Surprisingly, the
cold seemed to progress in the same way as they always do, and despite a
runny nose I was able to keep walking.

As I walked north, the mountainous granite of the Sierra turned into barren
volcanic hills covered with wildflowers. Balsam Root swayed in the wind on
these open slopes. I began to see the smoke on the horizon from all the fires
I'd been hearing about in Northern California.

Being alone, hiking for hours through the day, I pondered walking. Walking
seems pretty simple, but there's actually a lot to it.

First of all, speed really doesn't matter. Everyone pretty much walks between
two and three miles an hour. When I first started the trail, I thought, "If I just
walk fast, I'll get there sooner." But that doesn't really work out. If you walk
fast, you pretty much just get tired sooner. What matters is walking
consistently. If you walk steadily for 10-12 hours in a day, you're going to
make lots of miles, regardless of your pace. There were lots of thruhikers
who I'd pass on the trail during the day, but they'd pass my camp as they
hiked late into the evening. Then I wouldn't see them again, as they were
walking many more miles in a day than I was.

It's interesting. You can't just walk faster and see a change in your overall
progress towards Canada. You've got to change your entire routine. How long
you stop for lunch. How early you start walking, and how late you walk until.
How often you take breaks and for how long.

Walking I realized is kind of like driving a car with manual transmission. On

the flats, you can get into a speedy rhythm, with long strides. However, when
you hit a steep hill, you've got to throw it in low gear. What seems most
important is maintaining a pace. To do this, your stride decreases, and your
speed decreases. But you can really motor up a hill if you just continue to
walk at the right pace consistently. It's like a big truck in low gear with
flashing hazard lights in the right lane. But then the hill levels off again, and
you shift back up.

Going downhill is really the most challenging because the drops jar the
rhythm (and your joints).

The last two days of my jaunt to Echo Lake proved to be important days in
some mental process. I was still sick, but for some reason, because of some
pressure I felt to 'really start moving' I walked two big days. I walked 25
miles from a camp at a creek to another camp at a lake, and the next day I
hiked the 30 that were left to get to Echo Lake.

From this point on, most thruhikers end up hiking numbers like this. The
terrain gets much flatter and your body is in great shape after making it
through the big challenges of the desert and the Sierra. While you have gone
1000 miles, you've still got 1700 more to go before fall gets going strong.

At the end of the first day, I was doing some calculating. I calculated that in
order to finish the trail by October 1, I would need to walk 25-30 miles for 50
out of the next 60 days. This seemed both exciting, and daunting as I tried to
fall asleep on my sore hips.

That night I had strange dreams, and woke up in a strange mood. I got going
early because I knew I was going to try to squeeze in the 30 to Echo Lake.
Something happened that day. The smoke on the horizon got thicker, and I
started thinking about the point of all this walking. "As a matter of fact" I
thought, "I'm kind of tired of all this walking." I started thinking about how I
felt I'd become desensitized to the beauty of nature. It had become mundane
-- which is awful. Mountain lakes would peek at me through the trees, and I'd
keep walking, head down. Giant peaks looked down upon me and I walked
past them and through their ranges without much thought.

I started thinking, and within an hour or two walking that morning, I wasn't just
headed to Echo Lake, I was headed to my finish line. Somehow, I knew --
without much thought -- that my journey on the trail was done. I was walking
to Echo Lake, and from there I'd hitch into Tahoe, and from there I could get
to the Airport at Reno.

It was all perfectly clear. No question about it. So I made it to the California
State line -- not the line with Oregon, but the one with Nevada. 1100 miles.
That's a long ways to walk.

Now I'm home in Washington state. And I'm sure that I'm home. I love the
Northwest. So many of the people who hike the trail are from the Midwest and
the East. I'm from the northwest, and after seeing all of that California, I'm
convinced that home here is the place for me. All this life. So alive. Not so
old and dry. I don't need to hike anymore of that trail. If I want to fall asleep
under the stars, my mountains here will do the trick.

I've come up with a lot of 'reasons' that rationalize my decision to come

home: I'm running out of money, It will cost a lot more money to keep going,
I'm not even halfway yet, there's fires in North California, the trail's not as
interesting from here on, my shoes have holes, I might not be able to make it
before the snow, I need to get a job... etc.

Ultimately, I don't need these affirmations. I was just done. It was that
simple. To continue from that point would have been to continue not for
myself, but for others to whom I may feel I have to prove myself to. This
would be a mistake, and would probably not have fueled me enough to get all
the way to Canada.

I didn't take the trail very seriously when I started. Because I'd done lots of
hearty adventures in the Cascades, I thought the trail would be 'casual.' I
didn't even think of the challenge presented in walking 20 miles day after day
after day. I didn't consider all the issues about the longevity of the objective.

I carried a guitar. I brought lots of food. I scoffed at the people with the tiny
packs who woke up at dawn and walked till after dusk. I huffed my bulky
load 1000 miles, and thought that I'd be tougher for it. I took my time in the
pretty places, and drank beer in the cities. Now I realize that the people with
the light loads and the serious approach had something going for them. If
you're going to make if from Mexico to Canada in a summer, you've got to
move. 2700 miles is a long ways. It's not always going to fun and games if
you're walking that far. Head down. Walk those miles....

So here I am now in a Cafe in the city. I'm drinking coffee cup after cup, and
it's Sunday morning. Last night I went to a dinner party and ate amazing
Greek food. I made burritos the other day with homemade tortillas. I've got a
steak marinating now. Back in the grind. Everyone i saw on the trail looked
so healthy and alive. I can't say the same about all the people living the city
life.

It seems that some of the magic that life on the trail spawns washed off in a
dirty cloud with all the dirt in that RV park shower I poached in Tahoe. Here in
the city, without my pack and my dirt, I'm just another guy. Nobody stops to
ask what I'm doing or where I'm going. People look the other way when we
pass on the street. I want to try to hang on to some of that magic though.
I've learned a lot in my travels. While I can't articulate it all right now, I know
it's going to change my life.

I've got a guide book that I carried on the trail to help stay on route. It's a
simple book that lists locations that the trail intersects, and lists their mileage
number. In the preface of the book, there's a photo collage. It shows some
places that I walked past on the trail, and then it shows a couple of images of
cold, wet hikers pointing at a millage sign. This sign is somewhere near
Harts Pass, and it reads something like "Canadian boarder 17 miles." The
hikers are grinning and pointing at that number.

I didn't discover this photo collage until I was back home and glancing at the
book. Seeing that sign, I feel a little sad. I won't know the intense feeling of
that lengthy objective so close to completion. To have come that far, and be
so close must be quite a feeling.

Also looking back on that book, I see the names of places that I traveled
through... "Tyler Horse Canyon," "Robin Bird Spring," "Tehachappi - Willow
springs road." These names summon memories from the foggy mass of the
last three months.

While I felt pretty happy, grounded and centered at the time -- albeit tired --
these names bring up a dark feeling. It's kind of like they remind me of a
nightmare that I am glad has passed. These places are obstacles that I
overcame and am relieved I don't have to go back to -- kind of like
highschool.

The more I look back on it, the past months on the trail are not so sunny of
memories (at least right now). It must be that while I was in good spirits at
the time, my body was undergoing and enduring a serious and continuous
stress. It is not eager to go back to that. So the unconscious mind colors
my memories.

I'm tired now. I think I've been exhausted for the last three months, but my
body has just become used to it. Now that I'm not living in the dirt anymore
and am back to the cosmiccomfortstation, I'm so tired. I went through three
pairs of shoes in these 1100 miles. I wonder how my body is doing. I'm in
amazing shape, but those miles have to take their toll somehow. But unlike a
pair of shoes, my body will heal and regenerate -- and not smell as bad.

Well, there's so much more I could write about. Each of these entries has
only been a fingernail clipping of all the things I thought about and all the
things I thought about writing about. It's tough to fit it all in the frame. A lot
goes unsaid. There's a lot that would be really difficult to communicate in any
form. I plan to try to keep writing vignettes as a means to hold on the the
insights and memories.

For me now, it's back to the grind in someway or another. No big adventures
loom ahead -- other than life itself. For the meantime, I think I'll be jumping
back behind the bar, slinging drinks and pocketing cashtips. I wrote a lot of
songs on the trail that need to be made into music. I'm excited to record more
music, and try to get a recording business started.

Other than that, thanks to whomever read all this writing. Thanks to all the
people who complemented me on the writings. Those complements drove
me to write more. It's been fun writing. While on the trail, I often occupied the
hours by thinking about what to write next.

Greg