Just going for a walk

Man alive, what a day! In some earlier post, I had said how lucky we've been with the weather--very mild, very comfortable southern California weather (well, as mild and comfortable as one can be in the desert). Today, that luck ran out. Today was a cold and wet day on the mountain. To be fair, Matt had checked the forecast on his inReach last night and that said a high of 47 F and 20% chance of precipitation. Well, we got that! I got up early and looking down at the valley below, saw the clouds billowing up the hillsides. So I got my stuff together and headed out early. (Although I was still the second one out: Uno--who had incredibly cowboy camped last night--got out before me because her bag was getting wet. A wet sleepin bag?: *that's* a motivator if ever there was one!) As I was finishing my packing, someone from their tent had asked how is it out there? Glorious!, I had replied, and for the early part of the morning this was true: hiking in the mountains in the mist, wher

Last night as I drifted off to sleep, I was serenaded to slumber by the croaking of frogs, mostly in the creek beside me. Although when I got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, I saw a rustle in the grass dimly lit by my red headlamp, and saw an actual frog, half-hopping, half-crawling away. I felt bad: it *is* his house, after all: I'm just visiting. In the morning, I got up early as usual, but tried to see if I could fall back asleep. The answer is no. Better to have just gotten up and gotten going. But I did see that the Boy Scout troop camping downstream also hadn't woken up: they wouldn't start stirring until nearly 6:30am, which was disappointing. Yesterday, Wiki had told the story about a Boy Scout troop she jad encountered on Mount Whitney. She had come down from the summit late, very late, 2am late, and had jumped in her bag to get some much needed sleep when, at 6am sharp, the scoutmaster had woken the troop by belting out, "Oh what a beauti

Today the ankle was feeling pretty good--no outstanding pain--and for that exact, precise reason, I did another short day: less than 15 miles. Did not push either the pace or the mileage. I may try pushing a bit tomorrow, but today, the legs felt good, and I let them have their easy day--in particular, lazy afternoon--in the sun. I did take a long break in the middle of the day, around noon, because at the Montezuma Valley Road crossing, there was trail magic! A group of folks had headed out to Eagle Rock to clean up trash in the morning, then setup a canopy tent and a bunch of snacks and food for thru-hikers afterwards. They had drinks in coolers, they had bags of chips, cookies, sandwiches, but most importantly for me, fruit! Fruit is very good: I've made sure to get a banana-and-orange combo, let's see, in Mount Laguna, in Julian, now at trail magic. Pretty much anywhere I can get it, I will, regardless of price at this point!  The trail magic was a nice break, very kind, ve

Tried out the leg this morning and it felt ok walking from the cabin to the bathroom, and from the cabin to the main office. So I decided, yeah, let's get back out on the trail. Hitched a ride with Rayangel--had arranged the possibility yesterday, but went with Dean and the Four Horsemen--got to Scissor's Crossing, and headed on out! There's a desert valley here, doubtless with a name but I don't know it, and the PCT crosses from the mountain range south of the valley to the mountain range north of the valley. Today was the climb up the northern range. To be fair, the climb was in the beginning and not that bad, aided by the cool breeze that would whip down the valley, occasionally gusting but nothing too severe. It reminded me of the Altadena Crest Trail, although if the Altadena Crest trail is an ankle-biter of those mountains, the PCT here is a calf-biter: higher up, but not severely so. And definitely more smoothly graded than the Altadena Crest (which likes to clim

This day started out discouraging. Last night, and continuing to this morning, I debated for a long while whether to take a zero day today or not. Rolled it around in my head every time I woke to the wind screaming outside and rattling the tent, obsessively planned out scenarios on Google sheets when dawn broke. Physically, my ankle still felt loaded in the morning, which suggested taking a zero. Logistically, things were more complicated. I have a resupply box--two, in fact--being delivered to the Warner Springs post office. Problem is, Warner Springs is two and a half days away, and the post office there closes at 1:30pm on Saturdays. So if I wanted to pick up the boxes on Saturday, rather than having to wait all the way to Monday, I have to start hiking out *today*. Or else I'll effectively have two zero days: not the most auspicious start. And emotionally, I felt like I should be out there, I should be hiking. Not taking time off! Especially this early on; it seemed unconsciona

Another day where I pushed it, ostensibly to get water: from Pioneer Mail (the last place to reliably get water) to Scissor's Crossing (where I'm effectively at) is about 24 miles, all dry. So when I left Pioneer yesterday, I was carrying 5 days worth of food and 5.5 L of water: that made for a pretty heavy pack! Now I'm at Scissor's Crossing, or actually, I'm at Stagecoach RV Park about 4 miles down the road from Scissor's Crossing, and there's water. But at two days of long miles, I'm finally starting to pay: my left ankle is starting to act up, the tendons across the top of the foot complaining enough that it slowed down my stride. Tomorrow should be a shorter day--maybe 14 miles?--so I'm hoping I'll be able to recover some tonight, and then baby it a bit tomorrow. I had come to Stagecoach to get out of the wind: the day was beautiful up until the end, when the wind in the desert just picked up tremendously. I looked for a campsite around Scis

So yesterday I got into my motel room and made a list, bullet journal style, with dots and "X" for "done" and ">" for "remand" and "<" for "postpone", and everything. And, of course, I didn't finish the list. Why would I think I would? I don't finish the list when I make it at home, why would the trail be any different? And of course not finishing the list brings its own worries and rushes and in the end, I simply gave up, invoked the creative's creed ("Trust tomorrow") and went to bed. Eh, I'll get it all in the morning. This is all to explain why I was so late out the door today. Late start notwithstanding, I got onto the trail where I had left it, and continued on. Decided to apply sunscreen on-the-move, so I peeled off my hat and facemask and neck knife, liberally slopped it on, and went to put it all back on when I noticed, hey, I lost my buff. That circular piece of cloth I wrap around my

A short day into Mount Laguna, then taking a nero (i.e., a near zero) in town. In theory, this is a good chance to stop, think, get some thoughts down. In reality, it's a busy day filled with a thousand and one little chores to do. I made a list: it came out to over 2 dozen items. Finely granulated, of course, but still, over 2 dozen things to keep in the brain. (Which I can't do: hence the list.) But, still, let's try to think on some of the bigger, less mundane things. Before I started, Eugene asked me, half tongue-in-cheek, how I planned to keep to only a small number of miles at the beginning. He was looking at my Saturday hikes, which always tried to hit at least 20 miles. And the short answer is: I didn't--witness yesterday, where I did 17 miles on the trail (plus an extra 1.4 miles off trail to Cibbets Campground to get water). But the long answer is that, rationally, you plan to hit Mount Laguna, at 40 miles, in 4 days, and you make a reservation at the motel th

Lake Morena Campground is strange in the morning, When I had gone to sleep last night, it was hopping: the campgrounds full of tents and campers and RVs, all manner of folks and strung-up lights and barbeque and parents sitting around in chairs relaxedly letting the kids run around. And then in the morning, it's all quiet and still and empty. Very strange! I got started this morning at 9am: an improvement over my 10am start yesterday, but one that can still be bettered. There's more to optimize, to be sure. I started by first going back: heading back to where the PCT first meets Lake Morena Campground, and proceeding from there, just to ensure continuity of the PCT proper. It's an engineering thing about graph connectivity and the intersection of sets--eh, let's just say it's an engineering OCD thing. The trail today went through all manner of landscapes. From starting in a manzanita grove, where cross trails would suddenly appear, only to disappear around the bend

I woke to the sound of rain, only it wasn't rain, it was condensation from my tent dripping down on my sleeping bag. Hmm, not so good. I had picked a campsite tucked narrowly between bushes, a small sandy spot, flat for just as wide as my tent footprint. A tricky setup, but good experience (or at least that's what I kept telling myself!). As for the sleeping, that was also rocky: my face kept freezing, so I would descend deeper into my sleeping bag, then it would get muggy, so I would ascend--rinse wash repeat. But the first night out is always rocky for me, so it's not unexpected. Today is when the trail started to show its teeth, especially around Hauser Creek. The descent down the canyon to Hauser Creek was the first technical section--a trail runner's dream--and the ascent out the other side of the canyon the first climb. It was a tough climb but doable: complicated by the heat (I would often look up and root for that puffy cloud to make it just there and block that

And so it begins! After a whirlwind 3 weeks of preparation, of resigning my position at Qualcomm, of cleaning up the apartment, and of (of course) preparing gear and food and planning for the PCT, finally, on this day, effectively time ran out, and it was time to go! Dan drove me out the trailhead: we hadn't spoken in so long (let alone played) that there was plenty to occupy the 2+ hour drive. Maybe it was the conversation, but I didn't feel any excitement or anticipation, even towards the end. Instead, as we drove through Capo, just 2 miles from the southern terminus, it was Dan who exclaimed, "Man, I want to go!"  For me, I didn't feel much, likely because I was suppressing the adject terror that had started to blossom in the last week. But the drive there was reassuring in a way: driving through Campo I thought, I know this land. This is Cleveland National south of the 74: this is Rancho Capistrano, this is Deluz, this is so many places I've hiked for so l