Day 5: Mile 41.5 - 59.5

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 head to keep my hair (and sweat) back. So I turned around and backtracked about a half mile, looking for it. Only I couldn't find it. Huh, did I even have it to start with? Did I forget it at the motel room? So now I'm going back up the trail, planning how to get back to the motel: up ahead, there's a spot where a side trail leads back into town, I can take that, when suddenly, I notice: it's sitting on my shoulder.

I can't tell you how it feels to find something, even if it *wasn't*, technically, lost!

The other fun thing today was I saw a Doppler radar! Which is a big white ball sitting atop a mountain. There's another Doppler radar closer to home, sitting just above Beek's Place, up Black Star Canyon. Way back when I was first getting into hiking, Angela and I went up Skyline in Corona, and I remember looking up and seeing a small but bright white ball way up there atop the mountain, and thinking, hmm, I wonder how I can get *there*. Actually, I wonder if this road we're on right now, I wonder if that leads up there. (Turns out: it does, but we didn't get that far that time.) This was the beginning of my version of "the road goes on forever": that feeling you get when you see the trail leading out in front of you, and you know you have to go back, you have to get back to the car and home and civilization, but you so want to keep going and follow it on and on to wherever it may go--

Hence the PCT: why not just keep going?

So that Doppler radar today, reminding me of those first ruminations, it was kind of a Big Deal.

(But just for me: at one point I climbed up to a picnic area just above the trail to get a better look when a voice further above asked, Looking for something? I turned and saw another hiker. Can you see the Doppler radar from there?, I asked, excitedly. No, he said, completely disinterested--heck, he may not have even known what a Doppler looks like!--and went back to packing his bag. sigh: some people just don't understand... 😋)

After the Doppler, the trail begins a section of walking the mountains above the desert. The trail is high up, and from here it looks down on the desert, the next range across the desert, the desert after that, all the way to--is that blue? Is that the Salton Sea brushing the horizon? Magnificent views, but the real memory of this section was the wind. Coursing through, sometimes a constant breeze, sometimes gusts trying to blow you over. All the brush here is compact and dense and short short short: the wind's a persistent feature. Usually it was bearable, even without the windbreaker--sometimes even welcomed as it kept off the heat--but in spots it was troublesome, especially when it was blowing *into* my face, pushing me back down the trail. That flip flop flip of my hat brim, slapping decisively into my face: that I could do with less of.

The wind got worse as the day got longer which was bad: by now I was looking for a campsite. In the end I made the same mistake I made two nights ago and pushed it, to where I had to eventually set up a makeshift campsite, close to the highway (I can hear the occasional cars go by), beside a broad pasture-creek that leads down the mountain. The wind is still coursing along the pasture-creek, but I managed to find a little divet off to the side, partially bay-ed by some bushes, where the wind is a bit less. It's still flapping my tent about though. A bad decision, to push it at the end of the day, should have probably lived with the fewer miles and taken a more traditional campsite--properly sheltered from the wind--a few miles back. But my legs felt good, my feet felt good, and I wanted to go go go. My excuse is that I need to get to Warner Springs before 1pm on Saturday when the post office closes, but that's a bad excuse: I could just as easily make up the miles tomorrow. I've now made the same mistake twice, in rapid succession: let's hope I don't put up a K!

Previous   Next

Some notes:

-- Today I met Dennis, the first foreigner I've bumped into. He's from Germany, Hamburg, on a 3-month visa, going as far as he can get. He was sitting at Storm Canyon, just below the overlook, enjoying the view. I noticed a shell on his backpack so asked, have you done the Camino? He was surprised: you're the first person who's recognized the seashell! How do you know about the Camino? Well, how do you know about the PCT, I asked. It's famous!, he said. Well, same for the Camino. And then I mentioned that a friend of mine (i.e., Angela) had hiked it some time ago. Turns out Dennis hikes the Camino semi-regularly: he's done it seven or more times. It's not that long, he points out, takes about 3 weeks, but for him it's like therapy, and resets the mind. I asked him what route he recommended, and immediately he came back with start with the Camino d'Nauta from Irun that follows the sea, then turn and take the Camino Primativo at Gijon to head into the mountains. He was very sure of this, so if ever I consider the Camino, well, I know my route! Very nice guy, Dennis, big wide smile, easy laugh, tranquil aura, and just enjoying being out here.