Day 102: Mile 1507.2 - 1529.2

Last night it was so hot I slept in my underwear, with the sleeping bag barely covering me up. Tonight, I'm camped on an exposed ridge with a great view of Mount Shasta, but also the threat of evening thunderstorms. Oh what a difference a day makes--24 little hours--

Today was a longer day--22 miles. The big thing of the day was the Big Climb--about 4 miles at 600 ft/mile grade--first thing in the morning. This was by design: Double Snacks was aware of the climb, so wanted to tackle it in the cool of the morning rather than the heat of the day. Hence an early start--around 6:40am (although she still beat me out of camp) and then pretty much right into the Big Climb. The Big Climb reminded me of lots of my southern California day-hikes: it was hot, there was little breeze, and it was a continuous climb going up up up! I probably should have slowed down to make it an infinite incline, but it was the morning so I was a bit more aggressive. But I was by myself, mostly, so at least my frequent stops and starts weren't (as) embarrassing (and my pace slowed to about 1.8 mph; also similar to my southern California day-hikes).

In the afternoon, the trail leveled out and it became all about water. It turns out the water is a bit sparse up here: although everything is green, it seems most of it draws upon groundwater rather than above-ground water. Because we had an effective 12-mile water carry: haven't seen those kind of numbers since the desert! The water carries dictated my stops during the day: the first stop was to get water before the Big Climb, the second to get water before the 12-mile water carry (and eat breakfast), the third about 10 miles in to the 12-mile water carry to consider getting water from an off-trail spring that ended up being too far away (and to eat lunch), the fourth to end the 12-mile water carry, and the last was camp. Oh, and I did take a break, sheltering in the shade of a lone tree, at some point during the 12-mile carry just to get a break from the heat. The afternoon did benefit from a breeze coming in, but still, it was a pretty bear--down-and-hike type day.

The scenery was nice. In the morning, the trail curled up the slopes, affording tantalizing views of the Castle Crags--always just enough that with the naked eye I could piece together the majesty of the whole thing, but never enough that I could capture it with the lens. Still, that was impressive, seeing these pinnacles jutting atop the mountains, stark and cut and splintered. In the afternoon, the trail walked a lot of ridges, so there was always the chance to look down into the valleys below. Often there were lakes down there, although some of them looked a bit sickly: meadows were starting to grow into the edges, crowding out the water, which looked bracken at the borders anyway. It's a testament to how dry it is out here, not just this year, but likely for the past few years (I'm guessing that meadows don't grow in after but a single season).

But for the majority of today I was hiking alone: I met Double Snacks at the first water source, then passed her, saw her again at the second for a moment (she was coming in, I was heading out), then didn't see her again until camp. So I had a lot of time to myself and my own thoughts. Which, today, was a Bad Thing. Because I kept fixating on the Skip and how it makes me feel now that, even if I *get* to Canada, I can't say I've finished the trail. I can't say I've thru-hiked the PCT. I already have qualms about calling myself a thru-hiker--I still feel I'm a day-hiker who happens to carry a tent--and definitely being in this new, Dixie-Fire-created bubble of hikers reinforces this: the Fire has caused us slower hikers to suddenly catch up with the faster hikers, and in passing I'm hearing stories of folks who hiked into Chester just ahead of the evacuation notice (I had no chance to make it into Chester), or who made it to Quincy before it was on fire (I also had no chance to make it into Quincy), or who are doing 25+ miles a day but 30+ sounds ridiculous (I'm doing 20+ and 25+ sounds ridiculous). These folks were fast enough that their skips ended up being only 150 miles or so, not the 300+ mile skip that slow, ponderous me ended up doing.

And this goes to a feeling I've had for a while: that there's a certain thru-hiker community, a certain thru-hiker mentality and type, and I am not one of those. To be fair, in the vast majority of social environments I feel like an outsider so this feeling is nothing new. And I know logically that the solution to this is not to focus on it, but to be proactive and start creating the community you want to be a part of, starting with just yourself and your immediate interactions, and hope that your way is compelling enough that others will follow and an actual community will spring up. But when you're hiking by yourself, for miles, well, the negative emotions tend to fester, then mold, then spread. So I had a day of feeling pretty worthless, and feeling that I won't have achieved anything even if I *do* finish this thing. And some will say, hey, fires are beyond your control, if they happen and you have to skip, that's just the way it is. But that's a statement that's as true as it is false. Because I could have gotten here sooner, and hiked through this section before the fires hit. I could have gotten the J&J vaccine instead of the Moderna (would have saved 4 days) if I had only been one day earlier with my appointment, I could have taken fewer zeros on the trail in general (I've taken a *lot* of zeros), I could have hiked faster (I've been fairly conservative in my daily mileage), I could have trained better before the hike so I got off to a faster start; there's a 101 things (literally: it's Day 102) I could have done to speed up my progress. And all that was under my control. So I could have avoided the skip (and indeed, there are some folks who started around the same time as me who *are* avoiding the skip because they've already passed through this section).

So in a very real way, this skip *is* my fault. And in a very real way, this feeling that--now, even if I make it all the way to Canada, my hike will nonetheless be a failure--this feeling is very strong, both emotionally and logically. It's a bad feeling and, if it continues, a dangerous one. But I've also had very bad feelings before--for example, at the start of the Sierras--and there it was the trail that changed that, with the view over Forester looking into Kings Canyon. So hopefully the trail itself will provide a solution out of these doldrums: I just need to keep hiking to find it is all.

But, yeah, that was the day. Nothing particularly eventful, just a lot of negative emotions. It happens. But here's to tomorrow being, if not better, at least not worse!

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Some notes:

-- East Fork Sulphur Creek > Disappearing Creek > Gully Spring > Gumboot Trailhead > Picayune Spring > White Ridge Spring > Campsite

-- Today I met Peagle (short for "purple eagle"), who I leapfrogged all day. On the final leapfrog, he was sitting in a bit of rare shade, on an even rarer seat (a cut tree stump), overlooking a broad view of Mount Shasta, and we got to talking. And it turns out he's gone up to the top of Shasta and skied down--did it in May a couple years ago. (And I looked at Shasta and said, skied?, because there's almost no snow up there this year and he laughed and said, yeah, this year maybe it's be rock skiing instead of snow skiing.) And the pinnacles of Castle Crag: he's climbed to the top of those too. This is a special place, he declared, looking around with a certain reverence in his eye. And I realized that, yes, to him it was. But to me, it's just a place I passed through on the PCT: it's not as special to me. And that's unfortunate (for me especially), but it goes to show that even places which to one eye are admittedly nice but nothing exceptional, can to someone else be reverential, nigh spiritual. Oh, if only I could see it with his eyes!

-- Oh, and it turns out Double Snacks has been to the top of Mount Shasta too. There are multiple routes, and she had probably taken one of the less technical ones, but still it required microspikes and ice axe to get to the top. And this reminded me of how many folks out here are true outdoorsmen and outdoorswomen: they've done all these incredible things. Like Double Snacks: she's hiked these 1000 miles from Dunsmuir to the Northern Terminus before. And she's been to the top of Shasta. And she's done a ton of other outdoorsy stuff. Or Peagle with his skiing and climbs. All these folks, with all their outdoors experiences. And me?, well, I'm fundamentally a sit-in-a-carrel-at-the-library type of guy; the most I do is day hikes on Saturdays, i.e., the most basic of "outdoors" experience. I really don't belong out here on the PCT. I mean, I'll finish it make no mistake but, at the end of the day, I suspect I really don't belong out here on the PCT.

-- Speaking of the top of Mount Shasta, for a while this afternoon a cloud flittered at the top, almost looking like a smoke plume. Enough that I wondered, wait, is it erupting? No, of course not, but I did do a double-take or two. I mentioned this to Peagle and he said, yeah, he had seen that too, and thought the same thing!

-- And in the evening, there actually *was* a fire on Mount Shasta: from our campsite, we could see a tower of smoke coming up from a northern slope. Right now it doesn't look that bad--the smoke looks contained to a chimney rather than sprouting into a mushroom cloud--but oh man, if there's another fire that blows up and starts filling hundreds of miles with smoke...

-- A random encounter: at one of the water sources, I met Flapjack, who busted out a chair--one of those foldable backpacking chairs like from REI but nonetheless a *chair*--and sat in it. It had a back and he could recline and everything. And I looked at it and said, is that a chair?, that's awesome. And he said, yeah it's extra weight but at this point we're used to carrying 50 pound packs and I was tired of sitting on the ground. So I got the chair and it makes me happy. To which I replied, weight is overrated, happiness is where it's at, which I think he agreed with! (Incidentally, after the water source, he took off: much faster than me, even while toting a chair!)

-- Oh, and that water source had pitcher plants, that is, those carnivorous plants that look like little green pitchers. The insects drop into the pitcher, fall into the liquid below, can't get out, and slowly get digested. The pitcher plants seem to like water, but they're not rare: follow the stream down, and there are whole walls of them, lining the flow!

-- Oh, some more evidence that now I'm among faster hikers: on the Big Climb, I got passed by this young red-headed hiker. He came up behind me, I let him pass, he said thank you, hiked a little bit, then grabbed his backpack straps with his hands and started running--full running--up the Climb. Ok, I've seen Gazelle running in the full heat of the desert after the Aqueduct, to the Bridge; and I've met the two girls running the Tahoe Rim Trail. But those were on flat ground and, for the girls, only running the flats and downhills. This guy was running the *uphill*, and a steep one at that! Up he went, bloop bloop bloop, and gone! I'm pretty sure I'll never see him again--he was *fast*--and, yeah, that's a whole different class of hiker than me!

-- Incidentally, I changed shoes in Sierra City/Truckee: migrated from the Altra Lone Peaks to the Topo Mountain Racers. On long distances before the Sierras, I had noticed the pads of my feet going numb with the Altras. This wasn't a problem in the Sierras themselves where the distances were shorter, but since we're pushing the miles now, I wanted something with more padding. I had tried Altra upgrades--the Timps and the Olympus (and even remember Hangn' Out, when he got the Olympus in Kennedy Meadows South, audibly sighing and saying, mmm!, feel that extra padding!)--but had problems with my heel slipping in the store, so eventually went with the Topos. So far--and this is only a single day of true use--they're doing alright. Sure they're a bit heavier than the Altras, but they're just as roomy, I don't sense any blister hotspots (knock on wood), and Terry was kind enough to tape the Dirty Girl velcro to the heels so my gaiters even work with them. So far, so good! 

-- And, yes, I recognize that the best solution to numb feet is to keep at it and harden up my feet. This is what Dylan does, for example: he always walks around camp barefoot in hopes of developing his hobbit feet. (It's a long-term project of his.) And I would be amenable to that, except that I don't have the time to do that; I'm kinda in a rush to get to Canada. So, yeah, extra padding it is!

-- At dinner, we sat on a log overlooking the saddle, with an open view of Mount Shasta right before us. And yellowjackets. They were attracted by the food, and towards the end of the meal I ended up walking and eating, just to keep them from zeroing in. I remember the yellowjackets from lunches at JPL: towards the end of the meal, we would casually watch them at work, pulling at leftover lunchmeat, shaping them into little balls, grasping them like little flying claw machines, then buzzing back to the nest. And sometimes they would form a ball that was a bit too big--their multi-faceted eyes too big for their stomachs!--and struggle to lift off, until they finally did, hovering just over the table, until they got to the edge and dropped suddenly down to the ground. You get used to the yellowjackets at JPL, just let them do their thing, as you're talking about anything (except work), whiling away the last minutes of lunch. But, eh, it's a scientific institution: such minute observation is but par for the course!