PCT Revisit, Day 2: Mile 1208.4 - 1221.7

I took a pretty lazy morning, didn’t get on the trail until 9:30am. And hiked all of 20 minutes before I stopped to repack my bag. It seems with every new long trail, enough gear changes that a new packing system is in order. Which is actually important: once established, I will pack my backpack the exact same every day. This is how I don’t forget things: if I pack and something is out of place, then something is missing. Well, my new sleeping pad, and the combination of the nylofume pack liner in a ULA Circuit, means a new system is being developed. And I learned one thing about it this morning: the fuel canister inside the pack, and the water bottles outside the pack, need to be on different sides of the pack! Or else I’ll feel like I’m constantly leaning to the left!

The goal for today was A-Tree Spring, about 12 miles away. Second day, and still following Gavin’s advice: keep the mileage low. The trail started out from Pack Saddle Campground, and started a gradual climb up into the hills. And as it worked its way around this hillock, across that saddle, and up, invariably up, it slowly revealed the surrounding landscape. First, directly behind: the peak of Sierra Buttes, its north face now covered in snow!, anchored the landscape. Then, as the trail rose higher and higher, down below, lakes upon lakes upon lakes! I knew there were lakes around--the blue circles on the topo maps made that clear--but they were still surprising. Partially because I always saw the *other* lake: there’d be one on the left side of the trail, another off to the right, and reading the topo map I thought I’d see the left one, but instead would see the right. Or maybe I just don’t know how to read topo maps! But they were also surprising in how close they were to each other! On the ground, the lakes were separate, individual things: you would visit this lake *or* that lake, they were spread out, they had no relation to each other. But from up here, they all looked just a a hop, skip, and jump from each other. If they were separate, it was because just the happenstance of geography, the fact that this one formed up atop the bluff, that one down below. But if this one overflowed, say, it would flow into that one: they were all connected. Visit one and you’d never know there was the other, but let water flow and it’d soon find them all!

It was really quite beautiful from the upper slopes, with much of the landscape reminding me of western Tahoe: the deep blue of lakes everywhere, surrounded by the dark green of conifers, and separated by the pale gray and gold of stone and soil. One of the lakes even had a little island in it--this must be Salmon Lake, because yesterday Heather had mentioned the island. And the trail climbed up even more, now going to the top ridgeline of a range of some sort, and the wind picked up something fierce, but if you looked over the other side of the ridge, you would see a whole other valley complex spread out before you, and its own system of separate-to-humans but connected-to-water lakes. That side looked a bit more remote: choppier geography with more ups and downs and fewer roads. If this side had been “along the PCT through Desolation Wilderness”, that side would have been “off trail through the Desolation Wilderness”, which honestly had its own appeal.

But perhaps on a future trip! For this one, I continued following the PCT, which now was definitely atop a ridge, walking around the peaks of mountains. And here, at the top, I came across my first snow puzzles. Honestly, I hadn’t expected any so soon: I knew there was snow between Donner Pass and Sierra City, but I thought by starting at Sierra City, I would have missed all the white stuff. Not so! The first snow puzzle wasn’t bad though: a large snow field blanketed one side of a hill-peak, and the PCT nominally walked around the curve of the hill-peak, under the snow. No problem, just upclimb a bit, cut the corner a bit, and you’re through.

The second snow puzzle, though, was more tricky. Just after the first, it was now along a much steeper part, where the slope swept, unimpeded, downwards into a place I averted my gaze to forestall my acrophobia. The trail cut a shelf trail across this part, now covered by a swooping snow field. Without microspikes for grip, I dared not cross the snow, and so this was also an upclimb. Much steeper this time, and with one part where I had to take a few ginger steps across a loose-rock slide, letting my feet slide down a bit to create little ledges--this was not fun. I got to the other side and hugged a rock outcropping, then had to traverse above the second half of the snowfield which, by comparison, was easier, *then* had to bushwack amongst the scattered conifers to work my way back down to the trail. Which would have been easy but that the slopes were really steep here: there were ways through make no mistake, but I excluded many for fear a single slip would send me down in elevation a bit faster than I would have preferred! I pecked and chose a way through at my discretion, got back on the trail, then looked back and realized I had managed to pick a pretty popular route: from this angle, there were clear indications of a route! One of those things that are visible from one direction, but not the other; just my luck I was going the more obscured, northbound way!

After this, the trail calmed down and started going back to more sedate landscapes. Still walking along cut slopes, but less drama, more woods. These woods could become pretty dark, brown worlds filled with nothing but trunks sloping dirt and ascending trunks. In fact, in one of these woods, I was supposed to stop and get water at a spot called Pauley Seep, but I managed to walk right past it and notice nothing. When I checked Guthooks, I was already 0.3 miles past the Seep so, in true thru-hiker fashion, instead of taking 10 minutes to walk back, I just kept going, heading for the next water source.

Which turned out to be Little Jamison Spring, which was on a saddle of the hills out of the woods so I clearly saw the side trail. And here I gathered water, started my gravity hang, and took lunch, when two other backpackers came up. They were older gentlemen, going the opposite way, and accompanied by two friendly dogs, one of whom promptly walked through my gravity hang to get a pet! Ah well, nothing broke--just had to have quick hands to grab it as it toppled--so no harm, no foul. But as we chatted, the two gentlemen promptly did what you always did back in the day, and asked about water sources up the trail for them, in particular, Pauley Seep. Was the water flowing? Were there good campsites over there? They were looking for a place to end their day and Pauley Seep was their prime candidate. Well, now I felt bad I had missed it as I was perfectly useless! The best I could do was point to Guthooks comments, but they had Guthooks too: they were hoping for *real* information from a *real* person who had just *been* there. Well, I was two of three, just missing the most important third part!

Plus, they gave *me* advice on conditions up ahead, in particular, more snow. They had come up from West Nelson and noted a lot of snow up there--they hadn’t liked it, but the dogs had (evidently dogs cool off from the pads of their feet, so they loved romping across the snow)--so be aware of that coming up. And for my part, I gave some advice on the two snow puzzles I’d encountered. Like I said: like back in the day; back in the day, when a nobo and a sobo met, they would stop and talk for hours, going over the conditions on my trail ahead, your trail behind, and that was how you planned your hike. Based on face-to-face conversations, versus the crowd-sourced Guthooks comments we all use today. I will say there’s a certain something to the old way: to looking at a person’s eyes and seeing the emotion--whether a sudden pang, or a mellow smile--and using that to inform your guess of what’s ahead. They say sarcasm doesn’t come across on the Internet, but I’d wager that many other emotions don’t either.

My lack of Pauley Seep information was evidently enough to dissuade them from risking the couple miles, and they would end up just camping here at Little Jamison Creek--on the other side of the PCT were evidently a couple of tent pads. I for my part continued on, coming into a now dense wood, crowded with thin trunks and littered with branch detritus just as thick, and now also sheltered mounds of snow. And I say mounds, but it was like a marshland, only instead of hidden bays of water spreading everywhere, informed by some underlying geography only it knew, here there were mounds of white snow everywhere, spreading as interconnected heaps through the woods. And completely hiding the trail. This, then, took some route-finding. Previously, up on the ridge, I remembered I had looked up above me, saw how a couple of bush-tops had been separately just so, and thought to myself, huh, I bet there’s a road up there. And there was! You’d think that sense of sussing out manmade lines amongst a natural landscape would have helped here, but nope! Every time I thought I saw something that could be the trail, I’d walk over and, nope, just a fallen tree trunk lying just so, or just a lower spot between fallen tree trunks, filled with a hodgepodge of broken branches, but no sign of the dirt beneath, let alone the trail! And so I wandered, vaguely in the right direction. I would have checked Guthooks, but it had trouble locating me under such a dense canopy, and refused to update. Finally I got a single lock, which put me off to the right of the trail so I got my bearings, then started walking due west, assuming I’d cross the trail. (Actually a pretty good strategy in general: don’t try to join back up to the trail in a merge, instead try to cross over it perpendicularly.) And, after a bit more bushwack, I found myself back on the trail, and only a few steps from the edge of the snow on this side!

After this final snow puzzle, the rest of the trail was pretty straightforward. There would be one more mule ear meadow, this time a huge swath of hillside, and the break in the woods would afford a stunning view of Spencer Lakes, the upper and the lower, tucked against granite canyon, one almost emerald green, the other a brilliant blue, and draining into Spencer Creek, that ran down into a valley below. Then the trail would plunge back into dense, messy woods again. These were deep, dark woods; the thick, green-tunnel-ish woods that drove me crazy in Oregon in 2021. They would suddenly break, though at A-Tree Spring, which wasn’t a spring so much as a junction of dirt roads, complete with a derelict informational placard and peeling old map, and an empty parked truck. Oh, and a piped spring off to the side. This was where I was supposed to camp, taking advantage of a couple of pads by the side of the road. But they looked paltry and crowded, and the truck was parked right next to them, so after grabbing some water, I decided to continue on, hunting for a makeshift campsite 0.9 miles on mentioned on Guthooks. (Plus, I’d get another 0.9 miles--that’s the thru-hiker talking!) This was back in the woods, climbing along a hillside, and now I was a bit worried: the dense undergrowth made camping unlikely (unless you’d brought a shovel, ax, and a lot of time!), and the slopes made a flat spot impossible. But, lo and behold, at around 0.9 miles past A-Tree Spring, the trail curved up and to the left, and to the right there was a brief saddle. Here was the campground!

And so I set up camp on an established pad, just off the trail, at a short break in the trees. There had been comments of bears in the area on Guthooks, so I made me kitchen farther down the saddle, away from my tent, and I eventually even hung my Ursack off in yet another direction, trying to form a triangle. And so, a bit early I admit at around 6:30pm, I settled into my tent for the night.

And that was the hike!

Today was a beautiful day, scenery-wise: in the first half, all the lakes below; in the second half, all the mule ear pastures that would break the woods and be not only pretty in their own right--dotted with joyous yellow flowers--but also allowed views of the valleys and slopes opposite. It all reminded me so much of the Tahoe Rim Trail, which I guess makes sense: geologically, Tahoe isn’t that far away!

As for the body: today it was feeling ok. The random pangs of yesterday were gone, and I was left mostly with the expected: stiff ankles, sore feet from shoes still a bit too new pressing against the outsides of my foot. But that’ll all get better, I think. Energy-wise, I felt good up until the 8-mile mark or so, then started to rapidly tire. Partly because I’m just not used to the increased weight, but partly also because I think I didn’t hydrate or salt sufficiently--out of practice! But I think keeping the mileage less today was a good idea: that’ll be two days under 15 miles (12 and 13 miles, respectively), so we’ll see if I keep to the lower miles or start pushing it tomorrow.

Oh, and I met fewer people today. Met just one PCT hiker--didn’t catch his name, but we would leapfrog throughout the day, including at the very end when he looked up, surprised, at my tent here as he passed by. Must be thinking, man, that guy’s ending his day early! There were some day-hikers and local backpackers, but other than the two gentlemen at Little Jamison, not much conversation beyond a hello and pass on by. Markedly different than yesterday with all the PCT hikers, but I think this is the way it’s going to be: it’s going to be a much more isolated trip. I’m still settling into it: I haven’t gotten my eye in yet, haven’t gotten that one thing that says, yes, *this* is why I’m out here, to experience *this*, and that goes on to cast everything after in a joyful light. But I trust that those will come in time, too: they always seem to!

Some notes:

-- Pack Saddle Campground > Packer Creek > Sawmill Creek > Grass Lake Junction > Silver Lake Trail Junction > Little Jamison Creek > Wades Lake Junction > A-Tree Spring > Makeshift campsite

-- Gavin is a PCT hiker I met at a NOLS Wilderness First Aid class; before I headed out on my trip, I’d asked for him a bunch of advice. One piece that he gave was this: take two days to get to Lake Morena. Lake Morena is at mile 20 on the PCT, and aggressive folks will try to get there in a day and a half or less, on a 15-5 split. Or even try to get there Day 1! But Gavin advised, no, take it slow, take two days to get there, i.e., a 10-10 split. Which I did, and the body had felt good on the PCT until I got cocky, pushed it too hard, and hurt my ankle coming into Scissors Crossing. But my delinquency aside, taking it intentionally slow at the beginning is good advice!

-- Oh, and the tree puzzles started today. Luckily, they were all pretty easy: a lot of established solutions, usually of the step over or upclimb/downclimb variety. Although I’m one to talk: I *did* rake my skin crossing over one, so evidently while the solutions are simple, I’m not too good at executing them!

-- Today’s peanut M&M color: blue. There was a smooshed blue M&M right on the top of the pile, so blue it was! Lots of blues, by the way.