PCT Revisit, Day 4: Mile 1239.1 - 1255.7

Today began the burn.

Technically, the burn started yesterday, when I left the Overly Inquisitive Deer Camp and continued on for a mile. The trail had start to follow a firebreak, constructed to contain I’m guessing the Dixie Fire. Well, a fire of some variety, because on one side was live green woods, on the other, dead black trunks. (In fact, I vaguely recall that the PCT was used as the containment border of the Dixie Fire in places.) The trail contined following the firebreak this morning, walking roughly along the ridge, up and down the tops of hillocks, sometimes crossing over into dead trunks, sometimes crossing over into live woods, sometimes crossing over into live woods where the fire had jumped the break and burned anyway. One of these jumped woods had been a cathedral once, its towers still large and spaced wide, but now turned black and the trail so dry it puffed as fine dust with every step. It was sad, to be sure, but oddly still beautiful and majestic. The sunlight was no longer filtered to that golden hue, the trunks no longer radiated that warm tone, but the dignity of the space prevailed, if anything, made all the more poignant in its attempted destruction.

I actually enjoyed this first leg of the day, climbing up and down gentle slopes, through woods alive and dead. But even the dead, by now, were reviving: granted in the form of brush and petal rather than trunk and canopy, but still, the yellows and white and purples gleaming out from the green floor exposed to a blue sky brought its own sort of wonder. The trail would eventually walk into older, live woods, messier and denser, where pinecones twice the length of my foot lay opened on the ground, and then it descended down to a little creek, once flowing, now dried to a strong trickle. I took a break here to refill my water bottles, ending the first leg, and beginning the second.

Second leg was more burn, but whereas I had found the previous burn to have its own appeal, I was under no such illusions here. I’m not sure why, but this area was, well, bland. And troublesome. The trail began by alternating between a thin shelf trail, cut into the slopes, and a thin ridge trail, crossing sides and staying just below the spine. But I didn’t find the woods here appealing. To be fair, I don’t understand woods: I didn’t on the PCT, and I still don’t. Now the old growth woods of Washington make sense to me, as do the cathedral woods I’ve bumped into yesterday and today, but other than those, most woods are something to get through, but not necessarily something to enjoy. And these burnt woods did nothing to convince me otherwise. Perhaps it was because, after some wandering, the trail started to descend, switchbacking down a now very steep slope filled with these stalk-heavy green plants with almond leaves that overgrew the trail and had to be pushed aside. In fact, the whole hillside had become this monoculture, broken only by the black sticks of dead trunks and the occasional hidden tree puzzle underfoot, waiting to trip me up. But even without the hazards, these woods just were boring: just two types of plants, one dead, and now even the light seemed uniform and bland.

The one benefit of this, though, was that there was nothing to do but hike. It was hot now--my watch registered 92 F--and though exposed, there was no breeze. But I couldn’t worry about that: watching my footing through the occluding stalks was consuming all my attention. And something clicked in my head. Suddenly, I was a hiker again--seemingly for the first time this trip. I wasn’t just walking along a trail, no, I was *hiking*. Suddenly, the heat wasn’t a problem--of course it’s hot and I’m damp with sweat, that’s not an issue, just keep going, and--if anything--indulge in the tinest of breezes, even those made by your own pant legs swinging as you step, and notice only the balms. And I also found myself thinking like a hiker. At one point, I wanted to make some notes, looked for an shady spot (pretty rare on these exposed slopes) to stop and break out the pad and pen. And I would find such a spot, but the next one would always be better, and so I would keep going. And going--nonstop, always looking, always finding, but never stopping. And this mentality is how I climb, say, the Santa Anas in the summer heat back home. It’s something that allows me to sustain effort for long stretches, to persist through those long interminable climbs. And it’s a welcome mindset: it means I’m finally starting to “get it” again and, hey, I may just be able to be a thru-hiker on this trip after all!

While second leg was about bland burn zones, it ended with a bang: at the Middle Fork of the Feather River. Here, at the bottom of a now rocky gorge, flows the powerful Feather River. It’s a rushing thing here, the water convincing in its strength, even tumbling over a series of rapids as it crushes over a shelf of rocks. I certainly would not want to the ford it here!--and luckily, the trail crosses a tall bridge built over the gorge here. I went across, stopping momentarily to snap a couple shots but hesitantly so--my acrophobia was starting to imagineer the spaces between the slats of the bridge--and then, on the other side, took a side trail down through a series of campsites to rock-shore of the river. And here I took lunch, ending second leg, watching the water course by ahead of me, roaring as it joins its brethern Onion Valley Creek, and both booming as they funneled, together, into the narrows beneath the bridge.

With lunch complete (albeit now in the later afternoon) there was nothing to do but finish out the day with third leg. This promptly went back into the woods, now the dense woods, on steep slopes. This was a shelf trail, in places cut maybe a foot wide into otherwise sliding soil. It was perpetually under canopy, which was nice, but there was little breeze if any. The trail would often climb steeply--500 ft/mile wasn’t uncommon--and the descents would be more gradual, but would sometimes be accompanied by dead leaves littering the trail, making things possibly slippery. Oh, and poison oak!: poison oak had started appearing on second leg as the trail neared the river, but on these slopes, even high above the creeks and rivers down in the gorges below, poison oak seemed to be everywhere. But all this meant that this leg went by as a bit of a blur: all I could do was hunker down and concentrate, making sure there were no wrong steps, seeing only the 10 feet in front of me. The result?: a fast pace (I’ll take it!), and a focus so narrow that I ignored how high up I was (I’ll take that too!). Walking through these dense woods, crowded not only by the side of the mountain on this side, but even by the closing-in opposite side of the narrow gorge on that side, both sides heavily forested in trees both living and--in some swaths--burned dead. The only thing breaking up the unending woods were creek crossings: always flowing full and strong, sometimes with waterfalls, that you could hear even as you turned the corner. There was a seasonal spring, rushing and falling; then a long descend down to Bear Creek down at the bottom of the gorge, fast-flowing and crossed by a stolid bridge; and another seasonal spring, crossed after a climb, festooned under banners of big lush leaves. I gathered water at the last one, and then began my final leg--just a mile--to a campsite mentioned in a Guthooks comment.

The comment had mentioned a flat spot where the commenter had taken lunch, but I admit that seemed unlikely as I went. The slope here was steep, falling away quickly but for the tall straight trees that can manage such high derivatives, and the trail was still a narrow shelf trail, in places even a bit washed out and narrowing to a single footwidth for a couple steps. There’s supposed to be a flat area up here to set up a tent? But as the mile approached, I looked up and saw a shape change: rather than the upper hillside to my right that sloped up beyond sight, ahead I saw what looked to be the actual crest of a feature. And as I came up, indeed, I suddenly found myself in a little valley, a sort of broad-bowled gully and, hey, even with a couple established pads! Granted, there are plenty of dead trees about. But these are shorter--all the tall ones are live--and there has been no breeze through here all night. Of course, this has also meant mosquitos aplenty, especially near sunset when I made camp. I actually ate dinner tonight dressed in my rain gear and gloves, and when I found the mosquitos could bite through my gloves, I headed up the trail to where things started to get steep again but where a slight breeze could worm its way through all the trunks. But I managed to get away with only a couple bites on my hands, and now I’m finishing the evening, 16 miles in the books, and now planning to head into Quincy tomorrow, one day early!

And that was the hike!

I must say, for all the issues I had with the scenery today--I only enjoyed the woods on first leg, in particular, the cathedral, even though it was burned--I’m pretty happy with today. Because today, for the first time this trip, I felt like a hiker again. The body is finally in sync again: I can line up my nasal breathing with my footsteps, and use it to control my pace. I can create sustained effort to get up tough climbs. My feet hurt in all the usual places: skin of left side of left big toe where it rubs against the shoe; knob of pinkie toe where it meets the foot and just out, again rubbing against the shoe (if I could buy my left shoe half a size bigger, I would!). These pains are expected, and persistent enough to be old friends. I can ignore heat like a hiker from southern California should: it’s not that I don’t feel hot and sweaty--I do--it’s just that it doesn’t matter. And at the end of the 16 miles today, I felt like I could do at least a couple more--I stopped only because the next campsite in these steep-sloped woods is supposed to 4 miles away and it’s getting late. So everything is finally feeling like a thru-hiker again, which is a Good Thing.

Now if only I can figure out why I still don’t like the woods, deconstruct that sentiment and come up with a way to turn it around and enjoy them. Because, let me tell you, there’s going to be awful lot more of them on this trip!

Some notes:

-- Dirt Road > Fowler Creek Trailhead > Fowler Lake Junction > Seasonal Spring > North Fowler Creek Junction > Middle Fork Feather River > Bear Creek > Makeshift campsite

-- In the morning, pulling down my tent, I looked out north and saw a snowy peak, far in the distance. Hadn’t seen it last night, in the setting light. Turns out that’s Mount Lassen, way in the distance. And, I believe, I’m headed there!

-- Just past the Fowler Peak Trailhead, I found myself dissecting an interesting little puzzle for fun. You see, after ascending a bit as a single-track, the trail joins up with a suddenly broad swath, clearly cut into the slope by human hands. This was, to my mind, a truck trail, up here likely constructed by loggers (whereas I suspect the ones in southern California are equally likely to have been constructed by prospectors). The truck trail continued around the hillside, where it suddenly disappeared for a small stretch before reappearing again. Looking back, that disappearance coincided with a creek channel, only that creek channel was huge: it looked like a whole chunk of the hillside had been washed out. So it must have been that this truck trail had originally gone all the way through, but then had been washed out by the creek collapse, and then never repaired. You see, it’s sussing out these sorts of things out here that keeps me entertained for, oh that was at least 10 minutes!

-- On the way down to the Feather River bridge, I broke out my trekking poles. I no longer use the poles on ascents, but I’ve found on descents, they do seem to relieve stress on my knees. And they help stabilize my step (I worry more about slipping on downhills). However, the trail here was pretty narrow, and by accident, I’d sometimes step on my planted pole as I passed. And once, when I did so, I felt a strange pop, and glancing at my pole tip, found the rubber foot was gone! I turned and found it just behind me but still, I’m surprised I felt it come off! Would’ve done me more good in the Uintas! (Ok, I lost one rubber foot there to sucking mud, and I knew exactly where and when but couldn’t do anything about it, but the other one I never did figure out where I lost it--a bit of sensing would have been good there, might have recovered it!)

-- On third leg, it seems that there are new oak trees growing out of the bases of some of the burned trees. It’s like a little bush of lively green, surrounding a wizened trunk of dead black. I don’t think the burned trees are oaks, though: their branches seem more conifer-ish--possibly fir-ish--than oak-ish. Does this mean the oaks will come to replace the conifers? Or are oaks simply a transition tree, one that grows after fires before eventually being replaced?

-- Unlike yesterday, I did meet people out there today! In the morning, along the firebreak I passed an older backpacker, going the other way. In the afternoon, descending the slopes to the Middle Fork of the Feather River, I passed by two backpackers going the other way (were they starting out from the truck parked at the dirt road?), then a party of six backpackers, then a ranger. All of these, though, were just hellos and pass. I did meet, though, two PCT hikers: we leapfrogged each other throughout the day, and only at the end, at camp, did I get their names: James “Clif Bar”, and Keysian “Lost Keys”. They’re hiking together, but other than having friendly smiles, I don’t know much about them: once they made camp, they zipped themselves up in their tent (I’m guessing to avoid mosquitos) and have kept to themselves since!

-- Tonight, I’m taking a page out of Dylan and Dayna’s book and leaving my hiking clothes outside, hanging across a branch. Partially this is to let them dry, but mostly it’s because I’m worried they may have urushiol from all the poison oak I passed! No need to get that stuff all over the *rest* of my stuff!

-- Today’s peanut M&M color: yellow, because, of course!