A Blistering Pace (PCT)

Bottom Line: Some boots aren’t made for walkin’, apparently . . . at least on my feet.

6.22.21

My feet taped to minimize blisters—hopefully, avoid them altogether—Mark and I enjoyed a cooked breakfast, then dropped my car at marker 266.1, junction with Hwy 18, in anticipation of our day’s hike.

Been here, Prim8 said.

Last time . . . I hope, Prim8.

In Mark’s car, we arrived at the PCT junction with Polique Canyon Road.

“What time is it?” I checked my iPhone. “8:30 AM, not bad,” I said.

Cool morning temperature and an overcast sky bode well.

I hoped to avoid the sweat-fest of our previous hikes. Though trail elevation exceeded 6,000 feet, direct sun this time of year would generate sweat like a squeezed orange dripping juice.

The southbound PCT headed “eastward” from our location, though shifted direction as we moved along.

We came to a trail junction, observed a lake in the distance directly ahead, though only slowed momentarily before we turned onto the right fork.

“Which lake is that? What direction?” I asked.

Within a few feet, Mark halted and referred to his map. “That could be Big Bear Lake,” he said.

“Can’t be,” I said. Could be. “Is there another lake north of the trail here?”

“No, that’s got to be Big Bear Lake,” Mark said. “I think we’re going the wrong way.”

How could that be? “We headed east from your car,” I said. “Logic dictates north lies to the left and south to the right. Though without opportunity to see shadows, it’s difficult to tell direction.”

Of course, we’d carried compasses.

Mark indicated with his hand. “Compass direction shows north that way.”

“How did we get turned around?” I said. “We haven’t deviated from the trail.”

“I don’t know, but let’s backtrack to my car,” Mark said.

With that, we retraced our steps over the 1.2 miles to Mark’s vehicle.

After a thorough examination of Mark’s maps and GPS device . . . and our compasses, we concluded we’d been heading the correct direction. But, still. . . .

Once again at the trail junction, 2.4 miles later, “There’s the problem,” I said. “We should’ve read the PCT sign over there,” I pointed left, “not the post-it note there,” I pointed right.

And so, this time, we made a hard left, the trail almost doubling back onto itself.

“Now we’re on the right track,” Mark said.

“Simple mistake, easy to make,” I said, though surprised we both had made it.

The temperature remained comfortable, the sun obscured by overcast and our hike proceeded without problem, though I noticed increasing complaints from my feet, particularly heels.

More blisters?

The aches, pains, complaints from my feet eased when we paused for a thirty-minute lunch break in the shade of several conifers. The sun at full strength now, we noted our thermometers read 83 degrees.

“Doesn’t feel that hot to me,” I told Mark, though I anticipated the heat of full sun and accompanying sweat. I removed my boots and socks. “Yep, blisters. I knew it.” Nothing to do but soldier on.

Mark said, “There a chance of a thunderstorm with lightening tomorrow.”

Ugh. “Maybe, we’ll get lucky and outrun it,” I said. I flashed on my summit of Gannett Peak in Wyoming with Dr. Bobo, when he and I had piled our gear some thirty feet away before we hunkered out of the wind, after Bob had warned, “Yeah, you don’t want any metal on you with lightening nearby.”

We continued onward, me counting down the distance, wiping sweat, feeling the burn of foot-blisters.

By the time we’d arrived at my car, we’d decided to pre-position it at mile marker 292.2, leaving it overnight in order to save time the next morning . . . though we were yet to know if the OHV route there was passable.

Turned out, it was . . . and we did.

At the hotel in Big Bear, I hit the shower, didn’t remove tape, preferred not to look at my feet. Knew I’d have to examine them afterwards, though.

Yep. A large blister on my right heel. What will I need to do to prevent this?

I discarded those pieces of tape beyond salvage, then applied additional layers everywhere.

6.23.21

6 AM, bright and early, with drive-through coffee and breakfast Mc-sandwich from the Big Bear McDonald’s consumed en-route, we returned to the Polique Canyon Road parking turnout at PCT junction, mile marker 278.6.

Overcast, occasional slight breezes and a cool temperature bode well. The overcast sky appeared subdued.

“That’s see if we can outrun that thunderstorm,” I said.

Mark requested a photo by a tree at the road junction.

Me, one, too, Prim8 demanded.

Okay, but we need to get moving.

Prim8 hugs a tree.

We marched off at a fast clip.

Foot check. Okay.

Clouds in the distance behind us appeared dark, so we kept a steady pace, hoping to escape a downpour, though each of us carried gear to avoid a soaking.

As we marched along my foot complaints mounted, demanded more of my focus.

Damn, blisters. What the hell do I have to do?

All in, however, I harbored no intention of turning back.

Brief stops for a photo, or a wee break, here and there, slowed our progress only slightly. And, as has been the case while we have hiked, we swapped personal tidbits. Mark joked about and divulged the nickname of “Wrong-way” that he’d gotten on a field survey job.

"Wrong-way" Mark poses as storm clouds roil above.

The wind increased, with short gusts to 80 mph, my best guess, and the clouds roiled and darkened as we progressed across a plateau strewn with boulders. Periodic checks suggested we could be enveloped by a storm any minute.

The sounds of scattered rain drops bolstered my resolve and though they soon stopped, I didn’t slacken my pace.

My foot-complaints increased in intensity, and as I limped along, I counted down the remaining distance to my car.

It’s out there somewhere, Prim8 . . . unless somebody stole it, cross your fingers.

Another hundred yards . . . around this bend . . . somewhere beyond those green trees . . . the stream is nearby.

I sighed with relief when I crossed a flowing stream. We’re close, Prim8.

And then I spotted “Wrong-way,” as well as my car, waiting at the PCT junction with Crab Flats Road, mile marker 292.2.

My feet gave thanks, even though I drove Mark to his car.

We discussed our respective drives back home and tentative plans for our next PCT trip.

“I’m taking 138 to Pearblossom,” I told Mark, “and I’m not missing that turn, again.” Come hell or high water.

Rain began to pour, when I found the Hwy 138 turn off.

Escaped the storm by the hair of our chinny-chin-chins, Prim8. But, I've got to figure how to prevent blisters.

(Prim8’s accumulated PCT progress: mile marker 292.2.)

A Slow Advance (PCT)

Bottom Line: It all adds up.

6.1.21

I’d decided, more as a perfectionist than a purist, to “backfill” by hiking the PCT from the Canyon Loop View Trail junction (mile marker 217.7) to the Whitewater Preserve (mile marker 218.5), a section that I’d skipped on my last PCT hike trip.

Confident, though reluctant, I needed to test my knee for tomorrow’s hike with Mark. This short section wouldn’t matter much in the overall length of the PCT’s 2,650 miles, but even a minor gap in my quest would needle me.

Slowly, I headed up the Canyon View Loop Trail incline away from the Whitewater Preserve entrance road. Scrub brush lined the trail, and with no trees to provide shade, I had no escape from the midday sun, except when an occasional cloud patch intervened. With ample water, I’d be okay, though didn’t relish the profuse sweating, prompted by a temperature in the low 80’s, according to my best guess.

Occasional light breezes from the south improved my disposition.

As I ascended the trail’s initial switchbacks, I made frequent stops to catch my breath and face the wind with outstretched arms.

As I topped the first hill, and completed the major portion of the day’s elevation gain, I met another hiker headed the opposite direction.

I guess neither of us had the wherewithal to banter under the blazing sun and so we exchanged cursory pleasantries before we moved on.

Beyond, the trail undulated in a gentle fashion as it paralleled a cliff.

Overlooking the Whitewater River and Preserve Headquarters.

The oasis of trees and pools of water, that I’d walked away from so recently, beckoned like the inside of a refrigerator.

I trudged along at a pace to avoid over-heating, while Prim8 chattered constantly about the heat and sweat. Though my ample water supply turned tepid and unsatisfying, I drank out of necessity to replace that fluid I’d already lost. Meanwhile, I imagined warm tea a suitable alternative.

Knee check. All good.

Another half-mile or so of modest elevation gain, I came to the PCT junction where I paused for a photo op, then headed northbound on the PCT towards the parking lot and my awaiting car . . . I hoped.

Deja vu - Trail Junction, PCT northbound on the left & Canyon Loop View Trail on the right.

This time I remained on the PCT and welcomed the gentle switch-backs leading downhill to the river, this section comprising the entire point of the day’s hike.

Two hours later, I discovered my chariot awaited me . . . thankfully.

Not far down the road from the Headquarters, I encountered the hiker previously mentioned. I offered him a ride to “civilization,” and on the way he explained he’d taken the wrong turn at the junction.

Bummer. “I’d have told you otherwise, had I known,” I told him. He didn’t seem that put out over it, though.

As planned, I drove to Big Bear for a rendezvous with Mark for our hike tomorrow.

6.2.21

I wouldn’t dare repeat the debacle of my last hike with Mark, and spent a decent night’s rest in the same hotel as he.

Following a Lumberjack Cafe breakfast, we left Mark’s car at the road junction with PCT about ¾ mile south of Arrastre Trail Camp, then I drove us down the deeply-rutted, rock-strewn road, marked for OHV traffic, “Off-highway Vehicle,” to Mission Creek Trail Camp at mile 239.9.

Properly “suited up,” both us with a day-pack primarily loaded with water, we began our hike “north” about 10 AM. Tree cover kept us cool at our start, though as we hiked, shrubs and grasses increased and the trees disappeared. I baked me under nearly full sun, as thin, scattered clouds drifted overhead.

Overlooking the terrain southward with San Jacinto in the distance.

Like yesterday, Prim8 reminded me.

We’re just a lizard, Prim8, sprawled and basking on a rock.

My feet complained—bionic knee quiet, no problem—surely a sign of developing blisters.

Keep going, Prim8. We got no other choice.

I wiped my forehead periodically, noticing my perspiration soaked my hat band. (You didn’t think I’d take Prim8 and myself out there without a hat, did ya’?)

I trudged onward. Mark seemed fine as he kept a fast pace farther up the trail.

We reached my car late afternoon, Prim8 and I caked with the residue of dried sweat and dust.

After I gingerly navigated my Camry down the “OHV” track to retrieve Mark’s car, we rendezvoused at the Hacienda Restaurant in Big Bear for a Mexican dinner, eagerly washed down with several cold draft beers.

6.3.21

Following bacon, eggs and coffee at the Lumberjack Restaurant, Mark and I dropped my car at Hwy 18 parking lot junction with PCT, mile 266.1, then left Mark’s car at the same spot as yesterday, near Arrastre Trail Camp and PCT mile 256.2.

Rinse, repeat . . . slowly adding mileage to my PCT journey.

Panoramic view from a welcomed shaded spot looking towards Lucerne & Johnson Valleys.

We enjoyed scattered shade early on, though gradually, taller vegetation left behind, we entered a zone of shrubs, more reminiscent of the low desert of Anza-Borrego.

More sweat, more sun, more heat, more foot complaints.

Hot, sweat, sun, Prim8 whined.

No shade, even if we try to squeeze under a bush, Prim8 . . . but this won’t last forever.

As per, we kept moving. The miles ticked away, then the quarter-miles. And I transitioned to shorter segments, Another hundred-yards, Prim8.

Our destination not in sight, yet, Another hundred yards, Prim8.

When my car came into sight, I sighed with relieve, We’re here, Prim8.

Two hikers examined the mile marker as I passed them on a beeline to my car. They approached Mark and I as we loaded our gear into my trunk.

Following a brief exchange, Mark offered them a ride into “Big Bear.”

Though in my car, I didn’t complain. We dropped them at a road junction with a store where they could purchase food.

Mark said, “I always try to help people out.”

“No problem,” I said. “I figure it’s good karma to help other hikers. A number of trail angels helped me on my hike from the Mexican Border and I’m passing it forward.”

After another cautious navigation of a “OHV road”—not an exaggeration—we descended into Arrastre Trail Camp to pick up Mark’s vehicle.

Whopped, I wanted to get home. Besides, Mark and I both knew we faced hours of driving, so we wasted no time sorting our gear, exchanging goodbyes with added comments about our next adventure.

I mistakenly drove into San Bernadino. Wanted to avoid “Berdoo,” but missed my turn onto CA State Route 138. Looked, but still missed it, and I coulda chewed nails. Prim8 and I spent added time wading through Berdoo rush-hour traffic before we arrived at Pearblossom Highway and veered westward towards Palmdale.

(My accumulated PCT progress: mile marker 266.1.)