The agony of de-feet, knee … and back (PCT)

Bottom line: Aging pains can be a bee-otch ... particularly when in the wilderness.

6.23.24, Day 0, “Pre-positioning” -

Prim8 and I met Mark R. in Mojave to gas up the car before we drove to Kennedy Meadows, some twenty-five miles into the wilderness west of Hwy 395. Desert temperatures ranged in the 90’s and low 100’s, and we speculated about hiking conditions in the mountains.

Before this trip, Mark had explained he’d changed his trail moniker during his last PCT section hike from the Mexican border northward as a result from his consumption of pemmican. “I’m going by Tallow now,” he’d told me.

No more changes, Prim8 had demanded, not liking the idea.

“Okay,” I’d told Mark, somewhat skeptical. How many more changes will he adopt, Prim8?

Thus, Mark R., formerly known as Cabo, with the previous alias of Wrong Way, will now be referred to as Tallow.

We pre-positioned my car at Kennedy Meadows for our sectional hike southbound. A north to south hike on this section would eliminate the elevation gain of roughly 4,385 feet. If you’re going to do the distance, why not go downhill rather than uphill?

A traffic accident on Hwy 395 south of Olancha delayed our progress to Lone Pine. Dark clouds hung over the mountains to our west and a few large and sporadic rain drops splattered on Mark’s RAV4 windshield as we waited to continue.

By the time of our arrival, the ranger station in Lone Pine had closed, so we proceeded to Lone Pine’s Dow Villa for the night, where I’d reserved a historic room, sans private bathroom. No problem on that front, however the room felt stuffy and the air conditioning blew tepid air, not cool enough for my liking.

The room’s air still and stuffy, Prim8 complained, Hot!

Then, we’ll lay on the bed in the buff without covers or sheet. Not until the wee hours did I feel comfortable.

6.24.24, Day 1, “Our Most Northern Position on the PCT” -

After getting takeout at McDonald’s at 5 a.m.—Prim8 wanted coffee and a chicken sandwich—we drove to Horseshoe Meadow at 10,000 feet.

A posted sign near the trailhead parking lot warned of ACTIVE BEARS.

“As opposed to retired bears,” I told Tallow.

Mt. Whitney (the sharp point) from Near Lone Pine

Under clear sky, Tallow and I hiked to Cottonwood Pass, 11,132 feet, mile-marker 751.4 (according to the FarOut app, which Tallow used, and the PCT posted sign, differing slightly from Half-mile Notes of 750.8).

From the trail junction, we turned south to Trail Pass Trail—I kid you not—at 10,493 feet, mile-marker 744.5. (FarOut indicates the distance is 4.9 miles along the PCT, while Half-Mile Notes says 5.7 miles. Go figure!)

Regardless, we followed Trail Pass Trail back to Horseshoe Meadow.

Looking East from PCT Near Cottonwood Pass Towards Horseshoe Meadow and Surrounding Terrain

With clear sky, temperatures for the day ranged from 55 degrees when we left Tallow’s car at 7 a.m. and 80 degrees when we finished the 10.9 mile loop at 12:50 p.m.

Looking at Mt. Langely from Trail Pass Trail in Horseshoe Meadow

Back at Hwy 395, we stopped at the ranger station for a wilderness permit, then headed the Dow Villa in Lone Pine for the night, I appreciated the slightly cooler temperature in my room compared to the previous evening.

6.25.24, Day 2, “Southbound” -

We presented at the Alabama Hills Cafe and Bakery at 5 a.m. for breakfast.

“Breakfast isn’t available until six,” the gal said, “but you can get coffee and pastry.”

Tallow and I debated, and decided on take-out.

Hungry, Prim8 demanded, Ham and Cheese pastry.

Though I detest processed yellow cheese, I relented, and ordered one along with a cup of coffee.

Breakfast to go, Tallow drove us to the Horseshoe Meadow trailhead parking lot.

I downed a tab of Ibuprofen in hopes of forestalling an increase in knee pain—coming on of late—before we started our hike at 6:25 a.m. The 55-degree temperature felt surprisingly good once we were under way.

Two hours later, we’d hiked 2.2 miles to Trail Pass Trail/PCT junction at mile-maker 744.5. From there, we continued south bound on the PCT.

What? No blister, Prim8 insisted, as if he could order that, when heel pain suggested something amiss.

It’s probably, a blister, fella, but there’s little we can do about that. “I think my foot is trying to grow blisters,” I told Tallow. “I thought I’d solved that problem.” Apparently not, Prim8.

As the morning dragged on, the cool temperature rose to the 80s under clear sky by noon. Though tree cover diminished for stretches, short rest breaks and breezes staved off my total meltdown. Flies and mosquitoes periodically buzzed us. An application of DEET, and our movement along the trail, combined with gusting breezes, prevented their overwhelming us.

Owens Lake from the PCT

We arrived at Death Canyon campground aside a running creek, 8,946 feet elevation, mile-marker 730.8 after a ten-hour hike over 13.7 miles.

After a dinner snack, Tallow bear-bagged our food stash in a tree.

Though no bugs hassled Prim8 and me, once Tallow had set up his tent, I retreated indoors to prevent bugs from getting any ideas otherwise.

A blister! No, Prim8 complained, when I checked my feet and discovered one aside my heel.

Nothing can be done about that. We’ll have to tough it out, Prim8. I’d neglected to bring mole skin or band aids, only carried a small stripe of Duct tape for emergencies. We’ll take another Ibuprofen. I hoped to reduce any and all pain during the night to get better sleep, which had eluded me the past several nights, and maybe avoid muscle stiffness the following morning.

6.26.24, Day 3, “Continuing South” -

6:40 a.m., the temperature near the low 50s, again, felt quite comfortable. Knee, blister and back pains were negligible, but I downed another Ibuprofen as a pain preventative before we continued southbound.

The temperature rose into the 80s. Short breaks to catch my breath under the shade of a tree now and then, helped compensate for the exposure to the sun’s relentless heat.

Tired, Prim8 frequently complained. Stop! 

Okay. We’ll rest a moment, but we need to keep going.

Hurting, Prim8 griped about my on-going heel blister pain, though that felt tolerable, my knee ache, which seemed consistent, and an increasing lower back pain.

Getting old is for the birds, fella. 

I literally limped across the South Fork Kern River bridge (steel bridge) at 7,832 feet elevation and mile-marker 716.5. We’d totaled 14.3 miles distance and a 1,114-foot elevation drop for the day.

Nesting swallows swarmed under the bridge, collecting bugs to feed their young, while Tallow and I filtered cool water to replenish our bottles after he’d set up his tent.

"Steel Bridge" Across Crag Creek (PCT mile-marker 716.5)

Exhausted, I reclined on my sleeping pad to eat a light meal and took another Ibuprofen in order to maximize my R&R, rest and recuperation.

Tallow and I decided not to bear-bag our food, as the campground occupation of perhaps a dozen hikers would likely deter most larger critters. As well, we were well out of active bear territory.

6.27.24, Day 4, “Limping to the Finish” -

5:35 a.m. The trail continued away from the stream.

Looking North at Crag Creek and Across Clover Meadow

We continued over a ridge, then down toward the river again. Remnants of burned and fallen trees, left us with negligible cover from the sun. Hot, miserable and fatigued, Prim8 encouraged frequent breaks, which I took to catch my breath.

I encountered one non-poisonous snake aside the trail before reaching the stream crossing. There, however, an even larger snake—same species, I think—slithered over one of the logs used to aid hikers.

Non-poisonous Snake at PCT Stream Crossing Near Kennedy Meadows

(Courtesy Tallow)

The broad expanse of the Kennedy Meadows, covered with sage brush, made hiking to Sherman Pass Road a continued hot ordeal under unobstructed sun, while the temperature ranged in the 80s. I plodded onward, hiking slowly and taking frequent, though short, breaks, back pain dominating my concern. Thankfully, my knee pain had not increased, while my heel blister had stabilized.

Tallow pointed out a coyote that trotted away, some fifty yards off the trail. “Searching for a wabbit,” he said.

1:50 p.m., we arrived at PCT mile-marker 702.2, elevation 6,009 feet after a 14.3 mile, 9 ½ hour hike.

After retrieving Tallow’s vehicle at Horseshoe Meadows, we spent the night at the Mount Whitney Hotel in Lone Pine—with great air conditioning—before driving home Sunday, 6/28/24.

Note: I’ve decided to stick with the Half-Mile Note mile-marker designations, except for the Cottonwood Pass mile-marker sign, which read 751.4 miles. The remainder mile-marker designations are referenced according to Half-Mile Notes.

Trudging Along (PCT)

Bottom line: Sometimes, all you can do is pick ‘em up, then put ‘em down!

10.16.23, Day 0, “Night of the Rumbling Beasts” -

Mark (Wrongway Mark, that is) and I headed for Tehachapi in preparation for our planned PCT hike between Tehachapi Pass/PCT trial junction and Kennedy Meadows, the driest section of the PCT ... as we were forewarned. Turned out that Bob (aka Dr. Bobo) had arrived at the designated motel rendezvous point ahead of us. From there the three of us headed off for a warm meal and chilled beer before our respective night's rests.

On the cheap, Dr. Bobo and I decided to cowboy camp, so we drove to Cameron Road in Sand Canyon, located in Tehachapi Pass, and chose a level spot alongside the railroad crossing. Bad move! We’d no sooner settled into our sleeping bags when a train approached the crossing, sounding it’s three warning blasts.

Run! Prim8 yelled, amidst the rumbling.

Geez Louise, that’s loud! Sounds like that thing is going to run us over, dude.

Thereafter, repeated every half-hour throughout the night, the lumbering beasts alternated their direction of travel, blasting their way as they went. Aside from attempting to adjust to the audible intrusion all night long, I couldn’t dismiss the idea that a train would run me over, though I knew better.

No! Prim8 complained, or at least it seemed that way, at every train’s approach.

Things can only get better, fella! We won’t be sleeping here again.

Perhaps, I dozed through an intrusion or two ... or just had started to ignore them. I don’t know … didn’t care. I just wanted some sleep.

Since Dr. Bobo would act as rendezvous support, aka trail angel, Wrongway and I could indulge in our hiking regimen, alleviating some overnights on the PCT, reducing the loads of water and food we’d carry, and divvied our hike into segments, alternating directions according to elevation loss and gain, into what seemed a veritable jigsaw puzzle of pieces.

And in my quest to resolve my previous, and recurrent, foot-blister problem, I planned to lubricate my feet—I’d purchased and brought several types to use—wear only one pair of well-fitted socks, and lace my boots tightly at the ankles. Fingers crossed!

Segment One - Landers Camp Road junction (608.9) southbound to Tehachapi Pass junction (566.4), two overnights:

10.17.23, Day 1, “Black Flies” -

Dr. Bobo dropped Wrongway and I at Landers Camp, from where we started our southbound trek. In the meantime, Dr. Bobo would explore potential rendezvous points via accessible roads using Wrongway's RAV4 and meet us at the Tehachapi Pass junction two days hence.

Cool breezes and partial shade provided by tall pines helped prevent profuse sweating as we hiked under clear skies. Innumerable black flies swarmed about our faces as we hiked, only temporarily dissuaded with a wave of a hand. Collectively, they were determined to seek every exposed orifice.

Ahh, Prim8 complained, when I swallowed an wayward fly.

Annoying, ain’t they, Prim8? I took another swipe with one hand to shoo a few away from my face. Why didn’t I think to bring my head net covering?

Both Landers Creek and Cottonwood Creek were flowing with clear water, but Wrongway and I carried a sufficient supply.

By 5:30PM, we arrived at Hamp Williams Pass (596.5), where we set up Wrongway’s tent, snacked, then Wrongway hung our food from a tree. At some point, middle of the night, I realized that my inflatable sleeping pad had gone flat. However, I detected no signs of on-coming foot-blisters. Yay!

No! Prim8 complained, as my body pressed against the ground, which felt like concrete.

Crap! We’ll just have to suffer. I’m too tired to get up to reinflate the pad. Or perhaps, it was laziness? Either way, I wasn’t getting up … be damned.

10.18.23, Day 2, “A Taste of Mud” -

My feet greased, socks snugly adjusted and boots laced tightly, we broke camp at 7:30AM.

Again, black flies swarmed about and pestered us as we moved along the trail until we crossed a ridge, where we enjoyed intermittent breezes, which kept the flies away. Following Wrongway, per usual, I saw him approaching me. He said something about checking the trail. And that perhaps, we’d missed a turn.

No! Prim8 protested, as I watched Wrongway retracing our path.

Oh, wonderful! Suck it up, guy. We don’t have a choice.

Moments later, Wrongway motioned and we retraced our course for about 1/4 mile, until he realized we’d been on a newer section of trail which hadn’t been updated on his map app, further confused by the fact that the National Geographic published PCT maps which also didn’t reflect the newer section.

No, Prim8 protested.

Won’t do us any good to complain, Prim8.

So, once again, we headed southbound toward Golden Oaks Spring (583.3), where we arrived at 5PM. I filled my handy, sidekick, pint water bottle from the trickle of water pouring from the small plastic pipe, took a sip, figuring that would be safe.

Blaah, Prim8 said, face contorted.

Tastes like mud, don’t it? Maybe, we shouldn’t be drinking this without treating it first.

Perhaps, nearby resident cows were having their way at my potential expense! Wrongway, on the other hand, filled a 1.5 liter bottle and then filtered that into another bottle, miraculously turned the muddy, weird tasting fluid into quite decent spring water ... or so he said.

Camp set, food and water consumed, Wrongway hung our food in a tree, though we had our doubts that a bear would sniff us out on any nightly rounds, but who knew?

No, no! Prim8 bitched during the night, my sleeping pad gone flat again.

What’s wrong with that thing? Though I conducted a cursory examine, I spotted no rips or tears, nor heard a leak. At least, we didn’t get foot-blisters today, fella.

10.19.23, Day 3, “The Oven” -

Up and away at 6:50AM—anti-foot-blister regimen completed—before sunrise, and under clear sky, we trudged along as the trail ascended. Without the cover of trees at that point, and exposed to full sun, perspiration ran freely.

Hot, Prim8 complained.

I paused to wipe my forehead and catch a breath. Yep. You’ll get no guff from me about that, fella. I would’ve guessed the temperature to be 85-90 degrees, but regardless, I only cared about our rendezvous with Dr. Bobo at the Tehachapi Pass junction (566.4).

Approaching PCT junction with Tehachpi Pass/Highway 58 & Cameron Road exit.

Seemed an interminable distance, but Wrongway and I reached the rendezvous point at 4PM. I consumed about 2/3 of a beer, chilled in the cooler, before we headed to the Red House BBQ Restaurant in Tehachapi for dinner.

Wrongway wanted to spend the night in a motel in Mojave.

Yes, Prim8 demanded at Wrongway’s first mention.

Sounds good to me, fella. I’m tuckered.

After we’d checked into said MO . . L, according to the large neon sign in front, I showered, then dunked my sleeping pad into a partially-filled tub of water, attempting to locate the problem. But, no ... I couldn’t find a leak. There had to be one somewhere!

I’d hoped for a good night’s sleep, but a plague of hiccups dictated otherwise. And those hiccups continued throughout the night, my usual remedy failing! To boot, my upper legs ached. But, glory be, I detected no foot-blisters, and considered that perhaps, I’d discovered a solution to that nagging, painful issue. So, I decided I’d continue my AM foot routine each day before I sashayed down the trail.

No! No! Prim8 protested about one thing, then another.

Are we having fun, yet, Prim8?

Segment Two - Landers Camp Road trail junction (608.9) northbound to Dove Spring Canyon Road trail junction (621.9), no overnights:

10.20.23, Day 4, “Hiccups Galore” -

Wrongway and I parted with Dr. Bobo at Landers Camp Road junction at 10AM. Cool breezes helped prevent black flies from continuously molesting us, and our hike, descending downhill over the thirteen-mile course, went smoothly ... and quickly, it seemed.

We arrived at an intermediate rendezvous point with Dr. Bobo at the trail intersection with Kelso Valley Road where we encountered a large cache of 5-gallon water bottles.

Water cache for PCT Hikers at Kelso Valley Road trail junction.

After consuming sandwiches, courtesy of Dr. Bobo, we continued northbound, destined for Dove Spring Canyon Road intersection (621.9).

Utilizing our three-way make-shift communication network of two Garmin InReach Mini devices and cell phones, Cabo sent a message to Dr. Bobo, requesting a replenishment of a few items, including beer. I added Prilosec to our list, thinking that would at least settle my indigestion … and hopefully quash my hiccups.

Dr. Bobo had already established himself at our planned rendezvous point campsite, cooler restocked, when Wrongway and I arrived at 5PM. A large cache of 5-gallon water bottles, perhaps forty or so, stood ready to parch the thirst of dehydrated hikers, but Wrongway and I had our own rolling buffet, including drink, at the ready, thanks to Dr. Bobo. I coulda had tequila, but didn't want to dehydrate myself needlessly. However, beer seemed permissible. Wasn’t it?

Dr. Bobo's pop-up bar at Dove Spring Canyon Road & PCT junction.

Dr. Bobo gave us the rundown of his resupply mission earlier in the day. Then, he informed me, “I couldn’t get Prilosec, but did get some Pepcid AC.”

“That’ll do,” I said. I’ll give a try, anyway. I downed a Pepcid tab. Fingers crossed, help is on the way, Prim8.

Though that tab seemed to help regarding my stomach problems for the time being, I considered it too early to make a final determination. I’d noticed my appetite had decreased over the past few days, which I chalked up to my sudden, intense physical exertion, though I’d shifted my diet from cooked meals to that of jerky, dried fruit, nuts, and meat and mozzarella sticks. But who knew why, exactly? Prim8 nor I had sway over what my stomach did … or did not do with what I put into it. As long as it did its job without causing me grief, I’d be satisfied with it.

Wrongway and I set up his tent, ate and discussed logistics of our next segment with Dr. Bobo.

Somewhere in the mix, a southbound hiker paused to chat with Wrongway. I didn’t catch their entire conversation, but afterward Wrongway told me, “He gave me the trail name, ‘Cabo,’” explaining that moniker had been inspired by Cabo de Homos emblazoned on Wrongway’s cap … and not from Cabo San Lucas. “I hate Cabo San Lukas,” Wrongway … er Cabo said. (Henceforth, Wrongway’s trail moniker will be Cabo.)

As had been the previous nights, the evening air grew chilly after sunset. And my hiccups had continued intermittently throughout the day and the night, with occasional brief periods of cessation.

Had that Pepcid tab helped? Apparently, the jury was still out!Boiled down, it was just another problem I’d need to contend with somehow.

Segment Three - Dove Spring Canyon Road junction (621.9) northbound to Walker Pass/Hwy 178 (652.0), one overnight:

10/21/23, Day 5, “One Hot Hump” -

Cabo (formerly known as Wrongway) and I left camp at 8AM. We had little to no shade as we hiked up and over two high points, then past Yellow Jacket Spring trail junction (637.0) before settling on a relatively flat cowboy campsite among the trees and some thirty yards off the trail. We’d wanted to shorten the following day’s leg to Walker Pass. Along the way we replenished our water reserves at Bird Spring Pass, where another large water cache of 5-gallon bottles waited.

Cabo and I looked to the patch of clear sky between the tree cover, chatted about and watched satellites passing overhead, for about a half-hour until I turned onto my side in hopes of sleep.

Aww, Prim8 said, hiccups restarted and lower legs aching as we settled in for the night.

Oh, great! Stiff upper lip and all that, Prim8. We’ll get through this.

Stop, Prim8 demanded, as my hiccups continued.

Dang it! I’m afraid we have no control over that, guy.

10.22.23, Day 6, “Take Me Home … Down Rutted Roads” -

Everything slightly damp, Cabo and I broke camp at 7AM. Fog, aka low clouds, hugged the ridges to our east, pushed by the wind. We encountered no flies. The trail, not ideal for hiking, followed a rutted, rocky dirt road we approached McIvers Cabin.

The trail follows a rutted road near McIvers Cabin.

Cooled by breezes, the sky had cleared when we reached the abandoned cabin (2/10 mile off the trail from 643.8).

The well-used, weather-worn, one-room McIvers Cabin.

We paused for food and water.

Cabo collects water from McIvers Spring.

When we continued on, Prim8 began incessantly griping about achy legs.

Prim8 pauses for a breath on the trail.

Dr. Bobo awaited us at the Walker Pass/Hwy 178 turnout. From there, the three of us headed to Inyokern to gas up M’s RAV4, then to the Indian Wells micro-brewery.

Fair warning for parents at the Indian Wells Brewery, Inyokern, CA!

Yum! Prim8 swooned over my bacon-burger and micro-brewed beer.

Tastes like heaven, doesn’t it, fella?!

Returning to purgatory, at least for me, anyway, the three of us drove to an 8,080-foot campsite along a dirt road connector between Chimney Basin Road and Long Valley Road. After we’d set up our tents, and strategically positioned the RAV4 as a windbreak, of sorts, we grabbed food from Dr. Bobo’s cooler. Gusting wind and lower temperatures made milling about downright unpleasant.

Cold, Prim8 complained. Get warm in the car.

I agree. “Let’s sit in the car,” I said to Cabo and Dr. Bobo.

We occupied the empty seats in M’s RAV4, while our collective gear and food claimed the remainder of interior space. We imbibed in shares of medicinal alcohol, and chatted about plans and whatnot before retiring to our sleeping bags.

Segment Four - Chimney Basin Road trail junction (689.1) northbound to Kennedy Meadows (702.2), no overnight:

10.23.23, Day 7, “Moving Right Along” -

Cabo and I started our hike in cool air, with light to no breeze at 8AM. Headed generally downhill on this segment, we hiked quickly under clear sky and along a tributary of the So. Fork Kern River, and finished at 2:17PM.

Segment Five - Chimney Basin Road trail junction (689.1) southbound to Chimney Basin Road trail junction (687.4), no overnight:

10.23.23, Day 7, “Downhill Glide” -

After we’d driven back to our 8,080-foot campsite, Cabo and I hiked the short downhill section (between mile markers 689.1 and 687.4), where the trail crossed the road and which would shorten our following day’s hike. We hoofed that distance in short order, about 45 minutes.

Segment Six - Chimney Basin Road trail junction (687.4) southbound to Canebrake Road trail junction (680.9 and near Chimney Creek Campground), no overnight:

10.24.23, Day 8, “Getting Tried” -

Cabo and I started our day’s downhill leg in pleasant conditions with some breeze ... and sans flies. At that point, we both felt we needed a “lay day.”

We met Dr. Bobo at the road junction near Chimney Creek Campground at 10:50AM, then drove to the campground where we sorted and moved our gear to M’s RAV4. Dr. Bobo remained at the Chimney Creek Campground, while Cabo and I hightailed it to Ridgecrest and settled on rooms at the Motel Six.

10.25.23, Day 9, “R & R” -

Cabo and I, after a good night’s rest, went to breakfast at Kristy’s.

The previous evening’s weather forecast indicated that an Alaskan storm was moving in, and would dump up to five inches of snow in the Sierras. Surely, temperatures would drop. Cabo and I discussed weather developments, and with the probability of precipitation quite low south of Kennedy Meadow, we decided to continue our trekking, though only after acquiring thermal gear at the local Big 5.

Then, we toured the China Lake Museum Foundation, where we learned about weapons testing and development at the Naval Air Weapons Station China Lake. Had to include some change of pace!

After we’d resorted our gear in M’s car, we rendezvoused with Dr. Bobo at Chimney Creek Campground. Once again, Cabo and I shifted our necessary sleeping and hiking food and gear for the next three days into Dr. Bobo’s car. We left M’s RAV4 at Chimney Creek Campground and headed to Walker Pass Campground for the night.

As sunset approached, clouds increased in the So. Fork Valley, and westward of us, as well as above the ridge line to our east.

Panoramic photo of the sunset from Walker Pass Campground.

After we’d set up our tents, we sat in Dr. Bobo’s car, chatted, discussed hike plans and imbibed doses of medicinal alcohol. Though later by previous evenings’ accounts, we’d hit our sleeping bags by 9:30PM.

A cold wind gusted throughout the night, I guesstimated to speeds between 45-50 mph. A case of indigestion plagued me, as well.

No, no, Prim8 whined.

Too late, now, bud. Perhaps, I should've had that Vodka Mary before we came to bed! After I’d pondered my ailment awhile, I took an antacid Pepcid.

Though still facing the indecision about getting up to pee—eventually, that decision would be beyond my rational mind to control, I knew—but feeling sleepy, though unable to fall asleep, and wondering the time, I made a command decision.

I’ll get up and ready for the day’s hike, Prim8, if it’s after 5:30AM. I checked my cell phone. 1:30AM? Oh, crap!

I got up, anyway, needing to pee, regardless, then updated my trail notes, and awaited Mr. Sandman’s return, hopefully sooner rather than later. A nearly-full moon illuminated the valley landscape to our west, while the breeze continued to shove clouds over the ridges to the east.

An hour later, perhaps, I slid into my sleeping bag again, indigestion eased and trail notes updated, to get some additional rest.

Segment Seven - Walker Pass (652.0) northbound to Canebrake Road trail junction (680.9) near Chimney Creek Campground), one overnight (maybe two ... or three?):

10.26.23, Day 10, “The Big Hump” -

We arose around 7AM, ate and broke camp.

When I checked with Cabo and Dr. Bobo, they suggested that overnight wind speeds had been between 10-35 mph.

Nah, no way. Where had they been? Okay, so maybe winds gusts hadn’t reached 50mph, but were surely higher than 25 mph, regardless, nothing you’d want to face bare-butt.

Dr. Bobo dropped Cabo and I at Walker Pass, where we bid him goodbye and a safe drive home. Then, we turned our attention on ascending the first elevation gain of 3K feet, something I’d been dreading for several days, then a second of 1K feet, both standing between us and M’s RAV4 at Chimney Creek Campground.

Wind gusts up to 30mph, I guessed, kept us cool, reduced our sweating, and consumption of water. All the better, since that meant hauling less water in our packs. Bottom line? Less weight! The eastern sky remained cloud covered, while we proceeded at a steady pace of about two mph.

Author poses on the PCT with China Lake (and a portion

of the Mojave Desert) in the distant background.

Cabo pauses to overlook a portion of terrain in the So. Fork Kern River region.

Reassured of good water at Spanish Needle Creek by a southbound hiker, we declined the detour to Joshua Tree Spring trail (a quarter-mile hike off the PCT to the spring itself), and continued along the trail to a suitable flat campsite. We settled on a level spot at a saddle some half-mile farther along the PCT (approx mile marker 664.3).

Though cool and tolerable in the shade at our arrival, the temperature dropped as sunset neared, necessitating a retreat to our sleeping bags while dressed in full gear, sans boots, of course.

Warm. Good, Prim8 swooned, legs snug in the sleeping bag.

Yeah, you can thank me for the foresight to purchase long-john pants in Ridgecrest.

During my frequent, though uncounted, stirrings throughout the night, my sleeping pad gone flat … again, and I noticed the nearly full moon illuminated the landscape and the air had turned frigid.

10/27/23, Day 11, "A Final Kick" -

At 7AM, when we arose, Cabo’s tent screens were saturated with water, and a thin layer of frost covered the surroundings, including our packs.

Frost covers Cabo's pack.

Both Cabo and I knew we’d endured freezing temperature during the night. We departed the campsite at 7:50AM, as we discussed extending our day’s hiking distance, hoping to avoid another frigid night camped on the trail.

Yeah, Prim8 urged.

We’ll just have to “play things by ear,” fella, and see how far we can comfortably go.

A little low on water, we were relieved to see that, in fact, there was a good flow of water in Spanish Needle Creek which we crossed three times. At one crossing we added a liter or so of water to our loads.

As it ‘twas, we plodded along. A southbound hiker mentioned the previous night’s temperature had dropped to 27 degrees. Whether the temperature at our campsite had dipped that low didn't matter to me.

Cold, Prim8 observed.

Yeah, guy, freezing is freezing. We’d experienced thirty-two degrees, at least, and that was all I’d needed to know!

Our hope increased with each step taken, and the 17-mile trek completed by 3:45PM, we made the PCT junction with Canebrake Road (680.9) near M’s car at Chimney Creek Campground, without undue problem.

Yay! Prim8 celebrated.

Agreed. We’ve avoided another cold night on the PCT.

Everything loaded into M’s RAV4, we headed home. I arrived home at 10:15PM, thoroughly pooped and in need of a shower and soft mattress. (PS: I still hadn’t resolved my leaky sleeping pad issue. But you can bet I’ll do so before our next PCT hike! On the other hand, I hadn’t developed a foot blister on this trip, so I’d successfully avoided that trail misery.)

A Detour Undone … Partly (PCT)

Bottom line: Don’t let the moss grow under your feet.

As I had planned to do, I returned to the scene of the detour. Call me a purist, but I want to walk every foot, if not inch, of the PCT!

When first there in 2017, I'd bypassed the section of the PCT from Hwy 74 junction (mile marker 151.9) to Saddle Junction (mile marker 179.4) due to trail closure as a result of previous fire. Instead, I'd hiked the detour along Hwy 74. Most thru-hikers would've considered that sufficient, out of necessity and with their bigger goal in mind, moved along. But not me.

So, “Wrongway” Mark and I planned to hike this section, north to south, with one overnight camp somewhere along the way.

8/17/23, Day 0, “Meet You at the Bunkhouse” -

Mark and I met at the Idyllwild Bunkhouse. We dropped my car at the Hwy 74 and PCT junction, then had a good meal and beer at the Idyllwild Brewpub before early retirement for the night.

8/18/23, Day 1, “There’s A Storm A’comin’ ” -

Yay, Prim8 said as I hoisted my backpack.

Don’t start celebrating just yet, dude. We haven’t carried this much weight in a while.

We started up Devil’s Slide trail from Humber Park about 7AM, our hike plans already shifting per Hurricane Hillary’s projected arrival. We’d noted the good weather window the evening before at the Idyllwild Bunkhouse, with the major impact of the storm arriving Sunday. And blue sky above provided encouragement.

Though slow, we hiked the 2.5-mile Devil’s Slide Trail to the Saddle Junction, carrying additional water weight, about 3 liters worth, for our overnight. Plus, I carried a small stove with fuel and a “Bug Hut,” while Mark carried his two-person tent. My pack didn’t seem that heavy, but hauling the overnight gear had an immediate and cumulative effect.

Prim8 prepares to head south from Saddle Junction, mile marker 179.4

Our thoughts turned to completing the 27.5-mile hike to my car as early as possible, Saturday evening the latest.

"Wrongway" Mark takes a short break near Tahquitz Peak

Mostly clear sky allowed distant mountain and desert view. However, I paid the price of hiking in full sun by perspiring continuously.

Too hot, Prim8 complained.

This ain't no fun for me, either, fella.

Looking northward to Coachella Valley

Evidence of fire, the reasons for previous trail closures and my necessary detour, pervaded our views as we advanced south along the trail.

Prim8 takes in the view.

A number of fallen trees blocked the trail, requiring a cumbersome climb over or an awkward squat under, and at times an outright detour. To say the least, the trail’s poor condition slowed our progress. At one point, we missed a switchback turn and lost half an hour re-acquiring the trail. The combination of sun, fallen trees, trail brush, and the additional weight I carried beat me down.

Prim8 constantly complained of being miserable. Can’t say I blamed him.

Though slow, I slogged on towards Fobes Ranch Trail Junction, at mile-marker 166.5 and 12.9 miles south of Saddle Junction. We had expectations to reach my car before the heaviest portion of Hurricane Hillary would reach us. It came down to a matter of time. Could we out run … er, out hike Hillary?

Mark checked the weather forecast periodically. Early afternoon, he said, “The forecast moved the arrival from 1PM to 9AM morning tomorrow.”

“I guess, we’ll be hiking out in the rain,” I said.

“I don’t want to get caught in the lightening,” Mark said.

“Not a good idea,” I said.

Both of our phones squawked at the same time.

“An emergency alert, “ I noted. Riverside County had sent an emergency alert warning of potential flash flooding, high winds, heavy rain, etc, etc. “Whoa, I suppose it’s going to get serious,” I said.

“If we can make it to a campsite near Cedar Spring today, which is beyond the highest points south of Fobes Trail Junction, we can avoid the worst of the storm. From there it’s all downhill.”

I had my doubts about reaching Cedar Spring at mile-marker 161.0, another four-and-a-half miles beyond Fobes. “Yeah, nothing like being at 6,500 feet on a trail in a hurricane. We could start out earlier in the morning, too. You know, like o-dark-thirty.”

Try as I did, I couldn’t go any faster, however. Wanted to ... but couldn't. I paused numerous times to catch my breath and rest my legs. Despite my awareness of the effects of fatigue, I'd slipped and tripped a half-dozen times over the course of the day. My brain couldn’t will my body to do its bidding. As the hours passed, Mark’s goal of reaching the long downhill portion on the trail, beyond the 7,000-foot plus high point, melted away. By default, Fobes Trail Junction became our camp location for the night.

Snake! Prim8 yelled.

I’d expected to see a snake on the trail, so wasn’t surprised. It’s not poisonous, Prim8. The 18-incher checked us out for a moment before slithering away.

Shortly after, and with Fobes Trail Junction in sight down slope about two-hundred yards distance, Mark waited. As I approached, he said, “Stop there. Leave the trail and walk towards me.”

On alert, What? Prim8 said.

Maybe a rattler. I took a beeline towards Mark, then turned to look as he pointed at a coiled rattlesnake aside the trail in ambush mode.

Mark explained, “I spotted it as I walked up, and said, ‘Whoa.’ ”

Ooh, Prim8 whispered.

Yeah. And we could've walked right up to that guy without seeing him. At that point, exhausted and fixated on getting to Fobes Trail Junction, I had no energy to maintain focus on anything other than not tripping over my own feet.

Said rattler takes a slither from it's ambush position aside the trail

(Note the circular depression)

When we reached Fobes Trail Junction, we had run of the place. We set up Mark’s tent in a site snuggled between two trees. Scrub oaks I believed, though I wasn't sure what kind of trees they were ... not that I cared. They’d provide a welcomed wind break, of sorts, if it came to that.

Mark joked, "We could get hit by a falling branch in a strong wind. Wouldn't that be ironic?"

"Yeah, I suppose we could get clobbered," I replied. What are the odds?

Neither of us suggested moving to a different campsite, however. Too tired to even boil water for a freeze-dried dinner that I’d carried, we snacked lightly on dry food as we prepared for sleep.

An occasional wind rustled the nearby brush and trees. A few scattered rain drops fell. The temperature remained warmer than I expected at 6,000 feet as the sun set.

“Maybe, we can start early and get beyond the high points before the worst of the storm arrives,” Mark suggested.

“Are you going to set your phone alarm?” I said.

“No,” Mark said. “I’m a light sleeper.”

I didn’t have the energy to insist he do so. And besides, wanting to save my phone battery, I’d turned mine off. The colors of dusk that I could glimpse from under our tree-covered campsite encouraged me to take one last look before I tucked in for the night.

Ooh, pretty! Prim8 said.

Yeah, but don’t judge a hurricane by it’s looks, fella. I stood awed and humbled by the sight, and wondered what lay in store for Mark and I.

Hurricane Hillary's approach as seen from Fobes Junction, PCT

“Hey, Mark, you ought to check out the clouds,” I said as I clambered into the tent.

Mark didn’t budge ... didn’t even make a sound.

8/19/23 – Day 2, “Uncle Joe’s Moving Kinda Slow At the Junction” -

We spent the night without signs of a storm—no downpour, no gusting wind, no lightening, no thunder. In fact, eerily, the air remained calm and the temperature unusually warm.

Half-awake, I heard Mark rustling, then say, “It’s 6AM.”

We broke camp as quickly as possible, snacking on dried food as we packed up.

"I didn't expect it to be so warm last night. Didn't need to cover myself with my sleeping bag," I said. "Never would've guessed it." Perhaps, the unusual warm temperature wasn't a good omen.

"I didn't either," Mark said.

Headed south on the trail within thirty minutes, we started up the two-mile stretch with a one-thousand-foot elevation gain leading to Eagle Spring Trail Junction, hoping to beat the worst of what Hillary might dish, but figured we’d get deluged no matter what.

Bushwhacking through overgrown trail in warm, humid air didn’t help matters. Reminded of a jungle, I prayed for any slight breeze that might help cool me, though what air moved provided little relief. My pace remained slow, my legs not recovered from their previous day’s beating. And, as usual, Mark hiked on ahead.

Slogging my way up trail, I saw Mark’s approach as he descended..

“We’re not moving fast enough to get beyond the high points before the storm hits," Mark said. "It doesn't look good from farther up."

Not faster, Prim8 whined.

We won’t ... we can't, anyway. “If I try to go any faster, I’ll burn out altogether,” I replied to Mark.

“I think we should head down from Fobes Trail Junction to lower elevation. It’s better to bail now, and live to hike another day. We can always return for a day hike to complete this section,” he said.

Yes, tired, Prim8 said.

I agree, fella. Mark had me at we’re not moving fast enough. “Okay,” I said. I didn’t have a counter argument in me. Knew he was correct.

We descended to the saddle at Fobes Trail Junction, then turned toward Hwy 74 on the shortest, quickest descent route available to us.

Once on the dirt of Fobes Ranch Road, some two-and-a-half miles hike from the PCT, and per our agreement, Mark took my car keys. The plan? He'd hike ahead, then drop his pack at some point where I would wait for his return in my car.

Stop, Prim8 insisted.

No, we need to keep moving. We’ll get there … eventually.

Long before I reached Hwy 74 or Mark’s pack, however, a pickup pulled alongside and the driver offered me a lift.

Yay, Prim8 said.

I accepted with gratitude. Trail angels still exist, guy.

Maybe, a mile farther down the bumpy and rutted dirt road, she stopped for Mark, then dropped us at my car. The three of us chatted a few minutes, before she headed on to Anza. In the meantime, she'd mentioned Mark and I should consider grabbing a bite at the Paradise Cafe. I figured she thought I was on my last leg, though I couldn’t have argued any differently.

After she’d pulled away, I said to Mark, “Yeah, maybe we could get breakfast or lunch at the Paradise. What time is it?”

“9:30,” he said.

“Then, breakfast it is,” I proclaimed.

I consumed a fantastic three-egg omelet, probably, the best I’ve ever had!

Though the sky's overcast looked ominous, Mark and I drove away from the Paradise Cafe well ahead of Hurricane Hillary’s fury.

I shall return to hike the section of the PCT from Fobes Trail Junction to Hwy 74, if for no other reason than stubbornness.