Day 6

Hwy 78 - Barrel Springs

I wake before dawn but am off to a slow start. The three men I camped with all pass by me. I accidentally leave behind a tent stake, but at least it is in a barren ugly field by a highway, instead of on PCT trail or national forest or wilderness land. My fears about rain prove unfounded. I feel very exposed on these mountains, and constantly am in an above treeline mentality. I don't know what to expect, and it is a much harsher environment than I am used to. Thankfully it is a cloudy overcast day and the temperature is well below what it has previously been. This stretch of trail is especially harsh, and would be difficult on a hot day. The San Felipe hills are barren tracts of cactus and rock, all harsh edges and dry grit and dust and thorns and spines and prickers. Every time I set down my pack another particle of barbed plant matter embeds itself in my gear. There is no shade for miles. I feel sluggish and take excessive breaks. I eat three snickers in a row. That seems to help.

I resign myself to a slow plod of a day, toiling through 13 miles. I have lunch on a wonderful outcrop with a great view, only to realize that my lunch and i are both seated on top of piles of droppings. I feel incredibly, overwhelmingly fecal. I hope that squirrel shit doesn't harbor anything too nasty and onsessively use hand sanitizer once again, realizing that between encounters with other hikers toilet paper, my own bathroom adventures, and animal scat I am down to my last dregs of hand sanitizer. I futilely clean my hands, my knife, and even my food packaging, My nails are blackened with dirt, my whole body, in fact, has dirt embedded in it. My toes are black. My scrape is crusted with gravel. My nose and lips are chapped and raw and I feel overwhelmingly unattractive. My clothing is coated in grime and snot and is stiff with dust and sweat. I think fleetingly of the two quintessential golden blonde California girls I encountered at the grocery store in Julian, on a road trip, clean, wearing cute dresses. The moment of feeling awful about myself passes quickly. We are living in two separate worlds, those girls and I.

I meet a former PCT thru-hiker southbounding to Kick Off and we bond over a shared love of New Hampshire and the Randolph Mountain Club. This cheers me up considerably. I walk a very slow 13 miles and then reach a water cache by 3 pm. I decide that this is way too early to stop and so I chug some coffee and start flying up and down the mountain. I won't be sleeping tonight, but I will be reaching the 100 mile marker and I decide that it's a fair trade-off. Endless ridgelines and distant mountains cloaked in a gentle golden haze. For a while I convince myself that this is prime mountain lion territory and that I am setting myself up for a stalking. That passes. The rain that was forecast ends up only being a few meager drops and I reach 100 miles just as the sun drops below the horizon, giving Hans a high five, as I had just caught up with him. The rain starts at 10 pm and I sleep fitfully, worried about tent stakes blowing loose in the sandy soil. Not enough rocks to weigh everything down. I fall asleep tormented by cracked lips, longing for chapstick.

Day 5

Mason Valley firetank to Julian to hwy 78.

We watch the sunrise from a wonderful vantage point high on a mountain slope as I huddle in my sleeping bag. Everything below the road dropped away from us and we could gaze on distant mountains. This was an incredibly long day that began with a scraped and bloodied knee. We got off to a relatively early start and both bemoaned the fact that what would be an incredibly early start on the Appalachian Trail here just feels like a failure, since we were not walking by dawn. Anything after 7 am feels horribly late, since the heat begins to slowly make it's presence felt even at that early hour. By 9 it is officially very warm, and by 10 am it is hot. We idle at the watersource enjoying conversation and once again trudge off into the heat. I move slowly, burdened by lots of water and admiring wildflowers. The landscape is mesmerizing - the trail is carved into the side of mountains and winds around the topography with everything dropping away from you and just a narrow track to follow. The desert scrub is dizzying patches of shifting hues of silver and green and golden vegetation.

Noon hits and I suddenly feel terrible. I collapse against the side of a rock, clinging to a small scrap of shade. I can't even fully sit down but instead lean, clutching the rock, watching the sun creep towards my feet. I feel like a lizard. A very, very tired one, with no energy to look at maps or journal. Finally I manage to eat more food and feel better. I knew I was hydrated but was crawling along. I may have depleted my salts and overhydrated, as I felt slightly nauseaus for a while. I collapse into several more patches of shade. Really lousy patches. Finally I recover and realize I can make it into town much sooner than anticipated. I also realize that there is essentially no real shade for the final miles, so I almost have no choice but to head into town. Brian beats me by several hours and leaves a message with southbounders that he has gone in to resupply.

As I walk I brush into a cactus and end up having to pluck spines from my already scabby knee. The somewhat callous response from two other hikers spurs me to hike faster and I fly down the mountain, fueled by a desire to shed their company and end a long day. I accidentally screw over these same hikers as they unintentionally almost bogart my hitch into town. A friendly girl my age drives past my out-stretched thumb with the same look I wear when I see hitch-hikers: indecision mixed with apology. She pulls over at the last second and one of the other hikers rushed over and began babbling about the PCT. I knew the driver had no idea what this woman in crazy desert/safari hiking garb was talking about and was freaked out - and I could tell we were losing the ride as she apologized and said she only had room for one with her dog taking up space, and that she hadn't realized that I wasn't alone. So I spoke up and said that actually I was alone, and I could see relief on her face. I felt bad but I had to do it. The other hikers eventually got a ride too so my guilt was alleviated when I saw them in town.

I am rushing to resupply and hitch out of town before dark with only two hours to eat and get more food for the trail and my overwhelmed brain accidentally decides I need 5 days of food instead of 2.5 - my food bag is way too heavy and I don't realize my mistake until after I pay the cashier at the market. Incidentally, this cashier is very friendly and offers me a shower and a place to crash, but I decline because I am alone and his eyes are blinking very rapidly as he makes this offer and assures me he is married (but his wife is gone until the morning). As much as I'd love to trust him, I decide it is smarter to leave. As I walk away two rednecks in a pickup truck holler "Hey! Wanna come party?" I politely decline and start to think that maybe with an hour of daylight left in a tiny tourist town, my hitchiking prospects will be bleak. Instead I luck out and have the easiest hitch ever, with an older couple offering me a ride before I even stick my thumb out. They even give me ten dollars as I get out of the car, with worried looks on their faces as I head towards an overpass in a desolate stretch of desert, assuring them I was meeting a friend.

Unfortunately, my friend is not there. I learn he went to a campground 3 miles down the road and since I just had been informed there might be heavy rain in the near forecast, with a heavy wind and dusk falling on a rather unnerving stretch of trail besides the highway, I begin to feel very stressed. I call Ryan and beg for advice, since he hiked this 2 years ago. He can't offer me much but tells me to stay out of the mountains if it is windy and rainy. I get offered a ride to the campground just as the sun sets by a woman in a truck who tells me she just needs to cover up a few things first. She drives off, leaving me by the road in the dark, undecided. I don't want to pay for camping, but I don't want to stay here alone. Luckily at that moment three other hikers get dropped off and assure me they will be camping near by. After standing and pacing for a half hour in the dark, a car parks down the road from me and completely unnerved, I race down the trail only to meet one of the hikers, Lucky Man, as he backtracks to check up on me, his fatherly instincts kicking in since he has a daughter my age. I feel very relieved and a bit pathetic. I eat the cheeseburger that I packed out in the dark and listen to the wind whip at my tarp all night.

Day 4

Horse Heaven Campground - Mason Valley firetank.

Last night I slept on a picnic table and froze my ass off. From now on it's bumpy, uneven, insulating, cozy ground for me. And I definitely will uphold my resolution to never go off-trail to camp ever again, as in the morning we walk past lovely spots for inconspicuous tenting. I really like asking for input from others but need to remember that a thru-hiker's perspective is usually pretty different from other hikers, even experiences ones.

The sore throat has abated but now my nose is a faucet. I drench two handkerchiefs and move on to shirt sleeves. No wildlife today although Brian saw a rattlesnake. We met a guy attempting to complete the PCT with packhorses - fitting as we enter a section of trail that mail ponies used to travel through. One of his horses just became lame though, so he may be getting off trail at least temporarily. We walk though an incredibly scenic stretch of tral with amazing vistas, only to discover that the rock outcroppings have been turned into an impromptu memorial ground, with tacky plaques commemorating deceased loved ones glued onto the rock. There's also some seriously terrible grafitti, as this area is right next to road access.

I am a miserable bitch to Brian today, as I don't handle being sick and uncomfortable very well. I vow to be a better friend soon. He tells me my trail name can be New Leaf, in that case.

The peaks in the distance have an alluring cloud cover surrounding them and I long to be there, as it looks so much cooler. Eventually I do indeed get there and realize to my dismay that it is cooler, much cooler. In fact it is very cold and windy. Reynaud's kicks in and I have numb, white, very cold fingers that take an hour to warm up after we stop for water. I realize I definitely need my cold weather gear, all of it, even in the desert. Which really just means mittens and perhaps my warmer jacket.

We set up camp on the side of a dirt road by a firetank. It has a great wind break as it is carved into a brush covered hill, but my satisfaction is diminished slightly when I realize that the rock I am using to hammer in tent stakes was hiding a fecal used wet wipe and several batteries, both of which I grudgingly pack out after hand sanitizing extensively and wishing great ill on their former owner. I am sleeping in my garbage bag as a makeshift bivy, as there is so much condesnation in the air it may as well be raining. My nose keeps dripping in my journal as I write. I am pretty sure there are homeless people with cushier lives than this.

Day 3

Cibbets Flats to Mt. Laguna to Horse Heaven Campground

I wake up to a chilly morning and a horrible sore throat. I drag on through the morning until I cave and beg Brian for some of his instant coffee. Miracle! I then fly up and down the trail, revived. Walking faster seems to help me ignore my sore throat. I may have also been motivated by visions of soda and cheeseburgers with a stop in Mt. Laguna. I bump into several of the people we began hiking with when I take a break. Complete 10 miles by noon but am then running on empty towards the end. The cafe located past the outfitters has incredible food and I eat the most wonderful cheeseburger and parmesan and garlic fries. There is a row of bikers at the newly completed bar in the cafe and I secretly wish I had a photo with them, but am too sick to really care. Brian and I both collapse in the shade across the road for several hours after broadly hinting to the guy at the outfitter that we would like to nap uninterrupted for as long as possible, without walking back to the trail. Resupply at the Mt. Laguna campground store in incredibly overpriced, with mozzarella sticks retailing for over a dollar each, when usually they are roughly 60 cents. I have enough food to keep going and don't buy much. The owner of the gear shop was really nice and suggests a stealth campspot about a mile off trail... with another half mile of road walking. So we leave Mt Laguna and stupidly take him up on this suggestion in hopes of water spigots. They are off. I vow to never walk this far off trail for camping again. Still no sign of Cameron and Tim. They are behind us somewhere.

As I walked today I admired trailwork in the hardened red clay soil and decided that I have the utmost respect for anyone doing trail work in the desert.

Day 2

Hauser Creek to Cibbets Flats campground.

We had vowed to wake up at 4 am to escape the desert heat, but after a long night of border patrol interruptions we failed in our attempts. Meeting up with Cameron and Tim we learn that they arrived a bit later than us and had been stung by the bees that Brian and I had carelessly walked past earlier in the day.

In spite of a terrible night's sleep I feel enrgized and had an amazing morning. The terrain was easy compared to the rugged trails I was used to in the Whites. I saw a fox as I walked by myself ahead of the others on the descent down to the lake. I was glad I didn't push on to the campground as it was filled with car campers and I later heard it had been a noisy night there as well. I took a cold shower with all of my clothing on to cool off and hung out with Wee Bee's lovely parents beside their vw camper van. We officially inducted them as trail angels as they generously shared food and drink. The guys were dehydrated and feeling the heat, but if anything, I was over-hydrating and felt fine. We lingered for too long socializing with other hikers and as a result hiked out in the heat of the afternoon and ended up pushing past a wonderful stream with only a brief immersion and glimpse of swallows swooping into nests below a bridge. Dawdled again at the 10 mile marker and a water spigot... hiking through some of the hottest hours of the day left us all reluctant to part with shade and start walking again. The heat is relentless and as you walk you find youself constantly looking for the next patch of shade, with even the smallest patch a relief. You lean into the shadow thrown by a shrub, bowing your head down if the shade doesn't extend far enough to cover your whole height.

Brian and I finally left the water spigot after 4 pm, leaving Tim and Cameron behind. The goal of 17 miles we had set earlier that morning now seemed highly unlikely and we paused at the last road, hesitating after 14 miles. The sun was setting in half an hour and Brian wanted to camp at the trailhead, which was just a shallow stretch of dirt pull-off on a highway. With the border patrol driving past repeatedly in the few minutes we were there I refused. It was way too exposed and after last night's experience I wanted a better night's sleep. The guidebook had mentioned good camping but after walking down the road a quarter of a mile we found only mediocre spots. With the sun setting I bullied Brian into night-hiking the final miles to a campground. I saw 4 quail and tons of animal scat today, as well as a strange break in wire fencing along the highway (illegal immigrants? drug running? who knows?). I convinced myself it was prime mountain lion territory and as we walked Brian decided to tell me a terrifying mountain lion mauling story. Thanks, Brian.

We made good time and survived the horrendous road walk at the end in relatively good spirits. Seeing campfires at the site and in hopes of avoiding noisy campers, knowing it was the weekend, we stop short of the actual campground and set up by the side of the road. Since it's dirt, I feel a bit better about the odds of avoiding vehicles for the night. A few campers walk by with glow sticks and my desire to be a recluse for the night is confirmed. As we begin to fall asleep, Brian spies two shooting stars, I see none.

I slept like the dead.

Day 1

Campo to Hauser Creek.

After a few days spent wandering around San Diego (Normal Heights, Ocean Beach, Coronado Island) I spend an evening at the Mann's with other hikers preparing to start walking. The Mann's are former thru-hikers who were so moved by the kindness and generosity that they encountered on their thru-hike that they now open up their home to hundreds of hikers each spring, feeding them, housing them, and sending them off to the trail. While I departed with just 6 other hikers, they told me that just a few days from now they planned on hosting 45 hikers at their house in just one day! I am shuttled to the trail by none other than my fellow caretaker Tristan and am walking with two of my good friends from the Appalachian Trail (Brian and Cameron) which is an auspicious start.

We reach the border and while I am wracked with nerves on the drive down I am giddy once we start walking. Distracted by excitement, we foolishly attempt to hike through the mid-day desert heat. This results in many, many breaks. At one point Brian and I simply sprawl out on the trail itself. I might have ran out of water if Brian hadn't given me some of his at the end of the day, because while the water sources were plentiful, at one break I opted to not take any more and ended up drinking more than anticipated, while somehow missing the last water source before Hauser Creek. While walking I see a harmless snake, several cottontails, two dead mice, a humming bird, and many yucca plants blooming. There are also signs of illegal immigrants: discarded clothing and scraps of cloth, mostly. We end up not walking the 20 miles to Lake Morena, instead opting to call it at day at 7 pm 5 miles short of the lake. I was fascinated by the former boyscout leader who was a slightly heavy set woman with a day pack; we encountered her late in the day and both wound up at the creek with the sun setting. She clearly didn't have a shelter or sleeping bag and also had no way to treat water (Hauser Creek was not exactly the most pristine source I have encountered.) The sun was setting and she said she was going to head up the mountain for a warmer night. She seemed in good spirits and was only going to the lake, so I didn't worry about her lack of gear too much. In a worst case scenario she could walk five more miles through the night to arrive at her final destination.

The final descent was painful, as were our options for tenting. Tarps next to a damp buggy creek or pitched beside a road with border patrol SUVs and locals driving by until late in the evening. The stars were amazing though - bright spots in a deep velvet darkness.

At long last!

I am at mile 266, writing to you from the public library in Big Bear Lake. My time is limited, but I will do my best to add as many journal entries as possible.

The people in towns are incredibly friendly and the hiking community is great. I couldn't ask for more... except perhaps a hot shower and laundry! I've yet to stay overnight in any of the towns we have passed through though, so it's going to have to wait. Looking forward to a day off at some hot springs near the trail, soon. More to come! I'll probably schedule each journal update to post on a separate day. Photos may have to wait a few more weeks.

I am loving the wide open vistas, enormous peaks and giant trees, amazing campsite options (sunset on a ridgeline, anyone?) and the unfamiliar desert environments... but I do miss New Hampshire.