25 miles
My alarm is set to go off at 6:20am. I wake up, forgetting for just a second that there is a strange man sleeping next to me. Oh, hi there. Maniac rises quietly, I assume trying not to wake me, and gathers his things out of the tent. I'm debating whether to sleep longer or just get up now. Ugh, might as well rise with the early. We don't talk much this morning, whether out of sleepiness, or awkwardness at having tossed and turned continuously into each other last night, I'm not sure. I'll go with sleepiness--there are no boundaries on the trail, anyway.
Maniac heads out before I do--planning to do another 30 mile day--and I give him the number of the trail angel I'm meeting up with at the end of this 86 mile section in a few days, and we part saying we might run into each other there.
This is my first full day back on the trail without someone next to me in two weeks. I feel that pinch-faced lump of sadness return as I'm breaking down camp, doing all the chores alone that I quickly became used to doing with someone else. I head out around 7:30am, and can already tell this is going to be another hot day.
Having studied my maps last night, I decide to do an easy day of 18 miles, not wanting to stress my healing feet. The terrain today, like most days, is ever changing. One second it feels like I'm walking through an African Savannah, and the next through a jungle.
The trail suddenly turns into powdery sand, a foot deep. It's like slogging through the worst type of beach, up and down steep, duney sections, with no water for a reward. Not my favorite. Combined with the sand is an overgrowth of flora that is surprising in this dry environment. It quickly becomes "Bushwack your way through the trail" day--at some points the trail only visible by marker posts.
And then just as suddenly, I reach an old logging zone. Overhead are crackling powerlines--like 'make the hairs stand up on your arms' crackling. Oh, and downed powerlines across the trail. I'm happy to walk quickly through this section.
I spend the first ten miles of my morning taking it easy, deciding to stop from 2-3:30 to rest in the shade because the heat is immense. I take pictures of the incredible views, and cannot believe that I have actually WALKED ACROSS THESE MOUNTAINS!
Only 8 more miles left to go in my day, so I'm not worried about wasting a bit of time. I have yet to take the obligatory "look how gross my feet are" pictures, because they looked too gross. Now they are healing, so I document the progress (pictures at the end of the post, in case some of you don't like seeing feet). An older hiker passes me just as I'm about to gather up my things and head on my way. He says hello, but doesn't slow down to introduce himself or say anything else. To each his own.
It's four more miles to the next water source, Deadman's Creek, and I have about a liter of water to get me there, which is much needed on a day like this. It's a hot four miles, and when I reach the mile marker, I realize that the water is about three tenths of a mile off trail, down a dirt road. I follow it dubiously, seeing tracks in what used to be mud.
I keep walking a bit further but finally decide that the creek is dry. Of course. Because it's called Dead Man's creek. AGH! The next water source isn't for another 8 miles, and I know now that my easy day is shot, and I will be doing 25 miles, hopefully before the sun goes down. So now I suddenly have to walk 12 miles, in the heat, on a 1 liter of water. Which has now turned into half a liter of water. Shit.
A few minutes after I return to the trail from the disappointingly dry creek, the same older hiker passes me. He tells me he also tried to go to the creek, walking even further than I did, and came up empty handed. He asks how my water situation is, and I say not good, hoping he has some to spare. He says he doesn't have much either, and continues on his way. Still without introducing himself. I start to call him Scrooge.
I'm trying not to worry, but I'm worrying anyway. I am thirsty and dusty and hot, and I still have 4 more miles to go. Uphill. Because of course. Around 7:30 the sun blessedly goes behind a mountain, and I drink my last quarter of a liter with 2 miles left to go. I start to imagine that this next creek will be dry too, but of it is, there will be no point in saving the water until I get there. I plan for a long, uncomfortable, dehydrated evening.
Just as the light is waning, I come to the creek. It is a short tenth of a mile walk off trail, and as I'm headed down I see a couple of other hikers setting up camp where the ground levels out. I call out to them, saying I hope there's water down here, and they shout that there is, and then I see that it's none other than Scrooge and Maniac! Scrooge introduced himself as Timberline, suddenly more jovial now that there's water--I can't really blame him. I ask Maniac why he decided on a short day and he tells me he too ran out of water 6 miles before this point, during one of the hottest parts of the day, and when he finally got here and rehydrated he fell asleep until Timberline woke him up. No one expected the water source to be dry--a stark reminder that California is in a severe drought.
I am happy to be with other hikers tonight, still getting used to spending the majority of my days alone. Appropriate things to talk about with hikers: Gear, pack weight, body weight (lost), foot health, favorite foods, foods in your pack, foods you want to trade, sicknesses on the trail, how you got your trail name, and what you did in your pre-trail life. Usually in that order, although sometimes food is more of a priority.
We talk until dark, and then retire to our respective tents and/or spots on the ground. The mosquitoes are still bad, but oh my god, at least we have water.
Feet:
I've been waiting for these feet shots
ReplyDeleteHa! Sad to say they're a little worse now :/
DeleteIf you could only know how many prayers have been sent and how many wishes your precious feet have received, you'd be astounded.
ReplyDelete