15 miles
I don't leave camp until almost 9am. My feet are shot. My legs are sore. Today I am having a hard time focusing on the positive. Perhaps it will get better once I start walking. I would like to do at least 20 miles today, so that I only have 10 or so to do tomorrow to get into Castella. This seems doable.
I start out with a liter and a half of water, knowing there is water in 2 miles. This is more water than I would normally take for 2 miles, but what the heck. It's hot, and I'm tired of being without water.
Nearing this first water source, I start to notice multiple side trails leading down the mountain, off of the main trail. I assume it's people taking shortcuts. I think about it, but generally have a policy that if I can't see the trail below, I don't take a short cut. I applaud myself for being so practical. Half a mile to the creek and I see another side trail leading down. I check my maps and it appears to be a direct path to the water, cutting out the half a mile I have left to go. Everyone else does it, and the trail looks well-worn, so I decide to take it. Down I go. It's fairly steep, and I think about turning back, but I'm too far gone. I keep following the trail down, but suddenly it forks. I'm not sure which way to go. I see the McLoud River below, and mistakenly think this is the water source I'm headed to. I pick a direction and continue down the mountain. Eventually the path becomes less worn, and I notice that poison oak is becoming increasingly more prevalent. Hmm.
I keep going, and eventually make it down to the river, which is massive. I'm expecting that the path crosses the river, and so I start looking for a bridge to head towards, and get back on the PCT. No bridge. I look across the river to see if I can see the trail on the other side. No trail. Okaaay. I look to my left and right, and realize there is no beach access along this river--it is either overgrown with plants, or has huge boulders in the way. I choose the big boulders and start to climb, wishing I wasn't wearing my hiking sandals. I get to the top of the boulders, pass a little cave, and am dead-ended by shrubbery. I can feel myself starting to panic just a little bit. Everywhere I look are patches of poison oak, and I can only see small trails leading this way and that. I know the PCT is above me, so I pick a trail, hoping it leads to the top. The trails deadend, I end up circling back, crisscrossing from trail to trail. I soon realize that these must just be deer trails. Oh crap. Nothing to do now but to keep going up. I have my trekking poles in one hand, and am literally clawing at the dirt and pine needles with my other hand, as I monkey my way up this mountain. I am trying my best to avoid the poison oak, but it's everywhere and I'm wearing shorts. Whatever. I just need to get back to the trail.
The mountain just keeps going up--I had no idea I came this far down, and clearly these deer trails are not the most effective way to get back to the top, but they are all I have. I push my way through brush and pine trees, branches tearing at my clothes and face; sweat pouring off of me. I keep checking my gps, which tells me the trail is directly above me, but not how far away it is.
After an hour of bushwacking my way up this tall mountain, I finally intersect with the PCT. And then I realize that in my state of panic, I forgot to get more water. GAHDAMNIT!!! I feel so stupid. Beyond stupid. I'm not even angry at myself because I just feel like a giant idiot. After I was just feeling so smug about never taking detours that I'm not certain about, I take a detour and end up worse for it! There is some life lesson to be learned from this--like, there are relatively few easy short cuts in life, and most of the time, the short cut means more work than just doing it the right way from the start. Lesson learned. The hard way.
I take a picture of myself after just hauling my ass up the mountain, to make sure I remember this exact moment, in case I ever consider another detour.
So now it's another 8 miles with less than a liter of water. I don't know how much more of this I can take. The last two days of water problems I can blame on the drought; today I only have myself to blame. It makes it that much worse. In quick succession I see both a King Snake and a Rattle Snake. The King Snake isn't poisonous (even though it looks like a coral snake), but seeing the Rattle Snake startles me, and makes me feel even more stupid for going off trail, up a mountain, in my sandals. Sometimes you have to do really stupid things in order to become wiser for it. What a brilliant statement, right?
I didn't capture the head or the rattle in the pic, but this is the second Rattle Snake I've seen so far.
I feel defeated, for the 100th time on the trail, but I keep walking. Four miles after my epic detour, a SoBo (South Bound) hiker passes me. I think to ask him whether there is actually water at the source 4 miles ahead, and he says he doesn't think so. I almost fall to my knees and start crying. I tell him I am almost out of water, and he says he doesn't have a ton, either. Which makes it sound like he has enough. But whatever. I remember giving water to a young hiker a couple of weeks ago, when she was in a similar situation, even though I didn't "have a ton" either, but I'm too tired to really be annoyed. It's not his fault I decided to go off trail and miss my water. He reconsiders his statement, and says he does actually think there might water in 4 miles. Last time I ask a SoBo hiker for specific info.
I press on. I fight my way through more overgrowth, so thick that this is the only time I wish I had a machete. I try my best to avoid the mass amounts of poison oak also covering the trail; taking more care than when I was climbing up the mountain, but still sure I'm brushing against some that I just can't make out from the other overgrowth. I start fantasizing about water again. Thinking about the stream I'm hoping has water, and planning out my party once I get there. I think about how much I'm going to drink. At least three liters. I'll stay there for an hour or more, basking in the amazingness while I make lunch. I realize that it's almost 2 pm and I haven't had anything to eat all day. I haven't wanted to eat anything because I knew it would just make me more thirsty. So now I'm hungry, thirsty, tired and on the verge of hysterics. I feel like a toddler that is having the worst day ever.
I can hear the water before I reach it. It's just a small stream making it's way down the mountain, but to me it is relief. It's not a lot of water, but I see an area that has small divots in the rocks, forming shallow pools, and I wonder if this is how it got its name of Trough Creek. I throw my pack down on one of the rocks, immediately strip down to my underwear, fill a bottle with water, and sit right down in one of the pools as I chug the majority of my first liter. I splash water on my face until I stop tasting salt. Then I do my arms and legs. Then I dunk my head in and try to wash my hair. I feel like I'm in heaven.
The pools of water are only about 4-6 inches deep, but I am in my own little private oasis, and I am feeling grand. I take my food out and gorge myself on cold-hydrated Ramen, cookies, gummie bears, granola bars and chips. I relax in the shade, let my aching feet soak in the cold water, and I feel delirious.
After a while I can see a hiker coming off in the distance--it's Foxy!--and I scramble to put my shorts back. Not so much out of modesty, but because I know he will stop here for water, and I don't want him to be grossed out that I've been sitting in the stream in my underwear. Thankfully he gets water upstream from me, so I don't feel too bad. He sits and we talk for a half hour--we keep leap frogging each other because he has a tendency to sleep late. This morning he slept until 12:30, which is how I passed him. And I thought I got a late start. He was actually camping at the spot that I tried to get water at this morning--my greatest fail. He leaves, wanting to do 15 more miles by the end of the day. I stay another half hour longer, knowing that I will only go about 5 more miles today. I just don't have it in me to do any more.
I don't honestly remember anything about the next four miles. All I can say is that I walked them, and then came to a high bridge over a river, which was my last water source for the next 8 miles. Getting water meant climbing my way down the steep sides of the little ravine, down to the river. I take 3 liter bottles with me. It only takes me 3 times to learn my lesson, apparently. I fill all three, and awkwardly climb back up to the trail, only to realize that one of the tops wasn't closed tightly and I lost most of one liter. Of course. I end up with 2 and half liters, and call it good, because I don't want to climb back down.
I walk another mile and half, straight up the steepest portion of this section so far, fully prepared to night hike because there have been no level portions to camp at for a while. I come to a unexpected dirt road, with some logging equipment at the top, and a large level area. I debate camping here, but am not sure if people will be around in the morning, and feel safest when I'm secluded on the trail. I keep walking, the trail curving and surprising me with a long, level portion. I decide not to push my luck by continuing to hike, so I make camp here, even though it's only 6:30. I figure my feet and mind can use the rest. I call my mom to check in--she tells me my SPOT hasn't been working. Go figure.
I call Kacie and cry, telling her how difficult this section has been, and how much I wish she was still on the trail with me. She does a good job of talking me down and encouraging me to keep pushing. Sigh.
I have a dinner of a handful of gummie bears because I don't want to waste any of the water that I have, and I'm still not hungry after my huge meal of the day. I sleep in the quiet, one of the few times I haven't camped by water, and am aware of every sound. I'm worried about Mountain Lions, for some reason, and even my exhaustion doesn't keep me from tossing and turning throughout the night.
I wish with all my heart for an overcast day tomorrow. If it's sunny, I'm not sure I'll make it.
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