24 miles
The scenery is gorgeous here, and I want to stay in this section forever. We joke about how we're actually slowing each other down, doing less miles than we would do on our own, but thoroughly enjoying the company. We take long breaks, getting caught up in the stories we tell each other about our lives. I think Barrel knows more about me than people I've dated for 6 months. It's an odd thing, these hiking connections, and I'm worried I'm getting too used to it. I will be getting off trail once I get to Portland, meeting my Uncle and Aunt for a few days on the Oregon coast, and I know that all of my hiking friends will be long ahead of me. I have to decide if I'm going to get back on exactly where I left off, or skip ahead to finish the trail with them, and then do the section that I skipped, alone. "Hike your own hike," I think--but somehow these people have become a huge part of my hike.
Soon we enter the obsidian wilderness, so named for the massive amount of obsidian glass all around us. We are especially looking forward to Obsidian Falls, and when we get there, it doesn't disappoint.
It's hard to see in photos, but the waterfall is backed by a full wall of obsidian, large pieces of the rocks scattered all over the ground. Barrel decides he's going to take a shower under the falls, but I say I'm too chicken to get in the freezing water.
Barrel repeats his favorite phrase to me in moments like this: "YOLO, man!" (You Only Live Once)...and just like when Marty McFly gets called a "chicken" in Back to the Future, I have no choice but to step up once he says this to me. So, I get in the freezing cold water at Obsidian Falls, because you do only live once.
I have yet to find a souvenir for my PCT adventure, and decide that a piece of obsidian is just what I need. It is ever present, and I find myself staring at the ground, trying to find the "perfect" piece. I see a giant rock the size of my head, and though I want it, I decide carrying 5 extra pounds for another 180 miles is a bit much, so I settle on a couple smaller pieces, and try not to exchange them every time I see another rock.
We reach a spring bubbling up from the base of a large rocky mound, and enjoy not having to filter this clean water coming straight from the earth. We meet two female hikers here, Perps and Snowcone, and I'm interested to hear where they've come from. It turns out that Perps also started in Yosemite, two weeks before I did, and Snowcone started at the Oregon/California border. We chat for a bit before they head on up the trail, and end up leapfrogging them throughout the day.
Soon we hit some lava fields, and while beautiful in a terrifying, morbid way, they are hot and unpleasant to walk through. Ghost trees poke up from the surface, bleached white from the sun, standing large in a foreboding "all that enters will die" sort of way.
We come to a climb, and I stick my headphones in, crank up Volcano Choir (the irony of that only hitting me as I type), and cruise up the mountain doing at least 2.5 mph. I pass day hiker after day hiker--they look at me, sweaty and wheezing--and I feel proud of my leg and lung strength, at least for today. I catch up to Barrel on the flat section before another climb, and I pass him as he's a about to take a break, saying "We're not stopping now, are we?! I'm on a roll!" My enthusiasm is catching, and he says "Alright!" And starts crushing the miles himself. We hit a steep climb up the lava, switchback after switchback, and power through until we get to the top. We take pictures with Three-fingered Jack and Mount Jefferson in the background, and then we sit down against a rock pile to enjoy our well-deserved lunch. The day hikers eventually catch up to us, slowly trudging up the mountain and across the lava, and we make conversation, feeling like happy and accomplished thru hikers.
It never fails that right when I start to feel comfortable and capable, the trail decides to bring me back down to reality. We hit some snow, and I know it's probably a signal that there is more waiting for us up ahead. Barrel decides to glissade down the snow (a way of sliding down the snow, instead of having to walk down), and yells up at me "YOLO, man!" when I hesitate. I have yet to really glissade, but since it's not a very steep section, and because Barrel is waiting at the bottom, I give it a go. I put my pack across my lap, following his lead, and push myself off. And stop six inches later. I push myself off again. And stop again a few inches down. It becomes obvious that my glissade technique is not up to snuff, and so I have to push and shimmy my way down the hill. It also doesn't help that I'm wearing my shorts, catching a significant amount of snow in them as I make my way down. Barrel is practically peeing his pants with laughter by the time I finally get down the hill, and I stand up to dump the snow out of my shorts, thoroughly disappointed with my first attempt at glissading, but also intrigued enough to try it again, if the time arises.
Perps and Snowcone catch up to us as we're taking a break, and we all walk together for a few miles, heading to a lake for an afternoon swim. They tell us that we missed some trail magic back in the snow, showing off the craft beers that were apparently just off trail, a large stick arrow pointing to them. I missed the arrow completely, but Barrel says he saw it and couldn't figure out what it was pointing to. We are almost devastated to have missed the beer. We get to the lake, and all enjoy a nice afternoon swim for an hour, before hitting the trail again.
And then we hit another lava flow. The ground is treacherous and difficult to walk over, but when I voice this out loud, Barrel is quick to say, "yeah, but think about how difficult it would have been to make this trail! It would have been terrible!" So then I feel bad for not being more appreciative of the trail we do have, but also wish they had just avoided this lava flow altogether. We walk for an hour or so through the flow, the four of us staggered in a line, based on how fast we are able to walk on the large, movable rocks. We heard from a SoBo hiker earlier in the day that Coppertone (of the rootbeer trail magic fame) is parked on the road that leads to Sisters, giving out his rootbeer floats, so for most of the day I've been dreaming about a float, while simultaneously trying not to get my hopes up in case he isn't there.
There is a person walking in this picture--can you see her?
Finally we come to a road, and we all stop to have a snack on the rocks. This is a paved road, and is the first option for hitching to Sisters, or further on to Bend. The girls are going in to Sisters, so they stop here to hopefully get a hitch. Dark gray clouds have started to accumulate overhead, flashes of lighting streaking across the sky. We scan the road, but don't see Coppertone's distinctive white camper, and though I try not to feel too bummed, it dampens my spirits a bit not to have caught his trail magic in time. It's nearing 7:30pm, and we still have a couple of miles to go to get to the campsite we were planning on. We wait there for about 15 minutes, eating, and not a single car drives by in the direction for Sisters. It's clear this is not an often used road. We wish the girls good luck on getting a ride in to town, and continue on our way, back into the lava flow on the other side of the road.
Less than a mile away we come to a small campsite just off this paved road, and as we walk off the lava and through some trees, we see a large white camper. COPPERTONE! As we approach, he comes out to meet us and asks us if we want a rootbeer float. Barrel and I high five, and we know we won't be doing any more miles today, and I am thrilled beyond words.
Coppertone brings out some popup chairs for us, and a small little table. He says he is making some mac and cheese, but won't be able to eat it all, and would we like some? YES! While he finishes cooking we sign his trail notebook again, and I notice that we were the very last hikers to sign it the last time we saw him. We scan all the hikers who got here before us, noting how many days ahead people are, and wondering how on earth they go so fast. Coppertone tells us about the Runner--a guy who is attempting to run the entire PCT in record time--and as he talks about him, I start to think we've seen him. A couple days ago we were stopped on a break, trying to figure out the water situation going forward, and we see a young guy come running up the trail, not wearing a backpack, but carrying trekking poles, and wearing tall purple compression socks. Thinking he's a day hiker, because he's only wearing a small hydration pack, we ask him if he's familiar with the area, as far as water is concerned. He says he isn't (which we find weird for a day hiker), apologizes, and heads on his way, running down the trail. Coppertone says that very well could have been him, and that he's attempting to do around 52 miles a day, which would have him finishing around a month and a half. I can barely wrap my mind around the fact that he would be running two marathons a day, every day, for a month and a half. It doesn't matter that he's slack packing, his roommates driving his gear and setting up his tent at the end of the day, the shear physicality of such such an endeavor awes me.
After the mac and cheese, and some chili that Barrel and I make to share, he brings us those delicious strawberry icecream rootbeer floats, along with bananas, cookies AND doughnuts. I am in a state of sugar revelry, giddy to the point of silliness. So that I don't seem like a lunatic raving about how happy I am to get sugar, I excuse myself and do everyone's dishes in the buckets of warm soapy water that Coppertone has on the other side of the camper. I realize this might be the first time I've washed my pot, bowl and spoon with soap, and feel a little bit disgusting. We chat with Coppertone a bit longer, until it gets too chilly and dark, and we retire to set up our tents. It's 10 or 12 more miles to the Big Lake Youth camp, and we figure we'll get there around lunch tomorrow, get our packages, take some showers and eat lunch, and then do ten more miles in the afternoon. We talk about going to Bend, but decide neither one of us really needs to spend the money.
I have a belly full of sugar, but I go to sleep easily, content at how nice the last few days have been.
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