Day 64: the Sandy River

*8/14 I just learned via the PCT Association, that a hiker died while crossing the Sandy River a couple of days ago, as the makeshift bridge he was on was washed out by the flooded river. The last few days saw many storms that increased the water by about four feet, creating a dangerously fast and muddy flow, moving the large boulders quickly downstream. About two dozen other hikers had to be taken across the river by rescue workers.  My own river crossing that I wrote about below seems trivial now, considering how dangerous it has proved for other hikers. This is a reminder that hiking always carries its own set of dangers, and to never take this beauty and power for granted. RIP, fellow hiker.

August 6
22 miles

Last night we camped about a mile away from the Sandy River. Our maps warned that this river crossing can be dangerous, and so I've been dreading it for the last couple of days. I had thought we would end up crossing it last night, but the campsite we got to just seemed so inviting, and knowing we might get wet during the crossing, we decided to wait until today. We had also met a group of women as we were leaving the Timberline Lodge, who told us the crossing was a bit difficult, and that we should wait until morning, when the water level is lower. Barrel keeps calling it the Sandy Creek, or Sandy Stream, and I know he's doing it on purpose so that I don't think of it as a big deal.

It's times like these that I'm even more grateful to be hiking with Barrel, and not just forging ahead on my own. I know I could do it--hell, if I've learned anything on this trail, it's that I am much more capable than I ever would have thought--but having another person around just adds another little safety net, easing all my "what if" worries.

We quickly come up to the Sandy River, and see the makeshift bridge of narrow logs laid on top of each other. There are people on the other side, so I know it's doable. And really, it's not THAT big of a deal; I've just built it up in my head. Barrel goes first and slowly walks across the slippery logs. Easy peasy. When he gets to the other side I start making my way across the rocks to get to the logs. I'm wearing my sandals, and am a bit worried that they won't have enough traction on the logs. The water is just starting to creep up on the east side of the logs and then waterfalls down on the west side into a deeper section of the river. I'm standing awkwardly on a pair of rocks, wondering if my trekking poles will be a help or a hindrance, when Barrel gets back up on the logs and starts slowly walking back toward me. I give him my trekking poles, and he starts encouraging me to move forward, when suddenly I decide it sounds easier to sit on the logs and scoot across.

As soon as I sit down I realize this was a mistake.  Two logs are paralleling each other, and I'm straddling both of them, my left leg hanging down, my right leg folded up but now in the water. Barrel is still standing on the logs in front of me and tells me to stand up--since it's obvious to both of us that this was a bad idea--but with my pack on, and no good footing, this is impossible. So, since it's the only thing I can do now, I start scooting myself forward. I'm just as wet now than if I had tried to just walk through the river.  Branch ends stick out from the logs, scraping my thighs as I move forward, and the cold water reminds me how much I would hate to fall in right now. Barrel, like a rock star, walks backward on the logs as I scoot toward him, ready to grab me if I fall in (I tell myself, as I continue forward). When I finally get myself to the other side, embarrassed but relieved, a woman starts clapping her hands. At first I think she's mocking me, but then she yells, "You're not the only one who did it that way! At least you made it without falling in!" True. Whatever works.  

 The Sandy River Crossing  (I wanted to take a closer picture, but was too embarrassed after the clapping incident)

Once the river is over with, and it having been much better than I had built it up in my head, I am relieved and unconcerned about the rest of the day. We come to the beautiful Ramona Falls in another mile or so, and like most hikers, decide to take the Ramona Falls alternate route, which is a loop and connects back up to the PCT near the Zig Zag River. The falls are gorgeous, and we spend a few minutes checking them out and talking with the other hikers who we had joined for the buffet yesterday.   

 Ramona Falls

The trail is fairly easy for the next couple of miles, until we get to the Zig Zag River crossing. Two giant trees have fallen across the river, and there is a loose rope knotted in three places along the top tree.  It's clear that people walk along the bottom log, using the rope as a handhold....And I thought that after the Sandy River I had no other river crossings to worry about. Barrel says there is an actual bridge about a mile up the river, but then we would have to walk another mile back down the other side to get back to the trail. So, we size up the tree bridge and say what the hell. Barrel goes first (as always), so I can see that it's doable. The trees are pretty much on top of each other, leaving just a narrow space on the side to walk, so he turns his body toward the trees, grabs the rope, leans back and shuffles along.  When it's my turn, I wrap my arms around the top of the upper tree, not really trusting the homemade rope tether, and knowing that I'm going to slip into the rushing river below. My legs are shaking, but I'm trying to appear cool and collected. Barrel takes a picture of me crossing (on his phone, so I don't have the proof), and he says I look super serious and terrified. Damn straight. Oh, but I made it across without falling. 

 Fording the Zig Zag River

After we get across, Barrel tells me we have two miles of intense uphill. We meet a SOBO (South Bounder), and ask what the water situation is like, since our maps say it's pretty scarce. I've already filled up two liters of water, but the hiker tells us there are a few streams once we finish this climb, and that one liter will be more than sufficient. So, I pour out one of my liters. The next two miles are pretty severe. My shin is still bothering me, even on the uphills, so Barrel easily pulls ahead and I don't see him again until I get to the top. We eat a ton of snacks during our break, and get ready for more, but less severe, climbing. 

 The north side of Mt. Hood

My shin splint is really slowing me down, and I think that my upcoming time off trail with my family couldn't have been better planned. I don't see Barrel again for another hour or so, and am so absorbed in my audio book coming down a hill, that I barely even hear my name. Barrel has found a great little campsite, with an actual table, and is taking a break. I sit down, and we both look at each other and agree we need a quick cat nap. We lie down in the dirt and almost immediately fall asleep. I wake up a half hour later, start to get up, complain that I'm still tired, and Barrel reassures me it's okay for us to keep sleeping. So we do. Two hours later, we get up with a start, in that panicky, disoriented feeling that hits you when you know you've slept too long.  I can barely fall asleep at night, but somehow I'm able to sleep on the rock hard dirt, with nothing for a pillow but my thin piece of foam that I use to sit on. Why doesn't this exhaustion come to me at night?! We quickly eat lunch, sharing our candy back and forth and cracking each other up, still loopy from our long nap. I seem to be more concerned about getting to our campsite, which is the next confirmed water source, so I finally tell Barrel I'm really leaving, steal some more of his licorice, and leave him in the dust. 

I don't see any of the seasonal streams that we have on our maps, so I end up walking 13 miles with just that one liter of water. I'd be more mad at that SOBO hiker if it was any hotter, but as it is, it's relatively cool and the worst of the climbs are over. On the last ridge before we head down to Indian Creek (our water and campsite), I see a large stone mound with something attached to the wooden post sticking up from its center.  On the post I find a cowbell, and a note that says "Please leave for Molly." Hikers are a weird group, I think to myself, and ring the cowbell for good luck before I continue on. 

A cowbell with a note that reads: Please leave for Molly

I make camp at a little clearing by the piped Indian Creek spring, which also has a picnic table, and wait for Barrel to show up. After 30 minutes I start to think that maybe he just stayed at that spot we napped at, 10 miles back, but then he shows up and I feel relieved. We make our food at the table, like civilized people, and eat together like the little trail family we've become. There are some day hikers camping closer to the spring, and when Barrel goes to get more water he finds that they've cleaned their dirty food dishes right in the spring. There is a pipe where the spring water comes out, but there are food scraps floating around in the water right beneath it. Barrel loudly complains that the spring isn't just theirs, and hopes that the day hikers hear him, and I feel a little embarrassed but also annoyed at all the inconsiderate things we've seen 'campers' do in the wilderness. And I admit, I've probably done some of those things myself, not even realizing it, but have now gained such a greater appreciation of the outdoors, of "leaving no trace," that I find it hard to understand when people wash their dishes in communal water, or leave their trash in the middle of the forest. Take care people, this earth is for everyone and everything! 

Anyway, I'll stop now before I really get on a rant! :)