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! :) 

Day 63: The All You Can Eat Buffet

August 5
24 miles

My alarm goes off at 5am, and I lay there for a few minutes, waiting to see if Barrel is already up. Usually he's the one that signals the start of the day, but today I reach behind my head and pull out the stopper from my sleeping pad. The air rushes out in whooshes and whistles, as I slowly sink to the ground. Barrel says, "Hey, that's my job!" And I say, "time to get up, we have a buffet to kill!"
It's 4 miles to the first road, and we get there in an hour and a half, surprised when we get there that it wasn't actually miles closer. The trail has fairly little elevation gain or loss, so we make amazing time. It's still early in the morning, the midst creeping its tendrils around the forest floor beneath us, and we get our first real glimpse of Mt. Hood in the distance--this is our ultimate destination for lunch.

By 9:30am we've already done 9 miles, and Barrel and I joke that usually by this time we've probably only done 3 miles, and marvel at what "real" hiking is like. :) Around the 7 mile mark my right shin starts aching, and I slow down a bit, hoping it's just one of those aches and pains that comes in and out through out the day. When we take our 9 mile break, I limp over to the boys and after telling them about my shin pain, they immediately say "shin splint". Crap. 

Barrel tells me to take it easy for the next 6 miles, and that he'll slow down and stay with me, but I tell him to go at his own speed, and to save me some food. With 7 hikers headed to this buffet, and 6 of them guys, I'm actually a little concerned that they might run out of food. 

I'm in a fair amount of pain when I go downhill, and slightly less on the climbs. Lucky for me that the last 5 miles are 2,000 ft of pure gain. It starts out easy enough, and I'm still making pretty good time, but then the trail turns into a vertical path of deep, beach-like sand. It's like slogging through an uphill sand volleyball pit. But, at least we great a great view of Mt. Hood!

I make it to Timberline at 11:30--just 15 or so minutes behind Barrel, even though I was trying to take it a bit slower. Food is, apparently, my biggest motivating factor. We organize ourselves, Barrel gets his resupply box, and then we make a run on the buffet. It's me, Barrel, Ninja Tank, Rock Steady, Crusher, Juicy (who I met very early on in the trail, and who I'm surprised to have caught up to), and one other hiker who is still working on getting here. We pile massive amounts of food and desserts on our plates, and each one of us orders a coke. The waiter brings us pitcher after pitcher of coke (trying to fill us up on liquid, no doubt), and we plow through it all. By the end of lunch we are all in near comatose states, and if anyone had been planning to do a significant number of miles this afternoon, that soon goes out the window. I sit motionless in a chair as I charge my phone and call my mom. Barrel goes through his resupply box and offers me first pick from all of his extra candy. I rarely have as much candy as I want, so I go crazy picking out Reeses Cups, Mike and Ikes, Kit Kats, and Hershey bars with Almonds. Best. Day. Ever.

Apparently the outside of the Timberline Lodge was used in The Shining, and they have an official movie ax, that we take turns posing with.

 I would be afraid of this face.

We finally leave, still painfully full, at 4:30pm.  It takes us almost as long to do 8 more miles as it did for us to do the 15 this morning, and we end the evening full and happy. Another day well done, I'd say.

Day 62: Fire Closure

August 4
12 miles + 25 of bypass

We wake up early and do a quick 2 more miles to the tiny Olalie Lakes Resort, which is really just a set of rentable cabins by a lake, and a small store for hikers and cabin renters. The entire place is managed by a woman and her boyfriend, and Barrel and I seem to be the only ones around. I try to plug my extra phone battery into a plug I see in the store, but they tell us the energy comes from car batteries that they charge, and propane for the refrigerators. They kindly plug my stuff into their battery, and we buy a few candy bars and a pickle. While we're waiting around the store, they give us free mini pies that are a day past the sale date, as they talk to us about their lives and annoyance with the new owner.  They tell us that there is still a fire closure on the trail for about 25 miles, and that for this portion there is an alternate road walk of 30 miles, with only water caches to rely on for water. Barrel and I discuss whether we're going to do the road walk, or try to get a hitch around the closure.  After very little deliberation, we decide to try and get a hitch, though they tell us this could be a bit difficult.

We have a couple more miles to go before we reach the actual bypass route, so we take the road up from the resort, thinking we might be able to get a hitch with anyone coming past this way. The woman at the store gave us a piece of cardboard to write our plea on, and we put the piece on the back of Barrel's backpack.  A mile or so down the road and a car comes by that pulls over. His name is Ben, and he's a journalist for a small paper in the Eugene area. At one point as he's driving us, he takes a left, and Barrel wonders if this is the way to the main road that we were told to take. I think back to the directions they gave us at the store, and think that this sounds right. Ben drops us off at the junction of the paved forest road, and we get out and prop ourselves on the side of the road. The only shade is under a small tree about 15 feet off the road, so we take turns lying in the shade and standing in the heat with the sign. Almost no cars are driving past, and it takes about an hour and a half for someone to pull over. Our ultimate goal is to get near Timothy lake, and from the hand drawn map at the resort, this road was supposed to be a direct shot, so we've been surprised no one pulled over earlier.  We hurry over to the large blue van that pulled over, and the side door opens to reveal an older woman in a moo moo, and the van gutted except for the driver and passenger seat, and a full sized bed taking up the back end. There are two large chests in the middle of a plywood floor, and Barrel and I awkwardly sit on them. Along with the woman are two older men, sitting in the front, wearing tie-dyed shirts with long hair. As we drive, and try to explain where we want to go, they tell us we're not taking a very easy route. Barrel pulls out the picture of the map he had taken back at the store, and after they point out where we are, we realize we somehow just went completely out of our way, and now have to take a much less traveled road to get where we want. Of course this hitch wouldn't be easy.

They drop us off, and we start walking up a narrow, hidden-looking road, not knowing when or if we'll get a hitch. The day is hot, and walking on pavement is even worse than walking through burn zones. The only joy are the many Thimble berry bushes lining the side of the road, but soon, not even they make the walk any better.  We cross a wooden bridge, and Barrel tells me he's going to take a break. I'm in a "I just want to get this over with" sort of mood, so I keep going.  Thirty minutes later, Barrel nowhere in sight, I hear a car coming my way. I quickly hold up my sign and they pull over. And then I see Barrel's shadow in the back. It's an older couple with their grandson, and they drive us to the trailhead after the closure. Along the way we drive past Hank, a hiker we met at the Youth Camp, and Ninja Tank. We feel guilty, since there is no more room in the car, but grateful that we got a ride.

The rest of the day is leisurely; we only walk another 8 or so miles, stopping at Timothy lake for a while to swim, and checking out Little Crater Lake. Little Crater lake is Windex blue, and you can see straight down to the bottom of the lake, close to 50ft. It's hard to show how amazing it looks from pictures, so you'll just have to take my word for it. 

 Little Crater Lake 

We end up camping at a spot 15 miles from Timberland Lodge, because we run into a large group of other hikers, and are easily sucked in by the campfire and conversation. After talking to everyone, the consensus by everyone is to wake up early, do the 15 miles and get to the All You Can Eat lunch buffet at Timberline around 11am.

Barrel and I plan to get up at 5 and leave camp by 6 and crush the miles to the buffet. I retire early to relax in my tent, and Barrel comes by later and shares some of his delicious mac and cheese with me. We talk and keep interrupting ourselves to say we have to go to sleep. Eventually, we go to sleep with serious plans to wake up early.  Anything for the promise of lots of food.