Section 10. Sierra City to Belden. I had wanted an early start to put in some miles, but after a late breakfast I did not get out of River Haven House until 0830. Then I noticed the Red Moose Cafe was open so I went in. Honeybuns and his girlfriend had just arrived and were having breakfast. We greeted like long lost friends and I ordered a breakfast to keep them company. Then Isko, the Finn, arrived closely followed by Renee. It was 10 by the time I left but it was good to see some old faces.

 

I walked the mile up the road to the PCT and then started a huge series of switchbacks up the hillside below the Sierra Buttes, a craggy mountain. After nearly 2 hours the path levelled off and headed west above the valley where the small village of Sierra City lay. I could see its corrugated roofs far below. I stopped for water ar one small stream and while I relaxed and drunk a butterfly landed on the path. It was a large swallowtail with a slightly damaged wing and it spent a good 5 minutes proding its proboscis into the wet soil, probably extracting minerals.

The path then went round the west of the Sierra Buttes and headed north along a ridge pretty much for the rest of the day. As it headed north I turned and saw the Sierras for the last time. I almost had a lump in my throat knowing they would soon be a distant memory, and not knowing if I would ever return to them.

The path kept to the crest of the fir-clad ridge and offered good views down each side and back to the craggy Sierra Buttes. It held the only snow visible now save for the rare isolated drift in the fir forest.   

 

To the east of the ridge were a string of lakes down in forest, their azure blue contrasting nicely with the deep green of the firs. To the west were extensive valleys which twisted down until they were lost behind a ridge, and the ridges stacked up beyond each other, each one becoming progressively fainter.

 

I was walking well and the lakes passed quickly on the east side, Deer Lake, Salmon Lake, Gold Lake and a few more all came and went. It was peaceful, serene walking and easy underfoot also.

I passed a few hikers, namely Halfway and Sunkist, who had gone through the Sierras a few days behind me, and a Swiss girl called Caroline who overtook us all. She started on June 1 and had done all the 1200 miles in under two months.

 

We all camped at the same spot. I arrived just as the sun was disappearing behind the treetops on the ridge. Water was collected from a nearby stream and I was in bed by half past 8 with 20 miles under my belt. It was a good start to North California.

 

I wanted to increase my milage to 150 miles a week. 10 miles by 10 am was the key to this but it meant getting up at 4. I got up at half past 5 and was away by half past 6. Still quite respectable, but not enough. I walked up onto a ridge with views over the extensive forests on the undulating hills below. The trees were all fir but the shrubs varied. I saw the Manzanita of the desert, and also some escalonia. Occasionally there were some stunning lilies. In the meadows the flowers were already fading and the lupins had seed pods forming where the lowest flowers had been.

 

The path then dropped essily down to the West Branch of Nelson Creek. Here I saw a couple of deer. They were not the mule deer of the Sierras, with their big ears, but I think they were white tailed deer. They were quite relaxed about me, which was surprising as I am sure they are hunted here. After following this lush valley down for a while the path climbed.

 

It went up for a good hour in the heat of the day gaining some 2000 feet going into the midst of a craggy group of mountains dominated by Mount Stafford. At the top of the climb I was hot and had lunch and then a siesta, having given up on attempting a 30 mile day. However, after lunch the going was much easier and the path generally followed the undulating ridge for 10 miles. There were frequent views through the firs, and when crossing meadows in the forests, of the ranks of ridges stretching to the horizon. The views were nice but after the Sierras they were somewhat ordinary. Pleasant rather than awesome.

 

The trees were all Red Fir. There was the occasional Jeffery or Sugar Pine, and none of the Douglas Firs which briefly made an appearance before Sierra City. Californian Red Fir was king here. However many paid the ultimate price this winter with the heavy snow and snapped halfway up the trunk. The path was littered with broken trees.

 

I found a lovely place to camp amongst firs on a on a ridge  I reached camp just as the sun was disappearing into the trees, but before it dropped behind the ridge. When it did it lit up the forest in an orange alpenglow.

 

Later that night as I was falling asleep I am sure I heard a bear outside the tent. It would be a Black Bear as Grizzly Bears are extinct in California. I was camping on my own so I was quite vulnerable. It had obviously smelled my supper and came to investigate. Had it known it was a vegetarian curry I am sure the bear would not have bothered. I grabbed the small cooking pot and lid and banged them together creating a racket and heard something large run off. I then went out with my head torch, but could not see the reflection of any eyes looking back at me.

I set the alarm for 4 and left at 5. I was determined to do 10 by 10 today, and all these 10 were downhill to the Middle Fork of the Feather River. It was and easy saunter initially in the firs for the first few miles when I could enjoy the sunrise over the undulating hllls with drifts of mist in the valleys. I had to sort out an insole and rucksack problem but managed both.

 

Soon the firs were becoming scarce and they were replaced by pines of a few varieties, and then more and more decidious trees. The path twisted and turned but always kept going down. As it approached the river the valley became steep and the path clung to the side of it. It was frequently overgrown with new shoots on the smaller decidious shrubs. It became warm and then hot as I went from around 6000 feet to 3000 feet.

 

I could hear the river beginning to roar as it flowed through the canyon below. With a few final zig-zags I was crashing down the good path with the forest falling away steeply below me. Just before 10 I could see the river through the trees and at 10 I was crossing the pretty bridge over the larger than expected river and heading down to campsites and a swimming pool on the north side of the bridge. I had done my first 10 by 10, and now it was time for a second breakfast and a swim.

Above the bridge the river was wide and lazy and about 4 foot deep and 40 across. I went for a swim here and washed clothes and relaxed in the sun for almost 2 hours before the pressure of continuing got to me. Refreshed and clean I started the climb. It was an exact reverse of the morning. I had to climb 4000 feet over 10 miles to reach the ridge. The north side of the valley was getting hot, but luckily there was good tree cover shading me most of the time.

 

The Californian Red Firs were not growing at all down here. Instead it was the Live Oaks, whose crispy leaves formed a thick mat on the forest floor. Then I noticed that the trees were Douglas Firs. It seems they replaced the Red Fir at lower altitudes. Some of them were massive with huge trunks which soared 160 feet into the sky. There were also some huge Sugar Pines with their upturned branches and huge papery cones, some a foot long.

 

The path went on and on up, and apart for the lovely side valey of Bear Creek, was quite dry. Bear Creek was a decidious leafy oasis, lush and bright green in the  in this dark forest of Douglas Firs. It was a relentless climb and it took about 6 hours to complete it. I surprised a rattlesnake on tbe path as I climbed and it shock its tail at me before retreating under a rotting log. I had forgotten all about them but they obviously thrive in the warmer climss of Northern California.

 

At last the path levelled out near Lookout Spring. I filled up with cool fresh water here and carried it another half mile to Lookout Rock where I camped. There were 3 other camping here, but I found a good spot. Across the valley to the east was a huge fire. Planes were dropping retardant on it to little avail. It was a good 15 miles away and downwind so I was not concerned other than for the horrendous destruction. As i got dark I could see whole trees light up as the crown burnt. It was a sad sight.

 

In the morning the fire seemed to be under control but there was still masses of smoke rising from the embers and the whole sky was hazy. I found out later in the day the fire was started by an arsonist who was now under arrest. It seemed such an appalling waste for one mans kicks, all the birds on their second brood, billions of insects and perhaps thousands of critters would have perished, and the forest razed to charred stumps. The expense would have run into millions also as I saw about 100 plane loads of retardant dispersed over the flames.

For the first 8 miles the walk was quite dull and the forest seemed almost utilitarian and managed. There was a network of gravel tracks and people seemed to use them to harvest timber on small scale for home use. There were signs posted restricting cutting to certain days.

 

Then I reached the Bucks Lake to Quincy Road. A number of hikers hitch hiked down to Quincy to eat and resupply rather than leave it to chance at Belden, whose store was known to have a poor selection. I was rather envious of them going down to have breakfast.

 

After this road I walked with Bam Bam, a New Yorker who started life as a Geordie. The was a trail register here and I was intrigued to see when everyone passed through. The Cream of America group passed here about a week ago, Top’O about 4 days ago, Baby Carrot 3 days ago. People were really beginning to stride out to Canada.

 

The path climbed for 4 miles up to Spanish Peak. This was a return to old forest and there were lovely glades of meadow, where the bountiful flowers were sometimes chest high, especially the corn lilies which were in full bloom. There were occasional deer nonchalantly grazing as we walked past. I also spotted a chipmunk in a bush eating winged seeds. Usually they like pine cones but this time of year must provide a multitude of foods. Some of the glades were like parkland with huge trees dotted about the meadow. We were now up at nearly 7000 feet and the Californian Red Firs were dominant and thrived in this environment.

After Spanish Peak the path followed the forested crest of rounded ridge. Sometimes there were views but generally it was in the mature fir forest with some gigantic trees. We passed a couple of very small springs where we filled out bottles and continued west along the ridge until the trees petered out and shrubs took over.

 

There were a number of campsites at the very end of the ridge high above the valleys. Isko the Finn was already at one. I the orange light of the setting sun I set up my tent as the shadows got long and the green Manzanita bush glowed in the sunset. From here the path descended some 4000 feet down endless zig-zags to Belden just 5 miles.

Belden had a reputation as a place that held raves beside the “Resort” which organized them. Judging by the music that wafted up on the wind all night, until after sunrise it seemed there was a rave on this weekend. I feared the worst when I got down, which was my resupply box was lost in the chaos.

 

The descent was a continuous series of easy switchbacks on a soft path. Initially it was through shrubs and then it then the first trees appeared which were hardy patches of red fir. Soon however Douglas Firs became dominant with some pines and then deciduous trees like the Californian sycamore appeared as the path crashed down to the North Fork of the Feather River, and spilled out of the greenery onto railway tracks.

 

I crossed the tracks and walked down a lane past hundreds of tents and party goers who had been up all night. It looked like the aftermath of a music festival with hundreds of bewildered people in flamboyant clothing and a few stalls selling trinkets. It seemed quite well organised as there were rows of portable toilets around. I found the lodge, store and bar and to my relief they had my resupply box. I had 2 breakfasts in the bar while the revellers milled around. There were just a few hikers here, but we were vastly outnumbered by the revellers. The other hikers beat an early retreat and started the brutal 5000 foot climb while I did the blog for a few hours. Belden itself was not worth the descent and ascent to get to it. I had high hopes for Burney Mountain Guest Ranch, which was my next stop, but that was in 120 miles.

Back

Section 09. The Northern Sierras. Sonora Pass to Sierra City. Despite the 9 days food in my rucksack and the morning’s climb I had a spring in my step as I climbed up the path heading north from Sonora Pass. The new boots were fantastic and my feet felt liberated having gone from the heavy, often sodden, cumbersome, leather boots to light, airy, trail shoes. It was like going from lead diving boots to bedroom slippers. I was also full of sugar from the snacks I had been given and felt boundless energy.

 

The terrain continued in the same vein of geology as the morning with the brittle rock shattered into scree or talus. There were a few steeper snowfields which made me question discarding my crampons and ice axe. The path climbed steeply and I sped up it climbing from about 9500 feet at Sonora Pass to nearly 11000 where it was near continual snowfield again. There were recent footprints and i followed these across the snow. I thought I was finished with the snow so this was a surprise. However I think this it also the highest point of Section 09 and after this it drops to 8000-9000 feet with occasional snow.

 

Full of momentum I stormed on past the small frozen Wolf Creek Lake and over a watershed into the East Carson River valley. Here I was delighted to see the terrain changed back to the character of the previous two Sierra sections. The lodgepoles were back, the granite returned and familiar birdsong filled the dusk.

 

In my new shoes I sped down the snowy slopes into the forest and could see I was catching up with a group. It was not usual for me to catch up. I eventually caught them as they found a campsite and was delighted to see it was Bliss and his group, Happy Feet, Airplane Mode and 2 others. It was a good reunion. I found a campsite by them and soon were we all sitting round a fire will a small creek, still largely covered snow bridges tumbled beside us. We chatted for an hour beyond dusk amongst the snowdrifts beside the fire. I was relieved to be back in the nature of the Sierras, with the familiar sounds, smells and sights, after the almost desert like scree and picnicking traffic of Sonora Pass.

 

I had a bit of blog to write so when I got a phone signal again I could upload it there and then. So I decided I would stay at this camp at the head of East Carson River and finish it. I worked until 11 and then again in the morning from 0630 Bliss and his group left. I then had an hours snooze listening to the small tumbling creek and a very joyful bird. I eventually left at 1030.

 

Unfortunately the camp was at about 9500 feet and still in the snow as it was a forested north facing slope so I had trouble keeping to the path and lost it a few times. As I got below 9000 feet the drifts became less and then all but vanished at 8500 feet. It was a pleasant valley with some spectacular granite outcrops and ridges on the east side. There were a few creeks to cross and I waded them in my new boots. The water poured into them and then it flowed out again and after 5 minutes my socks were just damp. It was a far better solution than the large leather boots.

 

After a good 4 miles the path climbed up the west side of the valley and where it crossed  a small creek I stopped for lunch. Half way through the Japanese hiker, Masaru, arrived. I had not seen him since Vermillion Valley Resort 2 weeks ago after he emerged from the Sierras having had a hard time of it. He lost his sunglasses in a creek helping another hiker who was struggling and in trouble. As a consequence he got snow blindness and had to walk dawn and dusk only. It was good to see Masaru again and we chatted for half an hour.

 

Masaru went on and I continued up the slope to reach the flat ridge above the river. Here massive firs and some huge hemlocks dominated the forest. It was a very easy walk as the path generally kept level contouring around the hillside for about 4 miles. I got the occasional view back up the valley I had come down with yesterday evening’s snowy pass at the head it. It was fast walking up on this shelf as there was no snow and the path was flat.  I heard a voice behind me and turned to see Mouch. He was a very young but strong hiker who had worked for 2 years as a waiter to save the money to do this trip.

I left Mouch and started a longer climb again. It topped out well above 9000 feet and inevitably there were many snow drifts across the path. It was often obscured and I lost it on a few occasions.  It was time consuming following the path in a snowy forest of lodgepoles. However this snow was nothing compared to the higher Sierras further south.

 

There were a lot of higher altitude meadows up here. They were generally clear of snow, as there were no trees shading the sun. There were also some small lakes up here and many still had ice on much of them. Around these lakes and meadows which had flooded were hundreds of croaking bullfrogs. They were obviously cold tolerant and had managed to find somewhere to hibernate for the winter.

 

The final miles were again in the snowy forests and as usual I lost the path and had to make my own. After half a mile or so I usually found it again. I decided to camp just over a side ridge and just caught the last of the sun as I reached the crest of this ridge. Suddenly the mountains were bathed in an orange glow from the setting sun and they looked splendid. These mountains were not a high as the High Sierras but they still had all the beauty and character. I found somewhere to camp just the other side of the ridge in a forest of lodgepoles at just over 9000 feet, so there were many snowfields and drifts about. I was disappointed I only did about 13 miles today.

 

I got up early wanting to be at Ebbetts Pass in good time in case there was some trail magic there, which I was half expecting. Initially the path was mostly covered in snow, this was always time consuming as a lot of time was spent looking for it as it emerged from then drifts. I think the first mile took nearly an hour as it fluctuated between snowdrift, forest, and scrub.  Eventually the path dropped below 9000 feet and was less north facing so the drifts disappeared beside another great basalt tower, which looked like it was a volcanic plug.

 

The path then dropped into a rocky canyon before climbing up through firs to Wolf Creek Pass, a shallow saddle with the start of a splendid view. After skirting round the very idyllic Asa Lake nestled in a deep hollow surrounded by massive firs, it then climbed again, this time up to a proper, but unnamed pass.

 

The views the climb up to this pass afforded were both spectacular and idyllic. The snow on the north facing slopes of the mountains accentuated their character and beauty, and there was the deep blue Boulder Lake on a plateau between two such peaks. It was a stunning vista and only one a hiker could see. I felt privileged to be able to take it all in. This was nature at her prettiest.

Just then a new face appeared, Muffin Man, a data technician from Seattle. I had not seen him before as he started on May 21. He had made good time and told me of a couple of groups just a day or two behind. There was Sunshine, Fire and the Australian girls in one and the Slowbos including Harvest and Deb in another. We left the pass together but Muffin Man soon pulled away.

 

The path went down to Noble Lake where the geology changed for a couple of miles to a hard igneous type of rock which I think is associated with volcanic activity. It was much drier here as this rock formed scree or talus readily and the water disappeared into it. The only trees which thrived were the gnarly squat incense cedars. Soon the path passed through this geology and returned to the granite. At once the character of the Sierras returned, with pines, firs and hemlocks familiar birdsong and what Americans call critters, namely chipmunks and squirrels. I was starting to fantasize about the trail magic and was hoping they would have sodas.

 

The final miles to Ebbetts Pass were lovely, with large trees and frequent rivulets. I met a couple coming towards me and they said there was trail magic. Pizzas, burgers and drinks were all mentioned on a notice they had just seen. I was hungry so started salivating now like a Pavlovian Dog at the thought of it.

 

When I got to Ebbetts Pass however I could seen no notice so hunted around and found one face down with a couple of water bottles on top to stop it blowing away. Surely not, surely I could not have missed it. There must be a mistake. I walked the third of a mile down to the trailhead where the trail magic was supposed to be happening to find the parking place empty. I was crushed. The sign even said “eat all you can”. I do not go into towns so i had not had a soda or veggie burger for 2 weeks now. I would have to continue with my meagre rations to Sierra City some 150 miles away before I could taste anything nice now.

 

There was nothing to do except continue north. I was disappointed. I started to blame it on AT&T, my mobile phone network provider. They have proved woefully inadequate service and in the last 400 miles I have only had good reception twice. I could not communicate with anyone nor upload the blog without huge difficulty. It was causing me major stress. Only those with Verizon Network seemed to get something more than a dreadful service.

 

I stomped up the hill and didn’t stop for 5 miles. I think they were the quickest 5 miles of the trip so far. I passed a few nice lakes and through some nice conifer forests but just kept going. Bloody AT&T network. It was only when I passed some PCT flip hikers who were heading south did I slow down.

 

I suddenly noticed the landscape had changed again. The granite, forested hillsides, and multitude of creeks had gone. It now looked upon a very craggy, frost shattered ridgelines and dry landscape which would be more akin to South Utah than the lush Sierras, it was perhaps another geological seam similar to Sonora Pass.

 

I strode into it and found it to be steep and inhospitable. It was getting late now and I needed a campsite and water. I passed 2 creeks without camping possibilities near them as the one spot at Pennsylvania Creek was taken by 2 people on a short hike. At the third creek I filled up my bottles and carried them up the path to a ridge where I found a lovely spot to camp amongst some gnarly lodgepoles. At 23 miles it was one of my longest days which was pleasing.

 

I was initially going to cowboy camp in the forest, but I was glad I put the tent up as the wind increased a lot in the night. It started in gusts, which I could hear coming as they hissed through the tree tops, but in the end it was constant. So in the morning when I set off and saw a haze over the landscape I assumed it was dust from the desert which had been whipped up. However it became obvious soon that it was smoke from a forest fire somewhere. It completely obscured what should have been a superlative view to the north.

 

I dropped down into the canyon below the ridge passing through fir and the mystery 5 needle pine which I now know is Western White Pine. I had breakfast at the canyon and while eating Bear Can showed up. His nickname derived from the fact he started on the Mexican border with  bear canister and carried one needlessly for 700 miles. He was a young Dutchmen, and like most Dutch easy to get on with. We walked together for a few hours chatting, pausing for a break at a small lake in a stretch of various lakes. For the first time for 350 miles I filtered water as I took it from the lake. It was not the beautiful, sweet, clear cold water of the Sierras but the warmer water of a pond.

 

After this break the young Bear Can strode off while I slowly started to climb from a granite area into a more volcanic area. Immediately the character of the terrain, soil and vegetation changed to change as the talus or scree absorbed all the snowmelt water rather than let it spill down creeks into green meadows. It was a long climb up to a mountain called the Nipple in an increasingly strong wind which buffeted me around. However 2 hours later i was at the calm sunshine beside Lost Lakes having lunch. I also noticed the haze of the day, which was so intense it was not worth taking landscape photos, was starting to dissipate.

 

As I left Mouch arrived, the young man from Arkansas,  who worked as waiter to save money for this trip. I chatted briefly knowing he would soon catch up and walked through a mile of traditional Sierra scenery before I was back into the volcanic rock again, which I did not really enjoy, so continued to a brief respite of granite, where everything was lush and exploding into summer.  At a drink pause Mouch and Bear Can caught up, saying Field Trip and Grandmacandy were just behind but we never did see them that afternoon.

 

I struggled to keep up with the two fit lads and their lightweight rucksacks but they wanted to hear some tales from me so slowed down to hear them. We crossed a couple of steep snowfields on the north face of a lava mountain called Elephants Back.  At the top they were hungry so stopped for that PCT staple; spoonfuls of peanut butter straight from the jar.  While they ate I carried on past Frog Lake to the road at Carson Pass where there was a small, but closed, visitor centre, pit toilets and garbage cans.

 

I dumped my garbage and continued on as the sun set for another mile. I had intended to walk to the meadow around Miess Cabin but it was still 2 miles away when dusk started. I luckily happened across a campsite beside a small creek and knew it would be foolish to push on to a bare hillside where the wind might return. So in the twilight I put up the tent in a copse of maternal lodgepoles.

 

I had discovered while looking at the map yesterday that the was  small store 14 miles ahead. I was keen to get there and gorge myself on whatever they had. It would fortify me for the remaining 100 miles to Sierra City, where I would zero (have a zero miles day) and reorganise my equipment.

 

There was a slight frost in the morning, but it was not too cold. In fact it was just right to walk up to the small pass where there was a pond. Surrounding the pond were delicate irises with hues of yellow and blue  I walked down the north side of the pass into the lush bowl where the Upper Truckee River started. This river formed quickly and was soon meandering all over the meadows on the valley floor.

 

I passed the locked Miess Cabin, which was historic, and passed more meadows before the path started to climb through firs to the lovely Showers Lake. I  crossed the outflow and was climbing up when I heard a hello. It was Baby Carrot catching me up. He had done 36  miles yesterday and was going strong today. We walked and chatted for a hour before he charged on. During that hour the trail went easily across an undulating, rounded, ridge covered in lodgepoles. It should have been easy, but frequent snowdrifts obscured the path and we briefly got lost.

After Baby Carrot went on the path started a long descent down the steep rocky headwaters of a creek. It was almost a ravine yet despite the rocky nature there were some magnificent trees, the firs, western white pines and hemlocks were all huge. The uncomfortable rocky path twisted and turned down through them and one had to be careful not to roll an ankle. It soon reached a bridge across the creek and then the valley floor.

 

I was resting here when along came Mouch, Bear Can, Field Trip and Grandma Candy travelling as a bubble. They were all going to hitchhike into South Lake Tahoe for a day’s rest and resupply so I would no doubt see them in 4-5 days when they caught me up again.

 

It was a short walk to highway 50, which was much busier than I expected. I crossed the road and then walked the remaining 2 miles to Echo Lake. These two miles were through an exclusively fir forest. Huge trees reached for the sky with a small path passing their massive trunks. Many of the trees were well over 160 foot. However this dash to grow tall quickly so as not to get crowded out by others came at a price. Trees which had fallen across the path were cut with chainsaws and it was easy to see the rings as they were far apart. Even the oldest was only 2-300 years old. These were not venerable trees like the Foxtails, but fragile giants growing too quickly. The forest floor here was a sombre place; it was dark and lifeless with very little birdsong.  The only colour was from the almost luminous bright yellow moss adorning the lower branches and trunks.

After this foreboding forest I reached the busy bustling Echo Lake Chalet. It served as a hub for the cabins around the lake, catered for some tourists and fishermen and and also for day hikers a d PCT hikers. In the past PCT hikers had taken advantage of the location and sometimes swamped it so the Chalet had withdrawn services to keep them at bay.

 

However the Chalet had a store and deli. I gorged myself there in the mid afternoon finishing off with a huge milkshake. I had been looking forward to a proper feed for ages and now felt satiated.

 

The next job was to upload the overdue blog. There was no phone signal at the Chalet but just above was an overview over Lake Tahoe where there was an erratic signal. I could not see the town or lake as there was a large forest fire some 100 miles to the south and the air was very hazy. I put up the tent in a sheltered spot.

 

I spent the next 8 hours wrestling with the erratic phone signal. It was desperately frustrating to do something that would normally take a couple of hours, but at midnight I was finally finished. I usually go to bed at 8 so I was exhausted and my phone batteries were nearly spent.

 

The next morning I returned the quarter mile to the Chalet where I had another large meal, bought some extra snacks and managed to charge the phone batteries while eating. The lady running the store was extremely helpful.I eventually left at 10.

 

I walked back to my campsite and then down the north side of the 2 Echo Lakes. Some 100 years ago the Forest Service had leased land to people to build cabins. Today there are some 200 cabins around the lake, which can only be reached by boat,  and they were usually heirlooms passed down families. When they down come onto the market they are well over a million dollars. The Forest Service now regrets the cabins and is making life difficult for the current owners by tightening up on and vastly reducing the duration of the current leases when they expire.

As I passed the eclectic mix of old cabins, all different yet inviting, i passed quite a few day hikers. I also started to pass a few PCT hikers who had “flipped” up to Ashland in Oregon because of the heavy snowfall in the Sierras and had now hiked the 500 miles south. They said there were about 150 “Thru Hikers” who had been through the Sierras ahead of me and I estimated there were perhaps 100 behind.

 

I walked with some academic day hikers who taught at Davis University and whose families owned cabins on Lake Echo. They told me so much about the local area and were passionate about it. Our ways parted at Lake Aloha, a fascinating dammed lake, which was studded with hundreds of small granite outcrop islands. The lake was surrounded by several granite mountains, the most famous of which was Pyramid Peak. All the mountainsides were scraped bare by the glaciers but some hardy lodgepoles, scrubby white barked pines, and incense cedars had managed to colonize some areas.

 

I walked round the north side of the lake which was still frozen in places noticing more and more of the islands. Two PCT hikers from the Cream of America group I travelled with for a couple of days in the Sierras, Villa and Boathouse, told me how as 15 year old high school kids they spent a day here swimming from one island to another giving them a taste for adventure, and a life long friendship, which took them to the PCT 10 years later.   

From Lake Aloha the path descended into a lake studded bowl to the north. The rock also changed to a brittle red rock which was slow and uncomfortable to walk on. I passed the 1100 mile mark as I hobbled along this path down to lakes.Heather and Susie. Then the path began the long climb past Lake Gilmore to Dick’s Pass. Unfortunately there was still a haze in the air from the Mariposa fire so the views were obscured.

 

On the way up to Dick’s Pass two very modest but competent girls, Storyteller and Cannonball caught up. They worked a outdoor teachers with school children in Estes Park in Colorado. I had seen them once a week for the last month. I walked with them for a few miles until they soon burnt me out. They could do 30+ miles a day if they wanted.

 

The climb up to Dick’s Pass offered some great views, the best in the Northern Sierras so far. Lakes stretched out below me to the north and the north faces of the mountains here still held their snow, even in the forests.

At the top I was surprised to see Dick’s Lake in a cirque on the north of the pass was still frozen, and bright in the late afternoon sun. The descent was also still covered in snow. All the trees here were small hemlocks, their dark green tapering shapes stood out against the snowfields. Every so often I passed a large sapling which suddenly sprung up into the air. A few hemlocks did this here. The winter’s snows had flattened them and buried them, but now the snow had melted sufficiently some were only held down by a few twigs. In the hot afternoon sun the softened snow finally released these last twigs and the sapling was freed from its 6 month ordeal.

The snow on the north side of Dicks Pass was rumoured to be the last significant snow on the PCT. A group of 5 caught me up at the pass and we slithered down the snowfields on our shoes for a good half hour until the hemlocks were replaced by pines and the snowfields petered out.

 

We all camped beside Fontanillis Lake in a congested spot as the other campsites were still snow covered. The original occupiers of the campsite were a very nice South African/English family on a 5 day trip must have felt a bit overwhelmed as tents started to go up beside them in the dusk. Just before nightfall the Jew Crew also arrived.

After a great nights sleep we all left around 7 and dropped down the valley past the Velma Lakes into a primordial forest. It was dark, damp, congested and plagued by mosquitoes. I walked with the Jew Crew of 2 Israelis and we chatted for a couple of hours as.we smeared mosquitoes off our bare legs and faces. I got the impression we were walking through the swampy forests of the Carboniferous era when dinosaurs ruled the world.

 

At a creek I stopped for a drink while the Jew Crew continued. The forest was dark and foreboding all morning with no views really until it got to Richardson Lake. This was a lovely oasis of a tranquil large pond surrounded by blossoming summer. I had lunch here and then had an hours sleep as the breeze kept me cool and the mosquitoes at bay.

In the afternoon the walk continued through the forest with a mix of large conifers. It was much more open and in the glades, plants were unfolding their final flourishes to display a myriad of flowers. There were some small creeks and meadows also which were as easy on the eye, as the soft path was on the feet. There are lots of birds who forage on the forest floor. Many are small but the distinctive American Robin is about 6 inches high and 9 long with a orange chest. It seeks out insects with ease and spends most of its time making short flights beneath the branches. It seems to be as alert as the European Blackbird.

 

At the last meadow before meeting a forest road at Barker Pass I hear a greeting and turn to see Baby Carrot again. He has spent a day relaxing in South Lake Tahoe and has already caught me up again. We walked together for a mile to the pass. It is two miles short of my intended campsite but there is a picnic table and campsite here. I decide to stay and make use of the table to catch up with the blog and cook with ease, while Baby Carrot continued his determined march to Canada.

 

One other hiker arrived that evening. A Southbound Flipper who had come down from the Oregon/California border. He reckoned he only passed 150 Northbound Thru Hikers also who had done the Sierras. Together with the 100 behind me that is only 250 out of l the original 3000 who started. The purists were down to about 8 percent!.

 

I had a late start in the morning and did not get going before 8. It was a short climb up from Barkers Pass through mainly Red Fir and some other mixed conifers to a ridge. Between the conifers were glades full of flowers, especially the yellow large daisy like flower of the Mule Ear plant and the blue lupins. Both were just coming up to peak bloom so these meadows were bright with colour.

It was just here I saw the distance azure of Lake Tahoe. It was perhaps 10 miles away and i could not see any pleasure boats on it but I am sure there were many. The path climbed a little higher to gain a rocky.ridge which it followed for 5 miles. All the time I had the view of Lake Tahoe to the east and the rough forested valleys of the Granite Chief Wilderness to the west. It was a tremendous lofty ridge walk soaring along its spine. I passed a few hikers here but mostly I was alone to enjoy it undisturbed.

 

About half way along the ridge I passed a ski resort called Alpine Meadows. A lot of people had mentioned there would be skiing here and Squaw Valley throughout the year. However it was just July and there was very little snow on the pistes. Certainly not enough to ski on and this resort was completed closed until the winter snows arrive.

 

Having been so used to finding water everywhere in the Sierras I have not carried or filtered water since Kennedy Meadows some more 400 miles south. So on this ridge I got thirsty for the first time as there was nothing. The small snow patches generally disappeared into the rocky landscape and only a few white barked pine trees thrived up here. I had to wait to the end of the ridge before the path dropped down to the lush 5 lakes area before I could find a creek and have a late lunch. There were a couple of Irish section hikers here and we chatted for an hour. It is alway an uplifting experience chatting with Irish.

 

After lunch the path climbed for a good few hours. First through mixed conifers with huge meadows of the yellow mule ear flowers and then through lodgepole and white pines with more sweeping meadows until it reached a saddle just to the east of the Granite Chief mountain. This was the mountain around which the Squaw Valley Ski resort was built. Again all the ski runs were bare except a few patches and the place had closed long ago

 

Unfortunately many of these snow patches were on the PCT and many were very steep. I would have had my ice axe out had I not already shipped it out. I picked my way gingerly down the snow and the rock and forest beside it for a good half hour before I got to a pond where the bullfrogs were making a tremendous racket. However as soon as I approached they all fell silent. I hiked another mile and suddenly came across a nice place to camp amongst hemlocks with a nearby snowdrift providing enough meltwater.

 

I had seen on the map it was only 12 miles to Donner Pass where there was a restaurant which was not only hiker friendly but gave PCT hikers a free beer on arrival. The only thing I wanted to do was get there for a late lunch, and set off on this mission by 7. As the day warmed and the path climbed my resolve slowly ebbed and I soon started to take breaks.

 

The climb up the forested slopes, then the meadows of lupin and mules ear, and finally the bare rocky slopes full of alpine flowers of a mountain called Tinder Knob took its toll and I was soon hot and thirsty. Like yesterday though I was committed to a dry rocky ridge without water for 5 miles. It was not serious though as I could always descend 10 minutes to find water. But that was half an hour round trip in all so I pushed on for the restaurant. It was like yesterday another lofty pleasant ridge walk with great views, east down to the Truckee Valley and west over more wilderness. There were quite a few hikers passing me, many whom I had not seen before but started before me. There was also a lot of day hikers and a few southbound flippers.

 

I came across a stream just before Donner Pass and drunk fully from it before starting the descent to the restaurant. I was briefly distracted by a plaque commemorating the wagon trains which came over here in the 1850’s. They seemed to have all had ordeals and very difficult terrain. At one stage the wagons were emptied and 12 ox pulled the empty wagon up a near vertical 60 foot cliff with chains and rollers. It was the Roller Pass section of Donner Pass. There were also tales of horror which befell the Donner Party when they got stuck here for a winter with many dying.

 

The restaurant was busy. There was an off road event nearby and some 10 hikers were there. I joined their table. I had 2 large veggie burgers, fruit pie and a gallon of soda. By the time I was finished I had to go and find a quiet corner to digest it all, like a python which had eaten a deer. I slept for an hour while the others chatted  and 4 drunk jugs of beer. I wanted to walk more so stayed well clear of the beer.

 

Everybody left around 5. I walked with Bear Can, the young Dutchmen and Pitch, a girl from Oregon for 5 miles. They went on another 3 miles to a cabin while I opted for a Interstate rest area with picnic tables and flushing toilets. It was a luxurious place relative to wild camping or staying in the crowded hut, and I knew the beer drinkers had a bottle of whiskey and wanted to stay at the hut.  

 

There was another hiker at the Interstate rest area, a hiker called Steel. He had walked the whole way from Mexico and through the Sierras with a Shiba Inu, a small Japanese breed of dog, called Cory. To get round the National Park restrictions he put a “Service Dog” neckerchief round the dog’s neck and told the rangers,  when challenged, that he was not legally obliged to disclose his disability. The dog seemed to have enjoyed it all and was quite agile on the snow.

 

As I settled down for the night a couple from the Bay area showered me with nice food and drinks in unprecedented generosity. It was wonderful to be able to snack at will as I sat at the picnic table and wrote that evening.

 

The next day i had an easy climb up through forest to the meadows around the Peter Grubb Hut. It was a characterful stone and wooden property built and maintained by the Sierra Club. Inside was a wood stove, 2 massive tables and sleeping platforms in the loft. It was primarily intended for backcountry skiers in the winter time but as it was right on the PCT it lent itself to hikers also in the summer.

The trail then climbed up through meadows filled with the yellow mule’s ear daisies round the west side of Basin Peak before dropping down to Paradise Valley. There were a many snow drifts hidden in the shaded forest on the descent, but each day the drifts were getting less and less.

 

The creeks now were also tame. They were no longer the crashing, turbulent, cascades with rainbows forming in the spray of the High or Central Sierras, but lazy, thick, waters which oozed a meandering path through willow thickets. Paradise Valley Creek was one such tired and lethargic creek. I had not filtered water since Kennedy Meadows South nearly 500 miles away but began to think I would have to start soon.

 

From Paradise Valley the path climbed again up to the meadows. Here the Yellow Mule Ear Daisies were also joined by swathes of Mountain Monardella (Coyote Mint). This white flower was in bloom and hundreds of thousands of Painted Lady butterflies were drifting down from the higher slopes and feeding on the small round flowerheads. Apparently the pupae of butterflies can survive in the harsh winter conditions here so maybe these butterflies had recently emerged up the hillsides and were now swarming down to feed.

 

As I dropped down to next lazy creek for water, I was joined by Ted, a strong hiker from San Diego. I had met him before in the Sierras but he had a beard. Now without a beard he looked like Andy Murray. What he lacked in a backhand smash he made up for in stride, pummelling the rocky path into dust with great steps. We walked together for a good hour along a ridge with great views. We kept on the open hillsides covered in summer flowers and looked down into the forested valleys and lush meadows.  At Lacey Creek Ted took off. He had walked the PCT before but was thwarted in getting to Canada by unseasonably early snow in the Washington’s Cascades and was weary about it, something which was beginning to occupy my thoughts.

 

As I walked another 5 miles along a beautiful ridge in the cool evening I met  Karma. I had last seen him in the Desert where he was a fast walker. He had flipped up to Oregon to avoid the Sierras. But then he had flipped a few more times to cherry pick the PCT in North California and Oregon. He had been all over the place and seemed to have lost the plot, which I think is the danger with flipping.

 

The evening walk along the ridge was sublime. It was cool, I had great views in evening light and I always got a second wind, perhaps helped by the fact I had get to a campsite before nightfall. I cruised along this ridge with ease enjoying the calmness and colour of the alpenglow the setting sun brought. There were very few snowfields left now on the surrounding hills and the landscape was mostly that of undulating forest. Dusk was arriving when I descended the ridge at 2030 down to Mule Ears Creek where there was water and a slightly sloping campsite.

 

I set the alarm and started early the next morning as I wanted to get to Sierra City in time to enjoy the day. It was still a good 18 miles away but it was virtually all downhill and in the forest. Indeed it was so forested I barely saw the large Jackson Meadows Reservoir as I went past it. I was trying to do 10 by 10 (10 miles by 10 am), something serious hikers do but I had not managed yet. I came close today and did 9 by 10 which took me to the top of the long, rocky, zig-zag, descent down to Milton Creek. Ted overtook me on the descent as I cautiously picked my way down the rocks, while he stomped on them with his size 13 shoes in a desperate hurry to get to the post office to get a box before it closed.

Once down at Milton Creek I noticed the trees were changing. The tall dominant Red Firs which usually bullied other trees by outgrowing them, now had a rival which threatened them, namely the Douglas Fir. There were also some very large Incense Cedars, a tree I could never fully understand as sometimes they were gnarled twisted venerable edifices growing in inhospitable rocky slopes and other times they were towering giants of specimen trees in a mixed forest. It hardly seemed credible they were the same tree. As I walked the final miles into Sierra City the woods became quite deciduous with lots of oak.

 

For the last two hours the path followed Milton Creek down past Plum Tree Campsite and into the sleepy small-town-America village of Sierra City with its population of 275. It was a old town of wooden houses of which nearly all had painted corrugated iron roofs. Popular in the summer and probably nearly deserted in the winter. I had a room at a bed and breakfast called River Haven, a peaceful sanctuary in a tranquil village. Nearby was Sierra Country Store, a complete antidote to Wallmart, with painted wooden shelves, a communal table in the middle and an excellent homemade sandwich counter. The Store also received hiker packages. I had 3 boxes here, 1 food resupply, 1 lightweight equipment I shipped from Kennedy Meadows South and 1 box I shipped from Sonora Pass with my heavy boots, bear canister and winter gear.

I would resort my equipment and take only the lightest combination for the next 900 miles to the Columbia River on the Oregon/Washington border at Cascade Locks. I had to cover these 900 miles in about 6 weeks and get to Cascade Locks around the 7 September.

 

I had now reached the end of the Sierras. Undoubtedly they would be the highlight of the trip. I would miss the sound of roaring creeks and the plentiful fresh cool water to drink. I would miss their birdsong and nonchalant grazing deer. I would miss their meadows and wild flowers. But most of all I would miss their forgiving weather and warmth despite the freezing creeks and snowfields. They must surely be the most beautiful mountains in North America.

 

Back

Section 08. Vermillion Valley Resort to Sonora Pass. Initially I was enamoured with VVR but soon cracks appeared behind the rustic veneer. It was expensive, while the carnivores were well fed on huge steaks of soya and growth hormone raised beef the vegetarians sufficed with small bowls of spaghetti under a canned red sauce. But worst the resupply boxes which were not collected by the relevant hiker were opened at the end of the season and the contents were put onto the shops shelves at exorbitant prices.

 

Nonetheless it was a great meeting place and the first place of rest hikers found after coming through the High Sierras.  In my three days there I was delighted to see so many groups had made it through. The Cream of America group left soon after I arrived heading for Mammoth. Then came Bliss and his team came for a day and left. Even Blue, the PCT’s party piece, strolled in complete with ukulele which surprised me. In all about 50 people came through in the 3 days I was there and many also bypassed VVR and went directly to Mammoth. Just before I left Deb and Harvest arrived with a big group including Aladdin, Fireball, Renee, Baby Carrot,  and Left and Right who took on the Sierras after all and succeeded. I had to go though as I had finished finished the very laborious process of uploading the blog and other emails, for which I had to walk a mile each way to the dam to get a tenuous phone signal 2 days in a row.

 

My plan was to get back to the PCT via Goodale Pass which meant I would not have to do the mundane walk round the lake and then up and over Silver Pass. Goodale Pass joined the PCT just after or north of Silver Pass. So I set off set off up the north shore of Lake Edison for a mile where the Goodale Pass Trail split off from it and headed north. I followed it north up past a meadow covered in purple Shooting Star flowers and then through huge Jeffrey Pines to the south end of Graveyard Meadow, where the trail crossed to the swollen Gold Creek on a jam of logs.

I remembered someone recommending this route and describing how they saw a bear cub frolicking in meadow last year.  I could not really see the meadow from the trail so cut through the woods towards it. It was large meadow and was covered in yellow flowers. The slow flowing and deep Gold Creek meandered across it, flooding onto the meadow frequently. This encouraged swarms of mosquitoes which attacked me with a frenzy.

 

Suddenly some 400 metres away I saw a small bear. It must have been the cub the person saw last year. It was nose down feeding on grass or roots in the open. decided to stalk it. I put a copse between me and the bear and ignoring the consequences of wet boots waded thigh deep across the creek. I got to within 100 metres and took a photo and continued to approach. However the mosquitoes were so think I could not avoid inhaling a few. Some got stuck in my throat and despite efforts to control it had to cough. The bear heard, turned round and had a look at me and then bounded off at  terrific speed across the meadow and into the woods. I was excited but disappointed I could not get closer to get a good photo.

I turned and headed north through the rest of the beautiful but mosquito infested meadow. Just as I got to the north end I surprised another bear. This time it was only 20 metres away and looked like a small adult. Perhaps it was the mother. It bounded off away from me at once so all I really saw was the rear end. It all happened so quickly I could not get to my camera in time.

 

Buoyed by the Black bear encounters I continued north through lodgepole pines and increasing snowdrifts on the east side of Gold Creek for another few hours. It became increasingly arduous as the path vanished beneath the snow. I slowly picked my way north and climbed up to about 10,000 feet where the trees disappeared and snowfields took over. I found a lucky knoll where the wind had kept an area of gravel clear and camped there. It was a stunning place right at the head of the remote and wild valley. I was also right under Goodale Pass which I could easily climb tomorrow.

 

The next morning I made an early start and after putting my sodden socks and boots on headed up the snowfield to the crags above. It only took an hour to tread a route through the crags and snowfields to reach the gentle saddle between two rugged peaks.

This remote saddle was Goodale Pass and it was basking in the morning light. The view from here over this wild landscape was huge with seldom visited mountains and plateaus everywhere. Especially spectacular was the vista to the west where the jagged Silver Divide range formed a jagged barrier with hidden alpine lakes in every cirque.

 

I had to head north down a steep slope to Papoose Lake and Lake of the Lone Indian, a name which evoked a sad regret of a bygone and harmonious past. From these lakes it was a short hard sun cupped slog up to the PCT again, which I reached just after Silver Pass. It was now a simple descent down more snow slopes to reach Squaw Lake where the snow stopped and the path emerged from under it.

 

There path quickly descended through the side valley for a couple of hours to the main Cascade Valley where the large and turbulent Fish Creek tumbled down a ravine. Luckily there was a footbridge across Fish Creek which I then followed upstream for a good mile until it open out into a meadow called Tully Hole. I optimistically looked for bears in this meadow after yesterday’s encounter but it was too close to the main trail here.

 

Just at McGee Pass Trailhead, a route up to a mountainous and remote area of snowy jagged peaks the path split with the main PCT climbing a bare slope up to Lake Virginia. I passed a few southbound hikers here on the JMT trail heading to Mount Whitney and they all quizzed me on  conditions in the High Sierras. At the top were contorted twisted lodgepole pines of a veneration and and ancientness which I thought lodgepoles could never achieve.

 

Lake Virginia was still largely frozen, but I could not risk a short cut over the ice and had to walk a mile extra round the tarns at the north end. As I did so the skies darkened and there were tremendous thunderclaps on the surrounding peaks but no rain fell.

 

The walk from here to Purple Lake was short and I was getting tired. The morning’s work over Goodale had taken it out of me, especially my feet which were still in damp heavy boots. I was going to camp here but decided to continue to Duck Lake to make tomorrow’s journey to Red’s Meadow shorter. As I rested Blue arrived. He never ceases to amaze and surprise me. This must have been the 20th time on the trip he has overtaken me only to get delayed in town a bit later. His ukelele still stuck out of his lightweight rucksack at a jaunty angle.

 

Blue went on and I walked the path to Duck Lake alone as I had been all day. It was a beautiful stretch with stunning views south across the Cascade Valley to the vast snowy barrier of jagged peaks and deep saddles which made up the 20 me long Silver Divide. To the east end I could easily make out Goodale and Silver Passes where I was this morning. It had been a great day but I was tired when I put up the tent and my feet were in trouble.

 

There were conflicting reports on the openness of Reds Meadow. One fact was the forestry road between Mammoth and Reds was damaged by the winter and transit was very restricted. It was essentially closed, bar once a day for the pickup to keep Reds Meadow supplied. I decided to stay here if I could and order new boots and trekking poles. I had new boots in Sierra City but it was 300 miles away. I could not endure my heavy leather boots that long.

 

The walk to Reds Meadow  was only 10 miles that day but seemed longer. Apart from a few lovely meadows and a magnificent forest of Red Firs the route was quite uneventful and I was counting down the miles. When I eventually got there I was surprised to see so many hikers. Most were on the John Muir Trail  (JMT) heading south to Mt Whitney from where I had come. However lying on a picnic table was my old buddy Top’O. He was walking with DG the the moment and had just returned to the Trail after a zero day at Mammoth where they resupplied. it was hearty, jokey reunion with a lot of tales about the Sierras.

 

I had to leave him to get a cabin and make some phone calls before the shops closed. I had to replace my hard uncompromising boots ASAP. After a frustrating hours phone call, where the signal was so bad we could hardly understand each other for minutes at a time, I finally arranged to have some shipped to Sonora Pass in 100 miles. I would shed all my unnecessary winter gear here and travel lightweight the 200 further miles to Sierra City. Once at Sierra City it would shed even more and travel ultra lightweight for the next 900 miles through Northern California and Oregon until I reached Washington

 

Once this frustrating phone call was over I checked into a cute cabin, showered, washed clothes and gorged myself on two veggie burgers. Reds Meadow was as good as it remembered it from 2006. It was simple yet easy, with great historical connections and photos of many film stars who made films here like John Wayne and Ronald Reagan. It was much better than VVR and I would have sent a package here but this year’s record snow made that too risky. I really enjoyed my stay and the fact the road was closed meant it was only hikers here.

 

After 2 breakfasts I wrote the blog and then set off around midday. I went past the vast White and Red Firs in the courtyard and could hardly see a difference. Apparently the white fir has branches which stick straight out while the red firs branches droop and then flatten out like a ski jump.

 

I walked the mile to the Devils Postpile; a small outcrop of hexagonal basalt which was once probably a volcanic vent. Beneath the columns of the outcrop were a jumble of long hexagonal blocks which, with a bit of imagination,looked like a pile of wooden posts. It was not Giant’s Causeway or Fingal’s Cave though.

 

The path then crossed a bridge over the Middle Fork of the Joachim River and followed it west to the foot of the Minaret Falls which were spectacular and huge. The stream at the bottom was also fast and turbulent but I was determined not to get my dry boots wet. My feet were to fragile for another 24 hours in damp conditions. Eventually I found a few logs to cross and added one to bridge a gap. It was clear and 10 foot deep where I crossed but the water was moving slowly.

 

Triumphant with my dry feet I carried on up the Joachim River in a steepening valley full of magnificent firs, possibly both red and white.  The path then crossed to the north side over another bridge and climbed up to Agnew Meadow. This was a lovely green oasis on a mountain shelf and the streams and rivulets were keeping it green and lush. Flowers were growing rapidly across it.

 

Beyond the meadow was the closed road to Reds Meadow and Mammoth. There were no cars or many other hikers and the Forest Service campsite here was deserted. I left the campsite and then climbed some zig-zags up a dense forest with some gigantic firs. Some were qui5e awe inspiring in their stature. The Zig-zags took me through this forest onto open hillside with great views south across the Joachim River to the snow covered mountains on the south side of the valley.

 

For the next 2 hours I followed the path as it contoured across the sunny south facing slope climbing slightly. I crossed the odd small creek as the path went from copse to copse of lodgepole pines, but generally remained on clear hillside covered in small scrub. I could easily see over this scrub to a stunning view on the south side with Shadow Lake nestled in a deep rocky bowl. Above this bowl rose a wall of jagged peaks and buttresses including Garnet Peak and Mount Ritter.

 

The sun was setting on this range when I found a spot to camp. My tent looked, tucked away in a grove of gnarly lodgepole pines which glowed orange in the sunset, looked out over this fabulous vista across the valley.  As the sun set a huge moon, orange and full, rose out of the east. It would mask most of the night sky and only the strongest stars would shine through.

 

The next morning continued to contour along the hillside for a further 2 miles with beautiful views across the valley to the south west. It was remarkable to see how quickly summer was unfolding here, especially beside the creeks and rivulets. Vegetation was unfurling almost visibly even here at around 10,000 feet. The plentiful lilies and angelica were already 2 foot tall and the flower heads were forming. There was also an abundance of other flowers, including a very flamboyant lily with orange flowers.

The path now skirted round the head of the valley passing a large lush meadow, cluster of small lakes called Badger Lakes, some of which were like ponds, before climbing through lodgepoles to 1000 Island Lake. The lake a couple of miles long and 1 wide but it had a scattering of small bare islands which just rose above the surface. Some of the islets had small bonsai trees growing on them. At the west end of the lake the steep craggy and very imposing Mount Ritter filled the sky. When i viewed the lake today most of it was still frozen and the islets covered in snow.

The path now veered west up through gnarly lodgepoles and across small snowfields to Island Pass. It was barely noticeable and very easy despite larger snowfields at the top. The descent was also easy and took me down into the woods around Rush Creek. The crystal clear creek could be crossed on logs despite being swollen and overflowing.

 

Then began the long climb up to Donahue Pass. The southbound JMT walkers had warned me it was snowy, and it was for about 3 miles of the gentle climb. The snow was deeply sun cupped but enough hikers had stomped a path through. It went through a desolate upper valley with lots of small tarns and grassy pastures which were all just starting to emerge from the snowfields. It was not a difficult pass but it took time and effort to reach the top.

 

I had seen only 2 PCT hikers all day. There were plenty of JMT hikers heading south passing me. They all smelt of soap or deodorant, had huge backpacks, were white and pasty,  and often plump. I tried to allay their fears about their trail further to the south as the JMT and PCT share the same path to Mount Whitney.

 

The descent down Donahue Pass was swift and easy. Most of it was soft snow and the heels of my heavy boots crashed into it forming nice steps. Occasionally I could even glissade on my boots. I came down to the small lake at the foot of the pass in no time and found a place to camp in the woods. Nearby were the PCT couple, both of whom were outdoor instructors, he Australian and she from Colorado.

 

It was a lovely campsite at the head of Lyell Canyon, a flat valley with a meandering river flowing gently through meadows all the way to Toulumne Meadows some 11 miles downstream which I would saunter to tomorrow. That evening after supper for the first time on this trip I had my permit and bear canister checked by a park  ranger. Obviously this is a busy hiking area.

 

The next morning the day started around 7 and I hiked with Jay, the Aussie, and Tania, from Colorado for a bit but they were too fast for me as the plummeted down through the lodgepoles beside the tumbling Lyell Fork Creek. By the time we reached the valley floor I let them go and slowed down, as this was a place to savour.

 

The tumbling creek now slowed into a wide lazy meandering river as it spilled onto the first meadow. The transparent waters had a green hue to them but despite being 6-10 foot deep the bottom was crystal clear. Occasionally I could spot a trout or three. The path skirted along the edge of these meadows where the lush grass and the lodgepoles met. Sometimes the lazy river would be near the path and at other times on the other side of the flat valley. It  was perhaps the most lovely meadow on the trip so far.

As i walked down one meadow disappeared into the forest but then another would open up soon  afterwards so the whole valley floor was essentially a series of beautiful meadows with small copses or strips of lodgepoles between them. If one remembered to look behind the snowy mountains of Donahue Pass filled the head of the valley and these mountains were reflected in the river. With the sun warming the day and chipmunks scurrying around and the rare deer grazing it felt like I was in the Garden of Eden.

There were occasional marmots here also but what was common were Belding’s Ground Squirrel. These animals were like small marmots and also lived in burrows and posted a sentry so others could forage. I watched one 0for a while as he wandered among the sedge selecting the developing flower heads. Standing erect it would hold the clump in his front paws and swiftly  eat the flowers before moving on to the next.

After 4 hours of this quite stunning walk the path then crossed the river and entered Tuolumne Meadows. This area was busy with visitors and had parking lots, a ranger station and some short trails. However this winter’s record snows had crushed the roof of the store and many of the sheds around the ranger station. It had also flooded the whole septic tank system of the village so all facilities remained closed. It was not a place to linger so i quickly walked through it and past the bare granite hill which was Lambert’s Dome.

 

Once through the day visitor areas I found myself on the north side of the river which was not swelled with tributaries and changed it name to the Tuolumne River. It was now still flowing lazily across the meadows but was huge and spilling onto the meadows frequently. I followed its course for 4 miles as it forged through the meadows. In the backdrop to the south were some sharp granite spires and domes, like Cathedral Peak. Of course Yosemite Valley was just  beyond these but out of sight from my viewpoint on the north of the river

Then the path crossed the river to the south bank over a wooden bridge which had been damaged by trees ramming into it during the spring melt just 4 weeks ago. After the bridge the river reawakened from its slumber and briskly started flowed down a series of wild rapids. It was mesmerising watching this powerful river crash down. Just as I thought it had reached its dramatic zenith the whole river then plunged over two waterfalls. There was spray everywhere and double rainbows shone in the evening light.

At the bottom the path recrossed to the north of the river over a high steel bridge below  the turbulent plunge pool of the lower waterfall. I was then supposed to cross a tributary, Conness Creek, on the north bank to reach the prescribed campsite called Glen Aulin, However the large wooden bridge to Glen Aulin was a twisted heap entangled in trees beside the creek having being swept off its foundations in the recent spring melt.

 

I did not have to cross this creek other than to camp so decided to camp on the west side. The was another PCT hiker here, a girl called Reroute wbo started 2 weeks after me. I have seen remarkably few PCT hikers since leaving Reds Meadow. Only 5 in 3 days. I think many went to Mammoth after the Sierras, to recoup and are spending a few days there.  The tent went up easily beneath the lodgepoles and I retired into it to reflect on an astonishing and beautiful day, one of the top 5 says so far.

 

From Glen Aulin the PCT goes up Cold Canyon for nearly 5 miles until it vanishes on a plateau. The walk goes through lodgepoles initially for a couple of miles until it reaches a beautiful tranquil meadow with the small creek meandering across it. It was only a mile long but it was one of the nicest meadows yet. At the far end the lodgepoles were ousted by huge firs which were well over 100 foot high and dominated the forest.

 

There were just glimpses of views through the trees to the large granite mountainsides which still had some snowfields on them. But everything was melting quickly. The path plunged quickly through these firs to the confluence of two creeks McCabe Creek and Return Canyon Creek. Both were large and I decided to keep my boots on and try and dry them on the rocks over lunch. The fords were just thigh deep and no problem.

 

Reroute was already on the other side sitting on rock slabs when I arrived. She had just finished eating and after a quick chat she headed on. I laid out my boots and socks on the hot sunny slabs, had lunch and then an hours siesta while everything dried off. Damp socks would damage my feet  and I could not afford more feet problems.

 

After my sleep it was a quick jaunt round the spur of the ridge to Spiller Creek. It was flowing quickly down across slabs. The official crossing point was stoney but just thigh deep. However I wanted to get across with dry boots. I searched up for a log but there were none. I did see that the creek had been very much higher perhaps just 2-3 weeks ago at peak melt and this would have washed many logs away. I did however find easy slabs I could cross barefoot with the water just up to my knee.

 

There was now a short steep climb up to Miller Lake. It was still surrounded by snow patches but the meadows around it were turning green after months under the snow. It was a beautiful and serene lake surrounded by rocky outcrops covered in gnarled lodgepole pines. I am al2ays surprised there are no wildfowl at these mountain lakes. Perhaps they are too high.

There was now a quick, sometimes snowy, descent to Matterhorn Creek. I could see it was going g to be difficult to get across with dry feet. Just as I was contemplating what to do the two Israelis i met 3 weeks ago on Mount Whitney showed up. They called themselves the Jew Crew. They forced my hand a bit by plunging straight in and wading over. I removed my socks but put my boots back on.  It was only a thigh deep wade but my boots were soaking again.

 

I chatted with the Jew Crew as I put my socks on and squeezed.my boots but they were eager to go another 4 miles to camp while I only had 1 to go. They left and I sautered down the flooded meadow. Where it was dry deer were grazing,  flicking there big ears and tails in a hopeless effort to keep the mosquitoes at bay. They just watched me walk by without to much concern. Pretty soo  I reached Wilson Creek and camped beside it, pleased to see it it was not that big as I had to cross it three times tomorrow.

 

As I was packing up camp in the morning and fawn wandered in. It started looking at me and I it for a good half minute. The the mother arrived, saw me and bolted. Only then did the fawn become afraid and ran after the mother.

 

The morning’s climb up beside Wilson Creek was quite easy. I had spotted a pine over the last days and I did not know what it was. Papery cones about 4 inches long, 5 needled and a rough reddish bark. It was very similar to the Foxtail Pine but i knew the did not grow here. It must be the northern cousin like the Bristlecone was the eastern cousin.

 

After the climb I found myself in a hanging valley. It was a secret enchanting world of a mix of conifer trees on the valley floor hemmed in by steep mountainsides.  There were many such lost valleys in this part of Yosemite where people seldom venture.

 

After a few miles in Wilsons  Creek Valley the path cross to the west side and started to climb steeply until there were many snow drifts still here. Then suddenly the snow became more or less continuous for a mile. I realized I was going up Bensons Pass and before long I was approaching the apex. It was a gentle easy pass at 10,000 feet and nothing like the passes of the High Sierras 2 weeks ago.

The descent down the west side had patchy snow cover but before long I had reached the slushy meadow under the granite tower of Volunteer Peak. This meadow led down to the picturesque Smedberg lake which was surrounded by pines. The lake was still half covered in ice but i could see large brown trout, some over a foot long cruising around the rocky shore. It amazes me people can fish in National Parks. Surely the fish are part of the ecosystem and a plentiful supply of large fish would encourage ospreys.

 

After this lovely lake the PCT had to make a tough detour up into a high cirque to the west of Volunteer Peak. This was because the granite slabs below Smedberg Lake were too steep. This detour was taxing as it climbed about 500 feet on steep snow. When the path was visible it was sketchy. The descent down the other side of the cirque was equally steep and covered in steep snowfields. Sometimes I questioned whether I was on the PCT or a minor,  rarely used sidetrail.

 

On plus point of this detour was the Hemlock trees. I had been noticing them for the last week, but they must have been at the edge of their range as they were small. Now they were growing well and some were 100 foot with their floppy tip drooping over, allegedly in the direction of the rising sun, but not in every case with these trees. Sometimes I noticed that they grew in compact groups or circles, but the specimen examples grew alone.

 

The descent was quick but the detour had taken it out of me. I had to cross the outlet creek of Smedberg Lake 3 times. The first time I found a solid snow bridge created from an avalanche just below the official crossing point and the other two further down had logs across the tumbling creek. I was lucky to have dry feet when I reached Piute Creek and I wanted to keep them so.

 

Benson Lake appeared briefly as I descended but the trees quickly obscured the view. When I reached the valley floor I was greeted by some gigantic firs. Some were over 150 feet high and 8 in diameter. I felt humbled by them. Even the lodgepoles were completely dwarfed.

 

Piute Creek was easy. I waded the first braid barefoot and the slow current and sandy riverbed were kind. The main braid however was 5 foot deep, but still sandy and relatively slow. Just as I was about to plunge up to my armpits I noticed a log jam 100 yards further down. I crossed easily on this. After a few hundred yards of primeval swamp the other side I began the day’s final climb.

 

It was only 1500 feet but the two previous climbs had tired me. I was thriving on just 3000 calories a day and the tank was empty. I had my last snack and set off. Within an hour I had gone from warm moist valley floor, through pines where the sun heated the resin and needles so they smelt oily to finally reach the snow drifts hidden in the cool sunless forests.  At the top of the climb were some steep zig-zags which delivered me to a charming hidden lake. It was fringed by snow but was ice free. It was probably too small for larger trout. When I reach it the sun was shining on it illuminating against the dark forest. It was a serene sight. I circled round it and climbed a bit more to near Seavey Pass. However between the tranquil lake and the pass i came upon a small sandy flat campsite. It was only 6 but it was too good an opportunity to pass.

With the sun still shining on the tent and hiking clothes drying on tree I went to get water. En route I disturbed what looked like a large female  grouse or capercaillie. I observed it for a minute before it moved off slowly into the lodgepoles. It was a great end to a tiring but  very rewarding day, a day where I saw no one else and was completed alone to savour this landscape.

 

Today it was the turn of a Marmot to watch me as I emerged and took down my tent. He was just 10 foot away but too greedily involved in gnawing a root to scamper off. Once the tent was away and the sun was warming my lovely campsite I headed off to Seavey Pass just half a mile away.

 

I passed a couple of tarns amongst the granite outcrops and hemlock trees before a short very steep snowy descent into the depths of the Kerrick Canyon. The path was covered in snow and mostly obscured so I had to pick my own way down.

 

The canyon was a disappointment.  I had hope for an easy few miles down a forested valley floor. Instead I got no path, steep snowfields and a tangle  of trees for the first two miles, which took about 2 hours of hard work. Eventually the snow petered out and I found the path which was now easy to follow.

 

I could see Rancheria Creek in the floor of the canyon would be difficult to cross as I followed it down. When the time came I stripped off and set off barefoot. After a few i realised it was a bad idea so returned to the bank and put my boots on. It was now tolerable but it was navel deep and moving fast and nearly swept me away. However I made the north bank.

 

Just then another hiker arrived. The first I had seen for a day and a half. He was called Houdini. He shouted over the was a log crossing a few hundred yards upstream. I usually check but in this case thought this spring melt would have swept all away.

 

I continued up and over the ridge with great views of the granite landscape with a few trees on the barren mountainsides and down to another creek. The valley this creek flowed in was wide and fertile and there were more gigantic firs growing on the floor.

 

However this valley also contained a large creek. It was sandy bottomed but looked chest deep and 10 yards wide, yet it was sluggish. There were no signs of logs, despite the near 150 foot high trees here. It decided to keep everything on this time and dry out as I had lunch on the north side. It was an easy ford and just chest deep.

 

As I relaxed in the sun Houdini arrived and crossed with ease and so did another hiker called Pat. On the north side I saw perhaps the largest fir so far. It must have been 175 feet with massive branches high up. It must have tolerated a terrific amount of snow this winter.

 

I looked at the map. It was 5.miles to Wilma Lake where there was another ford, however this looked quite small given the topography of the catchment area. I was sure it would be easy so set off up another dry ridge with scant trees, bare a few incense cedars and pines.

 

There was a great view from the top looking across a granite landscape which was heavily gouged out by glaciation. On the ascent both Houdini and Pat overtook me. The descent was easy but and view was obscured by the trees but I had glimpses of Wilma Lake far below. It looked idyllic  Eventually the descent spilled out onto the Tilden Canyon Creek valley in a thicket of small lodgepoles. I was a bit concerned about this creek crossing but managed to find a log.

 

Just a short descent remained to Wilma lake, but as as the recent trend it was much more difficult than the map indicated. There were deep drifts of snow which obscured the path and i continually had to search for it. This was time consuming and hard as the drifts in the thick forest were sometimes steep.

 

As compensation though I passed a couple of small lovely lakes nestled in the forest with the sun shining on them illuminating the greens of the trees. Then more arduous descent and I finally reached Wilma Lake. The path went along the shore but it was frequently flooded for much of the half mile to the outlet.

 

Here I got a shock. The water was flowing into the lake here from the nearby creek marked on the map. However the creek was a massive river which was so flooded it was higher than the lake hence the water flowed in not out. I had misjudged this “creek” from the map it was 30 yards wide and 6 feet deep and I knew I had to cross it, and it worried me. There was no mention of the size this river on any of the maps, apps or word of mouth, yet it was by far the biggest yet.

 

I waded the outlet of Wilma Lake, which the river was overpowering and filling the lake up and walked through a few hundred yards of sombre forest preparing to swing and wondering what Houdini and Pat had done. At the official crossing point the river was 40 yards wide and perhaps 5 foot deep. It would be lower by the morning but I want to cross tonight and dry out. Then I saw Pat coming to the water’s edge. He had crossed and indicated it was chest high.

 

I waterproofed my camera and plunged in. It was cold but the adrenalin was pumping. I was soon waist deep and then chest deep. My feet were slipping on the gravel and I was being carried downstream but it was a safe area with plenty of leeway. Slowly the far bank approached and I could get a grip on the gravel again after drifting 10 yards  downstream.  Finally I made the west bank and walked out dripping wet to be congratulated by Pat. Houdini had also made it and was already camped.

 

I setup my tent, got into dry clothes and watched two other come over. Soulful crossed in a different place and while the first half was easy he had to swim the second half, which was clumsy with a rucksack. The Mika arrived. Mika made it look very easy but then he was a strong, lean, 6 foot 3 inch man who had just left the US Marines.  We all camped here as it was a fitting end to the day.

We all left around 7 except Soulful who was still trying to dry some of his stuff out after last night’s icy swim. Mika, Pat and Houdini soon pulled away and I ambled on at a leisurely pace  beside the turbulent Falls Creek, which incidentally had fallen a foot in the night due to the lower snowmelt. The was frequently buried by large snowdrifts which were protected from the melting sun by the lodgepole canopy. This made progress very slow and sometimes it was just a mile an hour.

 

Eventually the valley opened up into a beautiful narrow lake and then Grace Meadow. Here the snowdrifts had been melted by sun long ago but the was water everywhere. Every small stream has burst on the grassland each side of it. Every footstep was squelchy, but the day was hot. These are very forgiving mountains, and the sun is nearly ways out to warm you up.

 

It was a long meadow, about 3 miles in all. The granite mountainsides on each side were initially covered in forest but were bare higher up. The waterlogged grasslands each side of the now greatly reduced Falls Creek never ceased and there was a huge amount of water stored here waiting to swell the ford lower down for today’s  batch of PCT hikers.

 

When the path returned to the forest it was again covered it snowdrifts and difficult to follow. I frequently got lost and had to backtrack to the last sighting, which was very time consuming. As the path climbed so the snowdrifts increased but then previous hikers footprints were easier to follow. At last the path burst out of the forest to reach Dorothy Lake. Despite  being mid July it was still mostly covered in ice and surrounded by snowfields. Just beyond the lake was Dorothy Lake Pass, the crossing from one watershed into another. It was also the source of Falls Creek a tiny trickle of melting snow here yet a huge river we waded just 8 miles downstream showing how quickly the creeks form.

The descent was drier than I thought and I quickly reached Harriet Lake. The path crossed Cascade Creek, the outflow of Harriet twice but already this creek was a wade so I went off piste for a mile to avoid crossing and recrossing later and luckily did not get tangled in willow thickets of meet a steep rock band.

 

On the way down to a campsite I passed the 1000 mile mark since leaving the Mexican Border. I was about a week behind schedule mostly due to the snowy state of the Sierras and had only managed an average of 10 mil3s per day instead of around 15. I hope I would make this up in North California and Oregon where I would expect to average 20 miles per day. Still 1000 miles was a pleasing achievement and all the more satisfying for have done it as continual footsteps rather than have it broken with hitch hiking into towns.

 

The path became quite dry and the snow drifts disappeared as I descended Walken Meadow where I would camp. There was even a bridge of Walken Creek. As I walked slowly in my heavy cumbersome boots a couple, Field Trip and Grandma Candy caught up they were going on another 6 miles so they could easily get to Sonora Pass tomorrow and have time to go to town to resupply. We chatted a bit and then they went on.

 

However when I reached Walken Meadow it was overrun with mosquitoes. I fled through it at speed and headed another mile to a creek side campsite. As I walked through the lodgepoles I heard the now familiar and distinctive dusk call of a bird It was one of the familiar sounds of the Sierras but i did not know the bird  When I got to the creek Field Trip and Grandma Candy were already setting up camp having called it a day 2 miles short. I camped nearby and we cooked together and chatted while the mosquitoes plagued us. They were a very easy going pair. We all decided to set the alarm for 4 to get an early start.

 

During the night the mosquitoes disappear so in the morning chill there were none to bother me as I packed up in the dawn. The path started to climb slowly up through Kennedy Canyon. Here it was increasingly difficult to follow as the snowdrifts in the forest became dense and I often lost it. It was slow going until I finally broke free at the bottom of the climb up to the last mountains before Sonora Pass. The sun was rising fast now and once out of this forest it quickly warmed me up.

 

The Zig-zags up the mountainside where still covered by large snowfields so PCT hikers made their own path traversing across the snow. I followed the footsteps of one of these paths as it made a huge arc up across mile long snowfield. The heat built quickly and it became terrifically hot it this south facing bowl. This softened the snow so I could kick good steps but it was still steep enough to warrant me getting my ice axe out.

 

At the top the mountains changed. It was no longer granite but a different type of rock which broke up readily into scree. So the mountainsides were dry and arid. The peaks seemed to sharp buttes similar to the sedimentary rocks in Arizona. Was this the end of the Sierras or just a geological band through the granite. I looked back south from where I had come. There were ridge upon ridge disappearing into the distance all with their snowy north sides facing me. This array of peaks really was a magnificent mountain range and I would miss then if this was the northern end.

I turned south and followed the arid ridge south for 5-6 miles as it threaded a lofty path through the dry buttes and peaks and crossed frequent snowfields. The melting snow here disappeared into the scree or talus and there were no rivulets at the bottom. For the first time in a month I got thirsty and could not see water at hand to drink. Somehow plants managed to survive here, notably pine shrub bushes with massive twisted trunks which must store water and masses of delicate alpine flowers which were in full bloom at the moment. This was also the realm of the butterfly and there were hundreds of them of many different species feeding on the alpine flowers, all undisturbed by the relative lack of predatory birds.

Briefly I got a very rare phone signal and was able to confirm my food resupply box and some equipment were waiting for me at Sonora Pass just a few miles away. The outfitter Sonorapassresupply.com had come up trumps against the odds. I sent stuff to them and then they brought it to Sonora Pass meaning I did not have to go to town. A few hikers used this service but not enough I fear to make it profitable.

 

The final descent from this dry ridge down to the Sonora Pass was magnificent. It was a steep 1000 foot snowfield. Many hikers had slid down on their bums with ice axe braking their speed. Fearful of ruining my trousers I tried to glissade down on my feet. It worked most of the time but I had a couple of slips and sped off down the slope on my back until I manage to get the pick of the ice axe in. At the bottom there was a short walk to the Forestry Service carpark where I could see Sonora Pass Resupply truck and the friendly Casey coming to greet me.

 

Within three  hours I had managed to empty my rucksack and put my heavy boots, bear canister, ice axe and crampons and extra clothing into a box to post to Sierra City further north and also repack my rucksack with the 9 days of food I would need to walk the 180 miles to Sierra City. The new boots felt great and gave me a spring in my step. A few other visitors to the carpark who were picnicking at other tables chatted and gave me food and soda and I soon felt full of sugar and energy. I had wanted to camp here the  night and upload the blog but there was no phone signal as usual so I set off at 5 pm to start Section 09. The Northern Sierras. Sonora Pass to Sierra City.

Back

Section 07. Kennedy Meadows to Vermillion Valley Resort. I would have loved to stay at Kennedy Meadows longer and hang out at the easy going General Store and watch the world go by but i was also eager to start the Sierras. The Desert Section was the Hoevres d’oeuf, but the Sierras were most certainly the Main Course.

 

I said my goodbyes to 3 or 4 different tables of hiking chums and headed off to the trail around 1800. I had 17 days of food and had changed my backpack for these next sections to a 90 litre one. It weighed in at 55 lbs. I persuaded Tom to allow me to send a blog text update on his closely guarded and inaccessible wifi. I then made the uneventful 3 mile walk to a campground beside the Kern River. When I got there I met Josh and Gill, Birddog, Mishap and that bubble round a table. They beckoned me over. Birddogs very nice parents were visiting from San Francisco and were splashing a treat. The fillet steaks were huge but I unfortunately had to decline. It was a nice evening with bright people.

 

I got to my tent early and was up at 5 and away by 6. It was rumoured to be hot day ahead. The backpack was massive and I vowed to do just 12-14 miles a day initially to avoid injury. Almost at once I felt a new chapter had started. The massive pines dominated the forest and a river tumbled down washed boulders beside me. It was the Sierras at last.

 

I walked a good 3 miles through this magnificent landscape of large Jeffery Pines and some incense cedars. Hikerpedia caught me up and we chatted for a couple of miles to a spring. It was great to be able to ignore the PCT Water Report, a continually updated online document, which was essential for the previous sections. We now turned west and climbed up through 3 miles of fireburn which as always was sad and arduous. Hikerpedia quickly pulled away as I laboured under my pack.

 

I climbed to Hawaa Pass where the fireburn ceased. Down the other side was a gorgeous forest and then the most perfect meadow. It was called Beck’s Meadow. It was a few miles long and a half mile wide and surrounded by pristine pine forest. Well beyond the far end was a snow covered range of the Sierras. The flat meadow was mostly small sage bush but there were large areas of green grasses, which I think were sedge. It was almost an epiphany type moment and it filled me with euphoria that such places exist.

 

The path skirted round the edge of this lush green velvet plain, crossing a few springs whose clear waters flowed down to the meadow, and then climbed over a ridge with s9me very old gnarly incense cedars, whose venerable trunk were heavily twisted for additional strength, and then it dropped down to the Kern River by a footbridge. The river here was lazy and meandering as it ambled across the meadow. Large sandbanks were frequent along its sides.

 

There were about 20 hikers already here relaxing under trees along the banks. I knew about half. I really wanted a swim however so stripped down to my boxers and walked upstream along the soft bank for 300 yards before leaping in. It was a perfect temperature. I just spent 5 minutes drifting along the sandy riverbed until I was back.

 

Megaphone was just arriving and I persuaded him to try it. We drifted down again in raptures about the magnificence of it. A couple more joined us for the next drift while Megaphone used his air mattress as a raft. Soon everyone was down to their underwear either walking up the bank or drifting down the 3 foot deep 20 foot wide river. There was much laughter and happiness. We had slogged through my 700 miles of desert for this small piece of heaven.

Everyone else went on for another few miles in the early evening but I wanted to stay. The bridge was heavily used as a nesting site for swallows and there must have been 300 nests here. They were teeming across the river plucking insects from the air. I could also see a few golden trout from the bridge. In the evening some ducks emerged from the sedges along the banks. It was a pastoral sight which  fully justified me being here. It was all I had hoped for when I signed up for the hike.

 

The swallows  were up long before me swooping out of their nests and into the mist which was gently wafting up from the Kern River. I crossed the bridge as sun burst across the meadow and then sta4ted to head up  Cow Creek. It was a lovely walk up through huge Jeffrey Pines, some must have been specimen examples some 40 metres high with huge boles covered in thick bark which smelt of vanilla. I walked up the tumbling creek for a good 4 miles before it opened up a bit. Each side of the creek lush vegetation was unfurling and about to erupt into tall plants as the spring here was turning into summer. One plant which caught my attention was what looked like a GIant Yellow Gentian of the European Alps from which they make Angostura Bitters.

 

As the valley opened up I heard the shrill cry of a Marmot. I turned to see the plump hairy sentry perched on a sunny rock. The sentry keeps an eye out for predators and alerts the rest of the colony with the shrill cry. This ones cry was quite half-hearted and they were obviously used to hikers.  A bit further on I saw another marmot almost sunbathing on a  rock. She saw me but did not cry out. As I watched 3 small marmot kittens, each no bigger than a chipmunk, joined her on the rock.

 

I climbed on across this meadow and came across a new pine I did not recognise from about 9000 feet up. It had needles in 2 bundles about and inch long and tiny cones also an inch long and the bark was relatively smooth and brown. I was sure they were Lodgepole Pines but was shocked to see them up here in this rugged environment. A little into this Lodgepole pine wood some snow patches appeared but the snow was firm and easy to walk on.

 

I got some wonderful views down to the meadows below. The recent thaw took a lot of the granite sand down and deposited beside the creeks far below. While further to the north more and more ranges of the Sierras appeared. They were not as snow covered as I feared and it seems Spring had arrived many weeks ago.

 

As I climbed to 10, 000 feet and the soil changed to granite debris I was delighted to see the Lodgepole Pines gave way to one of my favourite trees; The Foxtail Pine. This rare and elusive tree only grow in some areas of California. They have inch long needles in bundles of five and their cones are about 3 inches long. They are phenomenally hardy like their cousin the Bristlecone Pine. Foxtail Pines can be up to 3000 years old. As they age they twist so the trunk is incredibly strong. They may grow to 25 metres with a 1.5 metre diameter bole. I have been told that even when they die the skeleton trunk with stand for many decades, perhaps even 10,  before it topples. Occasionally one had fallen across the path and it had to be chainsawed up. Here one cod see the rings which were so tightly packed together the6 were impossible to count. Suffice to say a few I passed  predated the Roman Empire!

 

At the highpoint on the west side of Olancha Peak the trail reached 10,500 feet. Here through the Foxtails a view of the Sierras burst upon me. I could at last see Mt Whitney and many of the peaks I would hike past in a week. The south faces I could see where covered in snowfields but at least half of each mountain was also bare. See this I felt confident I could get through.

 

The descent was easy and despite the soil of granite sand and boulders there were springs and small creeks throughout the forest. These were being fed by the small snowfields which were scattered through the forest. The Foxtails gave way to the Lodgepole Pines and then at 9000 feet  more and more Jeffrey Pines, Silver Firs and gnarled Incense Cedars appeared. The descent was really more of a sauter as the gradient was easy, it was not too hot and I could see I was heading down to meadows.  

 

The meadows here were  smaller but almost perfect in their serenity. The lush green grasses and sedges were soft and moist as small rivulets meandered across nourishing them. Around the periphery were small pines and then large ones beyond these. There were occasional riots of colour where flowers were erupting into blossom in what 2as now early summer. The trail occasionally crossed a meadow, like the idyllic Gomez Meadow, but most of the time if skirted round them. I saw  few deer and a stag in one copse waiting for dusk so they could venture onto the meadow to feast.

 

Beside one meadow was a field of very small yellow and red flowers in full bloom. Their nectar was being harvested by a squadron of small bee type insects I had recently become aware off. They were smaller than bees but had a long proboscis to insert into flowers. They were remarkable in that they could hover and then revolve around on the spot, almost like a mini drone. I could now see why this feature was useful as they withdrew from one flower and then simple spun round to face another flower with no forward motion.

 

I reached my goal for the day which was Death  Canyon Creek. There were about 15 people here who had passed the afternoon in the shade and were just preparing to go. Many were from the floating session in the River Kern yesterday. I chatted before they went and then put up my tent under the Lodgepole Pines as the mosquitoes were out. I was fed and watered and asleep before the sun went down at 2000 hrs after another wonderful day in the Sierras.

 

The climb up from Death Canyon Creek at Sunrise illuminated the hillside of Incense Cedars with a orange glow. Some of these trees would have been very old. As I climbed under the weight of the rucksack I came to a notch where there was a huge view down to the Mojave and Owens valley below. There was a tenuous phone signal here and about 10 people were using it.. the snow patches became more frequent as 8 climbed especially in thicker trees. By now the Lodgepoles had given way to the Foxtail Pines and it was to remain like that for the rest of the day.

 

A few people caught up with me as we wandered through the forests. There were some views to the meadows below and occasionally to the snowy Sierras we were entering. At last I got to Diaz Meadow and Creek where I intended to camp. However it was not as idyllic as I hoped and as I pondered moving on to the water in 5 miles thought  that this would fit my plan of climbing Mt Whitney better. After a long siesta under the Lodgepoles at the edge of the meadow I wearily set off around 5. I was wary of pushing myself too much and getting an injury.

 

Those miles were long and it was with great relief I reached the mosquito infested campsite by Poison Spring Meadow. As I was putting up the tent under the trees  in the mixed Lodgepole and Foxtail forest thunderclaps echoed across the meadow. However the rain did not arrive and I was soon tucked up.

 

The camp was quite high at around 11000 feet, with a lot of drifts around, but it was warm. There was not much climbing to be down to reach Cottonwood Pass. It was not really a pass but more of a notch between hills and the PCT did not go through the notch but across a meadow to the west of the notch. It was beautiful meadow with small becks running across it feeding the pastures. Marmots scurried from grassy tufts to the entrance to their burrows as i approached. The burrows must have been wet as much of the meadow was sodden with the melting of the surrounding snowfields.

 

A bit beyond, near the treeline of 11500 feet where the Foxtails petered out was a small lake, Chicken Spring Lake. It still was mostly covered in ice despite the warm weather. The Taylor Swiss bubble arrived as I enjoyed some shade. They were lively lads, Taylor from LA and the 4 swiss from Zurich. I had last seen them a week ago. The trail was quiet not as many people had left for Lone Pine via Horseshoe Meadow and most would probably skip the Sierras. So I was heartened to see others were game to tackling them.

 

After this break I had a wonderful walk in the upper trees with great views. At one stage just after entering the Sequoia National Park i rounded a corner and the whole of the Siberian Outpost Meadow lay below me. It was a mile wide and 3 long and it was perched on a shelf on the mountainside with a layer of moraine forming the outer edge of the shelf. What was most remarkable was the whole plateau was still covered in snow except where the creeks had melted it.

The trail dropped down to the north side of this plateau and followed the broad shallow ridge which seperated it from the valley where the Rock Creek was. The ridge was sublime walking among giant Foxtails and gnarled Lodgepoles with frequent glimpses of the snowy Siberian Outpost Meadow and larger mountains beyond.

 

I noticed that while the Foxtails generally grew straight the Lodgepoles seem to get to a certain size or age, say a couple of hundred years and then started to twist. This twist was always anticlockwise. I then noticed the roots of the Foxtails and Lodgepoles were also twisted in an anticlockwise direction. I wonder if this is common across all pines or indeed conifers.

 

As I was descending to Rock Creek a ranger caught up. He was Mike Rodman and his patch in the Western Sierras was still covered in snow. He was visiting his fellow ranger based at Rock Creek. We had a great chat for the 3 miles and I gleaned masses from his vast knowledge of the Sierras. He left as we reached Rock Creek which I had heard roaring in the valley for a while. It was in full spate.

 

I noticed at the meadow it was not too deep as it was heavily braided but continued to the recognised crossing point half a mile down stream* where there was also a bear proof locker to store food in. However the creek here was a pulsating torrent and it looked impassable. Taylor and Swiss were camped on the other side and had a large fire. They shouted they had cross at the meadow.

 

In the morning I packed up left my trousers and socks off and tried to wade. It was just too powerful and just before i got swept off my feet retreated and returned to the meadow upstream. Here i easily waded over the 3 or 4 braids and the many sodden rivulets in the meadow. My feet were freezing before I reached dry land on the other edge of the meadow. The sun  was out and already warming so I warmed up and got dressed with its help. As I did a number of deer calmly wandered on the meadow. As this place has been a National Park for so long it was almost that there intuitive DNA did not see humans as a threat anymore.

There was a long climb 0up to Guyot Creek and Pass beyond that. The mountains were getting large now and soared above the lovely forest of Foxtail pines. It was another wonderful section and I was so delighted to be in the Sierras again.  There seem to be a near permanent sun blessing this wonderful range. I saw only one other hiker that day and that was Giggles who was trying to catch up with his group of Megaphone, Mr Tidy and Curry etc who were at the bottom of Forester Pass. The Sierras are sorting the Sheep from the Goats and most of the sheep headed down to Lone Pine a few days ago, many will not return.

 

The descent from the pass to me to Crabtree Meadow. I wanted to stay here and get up early to climb Whitney. When I arrived at the camp I was delighted to see the Kiwis Joe and Holly, English Ed and Matt, and a few more who had just returned from Whitney. They stki? had the glint of victory in their eyes. I put up my tent and prepared for an early start. Later there was a commotion in the campsite and some 20 hikers arrived. There was a lot of reunions. Deb came to my tent for a chat through the mosquito netting and camped nearby and then Top’O arrived in cavalier fashion having just walked 20 miles, but still looking dapper. Everyone was asleep by 9 with alarms set. Mine was for 2 am.

 

Deb got up and was away by midnight to catch the sunrise. I set off at half past two. it was difficult navigating in the dark on a myriad of flooded trails. I recognised the shore of timberline lake as I walked past but was totally disorientated when the snow started around Guitar Lake and just had to hope the footsteps i was following were going in the right direction and I saw a few headtorches ahead on this virtually moonless night.

 

It started to get light as I started the switchbacks up the west side. The original path builders were clever to pick areas which did not hold the snow and even in this exceptional year the path was generally clear.

 

By the time I reached the main ridge the sun had already cast a warm alpenglow on the many snow clad mountains just before it rose over the horizon. It was still a good hour along the main ridge to the summit and it by now the air was starting to warm, although even on the summit of Whitney it had not been below freezing for a week or so.

Deb was already there chatting with hikers who climbed up from Whitney Portal from the east. It was windstill and warm and easy to relax. Some PCT hikers had camped the night up here, but the shelter was full of snow as the door had blown away.

 

The first thing was the huge view, especially to the north. The massive mountain range stretched into the haze north of Whitney with a myriad of peaks, snow filled cirques and a jumble of saw toothed jagged ridges. We tried to make out Forester Pass and a few other landmarks we would pass in the next 2 weeks.

 

What really caught my attention was the way this massive range of jumbled peaks came  of an abrupt line on the eastern flank and then plunged some 10 000 vertical feet at nearly 45 degrees straight down into the flat, arid,  parched Owens Valley which was totally in the rain shadow of the magnificent Sierras.  

I lazed round for a couple of hours before leaving mid morning with Deb. On the way down we passed masses of day hikers coming from the east and PCT hikers from the west. Top’O, Birddog, Harvest to name a few. The route down was surprisingly long and it took ages  to reach the snowfields around Guitar Lake.

 

Here we were accosted by Marmots. Obviously many people camp here when the snows have gone and the resident marmots, who have just spent 7 months hibernating, have learned to extort food from campers and have lost their fear of humans.

 

Back at Crabtree camp there was nothing else to so except  snooze under the large twisted lodgepole pine, trying to avoid the sap covered cones. Soon another group of hikers arrived, Sunshine, Alex, Isco and with the return of Top’O and Harvest there was soon 15 under the gnarled Lodgepole.

 

Initially the PCT hikers were a mixed group of mountaineers, ultra runners, hardy hikers, not committed hikers, walking wounded, and hangers on. However the Sierras was separating the Sheep from the Goats. This campsite was essentially full of Goats only who at the least would hike 3 hard days over Kersage Pass to resupply again. There was a feeling of comradeship in the Camp which I had not experienced before. It was almost the people at the campsite were a congregation of a church and the structure of the church were the trees and canopy of the Foxtail and Lodgepole pines we were camped amongst.Top’O, Harvest, Deb and myself decided to hike together for the next two days. It was to be a very happy bubble in the herd 20 or so hikers who left the next morning to start the challenges of the Sierras.

 

We set off as the sun was rising. There was another team of Baby Carrot, DG, Left and Right plus another 7 or 8 and then yet another team of Pony, Aladdin and 6 or 7 others so we would not be alone. We wandered up through Foxtails for a few miles to our first challenge, the wading of Wallace Creek. I went first, the water was freezing and flowing fast but it was only up to my thighs in the middle of the 20 foot wide torrent. I dumped my rucksack and went back to help Harvest, who did not really need the help, while Deb and Top’O  managed fine. We crossed at the same time as Pony and her group.

 

However the bigger group with Baby Carrot and DG had some excitement as Left and Right got swept downstream. Slightly battered they managed to self rescue and crossed to join the assembled mass in the meadow beyond all sprawled out on the grass enjoying the sun while a deer watched from a distance.

 

Shortly afterwards we got to Wrights Creek and everybody in all three groups got over safely as the freezing water swirled around our thighs. Again we all assembled on the far side to  empty our boots and wring out out socks.  The last  Creek of the day to wade was Tyndall Creek. When we got to it it was roaring with no chance to cross. However just a  mile upstream two large tributaries joined it in a flatter area. The 4 of us headed up and could see Pony, Aladdin and their team already kn the other side.

 

Top’O and Myself crossed but it was a bit of a struggle. I was not sure if I would have been able to help Harvest and maintain my own balance in the surging torrent of snowmelt. So she and Deb continued up the snowfield on the south side while I continued up the north side for another half mile until Tyndall Creek braided and it was easy to cross. By now my feet were freezing.  

 

On returning to the previous crossing place, the large team of Baby Carrot, DG, Left and Right  were preparing to cross. I felt some of them would be better crossing at Harvest’s point further up so crossed again to tell them. However they were adamant that they would all get over here if they worked as a team. So I re crossed Tyndall Creek for the firth time to empty my boots, wring my socks and enjoy the rest of the spectators. To their credit the big team did a great job, it was a textbook crossing with a line of people all facing up stream with linked arms and the strongest at each end and interspersed. There was a loud cheer when the  group arrived safely on the north side. Everyone now relaxed in the sun.

From this crossing the teams split up. Top’O, Deb, Harvest and Myself decided to walk the remaining 4 miles to the foot of Forester Pass, where Harvest had some info on a good campsite. The other 2 groups camped much earlier. It was a long trudge through the snow up the valley beneath Diamond Mesa. The going was tough because the snow had melted into little ridges and deep dimples, which are called snow cups. It was humiliating to walk on the. As one slithered and slipped with the occasional fall.

 

After a couple of hours we passed the two larger lakes which were still frozen over, but could not find a camp spot..so we continued to the very base of the pass where there was a small lake beside which the map indicated a campsite. I hoped for some bare windswept gravel at the least. However i was horrified to see 8t was just a white undulating expanse of snow on which we would have to camp at about 12,000 feet.  Harvest’s tent was totally unsuitable for snow so with the sun setting and cold creeping into wet boots I told her she should sleep in my tent. The 3 tents were just set up as the temperatures fell below freezing and we quickly withdrew into our sleeping bags to cook. For Harvest’s benefit I overlooked the Chickpea Curry and went for the Macaroni Cheese.

Just  before sleeping I put my wet socks into a ziplock bag and then into my sleeping bag so they would not freeze for the morning.  However I did not sleep well as nerves in the soles of my feet kept firing as if someone was sticking pins in my feet.

 

In the morning it was well below freezing and we all decided to stay in bed until the sun hit the tents around 0730. The other two groups must have started around 5 as when they passed we were still in bed contemplating putting on frozen shoes. “Are you guys having a zero day” Fireball joked.  

 

When we did set off it was a short 300 foot climb up a 35 degree snow slope to reach the rock path which had been hacked into the mountain side in the 1930’s.  Since this whole bowl faced south much of the snow had gone from the upper reaches and before we knew it we had reached Forester Pass at 13,000 feet. Naturally the views were superb. To the south were the frozen lakes below our camp spot and to the north was ridge after ridge with jagged crests, snow filled bowls, and frozen lakes with azure patches where water gathered on top of the snow covered ice.  We savoured the view and got an Alaskan hiker to take a group photo.

The descent was easy but long. We followed the trail down the snow covered ridge to the NNW. Then descended east into a huge snowy bowl where the other 2 groups were. The heat was phenomenal as it was reflecting off the snow and my thirst was intense. We headed down to where a clear rivulet was gushing over rocks for lunch under the clear blue skies one takes for granted in the Sierras.

 

After lunch we carried on down into the  trees. Initially stunted White Barked Pine and then Lodgepoles and Foxtails. The girls took every opportunity to slide down on their bums, sometimes on their Tyvek ground sheets. With my heavy leather boots I could virtually run down.

 

Between the treeline and Vidette Meadows there were a couple of bigger creek crossings again. There was a narrow log over the first torrent. The bigger group with Baby Carrot, Fireball, DG, Left and Right were already over and tried to coordinate us. DG was especially pumped up and excitable when we arrived, but we managed slowly and calmly. Only afterwards we learned Left had fallen off the log and a well placed Baby Carrot had managed to grab a rucksack strap as she bobbed past downstream.

 

The second crossing also involved a log which stopped short of the far bank and ihen involved a 6 foot leap to a overhanging snow bank where waiting hands were ready to grab you. I did not like the look of the slippery log, nor trying to set a personal best in long jump from it. Harvest was equally horrified. The athletic Deb just made the leap, while the tall Top’O managed with aplomb. Meanwhile Harvest and Myself found a nearly waist deep opportunity a little upstream.

 

At Vidette meadows we decided to continue for another mile to where our paths would split tomorrow.  We climbed steeply to the Bullfrog Lake trailhead. However we climbed 1000 feet from the delightful lush Vidette meadow to a forest covered in snow drifts at 10,500. However we managed somehow to find a spot to cram our 4 tents in.

 

It was a symbolic tight camp spot which reflected our lovely group. Top’O was now becoming my most regular and favoured chums on the hike so far and we liked each others company. Deb was intelligent, witty and very easy to get on with and Harvest was simply the most upbeat person on the hike and always turned every situation into a positive one. They would hike east tomorrow over the Kersage Pass to Bishop where they would hopefully resupply, while I would continue to haul my massive rucksack south through the rest of the Sierras over another 5 passes. I would be sad to see them go.

 

We parted early in the morning after the tents were down. There was a slight frost on the ground and the snow patches were crunchy as I made my way through the remnant snow drifts and diminishing pine trees as I headed north above the still ice covered Charlotte Lake. It was crystal clear as usual and the sun was sparkling off the snow.

 

I gently climbed across snowfields between the jaws of a valley until I entered a cirque with a couple of lakes. There was some surface water on top of the ice covered lakes which made them turquoise. The heat was starting to build and I could feel the sun reflecting off the snow into my face burning it.

 

As ai climbed higher into the cirque the pass appeared. There were already tracks to it and they seemed straightforward with a single steeper section towards the top. As I neared it I put my crampons on and got my ice axe out but they were barely necessary as it was easy to kick steps in the softening snow. The view down into the cirque was very wintery and completely at odds with the fierce sun and heat.

At the top the view down was dominated by the traverse I had t9 make before descending. It was not too steep or exposed but I was glad I had an ice axe. Beyond that snowy expanse I had to cross far down in the valley were the Rae Lakes, famous for their beauty but now covered in ice, snow and avalanche debris.

 

I carefully traversed across the quarter mile slope the top of a stoney ridge where the path zig-zagged up and took my crampons off. Then descended the path and large soft snowfields which still buried it. Before long I was into smaller trees which I had not seen before, named white barked pines, a shrubby 5 needle pine. Then I reached the place to cross the outlet of the upper Rae Lake. A winter avalanche had removed any log bridge meaning I had to wade it. As I assessed the deep but easy wade I noticed many trout at the outlet, hungry now the first of the ice was melting. I stripped off and put my boots back on and the strode into the water. It was 4 foot deep and 50 foot wide and crystal clear. However it was cold with chunks of ice floating by.

 

The forgiving nature of the Sierras however meant the sun was powerful so when i reached the other side I laid on warm rocks and it was not long before I was dry and warm again. There were another two miles of difficult snow to walk on through shrubby pine woods to Arrowhead Lake. The snow was difficult because it was so furrowed and snowcupped into small deep depressions. It is something I rarely come across i  other areas of the world but in the Sierras it is rife and the norm. It must be something to do with the intensity of prolonged sunlight.

 

At Arrowhead Lake outlet the crossing was more challenging. I crossed downstream a bit where two submerged logs reduced the depth to 3 foot. However the current was strong. Had I lost my footing I would have just got swept into a large pool where I could have swum further. As I readied my rucksack a marmot watched all from a rock nearby.

 

This time I crossed President Putin style in boots, green trousers and bare topped. I kept my feet braced on the logs as I leaned upstream and 30 foot later I was safely on the other side. The marmot was still watching. I climbed a rock outcrop, stripped off, wrung my clothes out and sunbathed for a good half hour. I had really  enjoyed my day so far. The pass and 2 river crossings had excited me and I felt at last I was in my element. I also loved the fact I was on my own.

 

Suddenly there were voices. I put on my pants and stood up. 5 people were on the rock and snow on the other side. They shouted questions and I returned answers and the marmot reappeared. They were 5 strong men and crossing should be easy. The first crossed easily and came up to join me. I had heard of him. He was a Polish Canadian called So Crépe, and a middleweight boxer. The other crossed quickly and they continued north leaving me.

I dressed and continued north. After a good hour I caught up with So Crépe and his team at  Baxter Creek. It was a steep creek tumbling through willows which it had overwhelmed. I went first with murky waters swirling mid thigh and made it without much to spare. So Crépe came next and at the crux got into a spar with a thrashing willow thicket which put him in the water. Luckily he held onto the willows and regained his feet and someone his phone survived in his shirt pocket. They camped soon after while I carried on down the trail for another hour towards Woods Creek. I had heard this bridge might have been damaged and if so it would have been a major problem.

 

The bridge however was not.only untarnished but a beautiful construction with oiled cedar supports over which suspension wires were drapped. The walkway hanging from the suspension wires was also made of cedar planks. The bridge was essential as woods creek was raging and would have certainly swept a horse away and possibly an elephant. I camped just before the creek amongst large pines and huge red firs. Despite being 200 metres from the torrent I could hear large boulders getting swept down in the current.

 

As I was packing up the next morning 4 hikers appeared. One was  Tofu who I knew from before. Tough as beautiful she was a strong hiker. i had not met the other 3, two were very close high school chums, Vice and Boas, and also Trail Name.

 

We walked together for a few miles with two memorable creek crossings of tributaries into the pulsating Woods Creek. Then they stopped to eat and I carried on to a sunny spot to dry out boots and socks. My leather boot system was not working and my boots were simply not draining the water as they should.

 

Soon the the hikers appeared, but it was not Tofu and crew but others of which I recognised a few but knew none until Neil, the wry Aussie with a glint in his eye and a leg pulling grin. I had not seen him for a few weeks. We chatted and caught up with his group. Tofu was travelling with them also.

 

This group of about 12 were the nicest group I had come across yet. Witty, competent and helpful I was to call them the Cream of America group. I was to hike with them for the next 3 days and they were a bunch of fun.

 

Initially I was slower than them as we left the roar of Woods Creek behind and meandered into the sun cupped snowfields leading up to Pinchot Pass. As usual it was desperately hot across the snowfields. The Cream of America liked to have good breaks and at one of them I overtook them and continued up to the easy Pinchot Pass, arriving at the top as they appeared over the previous ridge.

 

The descent  was quick down across dimpled snowfields past lake Marjorie and a few other small lakes where White Barked Pines poked through the snow. Occasionally a shrub would suddenly spring up as the record winter’s snow finally released it grip on a branch as it melted in the afternoon sun.

 

There was an easy creek over the outlet of Marjorie Lake, where I fould a solid snow bridge still intact. Then followed a sustained and difficult descent down through steep lodgepole woods. Nearly the entire descent was covered with thick snow drifts decked in a carpet of pine needles. It was hopeless trying to follow the path so I made a beeline for the bottom where there was a campsite. Luckily my heavy leather boots could smash a hell placement in the steep snow and I descended quickly. Trail shoes would have been very slippery here.

 

I reached the campsite to find So Crépe and his group there already camped. They had scouted the river cross ahead over the South Fork Kings River and found a place 200 yards downstream. I did not l8ke the look of it at all. By the time I put my tent up and cooked the Cream of America had arrived. I did not join them as my feet were freezing and just warming up in my sleeping bag.

 

I looked at the map that evening and it seemed obvious we did not have to cross the river the next morning. We could just bushwhack up the east side for three miles until the whole river petered out in a mass of tributaries probably all covered in snowfields. I mentioned this to Neal the next morning and he said he had similar thoughts and put it to the group. Not long after the idea of crossing the South Fork of the Kings River was all but abandoned and we were threading our way up hard crunchy snowfields on the east side with the rising sun sparkling on the frost.

 

We made our way up to the Upper Basin which as suspected was completely covered in snow with vicious sun cups.We stumbled.  slipped, slithered and occasionally fell, as we carefully picked our way across 2 miles of this humiliating terrain to the foot of Mather Pass.

 

Mather Pass was the steepest yet. We surveyed the route and climbed up to an outcrop to start a traverse. When I reached the outcrop everyone was a bit nervous. Colten had already begun the traverse over a steeper section and the others did not like the look of the 300 metre incline, the worst section of which was hidden from view.

 

Most others had little or no steep snow experience so I volunteered to try a different route. After a short distance I could see the slope and realised Colten had taken the best route. I returned and explained this to apprehensive faces and then followed Colten’s footprints. After 5 minutes I reached his stance on the other side and we continued up to the top of the pass. As we reached it a spread out line of the other 10 started to gingerly follow our footprints.

I had never noticed Colten before in this group. He was quiet spoken and modest. However I was now glaringly obvious he was the leader of the group and all the others respected him. He was a Canyoneering guide in Zion National Park. Over the next days I saw him carefully consider everyones wishes and even if it meant sacrificing something be wanted to do for the benefit of others in the group. He was the type of man a parent would be delighted with if their daughter brought him home.

 

Soon everyone had reached the Pass and there was relief and joy. We all gathered on the rock slabs nearby to enjoy the sun and snack. The snacks were opulent, oreo biscuits dipped in Nutella, chocolate bar with peanut butter spooned onto them. Others just ate spoonfuls of chocolate spread straight from the jar. A PCT hiker could use 7000-8000 calories a day.

 

I left first as I needed water and headed to the north side to the Pallisade Lakes. Half way down, among the first of the shrub pines I fould a small stream and shade from the furnace of the snowfield for my more spartan lunch. The others arrived after while and we then continued to the lakes whose east sides were covered in large slabs of bare rock. We basked in the sun here until Colten announced he lost his phone in the snow, but probably knew where. Such was the luck of this fortuitous day that he returned half an hour later with his phone.

 

Again as the slowest I left first to head down the valley. After a mile I got to the edge of a lip where there valley plunged down to forested meadows far below. It was a breathtaking view and I stood transfixed for a good minute marvelling at it while a cool wind refreshed me. The valley floor below was a strip of meadows and forests. From these the mountainsides rose up on each side and at the far end to high peaks whose glistening snowfields sparkled in the sun. It was as if this ring of lofty jagged peaks guarded this secret promised land. I think everybody was greatly moved by the view.

To get to the meadows below I followed a series of switchbacks and snowfields of avalanche debris down to the first of the Lodgepole pines where the valley floor flattened out. The meadows were hidden in glades in the forest and in nearly everyone deer grazed of the lush spring grass. Shooting Star flowers were beginning to blossom at the edge of the bubbling brooks.

 

After a few meadows we reached one, Deer Meadow, where there was a great campsite for all beside the main river. We all pitched our tents and gathered round a fire area with a quadrangle of log benches round it. The post mortem of the day just dwelled on how it had been one of the best mountain days anyone of us had experienced.

 

I was tired the next morning. I left Kennedy Meadows with 17 days of food. Each of these days was just 3000 calories and I was using 6000-8000 per day. The weight was falling off me and I no longer had a verandah on my toolshed, but this morning I felt I hit a brick wall. I walked with Madison and Jackpot, the sweetest couple on the PCT, while the rest of Cream of America forged ahead. We went the rest of the beautiful Palisade Creek valley with it’s lodgepole pine forest and frequent  windfall trees to the confluence with Middle Fork Kings River. Here in the fertile soil and sheltered valley were some truly enormous Jeffrey Pines, prize specimens really.

 

The route now turned north for the long climb up to Muir Pass, which we intended to do tomorrow. It was a long slow struggle for me to keep up with even the slowest of the Cream. We passed beautiful small lakes and meadows like Grouse Meadow, Little Pete’s meadow and then Big Pete’s Meadow where we stopped for lunch. As I had already eaten up all my allocated lunch in a gluttonous frenzy earlier I decided after a short stop to carry on to the campsite at La Conte a few miles ahead. It was a steep climb across avalanche debris to the small lake which looked idyllic on the map.

 

However the campsite was at 10,500 feet which was just above the snowline. There were a few soggy campsites on the banks of the creek as it flowed through the snow covered meadow and there were a few sites on a knoll poking out of the snow. Neal the Aussie and Myself opted for the fringe between creek and snow while the others mostly cowboy camped on the know. My tent had a splendid view looking straight up the creek. Luckily the river did not rise at all other Neal and Myself would have had to move in the dark.

 

We rose early keen to get up to and over Muir Pass before the snow got slushy and difficult to walk on. Tofu, Vice and Boas set the pace and stormed off across the firm frozen snow, first trough the forest and then up the treeless valley around Helen Lake.

 

En route we passed a group coming towards us. I quizzed them about the trail ahead especially the Evolution Creek and Bear Creek crossings which had become notorious. They said both were easy and nothing to worry about, much as I suspected. It seemed peak melt had passed.

 

Indeed I missed out on the town of Lone Pine and Later Bishop where most hikers who will still hiking were bottlenecking, especially Bishop. Everyone told me there was a atmosphere of fear there with hikers worried about snowy passes and creek crossings.  Many hikers planned to skip the Sierras and were trying to convince others to justify their own decision. It seemed hikers were leaving tbe trail in droves driven by each other whipping up a frenzy of fear. Most were flipping up to Oregon to do easy sections in the hope they would come back to more gentle Sierras in the Autumn. The truth was the Sierras were already calming down are were in their prime.

 

I spent much of the final 2 miles hiking across the snowfield up to the pass chatting with Nacho. One of the wittiest of the Cream of America group with a gentle yet poignant humour. As we approached the summit we reached the octagonal stone built John Muir Hut. It had a stone roof similar to a beehive shelter of Christian ascetics on the Atlantic seaboard or an Andy Goldsworthy sculpture, with ever decreasing rings as the roof rose. Nacho went in first and got a huge cheer a d a snowball with a candle embedded in it. Unknown to me it was his 26th birthday.

 

After a good hour of banter in the Hut where we all sat in a stone bench round the inner perimeter we set off down the Evolution Basin to Evolution Lake. It was all on badly sun-cupped snow and was intensely hot. The group set fast pace and i soon lagged behind. I decided I would only go as far as Evolution meadow and the creek crossing that day and let the rest go on. As we reached the end of Evolution Lake there was a wide outflow to cross but it was only thigh deep. After the outflow the river plunged down a huge 800 foot rock slab in a huge fan of water to Evolution Valley below. This like Palisade Valley yesterday was a spot of fabled beauty with a sting a meadows along the fertile valley floor. I caught up with the others as they lunched before the zigzag path.

Once down in the valley we passed meadow after meadow as we headed west. I walked with Jackpot and Madison. He was a biologist and knew much about this ecosystem.  All the time Evolution Creek was to our south and it was looking like large river swollen with meltwater and spilling onto all the meadows turning them into lakes. We had to cross it had become a notorious crossing this year with tales of  people swimming icy waters.

 

When we reached the crossing point we were all excited. However it was something of an anticlimax. The green hued river meandered across Evolution meadow in slow lazy bends spilling only shin height height onto the adjacent pasture. We walked across this and then plunged just navel deep into the crystal clear lazy current which was perhaps only 40 foot wide. It was not freezing but invigorating. Everybody crossed easily and then remarked how pleasant it was as the sun warmed us again.

Just below the meadow there was a nice campsite. Here Neal and Colten stopped and waited for me as they knew I was camping here. We had a heartfelt farewell and a group photo before they left me to continue another 4 miles. I explained to them I felt like a diesel tractor trying to keep up with high octane sports cars. They were a tremendous group and I was sad to see them go but was sure I would meet them again. In the quiet after they went I put up my tent.

I got up later than usual at 7 repaired a few things and then set off down the swollen which drained the Evolution watershed. It was roaring down rapids and cascades as it hurtled in a violence of foaming whitewater and rainbows towards a lower valley where it would slow down and morph into the South Fork of the San Joachim River. The were deer in all the grassy meadows on the way down while in the woods chipmunks scurried from log to tree looking for cones.

 

One the trail reached the bottom it changed character. It crossed to the north side over an essential steel footbridge and then clung to the side of a deep rock canyon with the scarse tree growing out of crevices or where some gravelly soil gathered. It continued like this for a few inhospitable miles until it reached the Piute Creek, an torrent equal to the San Joachim, which it would imminently join. Luckily there was a steel bridge here also as it was a huge torrent. I stopped here for a snack and more importantly a drink.

 

I was just about to pack up when Wilder and Crimson came stomping over the bridge. I had not seem them for about 10 days.  With them was Dennis, the only other person I knew who walked from Kennedy Meadows to Vermillion Valley Resort in one go. We had a good chat but they were lunching another 2 miles down the canyon at the Muir Trail Ranch Trailhead. I said I would meet them there later.

 

I really enjoyed the walk down to this trailhead. The rock canyon was replaced with a wider valley floor which supported a rich soil. Out of this grew magnificent Jeffrey Pines. The path wove through these like an avenue in parkland. Their large cones littered the forest floor and path.

 

At the the trailhead I joined the lads for a second break. They were heading over Selden Pass today and there was no way I could match their pace. After lunch I let them go as I slowly started the long ascent. I intended to camp at The Sallie Keyes Lakes, which I remember from the John Muir Trail walk I did 12 years ago as an especially idyllic place.

 

I felt lethargic on the climb but now realized i had 2 days of food to spare, so raided tomorrow’s snacks and almost immediately felt empowered. I stormed up the path climbing well above the valley to get great views both up to the Evolution area and down to Muir Trail Ranch and the Lake Florence area on the edge of this Sierra wilderness. The trees on the way up changed the whole time and from Jeffrey Pines to very  gnarled, twisted incense cedars to finally forests of ubiquitous  Lodgepole pines which seemed to adapt to a variety of climates. There were frequent groves of Aspens also their leaves now fully developed and fluttering in the slightest breeze.

 

I passed one Aspen and heard a great deal 9f chirping. Obviously a birds nest. On inspection I find a hole just 6 foot above the ground.  It was a woodpecker’s nest with 3 or 4 chicks inside. As I approached it the chirping became a frenzy as each chick was hoping for a morsel. However then soon realized i was not a parent and no morsel was coming and they became very silent, even when I peered in.

At one large Jeffrey Pine I heard a booming sound. Wilder had already explained it was a type of grouse who could expand its jowls and emit this sound as a mating call. I had only beard it a few times but could never see the bird in the tangled foliage. Coincidentally I saw a female grouse just 10 minutes later. She had a few fist sized chicks who could just fly. The mother feigned injury along the trail to distract me from her vulnerable chicks while they fluttered off and hid

I crossed Senger Creek and a flooded meadow on logs avoiding getting my feet wet and then arrived at the outlet to Sallie Keyes Lakes, which I also managed to cross on logs and stones. There was a great campsite just north of the outlet. Unfortunately the lake was largely still frozen over so I could not spot the flamboyant Golden Trout which i remembered from my last visit. I put up my tent and fell asleep listening to the chorus of bullfrogs croaking in the flooded meadow.

Looking at the map I realized I could get to Vermillion Valley Resort in a day if I left early. It was not far up the scattered snowfields to Selden Pass. This pass was not in the same league as the other 5 It had been over in the last 10 days and the shrub pines continued all the way to the top and down the other side to Marie Lake. There were some snowfields on the north side with frozen snowcups but it was nothing like the other passes and I was soon in tall Lodgepoles again.

 

I my eye caught a movement. It was a hiker called Matt who usually walked with the Kiwis Joe and Holly. He was powerful 6 foot 4 inch man with thunder thighs and a huge stride and seemed relieved to be stepping out on his own now. He tempered his speed to chat to me for an hour so we could cross Bear Creek together. Bear Creek was rumoured to be impassable 2 weeks ago and it previously inspired fear, but we had been told it was passable now if one went upstream just  half a mile and crossed all three forks individually.

 

When we got to it we found we could cross at will wherever we wanted. We headed downstream 200 metres from the official summer crossing and found a braided river with the main channel bridged by a newly fallen huge lodgepole. We easily crossed the 2 smaller braided channels and then crossed on the downstream side of the fallen lodgepole while holding onto its still green branches. It was barely thigh deep and very easy. We warmed up on rocks on the east side and then Matt headed off to Mammoth to spend 4th July on skis.

I continued down Bear Creek, crossing a few challenging tributaries, like Hilgard Creek, for a few miles. The walk was lovely and Bear Creek quickly matured into a big river with all these tributaries, carving a roaring white foaming path through the extensive forest. The path then climbed gently up to Bear Ridge where there was a junction; straight on to continue on the PCT down to Mono Creek and the ferry to Vermillion Valley Resort  (VVR) or west down the crest of Bear Ridge for 7 miles to VVR.  I was to take the latter.

 

It was a quick 7 miles as I crashed down through the woods. The lodgepoles were large and congested but as I descended I noticed a Red Pine or two. Soon the Red Firs dominated towering above and stealing most of the light from the lodgepoles. Some of these Red Firs must have been over 200 foot with a 8 foot diameter bole. They were gigantic trees. However were they had fallen and blocked the track they were cut and it was easy to count the rings. These were fast growing trees of softer wood, perhaps only reaching 300 years before succumbing to lightning, wind or heavy snowfall. Beetles and woodpeckers could easily thrive on them unlike the rock hard Foxtails of 10 days ago.

 

I wanted to stop and admire them but the mosquitoes were intense and ferocious. They forced me to rush down the ridge and.to the dam of Lake Edison. I ignored the Road Closed sign and crossed the half mile dam and then walked a further m8le along the dirt road to VVR. I got there at 7 and most of the 20 hikers there were sitting round an outside fire. I got a cheer a d clap from them as I wearily roll in. I knew most of them. They had all just hiked through the High Sierras also and knew what it meant. We were the survivors of the Thru Hikers, at least 75% of the original starters had either quit or flipped up to Oregon.

 

It had taken me 15 days to do the last 200 miles but they were the best of the PCT by far. I had loved the challenges they had presented, which were not as bad as I originally feared, and I loved the comradeship of those dedicated hikers who chose to hike through them, especially the Cream of America group.

 

VVR was a friendly small resort. It had large tents already erected on wooden platforms. All were taken, but there was one which was a “hiker hostel” with 7 beds in it. Only one was taken, coincidentally by Ranger, the Alaskan who took the photo of us at Forester Pass 10 days ago. Most hikers left the next morning to go to Mammoth Lakes 2 days away to celebrate 4th July but I wanted to stay here and relax at this easy going rustic resort, catch up on digital duties and let my body recover before the next 7-8 day leg to Sonora Pass.

Back

Section 06. Hikertown to Kennedy Meadows. After a relaxing time in the eccentric and slightly bizzare shambles of Hikertown I had prepared myself for the difficult, arid route ahead. It seemed the only way to do the first stretch was at night. I was lucky as it was nearly a full moon.

I set off at dusk, once the heat of the day had gone, and walked up to the South California  Aqueduct. It was open and I had not seen so much water since the sea at San Diego. I followed it for two miles as it flowed quietly, but with determination, along it’s concrete canal. After two miles I crossed it and headed up a large rivetted pipe carrying yet more water to supply urban Southern California, this one being the Los Angeles Aqueduct.

 

The moon rose at the top of this in where a small covered aquaduct fed it. It was so bright there was no need for the headtorch. I walked along this smaller aquaduct and the road beside for much night as my moon shadow moved from behind me, to beside me and fillnally in front of me as the moon passed through the night sky and set. I could not make out landscapes but marveled at the silhouettes of the plentiful Joshua Trees. There was a fragrance now and again but I could not place it.

 

After 17 miles there was a faucet in the covered aqueduct. I still had enough water to push on for the next in 7 miles to Tyler Horseshoe canyon. This walk was a different story. The moon had now set and it was completely dark. My headtorch cut a small beam on the narrow sandy path and the wind was gusting. To add to the other worldly theme the path went through a large windfarm. I could hear the turbines slicing through the air but could only see the flashing red hazard lights. The only thing which was natural were the jumping rodents, which were prolific and seemed to be oblivious to my light and often even ran towards it.

 

But the time the first glows to the east signalled dawn I cleared the windfarm and was now climbing up a barren hillside in a bit of a trance. In finally reached the creek an hour after sunrise at 7 and was tired. It was just warming up when i put up the tent under a large tree and fell asleep almost at once. I did not wake until mid afternoon.

 

Later that night I tried to repeat my 12 hour night hike herorics. It started well and I left at 1830 again. Shortly after i left I saw a deer, a mule deer i think on account of its ears. However I only got 8 miles and well before midnight found a place to camp beside a water cache a Trail Angel had kindly left. My overiding concern of water shortage was alleviated by this and other confirmed water caches later in this arId section so I would not have to carry 8 litres and hike at night to conserve it.

 

It was another short 8 mile morning past yet more wind turbines hissing in the wind as I went through a fire damaged area. I walked with Waves, a member of the Young Team and a teacher. The day was hot and we were soon parched. However as we descended to the Tehapachi Road we could see Coppertones camper. Coppertone is a Christian Trail Angel whole follows the herd spending a week in each spot. He offered us a root beer float on arrival. It was delicious end to 3 difficult and unmemorable days where wind turbines and a lack of water where the  main feature.

 

Everyone hitch hiked into Tehapachi to resupply but I had enough food to get the 150 miles to Kennedy Meadows still. As i was leaving a group of Faster hikers arrived from Tehapachi after a days sojurn, including Neil, the Aussie. I left first for another 8 mile windfarm section.

 

Just as I was about to start I noticed there was a road down the pastoral Cameron Valley. It was 2 miles shorter, did not go through the windfarm turbines and would give me a chance to see a cultural landscape. I took it and was rewarded with views of old homestead type farms, mostly unkempt, but with old machinery and cars from the 60 rusting in the yards. When I met the trail again It was a short walk to cross the busy Highway 58.

I had intended to walk up the mountain north of Highway 58 with the fastgroup including Neil,  but as the sun went down and the moon rose my momentum vanished and I let the others pull away while i looked for the first place to camp. Now water did not seem such a issue as previously feared I had done with night hiking, there just is not any inspiration in it.

 

The next morning I woke early and leaving the windfarms, Mojave, and highway behind I climbed relentlessly  in the wind past Joshua Trees and scrub up endless zig-zags to the green topped summit. It seemed the promised land as I hauled my way up the windswept slopes. And indeed it was. As soon as I entered the first Pinyon Pines 3 hours later the day changed. The wind still hissed in the tree tops but it was calm on the path.

 

It was a joyful walk after the rigours of the last 3 days which were devoid of much interest and vandalised by windfarms. The pinyon pines offered great sanctuary and in the glades between flowers and sage bushes thrived.

 

Towards the end of this tranquil rigde, at Sweet Ridge a early generation windfarm reared its ugly head and the route went through it. However, it was soon back in the Pinyon pines again as it descended rockily to Golden Oak Spring. This spring was the end of the 43 mile waterless stretch which luckily for me was dotted with water caches left by Trail Angels. Just at the spring Top’O caught me up. We cowboy camped just above the spring and caught up on each others hikes.

 

After the night at Golden Oak Spring we set off the 19 miles to the next Spring which was Robin Spring. This was a stunning day with the last encroachments of the windfarm over first thing. The path now climbed up the gentle shallow south ridge of Piute Mountain for the rest of the day and would descend tomorrow down to Landers Camp and Meadow. It was to be the highlight of this section so far. There was a mix of trees with plently of Pinyon pines but also many Jeffery Pines and Oaks. Some of the Oaks were in undulating meadows of amber and maroon grasses which were flowing in the breeze. Hamp Williams Pass was especially beautiful. Just after the pass was the 600 mile marker and then Robin Spring just beyond.

I like hiking on my own. I can go my own speed and can stop when I want. At Hamp Williams i had a small rest which turned into a siesta in the meadow grass. When I woke I noticed a pair of Californian Gnat Wrens were nesting in a hole at the top of a tall pine stump. It was a perfect spot. I moved closer to watch them. Each parent returned to the nest every minute with a gnat in its  beak. It looked around and then entered the nest. When it emerged a short time later the other parent entered also with a gnat. The emerging wren went straight to one of the many surrounding Black Oaks to find another plentiful gnat to feed the family. A few hikers passed me but most seemed oblivious and were keen to clock up the miles.

 

I liked to camp with other people though and there were plenty at Robin Spring including Top’O and about 20 others, many of whom I knew. Many were cowboy camping around this essential waterhole under pines and large scrub oaks. When we went to bed the huge moon and risen, but by 2200 it had disappeared behind the clouds. Suddenly i felt a drop on my face and then an other. The mist had come in and it was condensing on the trees and dripping on us. Suddenly the whole camp was awake with people hurriedly putting up tents in torchlight.

 

It was still dripping heavily in the morning and the ground was wet. It seemed the scrub oaks especially were adept at getting water this way as their shiny leaves were especially good at condensing. I packed up and left early keen to go the 20 miles to the next water at Willow Spring.

 

As soon as I crossed over the spine of the hill to the east side it was like entering a different world. The mist did not get this far and the sun was out. It was a beautiful undulating Lodgepole Pine forest with a sandy forest floor covered in pine needles. Large biege granite boulders were scattered in the forest. There were also some small streams here. It was a lovely place to camp and just 2 miles from the dripping misery on the other side everyone woke up to.

It was a lovely walk down through the lodgepoles in the forest besides Landers Creek to Landers Camp where there was water. The path now left the lovely Piute Mountain and turned east through a fireburn area for a few miles and the serenity of the day vanished. It was now searing hot as the heat reflected off the bleached granite dust. As i rounded a corner I saw what the afternoon might bring. Before me was a huge amphitheatre of brown arid ridges and peaks rising well above me. I knew I had to  climb into this high desert. The tops of the hills were all knobbly granite outcrops and the hillsides were largely bare, save clusters of Joshua Trees and a scattering of the hardiest Chaparral scrub.

 

Rumour had it there was a water cache on a gravel road some 4 miles before Willow Spring and another one 10 miles beyond. If so this meant it was not necessary to make the 2 mile detour down to Willow Spring.  It was with a little relief when I reached the track which crossed from the Kelso Valley to the Mojave and found 6 hikers there in the arid dust amidst a sea of 5 gallon water bottles. We all filled up with enough water to last the rest of the day and all tomorrow, about a gallon each.

The walk up to the pass which led down to Willow Spring was quite other worldly. The undulating hillsides were punctuated by granite outcrops whiose erosion covered the whole area in sand. Joshua Tree clumps covered all this. Some of the spikey eddifices  were 15 foot high and as broad, composing 10 trucks. Beneath them a few hardy shrubs eeeked out a living. Yet on the dry sandy soil there was an abundance of small delicate flowers; mauve, yellow and blue ones which defied all odds and were blossoming here.

At the Pass the wind had increased to a gale. Top’O had gone on 3 miles to camp but I would call it a day here. I needed to find some shelter though and had to walk down a half mile eventually before I found a flat spot behind a Joshua Tree clump. The wind hissed through their tall spikes. If one blew over on the tent it would impale me so I chose my spot carefully.

 

In the morning the wind was perhaps stronger and certainly colder. My hands were cold paccking up. I returned against the gale to the pass and then continued north along the PCT. I passed 4 hikers all huddled under a Joshua Tree still in their sleeping bags. Top’O had already moved on from his planned campspot which was also windy.

 

The next two hours over the granite Tor of Wyley’s Knob was a fight against the wind in a deep granite sand. It was often 4 steps up and one back as I was buffeted in the loose soil. The the wind had a bitter bite to it. Yet I was in high desert and could see the furnace of the Mojave Desert spread out below me to the east. It was unfathomable to ponder on the days climate.

 

The second water cache was where the rumour said, and also a box of sweets. Everyone stocked up and left a donation in the tupperware box. This would fuel us up the near 2000 foot climb to Skinner’s Peak on whose craggy summt ridge I could see the sanctuary of a Pinyon Pine forest. It was a blustery climb and not the place on this steep hillside to be buffeted about. On one occasion  I was blown into a bush. At the top however I crossed into the lee of the mountain and the longed-for pines enveloped me, and even in the open spaces between them the sun warmed me.  This was the return of the PCT I was growing to love.

 

For the rest of the day the path kept high as it twisted in and out of shallow valleys and through the trees. Frequently it veered to the western edge where the wind was a strong as ever and still colder. Ominous clouds were building to the west covering the ridges there. But as often the path wove through pines and scrub oak with calm sunny glades. The last miles before McIvers Spring however were through a fireburn area atop the hill. Here there was no hiding from the bitter wind. I walked  briskly  passing the occasional isolated large Jeffery Pine which survived the fire but was now standing alone and straining in the gale, hissing as the wind twisted it’s branches.

 

Top’O greeted me as I reached the spring and cabin at McIvers. The cabin was rustic and crowded but there was a space on the floor which I took, mostly to escape the bitter wind. Once i had found a corner the floor was full and in all there were 12 people crammed it. It was dirty but it was warm. By the morning 2 more had squeezed in saying they had cowboy camped nearby but it started to snow at midnight.

 

I left with Top’O and we walked the 6 miles to Walker Pass together. We were quickly out of the barren fireburn area and the wind had all but ceased. It was an easy sauter through pines again as we slowly descended. The miles flew by in conversation and gossip. We rounded on ridge and there for the first time were the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Huge and foreboding they were still covered in their winter snows. It quickened the heart to see them as they were magnificent but there was also the realisation that they do exist. In a week’s time we will chest deep in icy torrents and crossing steep snowfields at dawn and the heat of the desert will long be forgiven.

The path twisted through the Pinyon Pines. The green cones we foming fast and the branches were heavy with them. Each one was coated in sticky droplets of resin and glistened in the sun like a jewel. Many littered the path having been blown off prematurely in the gale. We soon reached Walker Pass Campsite. It was open and the treeless. I had intended to spend a day here writing so was disappointed but there were picnic tables. Coppertone, the The Trail Angel, was also here in his camper with a selection of treats and his now infamous root beer floats.

I spent the rest of the day typing and chatting with hikers as they arrived. Most then hitched down to lthe town of Lake Isabella to get resupplied and a cooked meal. I still had enough food to get to Kennedy Meadows, just 50 miles away now.

 

It took three days to get from Walker Pass to Kennedy Meadows. The first miles were extremely arid and sandy as I climbed up into the hills on the edge of the Mojave Desert again. The recent 7 year drought had taken its toll and about half of the Pinyon Pines hare had died. They were now just crisp brown trees whose root ball was slowly diminishing until a gale toppled them.

 

I caught up with Harvest,  a bright Canadian girl, and we walked together for the rest of the afternoon. As we climbed and headed west of the Mojave the vegetation greened up and the hills became more spectacular. They were now composed of a hard, erosion resistant metamorphic rock and the path became lumpy. We went over a couple of small passes and then dropped down to a Joshua Tree Spring, where cool water emerged from a pipe in an algae filled concrete trough.

 

Harvest’s bubble of friends were already there. I knew most of them already. It was perhaps the nicest bubble on the hike. The Kiwis, Joe and Holly, Crimson, Widler, English Ed, and a few more. We had a campfire that night which we sat around as we ate. There was lots of sharp banter and leg pulling, and one of the best nights of the trip so far.

The second day was quite rugged with a steep climb to a saddle where there was a a descent into the wild,  remote Spanish Needle Creek. It felt something of a lost world in here with and amphitheatre of craggy ridges and deep ravines filled with ribbons of deep vegetation where small creeks flowed. Unfortunately on the rocky hillsides at least half of the Pinyon Pines had perished in the drought.

 

There was yet another 2 more ridges to climb and wild amphitheatres to contour round before the final descent to the campsite. I hiked alone today and had a snooze just before the final descent to Chimney Meadow and Creek where there was a campsite. The meadows here were not grassy pastures but more flat areas covered in the fragrant Sage Bush shrub.

 

At Chimney Creek the was more trail magic. A hiker called Saunters had acquired an injury, heel spurs, and had to give up his hike. He had based himself here dispensing cold sodas and hotdogs to passing hikers. Saunters was a 40 mile a day man he repeatedly stressed to his visitors. There was none of Coppertones’s calm modesty here.

 

I slept in the deserted campground keen to get an early start tomorrow and push all the 22 miles to Kennedy Meadows. The alarm went at 4 and as I was cowboy camping I was soon away climbing up the 2500 foot hillside before the sun got fierce. The last portion and most of the descent were in a burnt area, but despite this there was a magnificent view from the top. 3 or 4 large snow capped ranges of the Sierras lay just to the north including Mt Whitney. From this distance they did not look as foreboding as peoples fear-mongering alluded to.

At the bottom of the descent was the Rockhouse Basin. On the far side was a series of steep granite towers and spires whose smooth walls were exfoliating slabs. It looked like a mini Yosemite Valley. On the floor of this Basin was the Kern River, which was keeping a wide strip of willows thriving on each side in the otherwise aird valley floor. There was a creek nearby with some campspots, but a male Black Bear had been reportedly wandering through this camp a few times this year looking for hikers food.

 

The last 8 miles to Kennedy Meadows were hot but I wanted to get to the store before it closed so marched under the midday sun. It seemed to take a while but the Kern River swiftly flowing and the return of the pines after the burnt area soon alleviated it. I passed the 700 mile marker, which essentially marked the end of the Desert Section and the start of the Sierras.

 

Kennedy Meadows is a small community with 200 inhabitants and at this time of year 200 hikers. The hikers all congregate around the Genral Store, a small shop with everything a hiker needs, a place to recieve and store packages,  toilets and showers and a campsite. It also has a large sunny terrace and many hikers were here reminiscing over the just completed desert and sharing their worries about the Sierras. As hikers arrived at the store there were cheers and clapping from the tables and chairs, and applause rang out as I walked across the yard from the 100 or so hikers at the tables.

 

Kennedy Meadows was a place nearly every hiker had a day off, often two. It was a place to catch up, clean up, resupply and prepare for the next 300 miles of the High Sierras which this year would be extra challenging due to the heavy snowfalls. Mayo, the English Radiographer and Zman were here and it was great to see them. Top’O was a day or 2 behind.

 

There were also a few faces I just see at stops, but never on the trail. A group who are either injured and hoping to recover or groupies who just liked the scene and spent a lot of time smoking joints and making small talk. Neither lot would be going through the Sierras and they seem to be bottle-necking here.

Back

Agua Dulce was a nice rural small town and the Saufley’s were very hospitable but I found their ranch almost too crowded. There were a lot of nice hikers there but also a few who stayed up late chatting and smoking marijuana. It was not the scene I had in mind and I wanted to return to sleep under the starry Chaparral sky. So I said my goodbyes late afternoon and headed off to walk 5-10 miles.

 

I walked with an Aussie called Neil. He had the typical wry smile and glint in the eye of a rural Australian or Kiwi. He was doing about 25 miles a day. We both did about 5 miles and cowboy camped in a dry creek bed. It was very clear that night with all the constellations visible and not a hint of mist. Nevertheless when I woke to a still clear sky everything was covered in a thick layer of dew. My sleeping bag especially was soaked and the Manzanita bushes were dripping dew.

 

Neil soon disappeared as we climbed the first hill. On this south facing slope everything was Chaparral shrub. There were a couple of grassy homestead farms each side of the ridge with grassy pastures on the valley floor with amber dew laden grass.

However, the north facing slope was a delight. Large Scrub Oaks were scattered thickly on the hillside with large glades of maroon headed grass between them. Amongst the grass were drifts of light purple flowers on tall stalks. The flowers were called Farewell to Spring. This continued for the half mile down to the lush Bear Spring, where fresh water flowed out of the ground and down a pipe.  There were about 10 hikers there in the end enjoying the lush shade. We were joined by a hummingbird who bathed in the trickle of water below the pipe and entertained us for a few minutes.

The path then dropped through more lush vegetation for another couple of miles into the valley before another climb. The midday to afternoon climbs on a south facing slope were guaranteed to be hot. How hot depended on the height of the vegetation. On this climb  it was reasonably high Chaparral of Manzanita and Chamise and there was a fair bit of shade. There were wild cucumbers growing everywhere on the scrub but most of it was withering now but the prickly fleshy fruit was ripening.

 

I saw a hornet at one stage on the sandy path which had obviously just killed a grasshopper. As I watched it quickly dug a hole in the sand, flew over to grasshopper, grabbed it and flew back to the hole, disappeared down it and covered it up. I assumed it would either eat it in privacy or will lay eggs in it so the larvae would had something feed on initially.

 

Again as soon as we were on the north side of the ridge the vegetation became much lusher again.  The route descended into Spunky Canyon where there were a few trickles of water from side canyons. However these were rapidly drying up. The path then contoured around the upper reaches of another canyon, at the bottom of which was the pastoral village of Green Valley, an oasis in the Chaparral scrub. Most people were going down to spend the night at “Trail Angles” down here, called the Andersons. I decided to skip it and have a quiet night at camped alone in the grounds of the Ranger and Fire Station.

 

Even before I woke people had already walked the 2 miles from the Andersons in Green Valley to the Fire Station, including Mishap, the only other Scot so far who was a lady from Dumfries. We climbed up to the Leona Divide ridge and then descended a burnt area to the Lake Hughes Road. There was some shade at the road but everyone could see what was coming and was anxious to continue before the heat  built. In the sandy dry creek bed were some prize specimens of the dreaded poodle dog bush looking very innocent with long green leaves and a thick crown of beautiful purple flowers

 

The climb up from Lake  Hughes Road was hot. It was midday and the area had suffered a recent fire. The sun beat down mercilessly and I had virtually no shadow as the sun was directly overhead. The fire had removed all the vegetation and exposed hillsides of white rock and gravel which reflected the heat back. When it climbed a ridge there was the faintest breeze or a thermal causing a stir but when the path went into a sheltered ravine it was like a furnace. After an hour I reached the main ridge and was rewarded with a constant  breeze and a great view.

To the north was the Mojave Desert, barren except for fields of solar farms which looked like square lakes. Between me and the Mojave was a ridge and between my ridge and this ridge marking the southern border of the Mojave was a pastoral valley. This valley was the San Andreas fault where two geological terranes slide against each other. Currently they are not sliding but are jammed together, waiting until the pressure builds enough and they judder sideways again in an earthquake.

 

The fire burn area continued along the crest of the ridge for a couple more miles until it reached a copse on the fires limit. Here there was a camped marked on the map. When it reached its shade i was delighted to see nearly everyone who had overtaken me so far today flaked out  under the shade of two benevolent Black Oaks.  Some 20 people were there. Most were snoozing and a few chatted quietly. We waited in their dappled shade for two hours until the worst of the day’s heat started to dissipate.

 

Most people had another 8 miles to Sawmill Camp but I decided to go to Shake Camp in just 3 miles. As I walked west the ridge I was on became more squeezed by the Mojave Desert. I could see I was walking towards the end of a wedge and would soon have to cross the desert. Luckily the fire burn area had finished and the woods here on the eastern slopes facing the Mojave were dominated by the large coned Coulter Pines. Huge cones littered the forest floor. Some were 3 kilos and 30 cm long. One of these on head would put you off the Trail for a while!.

 

Shake campground was a good 15 minutes and a long way below the trail. I was committed to go there as I was out of water. As I descended I thought it was a mistake and the increase in flies and bugs confirmed it. However, I had to get water which was even further down beyond  the camp. There was a lot of Poison Oak beside the path to the water. Along with Poodle dog bush it was another thing to watch out for as it could also give skin blisters. As I was having  my meal 3 hikers who I spent much of Section 02 with arrived in the dusk, Justine, Theo and Alex. There were a happy bubble and it was great to chat with them until the cooking was done.

 

Before the day started I had to hike the 20 minutes back to the PCT path. Once there it was an easy hike on the north side of the ridge for a good few hours in the cool forests. I was astonished to see Douglas Fir here on the slopes leading down to the Mojave. I always assumed Douglas Firs enjoyed the wet mossy climes much further north. I felt good as contoured around the hillside going in and out of side valleys. The only downside was the copious insects, small inoffensive flies mostly but the odd determined horse fly amongst them. I was constantly coughing up the smaller ones I inhaled to the extent I was nearly became a carnivore again. After Sawmill Camp,  which was yesterday’s alternative camp spot the path crossed to the south side.

This was a different story. No more lush conifers but hot Chaparral scrub. It was still and there was no cooling breeze to cool me or banish the bugs. Pretty soon I reached the 500 mile mark and thought of the Proclaimers. After the celebratory photo I started to climb. I was looking for a shady windy spot to relax  but there was none. I climbed and climbed in the heat of the day through scrub oak and Manzanita.  Both were heavily adorned with lush virile wild cucumber, unlike yesterday’s withered ones.

 

I past a couple of the Young Team. Afterburner who was wrapped in her tent while Aseagio just had a bug net on. They were surprised to see anyone hiking in the midday sun. Mad dogs and Englishman as Kipling would say! I went on and on for another 4 miles but could not find somewhere to relax.

 

At last I came to the Liebre Mountain Guzzler, a mostly buried fibreglass tank with a large corrugated iron roof which collected rainwater. It was full of clear cool water. Nearby was a copse of Black Oaks swaying in the wind and under them some tall green grass. It was a perfect spot to rest and I spent a bug free hour there rehydrating and snoozing.

 

As I walked back up the track to the PCT i came across a confident 4 foot Gopher Snake. It was not venomous and some people said they kill and eat rattlesnakes. I watched it for 5 minutes from a few metres away and it was fully aware of me.

 

Once back on the PCT the path now dropped down to the north side again. For 4 miles I had a wonderful saunter through large Scrub Oaks and Black oaks. It was like a parkland which had gone feral. There were many grassy glades and some flower meadows. It filled me with joy to walk through this tranquil warm yet shaded woodland.  Occasionally I would catch views of the San Andreas fault just below and the arid Mojave beyond just a few miles away.

This sensational 2 hour walk lead to Horse Canyon Camp where there were some 10 hikers including Justine,  Alex and Theo and also Blue who I not seen for a while. I also learned Top’O had just left. It seemed everyone else was going, most to Hikertown in 10 miles. However there was a campsite and water in 2 miles at the bottom of the slope and right on the San Andreas fault. We all headed down with Blue and myself last. We met Top’O at the bottom and chatted briefly before Blue headed on and I found a campsite.

 

The final 8 miles to Hikertown were easy. It was an undulating descent through the last of the Chaparral until finally just a few scrubby bushes remained. The vegetation now was just a sea of willowy amber grass with tall delicate heads. They stretched as far as the eye could see across the Mojave Desert before me with just a few green irrigated circles and solar farms.

Hikertown was an odd place. It looked like the stage set for a children’s version of a Western movie. They were all sorts of buildings and sheds, most with a Western theme. A saloon, a sheriff’s office, a jail, a hardware store, etc. Most provided some accommodation, but there were also old camper trailers and perfunctory sheds with beds in for the hikers, most were as dirty as the arriving hikers. I got a breezy camper trailer and was pleased with it.

 

The place was already busy when I arrived but soon more and more hikers poured in. The young team of Aseagio, Waves,  Clouds etc, Dirt and her bubble of hiker friends, the very fast Snake Eyes and Black Widow, Top’O, Fish and many more. It was quite a reunion. Dirt ran an errand for me to the shops and Top’O presented me with a cold beer on arrival

 

Over the course of the 500 miles so far i have had to contend with many ailments. Feet problems and butt chafe being the worst. The latter I soothe  with a cream. However no matter how hard I try to stay hydrated going to the toilet is hard work. Imagine a handful of Lego bricks shrink wrapped in coarse grade sandpaper. As a consequence piles seems to have reared its head and it takes discomfort to a whole new level from butt chafe.  

 

The next section from Hikertown to Kennedy Meadows is the driest section on the PCT. At times it is 40 miles between reliable water sources. As a consequence many hiker do large proportions of this a night and I will too. With a full moon due in a few days my timing is perfect. It should take 11-12 days to get to Kennedy Meadows so I should get there on 16-17 June, which is a few weeks too early for this winter’s near record snowfall to clear, but even now people are making it through a beating a path.  

Back

Cajon Pass is very hot and the climb out of it into the Angeles National Forest was some 7000 feet with no water for 23 miles. In the heat of the day these 23 miles would be very uncomfortable and thirsty work, so the conventional wisdom was to start early evening and hike as much as possible.

I hiked 3 hours in the dusk and dropped down to cross a high valley which was the San Andreas fault line. It looked pastoral and far from a geological hotspot. After this it got dark and i switched my torch on.

 

I did not really enjoy the night hiking. I was in bubble of light on a dark moonless night. Vegetation encroached the path and my down hill walking pole kept slicing through fresh air on the steep ground. After 3 hours I had had enough and as the path crossed a track I found a level spot to cowboy camp.

 

I woke in the morning to a different world.  I was camped high on a ridge surrounded by recovering fire damaged Chaparral. The Fault line was obvious below. So too was the Interstate and train lines of Cajon Pass.

 

I turned my back on them again and continued west walking into my shadow. Much of this ridge was scared by a recent fire and i could feel the heat building, but ahead I could see the promised land of mature conifers and knew this would bring shade, calmness and interest. I reached it after a couple of hours.

 

Pines and Firs replaced blackened scrub, birdsong appeared and chipmunks scurried across the forest floor,  their erect tails waving from side to side. This was the start of the Angeles National Forest. Indeed if it were not for the mist in the valleys to the west i would be looking down on Los Angeles just 30 miles away.

 

The path kept on the more clearly defined ridge, now called the Blue Ridge, as it skirted past the snowy slopes of 10,000 foot Mt Baldy. The pines and firs continued in abundance and there were plenty of flowery glades amongst them. I past a memorial to 2 hikers who died attempting a winter through hike and then came to a steep side trail  down to the small town of Wrightwood which I knew many hikers would take. A cheerful girl called Dirt arrived as i rested and we chatted before she headed down and I continued west along the ridge to find the trickle which was Guffy Spring to complete the 23 waterless miles and top up.

I continued late that evening along Blue Ridge and then dropped down onto the road,  crossed it at Inspiration Point, where there was a great view, and then walked further to Grass Hollow campsite where there was a lovely  picnic area, water, a composting toilet, and a few PCT hikers already in bed. I was to be spoilt for the rest of this section with great campsites provided by the US forest service.

 

I awoke early the next day to try and get up Mount Baden Powell  before the sun got fierce. It was a 1000 foot descent and then a 3000 foot climb. I got into low ratio  4 wheel drive and slowly crawled my way up. The magnificent conifers providing some shade. I caught up with Top’O and someone he had been hiking with for a while, Dock, an ex army medic.

 

The climb went through all the pine trees i had seen to date. The huge coned Coulter Pines and the vanilla smelling Ponderosa down below, then the huge boled Silver firs, Jeffery Pines and the papery coned Sugar Pines. Finally at the top were the single needled Pinyon pines and a handfull of extremely gnarled and twisted Limber Pines, a close relative of the Bristlecone. Some of the gnarled Limber Pines were 1500 years old. It was a marvellous array of confers perfectly displayed.

There was a gathering of about 20 hikers on the mountain. It was good to see some old faces and meet new ones. The mountain afforded fantastic views in all directions but especially east to Mt Baldy. To the west was a smaller adjacent mountain called Mt Burnham. Burnham was Baden Powell, the scout masters right hand man. If fact Burngam was the master scout and was even offered a VC for his behind the scenes antics in the Boer war.  There was a 22 mile trail, the Silver Moccasin Trail which overlapped  the PCT here and it was something of a rite de passage for south Californian scouts.

 

Eventually people drifted off and headed down the rocky hot ridge. Patches of snow still lingered amongst the Pinyon and Limber pines here. The path went past Mount Burnham and a couple more peaks before it started the long descent to the next spring, Little Jimmy Spring, some 7 miles away. This spring emerging from a pipe driven into the rocks was reputed to be some of the best water on the PCT. I did not filter it and it tasted cool and fresh. The humidity of the soil here nourished two enormous incense  cedars, both 2 metres in diameter and nearly 50 high.

 

Just beyond the spring was the campsite hidden beneath large trees. There were a number of tables, an outhouse and a firepit where earlier arrivals has already established a fire. In all there were about 30 campers here, including Top’O, Mayo (an English Radiographer) and a young team of 5-6 with who I would hike with for the next few days. Little Jimmy Camp was a comfortable camp.

 

The next day involved a detour due to the trail being closed because of a rare frog. There were two options round the 4 mile closed section. One involved a 5 mile hike half on the road and half on a good trail, while the other involved a a

15 mile hike on a rough path with spectacular views especially over the Devil’s Punchbowl, a contorted geological area in the San Andreas fault.

 

I took the shorter one up and over the steep Mt Williamson before a very easy 3 miles on the quieter road to Burkhorn camping. Once at the camping it was a nice hike down a stream filled valley with massive  incense cedars to rejoin the PCT again.

 

From here I hiked with the young team for another 5 miles to Glen Camp. It was a scout hut and on the Silver Moccasin trail. I chatted with a few from the young team and the miles flew by and suddenly we were at the Camp. There was also a pickup here with music blaring and i feared the worst as it was the start of Memorial Weekend.

 

My fears were soon allayed when they said they were the custodians of the hut and there would be “Trail Magic”. Trail Magic can take various forms but usually it involves ex-hikers or outdoor people providing treats. In this case it was burgers. I said I was a vegetarian and she made up a huge coleslaw for me. The other hikers tucked into their surprise burgers and looked enviously at my kilo of fresh vegetables and mayonnaise.

 

After yet another night of cowboy camping beside the Glenn Camp scout hut I walked down into the Chaparral and the first stop of the day at Sulphur Springs accompanied by some of the young team. Just after the springs was another tent dispensing trail magic. This time it was an ex triple crown crown hiker called Barrel Roll who had set up a tent. There was a lot of trail magic at the moment because it was Memorial Weekend. I chatted with Barrel Roll about Norway and it transpired he had been and used my www.scandinavianmountains.com website. After some cool drinks and pancakes it was time to move on. A few hundred metres from his tent i saw my first adult rattlesnake. It was only 2 foot long and much smaller that i imagined. It slithered off under a bush and then curled up rattling its tail until i passed by a good distance  away.

I walked nearly 20 miles that day to Mill Creek Fire Station which was something of a disappointment as it lay in the U bed of a minor road and under some powerlines. However it was the last water for 17 miles so i was forced to stay or carry water.  From Mill Creek Fire station I spent a day crossing a recent fire burn area. Not all the forest was burnt and there were pockets of conifers still standing but it was mostly razed. There was little of interest with no birdsong or even insects and critters like chipmunks. It was only when the path climbed up Mount Gleeson was there some sustained forests. They were lush with green swathes of grass between the trees and scrub oak. As one stage I had to walk through a cloud of ladybirds which were flowing down the mountain in a swarm. At one stage i had about 100 settled on me. From the top of the Gleeson i quickly descended to a copse where there was a camp at Messenger Flats

 

During these two days I saw the infamous poodle dog bush for the first time. Up to now I thought it was a mythical plant but in the sandy soils of the recovering fire burn areas it was prevalent. Even growing on the trail and certainly encroaching onto to it. It had a pungent smell like a marijuana bush. Apparently the leaves contained olls which caused the skin to itch and then blister. Apparently it had put people off the trail for a few days while they recovered. My attention which was solely occupied with rare rattlesnakes now had to include poodle dog bush.

Had it not been for lack of water I would have camped here. But I needed to carry on for a further 6 miles down the arid undulating  ridge to North Fork Ranger Station where there was a water cache maintained by the rangers. The place was already busy with hikers cooking and before long Top’O and Dock arrived. There was a bit of a festive spirit as we cooked at the picnic tables.

 

There was a solid day left to get to Agua Dulce. However given the near record snowfalls in the Sierra Nevada in 250 miles there was no need to hurry so i decided to split it at a commercial campsite with a swimming pool and small shop. The plan spread and there was soon a posse who fantasized about spending the hot afternoon in a cool pool eating icecream.

 

It was a quick jaunt down to Acton Campground through a mixture of Chaparral scrub and burn. These burn areas were a result of the 7 years of drought which California suffered and which was just broken this winter. The hillsides to the north still looked parched through as much vegetation had died. There was a strip of green in the valley where a tiny stream nurtured a ribbon of cottonwoods. Amongst this was the oasis of a  campsite.

 

As we neared this promised land there was more trail magic. An ex thru hiker called Coppertone had parked his camper and was treating hikers to fruit and root beer floats under a shaded awning. There were up to 10 of us there chatting for half an hour before moving on.

 

At the camp Top’O, Dock and myself commandeered a large hexagonal pavilion and soon the young team arrived, as well as Fish and Snoopy. The latter had soldiered on with an infected blister for days which now burst so Dock arranged a hospital visit. As we all cowboy camped in the pavilion i got a bond of togetherness with the others. A relaxed easy going enlightened group of hikers all determined to get through the Sierras and reach Canada.

 

We all woke early at around 04,  keen to get to Agua Dulce before the sun was intense.. it was a quick climb up the hill for 5 miles and then down to the Vasquez Rocks, an outcropped area once the hideout of bandits  and more recently the backdrop to various films. The small stream through it allowed willows to grow and it was a peaceful canyon now

Soon after was the town of Agua Dulce. Here a couple, the Saufley’s, hosted all the hikers on their garden plot in a slick operation.  Some 50-60 people were camped here. Showers, portaloos, internet tents and even a sewing tent serviced all the hikers needs. It was a bit claustrophobic for me but it was good to see old faces from 3 and 4 weeks ago. There was a stench of marijuana in the air but by 2100 all the groups of quietly chatting people drifted to their tents and were soon asleep.

 

One got the impression the Saufley’s were pillars of the community in Agua Dulce and their altruistic benevolence was admired by their neighbours for the 2 months when PCT hikers passed through.
This Section 04 through the Angeles National Forest was a remarkably surprising section. Although never far from the urban Los Angeles to the south and the inhospitable Mojave Desert to the north it was a beautiful mountain ridge which apart from some unfortunate fires was still pristine conifer forest. The next section to Hikertown was only some 70 miles and i imagine it will be largely Chaparral.

Back

It was difficult to leave Idyllwild such was its charm and comforts. However I knew the day was full of promise as it went up into the forests of San Jacinto. I walked the two miles from the Inn past lane upon lane of cabins nestled in the woods until i reached Humbie Park. Here there was a good trail for another 2.5 miles up through fine forests on an easy trail called the Devils Slide to Saddle Junction on the ridge, where the PCT was. I reached it just a mile north of the extensive fire closure to the south.

I paused at the junction while some of my herd caught up.  I chatted with a few of them while I savoured the surroundings. There were huge trees here mostly pines. The large cedars of Idyllwild where now supplanted with White Firs. The air was thick with the smell of dry pine needles and pollen and the forest whistling with birdsong. It was a lovely scene and all I had hoped for when I signed up to do the PCT.

As I finished my break Top O’ arrived. He was 53 and we had seen each other virtually every day since the start. He was a popular hiker, a veteran of the Appalachian Trail, and full of advice and humour.  We decided to walk together. We walked a few miles up to the turnoff to San Jacinto summit which a few of the young bucks were doing. I had 9 days food in the pack and was reluctant to do this alternative route – as was Top O’.

The pines trees were remarkable. I think they were either Sugar, Ponderosa or Jeffrey Pines. They had a massive trunks which went straight up some 20-30 metres. Then suddenly this trunk erupted into a tangle of contorted boughs which almost looked like a root system.

As we walked through the woods we frequently crossed large drifts of snow which lay up to 4 foot thick beneath the trees. A month ago this would have all been snow and route finding difficult but a month of spring had made life easy for us.

We skirted round the south side of the main peak on a contouring path which offered a great view over peaceful Idyllwild nestled in the woods on a plateau far below. Sometimes the forest became meadow as we traversed across the south face but we returned to the woods at a ridge where another trail from Idyllwild came up, the Deer Park trail.

In just another 3 miles of more stunning woods we reached the returning path where the young bucks who went up San Jacinto came down from with tales of steep snow but great views. A bit further was the last water so we fill up and continued to a ridge where we found some camp spots. It was a little exposed but held the evening sun well.  Top O’ used his tent while I cowboy camped under a gnarly pine. It was a cold and windy evening and cowboy camping was a bad option but I was too lazy to get out of my bag and put the tent up.

Then next morning the valley was full of mist, but it was clear and fresh where we were at around 0 centigrade and 9000 foot. We quickly packed and set off along the infamous Fuller Ridge. The path mostly went on the north side of this 3 mile 8000 foot ridge and there had been many tales of treacherous snow this winter. However when we went along it was very pleasant with easy snowfields in the huge pines trees. We passed many camps en route where members of our herd were still emerging from their tents.

At the end of Fuller Ridge, where we met Black Mountain road Top O’ strode off and I descended myself. The descent was huge with some 7000 feet in total. The nourishing pines and firs soon disappeared as I zig-zagged down the dry north face. Soon it was scrub and then cactus and massive orange granite boulders. I could seen the road rail and small hamlets east of Cabazon town far below.

The descent was somewhat frustrating. The trail zig-zagged back and forth across the mountainside for 16 miles, while the crow would only fly 4 miles. It seemed a needlessly shallow descent. When I eventually arrived at the bottom a little before sunset my feet were tired.  The only redeeming feature of the descent was with each mile the huge north face of San Jacinto looked more and more impressive.

There was about 20 of us there at the bottom I filled my water bottles from a faucet and found a dry sandy creek bed to lay out my bag. After my meal in the sunset I watched the last of the songbirds fly off to their roosting places and then the first of the bats took their place. I slept well but woke once to an unblemished night sky. The Plough and Cassiopeia were glaringly obvious and from them I could figure out the faint North Star around which all the constellations revolved.

The last two days had really lifted my spirits. The pines on the mountain, camping without a tent under a full sky, the fellowship of other hikers; it was all starting to come together. This was considered living where every action was deliberate and thoughtful.

After a good sleep I woke early to cross the desert valley before the heat arrived. Sandy soils made the going slow and the wind blew tumbleweed across the valley floor. After a few mile long trains, I passed under the Interstate 10 highway and made my way up a valley lined with wind turbines. Many seemed broken and twisted and only 10% were functioning. It was a bizarre sight. A stage set for a hitchcock film perhaps. After 3 miles of it I was free of them and in the unblemished Chaparral again.

Crossing a dry wild watershed I dropped down into the wide Whitewater valley where a small river twisted through braided alluvial rubble. The small river was warm and early hikers were already splashing in it. I hiked up 2 miles further and did not take the side trail for a mile to a ranger station, which everyone else did to camp among  shady trees. Instead I camped on the windswept alluvial valley floor. I did however find a lovely spot to myself right beside the river under the framework of a wigwam someone had abandoned.

I bathed in the warm waters and washed all my clothes before crawling into my sleeping bag behind a makeshift windbreak I fashioned against the wigwam frame. The soothing splash of the river soon lulled me to sleep despite the wind.

The next day I woke at 0500 and walked over the ridge from the Whitewater Creek to Mission Creek as the sun rose and cast a glow over the San Gorgonio Wilderness culminating in the 11,503 foot white capped mountain. It was a joy to see the dawn unfold. By the time I dropped down into Mission Creek morning had arrived and the heat was building. A small creek ran across the alluvial debris of the valley floor and a green strip of Willows, Cottonwoods, and Californian Sycamores lined each side of it.

It took the rest of the day to walk up the creek climbing some 5000 foot. Other hikers caught me up and we chatted for a while until they went on. The heat of the day was getting intense during the afternoon and I sought shade in the strip of forest a few times before I arrived at an obvious camp spot at mile 236 under the paternal shade of a vast Live Oak. However, it soon became apparent that a large herd of about 40 hikers who had been at the Whitewater Preserve previously were also heading here and it would be crowded. I ate a meal as the first of them arrived and jostled for tent sites. So I decided to move on.

The problem was the next 5 miles had suffered an intense fire a few years ago, and camping was not allowed again until Mission Creek campsite. It was a 2-3 hour commitment. Just as I was leaving Andrew from Melbourne arrived. I had met him in the San Diego hostel 2 weeks previously. We chatted a bit before I left.

The steep walk up to Mission Creek Camp was sombre. The earlier fire had destroyed everything except a few pockets of pristine conifer and oak tucked away in ravines or deep valleys. Everywhere else the fire, a crown fire, had destroyed everything. Just blackened trunks remained of once proud 300 year old pines, firs and cedars. In many places there were small craters where even the rootball had burn away  The entire understory of scrub oak, Manzanita and smaller bushes were also destroyed and the ground was loose and dusty and many rocks were shattered with the heat. It must have been a very intense fire. 500 years of a integrated forest system gone in flash.

As I reached the top of this wasteland the clouds rolled in from the west and a freezing drizzle arrived. Small speckles of snow started to drift past on the bitter wind. For the first time time this hike my hands were cold. I set up the tent a collapsed into my bag with duvet jacket on.

I waited until the sun was up and thawing out the forest before I emerged from the tent. By then some of the faster hikers were already arriving from the crowded camp below the fire. I set off and had breakfast on the trail greeting hikers as they passed me and the frost from the pines showered down in sparkling cascades.

Hiking on my own about half an hour later my eye suddenly caught a movement. It was a Bobcat, or Lynx. Quite small, yet too big to be this year’s kit and the ear tufts were well formed. We looked at each other for 15 seconds before it stealthly moved off without too much concern. Unfortunately I messed up the photo by zoomimg in and shooting the undergrowth above it. Nonetheless I was very pleased to have seen it.

Later that day Andrew caught up and we walked the rest of the day together. It was mostly through conifer forest as we descended down to the campsite as Arrastre Trail Camp. The miles flew past as we chatted. The only sight that left a bitter taste was a cluster of cages in the woods beside the trail where a lion, tiger and grizzly bear were stored ready to be used for movie scenes, where directors hired them from www.predatorsinaction.com . The conditions these animals were kept in were vastly inferior to any zoo.

The trail had been quite busy up to Arrastre but soon after the whole herd disappeared off to Big Bear Lake to resupply. I still had 5 days of food left and had always intended to skip Big Bear Lake and head straight to Cajon Pass. During the next days I only saw a hand full of hikers each day. I went from Arrastre to Caribou Creek camp that day as the route sometimes crossed over onto the north eastern slopes that flowed down to the light brown, parched hills and plains of the Mojave desert. On these slopes only the drought tolerant Pinyon Pines and Mojave Yucca’s thrived. The latter were huge castellated structures with ferocious spiked leaves.

I cowboy camped at Caribou Creek which allowed me to start early and climb up onto the ridge looking south over Big Bear Lake and then the long snowy ridge of San Gorgonio mountain beyond that. It was perhaps the most tranquil view of the trip so far. I relaxed in the early morning sun here and had breakfast before the trail started a 2 day jaunt down the deep Holcomb Creek Canyon which lead into the even deeper Deep Creek Canyon. It was a ribbon of green in an otherwise harsh semi desert landscape. Occasionally the bottom of the canyon opened out a bit and beavers had built a series of dams flooding the valley and allowing willows to flourish.

On the second day I walked with another Andrew from Melbourne, this one with the trail name Crash. He was an avid and well travelled hiker who had already done the PCT 2 years previously in just 99 days. He averaged 30 miles a day and I was honoured he sacrificed 10 miles that day to walk with me. I followed in his slipstream like a member of the pelathon in a bike race. In his haste Andrew nearly stepped on a rattlesnake which fled off the trail almost between his feet.

We walked together to the Deep Creek hot springs, a somewhat mythical spot which was to prove a disappointment. Some 50 years ago this must have been an idyllic spot, but easy access meant most people could access it now. There were a few drunks and men over 60 swinging their tackle. They were easy enough to avoid and the hikers congregated in the river occasionally dipping into the hot springs which were almost too hot, especially for sunburnt legs. I spent a few hours dipping here and then headed off down the valley alone, Andrew (Crash) having sped off earlier.

I made it down in the dusk to the West Fork of the Mojave Creek and cowboy camped on a sandbank beside the river. Unbeknown to me I passed a area rich in beavers in the willow thickets just before my sandbank and found out from other hikers there were very active all night. The walk from my sandbank to the Silverwood lake was quite uneventful other than the fact it was very hot. I fantasized about reaching the lake and going for a swim for the 10 baking miles it took to reach it.

When I eventually did I was distraught to see it was full of jet skis and powerboats going round and round. All the beaches were full of fisherman so I could not swim. I decided to push on to the Cleghorn day use picnic area. Apparently the rangers here cut the PCT hikers a bit of slack and let them camp the night while chasing everybody else off. The walk round the lake was very pleasant with rich scrub, one type of which looked like a rose tree with bright yellow flowers. At one stage bees were swarming beside the path. By the time I noticed I was already abreast of them and ran through unscathed.

Cleghorn was a hikers paradise. A faucet with running water, picnic tables in the shade, a toilet block and a nearby sand beach. A few hikers had already arrived. I joined them and then after emptying my pockets walked into the water. It was sheer bliss. I removed all my clothing in the lake, except underpants, and scrubbed them, before relaxing for 10 minutes. Only now I realized I had a stinging sweat burn today where my pants had chaffed.

One hiker,  Riley, organized pizza to be delivered to our campsite together with 2 beers each. As Riley was also vegetarian we shared the biggest one they did. Just as I was about to start my second beer Top O’ arrived. I had not seen him since we camped together on San Jacinto so sacrificed my second beer for him.

It was just a 14 mile day to finish this section and reach Cajon Pass. The Macdonalds there was the talk of the hikers who were craving calories. It was a dry and uninspiring walk to Cajon Pass but Top O’ and Blue caught me up and we hiked the last 5 miles together down the canyon and into the fast food cafe. I could not eat I was so thirsty and had 4 litres of coke and a litre of some sort of calorie rich melted chocolate ice cream; no wonder Americans are fat.

The others were going to hike out that evening to Guffy Spring, a drying oasis in 22 miles and up some 5000 feet. It was quite a stretch and I was not ready for it. I had already booked a room for 2 nights at the Best Western and was to zero there the next day. Guiltily I abandoned the other hikers while I took some time out from the trail. At the hotel I had a resupply box with all I needed to get to Agua Dulce in 6 days time. Two hikers from Georgia had managed to get some new insoles to me at the hotel.  However Cajon Pass was just a perfunctory collection of pitstops on the Interstate 15;- it was no quaint Idyllwild.   

Back

To my astonishment my stay a Warner Springs was extended by a day due to wet weather. It rained for the entire day and no one seemed keen to continue. It was also considerably colder and there were reports there was snow lying on the trail just outside of Warner Springs. Had someone predicted this a few days earlier while I struggled  under the sun in the San Filipe Hills i would have thought they were in a fantasy.

When i left early the next day most of the days hikers were packing up. Initially my route took me across the dew laden grasslands of the valley floor for an hour before it got to the northern edge of the bowl. Here in the fertile soils carried down by creeks from the hills above were some huge Live Oaks, many were probably saplings before the Pilgrim Fathers.

It was now time to climb into the hills again and head north, initially up the Agua Caliente Creek and then  onto the shrubby hillside. The dominant shrubs again were the feather like Chamise, with its characteristic shedding reddish bark, the Eastwood Manzanita, with their small pink flowers which were covered in bees and the Scrub Oak with its small holly like leaves. These 3 bushes all grew to a maximum of 10 foot  and dominated the hillsides. High above on the ridges and hillsides were pines and on the glades between them recent dustings of snow still glistened in the bright sun.

As we climbed I chatted with other hikers which made the time pass quickly. Most seemed to be heading to “Mike’s Place” a so called Trail Angel who provided a campsite and some food for donations. It seemed most were keen to spend the night here and see how Mike lived. It was only 17 miles from Warner Springs and I needed a few more to get to Idyllwild in 3 days.

We reached Mike’s in the mid afternoon. I filled up my water containers, cooked my supper and hung around for a good hour. I could not see why Mike’s Place had become somewhat fabled. Old cars hid under sun-bleached  tarpaulins and the dusty yard and plywood house were as ordinary as the Scrub Oak which surrounded the place. Perhaps it was the promise of a giant BBQ of chicken to feed the herd  which clinched it.

I had been quite surprised so far by the lack of environmental awareness by many hikers. Sure everyone followed the Leave no Trace principles but a carnivorous orgy of 25 chicken was lost. As a  rare vegetarian in this age of extinction i had set myself apart. I ate my dehydrated Thai meal filled my water and headed off before the feasting started.

I walked another 5 miles that evening, over a pass and down the north side as the shadows lengthened and the greens became vibrant in the sunset. I was on a ridge here and hill upon hill  were stacked up to the horizon, ever bluer in the distance.  The moon was strong tonight and i had the chance to to further but came across some good campsites and took one before i got too ambitious.

In fact the next morning i discovered I had been over ambitious none the less despite the second wind at dusk and my legs were tired. So much so much of the herd who stayed at Mike’s Place caught me up by midday at the sulphurous Tule Spring, the main water source that day. That afternoon as we skirted round the rural hamlets of Anza the scrub became drier and Cactus became more prevalent. The usual Prickly Pear and Beavertail were everywhere and it was nice to see the characterful Barrel Cactus make an appearance again. I walked as a group of three that afternoon as the hot sun reappeared, but with animated conservation the miles flew by and soon our trio has arrived at small glass fronted bookshelf and water cache called Walden. It was a shrine to Henry David Thoreau from a previous thru-hiker who lived locally and maintained this leafy homage in the desert. Most of the herd stopped here but I still had another 8 miles to go.

I set off in the late afternoon, like the previous day, and got a second wind as the temperatures cooled. I enjoyed these late afternoon hikes the most and the distance flew by easily. I climbed a flat hill, descended into a ravine and zig-zagged up the north side to reach a plateau. The east side of this plateau fell away sharply in an ever eroding landslide 200 metres high. The trail followed the lip of this escarpment through tall Chamise bushes and large feathery spires of the Soaptree Yucca flowers.

Passing milestone 150 the path skirted a mountain in the last of the days warmer sun before descending to the pines forests along beside highway 74 as the shadows started to lengthen. A quick mile hike west parallel to the highway through the Ponderosa Pines led to the Paradise Valley Cafe. Although the cafe was closed the hiker friendly owner provided a water hose so hikers could camp nearby.

It seemed the majority of the herd would come here tomorrow and then hitch up to Idyllwild as the official PCT was closed for 10 miles here due to a forest fire some 5 years ago! That seemed a bit lax as there was a few alternatives which were good. My alternative was to hike the 8 miles to Lake Hemet and then a further 8 along the May Valley Road into Idyllwild.

The first 8 were generally on horse or bike trails beside the highway. Sometimes 400 metres to the west. Occasionally one had to walk on the verge of the quieter highway, perhaps for a quarter of it. For a big chunk in the middle it went on horse trails through a cultural landscape hidden amongst the pines. There were many small ranches, retired hobby ranches or homesteads where owners kept anything from  rustic solid ponies to thoroughbreds.

From Lake Hemet the rerouted trail climbed the May Valley Track round the edge of the fire damaged area before climbing into the pine and oak forests again. Here I saw a skunk in a glade. I watched fascinated as the beast scurried round in the grass after insects. It was a small animal but was perhaps a member of the Mustelid family like stoats and wolverine. It certainly had an air of confidence which Mustelids have. It was unperturbed by me although held its tail aloft ready to spray should i approach.

The final stretch to Idyllwild was a joy. I walked through more large pines, oaks and huge cedars along a track which soon became paved as i reached the edge of the town. Now a eclectic mix of cabins appeared as the track became a street. No two cabins were the same and all looked characterful. I wove through them for 2 miles until i reached the artisanal centre of Idyllwild. It had a  Bohemian Liberal feel to it and a confederate flag would look very out of place. Checking into the Idyllwild Inn I had noted the places I would visit the next day. I anticipated i would enjoy my day off in this quaint town. The room was sumptuous, decadent  even, with a double bed, a bath and  log fireplace. I would need my day off to rest my feet for the next 9 day, 170 mile, stretch to Cajon Pass, my next resupply box.

Back

Having spent a frantic week in LA and Palmdale buying non perishable food and hiking equipment, packaging up 130 days of food and shipping them in 19 resupply packages up the PCT, and driving 1200 miles in the process, I was looking forward to the relief of starting the trail. The previous week had been devoid of anything interesting.

I got a lift to the Southern Terminus by the town of Campo on the Mexican Border where there was a rickety corrugated iron fence. There were a few other people being dropped off. Already it was hot and it was barely 1000. I turned north and took the first of many millions of steps towards Canada.

After a few miles the heat was already punishing. The trail wove between scrub. The bushes looked like small holly oak with jagged leaves,but the were a huge variety of different species.  Many of the scrub bushes were in flower and covered in foraging bees. Amongst the hostile shrubs were more delicate flowers also in bloom. Most impressive were the tall flower spikes of the Chaparral Yucca which sported a sometimes 10 foot high column of white or pink flowers. Occasionally ravens, the wiliest of birds, could be seen feasting on this seasonal bounty.

But the heat dominated despite the wonder at the new and unfamiliar surroundings. After 4 miles I got to an expected stream, filtered water, and drunk heavily. I encountered a few others, mostly stragglers as I started late and the day’s main herd of 40 starters were already on ahead. Everyone was feeling the heat. A few took shelter under shade during the worst of the day’s heat between 12 and 3.

However there was more to see than I first feared of this “Desert Section”.  Mostly flowers and lizards but also a few birds. The views were also calm and rolling a betrayed the inhospitable scrub if one were to venture off the trail.

I would only make the 15 miles Hawser Creek where the bulk of the day’s herd were camped beside a stream under oaks. I got in late and the heat had taken its toll. Just a quick bite and straight to sleep. A hikers midnight is 8 o’clock..

The next day was a early start helped by the movements of the rest of the herd and i was off by 0700 for the climb over the hill to Lake Morena. I got there as the heat hit by 1030 and found the store to have breakfast. A huge cheese omelette made up for yesterday’s lack of food, but all too soon it was time to sweat under the sun again. Many hikers had silver umbrellas they attached to their rucksacks to walk under.

I walked over a baking hill for two hours and then descended a rocky path to a creek lined with cottonwood trees. Under their shelter many hikers were hiding from the midday sun, mostly barefeet with their feet in the warm creek water. I joined them a chatted until we all thought it was time to continue another 6 miles in the still intense late afternoon heat to Yellow Rose Creek camp. This camp was also beside a creek under oaks. We had been very lucky this year as most of the creeks we encountered would have long dried up at this time of year but the exceptional rains meant they were still flowing.

On the third day the we hiked in groups or individually as we climbed up to Mt Laguna. The heat was intense again but i was driven on by the promise of pine forests and a shower. When the forests came it was like arriving home after a long journey. The dappled light which made it down to the floor was enough to support a sea of grass. It was not only pines but Oaks. Many of the oak’s leaves were still unfurling and were crimson in colour before maturing lime green. The oak copses were therefore pink. Beneath the oaks in the grasses were swarms of lady birds, many flying and others crawling on the grasses.

After 4 miles of this paradise i arrived at Mount Laguna. Here i camped with some 25 other hikers in a campsite and once showering and clothes washing had been done we could chat and relax for the evening until our midnight at 8 o’clock.

All too soon it was time to get up and force our muscles into gear again. I choose to hike alone today as we left the sanctuary of the cool pines and oaks of Mount Laguna and descended again into the scrub like Chaparral. It was a pleasant walk along the ridge for the whole day. To the east the landscape fell away steeply for 3000 feet to the arid desert in the rain shadow of the ridge I was on. It looked very inhospitable and I feared i would be down there before long. I camped high on this ridge watching the shadows lengthen on the desert floor and then night fall. The moon was clear and bright but when it set around midnight the stars were crystal clear with the Big Bear so obvious.

As i feared the trail now made a 2 day loop into the desert leaving the hot Chaparral behind and entering the furnace. I was blasé with water as there had been more than promised earlier. After a few hours I was down in the scorching plains with 2 litres of water. I could always fill up at Rodriguez. However I had read an old water report from a few weeks ago and Rodriguez had since dried up. So i had just a litre now to manage me across 10 miles of baking arid dusty hillside.  I was counting the miles to the water cache where everyone else had already headed. Just 7 to go, 5 to go. But each mile took an eternity. I paused frequently in the shade to cool off and had small sips of water to lubricate my throat. As one stage i foolishly tried to eat a “Cliff bar”, however it just turned to a bitumen like paste in my mouth which i could not get rid of it, and had to waste precious water rinsing. Eventually at nightfall I made it to the camp under the bridge and immediately drank 4 litres to rehydrate.  Although the water was warm it was lifegiving. The lack of water had taken it out of me and left me exhausted. I did not put the tent up but just cowboy camped under the bridge. The next day promised to be worse.

The herd camped at the bridge got up early to make it to Barrel Spring at mile 101 – some 24 miles away. I was too tired for that so opted  to go just 14 miles to the next water stash and camp there. With the early 0500 start I was halfway there before the heat hit. By then i had already climbed up into the San Filipe Hills. The path contoured up slowly going in and out of every ravine. The cactus here were extraordinary, especially the large Barrel Cactus, a foot in diameter and sometimes 3 high. This section had the richest variety of cactus so far. The views here were also good over the plain which i climbed from this morning and crossed yesterday. When the sun should have started to kick in on this dry hot stretch i was blessed with a veil of high cloud  which took the worst out of the sun. After a quick breakfast on the hoof at the halfway point i pushed on and by early afternoon had reached the cache of warm water. Others were chilling the shade waiting to push on the next 10 miles in the late afternoon but i was content to stay here and get up early. My heavy legs were tired, my body was tired – still a victim to yesterday’s partial dehydration and long day. I put my tent up in the shade and snoozed. By the time I awoke people were leaving for the afternoon march.  That night I camped  alone for the first time on the trip. Although i enjoyed the company of the others in  the herd, who I was now getting to know, it was great to be alone in the San Filipe Hills under a crystal clear night sky.

I woke a 0300 and forced myself up. I was well rested and it was cool- almost cold. I set off at 0400 in the dark. The air felt humid and my fingers cold. Almost unthinkable 12 hours previously. I walked well for an hour until dawn approached and i could see mists on the ridges. It was more reminiscent of Scotland weather and i was invigorated. I walked briskly for 4 hours non stop over the crest of the San Filipe hills and down to the grasslands off the plains below where the Barrel Spring was at mile 101 was. As I walked I met others coming out of their tents and caught some up. We chatted and then parted in the early morning. I was feeling a bond of togetherness with them now. A band of brothers and sisters on our march to Canada. The previous 2 days emotions were just perfunctory to survival.

Just before the spring was mile 100. It was a elation to see it etched in the path in pebbles. I paused for photos and took some of the few hikers who passed me before continuing to the spring.

The large concrete trough with clear water flowing into it was something of an oasis despite the nearby poison oak. People gathered here and chatted, snacking and telling of stories. A hiker then stormed in having hiked all 24 miles from the bridge through the night. His lack of modesty and bravado were unmatched and left the other 5 of us speechless.

Soon the band set off again as individuals. The path now crossed extensive  grassy plains. This was the scenery i remember from western movies where Herefords cattle roamed. The foot high grasses had bulbous  ripening seedheads which were flowing in unison with the gentle gusts. Occasionally a Live Oak would stand proud, perhaps a remnant from an ancient pre-settler forest. We passed a remarkable rock outcrop which naturally looked like a eagle and aptly named Eagle Rock. At last the grasslands were enveloped by the Live Oaks and a shallow valley formed which led us down to the sanctuary of Warner Springs. By now rain seemed probable.

At Warner Springs the small local community had turned the hall and playing field into a reception centre for PCT hikers. There was  place to camp, bucket showers, toilet facilities and even home homemade food and cookies in the hall for the 40 odd thru hikers staying  here. God bless the Good People of Warner Springs!. The desert dust was soon washed off our bodies and with more persistence our clothes before the rain set in.  I walked well today,  perhaps I was getting my “hiker legs”.

I slept well in the rain under a huge Live Oak pleased the single skin cuben fibre tent was as good as my others and grateful for the space. I will have a long lie and then a Zero Day at Warner Springs while the drizzle falls and my body recovers.

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