May 28, 2016 The morning is leisurely. The sun is up before we make breakfast and it’s 7:30 before we break camp. The wind has died down, and all is stillness except for the quiet lizards that lie on every rock like pendants. We start to meander down, and the baking sun swiftly rises and dominates our thoughts. After an hour, I can feel the heat of the earth through the soles of my shoes. The switchbacks are slightly different now. They cut twice around a curve in the mountain, a gulley on the inside, an outcropping on the outside. The dirt is interspersed with shale, especially near the gulley, and the hard angles press into my feet. The outside turn has a steeper drop-off, and we begin to look below for the trail, hoping for a shady spot to stop. There is none. After two days of hiking down this mountain, we are so close to the bottom it seems like only a couple more switchbacks should do it, but it is another hour before we finally reach the last, long switchback. We turn away from the mountain, and it is a relief worth celebrating. We climb up over a large rusty aqueduct pipe and follow the sloping trail to a water fountain next to a large boulder that provides shade. Sweet relief. We stop and take a longer rest, filling our water bottles and occasionally waving away a yellow jacket or two. They aren’t aggressive, just curious and looking for water. It’s hot, even in the shade, and before we use the drinking fountain to soak our shirts, hats, and bandannas. We start down a small asphalt road, really more of a wide sidewalk than a road, and I look for snakes. Reading trail journals from previous years, I had come to expect that there would be a snake every few days in the desert, but so far, I haven’t seen one, and to be honest, I’m a little disappointed. Before five minutes have passed, the only water left in our shirts is our sweat, and even that is evaporating fast. The heat from the asphalt radiates up at us. We come to a little village of houses, seven or eight of them arranged alongside the road, and a few shady trees. Each house has its own kitschy decorations, but the first one has a signpost with styled woodwork pointers in all directions. The two most important, of course, point to Canada and Mexico, and give the mileage along the PCT to both. It’s a little thing, but it boosts the spirit to see that someone cares about the adventure we’re on, and that all the hikers coming through are not just an annoyance or inconvenience. It takes less than two minutes to pass through the entire community, and there are no signs that anyone is around. We are back in the desert frying pan. Even the vegetation smells like it is baking. We pass under crackling power lines, and later, a creaky windmill. There is some wind here, but it feels more like someone is standing next to us, breathing hot air, than like a breeze. The trail is white sand. There is only a mile left until the trail crosses under the interstate, but we are both struggling in the heat and we need shade sooner than that. We sit under a tall bush and guzzle hot water from our bottles. The heat brings out a metallic flavor, but my body needs the water. I text Brian to see when he and Jon are scheduled to arrive. About an hour. We enter a large, wide wash, and turn left. We are close to railroad tracks, and beyond those, the interstate. We can hear the swish of cars and the occasional rasp of trucks violating the rumble bars, but they still sound distant. A train snakes along the side of the wash as we approach. The trail has devolved from a clear path into a general direction, and every step is an effort in the loose sand of the wash. But it doesn’t take us long before we reach the shady relief of the interstate. We cross under and wait for Brian and Jon on the far side. They show up about ten minutes after we arrive. Hugs all around, and then we climb into Brian’s jeep and head off to lunch at BJs. I ask the hostess to seat us away from everyone else if possible, because Lindsey and I stink, and we know it. After lunch, we all drive up toward Onyx Summit, which is the end of the fire closure. This means I’ve had to skip about 40 miles of the PCT now. I make mental plans to return some day, maybe this summer if they open it by then. The drive up is winding and pleasant. After a big meal and a couple beers, Lindsey and I are lulled into short catnaps on the way up the mountain. Each time I awaken, it is to a sweet flowery perfume. The road is lined with bushes of yellow flowers. The smell is heavenly. We arrive at Onyx Summit and park the jeep in a dirt lot with several other cars. It takes Brian and Jon about ten minutes to get everything together, then we all march up through pine trees along a dirt road to the trail. It is blessedly cooler here. About a half hour into our hike, we come across a couch in the woods, and next to it, a decorated dumpster painted with the word “Magic”. Inside is a trail journal, sodas, and cookies. Brian wants to keep moving, but this is the first real trail magic of the trip, and I can’t pass up an experience to sit on a couch in the woods. We only stay about ten minutes, but then Lindsey realizes that she left her glasses in the jeep. She’s been wearing prescription sunglasses so far, but she’ll need her regular glasses when it gets darker. I borrow the keys from Brian and go with Lindsey back to the Jeep while Brian and Jon stay with the packs. When we return, we decide to sneak up on Brian and Jon. Instead of the trail, we follow a dirt road that has been paralleling the trail the entire way. I grab a couple rocks, and when we get close enough, I lob one of them toward the garbage bin. The first one misses, but the second one clangs off the side. Brian says “what the…?” and looks around for us. The glasses crisis averted, we continue down the trail toward our camp. It is a gentle downhill for most of the way, and the forest is open and relaxing. When we arrive, Brian wants to continue hiking; they have only hiked four miles today. Lindsey and I have only hiked thirteen miles, but the desert heat has taken it out of us, and we are tired. We all have a nice relaxing evening, playing cards and chatting over dinner. Wow, I never thought I'd have so many readers for this little blog. I'd love to hear from you! Leave a comment below and let me know where you're from and how you found the blog. Thanks for reading!
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Nick is a teacher, writer, and amateur adventurer. Archives
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