I, however, was eating everything in sight. Hiking for multiple days uses a lot of calories. I guessed that I’d lost weight but I still had my belly pooch. It held up my pack as the waist strap settled nicely on top of it.
“Tut, tut, looks like rain.”
After uneventful and mostly unremarkable ridge walking, about six miles from Damascus the skies opened up with thunder, lightning, and a deluge of rain. I liked the rain. It was cool as I walked down small streams where the trail was supposed to be. I didn’t like the lightning less than a half-mile away from my ridgeline, spurring me to walk quickly, the downpour soon soaking my shorts and filling my boots. The cool water squishing between my toes made my arthritic feet feel better.
I sang rain songs, told myself Washington rain jokes and quoted Winnie the Pooh, "Tut, tut, looks like rain." In short, my spirits were high, and I was having a soggy good time. All my gear was under pack cover, and I was headed for town and the land of hot showers and laundromats. Hiking kept me warm, so there was no danger of hypothermia. I enjoyed the rain. Coming into Damascus, the trees, shrubs and grass had that just-washed look and as the warm ground met the wet rain, it smelled wonderful.
I ate with and reconnected with trail friends, Grasshopper, Swamp Fox and Blue Sky in Damascus. Rest Step, a hiker who had signed my journal even before I left home, trail angeled me when I reached Damascus. He took me to his house, provided a computer to update my journals, and built a warm fire to dry out my boots. How wonderful to be taken care of.
Feral Horses
On a very cold night in Thomas Knob Shelter, near Mt. Rogers, I discovered that tightening the drawstring on the sleeping bag, leaving only a breathing hole, you can’t see when it gets light in the morning. I woke up late to 32 degrees and gusty winds. The weather had changed from the 80s or more to freezing in a few hours.
More agreeably, the Mt. Rogers area was wide and open, with views that seemed more like the western USA than the eastern USA. There were wild horses. I suppose, technically, they were feral horses. Some came quite close. I’d heard some liked to lick hikers for the salt on sweaty bodies, though none licked me.
After descending from the area of horses, I’d one of my most dangerous moments on the trail. Was it bears? Or cougars? Or even moose? No. It was an uncontrollable pair of dogs. They were on leashes but they were very big dogs and their handler wasn’t big. They dragged her toward me, and the dogs, barking furiously, looked like they wanted to have me for lunch. I was very relieved when their owner finally controlled them just a foot or two before they reached me.
I hitched a ride into Troutdale for my food drop, which had been sent to the post office, and I stayed at the church hostel, two small cabins with no bunks but spotlessly clean vinyl floors, one cabin for women, one cabin for men. Church rules. The shower was wonderful, and the weather again quite warm.
Not many days remained before the end of my AT hike, I reached Partnership Shelter, and all my regular trail buddies: M&M, Swamp Fox, Blue Sky, and Grasshopper. Nice shelter. It even had a shower. It was also near enough to town to order pizza. Most hikers ordered a large; I ordered a medium. After we ate, a well-fed and grinning Swamp Fox carried a very large stack of empty pizza boxes to the trashcan. Very little was left for breakfasts or a lunch on the trail. Fortunately there was a trash can.
“You get ‘er done.”
As I passed the Settlers Museum of Southwest Virginia, I enjoyed looking at the displays of the Scots-Irish and German migration from Pennsylvania. The north-south direction of the mountains prevented an east-west migration, so the flow was southward from Pennsylvania through the Great Valley of Virginia. Daniel Boone and his family moved down this valley.
Hikers moved down into the valley to cross Interstate 81. Apple trees were blooming, it was a VERY hot (85) and humid day, and my feet were killing me. When I reached the road, the advertised Dairy Queen wasn’t open. What a disappointment. However the truck stop was open.
I took a two-hour break in an air-conditioned truck stop lunch booth. Other hikers had already figured out that making root beer floats was a good way to beat the heat and the Dairy Queen disappointment. I agreed and purchased a pint of vanilla ice cream and a liter of root beer followed with a chicken teriyaki sandwich, another pint of ice cream and the rest of my root beer. That was dinner. Perfect.
I walked the next day through farmland, pastures, and a herd of cows, well, dairy steers. There were some pretty views and more flowers were starting to bloom: phlox, lily of the valley, rhodies, laurel and azaleas. On that hot day, heat radiated up from the grass of the open pastureland.
Having lunch under an Acacia tree with Swamp Fox and Blue Sky, I managed to put an acacia thorn through my Thermarest. NOT happiness. I also got a blister on the inside of my big toe. Really? This close to the end of my walk? Those irritations were mitigated as Swamp Fox, Blue Sky, Tim, and I found a lovely campsite that night near a slowly flowing river, green branches drooping low over the water. I couldn’t have asked for better company or a more pleasant site.
Grasshopper and M&M camped with me on my last night. How fitting. M&M was with me my first night and my last on the AT in 2007.
Days earlier, hikers had been having conversations guessing who might make it all the way to Mt. Katahdin. Grasshopper, a retired judge, said that even if I was a section hiker, he thought I would come back and finish the AT. I might have been a little slower than others, but, he said, “You get ‘er done.” Perhaps he was a prophet.
I waited for Swamp Fox and Blue Sky to catch up with me so Swamp Fox could eat the last of my homemade jam before I walked into Bland, Virginia. Linda, a hiker and Lutheran church secretary whom I’d contacted months earlier walked in to meet me. Saying good-bye to my trail friends, Linda took me to Roanoke where her friend Shirley took me to the airport to fly home the following day.
415.9 miles had been just right. I hung out with thru hikers and felt like a thru hiker. But I got to go home.
It seemed strange to get on an airplane. The trail had become the rhythm of life. I ate, broke camp, walked, looked for water sources, ate more, walked more, looked again for water sources and a place to camp and sleep. In the morning I did the same again. And the next and the next and the next. On the way I met people and saw flowers, trees and lovely views. Yes, my feet hurt. But each night I rested and then began again. Life was simple, beautiful and good.
Chapter 10 2007
Summer
Gear Upgrades and a Surprise Step
The spring AT hike confirmed that I was definitely a long-section hiker. Although the 400-mile number had been a guess, it had been a good guess. It was the right number of miles for me.
Now it was time to think what I would do on the PCT. It seemed a good idea to do the hardest part first, as I wasn’t getting any younger. That would be the Sierra. I read Splash’s journal. She’d walked SOBO in approximately the same time of year I wished to go. I’d heard too many tales of woe concerning deep snow and dangerous crossings of cold, raging rivers to want to do the Sierra in the early summer. Hiking in mid-August to mid-September seemed the perfect window. Section hikers get to choose the season of the year best for the section of trail.
I made three positive changes before hitting the trail. I’d been reading hiker journals and learned that the majority of thru hikers on the PCT were not wearing real boots. Yogi swore by trail runners and thin socks. Since I always got blisters, and had for years, wearing heavy hiking boots, I was quite interested in finding a different option. Footwear is a very individual decision. I was ready to try something new if it eliminated blisters. I decided on Merrill Moab Ventilators and the thinnest socks I could find. My feet are very sensitive and those thin socks were also the smoothest socks I could find. They were really little more than black nylons. Their thinness gave a promise they would also be fast drying when I washed them on the trail. Since I planned to ford rivers with shoes and socks on, quick drying would be doubly important.
I would have company on this trip. Two friends, Kathy and Linda, would come for overlapping portions of the trip. Kathy and I purchased a three-person Tarp tent. It only weighed three pounds, the same as the one-person tent I’d been using. One pound per person. Sweet!
I also purchased a Pocketmail device, as there were no places in the Sierra to find computers to post my journal entries. This gizmo was what hikers were using to write journals on the trail. A journal written on the Pocketmail could then be sent somewhere when a phone connection was found. My cousin in San Diego agreed to be my transcriber, and I would send her journal entries each time I found a phone connection. She would then post them on my site on Trailjournals.com.
I dropped two pounds of tent and had lighter shoes, but added a little weight with the Pocketmail.
In preparation, I also was taking regular day hikes with Kathy, some with pack weight, getting in good elevation gain on substantial hikes. I felt like my conditioning was coming right along. We prepared and mailed our food-drop boxes for the hike on the PCT.
Then my daughter and her husband and my grandchildren came to visit. We all had a grand time: I participated in Matthew’s baptism, and we took a trip to the other side of the mountains to Richland to visit my son-in-law Andrew’s parents. While there, I walked down a dark, unfamiliar hallway in their condo carrying the baby, and hit a surprise step. It jolted me, but I didn’t drop the baby. I didn’t think more about it until the next morning, when I found my knee severely swollen and walking was painful. We returned home to the west side of the mountains and my daughter and family left to return to Andrew’s duty station at Ft. Bragg.
I was leaving for the Sierra in two days. I strapped a compression brace on my swollen knee and finished getting ready for my hike, assuming the knee pain and swelling would be a temporary problem.
Two days later, two friends, Becky and Michelle, picked me up, and we drove to Vancouver, picking up Linda and driving south. How wonderful to have friends, who would drive us all the way to Tahoe. I, and they, were concerned about my knee. For the two-day drive I kept it elevated with ice on it. The swelling went down considerably. It was still a concern, but everything was planned and ready. Our food boxes were mailed, my two friends were only going because I’d planned the hike and invited them. I, of course, was very eager to go. How bad could this be anyway? It was only a surprise step. No big deal, right? I didn’t know it at the time, but it was the beginning of a whole cascade of knee problems.
Chapter 11 August 12, 2007
PCT
“America the Beautiful”
The Persons, trail angels near Donner Pass, put us up the night before we hit the trail. The next day Becky and Michelle dropped us off at the trailhead, and Linda and I headed out heavily loaded, thinking water might be a problem the first day. Finding out from passing hikers that water was available on the trail, we quickly dropped 3 ½ extra liters of water. Water weight is a killer; it always weighs 2.2 pounds per liter, no matter how often you weigh it. I’d also added an extra waist pack to carry an extra water bottle and my lunch.
Quite concerned about my knee, I walked a slow, a deliberate and careful pace. Linda had been afraid at the start she couldn’t keep up. No problem there. As long as the knee got no worse, I thought all would be well.
On the second day we ran into Papa Bear, a different Papa Bear than I knew on the AT. This Papa Bear was wearing Dirty Girl gaiters, colorful sleeves of spandex above his shoe tops. Many thru hikers wore Dirty Girls, made by a woman trail runner. They keep sand and small rocks out of low shoes, and the PCT has lots of sand and small rocks. I added them to my wish list for future hikes.
Becky and Michelle were super trail angels, meeting us at Barker Pass with food and a lift to their campsite by Lake Tahoe. They fed us a steak dinner and a great breakfast, and Linda and I sang Holden Evening Prayer for them. After delivering us back to the trail in the morning, our friends returned to Washington as we continued on the trail.
The Sierra has beautiful lakes. My favorites on the way to Echo Lake were Fontanelle and Aloha. Bright-blue water contrasted with white granite lakeshores. Each lake beckoned us to stay by the shore or dip in the water for a swim on a hot day, but our schedule required we keep walking to meet our pick up above Echo Lake. Aloha’s rock islands in rock-bound blue water below mountains of glacier-polished cliffs of granite made me think of an interstellar monster's bones.
I hiked reasonably well these first five days, as long as I had my hiking poles. But when we followed the PCT trail signs to the water taxi on lower Echo Lake, and I collapsed my poles to get in the boat, I nearly collapsed as well. My knee couldn’t handle the deep step by itself. ( I completed PCT north of Echo Lake August 1, 2018.)
Dan, the brother of a friend in Washington, was our next support person and trail angel. He took us to his home for a delightful evening and slack packed us the next day. It wasn’t a short day, 16+ miles with 2,000 feet elevation gain. But it was beautiful. There were blue lupine, red paintbrush, and yellow daisies for color. Mountains encircled us, and the bright blue of Showers Lake was too inviting to pass; I waded in and took a quick dip. Linda said the view of the lake, flowers and mountains made her want to break out in song: America the Beautiful. We had to push hard to meet Dan at Carson Pass, and Linda lagged behind, but I had the afterburners on, walked fast and felt good.
Dan brought us a feast, far more than we could eat. After dinner, we staggered a half mile up the trail and put up our tent. We could hear hikers passing us in the night with headlamps on, and I was glad not to be doing the same.
The next day during a tough climb with exposure straight down to Blue Lake, my knee hurt. Linda thought she shouldn’t send a picture to her mother showing that drop off; her mother would worry. The wind howled fiercely and tried to pluck us from the trail on that high ridge. But descending, we were rewarded with a lovely campsite at Lily Pad Lake, setting our tent in a small space between wide flat rock shelves of granite. I bathed and washed clothes in our pot and Linda skinny dipped in the lake.
The next day we threaded our way around volcanic spires on sometimes very narrow tread, only a boot-print wide for a stride or two, making Linda nervous. Yet the scenery was awesome with spire after spire of rock, much of it a volcanic conglomerate that looked like rocks and boulders glued together with cement.
Dan met us with more food and water at Ebbets Pass. What wonderful trail support we had. That night the moon shone so brightly through the walls of the tent I kept thinking someone was shining headlights on us, though we had purposefully set the tent hidden behind bushes. The bright light was only the moon. We could have read a book with its light.
A day later we met section hikers, Socks, Slippery Rock and the Gimp, a youngish trio headed north from Tuolumne Meadows. Socks christened Linda with a trail name, Gray Squirrel. Linda was pleased.
We missed our planned campsite at the East Fork of the Carson River, a God-blessed error, as when we finally found a campsite it was the prettiest one yet. Linda's sharp eyes found a small bit of level grass in the midst of granite slabs overlooking a marvelous waterfall falling behind and under boulders like an indoor shower. Granite cliffs shaped like giant pillows made up the mountain across the valley.
“Animals, You’re Just Animals!”
Coming out at Sonora Pass, we hitched a ride to Kennedy Meadows North for showers, a bed, town food and our food drops. We also arranged to mail home everything we could give up to make our packs lighter. I could certainly live without that extra waist pack and water bottle. Catching a ride back to the trail the next morning, we met our friend, Kathy. She wasn’t as trail hardened as we were as we slowly went up the 2,000-foot climb. But her broad smile and obvious enjoyment added to ours as she remarked about the many colors of bare rocks and mountains around us.
We met the Saufleys. I’d read about this marvelous trail-angel couple from Agua Dulce in Southern California. They annually hosted hundreds of hikers in their home
and yard. Now they were out to experience some of the PCT themselves and were headed NOBO (northbound). They promised me a bed the year I got to Agua Dulce, and I was very excited to have met them.
Winding our way uphill through granite boulders and slabs, we passed Harriet and Stella Lakes and going over Dorothy Pass, we dropped to Dorothy Lake, the prettiest one yet with Forsythe Peak behind it. Linda enjoyed a skinny dip after lunch. After she was once again clothed, we headed on for what seemed to be a very long and grueling downhill. Other than the long part, I guess it wasn't that grueling unless you were 66 with bum feet and bum knees. We followed lovely little Falls River, winding through meadows, Kathy and I walking in the stream, enjoying cold water on our feet. We followed bear tracks all afternoon.
Linda hiked at a faster pace than Kathy and I, so she hiked ahead and waited for us at trail crossings, ridges or lakes. Finding friends who hike the same pace is a difficult challenge. Though our hiking paces differed, we filled a single tent, our home on the trail.
Though we went over three passes the next day, we failed to make our target campsite, giving us the opportunity to camp in a very beautiful spot at Seavy Pass, beside a lovely tarn (a small, high lake) snuggled between granite slabs and boulders. Hanging the food bag on the side of a cliff, I looked at the tarn and our tent site and wondered if we had become so accustomed to the incredible beauty that surrounded us that we were beginning to take it for granted.
Old Lady on the Trail- Triple Crown at 76 Page 6
