I extract myself from our cabin in Big Bear around midday the next day. Hilariously, the Airbnb hosts require guests to remove absolutely all their trash from the cabin-so we each carry 2 bags of trash on the free trolley, along with our backpacks, as we leave.
I take the trolley to the post office, and then to Big Bear City. The weather is still questionable-rain comes and goes, and it is cold. I walk from Big Bear City around the airport up Van Dusen Canyon Road to rejoin the PCT. 4 separate cars pull over and ask me if I want a ride, which cracks me up.
I get to the PCT in the late afternoon. There is a large camping area here. Before too long, Stash comes along down the trail. The Belgians appear next. A new friend from the Czech Republic, Tomas, joins us as well-and we all camp in a tight little ring in the trees.
I hiked 6.3 miles today, my 22nd day on the PCT.
Friends swimming and relaxing in one of the many creek fords.
The next day we do a longer day. I camp with the Belgians on a beautiful desert plateau with an incredible sunset view. I hiked 21.2 miles today, my 23rd day on trail.
Impossibly perfect little camp with a killer view.
I wake up with the sun in our desert campsite. Aurelie and Victor start hiking a little before me. I get going at about 7:45.
The trail contours for a long, long time along Deep Creek, high above the water. The canyon is beautiful, with the creek roaring below. It is quite hot. I feel a little tired after about 5 hours, and am hiking slower-I think, “I must not have drank enough water yesterday.”
Deep Creek.
Finally, a little after 1 pm I arrive at Deep Creek Hot Springs, where lots of hikers have congregated. Deep Creek is a famous clothing-optional hot spring, which is conveniently located right next to the creek, so you can switch between cold and warm. I hang out here with the Belgians, Stash, and later Aidan and Alex and other friends for a couple of hours. It is amazing that almost everyone that I started with on day 1 is still going roughly the same pace. I start hiking again at 3 pm.
The trail continues its contouring journey for a few more miles. In the evening, I come upon the final ford of Deep Creek. I take a careful look and sight a line that is just above knee-deep for me.
The Belgians fording Deep Creek.
As I step dripping onto the opposite bank, Stash and Tomas the Czech call out to me. “There is a beautiful campsite here!” Says Stash. The Belgians are not far behind-we all make camp on the sandy beach. The sun sets. The creek turns silver in the twilight, and the little birds sing their evening song. Aidan comes along next. We have a cozy little group all camped in a row on the bank of the creek. I hiked 17.5 miles today, my 24th day on the PCT.
I wake up and get going at about 7:30. It’s windy, sunny, and surprisingly cold today. The trail contours for a long time around some hills, slowly heading towards snow-capped Mount Baden Powell.
Baden Powell slowly getting closer.
After awhile, a huge dike wall comes into my vision on the left, towering above the trail. I climb up onto the shore on Silverwood Lake, a major reservoir.
I drop down onto a Sandy beach around 1 pm where the Belgians and Stash are, along with a bunch of other friends. The Europeans get going a few minutes later, all bundled up- “too cold to swim, might as well hike,” says Aurelie.
I continue hiking into the afternoon and listen to a few podcasts-I feel a bit bored, cranky, and achy today for no good reason. It happens sometimes on trail. Actually, I think I feel like this every few days in my normal life as well-I’m just distracted by work, and life, and screens so I don’t notice so much. The Trail in many ways makes you confront yourself, and you can’t run from the body that is propelling you down this skinny dirt path so easily.
I leapfrog through the afternoon with an Austrian girl named Sarah, who tells me she lives in Vienna. In the evening, she stops to get water- “we’ll, I’m going to go a few more miles,” I tell her, before she passes me.
10 minutes later, the whole trajectory of my day and coming days takes a drastic turn.
I am now up on a ridge in low trees, hiking fast, trying to get to my campsite. I am tired and my shoulders ache from my backpack. Suddenly, my right foot catches a root in just the right way, and I trip-I am moving pretty fast-so I go flying off the trail. My right knee smashes into the ground first, then-thunk!- my backpack hits me.
I swear, groan, unclip my backpack, and turn over-then I look at my right knee. Something doesn’t make sense about what I am seeing. There is a huge bleeding gash filled with dirt and gravel, and the tip of a rock sticking out of the end of the gash.
I feel nauseous, and like I might pass out. I lay down in the trail for a moment until the feeling passes. Then I slowly drag myself out of the cockeyed position I was in, back into the trail. I look at my knee. Strangely I feel almost no pain-I grasp the tip of the rock and realize with horror that it’s like the tip of an iceberg-I am wiggling what feels like an impossibly large stone which is completely impaled in my knee.
In Wilderness First Aid, they teach you not to remove impaled objects in the field. You don’t know what the object is helping to tamponade-ie, an artery-but reason once again leaves my brain, and in a panic, I rip out the stone. I stare into my knee at the glistening white tissue in the hole the stone left. There is very little blood, and no pain.
Not for those with weak stomachs!
I call Ryan, trying not to burst into tears. “I fell….it’s not good…”. He talks me through my options and helps me think straight. I dump some water on the gash from my Smartwater bottle and pull out my first aid kit. I dab it with sterile gauze, and bandage it up and wrap it in duct tape.
I consider my options. I test out my knee-actually my knee joint feels fine, and I can stand. There is just a dull ache. Looking at the map, I am now 3 miles from a dirt road that connects to pavement. It’s windy-too windy, probably, for a helicopter to safely land-and it’s going to get dark soon. The wound is very dirty-but I think it will be OK if I wait until tomorrow to clean it out thoroughly.
I decide to just try and get to my friends a mile or so down the trail. I limp along, heavily relying on my trekking poles. I come upon a spring with a big pool of water and stop to full a bottle, without filtering. A hiker comes along, in his late 50s-ultralight gear. He is the first person I have seen in hours.
He stops 10 feet from me and starts kicking around in the sand. “I’m looking for camping. Almost 30 miles today!” He says.
“I’ve had an accident. I have a large puncture wound in my knee,” I say.
He barely acknowledges this. “Oh really? Well, I gotta go-there were hikers in front of me and I’m afraid they took all the camping spots,” he says, over his shoulder, as he hikes away.
I stare after him in disbelief. “Hey man….could you leave a slot for me? I’m injured and I will need to get out tomorrow,” I call after him.
“Just like a cowboy camp-sized space? Sure,” he assents, grudgingly. He takes off into the twilight.
People can truly be pieces of shit sometimes.
I limp onwards into the fast-dying light. The desert is peaceful, as always-and I am reminded how much I love the desert at night. The sagebrush is fragrant, and little crickets and birds make a few gentle comments here and there. The crescent moon sparkles as it rises. I finally come upon my friends in a big flat area, and the man is there, setting up his tent.
“Lots of space for you here!” He says smilingly. I ignore him and limp over to Stash’s tent. He doesn’t have the rain fly on and sits up on his elbows. “Darkness!” He says in his German accent.
I tell him what happened. The Belgians hear me and stick their heads out of their tent. Victor immediately gets up and helps me set up my tent in the dark wind. He inflates my sleeping pad.
“We will split up your gear and carry your backpack down to Cajon Pass tomorrow,” says Stash.
I make some dinner and wearily lie down in my tent. I hiked 20.2 miles today, my 25th day on trail.
In the morning, I check my knee-it seems ok, still caked with grime, but not acutely painful or surprisingly swollen. Victor and Stash split up my gear and Stash and Tomas stay with me all the way down to Cajon Pass.
Once again, like so many times before, I am totally awe-struck by how much I do not remember about this trail. We gently climb for a few miles to a mind-blowing view of Baden Powell and the valley below.
It is windy and chilly-I keep my sheep sweater on. I had left my Norwegian puffy coat in the motel in Banning so replaced it with a very fuzzy pullover that looks a little like a sheep costume-the Belgians call it my “sheepie”, which is impossibly cute.
We finally drop down to an iconic sign that Tomas immediately makes a Czech language video about on his phone-the iconic “McDonald’s- 0.4 miles” sign on the PCT at Cajon Pass.
Tomas has his eyes on the prize.
We walk across the pavement to McDonald’s. This McDonald’s is jam-packed with smelly PCT hikers in each of its sleek booths, ravenously mowing down on piles of fast food. I know almost everyone in the dining room, which is a funny phenomenon about thruhiking-every new small-town restaurant becomes “the place where everybody knows your name.” I sit with Alex, who is energetically working his way through two hamburgers, a large fry, a smoothie, and a McGriddle breakfast sandwich.
Stash calls a doctor friend in Germany and shares the picture of my knee with him. He comes over, concerned. “My doctor friend really thinks you need to go to hospital for your knee. It looks very bad.” I have just gotten off the phone with another ER doctor friend. I eye the bandage I have taped over the wound with unicorn duct tape. “Well….the thing is, all they will do is clean it really well and give me antibiotics. I can clean it myself if I have the supplies, and I’m carrying Bactrim….”
“Well, let me just send you his voice memos.”
Stash forwards me the German doctor’s advice, which cracks me up, because obviously it is all in German, a language I speak none of.
I shrug. “I’m just gonna go get a motel in town, go the pharmacy, buy a pile of first-aid supplies, and see how it goes.”
The cut is deep, but my joint feels unaffected, and it is now too late for stitches. I feel a little crazy, but if I logically think through what I can expect in an emergency room visit, then my thinking seems to make sense.
I get an Uber to the Target in Hesperia a few miles off the Pass. I buy a huge bag full of sterile wound wash, gauze, bandages, and tape. Then, I get a room at the Motel 6 across the street and thoroughly clean the wound. The wound bed underneath all the grime is pink and healthy. I relax for the rest of the day in the motel room with my leg on a pillow. I hiked 6.2 miles today, my 26th day on trail.
I zero in Wrightwood on the 27th and 28th days. Ryan comes and picks me up in Hesperia and drives me to Wrightwood. My knee is less and less swollen as the days pass, and the cut seems to be healing well.
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