I head out from my Airbnb at around 9:30. I have to walk to the other end of Wrightwood, around a mile, because the trailhead for the PCT is up Route 2 that direction. I barely put my thumb out and am immediately picked up by a man named Ray in a pickup truck, who says he is spending the weekend shuttling hikers to and from the trail.
Ray drops me off at Inspiration Point. I am not there more than 5 minutes when another car pulls up and out pile the Belgians, Stash, and Tomas. They are carrying a lot of fresh food. I “help” them eat their grapes . We start hiking together but I lose them quickly-I am even slower than normal with my knee. Also, they will summit Mount Baden Powell in a few miles, which is a steep snow climb. That’s not something that feels like a good idea for my knee, so I walk closed Route 2 around the mountain.
The afternoon wears on. Route 2 is silent, winding along the Angeles Crest-except for the wind in the dead trees-there was a fire here recently. Little spills of rockfall dot the highway, and one large pile of boulders seems to block the road-but hikers have found their way through the boulders.
Blocked Route 2.
I sail gently down the highway, my
sneakers making soft footfalls on the pavement as I walk. I feel delighted-it is so weird to walk in a place which nobody walks-which is not designed for walking. I think of our identity as long-distance hikers-and how the motif of pilgrim is actually an ancient one. We travel on foot, with few possessions and comforts-not because we are forced to, but because of some inner force that drives us forwards. I feel myself a pilgrim today-the inner life and the outer life coming together as one.
In the evening, I drop down onto Islip Saddle. Three French hikers are eating dinner together. I chat with them for a few minutes, then set up my tent. I hiked 15 miles today, my 29th day on the PCT.
I continue my road walk down closed Route 2 the next morning. I see a few new faces-but most of the people I know are spread out, climbing Baden Powell or someplace else. In the afternoon, I am passed by the construction trucks going back down the hill, done for the day with their Route 2 improvements. One of the drivers rolls down his window and hands me an apple out the window, a bright spot in my afternoon.
I rejoin the trail a little while later and almost immediately Aidan comes walking down the trail. We chat for over an hour and then end up hiking together to my campsite-he goes on for a few more miles.
I cut my mileage short for the day, because I don’t want to get too far ahead of the Belgians and Stash-and also to give my knee a bit of a break. I can’t really tell what it’s doing right now-it’s pink around the edges, and still it fills with wound slough in between the times I clean it out. But, it doesn’t hurt, and there is no smell. So I am hoping I am avoiding infection.
I camp at Sulfur springs camp, with a bunch of other hikers that I have met here and there. Someone makes a campfire and we all gather around it, talking and laughing into the night. I hiked 14 miles today, my 30th day on trail.
Creepy mist. Horror movie setting!
I hiked 18.2 miles today, my 31st day on trail.
In and out of the marine layer.
I wake up early today with the idea to get into Acton relatively early-I want to catch the tiny pharmacy while it is open so I can buy more gauze and bandages for my knee for the next week or so. I leave around 7 am.
The trail is still very misty, through the morning. I keep putting my sheep sweater on and taking it off again when the sun peaks out every once in a while. In the afternoon, it gets quite hot- I am leapfrogging with the French folks, and Parker, who I met on day 2. Parker is walking in just his running shorts and wide-brimmed hat now.
I hike up to the top of the last climb. The weather shifts again. I see thick, angry grey clouds on the horizon. The weather shifts once again-it becomes cold and windy. I barrel down the parallel dirt road to the big parking lot at the highway-halfway down I see Parker and Maurice, standing next to an open Jeep with a man. Looks like trail magic.
Parker sees me coming down the road and hoots, raising his arms in a celebratory gesture. “DARKNESS!” He calls. I roll up to them in a sweaty ball. “I knew that if I took the road instead of the trail, Murphy’s law meant that there would be people watching me do that,” I joke. Brian, the trail Angel, hands me a Bud Light, and we all pile into the Jeep. Brian is a retired pilot for American Airlines. He delights us with stories from his flying years as we swing around the winding canyon roads into Acton. He deposits us at the 49er Saloon in this tiny town, the “hiker-friendly” spot with free camping.
11 years ago when I hiked the PCT the first time, everything was different. Absolutely no one went to Acton, except maybe by accident. This area had two absolutely famous trail angels, 24 miles apart-the Saufleys in Agua Dulce, and Casa de Luna in Green Valley. Everyone stayed with these legendary folks, who hosted thousands of hikers in the many years they hosted. But, there are 7,000 hikers a year now-free hostels have changed to services, by and large-there are still plenty of trail angels, but not the famous “party spots” of years past.
I walk into 49er Saloon and am delighted to see about 15 hikers that I know, scattered around the tables and booths. We stay up having beers with the owner, into the night. I hiked 17.3 miles today, my 32nd day on trail.
Parker having a chair-malfunction with all of the gopher holes in the hiker camping at the 49er Saloon.
I slowly pack up in the morning, waiting for my battery pack to charge and my hastily-washed laundry to dry. But then, at about 11am, Stash and Tomas walk into the camping area-there is lots of hugging and happy chatter and they convince me to just stay, which doesn’t take too much effort.
A beautiful tree in the hiker camping at the 49er Saloon.
The camping area behind the 49er Saloon is quiet today, perfectly calm-sunlight filtering through the green trees, hikers padding back and forth between the picnic table, the grocery, their tents. I take a little nap under a tree-when I wake up, Aidan is setting up his tent a little ways away. He gets off the Trail tomorrow-he plans to meet his girlfriend at the airport and then go on a road trip. We all hang out all afternoon and evening, and I go to bed at 9 pm, normal “hiker midnight.” I hiked 0 miles today, my 33rd day on the PCT.
I wake up and wander over to the grocery store for a coffee and a pastry out of the New Acton Market’s impressive pastry counter. Stash comes with me and gets himself a ginger beer and an avocado toast. I decide to take an Uber out to the trailhead, and get back up to the Canyon at 9:30 am.
It is already oppressively hot. I slowly sweat my way up the hill away from the road, my bag stupidly heavy with 6 days of food. I slowly make my way up to the top of the hill and down towards Vasquez Rocks. Interestingly, I notice that they have rerouted the PCT off the main trail through Vasquez Rocks-it’s a shorter route this way, but it doesn’t weave through the most beautiful Rocks. It’s hot, though, and I don’t care. I walk over to the shiny new Interpretive Center.
A girl is filling a dog bowl next to the entryway with fresh water. “We have human water inside, too!” She tells me cheerfully. I wander inside. It is cool and dark-exhibits about the history and geology of Vasquez Rocks line the walls, and against one wall, to my delight, are a series of tanks with live animals. There are three snakes, including a rattlesnake.
One of the workers goes about refilling the water bowls in the snake tanks with fresh water. She eyes me and stops, though, before she does the rattlesnake. I eye a plastic funnel she is holding-on it written in black Sharpie are the words “for rattlesnake ONLY”. I see that she doesn’t want to refill the rattlesnake’s water with me standing there and watching. I wonder, though, how they fill the water tank safely with a large black rattlesnake a few inches away.
I chat with them for a few more minutes and go on my way. In Agua Dulce, I have a chicken quesadilla at the Mexican restaurant-I start hiking again in the late afternoon.
The high desert shimmers golden and hot in the afternoon sun. I hike along the trail under some high power lines-a man in his 60s rides by me on an electric bike, up the dirt road that the trail is following. When I crest the hill behind him, he is standing next to his bike with his hands on his hips, staring at the hills in front of him.
“You can see where the trail goes from here,” he tells me. He points. I see a shimmering silver line far up on the distant hill. He eyes me. “How far are you going?”
“Canada.”
His eyes get big, and soft-and he smiles. “I wish I could do that.”
“You could! You should!” I smile.
“It seems like it would make you…..well.”
I laugh a little at this funny way to put this. “Yah. And then you’re surrounded by a lot of other “well” people. So it kinda feeds on itself.”
He motors off on his e-bike, shaking his head a little bit at our brief interaction-“huh…” I hear him say to himself.
It is this precise interaction that I love so much about thruhiking. Strangers encounter you as a pilgrim of sorts-a simple creature who can be trusted to see a bit of their own softness-their needs, their desires-themselves. Three-minute interactions that foster a bit of healing in their day.
I hike on into the evening, winding up among the velveteen hills with the crickets and the evening birds. I find a little narrow saddle and set up my tent at about 7 pm. The light fades brightly where the sun has dipped behind the hills, and one and another stars slowly turn on. At the foot of my tent, I see the moon quietly rising, cantaloupe-orange at the horizon. I hiked 15 miles today, my 34th day on trail.
I get going at 7:30 the next morning, which isn’t really early enough to avoid the heat. As I weave upwards into the hills, the shady areas behind the morning sun stay cool for a few hours.
The heat picks up as the day wears on, and I am pouring sweat, trying to keep up with my hydration by drinking bottle after bottle of water.
In the afternoon, I am hustling along-too late seeing a large black rattlesnake coiled in the trail. My pole sticks into the ground between the snake’s coils and I step awkwardly to the side-the snake looks up at me in surprise, and I look back at it-we make eye contact for a few seconds, and then it decides to take off down off the trail at a high speed. I take this as a sign-I take the dirt road down to the town of Green Valley.
In Green Valley, Clark picks me up from the tiny gas station. Clark and Joann are friends from the Owens Valley-they were dear friends with Joey. They provide me with the hiker trifecta of laundry-shower-pizza and delight me with a visit with their 6 goats, who live on their property. I sleep deeply on their couch. I hiked 18.3 miles today, my 35th day on trail.
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