I wake up and get hiking at about 7:45. Almost everyone else has left the camp by this time, except Stash, who is finishing packing up when I leave-but he passes me 15 minutes later and I don’t see him for the rest of the day.
I slowly climb away from the massive windmills. There is a lot of climbing today-about 5000 feet-broken up over a bunch of ups and downs. The trail crosses deep
Into the Tehachapi Mountains, away from any civilization. Also, there is a 20 mile water carry that began at yesterday’s spring in the late afternoon. It’s cool today, though, and I don’t feel the need to drink a lot of water.
I take a break at 11 and 2:30. As I begin hiking again in the afternoon, the clouds shift, and it rains gently for maybe a half hour. Then, the late afternoon sun comes out.
Everything is now fragrant-wet earth mingling with the smell of pine and sage. I feel fully alive and strong, my brown legs hiking along fluid and fast. I get to Lander Spring camp at about 7:15. The same crowd is camped here-we’re all the same schedule now, and there is limited water, so that makes only a few optimal camping spots. I set up my tent and put on my giant Feathered Friends down coat-it is so great to have my warm clothes. We eat dinner together and I go to sleep a little past 9. I hiked 21.3 miles today, my 43rd day on trail.
I wake up and get moving about 7:30. I hike the first seven miles quickly to the water cache-then somehow an hour passes while I dry out my tent in the sun, make some food to hike, and chat with the other hikers-there is an impromptu push-up contest between two of the guys, Joey-no-trailname and Vortex, which cracks me up because Joey doesn’t realize that Vortex is 24 years old and just got out of the Israeli army. Vortex wins the contest easily.
It becomes hot in the afternoon, then oppressively hot. There is no shade. I just keep hiking, finding one, then another, then another group of hikers clustered under the giant Joshua trees that line the trail in this section.
Finally, after 5 pm, the heat relents a little-the Belgian couple catches up with me. Aurelie is feeling very tired and worn out from the heat. But, there is no water until Bird Spring Pass, and none of us have enough food to delay getting to Ridgecrest. We press on, finally getting to Bird Spring Pass just after 8 pm.
It’s like a festival. Tents cluster around the road, interspersed with Joshua trees and shrubs. There must be 25 people here, once again. I wearily fill my water bottles and set up my tent tucked under a big Joshua Tree, next to the Belgians. I hiked 22 miles today, my 44th day on the PCT.
I hike the final next day down to Walker Pass, and the road to Ridgecrest. As always, I am behind the group. As I drop down at the end of the day to Walker Pass Campground, Stash strides up and hands me a warm beer with no explanation.
“We need to walk fast. There is a bus that goes into Ridgecrest in a little bit, 1.5 miles from here on the road.”
I blink at him. I have already hiked 19 miles, as fast as my little legs can go, to this point. “When? I can’t keep up with you if it’s in like 20 minutes.”
“No, there’s time. Come on,” he tells me imperatively. He takes off, his long legs seeming to put no effort into his fast pace. I power-walk-jog along behind him, breaking a new sweat to keep up. We pop up on the road-four hikers are already waiting. The scheduled time for the bus comes, and goes-we see 2 groups of friends happily breeze by in hitches from the campground.
Pine Cone texts her dad, who calls the bus company. “Bad news. There are no more buses coming today,” she says. Chair Bear calls a ride from the app. When he arrives, we load 6 hikers into a Toyota RAV4, complete with 2 hikers in the trunk.
Stash and I get dropped off at tele cheap motel in Ridgecrest. We find Filip, who has come ahead to join us for the Sierras. The 3 of us get the cheapest possible room in Ridgecrest-minimal amenities, but the price is right. We put laundry in, then go to Chipotle for dinner, and Walmart to resupply. It’s after 11:30 pm when we finally go to sleep. I hiked 20.5 miles today, my 45th day on trail.
We get moving very slowly in the morning after our “actual midnight not hiker midnight” bedtime last night. We all walk to Starbucks and get coffee, then we return to slowly pack up our backpacks. At 11, we wander over to the other motel, to Aurélie and Victor’s room. Then, we call the ride service again to get back to Walker Pass, and ride all the way back up to the trail, 6 in the car again.
Half of the group gets dropped off a mile back up the trail at the campground, because that is where they had hitchhiked from. I start hiking up the long, big hill in front of me, Stash and Filip rocketing on ahead. A cloud settles over the sun and it keeps it mercifully cool.
Hours pass, and the Belgians never pass me, which I am surprised by-they should have been able to catch that mile up easily on my slower pace.
In the evening, I come to a low saddle, where Stash has camped, along with another group we have been hiking around for a couple weeks. He waves me over.
“Where are the others?”
“I don’t know! They never passed me.”
I set up as the last of the red sunset fades. This is really a beautiful place to camp. The saddle sits like a grandstand just above the surrounding desert, giving views in every direction of the low desert mountains and sprawling sagebrush. The hills turn golden in the dying light, then purple, then black.
As the last of the light dies, we finally see the Belgians coming up the hill, accompanied by Vortex.
“There was trail magic! At the campground!” They cheerfully inform us. “Lots of beer!”
“Aaawww.” I regretfully moan. That explains their tardiness.
They decide to cowboy camp, but then Victor sees a flash of lightning in the distance. “We forgot the cross pole for our tent at Bird Spring Pass,” he tells me. They set up the rest of the tent anyways, consulting in fast Flemish about how to make the tent as waterproof as possible without the cross pole.
Vortex eyes them from his cowboy camping spot. “Well, if it rains, I’ll be jumping under your tent fly,” he jokes.
“Your Flemish would definitely improve,” I say.
We settle in for the night in a tight cluster together. The lightning silently plays on the distant peaks, far away from us, and the stars come out far above. I hiked 13 miles today, my 46th day on trail.
We get moving the next day, late-Filip, who had camped below at the spring, cheerfully greets us as he hikes by energetically at 6:30 am-“see you guys later!”
It is a long day of ups and downs-first a little hill, then a medium one, then a big one. I stop for water in the mid morning where the others are clustered. Victor has a collection of skinny green branches that he is loading into his water bottle pocket on the side of his backpack, making it look like radio towers.
“I’m going to try and make a new cross pole,” he explains. I admire his ingenuity.
It is kind of a long, boring day for me. I see Stash in the late afternoon at a stream. “Let’s just camp at the next water and make it a shorter day,” I impart. He agrees, and we hike on, joined by the Belgians after awhile. Filip is nowhere to be found all day, but I don’t yet know how he prefers to hike-alone or with people. We come to Fox Hill spring, and crossing the creek through the willows, find a large camping area with a lot of old junk lying around-rusted metal pails, wood, a very old abandoned car, and most creepily, a child’s toy horse with the head broken off, wedged in a tree.
“Great! Let’s camp here,” I say. The Belgians arrive 5 minutes later. I point out the horse.
Stash’s eyes light up with a naughty gleam. “It would be so scary if that horse showed up in your tent in the night,” he suggests.
My eyes get big. “If you move that horse into my tent in the night, I will NEVER forgive you,” I tell him. He cackles wickedly.
We set up our tents and make a big campfire in the fire pit. Victor whittles a new cross pole for their tent out of one of the green boughs. It is one more happy night in what feels like an endless string of connected, happy nights. I hiked 18 miles today, my 47th day on the PCT.
I get going around 7:30 the next morning. I climb up the last big hill and drop down to an idyllic little creek surrounded by willows around 1 pm. Filip is there, standing barefoot in the cool water.
“You should go around the corner, there is a whole bathtub!” He says cheerfully.
We all settle into the little glade, in the shade from the hot sun. Somehow 2 hours pass. I star my hiking again at 3 pm, with Filip.
I don’t feel well for an hour and a half or so. It is stupidly hot, and I am pouring sweat. The others pass, and Filip and I continue slowly, until the heat lessens in the evening. The evening is calm. Swallows swoop down to the Kern River, and everything turns golden. We walk and talk quietly-Filip tells me about his life in Sweden, the Sámi nation which he is a part of, his personal development over the last few years.
We walk into Kennedy Meadows at 7:30pm. A large group of hikers is sitting on the porch, drinking beer-they greet us with thunderous applause, hoots and hollers. We come up onto the porch-most of the folks I have been hiking around are here, and some old friends from weeks past, including the Irish ladies from just before Big Bear. We have a wonderful evening chatting and connecting in Kennedy Meadows. I hiked 19.3 miles today, my 48th day on trail.
I zero with my friends in Kennedy Meadows, my 49th day on the PCT. Filip eats a stack of pancakes the size of his head.
Breakfast of champions.
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