IN THE JOURNEY, Part One

18 October, 2001
Day 1

     Got a pretty early start.  Gabe and I were on our way before 10 am.  The backpack weighs a ton. Probably 60-65 pounds, in total.  But I had eliminated everything I thought I could do without for a 99-mile hike on the Pacific Crest Trail.  Things like binoculars, unnecessary clothing, etc., I had unloaded.  Taking only hiking boots, and leaving sneakers. Packing five pairs of socks, just in case some got wet.  And because it was going to be 99 miles, for chrissakes!  Could have left more of the First Aid Kit, but decided to bring as much as possible.  Enough food for a planned 12 days-plus, breakfast and dinner.  Two water bottles (there would be some dry stretches along the route), and a water purifier. Rain suit and poncho - suit for me, poncho to cover the backpack in a downpour. Camp stove.  Two fuel bottles, full.  One pan, with lid, and one plastic cup.  Small plastic shovel. Tent. Tarp, for ground cloth or shelter.  LED headlamp.Two pair of thermal wear, tops and bottoms.  A pair of wool pants (army issue, and indispensable).  One very warm overshirt.  NO COTTON. My khafiya (a middle-eastern scarf), and a wool beret.  One hunting knife, pepper spray, and a Colombian machete. Fifty feet of nylon braided cord, and fifteen feet of parachute cord.  Other assorted sundries (TP, toothpaste, sunglasses, compass, etc.).  And maps, along with descriptions of the entire route.

     All-in-all, a helluva' lot to be carrying for a 130 pound man.  But the weather in these parts is just too unpredictable.  And it's best to consider worst-case scenarios when deciding what to take, and what to leave. I figured I was prepared for anything but a heavy snowfall.  I had made calls to the Ranger station in the area.  They had assured me there had been little snow.  And whatever had fallen had quickly melted away within a day.  So, I figured I was good to go.

     I did most of the driving on Highway 12, heading for Leech Lake.  The White Pass ski area, and the trailhead where my trek would begin.  Gabe works two jobs, and by Thursday is usually worn out. It was a 3-hour drive.  So it's near 1:30 by the time we pull into the parking lot at Leech Lake.  The air is cool.  But the sky is clear and bright.  A beautiful fall day.

     As we drive through the campground area we have to search for the trailhead.  Oddly, it is not well marked.  We notice a huge path, heading into the trees from the campground, and figure that must be the place.  We get out of the car and I unload the backpack from the back seat.  Gabe has to help me get it on my back.  Then we stand, looking sheepishly at each other.  He's been sleeping, and is squinting into the sunlight.  After a few comments about how great it's going to be, it's "see ya' in a couple of weeks", and I'm off.  As I head into the trees, I imagine a future in which he relates, "Yep. That was the last time I saw him." But I hear the car pulling away before I've even reached the treeline.  It was a long drive back.

     I stop before I even get started, lighting my pipe, and pulling out the map.  The trail, it appears, heads due northwest.  The first camping area described is about 2 1/2 miles in.  I'll stop there and take stock, and prepare for a long day tomorrow.  I stow the map and pipe, and begin my journey.

     Very quickly I begin to run across unmarked trails, intersections, and dead ends.  Three hours later I find myself heading east, rather than northwest.  And I am soon near a highway, and getting frustrated.  The maps show none of the trails I've been on.  I move to higher ground, to get my bearings, and discover I am only half a mile from where I started.  My indicator is the visible ski lift running up the side of the mountain at White Pass.  Rather than trying to retrace my steps via the convoluted trails, I take the path cleared by power lines running over and through the mountains, and follow them back to the campground.

     Crossing the eastern edge of the camping area, I find an area set up for the equestrians who would be using the Pacific Crest Trail.  And lo and behold, I find the trailhead.  The real one.  By this time it's nearing dusk, and I decide to just camp at the lake for the night.  Not ten yards from where I pulled the backpack out of the car, nearly five hours before.

19 October, 2001
White Pass
Friday, Day 2

     The morning is chilly and overcast with a light drizzle.  Within a couple of hours after sunrise, I am back on the trail.  The right one, this time.  Immediately, it begins to climb the side of a mountain.  At an altitude of 5,000-plus feet the air is still thin for my lungs.  And I am soon huffing and puffing, and making frequent stops.  As I catch my breath I can't help but notice the many "nuggets" left on the trail by some hoofed hikers.  I also notice the profusion of orange mushrooms, pushing their way up through some of the larger piles. And I wish I were farther along in my mycological studies.  Just for the hell of it, I pinch them to see if they turn blue.

     Still running into problems of unmarked trails.  Trails that, according to the map, shouldn't be there. I get sidetracked a couple of times.  Although only for short distances before the map and compass give them away.  The weather takes a turn, as well.  And by the time I reach the first campground, I'm beat.  I'm wet. I'm hungry.  I set up camp.  Only 2.5 miles into 99.

     The night in the tent is cold and it's turning wet outside.  From drizzle, to rain, to sleet - and finally, to snow.  The wind is beginning to gust.

20 October, 2001
Deer Lake
Saturday, Day 3

     I wake in the morning to a tent covered in a sheet of ice. It had turned cold overnight. The day is damp and chilly, with a heavy fog obscuring my surroundings. After a quick breakfast of oatmeal and hot chocolate, I hang a few articles to dry in the breeze that has sprung up. There is no precipitation in the wind, and I take the opportunity to get the wet out of some things while I take a look around.

     Not far from the tent I find some scat - fresh, by appearance - and can make out some fur within it. With a little more scouting about I find fresh tracks.  A cat!  And by the size of the prints, not a small one.  Of all of the things I had considered as known dangers before starting this trip, a cougar was at the top of the list.  But it surprised me to find evidence of one this early into my trek. I suddenly became aware of the fact that I was unarmed. Quickly making my way back to the tent, I located the pepper spray, placing it into my pocket.  And made sure the machete was handy.

     Although I kept my eyes open, I turned my attention to packing up to move on.  It was foremost in my mind that I had traveled less than three miles in two days. And that I needed to make up some lost time.  I'd already used up two days of food that could have been my cushion for the end of the trip.  Not a crisis.  I was well aware that, in a pinch, I could resupply at the Crystal Mountain Ski Resort, around thirty miles in.  But it was still enough to cause concern.

     Checking the maps, I thought I should try and cover 7-10 miles for the day.  Most of the way was fairly level, passing numerous lakes and camping areas for backpackers.  Mostly marshland and soggy meadows.
With that in mind, I marched with purpose, not taking in much scenery. At times walking backwards for short stretches, aware there could be a cat whose curiosity might have him on my trail.

     The going was much more difficult than I had anticipated.  A direct result of the many horses that had clopped across the soggy ground.  They had, in fact, done so much damage that I began to swear at the riders who had come before me.

     I had already become fully aware of the weight of my backpack.  The skin across my shoulders had become tender and raw.  And my ankle and knee joints were taking a pounding.  But, just as my lungs would soon acclimate to the thinner air, I anticipated that my legs, too, would soon become stronger. My shoulders would simply be something I would have to get used to.

     By dusk I had covered more than ten miles.  Reaching Frying Pan Mountain, and a campsite near a sizeable creek.  My guide had made mention of a bridge across the creek.  That bridge turned out to be no more than two felled trees that spanned the distance. I was finding that many of the descriptions of the trail were "hit-and-miss".  For instance, of five intersecting trails I had encountered during the day, I was only able to identify two. Many of the lakes on the map seemed to match the map.  But the distances were inconsistent, and often incorrect.  Something I needed to keep in mind when searching for a campsite in the dwindling  hours of daylight.

     The weather had been variable.  At mid-day, the sun was peeking through, and everything was melting and turning sloshy.  I had ascended as high as 5,700', and made my way back down to around 4,600'.  Which is where I made camp for the night.

     I'd begun to notice the oversight of not having a watch.  Although I had checked the sunrise/sunset tables before leaving (and knew I had about ten hours of light each day), it was an inconvenience not to know what time of day it was.  Not so bad when you can see the sun.  A little tougher when overcast.  Or when you are in deep forest.  And it would have helped to know when the end of the day was near.  Whether to pitch camp where you stand.  Or try and make it that last 1.6 miles to the next camping area.  In better weather it would have been easy to hike until dusk and just set up a tent wherever you stop.  But, with the weather turning soggy, there was a need to be more discriminating in campsite selection.  I couldn't just plop down in the midst of a squishy marsh. Even the camp area I had chosen for this night wasn't ideal.  I had pitched the tent in the open, away from the trees, which were dropping the moisture they had accumulated the last two days.

     After making sure all of my gear was stowed, I got comfy and made some dinner.  Nothing terribly hardy. An instant rice-and-beans soup, with half a bagel. And some hot apple cider mix.  The bagels I had dehydrated, so as to avoid any molding over the two weeks.  They were hard, but welcome.

     Following dinner, I threw on boots and a rain jacket (it had begun raining, again). And went outside to refill the water bottles, and to hang my foodstuffs.  High up, from a limb.

     Back in the tent I made my nightly inventory.  Checking to make sure clothes were staying dry.  Checking fuel levels, and the stove.  And thoroughly going over the map to see what was in store for the morrow.  That done, I settled into the bag.  I'd stripped down to the thermals and socks.  (Which I later discovered kept me from heating up the inside of the bag.)  It was turning very cold. I lay there most of the night, listening to the drops of moisture against the tent.  First heavy, then faint.  And hoped for better weather.  Wet wasn't entirely a bad thing.  But throw in the cold, and wet can become dangerous.  I notice the top of my bag is still moist from my breathing, and hunker down a little further.  There's a lot of tossing and turning before I finally sleep.  With the rain outside beginning to sound like crystals.