PCT Blog

Person Irresponsible

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PCT Days 106 - 114

Day 106

Back on trail after a ‘nero’, or near-zero mile day. Started at 10:30am, having stuffed a huge breakfast into me, and finished at 7pm. Covered 17 miles, of which 11 of the bastards were uphill.

The first mountain was an eight-miler, and for the last two miles, I was followed up by a man in his 70s who barely broke sweat. My ego wouldn’t let me stop and take a breather…

Funnily enough, it was the second mountain, the four-miler that was much more arduous (or so it seemed to me), especially as it had so many false summits. With no one looking, you betcha I stopped regularly!

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Day 107

Well, July is here and water is started to dry up - meaning I’ve to start carrying more and more of it, adding to the pack weight. Today’s terrain was mostly alpine - miles and miles of it. The views are limited, so it’s really all just about crushing miles - a bit dull. I’ve been listening to podcasts and audiobooks, but I turned them off when I read about a campsite with a rattlesnake in the fire pit not far away. I’d forgotten about those. So now I’m in bear country and rattlesnake country! I’d seen a few snakes but all of the friendly variety. Garter, I think they are called. Thankfully mosquitoes aren’t too bothersome right here right now.

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Day 108

I knew today was going to be a toughie - over 8,000 feet of descent across 15 miles was always going to be a killer on my knee. It’s the continuousness of it that does me in - a few miles here and there - fine, but one long, non-stop down is brutal. At its steepest decline, I realised I was only ⅓ of the way through and decided there was nothing for it but to cry. Didn’t help - but some painkillers did.

As I was nearing the bottom of the hell, noticed a steep ‘shortcut’ - it led down to a very secluded, and very charming campsite for one, complete with fire ring, grill, very grubby white towel, and its own private supply of water - the river. Realising this was, in fact, well off the PCT, there was no way I was climbing back up the hideously steep 400ft that I’d ‘cheated’. I instead took to the river and made my way forward that way! Big mistake - not only was the going very, very slow it was also very, very slippery. "I fell over and broke a fingernail." I told my very male camp-mates that night who snickered.

Meaning I’ve ripped off half a fingernail - not just the dainty “white” bit (that is black in any case).

Saw oodles of Salamander as big as my hand. Kicking myself now for not taking photographs of them - they were amazingly cute. Scared a small snake basking on the river rock. Then, suddenly, the river got astonishingly deep - up to my chest and there was nothing for it but to swim across. Of course, both mobile phones in my pockets, and my new trousers - the “Bugs Away” ones, are not remotely waterproof - nor are the pockets! I was just hoping that my laptop and sleeping bag were sufficiently wrapped up - not that I’d been careful about that since I’d left the Sierra. All told, I lost a good hour, trying to find my way down the river - but boy was the cool water lovely on my battered body.

By the time I found and rejoined the trail, having battled through thick scrub for half an hour, I realised I had run out of drinking water…

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Day 109

A particularly pleasant stroll of 23 miles. Today is July 4th, a national holiday in America. Something to do with tea. Lots of beer is drunk too, I’m told. Walked for many miles to the sounds of gunshots. Came across a pink clay pigeon shoot. Offered a beer. Drank water. Went on my merry way.

Staying the night in a camp with Jeff, who is into ultra-marathons, and a couple who run marathons as a hobby. Have tried unsuccessfully to explain what a hobby is. The couple are walking the PCT for the fourth time as if it’s a simple walk in the park.

Am knackered.

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Day 110

My day:

A loooooong, steep ten-mile descent from 6,250 feet to 2,200 feet. Took five hours.

Ate a veggie burger and Jalapeño Poppers, and drank three coffees in a restaurant in Beldon. Took two and a half hours!

A loooooong, steep fourteen-mile ascent from 2,200 feet to 7,100 feet. Took seven and a half hours.

Somehow, somewhere along the way, accidentally, I have got fit!

Now about to sleep if the mouse in the bushes stops bloody rustling.

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Day 111

I walked 25 miles in order to see this post, and 1300 miles more. It is the half-way marker.

Was gutted to discover the post is in the wrong place and I had only walked 23 miles.

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Day 112

I’m spending the night on the border of Lassen National Park - simply because one needs a bear canister to sleep in that park. Anyone with a modicum of spine left has relinquished the cumbersome canister after Yosemite...

I hope the bears are aware of the border and don’t venture on to this side. My hiker food, revolting as it is, is precious.

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Day 113

I’m on the other side of Lassen Park now, but not on the border because a bear and her cub have taken up residence there, so I’ve pushed on several miles.

I’ve passed some hot springs - the Terminal Geyser, that is, apparently, not a geyser. Don't ask me. It took me a half mile off trail - and once I’d seen it, I realised it was a cloud machine. And a smelly one at that. Nice to smell something other than my own heave-inducing stale sweat, even if it was sulphur. Then I passed three day-hikers - oh my goodness, their deodorant was intense. I truly need a town day now.

Hated walking back up the hill. Then I had a half mile detour for breakfast too, which I was given for free! Three plates of the stuff. I demolished the lot - eggs, potatoes, croissant, pancakes, fruit, yoghurt, and lashings of coffee and cream.

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Day 114

To town! Trying to hitch a life, a well-meaning man stopped and said I’d get one easily enough (I’d been waiting for over 40 mins) but to watch out for the man with the pick-up: he’s killed three women this year.

Given everyone drives a pick-up here in the US, it’s a wonder they’ve not caught the blasted serial killer yet. Didn’t think to ask the well-meaning man what colour pick up it was, nor indeed how he knew. Still, he didn’t give me a lift so a pointless conversation ensued regardless.

My legs are thick-coated with dust and mud. I stink so bad. Looking in a mirror for the first time in a while, I realised that the dry trail dust is also collecting above my lip and in my eyebrows. I look like Inspector Clouseau, I discover, even if I don’t have his skills of deduction.

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