Days 2-4
April 12 - 14, 2021
Miles 11.4 - 41.5
After a hot breakfast of oatmeal and granola, I set off towards the first real challenge of the PCT: climbing out of Hauser Creek Canyon. On the way down into the canyon, I experienced my first Trail Magic! Some kind soul left fresh water and bananas where the trail crossed a dirt road. It's amazing how delicious that fresh fruit tasted and it's only day 2.
There wasn't much water in Hauser Creek, and the little water that could be found was stagnant and only accessible through a large patch of poison oak. I was glad I carried enough water from the day before and had that bit of trail magic water to top off. I didn't want to have to rely on this source.
From there it was onwards and upwards! There was quite a bit of talk about how difficult this climb was expected to be. It was sustained and exposed, but certainly doable and not deserving of all the fear-mongering. I suppose since it is the first real incline for Northbounders it gets overhyped. I reached the top and then strolled down to the Lake Morena Campground. It wasn't quite noon yet so I walked down the road to the Malt Shop. I met Lauren and Slice there and joined them for lunch. More hikers showed up and we all hung out on the patio eating and chatting. After several hours, some people split and went to set up camp.
It took a few minutes of wandering around the campground to find the allotted spot for thru hikers - it was way in the back away from all the other campsites. There were quite a few people set up already. I found a nice spot next to a young pine tree to place my tent and doze for a bit. It was a lazy afternoon that rolled into a lazy evening.
A Trail Angel came by with a safety orange medical bag and generously offered her services to anyone who needed it. Someone politely asked her where she got her medical training. Turned out nowhere. But it was free, so why not! One of our group members had some really painful blisters making walking difficult for her. I had also developed a blister each on my pinky toes. My fifth toe naturally curls under its neighbor, perfectly primed for blister causing friction. They didn't bother me much, but I was nervous they could turn into something much worse.
The Trail Angel ended up yelling at our group because we had purposefully popped our blisters before she got there. She went on about how you're never ever supposed to pop them and how bad we were that we did that. I'm curious where she heard this during her lack of medical training. Later, I realized this was the same Trail Angel who had caused a bunch of fear-mongering nonsense drama in the PCT facebook group a few weeks ago. Is it weird that I was pleased to see that she's just as much of a troll in real life as she is online?
The following day began with a missed turn and hiking the wrong trail for just over half a mile. Luckily it wasn't too far of a detour. I had noticed there weren't any footprints marking other hikers had gone this way. Whoops! I found the trail again with a gate marked with the (approximate) distance to Canada. I thought that the trail was long enough on its own yet here I am trying to add bonus miles. Although I suppose that's not so bad of a thing out here in a place such as this.
It was another gorgeous day filled with beautiful views and pleasant hiking. When I pictured what hiking through the southern California desert would be like, it certainly did not include all this lush green vegetation and bright vibrant wildflowers. I love to be proved wrong. Also my pinky toe blisters weren't so painful today. It was a good thing I popped them yesterday. I know there is quite a bit of contention around popping blisters, as evidenced yesterday at Lake Morena. While ideally it is best to leave the blister and not pop it, that is often impractical. Popping a blister opens the site to possible infection. But they can be incredibly painful to walk on, so as long as you keep it clean and covered, popping a blister can relieve a lot of that discomfort and allow you to keep hiking. Pop at your own discretion.
I took a break at Kitchen Creek with some of the other folks. It was a short, but steep side trail to get down to the creek and absolutely worth it. It was lovely to have such a full water source out here. Lauren and I didn't get all the way in to constitute a swim, but we got our legs wet and were able to cool off. We chatted with a guy from Germany. He didn't have a visa so he only had 3 months in the US before he had to leave. He said he was just going to hike as far as he could before his 3 months were up. Covid-19 had made it very challenging for international hikers this year.
That night I camped with a nice little crew. I got to meet "Sorority Steve." He thru hiked the Appalachian Trail back in 2016, the same year that Slice thru hiked it too. They never met back then. It was pretty cool that they got to meet now. I love small world moments. I enjoyed hearing Steve's trail accounts as he was an excellent storyteller and had us all laughing with him. I admit, I was a little intimidated by him because he had just started yesterday and already caught up to me. I'm glad I got to meet him because I don't think I will see him again since he is clearly a much stronger hiker than me.
TW // suicide
The next day was a 10 mile hike to Mt. Laguna, a tiny town with a general store, post office, and restaurant. It was primarily all uphill, although not steep. I met an older hiker while walking up the switchbacks. We were going about the same pace so we naturally stuck together and started talking. At first, it was just the usual stuff, the small talk topics. But our surface skimming conversation led us towards something much more deep and raw. A seemingly unremarkable question, "How many kids do you have?" opened up a raw wound he held. It snowballed into stories of shared grief and loss.
This hiker had lost his child to suicide just months before. His pain was heavy and he was struggling. I could tell he needed the space to grieve, but still felt lost and like he needed to do it privately. I knew that I had to share my own story to open up a safe space for him. I revealed that I lost my dad to suicide 19 years ago. I was 8 years old when my dad took his own life while deployed in the navy. Our loved ones were the same age when they had taken their own lives.
We cried and hugged as we revealed our shared pain that so perfectly mirrored the other. We were only strangers moments before, but now we were connected through a bond no one wants. I hesitated, but in a moment of confidence, I showed him the rock. From my hip belt I pulled a dark, polished rock that perfectly fit in my closed fist. After my dad passed, a grief counselor had me choose a rock where I could put all of my thoughts and memories of my dad into it, so that when I looked at it I could think of him and remember, as if I could forget.
This rock weighed much more than the 2.5oz the scale claimed. Its smooth glossy surface belied the heavy burden of a child's grief and grasping attempt at understanding. For 19 years I carried this rock with me. Even when I moved away to college and to all the dorms, apartments, and houses I'd lived in through my early 20's, this rock always had a secure spot in a duffel bag pocket. It's weight was beginning to wear on me. It no longer held just happy memories of my dad, but painful reminders of what I'd lost. This rock helped me heal as child when I needed it, but now I could feel it holding me back. I thought of Toni Morrison's Song of Solomon, “Wanna fly, you got to give up the shit that weighs you down.” I couldn't grow if I continued to carry the weight of my past with me.
I wanted to rid myself of the rock. But for almost 2 decades the image of my dad would blaze behind my eyes if I even just glanced at this thing. I couldn't just chuck it. It required reverence. I explained my quandary to my oldest brother. He suggested I carry it with me on my hike and, when it felt right, I could leave it along the trail.
I explained this all to my new companion and he gently asked if he could hold my rock. He gazed at it and held it with such compassion. As he handed it back to me, he looked me in the eye and asked if I would help him find his own rock to carry. I could see he needed this outlet to pour his grief and love into, just as I once had, so I readily obliged. I found a small white rock with a bit of reddish pink on one side and covered in desert dirt. I held it out to him and asked him if this one felt right. He took it gratefully and we hugged one last time.
As I walked on ahead, I thought to myself how it seemed too early in the trail to have such a heavy experience. It was only day 4! Was opening myself up to a stranger about my most painful hurts going to be a regular thing on this walk to Canada? But I had already decided long ago to give myself wholly to the trail, and if this is the journey it wanted for me, then so be it.
Upon walking into Mt. Laguna, a tiny town out here in the desert mountains, I realized I had hit the most miles I'd ever hiked during a backpacking trip. Previously, the longest I'd ever hiked was 41 miles in King Canyon National Park when I spent 5 days on the Rae Lakes loop. At the restaurant, I enjoyed some of the most delicious french toast I'd ever eaten, knowing that every step I take from here on would show just how far I could really go.
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