Month: June 2016

The outlook for leaving Cajon Pass was not good. There were no places to get water for 29 miles, so we’d need to carry all our water for the day (and for camp tonight, and for tomorrow morning) from the outset. It was supposed to be hot, so that would be a lot of water. We’d be carrying that water up a 7200 foot climb, too.

We tried to buy or supplies for the morning, and discovered that the Cajon Pass gas stations were not good for this. There seemed to be no real food, just candy. The Del Taco attached to the Circle K was willing to sell us their packs of pain tortillas, but filling them would require creativity. I took 8 mayonnaise packets from the Chevron, hoping to make my tuna packets more palatable in a tortilla.

Before heading out I took some leftover odds and ends to the hiker box, including the leftover bottles of beer. It was good beer, too – Lagunitas Lil’ Sumpin’. That would surely be a nice surprise for some hiker.

Getting all those tasks done in the morning, however, meant that we didn’t start hiking until 10AM. It had already gotten hot.

The very beginning of the day, at least, was easy. We passed under the freeway and crossed under and over railways.

After passing through the tunnels, we pushed through a dense field, and I caught my first whiff of something that would plague me for many miles – poodle dog. Let me explain:

The PCT in certain sections of southern California is plagued by something called poodle dog. It smells strongly of skunk, and can grow up to 9 feet tall. It’s covered with a short fuzzy hair that looks gooey and sticky. If you touch it, you’ll get a rash worse than poison oak.

Despite the smell, I couldn’t find it. I wasn’t quite clear on what it looked like, either – I’d only seen blurry pictures, and vague descriptions. So we trudged on, cautious.

The PCT water report had told us about a 29 mile dry stretch, so we were loaded down heavily with water. Our pack weight made uphill climbs painful.

So when we saw a great big water cache 7 miles in, it was a bit disheartening.

We ran into Bill and Wonky on the way up the hill. They were sheltered in a patch of shade, drying some gear in the sun, and having lunch. We griped about the Cajon Pass resupply choices, and traded them some Pop Tarts for some cheese.

We also meet a middle-aged Japanese couple who we’d seen at the Best Western. They couldn’t speak much English, but the husband managed to say “Thank you for beer. Very good beer.”

The way up the hill had some good views back to Cajon Pass, and the surrounding terrain.

At the top of the hill, we found a campsite with terrific views to the valley to the north, full of farms and, later, the lights off small towns and highways.

We ran into Jared again, a man we’d had lunch with back at the Paradise Valley Cafe. He was personable and talkative. He had worked for the government doing some diplomatic work with Indian reservations, and had been able to give us advice about the Lake Fire Alternate’s proximity to Cabazon land.

He had a trail name now: Poppy. He’d tried to explain the California Poppy to the Japanese couple, who’d nodded but didn’t really understand. The next time they saw him, they greeted him: “Hello, Poppy!” They thought he’d explained his name.

It was breezy at the campsite, so we set up our tents and went to bed before it got to cold.

Much of today’s scenery was agricultural or industrial rather than wilderness. The Mojave Siphon Station was alongside our route, and it’s maintenance equipment was impressive in scale.

Since the water supply at camp was so bad, I’d carried as little water from it as possible. When the next water supply turned out to be unusable, I once again found myself dreaming of lakes and drinking fountains.

This time, though, in a grove next to the trail, I found a cooler. It said it was for PCT hikers, and contained cool bottles of water, and fresh fruit.

After climbing above the siphon station, we found Silverwood Lake, a reservoir with numerous recreational facilities on the shore, for swimming, boating, picnicking, and so forth. We ate on the beach, and enjoyed the access to water spigots with an unlimited supply of potable water. Elizabeth took a quick swim, and reported it frigidly cold – surprising in the desert heat.

After the lake, the trail led up, up, and up. We turned a corner, and were suddenly greeted with an enormous panorama of Cajon Pass – rugged desert hills with a backdrop of layers upon layers of mountains, with long freight trains slithering their way through the landscape.

Unfortunately, I did a poor job taking pictures of it, but here’s what I’ve got. It was my favorite view so far.

Descending from the vista, the trail entered a pleasant, shady valley, just a few dozen feet from a busy highway. The drivers probably have no idea it’s there

Cajon Pass itself is just a freeway junction town, with a McDonald’s, Best Western, and gas stations.

I went to McDonald’s for the first time in years, and was frustrated to find that their menus change while you’re reading them. It took me a long time to figure out an order, and when I did, the only thing that was good was the soda. It wasn’t even very cheap – I really wonder why McDonald’s is still around.

A PCT guidebook recommended the milkshakes at the Chevron station, so of course we tried them. The texture was good, but they tasted like nothing – they’re 2-star milkshakes in a place you’d expect a 1-star milkshake.

We checked into the Best Western, which was known for being friendly to hikers. In fact, the place was almost full, even though there were only a few cars in the parking lot.

Doing laundry, I met a man who was not a hiker, but was spending a 10-day vacation here. He was in Cajon Pass to take pictures of the trains.

I took a hot shower. My left foot turned a much brighter red/purple than my right. They looked like they belonged to different bodies.

With the comforts of civilization at hand, (what’s available at a highway junction, at least), Elizabeth and I watched a terrible horror movie (“As Above, So Below”), drank beer, and went to sleep.

The next morning, I caught a glance of myself in the bathroom mirror – something I haven’t seen a lot of lately. I noticed that the beard I’d been growing on this trip had a lot of grey in it. It occurred to me, making progress on the PCT is a lot like aging. You don’t notice it happening, but if you keep doing what you always do every day, you’ll notice once in a while that it’s happened.

I woke up cold. This was strange, because we hadn’t camped at a cold site. It was also strange that my sleeping pad was much softer than it had been the previous night. I probably had a puncture in my sleeping pad, small enough to leak slowly.

I re-inflated it, and took it down to the creek. After dipping different parts of my sleeping pad into the creek, I eventually found a spot that shot out tiny bubbles when submerged.

I hadn’t brought a patch kit, because I’ve used this pad for years with no problems, and it’s tougher material than most sleeping pads. So I tried sealing the leak with duck tape, but it wouldn’t adhere well to the sleeping pad’s textured material. With some pressing and rolling, the tape held, but I was not optimistic about its leak-stopping capabilities.

This morning, we walked along the valley wall of Deep Creek.

The valley walls were lined with many kinds of wildflowers.

We missed the marker for mile 300, but for some reason, there was also a mile 301 marker.

We had lunch at a creekside with cool shade and bubbling rapids. While swatting away what I thought was a fly, I got my second bee sting ever – the last being about 29 years ago. I guess I’ll find out if I’m allergic now!

Deep Creek flows alongside Deep Creek Hot Springs, a hike-in-only natural hot springs popular with local twentysomethings, especially hippies.

It was busy when we got there, with dozens of people soaking and camping. Pan pipe music wafted up from the hot springs as we approached.

Elizabeth wanted to take a dip in the springs, but I didn’t, so I sat in the shade nearby and tried in vain to catch up on my blog.

We started to move on, and who should we run across but Wonky and Bill. We talked about cheese, and they said they didn’t want to go much further tonight, so we split up again.

The trail continued down the valley.

I didn’t take pictures, but the trail has seen better days. There was graffiti on the rock faces for many miles. Someone had spackled over a great deal of the graffiti, but new graffiti was already appearing on top.

Eventually we escaped the valley, and found ourselves near the currently-dry Mojave River.

We were nearly out of water, as we crossed a small stream. It didn’t look like the water would taste good, however, so we decided to skip it and wait for the next one.

This was a mistake. It would only be about 5 miles, but I hadn’t realized how dehydrated I was. I started longingly at the water tanks walled off by “no trespassing” fences.

When we finally got to the next water, it was covered in water skeeters and floating debris. I gave my water filter a workout, and drank greedily.

There were many people camped nearby, but we had come in fairly late, so we pitched our tents, and were soon fast asleep.