Old Lady on the Trail- Triple Crown at 76

by Mary E Davison

  On the third day, I climbed up to Devil’s Peak saddle and passed some nice displays of alpine phlox, pink heather, white kinnikinnick, Indian paintbrush, lupine, and wallflower. White Pasque flowers bloomed among rocks emerging from snow banks. I stopped to rest on the saddle and Yellowstone, a naturalist/guide in Yellowstone National Park, came up behind me. A thru-hiker now in Oregon, she was headed for Canada after a break in her journey.

  A passing hiker had told her I was ahead, and she wanted to catch up with me for company on the descent through deep snow on the north side of the saddle. Not knowing there was plenty of time to catch the slowest hiker on the trail, she rushed to catch up and fell on the rocks and hurt her knee. I have always been so sorry catching up with slow old me was the start of her knee problems. But both pleased to meet each other, we headed down from the pass.

  Using my ice axe self-belay style, I went straight down as Yellowstone traversed the switchbacks in the snow. Going straight down was easier, keeping the bad leg straight on the downhill side, while I side-stepped down the snowy, steep descent. Far more able and agile than I was, once below the snow, Yellowstone went ahead, but we both camped at the same spot that night. It was nice to have company.

  We tented in a barren, burned area near Lone Wolf Peak. With no shade from trees to preserve the white cold stuff, the ground was snow free except for a little three-foot patch, which I used to wash my hands, feet, and legs in a snow bath, rubbing clean snow on dirty legs.

  In the morning, I followed Yellowstone, who had zoomed ahead, and reached the highway to meet Kathy, who took me to the campground, where she and David had parked their trailer. After bumping into Yellowstone in the campground, she ended up staying in our campsite, too. In the morning Yellowstone and I hiked to Rim Village at Crater Lake, furiously waving my bandana at thick clouds of mosquitoes surrounding us. The rest of the day we were tourists.

  The big news for me, was hearing I had become a Grandma for the sixth time. I even had cell service to talk to my daughter and see pictures of my newest granddaughter. That’s real trail magic.

  The following day, Yellowstone went on ahead at her fast pace and I at my slow one, walking around the lake. Crater Lake is the seventh deepest lake on this planet, a hole in the earth left when Mount Mazama blew up about 7,700 years ago. The most intensely blue water I’d ever seen asked me to record its beauty with a picture every 100 feet, although the view didn’t drastically differ in that short distance.

  After passing Crater Lake I walked through a lodge-pole-pine woods that some might consider boring after the spectacular blue beauty of the lake. I reveled in the peaceful stillness of the forest and was grateful for pleasant walking on a supremely easy trail in the shade of trees.

  Hatching a Dragonfly and Feeding Mosquitoes to Ants

  Gray Squirrel and Grapevine joined me at Highway 138, and the next day we journeyed north, the first time we had all been together since the Sierra in 2007. We got our water from beautiful Thielsen Creek, flowing from snow banks below Mt. Thielsen's striated rocks. Making a dry camp at Pumice Flat, rocky cliffs of the Sawtooth range on one side and Thielsen behind us, I washed in a snow bank and filled the pot with clean snow for breakfast water. Hanging our food bags and singing Holden Evening Prayer, we retired for the night. Birds called through the stillness of the evening as we watched the white and golden streaks of the setting sun in the blue sky, taking pictures through mosquito netting.

  Although none of us particularly liked getting up early, we liked hiking early. A 5:00 rise time was a good pattern for us since it took us nearly two hours to pack up. We were old and slow, at least I was. We stopped at Maidu Lake for a leisurely lunch, and dried out from the shower that had hit us on the way there. A dragonfly attached itself to Gray Squirrel’s drying shirt, and we waited and watched for two hours as the dragonfly hatched, since Gray Squirrel had not been willing to interrupt the process. We took pictures at each stage of hatching.

  Then Gray Squirrel, walking faster than Grapevine and me, went down the wrong trail. She left an arrow in the dirt telling us where she’d gone but my map and the GPS didn’t agree with her choice. We yelled and bellowed down the trail and hoped she would hear us because we could never have caught her on foot. Fortunately, she did hear and walked back up the trail. Yes, it is possible to take a wrong turn on the PCT.

  Except for that trail division, my new GPS wasn’t something we had to depend on, but it was comforting to see the little arrow verifying we were on the trail and taking all the correct turns, GPS and paper map displaying widening contour lines to alert us to coming possible campsites.

  Getting up with the alarm to do my business outside the tent, I was attacked by mosquitoes, who bit my behind three times. I quickly slapped on clothes and my headnet to deter them.

  I put on pack covers and raingear just before the afternoon thunderstorm hit. It started with ice bombs, hailstones as big around as a nickel, and we moved with the hailstorm for nearly three hours, most of the way to Windigo Pass.

  When the ice bombs became smaller hail, I really enjoyed it, taking pictures of the white trail and my friends. One lightning strike scared us half to death as we didn't even count "1" between lightning and the huge crack of thunder. Still, it was an interesting diversion to be hiking through piles of hail, some six-inches deep. Evergreens bruised by falling ice smelled like Christmas, and Gray Squirrel looked like a druid striding through the woods under her poncho.

  David picked us up at Windigo Pass, and we had a lovely dinner in civilization, courtesy of Gray Squirrel. It was so nice to hike with friends. David fixed us eggs and toast, and I had chocolate milk and orange juice for breakfast. It was nice to be supported by friends.

  We slack packed mostly downhill in a race to stay ahead of the mosquitoes, using DEET and a lot of bandana flapping. Matt, a SOBO from Cascade Locks passed us covered up with his raingear to deter the mosquitoes. He looked very hot. That solution would have given me heat stroke. Conductor, a thru hiker, ate lunch and chatted with us. He told us you could hand feed mosquitoes to the big black ants, and they would even sit up and beg for one. Hikers entertain themselves with whatever is at hand.

  Conductor made 23-mile days and considered himself slower than the guys, who had already passed us who were 30-to-40-mile-a-day hikers. We were doing 8 to 12. There is no set speed for long-distance hiking.

  At Summit Lake I needed to walk the last mile to the trailhead while everyone else went by truck. I was hiking the PCT by long sections. My friends were hiking with me on the PCT. Hiking the PCT and hiking on the PCT are two different things, but there is no set way to enjoy hiking. I was hiking the whole thing, and they were along to enjoy parts as they wished with no compulsion to get every piece.

  Because of the snow at higher elevations that year, many hikers chose the Crescent Lake route, but we had heard enough positive reports from passing hikers that we chose the Diamond Peak route, a most copacetic choice on a lovely day. A view south from a ridge displayed all the mountains we had passed since Crater Lake, and Diamond Peak ahead of us became more expansive with every step and turn in the trail.

  In a beautiful glacial bowl with Pasque Flowers blooming at the edges of snow, we were really glad we had chosen the high route.

  Although our pace was slow, we all managed fine with the snow. Walking slowly gave more time to enjoy the view. Other hikers' footprints helped us find the trail in the snow as we passed a series of lovely tarns that seemed hung in the sky between the side of the mountain and the valley below.

  Our lovely campsite by Lil’s Lake was well below the snow line. Rocks entered into deep water from the shore like stairs, enticing Gray Squirrel and Grapevine to skinny dip in the lake, while I had a nice wash but didn’t trust my knee enough to swim. Just before we ate, Gray Squirrel went to the lake to wash her hands, and a bootlace hooked on her opposite shoe causing her to tumble into the lake with all her clothes on. Skinny dipping was better. Falling was very out of char
acter for Gray Squirrel, as she was by far the most coordinated of the three of us. We shared dry things for her to wear, but her cell phone was toast.

  Soon, dry and dressed, she tried out Conductor's game of feeding mosquitoes to black ants. She, too, said the ants could be hand-fed.

  Eventually dinner was eaten, water was pumped for the next day, and we sang Holden Evening Prayer for our last night, all squished together in the two-man tent to hide from the mosquitoes. Our last full day in Oregon had been the best. And life was good.

  I sang old Girl Scout songs on the way down to Willamette Pass, and there was David, our faithful trail support. We took some after pictures and drove home, chalking up another 136 miles of the PCT.

  Pocketmail had gone out of business. Without Pocketmail, I spent way too much time on a zero day typing on a computer to send an email to my transcriber to put entries into my journal. It was very time consuming to write by hand and then type it up again. In the guest book of my journal, Storm told me about a new device named PEEK, and I bought one to replace the defunct Pocketmail. It was lighter, too.

  Chapter 25 August 29, 2010

  PCT—Northern California

  Grapevine

  For a year on the PCT, 136 was way too few miles. Northern California was calling. The northern sections interested Grapevine, so that was where I would begin.

  I supposed other people might have thought me crazy. At 69, most of my compatriots in age took trips in RVs or rocking chairs. Yet, I looked forward to hoisting backpack and living in the woods. The trail gave me great joy. I couldn’t hike very fast, and I tired more quickly than a younger hiker, but I still loved being on the trail. I wasn’t the only one my age or older on the trail, but I was in a rather select group.

  Grapevine’s faithful husband and trail support dropped us off at Etna Summit on a cool late-August morning in the 60s. Views accompanied us as we walked north, Mount Thompson in the Trinity Alps, Mount Shasta and other craggy ranges to the south and east. Peak flower season was over, but still blooming flowers graced our way, and there were no bugs.

  I could tell I’d done no hiking for a month, as I couldn’t keep Grapevine in sight much before lunch. However, we were both dragging in the afternoon in spite of the beautiful views inspiring us. Rocky trail hurt our feet, and we were happy to reach Shelley Lake outlet creek to find a nice campsite out of sight of the trail.

  The next day was a rainy one obscuring views, although we passed two nice lakes. Even in the rain the flowers were lovely: red columbine, monkey flower, monkshood, gentian, wooly daisies, tiger lilies, asters, penstemon, pussy paws, and buckwheat. Thru hikers passed us in the rain, moving quickly as thru hikers always did.

  A patch of blue sky broke through the clouds as we reached Shadow Lake at the edge of burned woods. The rain stopped, though late rays of the sun were not enough to dry anything. From our ledge by the lake, we had incredible views across the green, high mountain meadows of a very large valley to Marble Mountain and Black Marble Mountain. Everything was wet, and there was immediate condensation inside the tent from damp air, but we had reached our goal, and life was good.

  I did battle with a mouse in the night. Grapevine and I both knew better, but we were tired, cold, and wet when we reached the lake and took short cuts. I didn’t empty my pockets of trail bar wrappers or check for leftover food. Grapevine left her dinner cup out without cleaning it, and we didn’t hang our food bags, not seeing any likely branches high enough to be beyond bear reach.

  Grapevine went to sleep instantly and could sleep through anything. Not so for me. No sooner had I laid my head down than I heard rustling near the food bags near the head of the tent. I turned on my headlamp and said, "Go away," which stopped the rustling for all of 30 seconds. After a few rounds of the same, I got up and hung the bags from the only available branch protruding from a burned stump, raising the bags a whole two feet off the ground. We tossed our trail bar wrappers out of the tent hoping to keep the mouse busy. Later in the night I heard rustling in the tent and chased the mouse out again.

  In the morning Grapevine found mouse droppings and muddy paw prints in her cup and the tiny outside pocket on my pants had been chewed through to reach the lifesavers left there. But the food bags were untouched at their two foot high perch. Final score: mouse: 2, hikers: 1.

  The mouse battle over, the sun was shining, the sky was blue, and the views were superlative. We hung all our stuff to dry on the bushes and had a late, but dryer, start.

  In spite of the lateness, we took a side trip on the Marble Rim Trail. The whole area was incredibly striking, Black Marble Mountain dominating, plus huge bands of white rock, gray marble, and some red rock mountains and cliffs, all set in lush green meadows filled with wildflowers surrounded by range after range of mountain wilderness. Everywhere we went, there were flowers. Glorious.

  In the late afternoon, we were grateful that Walrus, a passing thru hiker, recommended a lovely campsite on a side trail with a view eastward from the edge of a small cliff, where we enjoyed the warm evening and sunset.

  Past King’s Crown and Paradise Lake, the rocks changed to boulders with fewer high crags, meadows, and flowers. Before the descent into Seaid Valley, the trail was perched on the edge of the mountain, sulfur yellow Buckwheat in banks all around us and blue mountain ranges beyond. We felt on top on top of the world.

  The descent was a long way down. David met us on a road, and Grapevine got a ride. It took me two days to reach the little café 10 minutes before it closed, the motivation to arrive before closing was a delicious blackberry milkshake.

  The Seaid Valley Café is famous for the pancake challenge. If you can eat five enormous pancakes, they are free. I saw one thru hiker try and fail. I didn’t try the challenge, but their regular breakfast fare was delicious.

  For the next section, David took us back to Etna Summit, and this time we walked south, Mount Shasta dominating the view for many days. Passing hikers recommended Payne’s Lake for camping, but we found several parties camped there already, complete with a crying baby and very loud dogs. I didn’t begrudge their presence. It was, after all, Labor Day weekend, a good time to get out. But we chose to water up and find solitude elsewhere. Then my platypus (water carrier) sprang a leak near the bottom. I turned it upside down and carried it on the outside of my pack. You learn to be resourceful in problem solving on the trail. We found our own campsite on a nice ridge with a view.

  A cold front moved in during the night. Thru hikers passed us wearing very thin windbreakers, while we were wearing multiple layers of fleece, down, and raingear to block the wind. That year, terrific spring snow in the Sierra put many hikers behind optimal thru-hike schedule. They still had more than a thousand miles to Canada and wouldn’t be there until mid-October. Yet they’d sent their winter gear home after the Sierra. We tried to encourage them but also cautioned them about safety and survival. We were from Washington and knew what winter storms could be like. It had already snowed at Crater Lake, and Yellowstone texted me as she left the Dinsmore's (Rainy Pass) reporting dismal weather. Better to regret not finishing than not live to regret it. We wished them good luck. Their success would depend on the weather and their decisions.

  The Pacific Crest Trail lived up to the Crest part as we walked between 6,000 and 7,000 feet with vast views of ranges around us. Granite cliffs, slabs, and spires were impressive. Flowers were fewer as we moved south.

  Grapevine and I were a good team, helping each other the next couple of days. She put up with me getting slightly lost for a bit and then misplacing my hat. I helped her by carrying some of her gear when she wasn’t feeling up to snuff.

  Hitting a crossroad, Grapevine decided to ride a day with David, and I was on my own. I scurried down to Bull Lake ahead of clouds and raindrops, quickly threw up the tent and dove in just as the rain got serious. That night I wore everything to bed including rain gear.

  The 39-degree morning warmed to 80 in sheltered sun, but was 50 on the tr
ail, making it challenging to dress correctly for the weather. A partial view of Shasta in the morning showed fresh snow. During lunch at a cross road with David and Grapevine, I spread out the tent and sleeping bag to dry, and Grapevine joined me again to climb to Upper Deadfall Lake and another cold night over 7,000 feet.

  We awoke to frosty grass and my partially dried socks and bandana were frozen stiff as cardboard. The day was a long one, 15 miles. In the morning we clicked off three-miles an hour, quite fast for two old ladies. We camped on a ridge past Trinity Divide, rocky and a little slanted, but the only reasonably flat spot we could find. We were compensated with a lovely view of Shasta turning pink in the Alpine glow from the setting sun. A tiny sliver of moon shone over the ridge with one bright star, followed by increasing darkness and a sky filled with all the constellations.

  Stopping for a morning snack break on a knoll with a sweeping view of Castle Crags, we clearly saw our trail for the next several miles as it contoured around a large, beautifully green bowl to switchback down in front of the Crags. Pitcher Plants—curiously shaped plants that looked like something Spock might have found on another planet—grew beside the tiny trickle of a stream where we filled our water bladders.

  Flowers were sparse as we descended from high country, and in the hot afternoon, the tread was rocky and somewhat treacherous for old knees. The heat and the steadily descending trail wore me out. We descended more than 2,000 feet, and when the trail ducked around a fold in the mountain taking us out of the sun, I was quite relieved. Cowboy camping on a warm night near the Dog Trail was a big change from our cold nights at higher elevation. When I was only getting ready to sleep, I’d been feeling like the toddler so bundled up to play in the snow that he couldn't move. It was much different to prepare for sleep without extra layers.