Rattlesnakes and Bald Eagles

by Chris Townsend

  Not wanting to walk back up the highway Larry and I joined Scott and Dave in hitch-hiking. It took three hours to get a ride but when we did the driver took all four of us and insisted on giving us fresh bread, cheese, butter and salad vegetables. His generosity more than made up for the crabby store owner.

  Sonora Pass on Highway 108 is generally thought to mark the northern end of the High Sierra. From here on the Sierra Nevada is lower and less mountainous. The volcanic hills certainly looked different and the walking was easier, though in places there was still much snow, and mostly in the forest. Larry and I spent the first day north of Sonora Pass following Scott and Dave’s tracks, relying on them not to lose the trail, and then joining them to camp. The walking was suddenly less committing with no high passes, deep fords or icy slopes to contend with and I was able to relax more and let my mind wander. The weather was worse though and again heavy rain, hail and thunder raged through the afternoon. I was glad we hadn’t had such weather further south. The only real interest to the day was my first sighting of a porcupine, a large greenish beast that tried to climb a tree on seeing us but slid back down before wandering off into the trees, having seemingly forgotten our presence.

  Midsummers Day arrived with mist and drizzle that dripped from the trees. The longest day remained damp as we slogged through thawing snow and along muddy trails below impressive purple, red, green and grey volcanic cliffs and pinnacles. The landscape felt more spread out and less mountainous. Here the forests dominated. The remoteness and sense of pristine wilderness had gone too. Sometimes we hiked on jeep tracks and highways appeared every so often. Following the trail wasn’t always easy though as sections were still snow-covered and some junctions were unsigned. Four days out from Sonora Pass Larry and I became completely unsure of our whereabouts. We were trying to locate a seemingly distinctive hill called The Nipple. However the first hill we thought might be it wasn’t and eventually we gave up trying to find it and just headed along a trail going roughly in the right direction. I was reminded of Alice in Through the Looking Glass only being able to reach a hill by walking away from it and was talking about this to Larry when we found a signpost. We were traversing The Nipple. Below us lay the half-frozen Blue Lakes just where they should be.

  Eleven miles remained to Echo Lake and the end of the second longest continuous section of the PCT. The 178 miles from Mammoth Lakes had taken 16 days. The marathon crossing of the High Sierra really was over now. It had been the toughest backpacking trip I’d ever undertaken yet also the most satisfying. The landscape had been the most spectacular I’d ever seen too. However I needed to increase my daily mileage if I was to have any chance of reaching Canada. In total I’d now walked 942 miles in 83 days, an average of only just over 11 miles a day. I hope that easier terrain ahead would mean I could increase that greatly without too much effort.

  Despite the need to press on I also needed a rest, as did Larry so we spent that afternoon and most of the next day at Little Norway, a hamlet above Echo Lake. Scott and Dave were going for a longer break and hitch-hiked to South Lake Tahoe. At Little Norway we slept in a woodshed and used the bar as an office and packing room. There was a PCT register in the Post Office from which we learned that Ken, who we’d last seen in Weldon and who’d planned on hiking up the highway in Owens Valley had been here three weeks ago, despite having ten days off in Independence with an infected blister on his foot. Clearly hiking the highway was much faster than traversing the snows of the High Sierra. I had no doubts about my preference though.

  On learning we’d come through the High Sierra the Postmaster put us in contact with Mike Lewis, a reporter from the local paper, the North Lake Tahoe Bonanza, who wanted to interview the first PCT hikers to make it through the snow. We spent an evening with Mike in the bar and he said he’d send us copies of the interview. Sure enough several weeks later a photocopy of the article arrived in the mail. Mike described us as ‘looking like miners out of an 1849 gold rush photograph’ in the picture he took. We certainly looked rather wild and in my case very skinny.

  Two other PCT hikers turned up while we were at Little Norway. John was heading south and planning on finishing at Mount Whitney. He had discouraging tales of 50% snow cover ahead along with difficult fords and route finding problems. Our stories of Yosemite weren’t encouraging for him either. After John had left the second PCT hiker turned up – by bus! This guy had started two weeks after me and had made it all the way to Tuolumne Meadows without any snow or ice gear. The Yosemite creeks had stopped him though. He’d fallen into Spiller Creek and trapped his foot between two rocks. Somehow he’d then managed to free himself and scramble out but with a sprained ankle and a badly gashed foot. With difficulty he’d limped back to Tuolumne Meadows where a doctor advised him he needed to take a few days or more off from hiking whilst his injuries healed. Not wanting to tackle the creeks again anyway he’d caught the bus to here. He’d been lucky to survive the creeks and very brave to tackle them on his own. There’s no way I’d have done that.

  Hoping for less snow and warmer weather ahead and liking the idea of lighter loads Larry and I both sent home some gear. I managed to shed 10lbs including the rope, Larry double that. With resupply points closer together now as well we’d be carrying much less, which should make hiking easier and also longer daily mileages more feasible. Although we both intended hiking solo eventually Larry and I decided to stay together until we were sure there were no more deep creek fords or big snowfields to deal with. Ahead lay the northern Sierra Nevada and then the start of the Cascade Mountains before we finally left California.

  CHAPTER THREE

  OUT OF THE SIERRA INTO THE CASCADES: NORTHERN CALIFONIA

  Echo Lake to Wrangle Gap

  June 25 to July 31

  599 miles

  The walk through Northern California would see a wide variety of scenery and more roads and towns than I was used to encountering, along with too much logging and the desolation of clear-cut forests. Much of the walking was in forest on fairly level trails which, combined with much lighter loads, meant that, as I’d hoped, my daily mileage increased without much extra effort or longer days. Larry and I didn’t leave Little Norway until late afternoon however so our first day was just five and a half miles. This took us into the Desolation Wilderness, whose name sounded forbidding but was contradicted by the beauty of the landscape. Apparently it’s named for the amount of bare rock and the thinness of the forest. These of course make it attractive for wilderness lovers and hikers and it’s a very popular summer backpacking area.

  Desolation Wilderness was all water and rock with scattered trees. Lakes were everywhere, still half-frozen and shining in the sunlight. The first night we camped above Margery Lake and then passed Lakes Aloha, Heather and Susie the next morning. Above them rose rugged Pyramid Peak and the summits of the Crystal Range, lower mountains than those of the High Sierra but still impressive. There was still plenty of snow on the ground but there was now much more wildlife than we’d seen further south with marmots, chipmunks and squirrels common. Then we climbed to the last point above 9,000 feet on the PCT, 9380 foot Dicks Pass, before descending to pass yet more lakes – Dicks, Fontanillis, Upper Velma and Middle Velma – and then camping in the forest.

  Fifteen miles had passed without much effort. The next day we walked twenty-two which, I wrote in my journal, ‘seemed no effort either’. Most of the time we were in pleasant forest with few views. The trail was fairly level so there was no reason not to stride out. After the High Sierra and 900 miles of walking we were very fit. There were plenty of PCT markers on trees too so we didn’t often have to spend time looking for the trail. These markers were inconsistent – common in some places, non-existent in others. That night we camped at 6200 feet, the lowest since Kennedy Meadows, 46 long days ago.

  Desolation Wilderness was left for a stretch of ‘non-wilderness’ forest, which means it can be used for logging and other uses, though we didn’t notice any difference t
his time and soon we were in what is now the Granite Chief Wilderness and back then had the rather cumbersome bureaucratic name Granite Chief Motor Vehicle Closure Area. Here I regretted sending the rope home when we were faced with a ford of the deep and fast North Fork of the American River. Scouting up and down the bank we eventually found a point where it split into two channels, one of which we waded while the other was crossed with a log crawl – a rather tame one compared with those in Yosemite but still exciting enough.

  Leaving Granite Chief – we were to become used to rapid changes in land designations and usage in Northern California, the wilderness areas here were much smaller than in the High Sierra and generally not contiguous – we went through a stretch of private property with many threatening no trespassing, keep out and private notices. Ignoring these but feeling it might be wise to be out of sight we camped in a dense stand of firs a few hundred yards from the PCT, which at this point was a dirt road.

  During the day I finally identified two big flowering plants we’d seen grow from little shoots to big plants in the last few weeks. The very green thick-leaved bulky ones with spikes of white star-like flowers that were now two feet high and more were corn lilies (though no relation to actual lilies), the aromatic yellow sunflower-like ones were mountain mule’s ears (which is a member of the sunflower family). The first grew in profusion in damp meadows, the latter on dry stony slopes. Both were to be regular companions in coming weeks.

  So far my gear had held up well. However on feeling rubbing in my boots I examined them and noticed that the linings were disintegrating. The soles were losing their tread too. I’d been wearing them almost all the time since we reached the Sierra Nevada because of the snow. I had thought I’d have them resoled. Now I thought I’d replace them with lighter footwear more like my running shoes. I was looking forward to hiking in the latter when we finally escaped the snow but I knew they too wouldn’t last much longer.

  Heavy rain fell on our ‘private property’ camp and we woke to thick mist drifting through the trees. We were certainly well-hidden. The rain continued all the way to little Soda Springs where we arrived soon after the post office opened, following an early start. Here I collected the smallest food parcel of the walk, just three days’ worth. The Cheese Store Deli provided an excellent second breakfast of an omelette (I really missed eggs on the trail) and coffee plus snacks for the next few days. Soda Springs also had a laundromat, which was sorely needed as it was the first since Mammoth Lakes, now a long sweaty and arduous three weeks behind us. There was a PCT register in the post office full of entries from hikers who’d skipped round the snow and started again from here. Not that they had missed the snow, there was still plenty in the woods, but they had missed the combination of snow and steep mountains and remoteness and with it the glorious High Sierra. Soda Springs was also significant because on reaching it I’d now hiked 1000 miles. At least it felt significant.

  Soda Springs lies not far from the notorious Donner Pass, the one pass in the Sierra Nevada widely known in the outside world due to the tragedy that overtook the Donner Party here in 1846. These pioneers were trying to cross the mountains to the rich lowlands of western California but were trapped here by deep snow in the autumn. Rescuers tried to reach the party but did not do so until February, by which time 39 people were dead, leaving 48 survivors. Now the 7200 foot gentle pass is crossed by a railroad and an Interstate highway and it’s hard to imagine how such a disaster could have happened. It’s still often closed by blizzards in the winter though.

  With rain still falling and the mist still thick we left Soda Springs in late afternoon to walk through snow for a few miles to the Sierra Club’s Peter Grubb Hut, which was like a large Scottish bothy (unlocked shelter with few facilities beyond a roof). The hut was built in 1938-39 as a memorial to Peter Grubb who died on a cycling tour of Europe and is one of the few such shelters on the PCT. It was basic but dry inside and had a large fireplace. As it was so wet outside we decided to stay and soon had a big fire going that raised the temperature to 18°C and quickly dried out our damp gear. This proved very useful as the wet weather continued. At least our gear could begin getting damp again rather than get even damper. We woke to thick mist and one of those days that thankfully is soon forgotten. ‘Another wet, wet day’ I wrote in my journal after hours of slogging through melting snow in the dripping forest. Where the trail wasn’t snow-covered it was thick with ankle-deep mud. A break in the drizzle came at noon when the heavens opened and we were assaulted by torrential rain, hail, thunder and lightning. Rushing along heads down in our waterproofs we just wanted to make as many miles as possible. Stopping to camp in this didn’t seem attractive anyway. Finally we ran out of energy and made a damp camp in thick mist and steady rain. This dismal dark weather continued all the following day when we walked 19 miles ‘on sodden jeep roads through sodden forest’ to Sierra City (population 225), an old gold mining town in the North Yuba river canyon that now relies on tourism for its main business. The only enjoyable part of the day was the final descent down steep switchbacks into an area of magnificent trees - black oaks, maples, Douglas firs and ponderosa pines. Although we were making good progress the sense of excitement and adventure we’d felt in the High Sierra and Yosemite had gone. The challenge here was simply to keep going, to keep walking through the mist and rain.

  Having pitched our wet tents at the Wild Plum Campground we went into Sierra City to collect mail and supplies. Here our luck changed. In the store a man guessed we were PCT hikers and offered to let us stay in his house, something he did regularly for thru-hikers. Bob Frost was a Forest Service Fire Prevention Technician who lived just outside Sierra City. This generosity meant we were able to dry out our gear again and take showers – the first for 23 days, since Mammoth Lakes in fact. I expect we needed them!

  Rising above Sierra City and the North Yuba River are the rock towers and pinnacles of Sierra Buttes, one of the highest and most distinctive peaks in the northern Sierra Nevada. (It’s 8591 feet – how the mountains had dwindled since the High Sierra!). The mist had kept Sierra Buttes hidden on the descent to Sierra City but it came into view during the steep and brutal ascent from the North Yuba river canyon and the following traverse round steep scrub-covered slopes. Whilst the summits were impressive the mountainside we crossed had been heavily logged, which somewhat detracted from the wild feel. For the last time we lost our way for a while in an area of confusing partly snow-covered logging roads before PCT waymarks appeared again.

  The mix of logging roads and foot trails in clear-cut areas and healthy looking forest, probably second growth, continued for the last 85 miles of the Sierra Nevada. Much of the time we were hiking in red fir forest with few views. The going was mostly good though, with little snow left, and we made over 20 miles a day. At times we could see ahead to the first peaks of the Cascades – the white cone of Mount Shasta, which would be a dominant feature for the next weeks, and the summit of Lassen Peak – which drew us on with the promise of more spectacular landscapes ahead. The weather improved, which helped morale a good deal, and it was hot in the forest. For the first time on the walk I ended days with sore feet, a combination of the extra miles we were hiking, the hard-packed ground and over-heating in my big boots, which I was still wearing for the sections of snow. Fine in deep snow all day these boots were too hot now we’d returned to summer trail backpacking. On one day the temperature at 1 pm was 22ºC in the shade.

  Whilst the general landscapes were no more than pleasant the sections of unspoilt forest were often magnificent with big incense cedars, white firs, silver pines, red firs, ponderosa pines and Douglas firs. The flowers were wonderful too – red paintbrush and purple lupins joining the yellow mountain mule’s ears. The trail followed the dry crest of the hills for long distances and for the first time in many weeks we had to carry water. These hills were rolling, green and forested – a far cry from the rugged mountains of the High Sierra, whose snowy peaks we could see far to the south
at times.

  One steep descent led down to Franklin Canyon and the Middle Fork of the Feather River, across which we were pleased to see a graceful bridge. Other creeks and rivers were bridged too so we had no more difficult fords. Larry had brought some lightweight fishing gear and tried fishing in some of these waters but without any luck.

  Approaching Belden and the end of the Sierra Nevada the scenery improved as we hiked through what is now the Bucks Lake Wilderness. The PCT ran along the rim of a valley with views over a lake-dotted forest and then descended gradually over ground covered with attractive tough red-barked manzanita bushes. Ahead were views across the deep North Fork of the Feather River valley to the first hills of the Cascades. The final descent to Belden and the North Fork was a leg-hammering steep six miles down 36 switchbacks through dense undergrowth that was head high in places. The guidebook warned of poison oak but I somehow managed to avoid brushing against this innocuous looking but poisonous plant which I only learned to identify from warning notices in the campground that evening.

  Belden was a tiny hamlet (population 22) but had a combination post office/store/café and bar plus a campground. As well as my food parcel I had eight letters from home, which were very welcome, and a copy of the North Lake Tahoe Bonanza with the interview with me and Larry in it. I read this with interest and noted in my journal that it was ‘very flattering if not quite accurate’. In the trail register were entries from over 20 PCT hikers who’d skipped the High Sierra and bussed round from Weldon. The next day one more snow-avoiding PCT hiker arrived. Mark had made it from Campo to Yosemite, where he’d waited for two weeks before catching the bus here as there was still more snow than he wanted to deal with.