At 2300 feet Belden was the second lowest camp of the walk so far, only Cabazon had been lower, away back in the California desert. Like Sierra City Belden was in a narrow steep-sided pass that took roads and railways through the mountains and out of which we had to climb. Although the landscape looked much the same we were finally leaving the Sierra Nevada and entering the Cascade Range, which we’d follow all the way to Canada. The Cascades stretch for 700 miles in a straight line and are characterised by big isolated volcanoes surrounded by lower non-volcanic gentler hills. In the North Cascades the range becomes more rugged and alpine. It would be many weeks before I’d reach those spectacular mountains.
As well as increasing my appetite was producing some strange cravings, particularly for tinned mandarin oranges, not something I normally eat so why I suddenly desired them I had no idea. Whenever they were available I ate them. I also longed for eggs, which wasn’t so surprising – my trail diet was low in protein and I liked them anyway. Of course I could have carried both but they were heavy and in the case of eggs breakable. My cravings weren’t so strong that I was prepared to carry the extra weight. At Belden I indulged them by breakfasting on three soft-boiled eggs followed by a tin of mandarins in camp. A second breakfast of microwaved sandwiches and coffee at the store set me up for the long and steep 4,500 foot climb out of the North Fork of the Feather River gorge. From the switchbacks we could look back down to the narrow canyon with its crammed-in road, railway and reservoir. There was more poison oak on the trail and a glorious succession of trees from black oaks and ponderosa pine low down through incense cedars, white firs, sugar pines and finally dense and sombre red firs. I was coming to realise that the real glories of Northern California lay in the trees rather than the mountains.
Now there was little snow left on the trail Larry and I discussed going on our own ways, which meant I could leave later in the morning and walk later in the evening and Larry could do the opposite. We’d become good friends and had happily accommodated each other’s foibles but I was becoming restless and wanted to be alone again so I was free to vary my routine and follow any whims such as making camp at lunchtime by a pleasant lake or hiking into the night. However the first night out from Belden Larry’s stove caught fire with a dramatic flare-up that melted the edge of his tent flysheet but luckily didn’t set anything on fire. The next morning the now cool stove still leaked fuel and so was unsafe to use. For the next week we’d stay together and cook on my stove, which was still working fine.
Once the climb from Belden was over the walking was easy on good trails in gentle forest. Every so often the rapidly approaching Lassen peaks would appear and in open sections we could see crags and pinnacles above us. For the first time we met a trail crew opening the trail by sawing up blown-down trees and checking blazes. In forested areas this is a necessary task every year once the snow has gone. We’d got used to clambering over or round the occasional tree across the trail but horse packers use these trails too and need them clear.
For the first time we also met PCT hikers who were heading south. These two had hiked from Campo to Weldon then travelled up to Ashland in Southern Oregon and were now heading south back to Weldon. They then intended going to the northern terminus of the PCT at Manning Park in Canada and hiking south to Ashland, which meant we might meet up again (we didn’t). That way they should manage to hike the whole trail without having to deal with snow. This approach was practical but didn’t appeal to me. I had a simple view of a long walk. Begin at the beginning and walk to the end. I wanted it to be a continuous journey, broken only by going out occasionally for supplies, after which I would always return to the point at which I’d left the trail. ‘Hike your own hike’ is a popular long-distance hiker saying, which I agree with so I wouldn’t criticise anyone’s way of hiking but doing a long walk in sections in different directions isn’t for me.
The two PCT hikers (one was called Mark, the other’s name I neglected to note) had other information on the year’s trailers, reminding Larry and me that we weren’t actually alone on the trail. They said that many people had given up, including some of those we’d met in Southern California, and that the Forest Service had issued 120 PCT thru-hiker permits by April 23rd when they’d set off. Many years later I learned that according to the PCTA only 11 people finished the trail (which included me, Larry and Scott) so the drop-out rate was very high, mainly, I think, due to the late deep snow in the Sierra Nevada.
Not far out of Belden we entered the Lassen National Forest and the best waymarked trails we’d yet encountered. There were plenty of blazes and PCT diamond markers on the trees and every junction was signed with mileage figures as well as directions. So when we reached the popular Domingo Springs Campground, where we stayed because it had water, which was rare in this section, we knew we were 53 miles from Belden and had walked 21 miles that day, assuming of course that the figures were accurate (the guidebook made the distances 5 miles longer). These signs made the walking much quicker as we never had to stop to check maps or the guidebook. They also made the walk less challenging of course and I wouldn’t have liked much of the trail to be like this. In fact searching for the trail in the snow and learning how to work out where it went had been interesting and enjoyable even if it did take time. Larry and I had become quite good at seeing the line of the hidden trail through the trees and spotting the occasional faded old blaze. But for now rapid progress on well-marked trails was a pleasant change.
Three days out of Belden we reached Lassen Volcanic National Park, the first national park since Yosemite. 10,457 foot Lassen Peak is the centre of the park and the southernmost of the Cascade volcanoes. It’s not typical though, being much less dramatic in appearance than the others. This is because it’s the only Cascade volcano that isn’t a stratovolcano, which is one made up of layers and layers of lava and other volcanic material built-up over long periods of geological time, a process that gives rise to the classic cone-shaped volcano, of which Mount Shasta is a good example. Lassen Peak however is a single plug of lava that was formed in a single eruption. It’s the largest plug dome volcano in the Cascades – the only one above 10,000 feet in height – and one of the largest in the world.
The area is still active – the last eruption was in 1915 - and there were many volcanic features that I was looking forward to seeing as I’d never been to such a place before. Our entry to the park wasn’t conducive to looking at the landscape though as it was in a cloud of mosquitoes, the worst on the walk so far. I was bitten many times before I managed to soak myself in repellent. Happily the bugs faded away as the sun grew stronger and the day became hotter and drier.
The first sign of vulcanism was a strong smell of rotten eggs from hydrogen sulphide drifting through the trees. Soon we came upon the series of yellow sulphur-encrusted fumaroles (vents) gushing hot water and clouds of steam that made up Terminal Geyser. Then came blue-green milky Boiling Springs Lake steaming gently in the sunshine, its water at a constant 52°C, and surrounded by small smoking fumaroles and bubbling mud pots slurping away noisily. Although we saw no more volcanic activity like this it stayed in my mind and I was aware throughout the rest of the walk that this was a volcanic region and that the earth was dynamic and mobile not far below our feet.
Beyond these fascinating volcanic features we traversed the park in fir and pine forest past several lakes before camping by Silver Lake. Unfortunately water meant mosquitoes and we quickly retreated to our tents and lay inside listening to frogs croaking. Next day the walking continued through mosquito ridden woods past pale early morning lakes and out of Lassen Volcanic National Park (it’s not a big park and the PCT is only in it for about 17 miles). From a ridge we had a grand view back to Lassen Peak. With this volcano behind us we were now truly in the Cascades.
Once out of the protected park lands the trail became a dirt road and we soon reached Old Station, the next supply town. It was now 33 days since we’d last had a day off from hiking so we decided to sta
y here for a day on the pleasant Hat Creek Campground where we camped in the shade of some superb ponderosa pines. We also planned on hitch-hiking to the much bigger town of Burney some seven miles away in the hope that stores there could provide a new safety valve for Larry’s stove and some lightweight footwear for me – I really needed these now as both my boots and running shoes were disintegrating. Neither had much tread left, which was okay on gentle forest trails and dirt roads but wouldn’t be on any steeper rockier terrain, especially if wet. We spent two hours the next day waiting for a ride – we could have walked there in that time. Burney had socks, books and a Safeways supermarket but no outdoor store so no stove valve or footwear.
From Old Station the PCT runs along the bare and waterless Hat Creek Rim for 30 miles. We were advised, both locally and by Warren Rogers, not to attempt this but to hike the highway instead. In retrospect I wished I’d carried the several gallons of water I’d have needed and stayed on the PCT. The highway was hell and we spent two days on it. At the end of the first one I wrote in my journal ‘a long, hot, dusty tarmac plodding 86ºF day. 16 miles of eternity! I’d rather tackle snow and flooded rivers’. The only point of interest was Subway Cave, a fascinating third of a mile long tube bored out of the rock by hot lava. Otherwise we progressed from café to café with a stop at a laundromat in which I sat in my waterproof trousers so everything else could be washed. I read most of the way along the road – Charles Dickens’ Dombey and Son and Agatha Christie’s The Body In The Library, the only books of interest I’d found in Burney. I wanted natural history guides and books on the Cascades but there had been none.
For once I carried a few tins a short distance for the evening meal – mushroom soup, cheese ravioli, strawberries – which made a nice change from dried stuff. To add to the discomfort of the road walk, which had left me with sore feet and one big blister, the night was full of mosquitoes, necessitating sealing myself into the tent where it was then uncomfortably hot (never below 16°C). I lay sweatily on my sleeping bag and didn’t sleep well. A second to-be-quickly-forgotten day on the road and we reached McArthur-Burney Falls State Park where we rejoined the PCT. The park store sold me a natural history guide to the Cascades and for fifty cents we were allowed to camp in the picnic area where we were joined by another PCT hiker, Susie, who was doing the section from Lassen Volcanic National Park to Canada. Not far away was Burney Falls itself, an impressive spring-fed 129-foot waterfall. A sign said that in the summer the river above the falls dries up and water spouting through holes in the rocks is all that feeds the falls but this early in the season both river and springs were flowing strongly.
Five mixed mostly forest walking days led to the next town, Castella in Castle Crags State Park, where Larry and I finally went our separate ways. For the first two days the mix of unsightly logged forest and fine untouched forest continued with much of the walking on logging roads with too many huge logging trucks roaring along them in clouds of dust and diesel. There were cows grazing in this multi-use forest too. With little snow anymore I wore my running shoes without socks as it was very hot, which meant I had to remember to apply insect repellent to my ankles as well as my face, arms and hands because mosquitoes appeared quickly in shaded areas, especially near water. As I’d discovered back in the desert at the start of the walk when it was hot my boots were more comfortable on my back than on my feet.
At times we hiked on thin trails above steep volcanic scree slopes with views of Mount Shasta, which towered some 10,000 feet above the surrounding green forested hills. This 14, 179 foot volcano is the second highest summit in the Cascades and the most southerly of the line of stratovolcanoes that stretches the length of the range as well as one of the largest stratovolcanoes in the world. Its beautiful white-capped cone would be visible and eye-catching for many days. John Muir and a companion were once caught in a severe blizzard on the slopes of the mountain after a spring ascent and survived the night lying by some hot springs where they were alternately too hot or frozen (Muir had wanted to continue the descent, it was his companion who insisted on staying by the springs. His account can now be found online - http://www.sierraclub.org/john_muir_exhibit/writings/snow_storm_on_mount_shasta.aspx).
Camps in this section were all in the forest but that didn’t mean finding suitable sites was always easy. Often the trail traversed steep ground with no suitable terrain at all. Twice we pitched our tents on the trail itself as it was the only flat ground available. We just hoped bears didn’t use the trail during the night - we were seeing bear droppings regularly. At dubious intersections we left arrows in the dirt and little cairns for Susie, who was somewhere behind us. Just once she caught us up and we camped together and she showed us a beautiful obsidian Native American spearhead she’d found on the trail. To counter the mosquitoes she was taking vitamin B12 and Brewer’s Yeast tablets, which she said had some effect. I was putting plenty of fresh garlic in meals as it was also supposed to repel mosquitoes. I didn’t notice it making any difference but it did make the meals taste better. We never saw Susie again after this one camp and I never heard if she reached Canada.
Often the trail ran through open meadows and across dry, dusty hillsides replete with lovely flowers and with excellent views of the surrounding hills and the already very familiar cone of Mount Shasta. Altitude changes were mostly small but there was one seemingly endless, hot, twisting, foot-hammering, fly-ridden descent down to the McCloud River at just 2,600 feet. This descent actually took three hours and left both Larry and me with aching feet and legs. Relief was provided by a friendly family, who were car camping near the river, and who plied us with chili beans and beer.
The highlight of these hot dusty days was my first ever sighting of bears in the wild. On hearing a sound in the meadow above us we looked up and there just fifty or so feet away was a light brown bear (all the bears this far south are black bears but that doesn’t mean they are black or even dark) with two cubs feeding on berries, of which there were many – raspberries, blackberries, red currants and gooseberries. When one of the cubs started to move down the hillside towards us the mother stood up to get a better look at us. Remembering stories of she-bears defending their cubs we walked on briskly. I was excited and pleased at finally seeing a bear. It seemed an essential part of a PCT hike. They weren’t reputed to be a problem here though and I hadn’t hung my food since leaving Yosemite.
Later the same day we were molested by wildlife however - in the form of butterflies! We’d stopped for a snack beside a small stream in a deep gully when a cloud of black and white butterflies with orange tipped wings (called, I learnt later, Sara’s orangetip butterflies) appeared and flew all around us landing on our arms, shoulders, backs, legs and packs. The air was filled with fluttering wings and I found this a strange and magical experience. There was probably a prosaic reason for it, like salt in our sweat, and if they’d been flies we’d have hated it but because they were so beautiful and delicate it felt very special.
A final hot waterless day with excellent views of Mount Shasta again and ahead to the massive ramparts of jagged Castle Crags took us to Castella and the Castle Crags State Park in a crowded valley with the Southern Pacific Railroad, Interstate 5, local roads and the Sacramento River all crammed in side by side. At the post office we found a note from Scott and Dave to say they had hitch-hiked here from Burney to avoid the last less interesting section of the trail as they now hadn’t enough time left to finish the whole trail due to commitments in the autumn. So they were ahead of us now. The note went on to say that when they reached the next supply point at Seiad Valley they were going to hitch-hike again to Crater Lake in Oregon. I didn’t expect to catch them up. They also said that their stove had actually exploded! Larry wasn’t the only one to have problems. As we were all using the same model of stove I decided I’d better buy spares for my so far trouble-free one.
We also met a hiker here who’d we’d met on and off several times since the Mohave Desert crossing. He was alway
s in town ahead of us and usually said he knew direct routes he’d learnt from rangers. Only once did we meet him on the trail though. He didn’t look as though he’d been hiking for months, his leg muscles just weren’t hard enough and he didn’t have the skinny, famished look of a thru-hiker. His stories didn’t ring true either and I found him rather irritating. We didn’t want an argument so we didn’t express our thoughts but just tried to ignore him. Maybe he did know those ‘secret’ (his words) routes, maybe he had hiked the whole way. I found that hard to believe though. Of all the PCT hikers I met he was the only one whose stories didn’t ring true and listening to them made me uncomfortable. I was later to hear from people who saw him hitch-hiking. Now skipping sections of the trail due to pressures of time or the snow or because you think they’ll be dull is fine if that’s what someone wants to do but pretending to have hiked a trail seems pointless as well as dishonest. After all, the person who really knows is yourself.
Although it was only a week since the last day off from the trail at Old Station I took another here as a local man we met offered to drive us to the town of Mount Shasta where he said there was an outdoor store. This was an opportunity not to be missed. With a population of over 3,000 Mount Shasta seemed enormous. I felt a little overwhelmed on the busy, noisy streets. I hadn’t been anywhere this big for several months. There was indeed an outdoor store, The Fifth Season mountain shop, and it was excellent. After much deliberation and against the advice of the staff who couldn’t believe I was going to try and hike 1200 miles in them I bought a pair of lightweight trail shoes, which was a new concept in hiking footwear in 1982. I was not yet totally convinced this was a good idea – in my journal I wrote ‘I hope this is sensible!’ Throwing caution to the winds I sent home both boots and running shoes.
Rattlesnakes and Bald Eagles Page 10