There were other purchases too. Larry was very pleased at being able to buy a fuel cap for his stove. I bought one too, just in case. Other additions to my load were a tiny guide to Pacific Coast trees and a rather heavier guide to the birds of the Western USA plus a couple of novels. The most expensive item was a camera lens. Since ruining my 75-150 zoom lens during a creek ford in the High Sierra I had been left with just a 28mm wide angle lens, which was fine for big spreading landscapes but rather limited for some other shots. (Why I’d only taken those two lenses I don’t know now, presumably to save weight). In Mount Shasta I found a photographic store and bought a 50mm lens, which would be good for close-ups of flowers, self-portraits and other pictures where the 28mm wasn’t ideal. It also meant I had two lenses in case I wrecked another one.
At Castella Larry and I finally parted. It was nearly three months since I’d hiked alone and I was looking forward to the solitude and the freedom to make decisions as and when I chose. I now had 1200 or so miles to myself. Unsurprisingly my first decision was to have a leisurely breakfast while Larry’s was to set off within minutes of waking up. My pack was heavy as it was 160 miles to Seiad Valley so I was carrying ten days supplies, though I hoped it would take less time than that (it took eight days in fact). The PCT makes a huge loop westwards here, leaving the Cascades for the Klamath Mountains, before returning back east. From the map it would seem more logical just to head north and cut the distance. But long distance-hiking isn’t about logical routes, it’s about the best routes, which means the most scenic, adventurous, challenging and exciting, and the Castella to Seiad Valley section went through the most impressive mountain landscapes since the High Sierra. There were magnificent forests too and two wilderness areas (four now, two having been designated since my walk). However there were also logged areas and rather too many ugly road scars. Wilderness here felt constrained some of the time.
As was now usual when leaving supply points there was a steep climb to start with, this time up 4,000 feet, an ascent mitigated by superb views of the huge cliffs and sharp spires of Castle Crags, now the centrepiece of the Castle Crags Wilderness Area. The trail was often in low chaparral- type bushes rather than forest, which was great for the views but not for shade from the hot sun. At one point a big green rattlesnake lying on the trail gave me a fright when I suddenly spotted it not far ahead. I hadn’t seen one since the desert and had forgotten all about them. This snake didn’t rattle but just crawled slowly away while keeping an eye on me.
I quickly adjusted to being on my own, relishing going at my own pace, stopping when I wanted and camping when and where I liked. I also started to see more wildlife and soon realised just how much more disturbance is caused by two people compared with one. Mule deer were common, some with fauns, and I saw another bear, further away this time, and many birds, only some of which I could identify. Less pleasant were the nasty biting flies that became increasingly common. The dry terrain meant there were few mosquitoes but also not many creeks so I had to carry water some of the time. Although walking alone I did meet other people both on the trail and at camp sites as the summer hiking season was now in full swing.
I was also soon very pleased with my new footwear, the shoes proving much cooler than the boots whilst giving more support than the running shoes. I also felt more secure now I had footwear that wasn’t falling apart. However other equipment was beginning to show signs of wear. My clothes had many holes in, especially my shorts, but most serious was a problem with my pack. I’d noticed since Castella that it seemed to press on one hip and felt unbalanced. I thought I must have packed it badly but on examining it one evening I discovered that the internal metal frame had snapped at one corner so that side was less supportive than the other. The frame was bolted and sewn-in, making removal difficult, and the pack was a British make so I doubted I could have the frame replaced here. It looked like I needed a new pack, an expense I could do without. That would have to wait until I found another outdoor store though. In the meantime I had to manage with the discomfort. I remembered the pack bouncing and bursting open as it slid down Glen Pass back in the High Sierra. The frame had probably been weakened then. Just to add to my annoyance I also discovered I’d lost my Swiss Army Knife.
Mount Shasta still dominated the views though I was now heading away from it towards the peaks of the Trinity Alps and the Marble Mountains. The PCT cuts through a corner of the first and then spends rather more time in the second. These would be the first wilderness areas for quite a while and I was looking forward to being away from logged areas for more than short periods of time.
The trails initially were well-maintained and well-blazed with many PCT markers. This ended abruptly when I left Shasta-Trinity National Forest for Klamath National Forest. Immediately all the blazes and markers ended and I promptly took the wrong trail, though only for a few yards as I quickly realised it was heading the wrong way.
For one day I was in the Salmon Trinity Alps Primitive Area (designated the Trinity Alps Wilderness in 1984), enjoyable wild country with rugged rocky ridges and beautiful lakes, then it was back into Klamath National Forest with its continuing lack of signs and plenty of side trails where I could go wrong so I had to concentrate on the route. Although the mountains here were much lower than those in the High Sierra, apart from the stratovolcanoes with summits in the 7,000-9,000 feet range, timberline was also much lower at around 6,000 feet (due to being at a higher latitude) so the rise above the forests was about the same. The PCT was often at or above timberline between Castella and Seiad Valley so there were more views and less forest walking than in the lower section before Castella. The timberline trees here were often western white pines and I noticed that they had downward curved snow-shedding branches like the red firs, something they’d lacked in the High Sierra where they grew lower down.
As I traversed on a good trail above the South Russian River I had my third bear sighting, this one quite a small animal that ran off crashing through the undergrowth as soon as it saw me. This area wasn’t a designated wilderness when I was there but just two years later it became the Russian Wilderness to protect the granite peaks, glaciated valleys, lovely lakes and magnificent forests. I had a camp by Paynes Lake, set in a beautiful glacial cirque with a steep rocky peak at its head and big red firs and mountain hemlocks on its shores. Other hikers were leaving as I arrived, one of them with a pack donkey. No-one else arrived and I had one of the most beautiful campsites for many weeks to myself.
Mount Shasta came into view again as I approached the Marble Mountain Wilderness. It didn’t seem to be getting any further away. The landscape became more rugged and dramatic as I entered the Marble Mountains, especially on a traverse around Kidder Valley. There was much rock, snow and meltwater along with many nice little mountain pools. I was even more impressed on my second day in the Marble Mountains starting my journal entry with ‘A splendid day! Best mountain scenery since the High Sierra’. Timberline trails, lovely high mountain pools, marble pavements with above the rocky peaks of Black Mountain and Marble Mountain itself DASH this was wonderful hiking country. Some of the peaks, notably Black Mountain, were built of pale limestone with dark caps of metamorphic rock and reminded me slightly of the hills Penyghent and Ingleborough in the limestone country of the Yorkshire Dales in the Pennine hills of England.
Other hikers warned me that bears sometimes raided camp sites here so as there was plenty of bear dung on the trail I hung my food at my one camp in the Marble Mountain Wilderness. Although I had no views from this camp below Buckhorn Mountain the fine trees made up for it as did the bird life. Two kestrels flew overhead as I approached the site and once camp was made I watched three red-breasted nuthatches flitting about in the branches above my tent. High above a red-tailed hawk circled then a tiny rufous humming bird flew into camp and whirred in front of a flower before buzzing away.
One more day of hiking and I arrived in Seiad Valley beside the Klamath River. The last seven miles were a
hot and tiring road walk, necessary because of the need to use the highway bridge across the river and because the land alongside the river is private and there’s no access for hikers. The town was another tiny one set in a steep-sided canyon but as elsewhere it had the necessary facilities for hikers – post office, café, store, laundromat and shower. I was surprised (and pleased) to meet Larry here as I’d guessed he would be far ahead by now. He had taken two fewer days than me to get here but was then held up because the post was delayed and he needed his supply parcel as it contained new boots. Apparently this delay was due to a chemical spill on Interstate 5. We pondered how events outside the wilds and seemingly irrelevant to the PCT can still have an effect. In Seiad Valley I also learnt that the smoke I could see to the west was from a big forest fire covering 2000 acres. I hoped it wouldn’t advance near the trail.
In my mail were the maps for Oregon. Soon I would be leaving California, having walked some 1500 miles through the State. Mike had sent more copies of the North Lake Tahoe Bonanza which I mailed to Warren and TO friends and family back home and also to Delree, the woman who’d given us a life into Los Angeles from Acton to buy gear for the High Sierra, as I had a letter from her with a new address – she’d left Acton and moved into L.A. I gave a copy of the newspaper article to the store owner too, who put it up on the wall. Also in my mail was a new pair of shorts – ‘just in time!’ I wrote in my journal. The old ones were becoming rather risqué.
Larry’s new boots finally arrived the next day and we left Seiad Valley together for the usual steep hot dry climb, this one for 3700 feet to Lookout Spring where we found a trail crew at work. The leader, Bill, had built the stone trough and put in the pipe for the spring four years earlier and was now clearing it out and putting up a sign. He and his partner were out for 10 days on the PCT doing trail work with four horses for themselves and their supplies. We were grateful for their work and especially the spring, whose water we drank copiously. Setting out in the middle of the day, necessary due to waiting for Larry’s boots, was not a good idea. Early morning would have been far cooler for this steep climb.
Leaving the trail crew at their work and with full water containers we went on a short distance to the Lower Devils Peak Lookout, which lay at the end of a narrow rocky ridge. The old disused lookout was just a roofless shell set on a small flat area above steep drops. The place made for a fine campsite with wide-ranging views. A red sunset and a bright half-moon lit the sky and I was looking forward to sleeping out in such a splendid spot. Mosquitoes defeated this idea however and, as I had for many nights now, I pitched the tent to fend them off.
Larry left an hour before me the next morning. I never saw him again. Hiking together had worked well and we’d become friends without ever being really close. I realised that I didn’t actually know that much about him. We’d not discussed our home lives much or our views on matters outside hiking and the wilderness. Mostly we didn’t talk at all beyond practical matters to do with the days hike and camp site. He’d been part of my life for most of three months however and suddenly he vanished from it.
With my new tree guide I was able to identify two new ones the next day – graceful Brewers Spruce and sparse Knobcone Pine. I was still enjoying the wide range of trees in the forests, something that was to be one of my main memories of the PCT. The day was again hot and there was no water on the trail except for a couple of springs. I camped by the second one at Alex Hole. The guidebook said the next water sources were 15 and 25 miles away so I’d need to carry full bottles from here. I was now heading back east to the Cascades at the end of the PCT’s loop into the Klamath Mountains.
‘A lazy day. That is, I felt slow but still did 16 miles’ is the start of my entry for the next day. Somewhere on a heavily logged slope I crossed into Oregon, saying farewell to California after 1550 miles and four months. The border was unmarked and the location uninspiring. Today there’s a PCT sign and a hiker registration box. Overall it was a day of pleasant hill crest walking with many views – Mount Shasta still and my first glimpse of Mount McLoughlin, the first volcano in Oregon.
Along the trail I found several notes giving route advice addressed to Susie, who I’d last seen two weeks before, from one Jay J.Johnson, who I’d heard about from other hikers. He was on an amazing journey. Nearly nine months previously he’d set off to walk south on the 2,000 mile Appalachian Trail in the Eastern USA, then row through the Everglades, cycle across Texas and start back north on the PCT. I wondered if I’d meet him and hear about this epic journey. The notes were untouched but old-looking, which suggested Susie was some way behind me and even more behind Jay.
Apart from the notes several kestrels, one harrying a soaring red-tailed hawk, a couple of deer and some crashing, whirring blue grouse were all that added interest to the walking until I reached Wrangle Gap Camp, described in the guidebook as ‘the answer to an exhausted hiker’s prayer. This little-used recreation site …. has a large stone shelter complete with fireplace, 2 stoves, tables and even a sink with running water!’ Given this description I was a little surprised when I arrived to discover ranks of white tents and a shelter full of trestle tables and cooking gear. Even more startling were the lines of people sitting at desks writing away furiously! A bizarre sight in this forest setting, looking as it did like a displaced examination room. Which, in fact, was what it was for the writers were students on a geology course finishing their final reports. Being outnumbered I camped some distance away in the woods and managed to do without the sink and its running water. Later in the evening I chatted to the friendly students who were from the Southern Oregon University in Ashland.
CHAPTER FOUR
FORESTS, LAKES & VOLCANOES: OREGON
Wrangle Gap to the Columbia River
August 1 to August 26
444 miles
The walk through Oregon began with an urban break in the city of Ashland. My first full day in the State I walked just four miles along a dirt road before a car carrying some of the geology students stopped and offered me a lift. Their two weeks sojourn in the woods was over and they were returning to Ashland. I’d been considering hitch-hiking there anyway in order to sort out my broken pack so this ride was welcome. I was in the big city by lunchtime (not that big I guess but with a population of 20,000+ it seemed huge to me). As it was Sunday the only outdoor store I could find was closed so I decided to stay overnight, which actually became two nights. Ashland is famous for the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, which was on at the time so the town was very much Shakespeare themed. I thought of seeing a play but the one on that night was Henry V, which didn’t appeal. I think A Midsummer Night’s Dream would have been more appropriate for my walk. Instead of a play I went to a party – beer, music and talking. This was the students’ end of course party to which I’d been invited and was just like the many student parties I’d been to back home when I was at college. I was also offered a floor to sleep on, which was welcome.
Much of my second day in Ashland was spent in the Sun Cycle outdoor shop deliberating about a new pack. As I’d suspected mine couldn’t be repaired, at least not here. Ideally I wanted another one with an internal frame – one as similar as possible to mine in fact. However none of the internal frame models in the store were anything like as big as my 100 litre monster. I did try, dumping the contents of my old pack on the floor and attempting to stuff them into the biggest internal frame pack they had, much to the amusement of the tolerant and helpful staff. It was quickly evident that there was no way it would all fit. This meant I had to overcome my prejudices and consider an external frame pack (prejudices formed by using one on the Pennine Way in England six years earlier and not liking it), which meant one with a separate rigid tubular frame from which the pack hung. I ended up with a pack from The North Face with what I hoped was a promising name, Back Magic 1, chosen mainly because it was big enough but also because this was the model Dave had been given back in Mammoth Lakes and he’d been very pleased with it. With mor
e pockets and compartments and the external frame it was as different as possible from my pack so I’d have to relearn how to pack it and how to adjust the straps for a comfortable carry, both of which were now automatic with my old one. I was reluctant to part with it but I didn’t want to hike another 1000 miles with an uncomfortable pack. The new one claimed to have a capacity of 87 litres but was at least as roomy as the old one (testing packs over the last 30 years has since taught me that litres are not a fixed quantity when it comes to pack volume!). The pack that had accompanied me this far, an old friend now, I sadly sent off to its British makers for repair. I hoped I would grow fond of the new one quickly, especially as it cost me $177.50 I didn’t really have.
Both the packs I used on the PCT would seem like heavyweight monsters to today’s thru-hikers. Back then lightweight packs made from materials like Dyneema and cuben fibre didn’t exist. Other gear was heavier and bulkier too so large capacity packs that could handle big heavy loads were needed. Despite the ruggedness failures were common as the suspension systems were complex with many components. Larry, Dave and Scott all changed packs during the hike.
After this city interlude I was glad to return to the trail and the woods. Two of the students gave me a lift up to Siskiyou Gap, where they’d picked me up. Now I could really start hiking the PCT through Oregon. Much of the trail in Oregon is fairly level and it has the reputation for being the easiest walking on the PCT, though there are some long dry sections where water has to be carried, making for a heavier load. In Southern Oregon the PCT follows the crest of the Cascades as here they are low, forested hills with occasional rock outcrops. I made only eight miles this first day though, stopping at the large Grouse Gap Shelter, which I shared with two families here on their annual outing. They arrived with a six week old kitten called Caesar, which they left with me while they went for a walk up Mount Ashland, which made for an unusual and entertaining few hours as I played with the kitten and ensured it didn’t wander off. On their return I was invited to join in their hot dog and toasted marshmallow supper as a big moon rose through the clouds above the still visible Mount Shasta, giving a dramatic night sky.
Rattlesnakes and Bald Eagles Page 11