Even though I wasn't super psyched about taking an unscheduled zero day in Etna to wait for my snow gear to come in, I really enjoyed my time in that little town. I spent my day off lounging at the community pool, checking out the local brewery, and camping in the city park with the other hikers. My microspikes arrived around 3PM on the 7th, and I was back on trail by 4.
Resupply organization at Etna
Fires in the distance
There was a lot of smoke off on the opposing ridgeline from a forest fire that had been started from a lightning strike a few days earlier. Because it was in a Wilderness Area, the authorities had decided to contain it to the area but let it burn for the health of the forest. Forest fires are very common and even normal for the ecology of California. It helps cycle through the stages of growth in forest development. These rejuvenating fires usually have to be stopped and put out nowadays to protect nearby towns and cities, but the effects on forest health are obvious from the trail. Lots of downed trees and debris and low undergrowth foliage are common all along the PCT in California. Burn areas are very interesting to see on trail. Most of the large trees are charred down to stumps and all kinds of unfamiliar flowers and greenery cover the ashy ground.
An old burn area with lots of wildflowers
One example of a cool flower found in burn areas
For the last few days I had been watching the reports diligently in town to see if the fire would close down the PCT. It was supposedly about 5 miles off, far enough away to not pose much of an immediate threat, but close enough that a windy day might cause the fire to jump a little too close for comfort. When I heard the report on the morning of the 7th that the trail was open and safe, and that trail crews were being sent in to clear emergency exits just in case, I felt confident enough to return to my hike.
It was definitely smoky back up on the PCT. You could see the fire off in the distance, and watch the smoke waft its way across the valley over to where the trail would lead me in the coming days. I was not looking forward to breathing smoke for two days…
Smoke overtaking the ridge ahead
But overnight, the cold air caused the smoke to sink down into the valleys. I woke up to clear air the next morning, and was able to cruise for about ten miles before my next challenge presented itself. I had been hearing about a snow section coming up that was rumored to be pretty nasty. Hikers were calling it “The Bowl.” Indeed, a few peaks appeared to have been sandwiched together, creating a northeast-facing curve in the ridgeline that had minimal sun exposure and was prone to cooler temperatures. It was a lot of snow. The PCT was buried underneath it all somewhere I couldn't tell, but from the maps I was able to discern that the trail popped out of The Bowl through a small saddle between two of the spires at the top. Fortunately the grading was relatively gentle, and between my new spikes and the trees I had enough traction to make it to the saddle with ease.
Full moon campsite
The smoke settled down in the valleys by morning
The view from the top of the infamous Bowl
What a vastly different snow experience than what I had gone through on Etna Summit! I had the right gear, the right navigation skills, and the right conditions, and I made it through with absolutely no stress! My friend Alpine Strider was sitting on the saddle resting when I reached the top and we concluded that either the rumors about The Bowl had been extremely exaggerated, or we were just total badasses. We resolved to call it an even split, and hiked on.
I played leapfrog with Strider for the next few days as the PCT descended into Grider Creek Canyon and Seiad Valley. I hiked more than twenty miles every day, including one 27 mile day into Seiad that was rewarded with many cool creek crossings and burritos for dinner in town
Leaving Seiad early in the day to beat the heat
Long exposure shot of the harvest moon from camp
Coming out of Seiad was challenging. Lots of poison oak and steep, shadeless climbing made for slow, sweaty miles. On my second day out of the valley, I woke up to a crick in my neck that was so painful I couldn't sit up without stabbing pain down my shoulder. I lasted about three miles that morning before I had to take a rest and lie down. I set my pack down in a shady spot, pulled out my sleeping pad and started looking for my shorts. I hike in a dress, so when I stop to sit down I usually put my shorts on so I'm not flashing everybody who walks by. I dug around my pack for a few minutes but couldn't find them anywhere. Uh oh. Had I left them behind? They must've fallen out of the top of my pack back near my campsite. Shiiiiittttt. I contemplated running back to get them, but three miles there and back would take over an hour. My neck was throbbing and I highly doubted I'd be able to run anyway. But those were my FAVORITE pair of shorts. I had gotten them from my boss at my very first running shoe store job, back in 2011. I had run my first half marathon and my first marathon in them. Those shorts were with me when I went to the USA Triathlon National Championships my freshman year of college. They were on my first backpacking trip, my first solo road trip, even my first PCT hike. They were faded and holey and, by all standards, basically crap. But I loved them so much. You get so attached to your gear on trail. When you have so few things, you depend on them all so much. Their emotional value increases astronomically.
I sat there weighing the options for a little while and finally, reluctantly concluded that I could not go back for them. As I hiked on, I felt sad about my decision. I mentioned them to a few southbounders I came across, hoping by some small, strange miracle they would be found and returned to me. But after a few miles, I started to let go. They were just shorts after all. They would've worn out on me eventually anyway. It was kind of fitting really, that I should lose them on my last day in California on the PCT. In a way, it felt like California had claimed them; a strange toll of sorts, a payment for all the wonderful experiences I've had in that state wearing those shorts.
I crossed into the state of Oregon a few hours later. I got a huge burst of energy leading up to the state line. Nothing looked all that different after, but it felt different all the same. I was, all-of-a-sudden, one state closer to my new home. It felt big, much bigger than the two short weeks I'd been on trail so far should've felt. Being in Oregon meant that the countdown was starting. “Less than 1,000 miles to go…”
California/Oregon border
1000 miles to go
Bear grass fields of southern Oregon
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