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PCT Put-Downs

Ranger notice Near Rock Creek

“That bear needs to be put-down,” said the PCT hiker after a night it wreaked havoc at Lake Gilmore in Tahoe’s Desolation Wilderness.  That smart ursine climbed trees to collect hung food bags, poached trail mix from backpacks, and even entered a tent where a PCT hiker was using his food bag as a pillow. In other words, one very smart, very hungry and very aggressive bear.

“You can’t have bears barging into tents and taking people’s food,” the man said.  I asked: “Did you bring a bear canister? 

“They aren’t required here, and besides I don’t camp in designated campsite,” the guy answered.  I suppose that meant, no.  He didn’t use a bear can.

“And they weigh 3 pounds,” I offered.  “Yeah, that too. And the odds of a bear taking your food are very slim,” he added.  Let’s be clear, after many months hanging out with PCT hikers:  It’s all about the extra weight.

I also did the math.  There were 20 campers at Lake Gilmore that night, only me and one other person were exempted from the bear’s rampage, probably because he was too stuffed.  I think that works out to 90% of the campers provided bear food that night. Maybe not slim odds.

There are a lot of inexperienced backpackers walking in the Desolation Wilderness who have no clue how to protect themselves from bears attacking their food.  You would think that PCT thru hikers who have been on the trail for months would know how to do so, but amazingly they have convinced themselves that they are immune from such dangers, and that it’s perfectly reasonable to “put-down” bears that are causing problems rather than changing their own bad habits. 

And I get it.  Carrying a bear canister that weighs 3 pounds is 10% of your total weight if your pack is 30 pounds.  For ultra-light hikers, that canister might be 30% of their entire pack weight. (Lots of advanced math in this blog.)

Saw this young guy on the PCT just south of Chester

But you aren’t doing yourself, other hikers or the bears any favors by choosing less weight over safety in bear country.  That aggressive Lake Gilmore bear may very well be killed (put-down) for its behavior.  Or it will teach its cubs that unprotected human food is a more convenient diet rather than eating the old-fashioned way by foraging on berries and other boring forest food.

Bottomline: The cost of peace-of-mind in bear country weighs 3 pounds.

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Kentucky Wonder

The first thing I noticed about her was that she carried a very big knife.  That’s unusual for a PCT thru hiker because a knife like this weighs more than a pound, and that’s a commitment for folks whose entire pack might weigh a total of 15 pounds.

Her trail name is Forager and she’s from Kentucky. Louisville, I think.  I met her just once at a fire station in the San Gabriel mountains in far east Los Angeles County which allows hikers to sit in the shade and use their water spigot.  This qualifies as an oasis in our book. Everyone was relaxed, having fun and resting for the next stretch of desert walking.  Forager was doing yoga. 

She engaged in some yoga positions that looked very painful, but she advised me how to do Pigeon pose using a picnic table without rupturing my butt muscle.  When I found out her name was Forager, I asked what she had found to eat.  “Not much in the desert,” she said. “I’ve found some plantain, miner’s lettuce and herbs like sage.”  She was keeping the knife for the trail ahead which would yield more bounty.  As she talked, she continued her yoga. I asked if she had a specific practice. She answered that she did Ashtanga Yoga every day, and had gone to Mysore, India to study with her guru.

It blew my mind a little that this country girl from Kentucky not only practiced yoga, but was adept at one of the most challenging asana practices. If you’ve ever tried the Mysore style of Ashtanga yoga, you know how hard it is. Certainly, more challenging than the hot Bikram yoga that is the heart of my practice.  Also, you should know that Forager owns a pet pig which follows her around like a dog when she is home.

This was the first and probably last time I’ll ever meet Forager. She and her trail sisters were headed down to Santa Monica for a day at the beach before returning to the trail.  Me, I had another 8 miles and a 1,500 foot climb before my day ended.  

I know this will sound stuck up: but if someone from Louisville knows how to forage for her food, practices Ashtanga Yoga, learns from an Indian guru and keeps a pet pig, somehow that gives me hope for the red state of Kentucky.

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Slow Learner

You can’t blame it on old age or lack of experience or not doing my research. But it took me more than 45-years to make the leap from hiking with boots to tennis shoes.  Maybe I’m just a slow learner.

In 1978, I bought a new pair of heavy, leather hiking boots. (Salomon).  That’s what you did in the 70’s. The first trip I wore them was in the Trinity Alps with my buddy George.  He wore tennis shoes.  Within hours those boots gave me silver-dollar sized blisters on both heels. Might be showing my age with the reference to silver dollars. But trust me, it was five-days of hiking torture.

Two years later, I carried those heavy treds through the south Pacific and southeast Asia before arriving in Nepal.  I had worn them in by then and didn’t get blisters.  But the trail around Annapurna was wet and snowy.  Every night I put my boots by the fire to dry at the Nepali homes we stayed in.  Didn’t happen. Every morning I put on soggy boots.  One night a Canadian woman was at the same tea house as our group.  She had worn Keds crossing the nearly 18,000-foot Thorong La Pass, and they were soaked from hiking over snow and ice.  However, the next morning her tennies were warm and dry while I laced up my cold, wet Salomon’s.  I may have cried. 

Over the next decades, I continued to hike in boots which were now lighter and easier on the feet. When it came to the footwear to choose for the PCT, I decided to stick with boots for the first 700-miles in the California desert instead of the trail runners most PCT hikers wear. Bad decision.  My feet and legs hated me for the blisters and shin splints that resulted.

On my next 500-mile leg, I switched to trail runners which gave my feet room to spread out, and finally I was rewarded with happy feet at the end of a hiking day.  Why did it take me 45-years to make the change? Stubbornness makes me a slow learner.

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What makes a good trail partner?

Pak Dave & Moving Target

The PCT explodes your ideological bubble. You meet people from all different backgrounds with many different opinions about life, politics, hiking strategies and, most importantly, what to eat at the next resupply town.

And that’s a good thing because I’ve been living in my Berkeley bubble, reading the New York Times, Washington Post and BBC, and giving to Democratic causes.  Because the stakes have been so high in the Trump era, I’ve grown intolerant of other opinions or maybe I’m just getting old.

That’s why it’s been such a gift to be hiking with my buddy, Moving Target.  We have totally different views about politics, but we’re tight hiking partners.

Moving Target is a good man, husband and father.  He’s a small businessman whose been running an auto repair shop in southern Illinois for more than 40 years. We share a love for nature.  He can spot wildlife better than anyone I’ve hiked with. Below is one of the short videos he makes while on the trail.  He also can identify birds from their tweeting and he’s an encyclopedia for the plants and trees we’re seeing every day.

A few times we tried to start a discussion about a political or social topic, but it was clear that there was a gaping chasm between our positions.  In diplomatic terms, we had a frank exchange of views.  I understood where he was coming from, but it was a difficult discussion.

But that didn’t stop us from being simpatico hiking partners, appreciating where we shared values and where we didn’t.  It’s a good lesson to keep in mind, and not just on the trail. You don’t necessarily have to agree on politics to have your hiking partner’s back.

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Bounce

It takes grit to walk 702 miles in the desert from Campo to Kennedy Meadows. There are long climbs up rugged mountains, rattlesnakes, cactus waiting to stab you, scarce water holes, rattlesnakes, blisters…Did I mention rattlesnakes?

But it toughens you up. Most people who complete the desert section, go on to finish the entire 2,650 miles of the PCT. It’s a challenge for anyone. My friend Bounce surmounted all of these obstacles, but he has one hurdle that no one else on the trail must face.  Last year he was diagnosed with a debilitating disease that slowly causes his toes and feet to contract, like the hand deformity Viking’s disease.  The doctor said over time he would lose the ability to walk.  Bounce’s first question: Can I hike the Pacific Crest Trail?  “Do it sooner rather than later,” the doctor answered. He talked to his wife and got the go-ahead to hit the trail this year.

Bounce is a quiet guy. He often camps by himself in the desert rather than at designated campsites.  I had met him several times on the trail, but we had never really talked much until we both camped one night at Walker Pass.  We shared a picnic table, and he told me about his disease, and the pain he endures every day on the trail.  He was looking forward to seeing his wife and kids who were coming to meet him at Kennedy Meadows, a three-day walk from there. When he learned that I was one meal short on this stretch, he insisted I take one of his ramen packets.

I asked him why he wanted to walk the PCT.  He said it had been a life-long dream, and intimated that it was a way for him to take back control of his body from the disease. He was willing to pay the price for his decision to hike, which was constant pain.

I don’t know who gave him the trail name Bounce, but it’s brilliant.  Bounce is short for Bounce Back…from adversity.  It’s an important mindset for all PCT hikers because we have lots of obstacles to overcome. Bounce is showing us the way with courage, determination, and a heart bigger than the Sierras.

Safe travels brother.

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Drinking with a New Friend

I was sitting quietly on a logging road after my mid-morning break at Peavine Creek about a two day walk north of Burney Falls. I’m not sure what got my attention because I didn’t hear anything, but I looked up and across the road was a large mountain lion. A very large one about four feet long, plus a two foot tail and massive legs and paws.

He was walking down the dirt road to drink from the creek, and didn’t notice me. I didn’t want to startle the big fella so I moved slightly. That instantly got his attention, and he turned his head to directly stare at me. I met his gaze and we looked at each other for about 15 seconds. (It seemed much longer.) I don’t know what was going through his mind. Perhaps questions such as: Who is this smelly beast that’s at my watering hole? Is this guy a threat or a morning snack?

I entertained similar questions. Am I cat food? Should I take a photo? Am I really seeing this amazing creature? I decided to keep my phone in my pocket, and just stay in the moment and engage with this wild creature. He wasn’t at all worried about me, just curious. He no doubt has seen many humans in his woods, but I assume rarely has met one as unexpectedly as this. His gaze stayed steady and seemed intelligent.

It’s not the first time I’ve encountered a wild animal that is stronger and deadlier than me. I’ve also seen grizzlies and black bears at close range. I wasn’t particularly scared. In fact, I felt grateful for the experience, especially since he was just looking at me rather than hunting. In more than 50 years of backpacking, this is the first time I’ve seen a mountain lion. But you never know what actions a wild animal might take, so after a while (15 seconds to be exact) I decided to take the actions that you are supposed to do when encountering a mountain lion: Make yourself look as big and powerful as possible. So I puffed out my chest, raised my head and prepared to stand up. That was enough. The big cat turned around and silently loped off back down the road and into the forest.

I took a swig of the same Peavine Creek water that the big guy was seeking, and returned to the trail. From the way he loped off, it appeared that the lion didn’t want anything to do with me. Just in case, every few minutes for the next mile, I scanned behind me for signs that I was being stalked. Fortunately, the cat had other plans.

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High Tech Hiking

I’m heading back out on the trail on Wednesday. I’m packing a new gadget: Garmin Inreach which allows friends and family to follow my trek day-by-day. PM if you’d like to do so.
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When to Stop & When to Go

Sunset above the South Fork of the Kern River….When I saw the river twinkling at dusk, I knew it was time to stop hiking and enjoy the view.

Before I started on the PCT from Campo, I thought endlessly about how many miles I should walk per day to achieve my goal of hiking from Mexico to Canada.  On the trail, I met more folks who focused on their daily mileage goals.  It was nice to meet or exceed my daily goal, and disappointing when I did not.  After a few days, I figured out having such specific mileage goals was a stressor I didn’t need.  So just before the new moon in April I decided to dispense with goal-setting, and when the new moon arrived I embraced a plan of letting my body decide when to wake up, when to rest and when to stop for the day.  The one exception was the need to find water sources in the desert.

One of a handful of springs in the desert section of the PCT that you must plan your day around.

Letting my body make these decisions has been a new kind of freedom.  I usually wake up at just before sunrise, but sometimes I sleep later if I need the extra rest.  And after hiking all day long, I’m usually asleep by 8:30pm.  I know, it’s a boring routine.  The system has worked so far.  My physical body continues to gain strength and recovers each night.  Mentally, the avoidance of meeting a deadline or a goal has reduced my stress.  Funny, how much retirement has changed my perspective.  My work day was usually scheduled from 6am to 6pm. 

I watch the stars until I fall asleep.  I don’t have to check in with anyone but me on when to wake, when to eat, when to take a break, when to stop hiking for the day, when to sleep.  Friends on the trail ask me: “Where are you camping tonight, Pak Dave?”  My initial answer was: “Wherever my feet decide.”  Because my feet always wanted to stop at 1pm, I changed that to: “Wherever my body decides.”  We usually self-caucus around 5pm, and decide how much energy we have left.  Sometimes it’s a lively debate with the feet and legs voting to stop early, and the rest of my body voting to push ahead for a while.  What often decides the question is if there is an especially inviting place to camp.  However, since there have been few such places in the past 700 miles of desert hiking, we usually set up camp around 6:30pm.  In the stretch ahead, I may be stopping earlier to do some fishing or reading by a lake. Other hikers like to hike long past that time, and I’ve seen some folks on the trail at 2am.

As you can see, 10-12 hours on the trail each day allows for some really boring self-dialogue, but once in a while some fresh thoughts as my perspective changes from city-life to trail life.

Canti,

Pak Dave

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Courage vs. Cougars

Editor’s Note: This blog contains video that is creepy and will scare the hell out of you. Proceed with caution.

There are lots of city people on the PCT who don’t have much experience with the wilderness and the creatures that live there. One woman I met was a successful businesswoman from Washington, DC, mainly doing translations for the government. She had a thriving company, but was burnt out. So she fired herself and took a sabbatical, including hiking the Pacific Crest Trail this year.

In early April, she camped in a dry canyon just north of Scissors Crossing (San Diego County). It turns out I was camped only a mile or so away, but experienced a quiet night beneath the stars, not the horror story my friend lived that evening.

Pak Dave’s messy cowboy camp in eastern San Diego County.

Around 8 PM (bedtime for most PCT hikers), she heard what she described as a combination of a witch’s scream and a baby crying. The sound was terrifying. She had some cell service and did some research, figuring out it was probably a mountain lion. There’s lore that this howl is a way for the cougar to lure good samaritans to rescue what they think is a suffering child, only to be eaten. Others have suggested it’s simply a mating call. Bottomline: It created soul-shattering fright for her.

Female cougar screaming like a banshee mixed with baby cries. Yikes!

But did this city girl go crazy with fear? Not for a second. Her solution: Switch on the Thelma & Louise video she had downloaded, and channel their female courage. After watching these gals kick butt for an hour, my friend settled down to a good night’s sleep with no nightmares. And most importantly it gave her a riveting trail story for future hiker gatherings. I heard it at Mike’s Place.

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Meet an Angel

Earth Hippie (Raymond) and Pak Dave at Walker Pass Campground

Walking into the Walker Pass Campground after a long day, I thought the pony-tailed guy wearing tie-dye, smoking weed and talking about catching and eating rattlesnakes was just another of the many characters you meet along the trail. 

But he turned out to be anything but.  His name is Raymond and of course his trail name is Earth Hippie. Bounce, another hiker, and I were too tired to hold up our end of the conversation, so Earth Hippie talked for all three of us.  He knew the region quite well because he’d grown up in Ridgecrest and roamed these dry hills as a kid. He pointed out where the Kern River drainage was located and our route to Kennedy Meadows the next day, talked about the best fishing spots, but his passion is Frisbee Golf. He brought out his discs and tutored us on how to throw each of them for distance and accuracy.  He plays every day no matter where he’s located. If there’s not an official course, he creates one from the landscape.  He told us the story of when he first tried LSD at 11-years old.

But the conversation turned interesting when he told us his 70’s love story.  During high school in Ridgecrest, he and his sweetheart had sworn eternal love to one another.  But her parents had no interest in their smart daughter having any kind of relationship with a boy known for being a wild child since birth and who was the town’s leading pot dealer.  They went their separate ways. Raymond, Earth Hippie, moved to Colorado where he met another woman and raised seven children.  His partner suffered from mental illness, and left him with the kids, and he ended up spending 28 years raising them.  When the last one left the nest, Earth Hippie let the universe know that he was ready to find a new partner.  This was before Tinder, and so he put the word out through energetic channels, he said, because he has a direct relationship with God and the universe.  I rolled my eyes at that.

Six women called him the first week, but none seemed to be a good fit.  Finally, via Facebook, he received a message from his old high school sweetheart.  She’d just finished up a distinguished career doing super-secret work in the USA and abroad.  She still loved Earth Hippie and vice versa.  Raymond told her that she had contacted him on the very same date they had fallen in love in high school.  She said that couldn’t be true.  He proved it by asking her to remember the password for the bank account they had started together in high school which was the date they fell in love. She started crying.  Earth Hippie told us that stuff like this has happened to him since birth.  They got together and looked for a place to live.  They liked Durango, CO…but his sweetie said no because it didn’t have a Frisbee Golf Course, and she knew Earth Hippie would be unhappy without one nearby.  They chose another town in Colorado. 

We said goodbye to Earth Hippie, set up camp and walked three more days to Kennedy Meadows.  I was headed back to Berkeley for Max’s birthday party and some R&R.  But getting home was not easy.  I spent the night in Ridgecrest and early the next morning was at a bus stop for the 3-hour ride to Bakersfield, followed by a 6 hour train trip.  And guess who showed up?  Earth Hippie drove up and parked on his way to the Frisbee Golf course across the street from the bus stop.  We chatted, and then I checked the bus schedule again because it was late.  It turned out I was at the wrong stop, and not only had missed the bus but would miss the train and miss Max’s birthday party.  Earth Hippie just said, “Why do you think I’m here, get in the car.”  He told me he was told to be at this park today by the Supreme Being, so he showed up not knowing what he was supposed to do but play Frisbee golf.  “My hair stands on end when God works through me,” he said.  He drove me to Lake Isabella fifty miles away to catch up with the bus.  He smoked weed and talked the entire time of course.  He said these things happen to him all of the time.  He figured out at eight-years old who he was, an eternal soul completely connected to God, the universe and every living thing in it. 

When we were approaching Lake Isabella, he said he’d been given another mission to pick up a PCT hiker.  Sure enough, when we arrived at the bus station, there was a guy who was ecstatic to get a ride from Raymond, an angel dressed up like a 64-year old hippie.