A Path of Light Through a Sweet-Watered Desert

Hello everyone! Welcome back to my updates on this incredible adventure on the PCT 2024. Today, I’ll share what’s happened these last few days as I left the snow and cold of Mt. Baden Powell and began my journey into the Mojave Desert. This stage was literally a path of light through a sweet-watered desert :).

Jimmy campground

In my post How to Face the Impossible Ascent of Mt. Baden Powell

I shared the incredible effort it took to reach the mountain’s summit. That day, I met a remarkable group of hikers who were highly skilled in snow navigation. Walking with them taught me a lot, both technically and in learning to relax in the face of trail challenges. They moved smoothly, always looking for the simplest, most direct, and safest path, which gave me confidence in my own skills and let me walk with more ease.

We camped at an established spot called Jimmy Campground. That night was one of the coldest I’d experienced so far. I set up my tent, got inside, and even cooked there, as the wind made eating outside far from enjoyable.

Hiking in a group

The next morning, when I packed up my tent, I noticed Lenette had already packed hers and started walking. Sunscream was doing the same, packing up to start the day.

The day before, they had hiked together, staying in a close-knit group and making sure no one fell behind. But today, everyone was setting off independently since the trail was much safer than the day before.

Time for reflexion

This way of hiking in a group really appealed to me. On the dangerous sections, safety was the priority, but on the easier parts, each of us could decide whether to hike with others or alone. In these 26 days on the PCT, I realized that I really enjoy hiking solo. And then the big question comes up: What do you think about during those long hours walking alone? Don’t you get bored?

My answer so far is: No, not at all. I just walk, let my mind wander, and enjoy every moment. It’s simple. Of course, as the hours pass and exhaustion kicks in, it can be tiring. But instead of feeling stressed, I see it as just another part of the adventure.

Alternative routes

Coming down from the mountain toward the highway, I learned that the next section of the trail was closed. Unlike other closures I’d encountered, this one was final, with absolutely no entry allowed. The restriction was to protect local wildlife between Eagles Roost Picnic Area and Burkhart Trail. Since we’re all nature protectors, we hikers decided to respect the closure and take alternative routes.

The endangered animal in this area is the Mountain Yellow-Legged Frog. I was surprised that the trail was closed instead of being rerouted. It wasn’t clear if it was a seasonal measure, taken because this time of year impacts the frogs more, or if an alternative route just hadn’t been developed in this area of the PCT.

Old Friends

Reaching HW2, I met several hikers who had chosen to skip the climb to Mt. Baden Powell’s summit. It was a nice reunion; I told them about the beautiful summit and the unique views. Although the weather had been nice, the strong wind had made things challenging. The tents still set up were shaking and swaying, showing signs of wear, and some were even fraying at the edges.

Walking on the HW

While I was chatting with the hikers, Lars and Alice arrived. All of us were keeping an eye on the frog closure. The PCT remained open until Williamson Rock, about 5 miles ahead, from where we were advised to walk along HW2 to Buckhorn Campground. The hikers who hadn’t climbed Mt. Baden Powell were already walking along the highway and decided to continue rather than rejoin the PCT.

I wanted to stay on the trail—not out of stubbornness but because I preferred being in nature rather than on the asphalt. Alice and Lars felt the same, so we continued together along a zigzagging PCT that crossed the highway every mile or so. Reaching Williamson Rock, we walked the last 2.5 miles on the highway. Walking on pavement saves energy and lets you move faster, but I find it unbearably boring. Alice and Lars were laughing because I was practically sleepwalking.

Cooper Canyon Falls

The trail steadily descended, making it easy to keep a good pace since gravity helps with the downhill. The terrain was soft with few big rocks. Arriving at Buckhorn Campground, we found Lenette, who had started walking half an hour before us from Jimmy Campground. 

There was a small detour on the trail leading to some falls—a perfect spot for lunch and a break.

FarOut recommended the stop at Cooper Canyon Falls as a must-see, and wow, they were right! We’d had days of cold and wind, but entering this area in the San Gabriel Mountains felt different. The trees blocked the wind, creating a calm, sheltered space.

The Impact of Wind While Hiking

Wind can have a huge impact when you’re hiking. No matter the direction, it can make things challenging. If it’s head-on, it slows you down, making each step feel like an uphill climb. Carrying a 60L backpack that weighs about 20% of your body weight adds to the struggle, as it increases the surface area hit by the wind. When the wind hits from the side, the pack creates a lot of instability, making it harder to keep your balance.

The least bothersome scenario is when the wind is at your back, giving you a little extra push forward. But even then, you need to be careful, especially on zigzagging trails, so you don’t overshoot on the turns.

See you later

Alice, Lars, and Lenette took a lunch break at the falls. Since I had already eaten earlier, I decided to keep going. I’d gotten used to hiking with them, and I felt I’d miss them for the rest of the day. But I know we’ll probably meet again down the trail. Though I enjoy their company, I also value those solo moments to keep experiencing this journey.

Sulphur Spring

That day, I continued hiking alone. The sun was setting, so I looked for a place to camp. I seemed to be approaching a dry area, as the campsites nearby had no water source. Using FarOut, I found a campsite a few miles ahead in a valley called South Fork Little Rock.

Sulphur Springs Trail Camp was a luxury: tables, a stream, toilets, and a fire pit area. I camped beside a table, which made organizing my gear easy without getting everything dusty. Once settled, I cooked and ate while sitting—a real treat!

I waited for Alice, Lars, and Lenette, but they didn’t show up. Maybe they’d stopped earlier or continued on—who knows! I trust that the trail will bring us back together at some point. Hiking with them feels like it boosts my chances of reaching that far-off goal: getting to Canada and covering more than 2,200 miles!

When the magic appears

I set out early with a firm goal: to cover 25 miles (40 km). If I managed that, I’d be close enough to reach town the next day. It was clear the temperature was rising, and the vegetation was getting lower. I found it strange because lower vegetation usually means going uphill, not downhill. Clearly, as I was approaching desert terrain, the large trees began losing the necessary biome to survive here.

Magic call

Focused on the trail, enjoying the surroundings, I stumbled upon something totally unexpected:

There it was, a disposable plate stuck to a PCT post, and on it, in blue, the sacred words “Trail Magic.”

I couldn’t remember the names of these two Trail Angels—I should have written them down on my phone! I liked to keep track of everyone who helped me along the way, to remember and thank them, and to stay connected to see what life had in store for them.

What I’ll never forget, though, is the feeling and the moment I shared with them. Trail Angels eagerly await the arrival of hikers to lend a hand. It’s like having guests over—you’ve got everything ready and just sit back, waiting for them to arrive. That’s exactly how these two felt when I saw them: sitting, with a table ready, tossing a ball for their dog. Their dog happily dashed up and down the mountain slopes, chasing after it.

Places to do Magic

Their setup surprised me. It was in a remote, dry spot, right after a tough climb, no matter if you were going north or south. In other words, a rough spot for hikers, where having food ready and a cold drink isn’t just a dream—it’s a utopia. Despite the challenging location, these two had driven up here to work their magic.

They had hiked the PCT last year and were familiar with trails like this, so they knew exactly what a hiker craves. Cheese is an amazing treat; I hadn’t packed any on the trail because, for its weight, it doesn’t give a hiker many carbs or protein. It’s not exactly efficient… though that’s not entirely true because it provides one important thing: happiness!

They even offered a cold beer! Not exactly the best for hydration, but far too good to pass up.

The portal isn’t far

The conversation with these Trail Angels was incredible. Once you’ve hiked the PCT, you have a million questions about the stages to come. They assured me I’d find a way through any challenge. All I had to do was… keep walking, lol. They lived in Yosemite. Yes, Yosemite, in the mountains! I hadn’t even been on the trail a month, and I’d already met these former thru-hikers who’d driven all the way from Yosemite to this remote spot to help hikers.

The fact that the Sierras—arguably one of the hardest parts of the PCT—were nearby filled me with excitement. Our conversation left me energized (along with the banquet I enjoyed, of course). All I had to do was finish descending into the Mojave Desert, cross it, and soon enough, the Sierras would rise in my path.

I knew I was descending because I started losing sight of the desert’s flat landscape and could no longer see the mountain range marking the start of the Sierras. The heat was intensifying, though I was grateful the sun was low. I decided to end the day at Messenger Flat Campground, another established site where I could set up camp comfortably. It had been a fantastic day; I’d hiked 40 km (25 miles), still felt energized, and had time to rest. My next resupply town was only 40 km away—Agua Dulce was within reach.

Another farewell

Just as I was settling down for the night, cozy in my tent and sleeping bag, I heard, “Hey, Roadrunner, is that you?” It was the unmistakable cheerful voice of Lars! He, Lenette, and Alice had finally reached my campsite after a long day of hiking. I jumped up excitedly to chat with them! They were exhausted but thrilled to be there. Water sources had been scarce on the descent, so having a campground with water was a blessing.

Then they shared some unexpected news: Lars’s PCT journey was coming to an end. Though he was in excellent shape, he hadn’t been able to get enough time off work to complete the entire PCT. His goal had been to spend as much time as possible on the trail with Alice, experiencing what might be the adventure of their lives. He had shared much of his knowledge from the CDT, which had been a huge morale boost for all of us.

They planned to walk together until Agua Dulce, where they’d take some time off trail to say their goodbyes. This meant we’d be parting ways for a while. It’s amazing how strong the bonds with fellow hikers become after just a few days together. Even though we’d likely cross paths again, I felt a pang of sadness knowing I wouldn’t be walking with them. But there was always a motivation ahead of me to keep pushing—the incredibly fast High Five!

Walking to Agua Dulce

I woke up early, earlier than usual, for a simple reason: only 40 km separated me from my next resupply. Soon, I’d be able to talk with friends and eat real food. Just twelve more hours of hiking, and I’d be there. Starting before dawn meant cooler temperatures, which would help since the heat picked up significantly around 10 a.m. My strategy was to drink plenty of water and slow down in the heat.

The Mojave is one of the four deserts in the U.S., the smallest of them. It’s created by mountain ranges to the west that block the rain from the coast, resulting in an arid zone where the vegetation becomes scarcer as you move eastward.

In this section, the PCT descends from the Baden-Powell mountain range into the Mojave. The trail doesn’t stay in the desert for long; instead, it crosses it to reach the Tehachapi Mountains.

The Power Lines

The power lines along the trail caught my attention; they took me back to my work in Uruguay. I’m an electrical engineer for the only company responsible for power transmission and distribution in my country. Seeing these power lines in such remote, mountainous terrain was incredible. The vast distances and the rugged mountain landscape are no easy feat.

The powerful winds in this area are an additional challenge for maintaining safety distances. Those winds likely make it ideal for wind turbines, as I’d already seen some along these mountain wind corridors.

Acton

On this descent, I crossed Soledad Canyon Rd, a highway running through a valley with noticeable water flow. The areas with water were easy to spot due to the rebirth of surrounding vegetation. Acton, a small town with decent resupply options, is connected to this PCT point by the road. My goal, though, was Agua Dulce, where the PCT runs right through the middle, saving me time on resupply.

The desert appears

I crossed the highway and stopped for lunch by the Santa Clara River. A quick break to refuel and hydrate, but the spot was a bit rustic and dirty. The water was slightly murky, but it was what I had. I filled my bottles, hoping the electrolytes would mask the taste.

Walking in that dry, intense heat was affecting everyone. I could see it in the tired faces, downward gazes, and slowed paces. Strangely, I seemed to adapt to the desert heat better than expected, though I quickly learned how fast dehydration set in.

Walking in that dry, intense heat was affecting everyone. I could see it in the tired faces, downward gazes, and slowed paces. Strangely, I seemed to adapt to the desert heat better than expected, though I quickly learned how fast dehydration set in.

Light at the end of the tunnel

The trail leveled out as I entered a valley of low, brittle, intensely dry vegetation. The temperature was hitting 35°C, so I was stopping frequently. The trail led towards a busy highway, full of trucks rumbling along. Almost there! This was the Antelope Valley Freeway. I’d have to cross it through a drainage tunnel beneath the road.

The light shift entering the tunnel was intense, making my eyes squint—”achinarse,” we say, like the almond-shaped eyes associated with East Asia. I captured the contrast in a photograph: a low-key image, with light at the tunnel’s end, reflecting in the rippling water. This image holds deep meaning, perhaps resembling the sensation we perceive when we come into the world—a glimpse of light. Maybe that’s why we say “giving birth,” as light is the first thing we see.

Curiously, many link this vision to the end of life, describing a light at the end of a tunnel, without fear or pain, just moving toward it. For me, it’s a fascinating mystery, a meeting point between the rational and irrational, where science’s limits become clear.

The cycle: Knowledge and Mystery

Our understanding is rooted in observation, in the empirical; it’s from this foundation that science builds its “laws.” Since not everyone returns from that journey we call life and death with vivid memories, we can’t base scientific principles on this phenomenon. Yet, ironically, this limitation frees my mind to imagine. My thoughts are shaped by science and the laws of physics—after all, I am an electrical engineer—but here, I reach a boundary I enjoy exploring. I find it fascinating that the first image we see when born is a common experience for those who almost leave this world. In this, I see a cycle, a link, an eternal loop.

Reflecting on this draws me closer to the idea that life returns in some form. In the earthly sense, that’s true: our bodies return to the earth, nourishing new forms of life. What happens to what we call the soul, our essence… I can’t say. But I feel certain we’re part of something much larger.

The tadpoles I saw outside the tunnel deepened this reflection. These tiny creatures, just beginning their lives, moved about in a small puddle right at the tunnel’s edge. It’s a beautiful mystery, one that perhaps our minds will never fully grasp.

Vasquez Rocks

Continuing my hike, I reached the scenic point that draws so many hikers each day: Vasquez Rocks Natural Area Park. This rock formation, created millions of years ago, is the result of rapid erosion of rocks thrust upward by the movement of the San Andreas fault. This area is close to my next town destination: Agua Dulce.

While there, I delved into the story behind this rocky landscape. The name “Vasquez” comes from a member of a notorious band of outlaws, Tiburcio Vásquez. He hid here in these rock formations to evade the authorities, but when he was caught, the site inherited his name.

Agua Dulce

After leaving Vasquez Rocks, the homes of the Agua Dulce community soon came into view. The area was incredibly arid and surrounded by mountains, which struck me as contradictory to its name. In English, Agua Dulce means “Sweet Water,” or drinkable water. Yet, this landscape wasn’t abundant in drinkable water, making the name quite ironic.  

I’d never seen a town nestled within such an arid, mountainous setting. Its unique beauty was striking, especially in contrast to the previous towns I’d passed on the PCT. Tranquility filled the area; only 3,500 residents live here year-round. I found the only restaurant in town, where I treated myself to an ice-cold beer and some Mexican food.

I had made it! I completed my first desert section and felt great. My body felt strong and ready for the journey ahead. Since most places were closing for the night, I set up camp at Serenity’s Oasis, a hiker-friendly campsite. It offered all the luxuries a hiker appreciates: laundry, showers, and drinkable water.

A Path of Light Through a Sweet-Watered Desert

This section of the PCT is perfectly described by the title of this post. It was my first immersion into the desert, where I faced heat I wasn’t used to, but surprisingly, I had no trouble overcoming it. It felt paradoxical to arrive at a community called Agua Dulce, in the midst of such an arid area—one of those mysteries that remain unresolved for me, likely with an explanation I just haven’t uncovered yet.

The reflection on the light at the end of the tunnel is something that stayed with me during my walks—something that sparks great curiosity and a mystery that, clearly, I won’t be able to solve. But just thinking about it has opened my mind, and later on, I’ll find other answers and ways of thinking to keep expanding my soul. I’m feeling really happy on the trail. I’ve started adapting to this challenge, and the enjoyment grows more and more each day. I’m excited for what’s to come! There’s still a lot of PCT ahead.

I took the opportunity to rest, planning to return to the trail the next day with a goal in mind: to reach one of the most iconic spots on the PCT—the Los Angeles Aqueduct. Join me in my next post, where I’ll share more about the upcoming stages of this incredible adventure.

Thank you all for being here!