Southbound from Chester

Day 124 & 125

Zero days in Seattle

Day 126

You’d think I’d be rested after two zeros and three nights indoors. Not so, I slept maybe 20 minutes last night… too many thoughts swirling in my brain. Hobble-it and I got up at 3:00 a.m. to take a bus and then light rail to SeaTac, where we got on a plane to Reno. From the airport, we took a Lyft to Susanville, then caught the local bus to Chester. At 2:15 p.m., we were back on trail, headed south.

On the Washington PCT, I never experienced more than a light drizzle. Within 30 minutes of hiking the much drier state of California, I was both rained and hailed on. No pack cover, sigh. I made my sleeping mat into a cover over my pack’s brain. A mile in, I reached a sluggish stream with footbridge remnants. Being soaked, I left my shoes on and waded through the knee-deep water. Another half hour and the sun came out; I began to dry.

At the official PCT midpoint, Hobble-it and I took a dinner break. Funny to hit another major milestone within five days of reaching Canada; a weird year for sure! Remember how thoughts kept me up last night? I realized it was anxiety over post-trail life… feeling forgotten by the community I left behind. It helped to share my feelings with Hobble-it.

After 15.5 miles, the last two in the dark, I listened to my body and stopped at the Little Cub Spring junction. Hobble-it continued on; determined to hike 20 miles. There was another tent nearby, so I carefully aimed my headlamp while I erected mine.  As I settled in, two more hikers arrived and set up a tent. I left the rain fly off and gazed up at a field of stars.

Day 127

What a fabulous night’s sleep! After breakfast, I left my pack in my tent and hiked the 0.6 miles round trip to Little Cub Spring. It was a clear flow that suddenly popped out of an otherwise dry stream bed. The campsite had actual trees all around, but I was soon back in a burn area. I listened to podcasts and took a late morning coffee break.

Not long after the Frog Mountain junction, I found a sign that marked the divide between the Sierra and Cascade Ranges. It was done in a cute way, with each side welcoming the hiker to their new territory. My side said, “Welcome to Sierra Nevada” and noted the range as metamorphic (Calaveras Formation). Behind me was the volcanic (andesite) Cascade Range.

I hoped to make good time on the long downhill to the Feather River; however, the trail was almost entirely loose rock. My socks felt like sandpaper after getting wet yesterday and slowly drying on my feet. I took a break, found a cold stream in which to wash my feet and calves, then put on clean socks. It helped, though the impact began to bother my left foot.

Over the entire day, I encountered three NOBOs and no other SOBOs. I did have almost constant cell service, so I texted and chatted with my family. There was a lot of exciting stuff happening in Montana. After 29 miles, I camped near an equestrian trailhead and beside the North Fork of the Feather River. It was a sandy spot that felt delightfully soft.

Day 128

The day started with a 4,380-foot climb and ended being my longest day yet, 33.6 miles. Even though I woke early, it meant an hour or two of night hiking. Once again, I did not catch Hobble-it, as she did a similar length day.

I started off feeling lonely. This led to me being more garrulous than usual. By the top of the hill, I’d stopped to chat with three NOBO thru-hikers. The last, Al, warned of 83% chance of rain in two days. When I was about to break for lunch, I ran into two day hikers on their way to Spanish Peak. We all had Boulder, CO in common. One of the guys had read Wild and A Walk in the Woods, yet never met a thru-hiker in person. As we hiked, he peppered me with questions.

My loneliness dissolved in the light of the sun and the beauty of my surroundings. I looked down on Silver Lake, shaped like an amoeba and dotted with an island. Not long after encountering a bow hunter, I saw a four point buck who bounded away, then stopped to exchange a glance. I started and was drawn into the fascinating novel Babel by R.F. Kuang. It was a long but good day, and I camped beside a rushing creek.

Day 129

As I stood up from my morning cathole, I heard a noise from above. I looked up to see an owl gazing at me curiously. It flew one tree away and continued to stare with its large black eyes. Then it bobbed its head around in the totally cool way that owls do. A flurry of wings, and a second owl landed in a different tree off to my left. It looked like the first except with whiter feet. I hung out with them for a bit before I hiked on. Later I realized I was wearing my Darn Tough owl socks during the encounter.

The day started and remained overcast. Early on, I crossed a bridge high over the Middle Fork of the Feather River. In the distance the river was smooth as a mirror, while near at hand a field of rocks broke the flow into shallow whitewater. On the following ascent, I saw two giant banana slugs.

All morning I had the trail to myself, though as I finished lunch with a view, a SnoBo walked up. This year, SnoBo means a hiker who finished the desert then flipped to the Canadian border to walk south. Her name was Summer. I didn’t see her again until day’s end, when I camped nearby in a wooded spot.

Day 130

I woke to a light rain on my tent, yet it ended as I stepped outside. This made me think the warnings of Hurricane Hillary remnants had come to naught. Then the rain came pouring down for five or six hours. My jacket quickly wet through; luckily, I’d left my fleece on and, though damp, it trapped a pocket of warmth against my sun hoodie. Still, I got chilled, especially when buffeted by wind on ridges. I started fast walking the ups and running the downs. Once, I almost set up my tent, but I held the image of a dry Sierra City hotel room in my mind. When I got a chance to eat from my snack bag, my fingers had trouble gripping the food.

Near noon, I had a strong hole-digging urge, which I intended to ignore due to the rain. Suddenly, a campground appeared, and in the distance… a vault toilet! I beelined there and, after making use, bunkered down for around a half hour. It was nice to be out of the wind. I put a ProBar in my snack pouch. FarOut told me I’d gone 15.5 miles and had only 13 left. I peeked outside several times and set out when the rain let up.

In the afternoon, the sun came out now and then. The rain did not return. It was straight uphill from the campground and I loved it; I warmed up. I put on Babel and slowly dried. The last three miles downhill to Highway 49 were painful, as my left foot hurt with each step. At the road, I got my first solo hitch within seconds, from two guys who had recently started a B&B.

Hobble-it picked up our boxes and got us a room at the Old Sierra City Hotel, a hiker friendly establishment. We chatted for three or four hours, talking about the trail and Babel. Then I took a very welcome hot shower and climbed into the soft, cozy bed.