#hikertown

I look forward to the day when the PCT is finally re-routed through the Tejon Ranch property avoiding the crossing of this arm (above photo) of the Mojave . . . the dreaded L.A. Aqueduct walk.  But, it can be beautiful . . . surprisingly so.

There will be new traditions that come with the re-route.  No stories of Hikertown, night crossings, the long and dry climb up from Tylerhorse Canyon, the spectacular April flowers.

The long climb into the Tehachapis

Water in the desert south is delivered in many ways beyond the spring, the creek, and the lake.  As Trouble and Rogue document on their 2018 thru-hike, there is the guzzler, the barrel, and the cache.  The guzzler -- there are several near the trail along the PCT above Lake Hughes -- is an ingenious system developed to support wildlife.  The large metal roof gathers precipitation and protects the reservoir below from excessive evaporation. The barrel, a rather recent development supported by the LA Dept of Water and Power, was installed at least for 2018 above the inaccessible LA Aqueduct north of Hikertown.  And caches have been fortuitously placed in many locations along the trail.  As it oft repeated, all three of these options are NOT to be relied upon although they are wonderful when available.

“Uphill” encountered “One Man Band” walking north along the LA aqueduct with a guitar strapped to his pack. “Uphill” stopped to chat and observed,

“Everyone who thru-hikes carries a part of themselves with them. For One Man Band, it is the love of music and the way that music opens people up to self expression. One Man Band told me that he found PCT hikers particularly expressive. I’ve seen this myself with the art created at hiker hangouts like Casa de Luna and in a number of PCT 2018 signature banners. One Man Band also carries drumsticks, a small kettle drum (forgot to ask whether this doubles as a cooking pot), and a harmonica. At Hikertown he brought out his instruments and played the Hikertown piano as other hikers joined in with an improv session.“

Michael ‘Pause’ Meyer, a former Newsweek editor and author, is dean of the Graduate School of Media and Communications at the Aga Khan University in Nairobi. This necessitates him periodically leaving the trail and flying back to Kenya and then returning.  Despite the logistical nightmare of a global commute, he is hiking as much of the PCT in 2018 as he can. This is an excerpt from his journal entry from the last day of May shortly before a return to East Africa. 

As you would expect, his writing rises far above most of the accounts written from the trail.  It is a delightful and refreshing read. His blog is:  https://pacificcresttrail2018.com/

Facts versus feelings, science versus psychology.

Ask a PCT thru-hiker where the desert ends and the mountains begin, and the answer will be unequivocal: Kennedy Meadows, gateway to the Sierras. That’s where alpine peaks, glacial streams and pine forests supplant sand, sun and cacti.

Scientists, however, will tell you differently. Geologically, the Sierras begin at Tehachapi Pass, bisected by Highway 58. To the south is the Mojave; to the north, the foothills of the Sierras. We hikers may find they look a lot like what we’ve been walking through for the past 500 miles. But in fact, Tehachapi marks a new beginning, a climactic and geological fresh chapter. Which is great. Because, psychologically, I am done with desert. So is everyone else.

The hike from Cottonwood Creek to the Tehachapi – Willow Springs road is 23 miles. I start a bit after 6 am. In the soft sand beneath Cottonwood Creek bridge, hikers are rousing themselves from tents and sleeping bags, preparing to start the day. As predicted, a weather front has rolled through. Temperatures overnight were in the 40s. They will not rise much above 70, according to forecast. This could not be more welcome.

Like many, I’ve been anxious about this last stretch of desert, almost to the point of not wanting to do it. The heat is one reason, the long carries between water sources another. But none of this is new. There have been hotter days, including the very first from Campo. So why the uncharacteristic jitters?

Maybe I sense it’s the end of something. We are all so eager to have the desert behind us. And yet, it has been wonderful — surprising in its austere beauty, even more in its diversity, from featureless scrub to high alpine meadows and those beautiful oak glades in-between.

There’s also fear of the new. The Sierras are still bound by snow; stream crossings can be dangerous in the spring melt. Trail angel Mary, driving me from the train from LAX to Hiker Heaven just a few days ago, warned me against venturing in too soon. Within the past ten days, she said, there was as much four feet of fresh snow around Mt Whitney.

Last year at this time, she gave rides to a pair of Asian girls, Tree and Buttercup, one Chinese, the other Korean. Both died in stream crossings. “I had a terrible premonition about them,” she told me on the road to Agua Dulce. “They were so small, not even five feet tall.” And they seemed over-confident. “Don’t go alone. Don’t cross those rivers without other hikers,” she told them. As it happened, neither listened. “We’ll be ok,” each said. The Korean girl hadn’t told her family she was hiking the PCT. They learned when informed of her death.

Perhaps this is my age speaking. And I am a father of four. In a long career as a correspondent, I have seen wonderful and terrible things — wars, revolutions, the strength and triumphs of ordinary people in the face of danger or adversity, but also their weakness, their capacity for bestiality or mere foolishness. By nature, we behave as though all will be well, however difficult whatever it is we might undertake. But with years, we also learn how badly things can go wrong, often beginning with the smallest things. Like underestimating the force of a small river, perhaps only ten feet wide and three deep.

Whatever my doubts, they vanish on the trail. A brisk winds blows; hikers are bundled against the chill in fleeces and rain jackets. The land is completely featureless — grass and sparse sage — save for the ubiquitous wind turbines, ghostly in the dawn light. They tower above us, in endless rows, emitting a weird whirring noise, their spikey blades miming the even weirder Joshua trees doing their Joshua tree thing. The mountains to the south are cloaked in cloud.

After a steep 3500-foot climb, six miles along, the trail plunges into Tylerhorse Canyon. Three guys who left Hikertown last night are gathering water from the trickling stream and smoking weed. I quickly camel a liter and refill my bottle. “Man, one guy last night was doing acid,” one says. Another: “At midnight, I just sucked down a beer and kept going.” An older guy with a white beard, soft-spoken Bill, listens off to the side as the other three cough roughly after their hit. One hiked 42 miles yesterday and looks wasted.

That turns out to be the pattern. Up one canyon, down another, repeat. All this through the brown, brown hills of southern California where the tallest bush is scarcely knee-high. And yet: even at mid-morning, the day remains cool. The wind blows atop the ridges. With the Mojave and its wind farms stretching far below, it is like walking on top of the world. I gulp huge breaths of air, drinking it in like water.

At 10 am, about ten miles in, I take a break at the bottom of Gamble Spring Canyon. It’s faintly disheartening to walk down the long switch-backs in full view of another set rising 1500 feet on the other side. At the summit ridge of Burns Mountain, there’s an improbable water cache with eight or ten chairs clustered under a red parasol. It even has a name: the “549” Bar & Grill — Fine Dining with a View.” House specials: Lizard Chips, Jack Rabbit Stew, Rattle Snake and Eggs.

Brandon, Penguin Pants, Ranger and Missing Person are there, along with a few others. The talk is of Odysseus, the sacred weight of hospitality in the ancient world and its echo on the PCT. As the Greek mythic hero was blown around the Aegean, he was taken in by various tribes of the Greek islands, like the Lotus Eaters, after their fashion – much as we are by trail angels. “Contrast that to Cyclops, who ate his guests,” says Yoseki. “And look what happened to him.”

Yoseki is one of the few who trail-named himself, a composite of his three favorite places in the world – Yosemiti, Sequoia and King’s Canyon national parks, all just a skip up the trail at this point. Thinking of my own imminent departure, I mention how hard it is to leave the trail, even briefly, and how I (at least) display symptoms of withdrawal, as if from a drug. “We live in Valhalla, everyday day,” Yoseki replies, still in his mythic meme. “It’s a hard place to come down from.” That’s why he recently retired from his legal practice, he adds. “So I can do stuff like this.”

The trail drops down to Willow Springs Road along pine-speckled ridges and field after field of wind turbines in their thousands. The reason they are here by now is obvious: this is one of the most consistently breezy places on earth. At times, the wind is strong enough to knock you sideways on the trail – bam, Bam, BAM! But it’s exhilarating, as well, and I keep gulping in the fresh gusts like someone who has just emerged from a vast desert into a land of cool and refreshing lakes.

It’s another of those very special days, perhaps uniquely common on the PCT, where all feels well in the world, and that deep within the gods are with you.

The view out over this arm of the Mojave and the Tehachapi Mountains as one descends from the Libre Mountains is stunning.  It is rather unfortunate that the next arid and often surreal 30 miles have yet to be replaced by the more elegant solution that avoids this hot and dry passage by staying much higher and routing through the Tejon Ranch. 

The surreal desert crossing really begins at Hikertown, not far from where Randy Godfrey’s photo was taken.  (I suggest you read my own profile of Hikertown: http://pcttrailsidereader.com/post/143998350458/hikertown) Admittedly, Hikertown is an oasis of sorts . . . on the very fringes of civilization and, fortuitously, at the beginning of a long walk beside or on top of the LA aqueduct where there is not a drop of water to drink until Tylerhorse Canyon (there is often a cache part of the way along the aqueduct and a sometimes working spigot at the north end of the aqueduct).

Day 102 – Another day another detour 

PCT day 15 

Unfortunately my time with all these trail Angels must be short lived with my accelerated schedule and I had to say good bye to the Andersons and hello to another fire detour including a long highway road walk. But not before having pancakes and coffee in the morning. Then the long arduous walk began. Luckily clouds dotted the sky and I was able to get some shade and relief from the…