Not much was happening. I was on my own again, in between the subgroups of my trail family, so I hiked alone and camped with strangers every night. Because I was by myself there was nothing to do but walk, and I found myself crushing the miles. Bigger days knocked my necessary average daily mileage down (the average to finish on time was now 25 miles/day rather than the 27.6 of before), and I was encouraged by thought that I could afford shorter days in Washington. It was surprisingly cold, something I wasn't prepared for, and I often found myself shivering in the morning air before the hike warmed me up. The smoke faded away the further North I went, revealing stunning views and picture-perfect camp spots. I was delightfully surprised at the thrilling beauty of Oregon, and marveled at the ever-changing landscape.
Pictures tell the story best, so I'll let them take over for now:
You know its gonna be good if there is ice cream. Ice cream was delicious, but it made
me cold in the cold morning
The day was quiet and in the afternoon I stopped to make some tea-- something I rarely did. As I sipped my hot drink and looked at the unique rock dome in front of me, I realized all was right with the world. Well, maybe it wasn't, but for me it was. I checked out Obsidian Falls, a creek jumping off a cliff onto jagged black rocks. A huge red ball set amongst the streaked sky, turning the landscape new.
I had to step carefully through the jagged rocks and slid back on the loose gravel. My feet turned and twisted and slid. I was hiking over an ancient lava bed and the evidence was everywhere. I crested a hill and gasped; the morning sun turned the trees a vibrant green that collided with the cool blue of the mountains and earthy red rocks.
Incredible morning views
Incredible lava flows
Later that day I found myself at Big Lake Youth Camp enjoying a shower, Wi-Fi, and laundry. When dinner came I joined the other hikers for a huge feast before setting up my tent on the edge of the property. That was the end of the pleasant, calm days; little did I know the hike was about to change.
It's a good thing I got out when I did, or else I may have taken an unintentional zero. I had already packed up my tent when I noticed it was misting, and the 3/4 mile from Big Lake Youth Camp back to the PCT did little to warm me up in the dreary morning. My stomach rumbled as I trudged up the trail, the miles dragging on forever. I forced myself to make it to a lovely lake before stopping to enjoy a hot mountain house breakfast. I had picked it up in the hiker box, and decided to eat it to celebrate the 2000 mile achievement that lay a few miles away.
2000 miles. For the second time in my life, I started down at the indicator that I had done something massive. And once again, my mind didn't comprehend what my body had done. I moved on with little ceremony, pushing up a 2000 foot climb. It was gentle, but took forever, and the thickening fog awarded no views. The wind followed me as I turned downhill, and a patch of blue appeared above. Knowing full well it was probably a sucker hole (you would be a sucker to think it would clear up), I didn't get my hopes up, but celebrated the momentary patch of sun that tried to peek through the clouds. I pulled over for lunch to take advantage of the warm sun, and prepared my pb&j tortilla with numb fingers.
As expected, the sun didn't last long, and I found myself climbing up to another exposed ridge line under dark thickening clouds. The misty rain came back with the higher elevation, this time strengthening its efforts to destroy me. The wind whipped around me, threatening to push me over and causing me to stumble. Tiny droplets of rainy mist blew at me sideways, and over time had my pants and shoes soaked through. My wet pants clung to my legs and my feet turned numb. I desperately wished I had my rain pants and another warm layer. I guessed it was around 40 degrees, and with the wind and rain I knew the conditions for hypothermia were perfect. I kept up a brisk pace to generate body heat, cursing the trial for running on top of a mountain ridge for 6 miles and exposing me to the worst of the weather. Despite all this, I remained positive despite the less than perfect conditions. Embrace the suck.
Finally the trial turned downhill, and I eagerly rushed out of the relentless wind into the shelter of trees. Without the distraction of the wind and rain, I started to notice the pain. My feet hurt. The lava rocks from the day before had not been kind to them, and I hobbled for a bit, favoring my right foot. It felt like I had a bruise on my bone. I became aware of how incredibly tired I was and shuffled the remaining 3 miles to the river where I pitched my tent in the bushes and boiled water for another gourmet mountain house meal. The craziness of the day made the coziness of the tent so much more satisfying. I snuggled into my sleeping bag, warm and dry. Without the sun to guide the time, time didn't exist, and the day had flown by. 33.3 miles. A new personal record.
I stared at the pile of my wet, dirty clothes sitting on my tent floor, avoiding the inevitable. I sighed; sometimes you gotta do what you don't want to do. I wiggled into my pants, the cold damp fabric instantly clinging to my legs. Next were the muddy socks. It was at times like this when I missed the luxury of a clean pair of clothes. Then the moment of truth-- would it be sunny or cloudy? The rain had pattered on my tent not an hour earlier as I had slowly started to get ready for the day. I unzipped my fly to find cloudy skies, but the clouds were lifting, and birdsong broke through the trees. It gave me hope.
A 3000 foot climb. I poked around on the way up, taking my time in the clearing weather. Finally the clouds dissolved to reveal a distant Mt. Jefferson. Incredible! I ate huckleberries, took pictures, and paused to gaze at the scenery way too often. The good weather was slowing me down, but I was thoroughly enjoying it.
Mt. Jefferson
I headed toward Olallie Lake Resort to resupply; I had little food, as a package hadn't arrived in time and I was living off of hiker box food until the next resupply option. Upon further investigation in my guide I discovered there was no restaurant at this resort, and my dreams of delicious food vanished. Further, I found the resort only accepted cash, and my hopes of a good resupply dwindled. I only had $7 in cash, and needed 3 days of food. If worst came to worst, I could stock up on 50 cent Ramen and oatmeal for every meal. Nervously, I made my way up the path. I felt like I was going back in time. There was no electrical hum or modern decor. I set my pack outside of an old country store sitting on the edge of a lake with a mountain view. I pulled out my $7, and my only hope for a decent resuppy- a check. Yup, thats right, I had carried a check from Mexico, slipping it into my plastic wallet bag before I started the trial for emergencies such as this. I breathed a sigh of relief when they confirmed they did indeed take checks, and I took multiple laps around the tiny store to make sure I got absolutely everything I needed. I only had one check, so if I forgot to buy something then I had no way of getting it after the check was written. The shop keeper punched some numbers into a calculator and told me the total. I carefully studied the check, trying to remember exactly how to fill out the ancient form. It had been a year since I had written one, and I have maybe only written 10-20 in my entire life. After misspelling the resort name, probably writing out the numbers in the wrong format, and almost signing my trail name on the signature line, I handed the check over to the clerk. He carefully studied it, making me feel like a student waiting for the teacher to scrutinize my work. Apparently I had done an acceptable job, for all he commented on was that he, too was once from IL. Relieved, I piled the poptarts, candy bars, and chips into my arms and made my way back outside. I took a half hour or so to eat some chips and salsa on the lake shore. It was no hot meal, but it was better than normal trial food.
Chips and salsa with a view
I stopped to set up camp a few miles after the resort. It was an unexpectedly short day (20 miles), but I had discovered that morning that there were only 100 miles left in Oregon; it had crept up on me. That meant there was limited time to do the 50 mile challenge, and I had decided that the next day was the perfect day to do it. I went to bed before the sun set, trying to get every ounce of sleep possible before the early start the following day. I would need it.
Early to bed, early to rise...
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