Hallelujah! Finally a tolerable week! All of the mosquitoes must have froze to death during last week’s storm, the terrain took it fairly easy on us, and the weather was mild. The past few weeks have felt like a voluntary death march meets American Ninja Warrior course, so the smoother trail was a very welcome change of pace. I nearly met my demise on Carson Pass, but otherwise it was a glorious week on the PCT.
Our time at Kennedy Meadows North felt like it was over before it even began. Way too soon we were packed into the shuttle driven by Gary and Jessie, headed up the pass back to the PCT. Gary offered us a bit of local history as he navigated the winding road. For some reason it’s always easier to get back out on the trail when we feel like we’re connected, in some way, to the area we’ll be hiking in, so we very much appreciated the history lesson. Of course we were greeted back to the trail with a climb. We felt strong though and seemingly flew up it. We had offloaded a lot of our heavy gear required for the High Sierras in Kennedy Meadows North, and the lighter packs made a huge difference. We quickly reached the top of the steep 3.5 mile climb, and in true PCT fashion were rewarded with loads of wet sloppy snow covering the trail for miles. We were fast coming up the mountain, but it was painfully slow going down.
The next few days were rather uneventful - to an extent, we prefer it that way! Vast beautiful views greeted us at the top of each climb. We quickly began to notice the landscape change. Instead of the sharp granite peaks of the High Sierras, the mountains became rounder, tree covered, and much less intimidating. We camp with Amy and Paul each night now, and hike with them on and off throughout the day. We’re not quite sure why they put up with us, but we don’t ask, because we quite enjoy their company and hope to continue the journey alongside them. Each day they teach us a new British saying. Chris’s favorite is “have a slash”, which means to go pee. He has the world’s smallest bladder, so about every 30 minutes he loudly and proudly announces that he’s stopping to “have a slash”. Of course this announcement comes in a British accent.
Our final full day on the trail was a bit more eventful. We’d cross our final pass of the Sierras - Carson Pass. The approach up the pass was less dramatic than many of the passes prior, but the snow traverses were no joke. They were slick and sloshy, and a misstep could have meant cartwheeling to your death down a steep rocky cliff. Luckily, we’d kept our micro-spikes. It would have been nearly impossible for me - Chris could have managed - to maneuver myself across without the added traction. Even with it, I hardly made it in one piece. The wind was blowing fiercely again. It wasn't a steady wind, instead it would come in sudden intense gusts. As I inched across the snow at the steepest part, where it’d take a whole boatload of miracles to survive a fall, the biggest gust of the day came out of nowhere and literally swept me off my feet. I landed - half of me hanging over the edge, the other half desperately clinging to the sloshy snow. The wind kept up, seemingly intentionally pushing me further over the edge. Through sobs I screamed, “WHO THE F*CK IS TRYING TO KILLE ME??”. It really felt like someone cursed the wind to push me to my death. But finally it let up, and I pulled myself to my feet. Every inch of me trembled violently as I moved across the rest of the traverse, fearing another gust would come for me at any second. Chris had made it across easily, cutting larger flatter steps with his ice ax as he went, to make it safer for the rest of us. He was taking his spikes off just out of view of me when the wind tried to kill me, so he was shocked to see my trembling body and tear-stricken face when he came back to check on me. I hadn’t quite made it across yet. He got to me as quickly as possible and I clung onto him like a koala. He essentially had to carry me across the remainder of the snow as I tried to explain, through embarrassingly loud snotty cries, what just happened. I couldn’t get down that mountain fast enough. I literally ran, with my spikes still on, down the muddy rocky trail for several miles until I neared the bottom. I finally gathered myself, took off my spikes, and silently apologized to the few people I could think of who might have it out for me. I waited a while for Chris - the same gust that attempted to steal my life, successfully stole his hat. He spent a while searching the pass and eventually found it. We both made it down the mountain alive and with all of our possessions. My memory of the events on Carson Pass may be a bit dramatized, but it was a terrifying experience nonetheless, and I’m beyond grateful to be done with sketchy passes for a whIke.
At the very bottom of the pass we came to a trailhead. We love trailheads, because they’re a hot-spot for trail magic. This was one of those magical trailheads. There was a welcome center, staffed by the most lovely people, with a cooler full of goodies out front. One of the things we crave most out here is fresh fruit. In the cooler we found perfectly ripened crisp apples. What a jackpot! In addition to fresh fruits and veggies, we have a lot of other cravings too. I haven’t eaten meat in 13 or 14 years, and I haven’t missed it once, until now. I think about hamburgers, stacked three or four patties high, and crispy chicken sandwiches from McDonald’s all the time. I don’t think I’ve ever had a crispy chicken sandwich from McDonald’s, but somehow my body knows they must be delicious. What I crave most though, is my Nanna’s fresh homemade salsa. I think about it often even when I’m not on the trail, but out here it consumes about 92% of my thoughts. Chris claims he doesn’t have too many specific cravings. He’d eat anything at any given time - he’s always starving.
The next morning we hiked a fast eight miles to the Echo Lake trailhead where we’d catch a hitch into South Lake Tahoe. We’d been having trouble getting hitches lately, so Paul suggested we spice things up a bit by standing in a line, holding hands, and making a wave-like motion with our arms sent down the line to last person who would absorb the wave and use the energy to thrust out their hitch-hiker thumb. It didn’t work. Next we tried hiding Chris and Paul while Amy and I stood on the roadside with our thumbs out. The first truck stopped. A guy in a nice white pickup truck pulled over and we all hopped in. He’s originally from the Donbas region, previously controlled by the Soviet Union. He asked us our opinions on the war in Ukraine. I got on my soapbox and passionately exclaimed how much of a narcissistic murderous asshole I believe Putin is. He then revealed to us he’s a Russian sympathizer… I shut up real fast. Thankfully Chris smoothly changed the course of the conversation and ended up befriending the guy. He dropped us off at the front door of our hotel and genuinely wished us well. Nice guy, but still brainwashed by Russian propaganda.
We were so looking forward to our stay in South Lake Tahoe. We hadn’t taken a zero since Mammoth nearly 200 miles ago, so we were due for a rest day. We got in on the weekend of Father’s Day, Juneteenth, a local marathon, and high school/college graduation. The town was busting at the seams with people. We had a ton of errands to complete, but everywhere we went had a line longer than the line to ride Space Mountain at Magic Kingdom. The town was pure chaos. After fighting the crowds for way too long we found refuge at Revive - a wine bar with the atmosphere of a brewery, complete with live music and a large outdoor patio area. We spent the evening there drinking a few too many glasses of wine and rocking out with the band. Other than Revive and one of the best meals of the trail - breakfast at Driftwood Cafe - South Lake Tahoe was a bit of a disappointment. We left feeling more exhausted than when we came in.
As much as our bodies craved another rest day, an actual rest day, we forced ourselves into the Uber that would take us back to the trailhead. Once we were back on the PCT we were grateful we made ourselves get back out there. We think we’re getting too used to the solitude of the trail. Busy towns leave us feeling overwhelmed and unrested.
South Lake Tahoe and the end of week ten marked 1,092 miles on the Pacific Crest Trail. We think we’re about halfway done in terms of time on the trail, and in just over 200 miles we’ll be halfway done in distance too.
Keep humpin’, y’all.
Comments