We left this morning from the Oasis, fat and fed and well rested--it's incredible, the difference between sleeping on a hillside and sleeping on a nice flat lawn. Allister, a Calgarian who is spending a week or so at the Oasis with his wife Gail (they hiked the PCT in 2003) helping Pat and Paul out for when the rush occurs next week, dropped us off at the trailhead on route 74, and we were off.
The San Jacintos are the first real deal mountains we pass through. Almost immediately we felt the steeper grade as we ascended up towards the snow capped crest of Fuller Ridge and Mount San Jacinto in the distance.
The terrain changed drasticaly as well, today. Scrubby, low chapparal and sandy hillsides were replaced more and more each hour with big coned Coulter Pines, graceful aromatic Cedars and Oak, all planted precarioisly in the nooks and crannies between massive boulders and solid granite walls. These were defintely the mountains, with their crisp, speckled white turrets, as I'd always imagined them--first standing isolated in my imagination as the backdrop to the cartoons I grew up watching (I picture Goofy goes alpine skiing, Gargamel's castle with lightning cracking overhead, the Gummibears' quick car speeding down the rails and shooting itself out of a cliffside cave) and later realizing themselves to me, emblematically, as the symbol of the American West.
So we climbed and climbed, stopping briefly to note the now, seemingly, meager and miniscule height of 6500 ft--previously our highest upwards achievement. By the end of the day, we topped out near the 7500 ft, crossing a couple patches of snow on the north facing wall of a ravine in the late afternoon. We had expected to see more, perhaps even a consistent and menacing cover starting starkly at 7000 ft, but the sun must have been doing its thing, clearing our way for us daily as we approached the divide this past week.
The snow in the Jacintos has been a pretty standard topic of discussion thusfar out on the trail, at water stops, in towns, whenever we come across someone keeping a clip close to ours. At the kickoff some local folks gave reports of feet upon feet of snow, no trail visibility, potentially dangerous conditions for those without mountaineering or significant snow hiking and orienteering experience. Four people had gone up together along the section of trail that we took today and upon losing their way in the snow, dicided to split up and try to find the route collectively. At the end of the day, only three of them were accounted for and it was some time before the fourth was heard from again--it wasn't made clear, however, if this fourth, a german, had been incredibly lost or if he had simply neglected to check in with the others following their expedition. Whatever the case, the message was clear: Hikers beware the snow on San Jacinto.
Since the kickoff it comes up daily.
"I heard they got 2 more feet last night. Didn't you see those clouds up there?"
"I hope you've considered an alternate route. You can road walk past Fuller Ridge, you know. I did it in 2001 and that was a low snow year!"
"What are you all gonna do in the snow?"
"Don't know, what about you?"
and on and on...
There is a funny way that people who do have a plan about how to approach such delicate and daunting issues as the snow pack this year or the prospect of a "flip-flop" will bring up the subject. A great attempt is made to come across with a sense of supreme self assurance and confidence--these plans have to be sold to the other hikers as a part of a legitimazation process. Too often these speculations and plans come up in conversation just too quickly to feel natural, suspiciously juxtaposed to grand disclaimers of daily mileage and pointed, off-hand reference to every other impressive hike ever embarked upon. "Oh hey, how's it goin'? Nice day out. But not as nice as two years ago when I was here, or in '86 when I did the AT. Yeah, you know what was really beautiful, the view up on top of Mt. Fuji. Yeah, did that last year." and on...
The people we've met have been a pretty odd bunch. I guess it should come as no surprise. Perhaps, setting out to do something like this necessarily comes at an odd time in one's life--a transition, be it as a result of other life circumstances or as a catalyst, the hike itself an attempt to bring change. For the most part, the folks we've met have been quite a bit older than us--retirees, ranging in age anywhere from 40 to 65, many of them longtime hikers, veterans of other season long through-hikes.
Today we ended up hiking with a young guy, about our age, named Casey. Other than Gruevy and Donna, whom we haven't seen in a week, he is the first peer that we've shared the trail with thusfar. He has also completed a couple of Americorps terms, his in Montana, one being a weed puller in a conservation corps, just like me. He had been for about a week hiking back "with the pack," which according to him is comprised of some 100 other, primarily younger hikers. He told of passing 20 some people a day, and camping together with more than 30 some nights! This really came as a surprise. We hadn't yet seen more than 6 or 7 in a day, and like I said, all retirees. He told of raging hotel room parties and unfolding soap opera dramas...
Who knows what this trail holds, before us or behind us...
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