June 26: The Stehekin Spinning Circle

I am sitting, hunched over and exhausted, at a long, caramel, varnished, mess-hall style, Lincoln Log table, sipping a warm cup of coffee mixed with hot cocoa. A squall just broke in the sky outdoors and the dozen or so elderly women who had been lazing about, gossipping, all together busy in some communal act out on the porch came indoors and recommenced their shared toil. Inside, they each found a spot and settled in, perched up on a bench seat, strategically facing one across the aisle from her confidante or perhaps a whole gaggle of conversation partners. In front of each one stands the centerpiece of individual activity, the machine silently humming, subtly holding the group together here today: a perfect looking, quaint, olde-time spinning wheel.

It turns out that this is a spin-in, and this is the Spinning Rendezvous 2005 here at the Stehekin Valley Ranch, right here out in the middle of the North Cascades National Park.

The room is the tall open mess hall, its full trunk, wooden beams exposed, wide windows looking out over a great pasture, and further the great dark wall of Douglas Firs, and deep down, the hidden, endless PCT wherefrom we emerged just an hour ago. It is cozy and warm in the room. An open fireplace hearth is keeping hot a white tin kettle of muddy coffee and a red one of tea water. The floor is strewn with wood chips and leads into the open kitchen where dinner is being prepared.

Dinner is why we are here. No bobbins of yarn for us to spool in Stehekin. No scarves will we weave this day.

We plodded -- nay, trudged -- in off the PCT about an hour ago. We had hoped to hitch a ride into Stehekin from the High Bridge campsite trailhead but to our dismay found that the road had been washed out about two miles down river in towards town. So we had no choice but to walk. And this is where we ended up.

Eliza felt awful all day. Thankfully, we made it through the night without a visit from our neighborhood black bear and our meager food cache remained wholly intact. We even slept pretty soundly, considering the obnoxious slope we ended up pitching our little yellow dwelling onto last night in the dark. All this good fortune notwithstanding, Eliza got up feeling pooped. She seems to have come down with a head cold or some other sinus respiratory type thing. We had the impression going into the day that it would be a simple, easy, short one -- a quick 16 after a rock solid 28 yesterday. It turned into a whole day affair though, and with Eliza feeling under the weather, every step seemed to drag. I felt sorry that we may have been pushing ourselves too hard these past few days. To finish this trail by mid-October it is what we need to do, however . . .

We traversed up and down the steep canyon walls of two river valleys all day long today, slowly descending down off the mountainous highlands where we've been traveling thusfar and entering the dank, lush undercover of the valley bottoms.

The low country of the Pacific Northwest, with its heavy, robust scents, its thick, richly organic, padded duff soil, and its layered, luminescent, lush flora -- it brings me back in mind to the time I spent in Oregon over the past two years. The plants and trees comprising the private inner confines of the grand ancient Cedar, the stately Douglas Fir and the well-lit, sweeping Maple forests -- the Oregon Grape, the beautiful, prehistoric Bracken Fern, the delicate Trillium, the sensual, fierce Tiger Lillies, the Soloman's Seal and Horse Tail and Waterleaf -- there is a city-full of memories which rush through me as I pass through this verdant, lush jungle of life. There is just so much of it up here, so much life, so much living coming straight up from the dark heavy moist soil. The two years I spent in Portland, particularly the last six months which were spent working with a team doing restoration work and trail building feel like only yesterday here. It is a complex, almost sad set of feelings -- thick and moist like the world here, tucked in underneath these clouds. All the time spent walking and thinking, endlessly thinking, it is easy to indulge in reminiscence, just let it flow and feel its way through. The day becomes a waking dream.

***

Dinner is over now and the rain seems to have passed, at least for the time being. We'll settle up and catch the school bus shuttle into town.

***

It has started raining again. There is a free campsite right across the road from Lake Chelan here. We sat out on the porch at the little store here and had a couple of beers with two hikers (not of the "through-hike" variety, refreshingly) who we met on the shuttle coming from dinner. They are from Oregon and will be taking a ferry to Chelan, 50 miles down the deep, glacier-carved lake tomorrow and hitch-hiking home. What a life, I think. I look forward to coming back to this part of the country to live some day. It feels very right to me here.

***

It's been a very long day, but I am invigorated by the newness and peculiarities of the town here. These stops are so essential to a sound mind when spending so much time on the trail.

June 25: Big miles; big bear

We walked long and hard today, putting in 28 miles and stopping at nightfall. The days are so long now. Daylight has become less of a factor than just sheer stamina. Both Eliza and myself feel much better today -- more into the hiking, stronger, more aware of and sensitive to the mountains and rivers and trees around us.

The sun came out bright and bold after we lunched at around 1:00 atop Methow Pass. We took a long break there, laying out all of our gear to dry and putting ourselves down on our sleeping pads as well.

It had rained earlier on this morning, before we got up, for an hour or so. We have our fingers crossed every day now that we are up in Washington. The weather here is infamously unpredictable and can potentially be very nasty. I recall all too well Angela and Duffy's two weeks of misery passing through Washington's wettest.

***

Lying under the sun today, I had sunglasses and my baseball cap pulled down low over my eyes. The grey ominous ceiling overhead had dispersed and the sky had assumed the Simpson-esque, endess cartoon cumulous patchwork I learned to love so much in Portland.

***

I saw a black bear tonight while going to filter water, as Eliza was setting up our tent just a few hundred yards back. Its form was pitch black and sharply defined against the dim greyness of the dense sheltered forest floor. It must have been coming from the stream that I was headed towards, only 300 ft uphill from where I stood on the trail. Walking exhaustedly, by myself, with no pack, I noticed a crackling and the snap of branches breaking and, as my breath caught, looked up to see this good-sized adult bear gracefully, lazily traverse up the hillside. I watched for a minute or two until I couldn't see her anymore. I couldn't tell if she had just stopped moving and had faded into the shadows, or if she had ambled on, up and away from our camp.

Returning to the tent and Eliza, I thought twice, then decided I'd better tell her what I had seen. She was a little spooked, although no more than I, and as we still don't really know how to go about hanging a bear bag, we settled for bundling up all of our food related items and hanging them on a branch just eight feet from our tent. We figure, perhaps foolishly, that we'll be able to hear if any big night-stalkers come near and have a slim chance of frightening them away with our best low, non-aggressive, commanding tone voices. We'll see. I just hope that the damn thing keeps its distance and morning arrives uninterrupted.

June 24: I ache

Walking was hard today. My feet are aching with soles pounding. I should get some better inserts in Stehekin.

The scenery continues to be very striking and magnificent, but feels only natural or normal to me now. Part of me is too busy getting readjusted to the way this feels again to care all that much about what it looks like out here. I can't seem to find a comfortable place to sit these last couple of days.

Rain threatened a few times today, but thank God never fell.

We put in almost 25 miles and are feeling good about our progress, planning out how we are going to use our time now that we have no immediate plans or pre-scheduled rendezvouses to work around.

I shouldn't be so negative, I guess. The first half of the day was really nice--sunny, grand, envigorating. Eliza is feeling pretty well. We both look forward to getting into Stehekin on Sunday night for a hot meal.

And looking forward to tomorrow as well, hoping to feel a bit more up and alive.

Now to finish this Steinbeck novel.

June 23: Beautiful, wet Washington

Back on the trail today after a very long break.

We re-entered the US this morning at Monument 78 along the PCT. The air was dank and chilly; the hills and mountains, lush and verdant. There was an air of remoteness and solitude to the crossing. (Even though we had already run into our first Southbounder earlier on our way south out of Manning Park in Canada the trail seemed to welcome us privately.)

The scenery was absolutely gorgeous for the whole day. Great evergreens and dense, fertile understory. Vast, gaping views. Bright blue sky and myriad jagged, angular, snow-spackled peaks.

Eliza and I were playful and kept a slow pace. We stopped at midday at Hopkins Lake -- a stunning, crystal-clear, snow-melt pond hiding in the bowl of a great stone colliseum -- and, after being stormed by a brigade of hungry mosquitoes, set up our tent and had ourselves a sweet siesta in the sun.

We had a few food mishaps today. The tortillas we bought at Trader Joe's last week are already substantially laden with green, stinky molds -- an especialy disappointing fact considering we bought four weeks' worth and sent them all across Washington for the next month. This evening, Eliza discovered that a plastic bag of peanut butter somehow managed to spill itself out into her food sack. So now every last plastic baggie of oatmeal and her mix and all the rest is super sticky and brown. All this and I can't find my spork. It must've gotten lost in the frantic mix of packing in the hotel in LA on Monday. I've sunk so low now that I am eating with the trowel.

We are camped in a beautiful place atop a little grassy knoll just east of Woody Pass. After eating, we were sitting and talking and were interrupted by the crash of a small avalanche occurring over our shoulders. It wasn't much but it was pretty amazing to see. Big boulders crashing down a mountainside can be pretty thought-provoking to a hiker.

We are amazed by what Washington holds for us here. Our vacation has been so so wonderful and relaxing that we didn't really know what to expect upon returning to the trail. One day down though and I feel 100% back into it.

June 21,22: Vancouver, BC

We touched down in British Columbia yesterday at 10:30 AM. Descending over the heavy, wet, cloud-covered array of islands along the coastline, coming down into the long shadows of the neighboring mountains, I felt that I was coming home. The Pacific Northwest, and BC, looks, feels, smells so much different than Southern California. The soil is full and dark. The air is moist. The trees are dense and lush, green and top heavy.

We passed Customs and took a bus into the city and, after a short while of walking around a seedy part of the downtown and Chinatown, got a room in the Grand Trunk hostel in Gastown.

Walking the streets of Vancouver I was struck by how very different a place it is, how distinctly not American. It seemed like people of all class, of every nationality and culture, men and women of every socio-economic bracket all shared the same street. The city itself looks and feels quite a bit like Seattle, with its walkable, but large downtown business district. A lot of tourism seemed apparent. The waterfront and the omnipresence of trees and parks.

We watched as a huge group of teenaged skateboarders did olis and kickflips down a dozen stairs, cheering and gasping together as kids hit the ground still on their feet or otherwise. Eventually the crowd dispersed and an ambulance was called in for the casualties.

Across the square were a couple of hash bar type establishments, neon pot leaves glowing greenly, celebrating Vancouver's favorite decriminalized past time.

Our meandering path took us back around into Chinatown, and back through the teaming, filthy streets. It made me think of what parts of Manhattan must have been in the 70s, before it was made to be the way it is today -- so clean, so seemingly safe and lawful. Vancouver brings to mind the NY of Taxi Driver with its freakshows and sex drive, fanatics and junkies.

We had great luck with food, finding a little hole in the wall bargain Lebanese joint which was really excellent. After eating our falafel and salads, we headed out in search of a bar where we would be able to watch game 6 of the NBA finals. We had no problem doing so and ended up having a great time watching the game in a crowded brew pub over pitchers of pale ale. The Pistons pulled off the upset win in San Antonio and we were stoked.

Today we wandered some more, out west over and through the more commercial parts of downtown Vancouver. We walked Robson St out towards the big city park we located on our little tourist map and, after picking up a loaf of green olive bread and cheese at the store, sat overlooking a lagoon of sorts, shooing away an agressive flock of genuine Canada Geese who were home for the summer. We walked from there across the park along blackberry vine-walled pathways to the English Bay, where we splashed in tide pools and played on wet algae-thickened stones for a good piece of the afternoon.

This evening we are taking a bus out east to Manning Provincial Park, wher we hope to find the PCT's northern terminus at the US border. I am feeling ready to get back to hiking, but at the same time, I think I've forgotten what it was like. I've got new shoes and my knees are bothering me even off the trail right now.

We'll find soon enough what it will be like out there.

June 15-21: California sun

We spent a wonderful week off the trail with my mom and her cousin, Kathy. Now, however, the vacation is over and Eliza and I are both anxious and wary of our imminent return to hiking.

We were in Lone Pine and the Owens Valley for two more days after my mother and Kathy arrived, then drove down to Ventura on the coast for a night, and finally spent the last four days in LA. It was a real vacation. I feel so blessed to have such a supportive, loving, fun mother. Thanks so much again, Mom.

Highlights from the week include:

Hiking in the Bristlecone Forest among the oldest living beings on the planet.

Visiting the Manzanar WWII Japanese Internment Center; a very well put- together interactive program.

Swimming in the Pacific. Swimming in hotel pools.

Tailgating with gin and tonics at Venice Beach.

Stopping traffic on Mulholland Drive to watch a lanky bobcat cross the road in the middle of the day on our way to the Getty Center in LA.

The Getty Center in LA. A beautiful museum and grounds.

The Hollywood Farmers' Market.

Being able to watch just about all of the NBA finals on hotel TVs.

Happy Hour with Kathy.

Melted candy bars in the microwave, peaches, strawberries.

Lots and lots of great food. Eliza and I are both very grateful for how generous, flexible, good natured, fun our companions were. We ate so well, felt so comfortable, really felt like we were on a vacation.

***

Up to Vancouver now and ready for the next phase of this journey.

June 14: A long line of "Zeroes"

We've been off the trail now for about two days. It is Tuesday morning and Eliza and I are sitting out on the sidewalk, drinking a good strong cup of joe at the Looney Bean Coffee Roasting Co. is Bishop, CA, reading yesterday's LA Times.

We hitch-hiked the 60 miles north on rt 395 from Lone Pine yesterday morning, catching a first ride past the 1940s Manzanar Japanese internment facility and on to Independence with a guy who works up in the Whitney Portal (in recreational resource management?), then thumbing an easy second up through Big Pine, past the access route to the ancient Bristlecone Forest and on into Bishop.

Bishop reminds me a little of towns like Olympia, WA and Arcada, CA. It's small, kind of touristy, full of restaurants, book stores, outdoor gear outfitters, coffee shops. One things they seem to lack here is a good brewery, which is a shame, but there is a large city park where we were able to sleep comfortably, hidden behind some cottonwoods last night, complete with softball fields, a skateboarding park, a full flowing creek, ducks.

We've been crashing around town the past few nights now -- under cover of roadside brushes, back behind the public parks, one night we even slept out in some second-story wooden horse corral stand -- like a tree fort almost, but without the tree. Sleeping in these odd places, walking the streets with a pack all day is quite a bit more exhausting than hiking and sleeping out in the wilderness every night. There is the obvious fact that walking on roads, baking under the sun, waiting for and feeling the grating rushes of traffic, it is smply a much lss hospitale environment. In the woods, you can sit wherever you please. You can eat lunch, take a nap, poop, whatever, wherever you please. In town, there are so many dumb little things to worry about, hard to remember things, like don't walk into traffic and don't pee in the corner behind the juke-box at the pizza joint.
And everything is different at night. There's a sinister sense of uncertainty which hangs around under the streetlights at night in these little towns. I generally sleep just fine, but waking up in the middle of the night, in a place where you may not be all that welcome, it can be difficult to sink back into slumber. The most benign, peaceful padding of little rodentian foot steps in the grass is transformed in the diffused, half-lit, town-spooked greyness into the most diabolical, the most menacing, meanest man foot steps coming to finish us off, to drag us into his van and throw us down into a cellar in the woods, to shoot first and ask questions later. Even a local cop, one of these small town Dicks who've got it out for those with alternative lifestyles around the world . . .

Last night, fortunately, we both slept soundly right through the night and into morning.

The sun is coming up hot and strong already, still not even 7am. The busy main thoroughfare is crashing and loud with early commercial traffic. The coffee is good, dark roasted, strong. The music is too loud though -- crap pop hard rock. Save me! whines the heart broken, spoiled surfer boy behind the mic. You said it buddy.

***

Later today now. We hitched back to Lone Pine over the course of an hour and a half, three rides. The first was a guy in his early thirties maybe, in the car dealer business, I believe. He took us to Big Pine, just 15 miles south of Bishop. Then from there, we were picked up by a mother and daughter who loaded up the junk out of their backseat for us and didn't say but two words for the duration of the 30 mile ride to Independence. Finally a mother, son duo took us the last 15 miles to Lone Pine. The young guy in the passenger seat wore a black cowboy hat and pushed in a Grateful Dead CD as we started moving again. He climbs Whitney every year, makes kind of a tradition out of it. This year he might skip it though. His mother pointed out a section off to the west of the highway where tree Elk herd often graze and then flew off the handle when the car in front of us tapped its brakes -- one of those warning taps that means, watch it you're on my ass, buddy, which we definitely were. "Get off the goddamn road, man!" she screamed. "Drive it or park it!" Her son grumbled, embarrassed, "Calm down, Mom. What you in such a hurry for anyway?" This road, rt 395, we had already been told, is notorious for its accidents. We were glad to get out in Lone Pine and check in at the Dow Villa hotel where we are waiting now for my mother and her cousin Kathy to arrive from LA.

June 11: Mt Olancha to Trail Pass

Exhausting but beatiful hiking today. We crossed down over the northwest face of Olancha today and followed a crestline towards Trail Peak, just south of Mt. Langley, the southernmost of the Sierra's magnificent 14000-ft peaks.

Great views of peaks to the west and north all day, as well as breathtaking glimpses back down into the Owens Valley to the east. The dry, alkali bed of Owens Lake is pink and scarred, sickly -- apparently, the waters are almost entirely diverted into the LA aqueduct.

At the end of the day we left the PCT to drop down to Horseshoe Meadows. It turned out to be a pain in the ass, as our maps are sub-par and we ended up spending three hours covering what should have been the last 3 miles of our journey. Eventually we found the road and caught a quick ride down out of the mountains and into Lone Pine. As usual, our ride (Dennis, 66, retired) was amazed to hear about our trip thus far and turned out to be a nice tourguide as we descended on the 24-mile snaking mountainside highway.

Tonight we ate a big meal at a Mexican restaurant and threw our tent down just out of town in some tall grasses near a horse corral.

June 10: One last ascent

We left the last row of the amphitheatre at Kennedy Meadows at 6:30 this morning, whispering goodbyes to a few other early risers as we went.

The trail took us up up up today, from 6000 ft to 10500 here at a saddle up on the Western face of 12250-ft Mt. Olancha. An early ascent along Crag Creek brought us over into Beck Meadow, the south most finger of the vast sage brush savannah of Menache Meadows. It was stunning to see the great green valley sprawled out before us, the white glinting peaks of the High Sierra standing as sentinels ahead to the north.

Many people have already left the trail to flip to Canada, to skip to Northern California, etc. but today we were very glad to be right where we were. The South Fork Kern River meandered healthily, slowly along the floor of the great Meadow, swallows flitting and diving through the riverside sedges and grass. It was just so beautiful.

Our concern, however, throughout the day, was with what the higher elevations held for us. Snow? How much? And how high? It is about 42 miles from Kennedy Meadows to the 10500-ft junction with Trail pass which descends East toward the Horseshoe camp at a road some 20 miles from Lone Pine -- out ultimate destination, the end point for our northbound walk. This should take us two days, but we are giving ourselves lots of leeway just in case we end up having to "post hole" or take an alternate cross-country route. Squeaky's report from two weeks back which we read at the Kennedy Meadows General Store indidcated patchy snow for about half of those 42 miles and about 10 miles of solid snow pack.

We couldn't have been happier with the way things turned out today. Coming up towards Olancha Peak, we couldn't make out much snow at all on her southern facing slopes, and didn't encounter any until just after 10,000 ft. This, in and of itself, was a surprise and a relief. Three weeks ago, leaving Wrightwood in the San Gabriels, anything over 8000 ft was still covered in white.

As we pushed on towards the saddle, our highest point yet on the PCT, we were granted amazing panoramic views south over the distant lower mountain ranges, falling into cloudy, monochrome oblivion at the gaping horizon; the foreground meadow stark and green, 2000 ft directly below our precarious perch. Headwaters of Menache Creek, likely the recent snow melt from over the past few hot, sunny days, soaked the mountainside, new green, waxy leaves sprouting out of the steep, marshy terrain.

At the saddle, we encountered a bit more snow, but still only in patches. Coming over top we could see out over and into the high Sierra. It was so beautiful, with the gloaming sunlight shining in streams through the masses of clouds coming over the Western Divide.

Our maps stink, so we couldn't even identify the peaks before us . . . Whitney's out there, probably Cirque, Langley, Rocky, barren Olancha is looking down at me even now as I type in the waning daylight, propped out the front of our tent.

We have been debating making an early morning ascent up to the summit of Mt. Olancha. We've decided to wait until morning to see how we feel. It is right there, waitng to be walked upon. It is difficult to turn away from the trail, though. Something nags and says stay, walk here.

Regardless, come tomorrow,we will be walking. Come tomorrow.

June 9: Kennedy Meadows

Clouds hung overhead all morning as we made our way along these last fifteen burnt miles leading up to the Kennedy Meadows General Store.

Our tent accumulated a great deal of condensation overnight -- something that hasn't happend in weeks -- so getting up and around was slow and uncomfortable. It is easy to get grumpy and nit-picky when a town stop is close by. We have a week off the trail up and coming, so the regular trail rigors start to strain us even more it seems.

We ambled along the South Fork Kern River for most of the morning, heading north, alternately hugging the river's bank and meandering out into the sagebrush-carpeted valley floor along its side. To our backs, south and west, the Domeland Wilderness stood stark and jagged, the snow-capped granite boulders and sheer verticle faces, a rock climber's dreamscape.

We arrived at the Kennedy Meadows General Store at 1:30, both of us feeling spent. Eliza had a headache for much of the morning. I was flushed and pink, my eyes strained by the odd light dispersing down and around the low clouds. Shamu's Trainer and Barnyard had arrived just in front of us and were relaxing on the porch along with Thomas, whom we had met briefly last week. We sat ourselved down and within half an hour the clouds broke and sent a light drizzle down over the forest around us. What luck, we all laughed, to be sitting safe and cozy up on this porch as the first rains in months start hitting the ground. The owners shook their heads disapprovingly out the front windows at the grey, troubled sky -- this was highly irregular weather.

Throughout the afternoon, hikers rolled in and joined us there on the porch, everyone a bit surprised by the suddenly sodden skies. A group of locals, older gentlemen convened as well and started in on their daily afternoon session of porch sitting and beer drinking at around 3. By late afternoon there were nearly a dozen hikers there, and all-in-all over twenty people spread out over the grounds immediately surrounding the store. A festive air hung around the place.

Meadow Mary and her wolfish Husky, Sam, showed up at some point. She is a trail angel of sorts -- a trail-side massage therapist and first-aid administrator, an herbalist and wholistic naturalist -- mostly, however, she is mobile trail support for her husband: hiker, Billy Goat. Billy Goat is one of these guys who hikes the PCT every year, an around-the-worlder, someone who's hiked on trail more than 26,000 miles, enough to have circumnavigated the entire globe at the equator. This year, he's decided to change things up just like everyone else and is currently up in Oregon. Meadow Mary cackles that she TOLD him that it would be too snowy up there as well, but no, he wouldn't listen. There's snow everywhere right now, what's everyone's big hurry?! And she breaks into her incredible, grating laugh, mouth wide open, self satisfied, impervious to the numbed gazes of all her onlookers.

A few of us piled into her little mobile home and headed down to the local grub joint, The Grumpy Bear, three miles down the road, only to discover it had closed early for the evening -- no explanation needed up in these mountains . . .

So we returned to the store and Mary cooked up a big pot of hiker stew for any and all. Al, the owner of the General Store took down orders for an impromptu $5 cheeseburger, baked bean, potato salad meal, complete with a bowl of ice cream for dessert. Hikers were in and out of the scene, leaving intermittently for a $2 outdoor shower or set up their tarps and tents around the property. The actual Kennedy Meadows campground is another few miles up the trail but the store owners gave us all the go-ahead to stay right where we were. Most years, the store feeds and accomodates hundreds of hikers, up to 50 at a time for a period of almost two weeks. This year, things are quiet up in this neck of the woods. Most people have already flipped up north, from Walker pass 100 miles back or elsewhere. Thomas who has been here for a few days, waiting for someone to try the Sierras with, says that he hasn't seen more than a few people at a time come through. We were glad to be here for the big party, at least.

We set up our tent in the back row of the outdoor amphitheatre back behind the store. It is a nice space comprised of logs laid out for bench style seating in front of a white washed ply-wood "screen" upon which is shown a weekly Saturday night movie and before which is held a Sunday morning church service.

Tomorrow we are climbing up into the first miles of mountains in the High Sierra. We will push on for 42 miles to Trail Pass where we plan to descend to Lone Pine. The trail crosses up over 10,000 ft numerous times between here and there. We've got our fingers crossed hoping for no snow . . .

June 8

After sleeping fitfully last night (slanted tent, Eliza and Jeremy contributing equally to noxious gas air pollution), we set out into a surprisingly cool morning. We had been feeling sluggish after having the day off in town. My feet were aching terribly; we're both anxious to finish up this next 100 mile stretch and meet up with my mother, have some time on the beach, R&R, etc. We hoped that today would pull us out of whatever slump we might be slipping into.

It turned out to be a really nice day. We put in a good 22+ miles, ate well -- Gary and Cheri, thank you both so much -- felt strong and sure-footed again.

Today it seems that we may have left the desert behind for good. Things are changing in our surroundings as we ascend into the Sierras. The geology, which I know practically nothing about, is much different -- mountaintops are sharper, more jagged, boulderfields occur more often, are more striking. The air is different, cooler, moister. We had clouds hanging over us for much of the day, the first we've seen in weeks. Late in the day as we came up over 8000 ft again we caught a glimpse of the snow-capped High Sierras to our north and west. Mt. Olancha looms the closest; awaits us just days away.

Eliza commented that while they are beautiful, huge, frightening, even, they aren't as close or as towering as she would have expected. We are only some 60 miles from Whitney and we don't even know where it is in front of us. I told her she had been spoiled by the Himalayas in Nepal. I can only imagine what looking out at 20,000-ft peaks is like!

We had a couple of interesting run-ins with quail today. Twice we rounded a bend in the trail and surprised a mother hen with her flock of chicks. They would scatter like hell in all directions, little chicks stumbling and falling down the dusty hillside. The hen, once she figured out where the intrusion had come from, would ruffle her feathers and come charging our way, kicking up a cloud of dust, clucking and squealing her disapproval. It was a neat thing to see.

It is a chilly night and we are camped amidst a forest of burnt, blackened pines, standing breathless here since a massive fire in 2000 destroyed thousands of acres. It almost feels like Fall back east somewhere.

June 6,7: Kernville friends

We slept next to the bridge last night, along the bank of the Kern River. The spot was one of those beaten down areas where teenagers descend out of view of the traffic to drink beer on Saturday nights. Again, we were a bit too frugal to walk over to the pay-to-camp site on the other side of the bridge (it's hard to imagine paying a cent to stay in our tent when we do it every other night of every other week) but, as a result, our night was spent waking at every crackle in the underbrush, peering out of the tent into the darkness, holding our breath, waiting for the derelict ax murderer to show himself and finish us off . . .

We got up early and moseyed around town, ended up inevitably at the coffee shop in the middle of things. We were there as the girl opened up and were addressed within seconds by another guy who had came in for his morning cup. "Are you guys hiking far?" And so we start in talking and he offers to buy us our coffees . . . people everywhere, it seems, are driven to goodness, given over to generosity, compelled to lend a hand when they meet us and hear just a bit about what we are doing out here. A woman yesterday afternoon hollered down from the patio outside a Mexican restaurant where she and her leather-clad, hog-drivin' man were sipping a few cool Negro Modelos that she thought we were nuts, carrying all that stuff up on our backs, but good luck to us all the same. Another guy couldn't help himself but charge over and down the sidewalk to ask a battery of logistical questions about how we eat, what we carry, etc. It seems that Kernville doesn't see as many of our kind as most of the other towns we've been through -- and why would it? We're 40 miles off trail.

Then again, there was another guy, an Englishman, who pulled his truck over to the side of the road as we were getting ready to scale down onto a path overlooking the river at a higher point up on the hillside, just before dusk. He wanted to know if we were Europeans out hiking. Nope, Americans, yep, out hikin', we responed. He grinned, took a deep breath and started in on the telling of his own tale of coming from Europe 19 years ago, hitching a ride out of San Diego with his wife and four children to the trail head and starting north. His youngest was only 4 and he said he walked every step of the way right across all this desert up on his own two feet. When the family arrived in Kernville, three months into their journey, they discovered that there was another little one on the way. He pointed down over the river valley to a hillside pasture, saying, "We lived right there in that field for over 5 months. My wife and I gave birth to our youngest, whom we named after this river, Kern, inside the thin nylon walls of our tent. Eventually, once Kern was big enough, we got ourselves a pack of mules and loaded up our packs on them -- you know, there's a lot more to carry when you've got a newborn along." This story, I thought, stunned, has to be the most amazing one there is. They finished the trail after two and a half years, and eventually came back to Kernville. His daughter, Kern, was married just a couple of months ago to a military man and lives now on a base in Texas. Amazing.

well, back to our boring old hike . . .

After a nice relaxed time in the coffee shop we headed over to the riverfront park and laid out in the sun for a few hours. I read and wrote some, listening to the roar of the raging river and the heavy howling winds. We had a really great time, both of us in high spirits, playing on the swings and monkey bars, rolling in the grass and the sun.

For lunch we headed back over to the pizza joint we had hit the night before to partake a second time of their salad bar and watch the news on their big screen TV. About 5 minutes into our huge one-trip, salad-bar plates and just following the report on how Citibank apologizes to the million customers whose personal information it lost in the mail, we were once again approached by a stranger, once again, a man compelled by interest and our own obvious vulnerability

Forty-five minutes later we were showered and set up in a beautiful bedroom in Harry and Melanie's home overlooking the river. They made us feel completely at home, had us join them for dinner -- stuffed shells, steamed broccoli, fresh bread and butter, and breakfast.

I had a number of great conversations with Harry about security and vulnerability, envy, simplicity. He was a very cool guy to meet. He brought us up to the home of a friend of his, local trail legend Bill Jenkins, whose son Jim Jenkins was one of the early trail finders and mappers throughout the Sierras. He wrote numerous books and had a mountain named after him. He was killed early in his life at age 26 in an auto accident and since his death, 25 years ago, his parents have continued his conservation efforts.

I would write more, but haven't the time right now.

It was an honor to meet Mr. Jenkins and we both appreciated Harry's taking us there. He said that it chokes him up to see young folks like ourselves come into contact with someone like Bill who he reveres as a model citizen and human being, a mentor for living and growing old peacefully and healthily.

Harry and Melanie invited us back whenever we return to the area. Perhaps come October when we finish this journey.

June 5: Walker Pass to...Kernville?

We were relieved to find that our bodies held up impressively well through and after our long day yesterday. We were both a bit grumpy though and walked hard all morning -- after walking so long and so far yesterday we just wanted to feel like we had arrived somewhere conclusively.

Highway 178 crosses through the lower Sierras at Walker Pass. This point marks the end of section F for us and is also where we are set to hitch 17 miles west to Onyx to pick up our next resupply, this one kindly provided by my aunt and uncle, Cheri and Gary. Thanks to you both.

It is Sunday though and that, of course, means no PO. We were aware that our 30-miler would put us into this bind and planned on taking an extended detour further along 178 to man-made Lake Isabella, a resevoir into which the Kern River flows and fills each year. We figured we had earned ourselves another town day -- even just a half day. Also, we ran out of food this morning at 11am after a fine meal of mashed potatoes, cous-cous, and bottom o' the bag pretzel salt.

Hitching was more difficult today than it has been previously. We caught a first ride from Walker Pass on a lumber truck. The driver was a local guy, been working lumber, sawmills, hauling for 43 years. He took a few cheap shots at the environmentalists, cheap because he could probably tell we might disagree with at least a portion of his sentiment -- I mean, sure, it is a bit ironic that most tree huggers live in wooden homes and read books -- but weren't about to raise the issue with him. He then dropped us off at a point just past Onyx (Onyx is an intersection in the middle of a desert valley with a Chevron and a Post Office -- we had him take us as far as he could towards a restaurant with hot water in the bathrooms and hot food for our bellies) where we stuck our thumbs toward the infrequent traffic once again. This time the hitch didn't come for a good 45 minutes. Needless to say, we were a bit discouraged. Finally a white Ford Explorer pulled over and a middle aged guy on his way from Santa Monica to his summer home in Kernville picked us up. We said we just wanted a bite to eat and a place to throw our tent and he said that we definitely wanted to go to Kernville. "It is a bit further out of your way, but trust me you'll love it," he smiles. So we agreed; there's little else to do with no map of the area, no real press for time, and no need to fight against the current -- any current at all . . .

Long story short, we are in Kernville now and it is just what we were looking for. It is an outdoor enthusiast's paradise, with allegedly world-class kayaking running down out of the Sierra which looms overhead on the Kern River.

We checked in at the Forest Service ranger station to ask about the status of the access road which connects Lone Pine to Cottonwood Camp, which is where we plan on exiting the Sierras in a week, and the ranger gave a call up the way and let us know that it's currently clear of snow and open to traffic. So, we're good to go, it appears, for making our Kennedy Meadows to Lone Pine attempt. We'll see you there Mom.

Now, we may just take a day off. We've got time in the schedule and this town seems like a good one for a break. We're going to go pitch our tent somewhere along the banks of the overflowing river, eat our leftovers, and sleep . . . mmm, and coffee awaits in the morning . . .

June 4: A marathon day

We broke the marathon mark today, 26.2, and pushed on into near darkness to make it our first 30-mile day. It was to be a long, 28.5-mile waterless stretch from the campground to Yellow Jacket Spring, and we had toyed with the idea of trying to do the whole thing last night while going to bed. Thankfully, there were two water caches (we didn't expect them) along the way which elliminated the lack of water as a concern, but once we had our sights set, we were committed to pushing on until we couldn't push anymore. We passed a pair of section hikers at around 3pm as we hit our 20-mile mark at a road crossing, one of whom was down from Seattle and was able to give a little info as to what to expect weather and temperature wise when we fly north in a couple of weeks. We also saw the Swag Man, an Australian who we've met a few times, briefly. He always remembers us because of Koala's name.

It feels good to sit down and eat something just now as the sky turns saphire. My feet feel fractured down their middles. Eliza pitched the tent over a subterranean bees' nest and they are buzzing wildly against the nylon flooring of the tent.

To sleep . . .

June 3: Big trees, wildflowers

Another beautiful day. We were up and moving early, still glad to have these now verdant hilltops to ourselves. The desert lies below to the east and west in colorful canyon displayed intermittently between tall Jeffrey Pines and Black Oaks.

This is the first week that we have chosen to skip cooking hot breakfasts and frankly I think it's great. Oatmeal is just starting to get to me. Makes me a little nauseous to think about. Then again, it is one of the healthiest meals we eat everyday.

It's 6:35 pm now. We have decided to stop at a campground with a running spring in order to have water for dinner and allow for filling our various vessels and containers (I have quite the collection of ex-Coca-Colas, Powerades, and Gatorades going in my pack). We ran across a note tacked up on a pine as we approached this last forest road indicating that two caches, which the water report from the Saufleys had noted as up and running, fully stocked, were not to be counted on. Thus, this will be our last water source for about 28 miles. We'll load up and chug a few pints as we break camp and attempt, tomorrow, to put in the 28 to get us there by nightfall. Not that it will be a disaster if we fall short, it's just much more comfortable to have water to spare when making camp.

The scenery today was nothing breathtaking, but it was, nonetheless, nothing short of gorgeous. We unexpectedly found ourselves in this great, tall pine forest, crossing soft trail tread over glades of wild flowers.

We chatted about college memories and enjoyed a lengthy recollection of both of my siblings' weddings. We speak often of all our tentative plans for after this hike -- it brings us to a point of minor dilemma as we expect to come out west again to live but don't want to put so much distance between us and our families. We figured if we could convince Greg and Varuni, Sarah and Nouru, Pete, our mothers even, to all move out to, say, Seattle, with us the problem would be essentially solved. Then we throw around the idea of living in NYC, which is something we are intereted in doing, but it just seems like it would be so damn hard, so unpleasant and difficult to get settled . . . thankfully it is just a bunch of ideas right now. Walking is the business at hand.

We noticed when we arrived at the spring here this evening that there were a few trucks parked acros the way, down under some tall pines. We checked my watch and found that it was Friday, and figuring they were weekend campers up from the lowlands we walked over to say hello. The root of our intentions were not so pure, however. I was too tired to be bothered with the stove. Eliza was too hungry to not have me cook. Who knew, maybe these nice, friendly campers would invite us over for dinner. It seems that we had sunk down into a shameful state of backcountry manipulation, begging for a juicy hamburger, salivating over another's well-stocked cooler of cold beer.

It turned out to be a flop. There were two parties, both sets of dirt bike enthusiasts, neither all that concerned about our well-being. We approached under the feigned auspices of asking what they knew about bears in the area. The first group of about four guys, bearded, gruff, enjoying a big bottle of Jack Daniels, were setting camp between their villainous looking mud choppers and their huge pickups as we approached and responded to our plaintive concern with a laughing, scornful, mocking dismissal. "Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!" one of them called out, and they had a group guffaw at our expense, as we schlepped our aching bodies past. The next group was much nicer, even invited us over to sit by their fire -- they were intrigued by our endeavor, but didn't care so much that they felt the need to shower us with food and drink, as so many others have before them now...

It seems that our unbelievable trail magic spree came to an abrupt halt and we were left alone in the woods tonight, gnawing on beef jerky and scarfing down ramen and mashed potato burritos.

June 2: Not a soul

Today has been the first day during which we saw not a single other hiker. It was great. The wind was our only companion, and boy was it blowing. We climbed up out of Tehachapi pass (into what some geologists identify as the southernmost Sierra, or the Sierran Tail) and passed many more howling wind turbines. We had loaded up on water yesterday afternoon for a 24-mile waterless stretch, but early on we were pleasantly surprised by a well stocked cache just north o the highway. Early on, I took a spill today, just slipped right down onto my ass, lost control of my pack and spun over under its momentum. I was unharmed by the brief little incident, but one of my hiking poles came away with an unbecoming bend. It was nothing big, but it did serve as a reminder that anything can hapen out here. Had I twisted my ankle or gashed my leg open, we would have been in a bind. We count our lucky stars daily, thanking good fortune for keeping us healthy out here.

We napped at noon after putting in 12 good, uphill miles, the wind wailing overhead, setting the pine tree by which we lay asway.

We are both getting very excited to wrap this Southern California section up over the next week. The plan to flip-flop, which originally had felt a little awkward and frustrating -- having to break up the continuity of the trek, adding a sense of the arbitrary -- is now an eagerly anticipated turning point, an opportunity for change. We've got about 150 miles more to cover down here, ascending for the most part up into the lower Sierra, still, however, passing through arid, Southern Californian lanscapes, then we meet with my mother and her cousin for a week off the trail, including a day on the coast and a few more in Los Angeles, and then on the 21st, we fly all the way to Vancouer, BC, catch a bus east out to Manning Provincial Park and set out southbound on the PCT on the 22nd. Washington should be gorgeous right now, and because they've had very litle precipitation all winter, the snow may already be entirely melted in the northern Cascades by the time we start.

Eliza came up with the idea, the other day, to throw another flip into the mix. We may end up southbounding until Ashland, OR, where we have friends, then from there hopping a bus back down to Lone Pine and northbounding through the Sierras, effectively making Ashland our ultimate goal. We'll see what makes sense when we get through WA and OR, but timewise, this seems to be our best bet. We figure that bad weather in northern California in early October won't be as bad as bad weather in the high Sierras in early October.

June 1: Still Willin'

The first day of June. Nearly summer already, almost halfway through the year. A drop in the bucket. I think about so much each day, make so many plans, think long and slow about the things I've done in my life, about how I feel as a result. I think about the time being spent on the trail and how it may be changing me. The walking has turned out to be manageable, comfortable even. It all feels natural enough, like there never was a beginning, like it's end is too far off to even begin to come close to and contemplate. This endless walk is becoming more and more surreal by the day, more and more a walking dream. I guess in some ways it is a great big vacation. No bosses to answer to, no rules to speak of, outside the normal societal checks and balances. No worries much greater than simply staying healthy, eating well (which is not as easy a thing as one would like)...

We hitched into and back out of Tehachapi today. In town we did the standard town drill: took care of our re-supply, hit the PO, where we picked up a care package from my mother, which was a great treat (thanks Mom! those feeze dried veggies are great!). I dropped off my cell phone at a Verizon dealer who agreed to charge it for me while we ran other errands. We were even able to get showered at the Best Western where some other hikers were spending the night and were kind enough to let us in to clean up for a half an hour.

These town stops, for all they're worth, are really relatively stressful experiences. We seem to have a knack at finding our way into the Big K and losing touch entirely with the reality we had been enjoying for the past month on the trail. Out of nowhere, Eliza and I can't communicate, our packs are knocking into the shelves, the parking lot out front somehow transmorgrifies into an impassable barrier of heat and sound, a force field patrolled by battalions of fast travelling SUVs and pickup trucks. Before we fell into this trap again today (we eventually did, unfortunately) we had the good fortune to sit and eat breakfast at the Denny's across from the Post Office with a couple of hikers from Arizona who are in their mid 60s, Squirrel and Ruquito. This was a really nice time, the high point of the day in town by far. They had met only five years ago on a kayaking trip and seemed still to be tickled by their good luck in life to have found another companion so late in the game. We all drank hot coffee and tea, and sat for some time. With evening things improved as we hitched back out to the Willow Springs Rd and walked on another 7 miles before camping just south of highway 58, once again beneath the thunder and groan of the spinning turbines overhead on the hilltops.

May 31: The Tehachapi Mountains

We marched 24 miles today up and over the arid stand of Tehachapi Mountains which stood in our way today. It was I believe our longest waterless stretch so far and we each carried about 3-1/2 liters to last and were fine.

The trail was torn up and ripped apart for most of the way due to motorbike use. We lost the trail a couple of times as a result.

As we came down over the north side of the mini-range we traversed along a canyon just underneath the huge humming turbines of the Oak Canyon windfarm. The most exciting part of the day occurred suddenly at about 5 pm when we came upon a brimming horse trough with a peculiar arm sticking up and over one side. We both stopped to wonder, then realized, it was a shower! We didn't hesitate to strip down and rinse off. It was quite a sight, us dancing clean under the icy cold spray of the nozzle up on the steep sun-baked hillside, at the base of a few of these gargantuan, white windmills, their blades cutting through the air with a roar . . .

We are camped out now at the shoulder of Willow Springs Road. In the am we'll hitch the 9 miles into Tehachapi and hit the PO, grab a cup of coffee, try to clean up if possible, maybe even find someone to charge my dead-again cell phone for me.

For now, it's still light and I've got a John O'Hara novel to begin reading. I didn't realize it when I picked it up, but BUtterfield 8 takes place in NYC as well -- that's all three of the novels I've read out here so far. Certainly a town with a lot of stories to tell, but, God, I've got to get my hands on some Steinbeck while I'm out here.

May 30: Across the Mojave

We slept in this morning and after saying goodbye to the Skaggs set off down the dirt road which meanders across this corner of the wide, windy Mojave.

It was a relatively uneventful day. We enjoyed walking through woody Joshua Tree groves. The sun, while blazing unhindered overhead throughout the day was never too much to bear. The trail followed for much of the day the great submerged tunnel of the LA aqueduct above which we could hear the untouchable flow of cool Sierran waters.

The day was spent almost entirely on a dirt road. All in all it was a pretty boring hike with little elevation change and next to no shade. We were happy to find a little magic just as we wrapped up our 16 miles, though. A local family had driven out and parked adjacent to the Cottonwood Creek bridge, where we ended up sleeping, and were offering soda and beer, chips and cookies to the hikers who came by. I graciously accepted a cold Sam Adams and mini snack bags of Chips Ahoy and Fritos. Together, they constituted the perfect appetizer.

We crashed early in the sand by Cottonwood Creek.

May 29: Omstar Productions

I am not entirely sure where to start with today. Today was our day with Richard Skaggs, the owner and proprietor of Hikertown. Despite his sketchy reputation, here on the PCT, Richard turned out to be a very interesting and unique person. He is business man and owner of two companies, a film producer and director, he was one of the early designers of Epcot Center, he is an appointed California commissioner with the Republican party, and a supporter of the PCT and an environmentalist to boot.

In the morning, as we were stirring from our tent on the gusty lawn, he invited us into his home for coffee and breakfast. Most of the other hikers had left so it was just the two of us -- a couple others were busy outside finishing their preps for departure. He was effusive and enjoyed a curmudgeonly, friendly banter as he mixed up beans and fried pancakes on the stove top. Bob, his property assistant and hiker helper came in and for a while we got into the origins of Richard's bad rap in the hiker community. Bob chewed his lip and hesitantly warned, "Richard, you should probably just leave it be. It's all taken care of." He seemed nervous that his boss would say something he later regret -- something Bob might have to smooth over for him. There had apparently been some bad blood between Richard and Donna Saufley in the past and Richard, being in politics and fearing for his reputation, takes the whole thing very seriously. The last thing he needs is for it to get out that he is running a forced labor camp and making voyeur shower videos of hikers on the side. They got as far as threatening lawsuits at one point but Bob assures him now that it's all taken care of -- Bob is Richard's PCT liason. Richard insists that that's all news to him. He's having a good time, and can tell that we're not judging him. Eliza and I are enjoying ourselves. These guys seem ok to us. We even go as far as extending ourselves to help around the house and property during the day.

So there we are two hours later sitting in his study surrounded by piles of pressboard and baggies of hardware as we undertake the assembly of Richard's wife's new computer hutch. It went well, and after four hours and a few beers we had it completed. A couple of neighbors showed up at one point and they commenced taking tequila shots for much of the afternoon in the livingroom. We got to see Richard's original in-house Epcot film twice and heard all about his miracle fuel emmision additive product and environmental testing companies. By the time we left the house at around 4:30 he was saying that we should come work for him. Sure, we thought. He probably says that to everyone, right?

In the evening, things got really bizarre. Richard's wife came out from LA -- he had spent part of the day scrubbing the floor for her arrival -- and literally five minutes after she pulled up in her sporty new Saab, he came charging out of the house dressed and showered, shirt tucked in -- a whole different guy, really. Right off he spots us in the yard where we sat examining the PCT register, reading other hikers' entries, and calls out, "There you are, do you guys like fish? Come with me down to the shore. I've got to do a few things and I need your help. Get your drivers' license too." And before we know it we are flying, and I mean flying, down the highway bound once again for Los Angeles.

In the car we had a long conversation about his political life, his businesses and his twenty year battle with the oil companies. He really liked talking with Eliza as she has a background in environmental issues. It was a fast drive -- at points he would top out at over 110 mph -- and we were pretty interested in his stories. Among other things, he is remaking an environmental film which he directed some 20 years ago, for which he's already got me marked down as a production assistant. We stopped in at his office where he gathered up a bunch of documents and letters concerning his product and clients, showed us all the celebrity photos on his walls, gave us a tour of part of his car collection, including his prized 1919 Rolls Royce Silver Ghost, and started to talk pretty seriously in a tone that seemed to say, "these are going to be important things for you to know about when you are working for me in the fall."

We sped on from his office on the LA harbor to a row of waterfront seafood joints, here we sat and gorged on a terrific meal of Mexican-style fish and chips and clam chowder, while mariachi bands dueled and the fishing boats came in over our shoulders in the harbor. We had an excellent meal and afterwords we drove up the hill into San Pedro to stop at his home and grab the documents his wife had forgotten to bring him. He showed us around his beautiful, striking house and after a quick stop at the grocery store, we set off on our return trip back to the Antelope Valley and Hikertown.

It was late, nearly 11:00, when we returned. I drove and Richard fell asleep in the back. The whole day had occurred like a scene out of Augie March. We had been suddenly adopted, without more than a nod of our heads as affirmation, dragged into some great political battle, hired on as private assistants, chauffeurs, wined and dined and left wondering, "Was that guy for real, or what?"

At the very least, he stood up to the rumors and the bad rap he had come to receive within the PCT community. He was extremely generous and showed us a great time.