Dave and Lexi's 2004 PCT hike

Oregon

August 1, 2004
Time out here seems to blue into a seamless stream of images, feelings and moments. The seasons, even, have lost their continuity. We left the late winter snows of Vermont to be suddenly subjected to the heat of summer in southern California. Then winter came again as we traversed the high Sierra. Spring has come in fits and starts: a snowmelt stream here, a patch of wild flowers there. The last few weeks it's been HOT, and definitely summer. But now, it's August, we're in Oregon, and I've seen the first goldenrod in bloom. This seems somehow like the beginning of the end. It's not hard to imagine that fall is near and this fills me with melancholy. It seems like we've been here forever and like we've only just begun,

So much philosophy for the momentous occasion of entering a new state. We celebrated the border with rum that Dave had been carrying since Etna. GT and I didn't have much so Dave drank more than his fair share. I think it made the next few miles go by quite quickly for him!

We've been doing relatively short days (20 miles yesterday and 24 today). This has given us time for long breaks and analytical discussions on German vs. American culture with GT. It's quite amazing that this pace seems so luxuriously slow. I'm not sure I would have believed in Campo that hiking 20 miles would ever seem easy. We've come a long way.

-Lexi

August 2, 2004
After a lumpy and pokey night, we were eager to get to town. We hiked steadily crossing Forest Road 20 several times on our way along the ridge and around Mt. Ashland. We welcomed the shade of clouds, but quickly they became powerful. A surprising lightening strike a couple of hundred yards away made us rather alert. Soon thereafter pea sized hail rained down, sometimes with alarming intensity. We donned thick skin, got wet, and hiked downhill towards I-5.

A lucky hitch with a friendly local woman spared us a cold walk down Route 99, and brought us to Callahan's Lodge. We had hiked 19 miles by 3 pm and graciously warmed up in front of the gas fireplace. Meadow Mary gave us, GT and Juniper a ride into Ashland, where torrential rain was wreaking havoc. Scrote joined us for a room at the Columbia Hotel, a classy old place with no phones, TVs or private baths. Once rainwater stopped leaking through the ceiling, the room was pretty nice. Ashland has so darn many nifty restaurants that making a group dinner decision can be arduous, but we ended up happily at Geppetto's. The food was fantastic, a substantial change from onion rings, and we caught up on trail gossip from GT, Scrote and Red Bull. Scrote's encounters with Father Serge (a medicinal pot smoking Russian Orthodox priest) and Snooks (a "trail angel") in Etna were particularly bizarre. After grilled eggplant burgers and Beamish on nitrogen, there was dessert: fried banana wontons with coconut rum sauce, zabaglione custard, NY style cheesecake and crumble topped marionberry pie a la mode. Wow that beats snickers!

-Dave

August 3, 2004
Town stops are always a little chaotic, and our visit to Ashland was no exception. First task: laundry. Next to the laundromat was a real bakery; the first one I've seen this trip. I walked in to have my senses overwhelmed by the smell of freshly baking bread. After much deliberation, I chose a croissant and a warm cranberry walnut roll. Ahh ... no pop tarts today!

Next task: shopping for 18 days of trail food. We spent a good 15 minutes wandering around the Ashland food co-op in wonder and delight. After three months of instant rice, potatoes and Western Family mac and cheese, the variety and tastiness of our options at the co-op boggled this mind. We'll eat well in Oregon! After a few hours we had acquired the bulk of our food for the trail, then we got to the good part: buying food for today's lunch. We settled on fresh baguette, tomato, avocado and goat cheese sandwiches.

Next came the real challenge. In one corner of the porch of the food co-op we took our mountains of food (along with our additional mountain bought at Safeway,) and corralled it into manageable piles. Some was to go via priority mail to Crater Lake, some via UPS to Shelter Cove, 2 packages to Olallie Lake and Timberline Lodge via parcel post, and the rest into our backpacks for the next five days. The neat pile of food in the shopping cart was exploded. Food was taken out of cardboard boxes, repackaged into Ziploc bags, counted, sorted and repiled. At last out of all the mess emerged four neatly packed boxes that we took to the post office just in time for the 5 pm closing.

We took the remainder of our loot back to the hotel (via taxi, since we're at a new hotel a mile out of town). Chores completed, we went to the movies - Fahrenheit 9/11 with GT. (She had had a frustrating day trying to figure out cups and pounds in the bulk section of the co-op.) After the movie, we discussed the flaws and merits of American culture, our political system and world politics until late into the night, well lubricated with excellent mead and beer from the co-op.

-Lexi

August 4, 2004
Imploding the contents of several backpacks, bounce boxes, resupply boxes and snack bags is a chaotic operation. Under the gun near checkout time, we managed to package up all our stuff, and took the bus back to downtown Ashland. We spent the remainder of the day at the library, attempting to accomplish something useful on the computer in an annoying series of 15 minute time slots.

While there, we learned that the name Oregon has a complicated and much disputed history. By one account, Ouagone was used by the Algonquin in the east to refer to a mythical western river, and the term was picked up and used by a white explorer.

In a last fling, we shipped our last resupply box via UPS to Shelter Cove Resort, and bought fresh fruit and veggies for the road. Then we put on our most innocent smiles and stuck out our thumbs at the interstate ramp. After just a couple of minutes, a friendly East Coast transplant woman in a Jaguar picked us up and brought us right back to the trail. After such a long visit to town, it felt a little odd to be back on the trail so quickly.

-Dave

August 5, 2004
After late nights in town, we were tired, and slept soundly through the white noise of nearby I-5. At daybreak clouds still obscured Mt. Ashland, and we prepared for rain. It is strange that northern California just a week ago felt like a desert, and the moment we entered Oregon, cool and humid became the norm. Ridge top trees condense low cloud moisture, and rain on themselves. Before the clouds had burned off completely, we spotted the volcanic pinnacle of Pilot Rock piercing the fog.

Weaving between moist woodlands and dry, rocky meadows, we had good view of Mt. Shasta, now to our south. Today we finally completed the PCT's massive detour, and turned north. Our packs felt heavy, loaded with 4 1/2 days of food, and we eagerly ate the fresh plums, mango, avocado, and French bread.

Just after crossing Highway 66, two dogs, a black mutt and a golden retriever, ran down from a nearby house and followed us down the trail. We paused for dinner at the scummy and overused Little Hyatt Reservoir, and the dogs followed Goat and Skywalker down the trail. The section hiking dogs better not look to me for a handout.

-Dave

August 6, 2004
Apparently the two dogs followed Goat and Skywalker all the way to Hyatt Lake resort, 7 miles from their home. Although it was their first "hike" of this section this year, last year they made the trek 16 times.

It was a peaceful and easy day, winding through the woods, much like the AT. The trail was smooth, and climbed at such a moderate grade that it seemed perfectly flat.

After 3 1/2 months on the trail, we have clearly become starved for intellectual challenge: we are carrying magazines. Unfortunately the current choices aren't making the grade. Time is painfully pedestrian, and Backpacker is full of old news and car camping tidbits. Conversations with GT in Ashland reminded us how much we miss thoughtful discussion with friends in response to a story on NPR.

We cooked dinner at the South Branch Mountain shelter, which looks like it came straight off the AT. As we sat at the picnic table, a father and his 5 or 6 kids (I'm sure there were 7 by the time they left) came out of the woods carrying empty judge, and made for the well pump. They disappeared in the direction from whence they came, without a word. The world is full of minor mysteries.

-Dave

August 7, 2004
We woke up relatively late again this morning (7 AM). Lately, we've been sleeping soundly for a solid 10 hours each night. Perhaps this is another sign of our bodies being slightly run down.

The morning started with a circumnavigation of Brown Mountain. Like every other mountain around here, it's an almost perfectly conical volcano. The trail traversed its lower slopes through fields of red and gray lava rocks. It felt as though we were walking through a barbecue pit.

After our traverse of the mountain, we crossed Highway 140 and spent the rest of the day hiking through mellow wooded terrain. The walking was easy, but a little boring. Hiking through the woods all day, we could have been just about anywhere. It makes me realize how spoiled we've become by seemingly endless spectacular views.

We finished the day with dinner at Christi's spring, which had excellent water, but again now view, followed by an easy 5 1/2 mile walk to camp.

-Lexi

August 8, 2004
Soon after leaving camp, we stopped for a snack and heard the crackling sound of large sticks breaking. Then a black bear wandered into view only 50 feet away. The bear didn't notice us until we started talking. Although it was tempting to be silent and see how close the bear would get, it didn't seem smart to startle it. Once it heard us, it ran off through the woods with heavy footfalls and making a tremendous racket.

After our break, we finally got out of the trees again, as we climbed the ridge above the Sky Lakes. After several days of walking through the woods, it was very rewarding to have views again. We were so eager to prolong our stay above treeline that we climbed Luther Mountain, only about a quarter mile off the trail. From there, we had the best views we'd had in a while. To the east lay Klamath Lake surrounded by irrigated agricultural fields, and to the south, we had one of our last glimpses of Mt. Shasta. It seems like it was so long ago that we were there, its odd that we can still see it.

We continued more or less along the ridge and continued to get occasional views both of distant landscapes and nearby twisted volcanic rock formations. Soon we dropped down to Honeymoon Creek. As this was the last water before Mazama Village, 20 miles away, we had an early dinner there with Fritz and One Gallon.

Loaded down with a gallon of water each, we continued on our way to a camp in the middle of nowhere about 10 miles away. It was extremely buggy in part due to a small pile of snow melting nearby. It seemed unfair that we should be plagued by mosquitoes in the middle of a waterless stretch! The snow, although grubby, was very welcome as it allowed us to wash off some of the layers of dust from our legs and arms.

-Lexi

August 9, 2004
This morning we did an easy 10 miles to Mazama Village at Crater Lake National Park. Just past the park boundary, we passed a trail crew doing a torturous and unnecessary reroute of the trail. It seemed like it would have been more worthwhile for them to clear some of the blowdowns off the trail. But the blowdowns were a few miles out of the park, and in a different jurisdiction.

We ran into Quijote and Too Obtuse this morning. We haven't seen them since Red's Meadows in the middle of the Sierra. They had been a few days ahead of us since then. They took some time off to go to the Burning Man festival, but the decided to return to the trail. We assumed that we would never see them again, and now we've spent the day with them. This trail community works in strange ways. You can never predict who you're going to see.

After picking up our resupply box at the Mazama Store, taking showers and doing laundry, we walked the 5 miles up to the rim of Crater Lake. The lake is phenomenal, far bigger than I ever imagined it would be.

We joined a number of other thru-hikers for the All You Can Eat buffet at the Watchman Restaurant. This buffet is legendary, and we had visions of smoked salmon, gourmet cheese, and delectable desserts. The lasagna, meatloaf, and salad bar, while filling, was somewhat disappointing. We should have been forewarned by the $12.50 price tag!

After dinner we watched a glorious sunset over the lake and camped surreptitiously in a nearby picnic area.

-Lexi

August 10, 2004
Sunrise at the rim was spectacular. Cliffs to the north glowed red and reflected richly on the placid lake far below. It was beautifully quiet. Only a single photographer joined us in admiring the play of color and light in the giant caldera.

When the sunrise was magnificently complete, we began the counterclockwise walk around the crater's west and north sides. We paused frequently to gawk at each new view. At the crossing of North Rim Drive, we gave wide berth to the dangerous looking rental RVs and the ridiculous looking miniature dogs that were alarmingly common. Then we turned north and descended extremely slowly through spare, sandy forest. The trail was almost perfectly straight, very smooth, and without a single view. It was rather boring. Just past Highway 138 we found a reasonably stocked water cache, a welcome find in the middle of a 25 mile dry section. We had each started with five liters and happily drank some bonus water.

After six more miles of featureless forest, we approached Mt. Thielsen, a dramatic volcanic spire. Although it was 6:15 PM, Too Obtuse and I were eager to make the 2000' climb to the 9182' summit. Lexi thought we were nuts for heading up so late in the day, and continued towards water and camp. Armed with headlamps, water, and chocolate, we galloped up the climbers' trail. Very quickly the decent trail turned in a scree slog. We were encouraged by our quick progress and were happy to sporadically leave the scree for solid, knobby volcanic slabs. Higher we passed strange looking lava tubes, remnants of the mountains active volcanic past. The steep summit pinnacle loomed above us, like a challenge. It turned out to be a bit steeper than we expected: about 75' of 5.2 rock climbing. Fortunately the rock was very solid and the route obvious. With great care we climbed up to the summit blocks, from where the views were stunning. Diamond Lake glittered in the late day sun. We spotted Crater Lake, peeking over the rim. Several thousand feet of exposure on the north and east sides added a little spice. It had only taken us 51 minutes to make the climb, but we didn't want to squander the remaining light, and soon began the descent. We took extra care on the downclimb, and plunge-stepped down dirty scree. We returned to our packs at 8:15 and loitered for awhile, enjoying a splendid sunset. Mt. Thielsen behind us shifted from brown to orange to purple.

Too Obtuse and I strode on into dusk, in search of Quijote and Lexi at Thielsen Creek. We found them just as it became undeniably dark. Stars shone brightly around the silhouette of the mountain.

My legs are completely fried from a 25 mile day followed by a speed climb. I wouldn't have it any other way.

-Dave

August 11, 2004
We all had a late start. At least the icy water fresh from the snows of Mt. Thielsen woke us up. We took a long break at 10:00 a.m. where we enjoyed one of the day's only mountain views. Today's 24 mile dry section is reminiscent of Southern California. The major difference is that here there are no roads, and hence, no water caches. Again, we carried tons of water. The trail was yet again so smooth (this seems to be the theme of Oregon) that Obtuse took out his book and read a couple of chapters.

After a long day we began an alternate route to Shelter Cove Resort and set up camp between Nip and Tuck Lakes. The genuine PCT stays high and dry on the forested ridge, whereas the old Oregon Skyline Trails winds past numerous creeks and lakes. Tired of lugging water around, we opted for the lower path.

I hope that some of the lakes we visit tomorrow are a bit deeper than the Nip and Tuck Lakes, where we are now camped. They're ankle deep and muddy on the bottom. Just to fetch water we had to wade out 50 feet.

-Dave

August 12, 2004
As soon as we got out of our tent this morning, we were greeted by a very rambunctious golden retriever. He wanted to play, and apparently his person was still sound asleep. I guess thru-hiker time was more to his liking!

We had a rather boring morning's hike through more "Oregon Desert": flat, dry, sparse lodgepole pine forest with almost no understory or ground cover.

It's in terrain like this where the brain sometimes leaves the trail entirely and the body continues on in autopilot. At one point, just outside of Ashland, Scrote was so preoccupied by considering the weights of various volumes of water (based on our dinner conversation he previous night) that he almost stepped on a rattlesnake. We haven't seen Scrote since, but he told us about it in a note that he left on the trail. Several other folks also read the note, which got them to thinking about weights and measures as well.

But out random trail thoughts are not usually so scientific. Conversations that might have been, or still could be replay themselves endlessly. Reunions with long lost friends, revenge on long lost enemies, political arguments with the inconvincible are all part of the mix. Sometimes snippets of songs stick in my head. Unfortunately, since I'm not good at lyrics, I usually only get a few lines into a song before repeating. Sometimes just a few words repeat over and over, like a mantra.

The trail this morning was not only boring but annoyingly dusty. It sees a lot of horse traffic, and over time the horses hooves have pulverized the sand into a fine dust. It was a relief to get to Diamond View Lake where we not only had a scenic view, but also a refreshing swim.

From there, Shelter Cove Resort, where we picked up our next resupply box, was only a short walk. We could have stayed at the resort, but pizza at the Willamette Pass ski area two trail miles away, beckoned us onward. It was a little odd to be in a ski lodge on a summer evening. There was no one there except a huge crew of thru-hikers. Nonetheless, the pizza was good, and the black cherry, chocolate milkshakes excellent. Fully sated on fresh food, we set up camp just a few hundred yards down the trail from Highway 58, and went to sleep, or tried to, to the noise of passing traffic.

-Lexi

August 13, 2004
The music of Jake Brakes from nearby Highway 58 was appropriate accompaniment for our camp near the sand shed. Thanks to my earplugs, I slept well. Lexi just wanted it to be over.

At the Rosary Lakes we encountered our first of several groups who hauled in enormous tents, coolers, furniture, pets, ice, and inflatable boats to various lakes. Roads come very close around here, allowing the "kitchen sink" types to get their wilderness experience. At Charlton Lake we cooked dinner 50 yards from such a clan with loads of kids. After swimming as best we could in one foot of water, we hiked on to find a quiet camp. Set up at Riffle Lake we are alone, but it's hardly quiet. Clouds of mosquitoes, trees full of cicadas, and some loud buzzing bug that keeps smacking into the tent are all making quite a racquet.

You really never know who you'll run into on the trail. A few days ago we saw Quijote and Too Obtuse for the first time in 1000 miles. They were planning to go to Burning Man for a month, and we didn't expect to see them again, but plans change. Today we saw Gail, who got off the trail at VVR, due to excessive weight loss, and we hadn't expected to see her again either. But here she was, hiking some short sections with Porter. People appear and disappear all the time. Just when you think that you're all alone, it all changes.

-Dave

August 14, 2004
Today was a lake day. The trail took us by numerous pools, puddles, ponds, and even a lake or two. Most of them were shallow and marshy, a few were quite aesthetic, and all were very boggy.

A little after mid-day, we stopped at Cliff Lake (one of the aesthetic ones), took a long break, and cooked dinner. Near the lakeshore is an old shelter that is miraculously still standing. The supports on one side have been moved, some the beams have been burned, and the stone walls have toppled, and the whole thing lists to one side, but the heavy shingle roof is still intact. The thing looks as though a good hard push would cause its collapse. The Forest Service has apparently decided that it's in bad enough shape to warrant a sign that says "shelter unsafe, no camping," but not bad enough to take down.

After our dinner, enormous black clouds rolled in, thunder rumbled, and rain started to fall. Since rain never seems to last very long around here, we decided to wait it out in the shelter. We rationalized that since it hadn't fallen down last winter, it was unlikely to pick that exact moment to come tumbling down. A little while later we left it much as we found it and were on our way.

Today was a classic example of how Dave's and my natural hiking schedules differ. This morning Dave was totally beat, and dragging from one break to the next, while I bounced along the trail full of energy. Right on schedule in mid-afternoon, I started to slow down and need more breaks, just when Dave's mysterious metabolism kicked into high gear, and he took off. Some days we choose to hike separately to account for this, but mostly we've just gotten used to being patient with each other. It's easier now, since we know we have plenty of time to get to Canada and can afford to slow down a little. Despite the fact that at leas tone of us felt like we were hiking slowly most of the day, we still covered 23 miles and got into camp by 7:15, which is earlier than usual. It's nice to have a little time at the end of the day to relax before going to bed.

-Lexi

August 15, 2004
All day we had fabulous views of the Sisters, South, Middle, and North. Contoured around their western sloped over lumpy lava fields, meadows of pumice, and familiar forests. From the rolling Wickiup Plain we had an impressive view of Rock Mesa, a solidified lava flow. It was like a tidal wave of bubbling rock frozen in time. Later the landscape took another strange turn. Within about half a mile of Obsidian Falls the ground was covered with chunks of the natural volcanic glass. Small fragments glittered in the afternoon sun, and large boulders were a peculiar marbleized mix of obsidian and more ordinary volcanic rock.

Early in the afternoon we stopped with Quijote and Too Obtuse at a tiny unnamed lake. We enjoyed a refreshing swim in the cool water and sat on a rock outcropping to cook dinner.

Shortly thereafter a herd of nine people on horses clomped up and rode right into the lake. We grumbled to ourselves that parking large un-potty trained animals in a water source seemed a little impactful. After a few minutes the crew rounded the vegetated shore and tied the horses to some shrubberies. Soon enough they all jumped into the lake, well armed with Ivory Soap (it's 99.9% pure!) large bottles of shampoo, and detangler, and began to shamelessly lather up. After nearly four months of minimum impact camping, taking great care of water sources, and carrying heavy loads of precious water large distances, we were outraged, The leader of a Boy Scout trip charged with cleaning up illegal campsites came out of the trees to chastise the thoughtless horse packers, and was soundly rebuffed. Obtuse walked around to remind them that plenty of people use this small lake as their water source, and didn't get any farther. The curmudgeon leader of the horse packers, sporting a good sized beer belly and tightie-whities made it abundantly and obviously clear that he had been doing this for 30 years and like hell anyone was going to change his habits. Obtuse tried a couple of other avenues of logical argument and finally conceded that these people were a lost cause. All the while I was boiling inside, and suddenly let loose a string of commentary far too crude to write here, and possibly counterproductive.

For several hours afterwards we discussed alternate methods of dealing with these people, including getting the packer's license revoked, setting horse booby traps, writing letters to Congress, singing Kumbaya, and putting horse shit down their wells. We were left with great animosity for people who care so little for the wilderness, and frustration for how to deal with them.

After passing more weekend hikers (today was Sunday) than we had seen in the entire previous month, we arrived at Sawyer Bar. Much to our surprise and bemusement, one of the many weekenders camped there greeted us with applause. Upon hearing that we were thru-hiking, he clapped even louder. He ended up giving me a $5 donation (for beer, wink, wink) which I'll happily pass along to the PCTA.

The four of us sat on an uncomfortable truck-sized volcanic lump, and enjoyed a glorious sunset. I was grateful for a peaceful end to a day which had boiled my blood. I tried to be comforted by the notion that the world has some balance. In the same day I met both the most shamelessly evil person on the trail and the most unabashedly friendly person on the trail. It's a strange world and I don't understand it one bit.

-Dave

August 16, 2004
We rose early and ate a quick breakfast of, you guessed it, Pop Tarts, hoping to get to Sisters while there was still good food in town. We hiked across a stunning volcanic landscape, a veritable maze of razor sharp rock. Fortunately the signs were adequate and we didn't require the guidance of a treacherous wretch.

At the trail's crossing of Highway 242 at McKenzie Pass there was nothing: no sign, no pullout, nothing. So we walked a couple of hundred yards to the Dee Wright Observatory, an odd rock fort from which you can see most of the tallest mountains in Oregon. We chatted up the tourists, hoping for a ride, but only succeeded with a friendly cyclist and a couple going the wrong way. After 45 minutes of skeptical looks we used the old fashioned thumb and got into Sisters with a local guy.

Sisters was completely horrible. Bogus western junk shops were everywhere. RVs the size of Greyhound busses jammed the streets. The hugest of them all towed a 15 passenger Club van. I suppose gasoline must be free somewhere around here.

We found the Ray's Food Place grocery store and quickly packed up food to carry us to Olallie Lake, and to mail to the Stabler Country Store and Trout Lake in Washington. As 3:30 we met Brian, who with Amanda had given us a ride into Chester over a month ago. We rode to their house in Bend, 20 miles to the south, and had a great time washing up, enjoying a scrumptious dinner out of the garden and making new friends.

-Dave

August 17, 2004
Hash browns, scrambled eggs, and broccoli with plenty of salsa. Fresh blueberries with cream. Cinnamon rolls. This was no dream, but our trail magic breakfast, cooked by Brian.

Shortly thereafter he departed for work at the nursery in Redmond, and we began our arduous zero day: mailing at the post office, eating lunch at a sandwich shop, browsing trail journals at the library, buying Lexi a new hat at the outfitter, and sampling unusual treats at the soda fountain/ice cream shop. The Green River (lime) phosphate was extra refreshing and a box of Bernie Botts Every Flavor Beans came home. There we sat on the couch and moved as little as possible.

We hadn't planned on zeroing in Bend, but with the time and interest to rest, and friendly hosts, changing our plans wasn't hard. All four of us are naturally shy, and our first meeting in Chester had been quiet. And yet now we had much to talk about and did so constantly: plants, gardening, hiking, and homesteading in Eastern Oregon. After dinner and samples at the Bend Brewing Company, talked continued into the wee hours.

-Dave

August 18, 2004
We had a leisurely morning with another excellent breakfast and more lively conversation. It continues to amaze me how much Amanda, Brian, Dave, and I have to say to each other considering that two days ago Brian and Amanda were essentially two random people that we barely knew. Encounters like this are one of the things that I cherish most about the trail. Spur of the moment connections with people seem much harder to make in everyday life. We reached the trailhead around noon. Our only goal was to make it to Olallie Lake, 63 miles away, on the evening of the 20th.

The trail took us through more lava fields around McKenzie Pass. We had occasional spectacular views as we circumnavigated Mt. Washington. An easy hike took us to Big Lake Youth Camp where we got water and ate dinner. Dave was happy to no longer carry this dinner: Boboli pizza crust, cheese, and sauce. It may have been hard to carry, but it was good!

A few times today we ran into Half-cent and his 13 year old son. His son is hiking through Oregon with him, and he is quite a trooper. One day he decided he wanted to do a 30. They only made it 28, but still, that's quite a feat. Since then they've been hiking 20-25 miles each day, and he seemed to be enjoying himself. I've really enjoyed meeting kids on the trail. It gives me hope that its possible to continue doing the things I love outdoors when we have kids.

-Lexi

August 19, 2004
The trail today took us through the area ravaged by the B&B fire last year. Thru-hikers last year had to skip this section because the fire was still burning.

Through much of the area the fire had clearly burned very hot. The ground was mottled gray and black with occasional patches of orange sand. There was no organic soil left at all. Great skeletons of trees charred black most of the way up their trunks were all still standing. On some trees the black bark had begun to split revealing orange-red wood beneath. Occasionally, where the fire had burned less hot, small clumps of bear grass and huckleberry sprouts added a bright spot of green.

The strangest thing about the burned area was that it was completely silent. The only noise came from my footsteps and breathing, and the slight breeze rattling the dead branches. There was no chirping of birds, chattering of chipmunks or buzzing of insects - noises that are so ubiquitous in the woods that you don't notice them anymore unless they are gone. As far as I could tell, the place was completely devoid of animal life.

Gradually we climbed up the ridge toward Three Fingered Jack. Higher up, we passed through occasional islands of green that had been mysteriously spared from the inferno.

Later in the day, we passed, with some relief, out of the burn and back into the cool shaded woods. Near Porcupine Peak we met a man who was out for a few days with a horse and pack mule. We fell into conversation with him and chatted about our respective journeys. It soon became clear to us that he had a deep appreciation for the trail and for the land, and a healthy respect for what we were doing. He had recently had an encounter with rude hikers that were just as frustrating for him as our recent horse encounters have been for us. After our run-in with the horse packers bathing in the lake, we've been inclined to curse every horse in sight. It was good for us to be reminded that, as with most types of people, there are horse packers who are thoughtful and respectful, and those who are rude and uncaring.

Our day ended at tiny Shale Lake where we had magnificent views of Mt. Jefferson to the north. Over dinner we met a couple out with their teenage kids for a week. I'm always excited to see families out hiking together. It gives me hope that it is possible to enjoy backcountry adventures with kids.

-Lexi

August 20, 2004
Traversing around the western slopes of Mt. Jefferson, we entered a dense forest of Mountain Hemlock. The high canopy blocked out the sky, making it feel more like pre-dawn, and my sunglasses didn't help.

Milk Creek and Russell Creek crashed down the mountain, murky with rock flour from the glaciers. The guidebook warned us to cross these early in the morning, before they had swollen to unsafe depths, but we didn't even get our feet wet.

On the north side of the mountain we crossed Jefferson Park, a beautiful meadow dotted with alpine lakes, overrun with flowers, and overshadowed by glaciers. From the pass by Park Butte we glimpsed for the first time Mt. Hood, Oregon's tallest peak. We keep thinking that we've left snow far behind, but on the descent we glissaded what must surely be permanent snowfields. It's great to be back in big mountains.

Hiking on to Olallie Lake, we picked up our resupply box, and found a hoard of hikers at Yurt #13. Reuniting '02 hikers were cooking up a storm for us. We enjoyed watching the sunset on Mt. Jefferson, sitting on a couch and drinking beer.

-Dave

August 21, 2004
Hikers from 2002 were cooking again: piles of pancakes. They tasted pretty good, so I apparently didn't suffer any lasting damage in Seiad Valley. We caught up with GT, Salamander, and Fritz and One Gallon.

Lazy from the large breakfast, we headed north at 11am. Walking trough the gently sloping woods of the Warm Springs Indian Reservation, we wouldn't have minded some company, but even though we moseyed along at a rather lacksidasical pace, not a single person caught up to us. We carried Harper's, and were now thankful to have quality literary diversion. I walked reading. The walking part is such second nature that it felt like sitting on the couch on a Sunday afternoon.

Last night was cool. Although I don't remember putting it on, I woke with my hat pulled close. I can imagine zipping my sleeping bag sometime soon. Ripe huckleberries abound. Stray blueberries are familiar and highlight how the huckleberries differ. They're more tannic, sweet, and a little bitter. Leaves here and there are bright red, brown, and speckled yellow. Thick overcast skies loom above, and the air feels dark. Fall is coming. We're over 2000 miles now, but I still don't have any intuitive understanding of having walked a long distance. We've just been walking a long time. When we began winter had just ended, and now it's easy to imagine winter returning.

-Dave

August 22, 2004
I woke up at 4am to the sound of rain pouring down on our tent. I ignored it, rolled over, and went back to sleep. Dave and I awoke a few hours later to discover a large puddle at the bottom of our tent. Apparently our tent is not as waterproof as we had hoped. Closer inspection revealed that what is necessary is re-sealing it. This is easy enough to fix eventually, but not right now.

We procrastinated getting up in hopes that the rain would stop and the sun miraculously come out, but it did not. Eventually, around 7:30 we began packing up and sorting our things that we hoped to keep dry from those that were irretrievably wet.

Once we got out of the tent and started hiking, we realized that it was not only wet, but also quite cold. There would be no lollygagging for us today.

We hiked non-stop through relatively mellow wooded terrain, munching what snacks we could while on the move. Dave became a "mobile chef" making peanut butter sandwiches while we walked. (This was made considerably easier by our squeezable container of peanut butter.)

We stopped at 4:30 having hiked 24 miles in 8 hours. We were both hungry and wanted a hot meal, but the only way we would be warm enough would be to set up our soggy tent and crawl into our soggy sleeping bags to out of the rain as best we could. The only other option was to hike another 14 miles to Timberline Lodge where they might or might not have a room for us. We opted for dinner and a damp night. We whiled away the late afternoon reading magazines which had to be handled carefully to avoid ripping the wet pages. Finally, we prepared ourselves as best we could for the inevitable swamp, and fell asleep to the sound of continued rain.

-Lexi

[After wreaking havoc in South Korea and killing at least nine people in Japan, the remnants of Typhoon Megi drifted across the Pacific, arrived on the west coast of the United States August 21-23, 2004 and then slammed into the Cascade mountains of Oregon and Washington, claiming there one additional victim. Most of the 2004 Pacific Crest Trail north-bound thru-hiker crowd was spread generally from Oregon's Three Sisters Wilderness in the south to Snoqualmie Pass in the north when the storm hit.]

August 23, 2004
We prepared ourselves for the rain a bit better, but we still crawled out of the tent pretty wet. A thin ray of sunshine teased us before being overpowered by the rainy gloom. Well-armed with snacks, we puddle tromped north towards Timberline Lodge, only 14 miles away. We kept up a brisk pace, especially on the downhills, just to stay warm. Just after Wapinitia Pass we cheered at the sight of an ordinary concrete Forest Service outhouse. It had a roof! Huddling under its protection, we ate and drank, reviewed the maps, and chucked the magazines, which were now sopping wet bricks of pulp.

On the final approach to Timberline Lodge, we climbed open alpine slopes, which during reasonable weather probably afford fabulous views of Mt. Hood. However, we were stuck in a cold cloud that obscured the lodge until we were nearly at the parking lot.

We stumbled inside, eager for warmth and dryness, and suddenly found ourselves in another world. Timberline Lodge was built by the WPA workers in the 1930s. It is a massive stone and timber frame structure with 22" square posts on the first floor, a 98' tall stone fireplace, glass mosaics of Paul Bunyan and his blue ox, bas relief wood carvings and original custom designed furniture, lighting, and rugs. And shiny, happy, dry tourists paying as much as$240 a night who tried not to look at the pathetic, wet people in the corner. When I went to the modern, ugly ski lodge to retrieve our resupply box, it was even darker, rainier, and colder than before. And after a stingy debate, we paid $85 for a tiny bunkroom. It was a little awkward and quite smelly, but we slowly managed to get ourselves and our gear clean and dry.

I surreptitiously cooked up lunch outside on the over-sized stone window sill, and after drying my immersed feet in front of the fire, we ate pizza and beer at the most low-brow of the three restaurant. The beer, made by The Mount Hood Brewing Co. just down the hill in the village of Government Camp, was very tasty, both Porter and Amber.

The big question lingered: Where was everyone else? There had been quite a crowd at Olallie Lake and since then we hadn't seen a soul

-Dave

August 24, 2004
Our hardest day yet began in decadent luxury: the breakfast buffet at Timberline Lodge. We devoured Belgian waffles topped with syrup, fruit, and whipped cream, scrambled eggs, pancakes, freshly fried donuts, piles of bacon, and the best hot chocolate I've ever had, topped with more whipped cream, all the while trying to ignore the windy downpour outside the window.

At last, full of thousands of calories of fat, we set out grimly into the storm. We resisted the urge to procrastinate longer, spurred on by the knowledge that we could only safely spend one night out between the lodge and Cascade Locks 48 miles away. After one night, our tent and sleeping bags would again be drenched, and we would not be able to stay warm.

A hundred yards from the lodge we passed a sign on a ski slope pointing back to the lodge. We thought it was silly that there was a sign pointing out the obvious, until we turned around. The lodge had vanished into the fog.

As we headed down the trail, we passed many soaking sad weekend backpackers who were retreating back to their cars in the lodge parking lot. One of them said that they had turned around because the Sandy River, about 8 miles down the trial, was uncrossable. We blew off his warning assuming that, while the river might be intimidating for an occasional backpacker, it would be no problem for seasoned thru-hikers.

As we neared the water our confidence waned. The river was a rushing foaming chocolate milk colored torrent. Rocks the size of small watermelons hurtled downstream with ominous grinding noises. I stuck my pole in the water to test its depth and the force of the current almost pulled it out of my hand.

Where the trail met the river, it was narrow and quite deep. We made our way slowly upstream, hoping for a better crossing. After about half a mile of scrambling along sometimes precariously steep river banks, we came to a place where the river was divided into four or five channels. The first channel was easy, the second and third each a little faster and stronger. Finally we got to the fourth and deepest channel. "Do you want to do this solo?" Dave yelled above the roar. "No way," I yelled back. We shuffled sideways into the water facing upstream. Dave stood in front of me breaking the force of the water; I stood behind holding onto his waist.

Our first step into the flood, the ground gave way alarmingly underfoot. One more step and I could feel the rocks hitting my legs. If a big one came down it could mean a broken ankle or worse. Don't think, just move. Pick up one foot. Use all my strength to move it over. Don't let it get caught by the water. Shift my weight. Move the next foot. Halfway across I almost yelled at Dave to turn around. But then two more steps and we were across.

One more small channel to cross, and then we were on the other side hooting and hollering with relief. My stomach felt a little nauseous with anxiety.

We stopped at a small stream and emptied the grit that the river had washed into our shoes. The whole crossing had taken about an hour. Totally drenched from the river and the cold wind, we walked briskly to warm up.

A few miles later, the rain began to fall again in earnest. And we kept moving. We ate candy bars and home-made caramel and cookies as we walked. Our friends from home, Deb and Ian, had sent us a care package of goodies to Timberline Lodge. They were a life-saver. I honestly don't know how we would have made it through the day without them.

There was one more river crossing shown on the map: The Muddy River. I knew I couldn't make another crossing like the last one, and I was very anxious. As the trail neared the river, a very new spur trail signed for hikers only branched off. It led to a brand new log bridge. I've never been so happy to see a bridge in my life.

A few minutes later, we ran into Chipper and Jeff, who were startlingly dry. We learned that they had only just packed up their camp. They were the first thru-hikers we had seen since Olallie Lake, and we were happy for the company.

As the rain poured down, we passed a few curious things. First, Scott Williamson, who had begun in Campo the same day as us, had arrived in Canada August 9, and was attempting to "yo-yo" and hike southbound back to Mexico. He was unflappably content, despite the weather, our warnings about the river, or his 35-40 mile a day schedule. We soon passed a bright orange "Trail Work Ahead" sign followed by a miniature dump truck and backhoe. They looked pretty handy for moving rocks, but it must have taken a long time to drive them in at a top speed of 0.5 mph.

On we hiked through the rain. At 4:30 we reached Lolo Pass. From there, it was 12.5 miles to the next certain campsite and 30.5 miles to Cascade Locks. Since had to get to Cascade Locks tomorrow, we decided to push on.

The trail climbed up along an often narrow ridge. The wind howled, the rain came down in sheets. On and on we walked -- sometimes almost jogging to stay warm. The light started to fade as we headed out onto open rocky slopes, that in better times supposedly offer spectacular views. All we could see was fog 100 ft. ahead. The wind and rain whipped around us. Dave was very cold and started to stumble. What would we do if the campsite was this windy? I tried not to think about it. Winding over open talus, we spotted a memorial cairn and cross for a fallen hiker. Upon closer inspection it was clearly just a trail sign, but it had a rattling effect nonetheless.

After seemingly endless walking we at last descended into the trees and arrived at Indian Springs Campsite in the dark. With much cursing at our numb fingers, and some impatience with each other, we finally erected our tent. Dave collapsed shivering in his sleeping bag while I cooked dinner and tea. After a hot meal and 2 hours of shivering, Dave finally warmed up. We tried our best to sleep as the tent flapped around us. It was, without question, the hardest day on the trip.

-Lexi

August 25, 2004
Gradually, water leaked in every which way and the wind buffeted the tent, sending little spritzes of moisture at us. By morning we were again motivated to hike onwards to a dry place. This time: 18 miles to Cascade Locks. Hiking along yet more blustery ridge, we joined Richard, a retired Special Forces guy. We took the PCT all the way down, opting against the alternate route down the Eagle Creek Trails, which has fabulous waterfalls and sheer cliffs with cable handrails. We'll return on a dry day to see that. Nearly down, the sun briefly came out, and we took our first rest break in four days.

We were greatly relieved to discover that the Best Western still had an intact roof, and we shared a room with Richard that had plenty of room for drying out. My painful, pruney feet and our chafed butts began the road to recovery. For the rest of the day we laid on the bed eating chips and salsa and watched the Olympics. Aaaahhhhhh.

-Dave

August 27, 2004
We spent the last two days drying out in Cascade Locks. Yesterday we did a massive food shop for everything we'll need in Washington. Thanks to Chipper and Jeff's rental car, we were able to shop at the larger store in Hood River. We also re-seam sealed our tent, which we hope will prevent some of the flooding We've recently experienced. Our room at the Best Western, which we're sharing with Richard, was quite a sight: all the furniture pushed to one side; the tent set up at one end; and piles of food everywhere.

We've also done a lot of relaxing. After our four wet days, we're pretty exhausted. Surprisingly, we haven't used the hot tub in the hotel at all. Somehow, it's just not appealing to be wet again.

Over the last two days there have been scattered reports about a weekend hiker dying on Mt. Hood. The reports have been infuriatingly brief and incomplete. In the end, we learned that the woman was found dead in the Sandy River near the PCT, having apparently drowned while trying to cross. She must have died within a few hours of the time we were there. It's incredibly sobering to think about.

Today, we said goodbye to Radar. He tried to hike out of town a few days ago, but had to come back because of a sore foot. He has since been diagnosed with a stress fracture, so he's returning home to Connecticut. We've heard of a few other people leaving the trail due to injury recently. It seems odd and unfair to be injured so close to completing the hike. Radar is the first person that we've been close to leave, and we were sad to see him go. The events of the last few days have reminded me how fragile we are. Even this late in the trip, we need to be careful and take care of our bodies. The 500 miles that we have left is still a long way.

-Lexi