September's PCT hike

Last month, I hiked over Mt. Hood on the PCT. It went very well. Read all about it!

9-24-08
Starting point: Wapanitia Pass
Destination: White River Buried Forest Overlook
Miles: 8.5

I begin at 10.00 under the protection of the Great Blue Tarp of An Tir. It's pleasantly warm for this time of year up here. I can already tell that the changes I've made to my gear will make a difference. Except that my load's out of balance. A mile or so up the trail, I stop and fix it.
Not 20 minuets into my hike, I meet a solo section-hiker bound for Willamette Pass. I trudge along, making pretty good time and pass hundreds of huckleberry bushes. Only a few have berries, which I sample. At one point, a Douglas squirrel begins chirping energetically, startling me out of my reverie. I look around and then look back at the squirrel. Satisfied that it's chattering at me and not a bear, I take a couple of photos, watch it for a minute, and continue onward. Shortly before Barlow Pass, I meet a group of day-hikers bound for Twin Lakes. I briefly chat with a couple of them about through-hiking and hiking in general.
I decide to eat a cooked meal at Barlow Pass. There's lots of room, it's dry and I have time. While I'm eating, another group of day-hikers finishes their hike from the north. I've seen many mushrooms, few if any of them likely to be edible. The only mushroom, edible or otherwise, I can recognize with any degree of certainty is the morel and that's because it's so radically different from any other mushroom.
Across Hwy. 35, the trail steepens and then eases up. There's more to this stretch of trail than the straight-up I remember from the last time I was here over a decade ago. I have a brief view to the south and note my progress. The wind is picking up with a notable amount of force. This does not bode well. There are no more views until shortly before timberline, but the trail is clear and easy. About a mile south of Timberline Trail, my tread steepens again and I get flashbacks to my hike last June. I also cross a stream with a couple of nice-looking campsites. It begins to rain, which the weather report predicted. Still, this does not bode well. Those campsites sure are inviting and would be excellent spots on a through-hike, but there's still plenty of daylight, so I continue.
As I traverse over toward the Salmon River canyon, I hear a sound through the forest. Although it's difficult to discern over the noise my pack's making in my ears, it sounds rather like a howl. I stop and listen briefly, then continue. I hear it again and again I pause. I rule out a creaking tree trunk bending with the wind, which I heard last time I was up here. I guess coyote, but I can't know for sure until I hear it again. I walk some more, hear it yet again and pause. The road to Timberline Lodge is just across the canyon and through some trees, so I surmise it could be someone's squealing brakes. Then I hear the sound again while I'm standing still. It's an owl! Satisfied that it's not something that will be stalking me for my food, I relax and continue. I soon get a good view of the Timberline Ski Area's lift towers rising above the rim of the Salmon River canyon. It sure looks closer than the couple of trail miles I know lay between me and the Lodge.
I reach the Timberline Trail with lots of daylight left, so I decide to continue. I meet a jogger—yes, a jogger—then another day-hiker. Right after that, it starts to rain again, this time with vigor fueled by the strong winds common up here. The Tarp has failed cataclysmically. I soldier on toward a grove of trees where I figure I might be able to find a sheltered spot. As I enter, I meet a solo section-hiker bound for McKenzie Pass. He's carrying an umbrella. I've heard of this and read about it on PCT-L, but this is the first time I've actually seen it, although I can tell from his load that he's far from an ultralighter. He tells me there are a few flat spots in the trees, but then nothing until Timberline Lodge. I find a nice spot and set up my tent. Now I'm hunkered down. It's barely 18.00 as I start writing. I hope he rain lets up. Otherwise it's going to be a long night of TAP-TAP-TAP....
I call my wife and talk to her for a bit. Then I call the proprietor of a gallery where we have some of our ceramic work and talk to her briefly.

9-25
Destination: Sandy River near lower intersection with Ramona Falls Trail
Miles: 12
Trip Miles: 22.5

All the rain, much of it falling off the trees above me and the wind rob me of restful sleep. At one point, a fir cone falls off a tree and bounces off my tent, startling me. I get up at 07.00 and break camp in the wet. The rain has lifted, but a a wind-blown mist remains. Unlike my June hike, I don't dread putting on my pack!
The mile to T.L. is uneventful, although the loose ash underlying the trail makes it hard to walk in spots. It would have been gorgeous in nice weather, although one could say that about any hike, some more than others. I stop for breakfast and a pit stop at the Wy-East Day Lodge. Theres a little climbers' alcove. Hey, it's warm! I duck into the restroom—wow, it's heated! I cook and eat my breakfast, refill my water, adjust my pack cover and head out again into the blustery mist.
I have reception by the communications array by T.L., so I call Sarah and leave a voice-mail. I continue at a somewhat leisurely pace. Soon I pass a couple of backpackers with loads a bit larger than mine. Soonafter, I meet another solo hiker with a rather large load. We talk briefly and I move on. I immediately meet a bow-hunter. He tells me his opinion of anti-hunting people, citing that the hunter's prey has a decided advantage over the hunter in terms of smell, hearing, agility and so forth. He also thinks I'm “hauling ass.” About 2/3 of the way down the switchbacking decent into Zigzag Canyon, a pair of day-hikers comes up on my six and blows past me. I pause at Zigzag River for a small lunch. After executing a slightly tricky bolder-hop ford of the river, I take the Paradise Park loop trail. It is indeed beautiful up there! It'd have been even more so had I actually been able to see the mountain! I'm surprised at how many plants are still in full bloom. I'm not sure how much of this is normal and how much is due to this year's late spring. Either way, it makes my hike more interesting.
The rain cooperates more or less. The descent to the Sandy River is exhausting! My knees hurt by the time I reach the canyon bottom. Crossing the river is twitchy. Just upstream is a small log bridge made with three small trees lashed together in three places. I cross with great trepidation. The whole thing flexes and shifts with every step. I chant the mantras “don't look down” and “look where you want to go and your feet will follow.” Somehow neither of those is terribly practical, as I have to watch where I step on the uneven logs to ensure I have more or less solid footing, else I could go tumbling into the river, which really isn't that deep. I could have made a wet ford, but not only did I not feel like it, I wanted to test myself, since these sorts of log crossings will be what I'll face on a through-hike, particularly in the High Sierra. I pass the test with much relief. With my heart still pounding from a moderate release of adrenaline, I power on. Looking back up the river, I see Mt. Hood peaking out from between gaps in the cloud. It looks like the weather might improve.
As twilight falls, I think I miss the junction to Ramona Falls. Arrrr! So as night falls, I choose a spot by the trail overlooking the Sandy River. I pitch the tent partly because I don't know what the sky will do and partly to hopefully dry it out a bit. I don't realize how tired I am until I stop moving. I think I'm going to sleep well tonight.

9-26
Destination: Between Salvation Springs and Buck Peak
Miles: 12
Trip Miles: 36.5

I arise almost with the sun. A man and woman come walking out of the woods while I'm eating breakfast. They're carrying nothing, save for a few odds and ends in a plastic bag. They look Indian. We greet each other and they shuffle on up the trail. I gaze across the river and marvel at all the different shades of green and at the fact that NONE of them clash! Spontaneous macro-evolution? I don't think so.
With the Tarp of An Tir firmly back in place, I set out. I was right about the Ramona Falls trail. A few minutes of hiking bring me to its western junction. I remember seeing Romona Falls signage after climbing up from Sandy River, but I think it must have been wrong. Through the sparsely-branched lodgepole pines, I can see the ridge looming above me and a cap-cloud sitting atop its easter part, but I'm confident the trail heads over the non-cloudy bit. I head to Muddy Fork, up which I'd go to see the falls, where a sign directs me to a hiker bridge upstream. I take a few steps in that direction, but then change my mind and decide to investigate the horse ford. It's shallow, so I change into my Crocs and execute the ford. It's pretty cold, but uneventful. Up the north bank, a familiar sign directs hikers to the hiker bridge. Only on this one, a hiker has scrawled, “For the love of all that is holy and sacred, please update your trail information! Way wrong!” I'm immediately faced with a long, arduous, switchbacking climb. Fortunately, it's shady and not hot. But it's windy and some of the trees creak. The entire floor is littered with blow-downs and I half expect to see one happen.
I gain the ridge, only to be met with more climbing as the trail follows the ascending ridgeline. The trail leads me east, right into the cloud I viewed from below. I reach the junction of three trails: PCT, Timberline, and another I don't remember. A sign declares the Muddy Fork section of Timberline Trail to be barely passable due to wash-outs. A forlorn hiker's note recommends that someone put said posting at the south end as well. There's a good trail and topo map of Mt. Hood conveniently placed by the Forest Service. I note that I was wrong about the ridge. From here, I descend to Lolo Pass and I don't know where my next water will be. Fortunately, it's been cool, so my water needs have been low. That said, it's taken me nearly 4 hours to get here, so I decide to eat a cooked meal. As I eat, four day-hikers approach from Lolo Pass, one being towed by a black lab. “That's smart, letting HIM pull YOU up the trail!” I say. They guy laughingly assures me that it's not necessarily like that. Not long after, another pair of day-hikers comes up from Lolo. After brief discussion, they decide to proceed to Ramona Falls via the PCT I've just finished packing up, when I hear jingle bells. I pair of backpackers emerges from the other trail. “I was wondering what manner of beast wanders about with bells!” I say at half herald volume. He laughs and says something about chasing away the bears fleeing the fire on the NE side. After some discussion, they, too, proceed toward Ramona via the PCT.
After a short while, I finally get a good view of Mt. Hood. I can see where my route went yesterday and wish it had been clear. I take several photos. I immediately pass a air of day-hikers. Not long after the trail crosses the ridge, I spot a tower on the opposite mountain. As I hope, it's a cell tower and I talk to my wife for a few minutes. The trail then drops down to Lolo Pass, testing my tolerance for switchbacks and my knees don't like it. I fervently hope there's water in one of the drainages I'll cross north of Lolo.
After taking a snack break at the pass, I continue and I find such a stream about a half mile up the trail. While I'm pretty much out of water, I don't feel desperate for it like I did in June and I suspect half of that was psychological. I fill up and continue. Although climbing, the gradient is not as steep and makes this segment rather enjoyable. At one point, I get another great view of Mt. Hood and marvel at just how far one can hike in a day. After a while, I meet another backpacker. He asks me about water and campgrounds at Lolo Pass. I tell him about the stream and about a couple of campsites. Not long thereafter, I encounter Salvation Spring. I almost pass it by, but then change my mind. I fill up with water and have dinner. I'd have camped here, but there's still far too much daylight left. Besides, it's buggy.
I continue, figuring that I'll find a campsite at some point. As I hike, it gets darker and darker. I put on my headlamp. Surely some other enterprising hikers have carved out some of those random campsites I've been seeing all along the trail. But would I even see them? A light mist has developed atop this ridge which the trail more or less follows and I nearly get under it only to be thwarted later. In the dark, I can see the slope next to the trail in many places drop off into the night. After a long while, I give up and avail myself of what would otherwise pass for a “turnout” by the trail. My tent's halfway out in the trail, but I'll be up and out before anyone notices. My feet feel a little like they did in June before they got all blistery. So far, they look okay.

9-27
Destination: 7 ½ Mile Camp
Miles: 15.5
Trip Miles: 52

I'm up with the sun—really! While I missed the white noise of water last night, I still got it in the form of wind. Not 50 meters down the trail, I find what would have been a great campsite. Arrrr!
I encounter a couple of interesting natural rock gardens. Otherwise, much of the way from last night's camp is a rollercoaster made frustrating by the general lack of visible landmarks. It's nearly impossible to tell how far you've gone if all you see for miles are trees! Fortunately, this monotony—which I read is far worse in parts of central Oregon—is broken by the occasional view, though these were, with a few exceptions, not useful for gaging one's progress. I suppose that were I through-hiking, I'd get a feel for it after a while and wouldn't always need my landmarks. In the meantime, I'm teaching myself to enjoy the journey for its own sake. At one such view of Mt. Hood, I meet three backpackers and their dog, which barks at me. They're bound for Ramona Falls. Boy, that's a popular place—too bad I missed it! I inform them of the trail conditions. I also warn them that the section of trail just behind me is lined with tons of wet vegetation and that they WILL get wet. Not long after that, I stop for a refreshing lunch.
I begin to encounter fell-fields, a few of the first of which give me great views of Firemountain. The fell-fields become more frequent and I eventually emerge onto a huge one. I've noticed that trail crews have lain landscape fabric under the treat and spread lateritic soil over it. I wonder why. In some spots, my boot-falls make a nearly hollow thump. This large fell-field goes on and on, or so it seems, presenting me with a good view of Mt. Rainier, which I initially mistake for Mt. Adams. As I round the ridge, I start to see a few high rock cairns and then Mt. Adams comes into view, seeming to loom on the near horizon. As I near the trail to Indian Peak, its sign held up by a large pile of rocks, I notice what looks like a semicircular shelter of piled rock. Boy, hikers sure are resourceful! I'm left with the unshakable impression that were this part of the trail shrouded in mist, I could easily mistake it for the Himalayas. At my feet, the rocks are strewn with Juniperus communis and huckleberries. I drop my pack partway up the Indian Peak trail. There's some kind of government transmitter there. I chat with a few hunters up there scouting for game. Back at the trail, I call my wife. It seems Their Excellencies of Three Mountains gave us both Golden Torcs last night at Revels. Huzzah!
Back on the move, I miss the Indian Springs trail—it's not signed. So I continue toward Wahtum Lake. After a short while, my knees stop hurting. That's odd—not that I mind! I'd been reclining on junipers while on the phone with the wife. I'll have to do some research to see if they have any naturopathic properties. Later, I start to get hot for the first time and stop to remove my pant legs. This is one of those trail segments that feels longer than it looks on the map. After a while, the lake sneaks upon me. It's an attractive one. I decide against heading to the campground at the other end of the lake and instead head straight down Eagle Creek Trail, which I almost miss. This turns out to have been a smart move.
The first ¼ mile or so is very rough and rocky and I wonder if I'm going to make it to 7 ½ Mile Camp by dark. Fortunately, the tread improves after a few hundred meters and I find I can travel with much greater alacrity. I soon meet a small group of backpackers and their yellow lab—which has its own dog pack—doing the Eagle Creek Loop. They ask me essentially, “Are we there yet?” I assure them that it's less than a mile up the trail. Ten minutes later, I meet another larger group of backpackers also doing the loop. I've just run out of water, but I'm going downhill and it's not hot, so I'm okay. My right knee starts to hurt. This does not bode well. I reach a good-sized creek, fill up with water and eat an early dinner.
It seems that liberal application of water and protein, coupled with longer, upper-leg intensive, but semi-relaxed strides, keep the knee pain mostly at bay. I fly down the trail—for me, anyway. There are many places I must slow down and be careful. Several spots are rocky, some are narrow and tricky. There are stream crossings. There are a couple of fell-field crossings not treated as the PCT and I appreciate that work all the more. It's obvious that hiking this trail in the dark would be very dangerous and is NOT an option. I MUST reach 7 ½ Mile Camp before dark.
The creek drops much faster than the trail and I wonder when I'm going to meet the inevitable switchbacks. I also wonder where that camp is, as the lowering sun has me concerned. I come upon one, but it doesn't seem right—I figure I still have an hour left by my figures and the place isn't signed. So I continue. I cross a few more streams and make a switchback. I see a campsite through the trees, but I keep going, thinking that it's on the other side of Eagle Creek. A few minutes later, I see another large campsite marked as 7 ½ Mile Camp! I let out a whoop of victory and descend to it. It's nearly 19.00 hrs. and I've covered 7.5 miles in 3.5 hours—not bad!
I'm exhausted! I decide to pitch the tent, especially since I can still see. I hear voices, so I step outside in case someone needs help in the near-dark. There's no one, although I hear people sounds coming from downstream. Apparently there's a camping spot over there. I have a snack and let the creek lull me to sleep.

9-28
Destination: I-84
Miles: 7.5
Trip Miles: 60

I don't sleep well. I'm not surprised, as this is not unusual for me in the outdoors. I keep hearing noises in the woods. Some of it is debris falling on my tent. Some of it isn't. Some of it could be either. It's hard to say how much the night is psychologically amplifying the sounds. I hear scritching at the tent. At one point, I get up to...you know...and find that something—probably a deer mouse of a vole—has gnawed a small hole through my tent mesh and into my food bag. Arrr! This is apparently not unusual for PCT hikers. I guess if it had been something larger, I'd have also heard snuffling sounds. I do get at least some sleep, though, for I have a few odd dreams. I've forgotten them by this point.
I arise as it gets light enough to see, although way down here, that's probably later than yesterday. My gear still doesn't seem to have dried out a lot from Wednesday. I eat a cold breakfast and am on my way. I soon meet another hiker and his dog, who are camped down the trail. I shortly see another person's camp and then theirs. I discover many such camps on my way out, some in use, some not, and one just outside the wilderness boundary trashed. Some people have no respect! Not too much later, I meet another hiker and then a couple of runners. Er...runners? I figure they must be training for something, for who in their right mind would actually run this trail just because they could? Then again, many have said that about mountain climbers and PCT through-hikers.
This trail truly is beautiful, and would be worth hiking just for the spectacular and intense Tunnel Falls. Wow! Yosemite's Mist Trail may showcase much larger and more powerful waterfalls, but it has nothing on this! Here, like along other parts of the trail, the tread has been blasted out of the cliff. A tunnel has been chiseled through the basalt behind the fall, so as not to interfere with the way the water sheets down the face. I'm so close, I can almost reach out and touch it. This close, the quality of the sound of the water changes and I can nearly hear it sliding on the rock. Water drops on me. A tapestry of ferns drapes the rock. I sure don't envy those who did the work to build this trail!
As I hike, I see more and more day-hikers and soon lose track of how many I've seen. I note that backpackers seem to be more talkative than day-hikers. The rockiness of the tread is giving my legs, especially my calves and ankles, a serious workout. The air starts to warm considerably and I pass briefly through a Garry oak woodland complete with poison oak. If my platypus nozzle happens to brush against the ONE bit of that stuff jutting just far enough out into the trail, I'll be rather irritated.
I reach the trailhead totally ready for a break and see that, as I might have expected, the parking lot is overflowing. I eat the last of my smoked salmon and pineapple and dump my garbage. I have a few miles of roadwalking ahead, so I get going. Despite the asphalt being firmer, it's even and much easier to walk. As I near I-84, I get a call from my wife! She's just passing the Troutdale outlets, so I suggest she come here. There's a coho salmon hatchery here, so I look at the fish for a bit and then sit in the shade and write until she arrives.

Epilogue
I consider this hike to have been an unqualified success. I was able to test my tent against strong wind and driving rain and it passed with flying colors. I'd reduced my base weight from 35 lbs. to 24 lbs. Although I could probably go lower with more lessons from my ultralight friends, I found this weight to be quite comfortable. I probably could have left my fleece jacket home and used my wind shell on this trip, which I'll probably do on next June's hike in the Klamath-Siskiyous. On the downside, I still had 7 lbs. of food left! That'll need some attention. I also had a few problems with balance, which I think I can solve by putting my food bag more inside the pack as opposed to carrying it essentially on top of it like I did. This should be doable if I only carry as much food as I actually need. There's little I think I need to change from my setup and I feel confident I can use this on a through-hike.