San Jacintos

Day 11: Cedar Spring to Taquitz Creek, 13 steep miles at high altitude + 1 warmup mile from the spring to the trail

Day 12: Taquitz Creek to Idyllwild, 2 PCT miles + a bunch of bonus miles to get to town

Day 13: Zero in Idyllwild

The San Jacintos offer some of the steepest climbs and most variable conditions on the PCT. Listening to the talk, sounds like some hikers are tempted to underestimate the severity of what a mountain can deliver--after nearly two weeks of cowboy camping under cloudless skies, they get cocky and send their tents home, or ditch their heavier clothing. But mountains breed weather, and these in particular get hit by the changeable air currents traveling between the desert and the distant sea. Even in May, it can turn serious. Halfmile's maps warn us that in 2005 a PCT hiker died in those mountains following a snowstorm. Now, all inflammatory warnings acknowledged, this year is probably one of the best for traveling at that altitude--there's no snow on the trail. None. The moderate temperature of the mountains comes as a welcome relief from the desert heat, and the scenery is stunning. But there were definitely several instances, stepping along an eight-inch ledge that appeared to have been pared out of a sheer rock face, when I could well imagine how scary it might be, covered in ice. I have no idea how anybody would get a pack animal through that section.

From the time I broke camp and waved farewell to Dave Carter and his companions, until I was putting away the remains of my long lunch break sometime midafternoon, I didn't see another soul. First--and so far, only--time that has happened. I can understand how too many days of solitude, especially in the wrong terrain, could work on the brain and undermine one's motivation to continue, but on that day it was delicious. Just me and the mountains. During a snack break, as I sat on a tree stump munching and staring into the middle distance, a deer wandered quite close, sniffing suspiciously at my still presence. The birds sang their reptitive three-note songs that always sound unfinished. At times I looked at the narrow piece of compressed earth that I follow so faithfully--the trail--and felt like it could be taking me anywhere. Anywhere! It's almost laughable. How do I know it will take me to the next water source, never mind all the way to flipping Canada? I don't know that I'll ever get used to what an act of trust hiking is.

As I was wrapping up my lunch, Grady caught up to me. We spoke for a few minutes and he said that he planned to make camp early and just enjoy the afternoon. After I'd moved on to the next creek and watered up, I stopped and considered my options--another few trail miles, then two and a half miles on the Devil's Slide Trail to Humber Park, then a hitch if I was lucky or another four mile walk into town, to get to Idyllwild too late to get any chores (washing) done, and pay to stay at the campground? Or--I could stay put. In this beautifully peaceful forest. Maybe Grady had the right idea. I had plenty of food, and nothing to gain from getting to town that evening. What was I hurrying for? I'd covered 14 miles of steep trail, after all, buffeted by a great deal of wind, paying careful heed to my footing, never for a minute able to settle into a stride or let my attention wander; that's a respectable day and I was tired. Maybe it would be nice to pause and revel in the scene that I'd worked so hard to gain. So I found a place to stop, and spent most of the rest of that day listening to the woods.

Next morning I felt rested and ready for a shower, though, and I arrived at Humber Park long before one might reasonably expect to get a hitch into town. I walked most of the rest of the way, through a pretty, ski-lodge-like neighborhood of expensive-looking houses, before a woman named Petra hailed me from her front porch and offered me a ride for the last mile and a half.

Idyllwild--a cute, kitschy, very hiker-friendly town--doesn't really open for business until nine, meaning there were already a lot of wakeful hikers stalking aimlessly from one concrete stoop to the next. First real town day! Town days mean something different to everyone--big meals, communication with the outside world, cleanliness--things we fantasize about during long hours on the march--but it's funny how stressful they can feel once you're finally there. Social norms that count for nothing on the trail assault the senses all at once. After many continuous days of walking, too, it's disorienting to do...anything else. Taking a zero is tricky that way.

My body, I knew, had more than earned a complete, hiking-free day, and the price was right as far as lodgings were concerned, so I took both a nearo and a zero in Idyllwild. I hit up the campground for a shower first thing, then strode across town to the laundromat wearing my pack, straw hat, and long johns, smelly hiker clothes bundled under my arm, feeling ridiculous, trekking poles flying akimbo. (It's a good thing Idyllwild is used to us.) From the laundromat I caught up with Paul, who agreed that Mexican food at Arriba's sounded like dinner. We wound up looping the town several times getting our respective errands done--I think most hikers do the same--the library, the coffeeshop, the grocery store, the hardware store, a couple of different hiker boxes--Idyllwild is blessed in that all of this lies within walking distance. More than once we passed a sweetshop with a large window painting encouraging all and sundry to try their WORLD FAMOUS DATE SHAKES.

"Date shakes?"

"I know, right?"

"So does that mean they are suitable for persons on dates, or that the shakes have dates in them?"

Nobody I asked that day seemed to know which it was, so at the end of my second day I succumbed to the intrigue and ordered one. For Science. It did indeed have dates pureed into the mixture. It did not, however, taste particularly of dates. It tasted like vanilla soft serve blended with a lot of mysterious brown fibrous bits--because that's essentially what it was.

At dinner that night--Arriba's is popular among hikers--I overheard from Bunk and Baby Steps' table the description that seems best to describe all of us: a community of the linearly homeless.

Staying at the campground was strange. For three bucks a night, all of the hikers and bikers get bundled into the crummiest campsites, the ones with very few flat spots or shady trees, at the very back of the grounds, nearest the highway and the dog-grooming operation. So it's noisy at night. This after two weeks of wide open spaces, however fraught with intrusive wildlife and difficult weather, meant that while I enjoyed my shower and my veggies wraps and iced coffees (they had one called the British Invasion!), at the end of two days I was pretty ready to get back on the trail.