Pacific Coast Trek

What a change one day brings.

Temps at Sulphur Springs campground were in the high 90s, while this morning the temperature in our tent was 36 degrees.

Hiking around the top of Mount Pacifico and into Tie Canyon by early morning, it was still in the mid-60s with not much likelihood of it getting warmer.

The heatwave seems to have been broken at last. Previously, it was so hot that we had to stop periodically wherever we could find shade. And sometimes we had to dry our sweat drenched shirts as well.

Since we’re now coming out of the high ranges to the south and west of L.A., the lower elevations will likely be much hotter than up above and soon enough we’ll be crossing the Mojave to enter the Tehachapi Mountains, so cooler temperatures are welcome.

It has to be said that we have encountered practically nothing but happy and helpful people on the trail.

They have given us rides, food, beverages (beer!), advice, you name it. There is a definite sense of community surrounding the PCT and on occasion it feels good to let that community take over.   

Other times, thru-hikers let their eagerness for the trail overwhelm their sense of, for lack of a better word, social convention. That afternoon near Interstate 10, we were after a spot to sit and cool off.

Other hikers down the way beckoned loudly for us to join them just as we were taking our packs off, and begrudgingly, we did.

The first of May was a late day, checking out of the inn, sending the bounce box to Big Bear City and hitching a ride out of town with someone who wouldn’t chop us into little squares because their dog said so.

Hitching rides made me cognizant of how my understanding of distance has changed.  The ranger told us the trailhead we needed to take to reenter the PCT was Black Mountain Trail, accessible by a road of the same name some 15 miles out of town. In the past, 15 miles was a five-minute car ride, now it’s 7.5 hours of hiking or begging rides.

Woke up late to let the snow soften slightly, and it seemed to work in that falling in the snow was slightly less painful than falling on concrete, except that in snow you get wet, too. 

We (Matt, me, and Gene) started heading north when we ran into “So Far,” a through-hiker who had first bicycled from St. Augustine (Florida) to Los Angeles before starting his hike. ”So Far” was lost, like us, and after putting our heads together, it was decided to maintain a contour line (listed on our map to show elevation) around the valley until we picked up the spur trail, called Devil’s Slide, into Idyllwild.

Dear reader,

I know that in at least one point in your esteemed life you’ve been in a beautiful place, surrounded by nature in all its splendiforous glory (is that a word?) … and you were as angry as the day your evil brother punted your Teddy Ruxpin bear across the yard and his head came off.

Yeah, that was me and Matt after the Apache Spring Trail.

We were needing water and a feed, and the sign pointed to a spur trail off the PCT [Pacific Crest Trail], “Apache Spring Trail - 1/2 mile.” Liars!

Firstly, whoever designed that trail deserves to spend eternity watching reruns of The View, and only the ones where Rosie … was feuding with Elizabeth Hasselbeck. … Apache Spring Trail was probably sketched out in the past by the Marquis de Sade, because to say it was torturous would be a gross understatement.

Holy cow we stink!

Coming out of the Santa Rosa range (by the Paradise Cafe) we began our ascent into the San Jacinto range (pronounced Ha-seen-toe).

Starting the hike at 5,000 feet, after 6 miles, at 6,000 feet, we came upon a young man going back down to the trailhead. He had been visiting his stepfather, another through-hiker trail-named “Lumbar,” and was now headed back to his car at the trailhead.

He was dressed somewhat normally, sunglasses, shorts and a T-shirt tied on to his belt loop, and that was all he wore. As in no shoes and no socks.

Six miles on a 1,000-foot ascent over crushed rock, granite boulders, pine needles, and the ocasional turkey carving knife. He looked completely at peace with his craziness and he sounded it, too, chatting amicably with us for a minute before continuing down trail.

April 28: Although getting out of Apache Spring Trail was reason enough to celebrate, the rest of the day would see us meeting and surpassing challenges.

Well, almost all challenges.

Leaving Apache Peak we were soon to enter what I consider to be the most beautiful part of the trip — Murray Canyon. This amazing canyon is tucked into the Eastern face of the San Jacinto range, in between Red Tahquitz (pronounced “tah-qwitz”) and Antsell Rock peaks.

And as the PCT brings hikers around the northeastern point of Antsell Rock, they are treated to an astonishing sight. The canyon falls away some 4,000 feet in a green cascade of pine, redwood and cedar interspersed with snow and age-old granite boulders.

We trekked 17 miles to go from Desolation Canyon to Tule Springs, our campsite for the 25th.

It was great to have fresh water to clean a little — there is nothing so lovely after a hiking all day in the sun and sweat and dust than to have a hobo shower with fresh (read non-potable) water.

It’s even better if the shower can encompass the whole body. Yeah, it’s soapless, but even fresh water feels good against the skin.

From Tule Springs, we began our gradual ascent into the San Jacinto Mountain range, the highest we’ve encountered yet at 8000-plus feet.

Yesterday was a strong climb from 3,600 to over 5,000 feet, and we camped a short mile from none other than breakfast.

Starting from our lookout campsite above the Lost Valley (no, we didn’t see any plane crash survivors doing silly things like ranting about “The Others”), we wound around the Bucksnort Mountains and into a canyon that doesn’t have a name on the map.

In the recent past, a fire had scorched all the trees, the only green things left in the canyon were small plants and shrubs, of which there were very few.

Rocks and boulders, on the other hand, were plentiful and exquisite when contrasted with the twisted remains of charred tree limbs and trunks.

We lunched under one such boulder that was easily as large as a two-car garage. The entire canyon was strewn with such boulders and the whole affair looked out of step with the surrounding landscape, like a chunk of the moon had detached and landed without our knowledge.

The resort we’re staying at occupies some beautiful ground. Situated at the head of a long, sloping, grassy valley, and making use of the natural hot springs bubbling up from the ground, the ranch is quite a sight.

There are a number of small cabins on the grounds which surround The Lodge, a one-stop relaxation area with rooms for TV, video games, internet access, library, and card games. The Anza Dining Room anchors the lodge and is the place where we dined both evenings.

The hot mineral springs have been capped and directed to two large pools since the 1920s, and both are mixed with fresh water to trim the scalding heat down to 103 degrees for one pool, and 85 degrees for the second.