Intermission
For nine days I stayed at the Berkeley campground, working out a deal with the manager to cook for an hour daily in exchange for room and board. I enjoyed the luxuries of flush toilets, a mattress, a pool, hot tub, excellent food, and human interaction. Frequently other hikers would come down to the camp for a night.
Often, for a couple hours diversion, I hiked back to Echo Lake Resort, to meet friends passing through. I missed them, those hardy thru-hikers. We exchanged stories of bear encounters, food disasters, lost gear, family contacts. One woman’s family learned by reading someone's online journal that she was hiking solo now that her partner left the trail. Another guy, bemoaning the fact he didn’t have his wild bear photos, told us how he was conned by two bears into leaving his pack unattended trailside, while he scampered into the woods after spotting one of them feeding. Then, turning back to the trail, saw another bear happily trashing his pack. Thankfully, some friends showed up in the nick of time, and helped drive the thief away. Lesson learned, take the pack with you. I could not restrain the laughter as this hiker expressed his indignation of being conned by bears.
We rummaged through each other's drop boxes, witnessed dog fights, irritated too-clean tourists, traded each other fuel for food, and griped about the resort. Although only a stone's throw from the lake, the store personnel said they could not give anyone clean drinking water because it was a drought year. There were privies, but no water to wash with. Yet the store sold fresh produce, a contradiction in standard health precautions.
The pampered women at the campground surprised and sometimes annoyed me. One lady told me it was such a hardship for her, that this campground was as rugged as she could stand. I thought I had come to heaven! Several campers asked me what made me so different, so strong, and why I wasn’t afraid. Amazing. Somehow over these last two months I must have changed, dramatically. Perhaps a long hike is the best therapy for recovering one’s identity.
I was anxious to get back on the trail; this soft campground life was boring. Having mailed my tent home from the resort, I had to wait. Finally, the time came. Early one morning I hitch hiked to South Lake Tahoe, caught a bus to Reno, and got a room at the fancy Sands Hotel. Rainmaker would fly in tomorrow evening, and the anticipation was like that of Christmas.
Reunited and on to Canada
Chapter Four
I met Rainmaker at the Reno Airport around midnight on the twelfth of July. Last time I saw him in April, he was clean-shaven. The guy who walked towards me now had a full, mostly gray beard. But the confident stride of that long, lean body, those wide shoulders and piercing blue eyes, were unmistakable. We returned to the motel by cab. The next day we rented a car for the one-way drive to Klamath Falls, Oregon, where we dropped it off. Our dear friends Brenda and Ralph met us there and took us to their home for the night. The next day they drove us to Crater Lake.
Suddenly, Rainmaker and I were together again, on the Pacific Crest Trail, with just what we carried in our packs. Our routines were reestablished: sharing a tent, smiles, jokes, and conversation. Sharing, most of all, our love for the trail and for each other.
The rim trail around Crater Lake was spectacular, constantly giving and taking the same 300 ft. of elevation. Crater Lake is one of the Seven Wonders of the World, without a doubt a magnificent place.
It was very cold for July in southern Oregon. The locals told us that it was quite unusual. One cannot count on the usual on a long distance hike. Our clothing was sufficient, but just barely. The multiple layers gave plenty of options, wearing everything at once was effective in the worst conditions.
Nearly every day after my partner joined me, it rained. In spite of all his other accomplishments, his trail name will always remain Rainmaker. We had separate tent vestibules and made ourselves hot coffee and breakfast in the mornings before packing and heading out. Our 3-½ pound, double-wall Coleman Cobra tent kept us warm and dry. There had been very few mosquitoes; our theory was they all froze to death previously.
Shelter Cove Resort was one of three resorts where we planned to buy food. The store was very expensive; I needed only three days of food, and in retrospect, should have just bought what I needed, regardless of price. However, ramen noodles were $1 per package, stovetop stuffing over $3 a box and candy bars were 70 cents each. You know something is wrong in life when noodles cost more than candy. So, instead, and in protest, I stubbornly chose some “soak and heat” stuff I’d found in the hiker box. I will politely refer to this concoction as food, and dumped it in with my tad of remaining ramen and mashed potatoes. This medley would have worked had there not been all these little split peas, inedible beans and dangerous seeds mixed in. Just bird feed, I kid you not. I called it Shit Supreme.
Ultralight is definitely the way to go on a long trail. Most of the weight is food, which normally should be a pleasure to deplete on mega sections of 150+ miles. But, if you end up with nasty food, a daily debate to dump this weight, or eat it down, may surface. Dumping food in bear country must be done with care. If cooked and indigestible, carry and bury it at least half a mile away. If dumped raw, do it early morning before hiking away, broadcasting it several hundred feet away from campsites, to feed small creatures and avoid mounds of mold.
Before we resumed the trail, we bought a half-gallon of vanilla ice cream at Shelter Cove, and sprinkled hot cocoa mix on top to add some interest. We opened the lid, got our trail spoons, and ate right out of the container, finishing it off amid stares of vacationers nearby.
Elk Lake Resort was a tiny store next to a beautiful lake, full of boating enthusiasts. Thankfully, a friend who lives in Bend, Oregon offered to help us. We resupplied in Bend after she picked us up at the resort parking lot. This resort had hot meals, which smelled delicious. However, the few groceries there could not even resupply one thru hiker, if he or she could afford them.
I bought a beautiful fleece turtleneck in Bend, which replaced my silk button down shirt. That silk layer worked great in the desert, allowing for warmth and ventilation, but it had deteriorated with the sun. The fleece turtleneck was necessary now, vital in cold weather for keeping my neck warm.
In Bend I also bought a handsome Nike daypack, which weighed 21 ounces once I modified it for trail use. I discarded my pack frame, and kept two-silnylon stuff sacks. I had to make a hip belt for it, though. Leaving town, my pack was really loaded with food as a direct result of the poor resupply at Shelter Cove. Now, it seemed quite heavy. All along the trail from Elk Lake Resort to Canada, I made adjustments, sewing with dental floss at night in camp. I cannibalized various stuff sacks, trimmed off some closed cell pad, and customized the hip belt further. This was my first frameless pack.
Bend, Oregon to Cascade Locks
In northern Oregon, the PCT traverses lava flow for many miles. The trail was quite rough in places, with marvelous views of northern mountains and evergreens, white barked trees, and sweet smelling lupine. Rare cloudless skies and moderating temperatures sweetened the adventure. Horses with riders were very common, yet they seemed to have little, if any, regard for hikers. Even though we hiked on narrow ledges, they kept right on coming towards us. Horses have the right of way, yet time is needed to find a safe place to step aside. I quickly learned to scramble down hill, off trail, hoping for enough distance between us to avoid kicks by startled horses.
Thru-hikers were catching up to us now. One group of three young men was so compatible they were still cooking and eating out of the same pot after 2,000 miles. They still shared their 10 x 10 ft. tarp. We exchanged trail news and stories with them. They would bring news of us ahead, and we would have their reports for those who caught up. We talked of the water in northern California, solutions to the cattle problems (a .357 Magnum was mentioned), inquired after the welfare of hikers ahead and behind, traded incredible stories of animals, hardships, sickness, and plummeting down 59 switchbacks. Each hiker is like a small town newspaper. The more trail gossip, editorials, weather predictions, current events and not so current, the better.
It rains quite often in Oregon. Overcast and chilly, I hiked with 3 layers on top, shorts and rain pants. The silnylon jacket did a great job keeping out the wind and rain. The attached silnylon mittens worn over fleece gloves kept my hands warm. Rainmaker was wearing Nike sandals, with Smart Wool socks, both he bought in Bend. Due to a foot injury suffered the first day hiking from Crater Lake, his New Balance Shoes were causing extreme pain. These sandals replaced the shoes and allowed us to go on, over snow and glaciers. I noticed his sandals never got heavier, because the water just drained away, but my high tops with shoe inserts grew heavier and completely water logged. A sharp pain developed in my instep every time I climbed with this additional stress. In the mornings he dried his sandals, and started out with dry feet. My shoes never dried completely for days on end. This is how I got my bright idea of hiking the Appalachian Trail in sandals.
Ollalie Lake Resort, reportedly quite similar to Shelter Cove, was our next resupply stop.
“Maybe they’ll have some decent deals. Like ramen, 2 for a dollar. Or, buy one oatmeal, get one free.” Rainmaker quietly considered my banter, and I continued, “Maybe like a free motel room with the purchase of every ramen.” Rain turned and gave me an incredulous
Reunited and on to Canada
look. We silently regarded each other a few moments. "Ok, maybe not." I conceded.
When we arrived, we found limited food, but expensive. A microwave was available to the public, so I made popcorn. Hot coffee, and hot water were free. Ramen was 75 cents. There were bagels, muffins and pastries for a dollar each. At times like this, one must be creative. We asked to see the hiker box and found a plastic jar of unopened peanut butter, a few packages of oatmeal, and some powdered energy drink. While I sorted through the hiker box, Rainmaker was making friends. One local hiker, leaving the next day because of bad weather, offered his food to Rainmaker, who accepted graciously. Most small convenience stores have candy bars and snack chips. This one also had two loaves of bread behind a glass door. I selected the potato bread. With peanut butter, that would be our lunch. Then I noticed a bit of green mold starting on the crust, so instead of charging the $3.59 cents, the owner gave it to me.
Rainmaker and I took some time on the front porch to split up our finds, examine our food bags, eat, and plan the rest of the resupply. At times like this, it isn’t so much variety, as volume. And, money isn’t very important when you are cold and hungry, fifty miles from town. A Snickers bar for breakfast, a peanut butter sandwich for lunch, something hot for supper (like oatmeal, soup, instant rice, potatoes or ramen), a few handfuls of corn chips for a second course, then a candy bar for dessert would be this week's menu. It was amazing how much food it took to maintain my energy and stay warm. It takes a lot of calories.
Finally resupplied, we left Ollalie in the rain. Days later, we could see Mt. Hood in the distance. It was appropriate to approach such a place over several days. The mountain itself seemed to own a spirit dangerously aloof. Although it permitted people to come and eat, celebrate and play on its slopes, one could also die there.
We spent twenty-four hours at Government Camp, the town just three miles southwest of Mt. Hood. During that time, I scouted the town, and found that all the gear shops will wax snowboards, sell ski clothing, and stock accessories. This town seems to cater specifically to the snowboarders who practice and play year round on the glaciers of the mountain. Summer school was in session for teenagers wishing to learn and perfect their skills. There was no hiker gear in any shop I visited. All snow gear. I cruised every shop in town looking for a serious hip belt. No luck. Not even close. This town had a great grocery store, with inexpensive fruit pies and candy bars. A trail mix of pretzels, slightly crushed, Fritos, and chocolate chips is pretty decent. I bought a pound of each and mixed them in a gallon bag.
As we headed north, lots of raspberry, thimbleberries and huckleberries lined the trail. At lower elevations the berries were ripe and delicious. The vegetation covered the trail in many areas, making it hard to see the rocks below. Great views then opened up of the Columbia River Gorge, and northerly views of Mt. St. Helens, Rainer and Mt. Adams.
Tuesday, August 7
th
is a day I will never forget. Southbounders had told us there was free camping for PCT hikers at the RV Marine Campground ¼ miles east of the town called Cascade Locks. That sounded like a great place to camp, with free showers, flush toilets, lights and hot food. So, headed to town after hot coffee and cream cheese bagels for breakfast, we packed and were on the trail by 7:30 a.m. I was strolling along past waterfalls, ahead of Rainmaker, eating ripe thimbleberries at the edge of the trail, daydreaming, and simply enjoying the early morning.
I rounded one curve and heard noises down in a narrow deep canyon, and thought, “People. What on earth are they doing down there?” The winding trail was a narrow ledge, which dropped off into the canyon on the right, with the wall rising straight up on my left. I continued munching trailside berries, rounded another bend, when suddenly there was a “swoosh” by my right shoulder. Thinking a branch had brushed my pack, I turned to look. There was a large black shape next to the tree at the trail’s edge. “David, a bear!” I shouted. I looked up, and saw her cub in the tree that was so close I could touch it.
I began backing up, hitting my hiking poles together as a million thoughts raced through my mind. How on earth did I not see her? Oh my god, I just walked right past a mother bear and cub. Not wanting David to walk past her as I did, I called several times, “David, a bear!” I could not see him, but that bear was in full view now. She rose to her full height, looking very angry, and began to huff and woof. I kept backing up, glancing behind at the trail so I wouldn’t fall off, and also hoping that I wasn’t backing into another bear. I have no idea why I could not scream or yell, but just kept watching her as I anticipated her bluff charge. A bluff charge, I asked myself? Is there any room for a bluff charge? All my senses were getting ready for it, determined no matter what happened, not to run. Determined not to touch her unless, or until, she made contact.
Around the bend David was calling to me, “Carol, don’t run! Don’t run!” Because of the topography and noise from the waterfall, we could neither hear nor see each other, and had no idea what the other was doing. He had seen the cub scurry up the tree, and then he had seen the mother rise up. Knowing I was just ahead, he kept advancing on the mother bear, yelling to me, hoping I could hear, hoping she would become confused, perhaps be distracted, and even turn her attention to him. It worked. Finally, she dropped on all fours, and ran down into the canyon. Her cub soon followed. Then, Rainmaker came around the bend.
We held each other close for a while, reliving it and retelling our experiences over and over. I had never had anyone risk his or her life for me. I don’t think I ever had anyone who was willing to. David took an offensive role to save my life, jeopardizing his own. It is something I will never forget.
Safe and sound, we continued on the Eagle Creek Trail, a marvelous section that brought us past Tunnel Falls, and unpaintable beauty. There is cable embedded in the canyon walls for hand holds. We took photos under waterfalls, and strolled into town by 3:30. We hiked down to camp on the designated site, near the six sets of train tracks by 4:30 pm, and later went to supper.
That night I couldn’t sleep. Perhaps I had eaten too much taco salad. Maybe it was the Quarterly Hour Special, a freight train roaring past, shaking the ground to pieces. Maybe I’d seen Green Fried Tomatoes too many times. Maybe I was still wound up from the bear encounter. I kept reminding myself that adventure was a trail gift, to see bears so close. Whatever the reason, I made the well-lit public bathroom my office and sat writing my journal and drinking water at 2 a.m. Could be worse. Lots worse.