David's Last Three Journal Entries

I have combined David's last three journal entries rather than forwarding
them individually in order to save my fingers.  Everytime he meets
someone new, he has me put them on the forwarding list.  I have sent this
message to myself and am forwarding it to see how that works.  -- David's
Dad

I write this update from Idyllwild, a small, very touristy (read GOOD
FOOD) town on the other side of Mt. San Jacinto from Palm Springs.

[16 May 2000 cont]
As Christopher and I leave Warner Springs, we stop at the fire station,
near the trail head, to get water.  A van load of young people wave
strangely. We learn from an official-looking fellow that they are
inmates, and that they spend quite a bit of time working on the trail.
This is a way other than the Pacific Crest Trail Association workparties
that the PCT is maintained. From Campo to Idyllwild the trail is 99.9%
spotless and well-maintained.

We stop to add Second Skin and duct tape to my feet; Ryan and Fish roar
by. Fish, built like a tank, has hiked the Appalachian Trail a couple of
times; he's hiking the PCT to break the AT habit.  Ryan is taller and
about half as wide.  The two have hiked together for years.  They both
use hiking poles like cross-country skiers, and move very fast. They hike
about 5 feet apart, so vigorously that you get the impression that a
train just blasted past, wheels churning, pistons pushing, smoke
billowing. Chris is visibly anxious to follow them.

I'm free from map-reading duties for a few days. We sleep by an actually
running stream and I put up my tarp for practice. We share some food.

[17 May 2000]
Out of camp, breakfasted and packed, by 0605. Christopher gains a few
hundred yards on me as we walk, but I catch him at the breaks.  This
morning I am feeling run-down. Though degreeless, he is full of
Shakespeare, Tolkien, Kipling, and we share Just So Stories at our
cool-down breaks.  The trail winds over and around a ridge of white
boulders, pines, and hot manzanitas.

By the time we reach a junction with a dirt road, and then hike up the
road to a water tank, my hiking partner is fifteen minutes ahead of me.
When I sludge in, he is nearly ready to leave with enough rusty water
already filtered to reach the next spring, about 11 miles away.  It is
noon and I sit in the shade of the water tank, its cool metal against my
back, and recover slowly.  Ryan and Fish thunder in and start making
lunch in the rest of the shade.  Chris wants to meet at the next spring
and I study the map for a long time.  Finally the last of his patience is
gone and he departs for Tule Spring with his maps.  I linger a bit longer
and then leave, not expecting to see him for another 5 hours, hoping that
the trail is well-marked and unambiguous. Something has changed. 

An hour later, having stewed a bit, I meet Christopher adjusting his pack
on the trail and pass him by.  He has been as patient as possible with
me; I feel betrayed and stranded. In truth, though, I suppose each of us
is just too used to hiking his own way to risk The Big Trip in what might
appear to be someone else's hands. Probably we both have lost quite a
bit. Later, we pass at Tule Springs, but we miss subsequent connections
and the split solidifies. Spectacular sunset tonight.

[18 May 2000]
I hike the today mapless, but Chris has left a note on the trail and I
can shed a couple of liters of water without risk. I see Ryan and Fish
hitchhiking at the Pines-to-Palms highway and they agree to let me Xerox
their maps in Anza. I grow impatient with cars passing and walk a mile
down the road to the Paradise Restaurant, where I eat salad and fried
chicken, drink endless glasses of iced tea, and do the email thing. 
After about three hours, I walk out to the road and get a ride to Anza
almost immediately from an older fellow named Mike in a large Lariat
truck that reminds me of my grandfather's. He doesn't know of any lodging
in Anza, so I get out in the "center of town" and head into the grocery
store.  A fellow in line hears my questions and offers to take me to Camp
Anza.  I figure I can get maps there even if "the train" isn't there and
accept.

Judging by their car, Ed and Avon Banks don't have much money, but their
beautiful collie Charlie is very affectionate. If I wanted to thank them
materially I couldn't because they already have everything they could
want.  They drop me at Camp Anza, and at the American flag is a little
plot Paul Miller and Pat Ziegler call the "Hikers Haven". Ryan and Fish
are chowing down on the picnic table, there is fresh-cut watermelon on
the front porch, and life is good.

[19 May 2000]
Last night finished off with shower, laundry, Pat's fresh chocolate cake
with ice cream, and hot chocolate. This morning begins with all the
waffles with syrup and applesauce we can eat; so far the record is eight
but none of us comes close (4 for yours truly).  The duct tape comes off;
blisters are improving.

Pat and Paul have made it their retirement thing to serve the PCT hikers,
and do it with style. Not only do they provide a place to stay and plenty
of food, but also rides to and from the local trailheads or even the
airport, and contribute to on-trail water stashes for those who have
misjudged their supply or encountered some emergency.  They maintain an
extensive photo album for each year, and with their on-line connection
get weather reports, pcta email list updates, etc. Their only charge is
$5 that goes directly to the campground. They estimate that about 250
people try a thru-hike each year and that about 30% actually complete the
trail.

Through his network of "trail angels", Paul informs me that Peter Haskell
has actually left the trail and headed home.  Peter accomplished his
minimum goal of hiking from Campo through Mt. San Jacinto, and had had
enough.  Bravo, Peter!

After stops at the market and Xeroxing store, Paul drops 'the train' at
the Paradise Restaurant and me at the Pines-to-Palms trailhead, where we
refresh the water stash. I head off North through an extraordinary
giant's garden of boulders.  My first rattlesnake, a small one, buzzes
harmlessly from the side of the trail. I gradually climb to the Desert
Divide portion of the San Jacinto Mountains, which overlooks I-10 and a
huge flat valley (the Coachella valley?) that will eventually become San
Gorgonio Pass.

That night I descend on a side trail to Cedar Springs, with water pouring
out of a black pipe, huge cedars, and Lil and Vicky, good friends out for
an overnight. Local hikers almost always make a campfire, and the warmth
and conversation are welcome.

[20 May 2000]
In the morning I ascend another trail up from the springs, but it soon
disappears and I am scrambling up suggestions of paths which gradually
lead me to a peak covered in manzanita, close-growing bushes with very
strong intertwining branches. I see that the cross-country route west to
the PCT is impassible and backtrack a ways, slide over, and climb once
more in the ravine.  My final climb to the PCT is so entangled in short
scrub oak trees that I have to remove my pack to force through. The open,
maintained PCT is a relief.

Down a ways I meet Brent, seated on the trail smoking a cigarette. He has
thru-hiked the trail in the past and is now out "just for six months" to
hike where he pleases, especially fishing in the Kern River in the
Sierras. He works as a cook on contract at National Parks from three to
six months a year, saving money because his room and board are provided
for. Sooner or later he'll settle down at a hamburger joint in a small
town and save some money for retirement.  He tells me to check out
www.coolworks.com.
I continue along the Desert Divide, eventually passing the packs of Ryan
and Fish at the side trail to Apache Spring.  I reorganize their trekking
poles as a joke, then continue on.

Nearer to Mt. San Jacinto, walking along paths blasted out of
near-vertical rock, with spectacular views of the mountain's slopes, I
hear the train coming, "Ohoh they call me the Space Cowboy..." 

With their Walkmans on, Ryan and Fish pause to exclaim about the trail,
the view, the spring. It is as though a giant invisible hand has lifted
the train slightly from the tracks, wheels still grinding, giving the men
inside a chance to shout out the windows.  Soon, however, the hand
releases the powerhouse and the train takes off, without the need to
accelerate, immediately at full speed. I try to match their pace but soon
fall behind, panting.

A couple of hours later, with many switchbacks and windings, each with
better views, I'm running short of food and the ascent is slowing me down
considerably.  Suddenly, an attractive blond and brunette appear on the
trail and offer me a glass of wine... No, not the ravings of an
overheated brain this time. Suzie and Jill are 30-40 somethings up in
Idyllwild from San Diego for Jill's first backpacking trip. She's doing
fine despite worries about bears and mountain lions. Despite being a
little view-saturated, their enthusiasm for the beauty of the place is
infectious. Suzie says she wants to hike the PCT someday and we talk
about cost, gear, companions. She has fed thru-hikers before and was
excited to talk to me. When they retire for the night, I take
responsibility for making sure the fire is safe and stare long moments at
the last flames and embers.

[21 May 2000]
Overnight weather was pleasant and warm, with the waning moon rising
later; a slight breeze.  Suzie and I walk to water, a mile, then she
returns to her protege and I continue to circle the Tahquitz bowl.
Finally I hit Saddle Junction and the Devil's Slide Trail that leads two
miles down to Idyllwild. 3000 feet below, at the bottom of the
extensively switchbacked trail, a Boy Scout leader, David Bridges, gives
me a lift into town.  He's had his scouts out overnight to prepare them
for an upcoming 12-day trip in New Mexico. I've been on the trail only 12
days myself.

First stop, of course, is Jan's Red Kettle for breakfast. Though the
restaurant is crowded and I am smelly, it doesn't take long to find a
place on a stool. My eating is surprisingly slow, methodical, persistent;
my trail walking is like that, in sharp contrast to the train's shorter
bursts at higher speeds.
Overnight will be at the State Park for $3. Maybe I can catch the seven
o'clock movie.
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