Wrightwood - Casa de Luna (366-478)

    (As always, posted from my phone w/ no edits) I was pretty tired when I wrote my last post, so I didn't really pay the climb up to Guffy proper respect - it was hellish. I felt like an idol of Mercerism in a Philip K. Dick novel, dodging poodle dog bush instead of being pelted by stones.  By the time we got to the campground and started what had been described to us as an "easy 5" to Inspiration Point (I've now learned not to listen to what anyone says about distance or difficulty - nothing is "all downhill," 10 miles often means 15 and vice versa), my knees were simply not cooperating, and neither was my headlamp.  Though it was cool to hike under the Mtn. High ski lifts.

     Anyway - we caught a lift back to the trail and ran into our buddy the Grateful Red (a kid our age who had just graduated from CSULB - the name comes from his long red beard, tie-dye headband and general jam-bandy appearance) in the Vincent's Gap trailhead parking lot.  We started the ascension of Baden-Powell together, but I was feeling like absolute garbage and the four miles to the summit climb something like 4000 feet, so I fell behind.  At the summit, however, we hung out with him for a while as we snacked and rested.  He puts in 30 mile days with ease, and we found out he had been taking it easy recently because he was meeting his dad at Kennedy Meadows on June 20th and didn't want to be sitting there waiting for a week.  His dad was going to section hike the Sierras with him, but we were much more fascinated with the event he had previously been training for - the Angeles 100.  This is a one-hundred mile, roughly 28 hour trail-running race.  That's right, 100 miles, running up and down the mountains that had just kicked my and Andrew's butts, with daypacks for carrying water and such.  Oh, and he's over fifty.  Pretty impressive family.
     We hiked to the edge of an endangered species closure - a roughly three mile area of forest set aside for the protection of the Mountain Yellow-legged Frog - and, as it would seem most of the Class of 2014 has done, elected to hike the "old" Official PCT Alternate, which took us on a short road walk to the Cooper Canyon Trail, which intersects the PCT after just a few miles.  We ran into a few ladies from Minnesota hiking the six mile Cooper Canyon trail: "Have you read Wild? That's why we're here!"  We smiled and hiked on. The first of many, I'm sure.  I filled up on water in a stream near the Cooper Canyon Trail Camp, which had a signboard with a notice about rattlesnakes in the area.  Well, no more than thirty feet down the trail, I turned a switchback and, "Whoa!" Biggest rattler I've ever seen, maybe as thick as my forearm and very darkly colored.  This was the first to really rattle at us, more of a buzzing really, and man I was pretty much reduced to pre-language, so Andrew didn't know there was a giant snake poised to defend its territory and continued right on up to me.  He was about as surprised as I had been, and we made a hasty retreat.  I really wanted to go back for a picture, but she was pretty feisty, so we kept on walking.  Passed mile 400 that day and went about 12 more miles, set up camp in a little saddle that overlooked a sea of city lights - Lancaster, I figured.  Andrew's dad wanted to meet us in Agua Dulce, but I figured if we were to take a zero anyway, we might as well just pop down into LA for the day.  My girlfriend was getting her wisdom teeth out the next morning, so I thought it'd be fun to surprise her and show up while she recovered.  Being so near a city, we had some phone service, so I asked a friend back in LA if he'd come get us from Hiker Heaven, the Saufleys' home, in Agua Dulce Saturday night. He said he was willing, so it was settled.
    We hiked down to a fire station the next morning for water and shade, where we met Honeybuzz, Class of 2011, and his girlfriend, Emily.  They're about our age, and we quickly found out that Emily not only attended LMU her freshman year, but lived in my dorm building. Small world!  The next ten miles from the fire station have a warning in Half-Mile's trailnotes - poodle dog minefield, essentially.  Multiple hikers recommended taking the road instead of the trail, "unless you like poodle dog up to your head and on blow-downs" or something to that effect. We heeded the advice, as did Honeybuzz and Emily.  Yeah, yeah, spare me the purist lecture, we're still walking to Canada aren't we?  Besides, it was no cakewalk - all uphill on asphalt, no shade.  Andrew and I played around with the idea of putting in a 27 mile day, provided my friend could pick us up that night from Acton instead of waiting another full day til we got to Agua Dulce.  We didn't have service, but thought we might get some at the North Fork Ranger Station. There's an abundance of poodle dog all the way til the last mile before the station, where it yields instead to poison oak.  Lovely.  Just before we reached that point, though, as the sun was starting to get low in the sky, Andrew and I were cruising downhill, talking loudly about Game of Thrones. "So, do you think he'll have Robin killed, or use him as a pawn? I think that... HOLY SHIT!" Without so much as a warning rattle, I was leaping away from a striking rattler.  Pita complemented my evasive maneuvers, though I'm sure I looked like a flailing mess, and he told me the snake got pretty close to my hiking pole but not terribly close to biting me.  I was wide awake for the last few miles to the picnic area/ranger station.  I heard back from my friend, turned out he had plans and wouldn't be able to get us that night. It was nice cooking and setting up before sunset, for once, anyway. Plus, we ate dinner with a deer - she hung out munching some greens just a few feet from our picnic table. The next morning we convinced a different friend to drive out and pick us up that afternoon, and headed down toward the Acton KOA.
    I hadn't intended on being back in LA for a few months, and it was a bit overwhelming after having been either on the trail or in little towns more or less since graduation.  But it was great to surprise my girlfriend - she had no idea I was coming - and I certainly loved getting the chance to shower, eat In-n-Out, and rest my knees, just couch-potatin'.  I resupplied, bought some Superfeet insoles and Darn Tough socks, but decided I was feeling good enough that I didn't need to get the knee braces I had put on my to-do list. Probably not a great decision.
    We left again from Acton around two pm, well over 100 degrees, and after a quick respite at Vasquez Rocks (think Star Trek), we hiked into Agua Dulce.  My knees were killing me, and they only sold ankle braces at the grocery store.  We walked the next mile off trail to Hiker Heaven, getting there just before everyone crashed, thankfully.  We found a couple camp-cots out in the yard and I passed out almost immediately.  The next morning I could properly appreciate just how heavenly the Saufleys' place is - showers, bathrooms, a fantastic movie collection, a couple guitars, hiker boxes galore, foot baths, bikes for going into town... pretty much any amenity a hiker could ask for.  Unfortunately, we weren't planning on spending any time there, so after a few quick jams and a brief appreciation of couches, we started packing up.  I finally decided I needed to get myself some braces though, so we commissioned "iPod" for a ride to a pharmacy.  He took us to Carl's Jr. on the way back to the trail, and we got to talking.  "If the Sierras are a 10, which they certainly are, the High Cascades are at least an 8.5," he said.  "What would you consider Southern California, then?" Pita asked.  iPod sort of rolled his eyes and chuckled: "Training."
    Another hot day on the trail.  We passed a group of napping hikers early in the afternoon, recognizing them as the group that left the Saufleys' before us that morning.  Maybe ten miles into our hike that day we hit a water cache just next to the road, where we took a very long break and refilled.  Just before we left, we met Hippie, the only woman in the group we had passed earlier that day.  She told us she'd be waiting on the rest for a while, as usual.  She asked about my knee braces. "You should be taking 800mg of ibuprofen every twelve hours - this is coming from a nurse you know!" she said. I figured that might not be a bad call.  Just around sunset we hit another cache, one that had been on the water report.  However, the lil' Oasis Cache had more than water. Glorious carbonated liquid gold! Tecaté and cream soda for me, courtesy of the Andersons of Casa de Luna, slurped down from the comfort of a beach chair.  Small ecstasies - what it's all about.  The nearly-full moon was just rising as we left the cache, figuring there could only be more of this magic at Casa de Luna.  We signed the register, laughing at what a hiker ahead of us, Adventure Time, had written (something along the lines of: "Day 248 on the trail, ran out of water and had to drink my own urine a mile back, then found this cache." He also had circled a squashed mosquito on the page: "See this? Real blood, real mosquito.  Can't we do something about this? I must have missed the 'bug-free' section of this cache...").
     The trail runs into a highway at mile 478, where the Andersons' home is listed on the trail notes.  It describes a two mile walk westward into their community, but doesn't provide an address or proper directions.  We found their address but didn't have phone service, so we just started heading that direction.  Eventually we stopped to ask someone how to get there, considering Calle el Capitan might not intersect the road we were on.  "You guys looking for the Andersons'? Yeah you just... uh... shit.  Why don't you just hop in my shitbox over there and I'll drive you up there? I can never describe how to get there."  His name was Brian, and he took us up to Casa de Luna.  It was nearly 10:30, yet we found people hanging out in the "Lunatic Lounge", the little congregation area of couches and tables in the driveway.  Jolly Llama, all tucked in for bed on the couch, gave us a procedure run-down.  "Camping is in the manzanita forest out back, food goes in the garage, shower is back to the left, loaner clothes right here, pancakes and coffee in the AM." We found a great soft spot out in the "magical forest", which stretches back for what seems like at least a mile, full of cleared camping sites and funky art pieces.
     In the morning, over some delicious flapjacks and coffee, Jolly Llama told us that 478-518 was closed for fire damage, so it was 20 miles - either a road walk or hitch - up to Hikertown.  He, like most, was getting a ride over, but told us that a group, including our friend The Walrus, had hiked out this morning on the road.  Honeybuzz and Emily appeared out of the manzanita grove and we talked with them about our options.  We thought about getting a ride over that evening and hiking out of Hikertown along the aqueduct beneath the full moon.  However, after a trip to the convenience store and a six-pack of Mojave Gold, we decided we could afford a day since we were bypassing forty miles of trail no matter what.  That afternoon Hippie and her gang showed up - Shoetater, Bourbon, Recon and Slow-mo. We spent the afternoon with this crowd, plus Sprinkler, a German guy named Jorg, drinking beers, arguing about GMOs and playing charades.  Terri set us up with the supplies for taco salad for dinner, pretty fantastic. Casa de Luna is a really cool place, also known as "Hippie Daycare." I could describe it, but it'd be better for you to just find out on your own sometime.
     We decided we still wanted to night hike with the full moon, so we ended up spending most of the next day on the couches of the Lunatic Lounge.  A real sweet lady named Jodi came to give us a lift to Hikertown, and she wouldn't even accept donations.  She told us about the problems with the lake in town - all the fish were washing up on shore, dead, and the whole town reeked something fierce - as we drove by, we realized she wasn't kidding and simultaneously thanked ourselves for deciding not to road-walk.  Andrew popped into Hikertown to pick up his wallet, which he had left back in Huntington while at home, and we set off on our way.  It was a wonderfully flat section, all along the aqueduct, I only wish we had hit the part that wasn't cemented over when the moon was out. Nonetheless it was wondrously bright out all night and we hiked til maybe 12:30.

Little Jimmy Spring

Angeles Forest

Just a little guy 

Vasquez Rocks

The Honey Moon

Idyllwild - Wrightwood (155-366)

Sorry for the delay - again, didn't edit, bear with me.

Zero days are pretty fantastic. Idyllwild was booked solid, but Andrew's family  has a place down the mountain in Palm Desert and his mom was already heading there, so we grabbed a pizza and a pitcher of Firestone Walker at Idyllwild Pizza Co (no words can describe how amazing that was) and waited for Mrs. Pita to come pick us up. Shower, lacrosse quarterfinals, resupply, fresh produce, pool and hot tub, a real bed - need I say more?
     Due to the fire closure, we had to hike up the Devil's Slide Trail to a PCT junction around mile 177. This would have been great had there not been hundreds of boy scouts with giant external frame packs and massive groups of day hikers clogging up the trail. It cleared up a little once we hit the saddle junction so we decided to take the alternate trail that goes to the summit of San Jacinto. It was real hazy at the top, not much of a view, so we didn't hang around long. Filled up at a mountain stream and headed down Fuller Ridge to about mi195. The next morning, Memorial Day, we accidentally slept til eight, at which point it was already pushing 100°. The descent from the Fuller trailhead to Snow Creek Village, a community at the base of the mountain, is only 4.3 miles by crow but runs over 15 trail miles, and neither Andrew nor I had as much water as we'd have liked. At the bottom of the hill there's a bit of trail magic - a house in Snow Creek leaves coolers of ice water, oranges and a kiddie pool for foot soaking out in their front yard. We hung out til about 3pm and hiked the hottest 5 miles of our trip thus far across the flats and beneath the highway in Cabazon to the Whitewater Trail House, owned and operated by the famous Ziggy and the Bear.
     Ziggy and the Bear are both in their 80s and aren't former PCTers themselves, just lovely people with huge hearts. Crow and the Walrus had beaten us there and were sitting in the shade as the Bear took down our info and took our pictures for their logbook, then set us up with gatorades, Epsom salt footbaths and showers. We were so beat from the hot hike down Jacinto that we decided we'd call it a day and sleep in their yard on the padded floor and wake up at 4 in order to beat the heat on the hot climb out of Cabazon. The Bear insisted on waking up to make us coffee and breakfast before we left.
"One night we had 92 hikers back here. And we've had probably 200 quit right here on the spot, couldn't take the heat!" the Bear said. We asked if he'd been a thru-hiker himself. "Me? I wouldn't hike it if they gave it to me. Ziggy and I have been doing this for a long time though. Started in the town of Anza. Eventually we had a landlord wanted us to start charging hikers $15 a night, said it was 'better than the Taj Mahal.' I said no way, he wanted to raise our rent, so I said 'Screw you' and we ended up here. A hiker sold his house to help us build all this."
     "All this" was a fully padded backyard for camping, glass enclosures to block the wind, a solar shower, compost bins, and all sorts of other eco and hiker-friendly amenities. It's truly a great place and Ziggy and the Bear are special people. We ate some cereal, drank some coffee and promised the Bear we'd send a card if and when we reach Manning Park.
     The long climb up above Mission Creek runs right by Mesa Wind Farm, and we were real glad we left at five AM. By noon we'd already logged 15 miles so we hung in the shade by a creek crossing for about four hours as the temperature remained in the triple digits. This was the day we first encountered poodle dog bush... very similar in effect to poison oak, but prettier and much larger. We camped after only five more miles, despite the early progress, and got a late start the next day. It was a rough morning until we ran into Scott and (Tim? Taylor?) who were crushing miles compared to us. This served as motivation and we kicked in the afterburners, making it just 8 miles short of the spot from which we would hitch into Big Bear Lake. Along the way we passed Cienega Creek Ranch, host to multiple bears in cages maybe four times their size. It seemed unfair for us to be traipsing about in their kingdom while they could hardly move. We hoped it was some type of rehabilitation center and moved on until we found a little dumpster with "PCT MAGIC" painted on it, full of sodas and oranges. Score. And there was a couch - with Crow sleeping on it. We slugged a soda each as Crow told us that the bears were Hollywood bears, kept here until needed for filming. She also told us the big grizzly had accidentally killed a man while wrestling.
     The next morning was one of the coldest but we packed quickly and snagged a ride into town - not before finding another soda cache a hundred yards from the road. It's incredible how the trail can change your feelings on junk food. There was no one at the Big Bear Hostel to check us in so we went over to Saucy Mama's for pizza, garlic fries, a pitcher of Fat Tire and then ice cream next door. We resupplied, did laundry, ate in town, watched a movie and slept in. Glorious near-0. Once we dragged ourselves out of bed we ate a massive breakfast at the Teddy Bear Restaurant, a place I'd eaten at on my only previous trip to Big Bear, then caught a ride back to the trail with trail angel Papa Smurf.
A 19 mile day put us back down into the desert, but the next day we climbed up to Deep Creek. Deep Creek is known for its natural hot springs - clothing optional. Lots of folks took that option to heart... we just hopped into the cold part of the creek and headed forward. We saw a couple thru-hikers, a rattler and camped near an unexpected water cache just beyond the Mojave River Spillway.
I woke the next morning to the sound of Crow passing us, followed by a hiker we'd yet to have seen. We worked our way through the heat to Lake Silverwood - the trail skirts shores full of jet ski beach goers and fishermen. We made it to the Cleghorn picnic area around two pm, ready for the water and shade. As we sat there planning the rest of the day, a big tatted guy named Lavelle asked if we 'd mind if he smoked there. We said we didn't and got to talking. He was blown away by the idea that people actually thru hike and gave us beer and juice, offered some of the food he was grilling and told us about his life in San Bernardino after getting out of Compton. Not long after, the guy who walked past us that morning strolled up. His trail name is Wilder (because his name is Gene) and he offered to have his wife pick us up after the climb up to Guffy Campground and let us stay at his home in Piñon Pines the following night. We night-hiked just short of the McDonald's at Cajon Pass after passing a sleeping rattlesnake, a 27 mile day.
     I had been looking forward to breakfast at McDonald's, honestly, but the experience was just about as mediocre as I expected. Crushed a whole lot of food and set off on the brutal climb up to Guffy. 22 miles uphill through poodle dog bush, plus another 5 or 6 downhill to Inspiration Point where Wilder was waiting for us - he took the day off. Never been happier to see headlights in my life; my knees were shot after two 27 mile days and it was already 10pm. He and his wife were unbelievably generous to us - they gave us beds, let us shower and cooked up a huge meal for us before we crashed.
     The next morning I spoke to Wilder over French toast, fresh fruit and coffee. We talked a lot about climate change (and I wasn't even the one who brought it up!) and environmental changes he'd seen in his lifetime. "I can't speak for the rest of the planet, but I've lived here around Wrightwood my entire life. There were always at least patches of snow from November to March when I was a kid. A storm would blow in and dump ten feet up at Guffy; hell, in 1932 Big Pines was considered for the Winter Olympics!" he said. Debra leaned in from the kitchen - "Oh, and all the fatalities," she said. Wilder worked for the Forest Service most of his life - he even helped build the PCT in 1969: he was seventeen and "just swung a pick all day long." When he worked as a fireman for LA county, living in the area, he saw over 30 snow or ice related fatalities. "19 in one year," he said. "It'd snow all across the range, then rain and freeze solid. A couple was coming down the Acorn Trail and hit some ice; people would get out at the turnoff, step up to the edge for the view and just slide off; I hung up a bunch of warning signs: "DANGER, ICY: STAY IN YOUR CARS" but it didn't matter. Eventually I got the highway shut down but that takes a long time to do. This year? Ski areas couldn't even stay open through March. It's so hot and dry, the trees have no sap to defend themselves. Virtually all the pines down here have died or burned - I'm sure you've noticed the bark beetle devastation." We had.
     In ways it feels like we're taking what may be the last chance to see the real Pacific Crest Trail. For one, the post "Wild" book/movie craze is going to flood the trail next year through the foreseeable future. More importantly, the forests out here are going quick. We've walked through so many burn scars and have even had to take alternate routes around burn areas; invasive species like castor bean and others that thrive after fires (like the dreaded poodle dog) rule the mountain sides; all the lakes are low; streams that are perennially reliable have been bone dry... the list goes on. The other day an Angeles Forest ranger told us he was happy we'd get to see the Sierras "while they're still green."
Anyway, we took a zero in Wrightwood after chatting with Wilder and Debra for a few hours, complete with pizza and beer and the latest Game of Thrones episode on my phone screen. (June 3rd)


Just before Ziggy and the Bear's

Mission Creek

DO NOT pet the poodle dog

Poor guy


Saucy Mama's
Deep Creek

Mt Baldy

Lake Silverwood

Quick update

So I've been slackin' hard and haven't finished the post covering Idyllwild to Wrightwood. Not sure when I'll have internet next to get it published so here's just a little glance at how I'm doing:

Mile/day avg since Idyllwild: about 24

Health: couple blisters, my knees hate me, all else is good

Weather: hot hot hot and windy

Wildlife: couple more rattlers; deer; millions of lizards, bees and other insects that love to fly into our faces.

Music: best walking album so far is definitely Stranger by Balmorhea, but listened to lots of post-rock like Explosions in the Sky, classics like the Doors and Pink Floyd, etc. and a few new bands my buddy Miles put on a playlist for me (La Luz, Sleepy Sun, etc)

Best on-trail snack: not the best in terms of caloric content or anything, but I've been crushing those Annie's Gummy Bunnies like no ones business. My homemade trail mix with almonds, cashews, fruit I've dehydrated and whatever Bristol Farms calls their version of M&Ms is pretty fantastic as well.

Best trail meal: tortilla soup mix blended with garlic herb instant mashed potatoes

Best off trail food: gotta say Saucy Mama's in Big Bear - pineapple, jalapeño, bell pepper and onion pizza with garlic fries and a pitcher of Fat Tire.

Trail-name: still waiting for one!