Wednesday, October 10, 2018

Hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, Ashland to Crater Lake: in which I reach a new low

The first hiker I had seen in two days was quitting. "I'm done!" he said, standing on Indian Memorial Highway. A pretty woman leaned out of the car, waiting to pick him up. We stood in the torrential rain, darkness closing in. "Do you need anything?" he asked.

I contemplated this. I was soaked, my feet freezing. I had already hiked 25 miles, and I was pushing to make two more to reach a three-sided backcountry shelter so that I didn't have to set up my tent in the rain. It was tempting to get in their car, be whisked away to a town, and quit this foolish late season endeavor for good. What was I doing out here? The trail was virtually empty. The hiker had told me it was snowing above us. I had read enough missing hiker stories to know this wasn't a great situation.

But still. This was my window. This section, which some of us had named Section Elusive, was nearly always on fire, choked with smoke, in snow, or filled with vicious mosquitoes. If I didn't hike this one hundred miles now, it felt like I never would.

I forced a smile. "I'm good." I watched the car drive away. Had I made a huge mistake, I wondered as I dashed through spooky woods to reach the shelter. Inside, I gratefully rolled out my sleeping bag and clicked on my headlamp to reveal a large rat eyeing me hopefully. But in the contest between hypothermia and a rat, the rat won out.

The section had started out the day before in warm weather, passing near Ashland through tawny grasses and views of Pilot Rock. My only pause was when I happened upon a dead deer in the trail. No apparent wounds showed a cause of death, but I spotted mountain lion tracks further up the trail. Glad now that I had brought my heavy can of pepper spray, I hurried on. Making 17 miles before dark, I hastily threw up my tent and crawled in. Twelve hours of darkness awaited.

Nice tawny fall scene
The next day the rain began. At first it was just a light mist, and I happily whipped out my trekking umbrella. I hadn't used it before, not sold on it, and it became apparent that the lashing mechanism I had hoped would tie it securely to the pack wasn't going to work. I sighed, collapsing my poles and holding the umbrella with one hand. At first I congratulated myself for bringing this nine ounce item. I didn't even have to wear rain gear! But reality set in. Umbrellas are great in light rain but in heavy downpour what is sticking out--arms and legs--are going to get wet. Just a little less wet.

Pilot Rock

Sharing a shelter with a rat was a new low, but it turned out to be the right move. It was still raining heavily the next morning, and I thought about just staying there, waiting it out. But there was no guarantee the rain would stop. It had been forecasted to last only one day, but obviously someone had gotten it wrong. With a sigh I shoved my feet into wet shoes and headed out.

Someone left this book with many pages of a continuing story. Hikers had added to it as the summer went on.

These were the absolute worst conditions for hypothermia: forty degrees, a wind, and rain. I sloshed along in misery. Why was I doing this? What drives me to complete this darn trail? After ten miles I came to an intersection. Two miles downhill lay potential salvation--Fish Lake Resort. Ahead lay more miles of rain-soaked trail, the trail now a river, deep, deep puddles. Which would I choose? And if I did go to Fish Lake, would I quit right there? I thought about it. Maybe this section Elusive wasn't meant to be hiked. I could quit gracefully and just go home. I stood there for a minute, deciding.



To be continued...

8 comments:

  1. Eek, a rat. I always feel skeezed out in cabins as it is. I know rodents are there, but coming face to face with a rat would assure no sleep at night. I'd probably take my chances with a wet tent.

    This section hike sounds miserable, but in a type II fun sort of way. Better now that there are stories to tell.

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    1. Heh. I was so wet and miserable that being inside even with a rat seemed preferable. It was definitely Type II. If all of my section hikes were like that, I would not be hiking anymore.

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  2. I guess Elusive won and you continued on. Hypothermia didn't set in and you are relieved that you continued on in Mary style.

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    1. Since I'm typing this, I survived! But there was more misery to come...

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  3. I would love to go here after reading your post. Thanks for some great tips on where to go

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  4. You are much tougher than I! I'd have jumped into the car at Indian Highway. Did you sleep much that night knowing you were sharing lodgings with a rat?

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    1. Normally I wouldn't have but I was so tired I dropped off. Earplugs helped.

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