PCT section C mile 209 – 266. I-10 to Big Bear City
Hiking the PCT is a commitment to the unknown. The allure of surrender to a world out of my control has brought me back to testing my strength and my patience. That first day the Gorgonio mountains, normally chaparral covered, showed themselves blanketed in yellow, orange and purple. The uphill with loaded pack was hard on my breathing. Sun and wind a radical change from rainy Oregon.
After camping on a windy expanse the next day brought lovely hiking temperatures, and a down slope with more flowers to Whitewater creek crossing. To keep my socks dry I waded across in bare shoes. That was the first and last concern for dry socks that day. Up hill we went to Mission Creek canyon, the main artery that feeds the innards of these mountains. By midday the trail disappeared in a tumble of rocks, branches, gravel and gullies, the result of a recent flash flood. Water coursed down wherever it could find an opening. Wet feet were the order of the day as we crossed, re-crossed and climbed up and down the riverbank to catch sections of intact trail going up the canyon. Adrenaline and “can-do” attitude kept us going through this arduous bushwhacking. We camped on a white sandy river beach and I let the river wash away the salty sweat on my body before sinking into a deep and dreamless sleep.
The next day the enormity of climate changes were even more apparent as we worked our way up the changed river canyon to more open terrain where charred cacti and shrubs struggled to put out new sprouts and buds in the spring light. While I slept in my cosy bed this last winter the torrent waited as rain and snow fell to burst forth and wreck havoc on its way down. I became just a witness as I broke my hiking pole when I tripped working my way around a blowdown cedar up to the top of the canyon where Mission Creek Camp waited. I used a willow snag to make a new pole. Nature provides. I am a visitor who steals an image of wildness, force and raw beauty. The remnants of burned trees stood silent in their blackness against patches of white snow. How long will they stand before they too tumble down?
The sun warmed me as I hiked another day at 8000 feet altitude. We met the still snow covered north slopes while working our way around another crest. I looked far to the Jacinto Mountains to the south and down to what seemed like a benign ribbon of river feeding what grows in the Mission Creek basin. I know better now, benign is only one side of the coin. If you mess with nature, death and destruction will be the other side.
On a 16 mile waterless stretch trail magic gave me a new hiking pole from a hiker box along the trail. A child like happiness told me to trust I will be provided for. We camped with hordes of PCT hikers in Arrestra river camp that night. A wild wind woke us to a day of traversing a sunny wide desert expanse into the Bear City valley. My spirit soared in the sun and wind. I survived fire and flood.