Dana - Pacific Crest Trail Plan

Pacific Crest Trail

I will first mention that I am writing this with some reluctance. I am lazy and obstinate, and have seldom recorded my adventures without ample motivation from my father, who has learned, from decades of traveling, that to document one’s journeys is truly wise. For, in old age, to look back at faded memories with a yearning sense of nostalgia is much less than fulfilling. Much better to get into the habit of documentation, he says, whether it be photographs, video, simple notes, or full essays. So, while planning the escapade in store for me this summer, I was sat down by my father, and he really let me know, man to man, just how important it was to do so. Despite all my stubbornness, I gave in, and agreed to embark on my hike with pen and paper in hand (or rather, in backpack). This begins simply an account of my early plans and preparations, but will continue a full description of my trip once I embark.

This summer I plan to hike a section of the Pacific Crest Trail. The trail stretches from the Mexican border, up through California along the Sierra Nevada mountain range, through Oregon and Washington, ending at the Canadian border. It is a famous and well-hiked path, diverse in its many changes of scenery through the thousands of miles it crosses. In the south, it begins dry, dusty, and low-lying, steering just west of Death Valley National Park. It continues north, arriving at Sequoia National Park, and gains altitude, passing by the base of Mt. Whitney, and entering the area surrounding Kings’ Canyon. This is where I will enter the trail, and embark on my lengthy hiking adventure, in a town called Lone Pine (where I have visited once before and will remark is quite ironically named, for there are many more than one pine tree in and around the small, hick town). From Lone Pine, I will hike to Mt. Whitney, ascend the second highest peak in North America, and enter the trail that will guide me 500 miles Northward. It will shoot straight through Sequoia National Park, past some of the largest and oldest trees in existence, living relics of the first millennium, exit the park and shortly thereafter enter the next, Yosemite. That particular section of the Pacific Crest Trail is known as the John Muir Trial, named after the man who, years ago, spent his days wandering and pondering about the dramatic peaks and lakes of the now well-visited national park. There, I will spend a week or so exploring the area, hiking down into the valley to view the waterfalls and wildlife, and up to the heights, ascending Half Dome and Vogelsang. After leaving Yosemite, the trail will take me west of Lake Tahoe, into a region known as the Desolation Wilderness, renowned for its awe-inspiring scenes, and further north to my final destination of Gold Lake, the high-sierra spot that hosts yearly Edwards’ family reunions. I will arrive at the shores of the lake (which the Pacific Crest Trail most conveniently passes by) after 52 days of hiking, no doubt in rugged outdoor shape, and eager to taste the wholesome food of the kitchen that provides daily meals to my extended family for our annual weeklong get-togethers, a pleasant change from the dried fruits, nuts, jerkey, and oatmeal that will have sustained me for the 8 weeks prior. I imagine myself arriving barefoot, in torn, dirt-encrusted clothing, adorned with scrapes and scars from spiky plants and unfriendly bears, sporting a full, shaggy beard, a wilderness man through and through. (the beard is perhaps too idealistic, as I have yet to grow any facial hair)

I will certainly be the talk of the crowd at my entrance to the lake, the only member of the family to have taken an alternative method of transportation from the usual- driving along highway 5, stopping at the small town of Greyeagle to make the phone call to Jim (the Gold Lake host), who, in turn, zooms across the lake to pick you and your luggage up, and back across to our private-owned shores of Sierra-Nevada paradise. Correction, I will be the second. My father, back in the 60’s, rode his bicycle from San Francisco up to the lake. 

My family has quite the history with the location; the first Edwards’ arrived there in 1849, during the Gold Rush, and found a bounty of gold surrounding the lake, hence the name, Gold Lake. Mines were set up, and fortunes were made. By the turn of the century, most of the gold had been mined, but our family continued visiting, and ever since, Edwards’ have annually enjoyed the company of one another in the tranquil mountain setting, hiking, swimming, playing Frisbee, relaxing in the afternoon sun and talking politics. I would never miss a visit to Gold Lake, and hence I am planning my route around arriving there.

Back to the hike. I almost forgot; I will not be going solo, but will be accompanied by my most loyal companion, Phoebe. She is a medium-sized, black and and white dog, a mutt. She shares my love of the outdoors, and is quite the hiker herself, covering, perhaps, twice the distance as I on the local trails we have frequented together, zig-zagging on and off the path, dashing up ahead for a squirrel or bird, trotting down to the stream for a drink, but always waiting up for me before quickly offing on her next side journey. She will no doubt be the ideal confederate for the adventure, for she will provide solace when I am lonely or scared, but will never prove annoying or bothersome, as could a human partner. Her nature is quite similar to mine, youthful and slightly unruly, yet attentive when it comes to serious matters. I learned this on an overnight with her up Matillija Creek, when, after being harassed by two vicious local dogs, she spent the night atop a large rock, on the lookout for unwanted intruders. Were a coyote to howl, or an owl to hoot, she would be on it, in full wilderness defensive mode, circling the area, protecting both of us with warning cries. If the coast seemed clear for long enough, she would return to my side, snuggling up close to my sleeping bag. I think Phoebe has retained much of what most domesticated dogs have lost, a clear connection to the ways of her ancestors, the coyotes, wolves and dingos remaining in the wild. 

There are, however, certain issues that I need to address, being joined by my canine companion. Food, first of all. Well, her regular diet of kibble seems appropriate. It would, of course, be near impossible to carry two months’ worth of kibble in my pack, however that problem is solved in the same fashion that my own dietary needs will be fulfilled. There are incremental stops along the trail, small towns and depots, that a Pacific Crest Trail hiker sends parcels of food to, prior to embarking on his journey. They are from three to six days’ hike apart, a tangible distance for carrying food. I will simply send a measured amount of kibble to each location, and provide her rations twice daily. Hmm, what will she think of that? She will be out in the wilderness, in unknown lands, far from where she knows, far from the giant bag of kibble in the laundry room, the provider of nourishment and all that is good, and yet, mysteriously, a scoop of the familiar brown pebbles will appear in front of her sniffing nose morning and night. “Where does it come from?” she will ponder with a tilt of the head and an inquisitive growl. She will eat it, still nonetheless happy to hunt down a marmot should need arise.

So the issue of food, both for Phoebe and me, is solved. Another possible issue is that of Phoebe’s paws. I suspect, from eight hours of hiking a day on dry dirt and rocks, that they will become sore, and she may be injured, hindering her mobility and posing quite a problem to the both of us (I picture myself staggering across a southbound hiker with a whimpering sixty-pound dog in arms, dropping the furry mass as I fall to the ground and utter my last words ,“bring….phoebe….home….she…can’t…walk.”) This issue became apparent to me because of my cousin’s dog, who becomes