Day turned from red sky’s at morn to smoke and roaring evacuations. This day I was going out the door early to bear the weight of my pack, training for my upcoming hike but it was too smoky. I had a sharp rebuke from a friend questioning why I was doing this. At this point the hike is becoming tenuous. The weather will follow me. It’s fire season. But leaving family and friends behind when they’re suffering seems selfish.

July 5, 2020

I woke up in time to meet Bam-Bam. I didn’t ask about his trail name. He asked me to guess where he was from. He hadn’t said much to me. But what the hell? He asked for a guess. “Hmmm ahhh Scotland?”

“Czechoslovakia.”

But, of course. Please don’t ask me how to spell it.

He had caused me a great deal of consternation last night. After he arrived, I fell sound asleep. He woke me, not knowing I had fallen asleep, to tell me a deer was licking the ground near my tent. And then in the middle of the night, I heard the zipping and flapping of nylon. If you’re in Fairbanks they say that when you’re skijoring and the dogs hear the sound of nylon skidding on snow, it’s their signal to stop. This sound indicates that the dogs are dragging their fallen skier across the ice on her belly. And, pretty much, that’s the only reason they stop.

When you’re backpacking it means that someone is leaving or entering their tent or sleeping bag. So when it went quiet, I wondered did he leave? Then I remembered the warnings from my female friends, “it’s not the four legged creatures you need to worry about it the two legged.” Was he tip-toeing over to stab me bloody?

Really? Really Deborah? You’re going to worry about this? Maybe I’m naive, but if I turned a corner and saw a bear, I’d be frightened. If I saw a person, I’d probably be startled but that would be it. I trust people.

So looking over Bam-Bam, this diminutive, scruffy thru-hiker who is just trying his best to make it to Canada, I realize he has no time to kill me.

This will be an easy day. A simple downhill run into town. I was on trail by 7:00. I stopped at 10:00 for a short break. I knew I could make good time. I figured I only had about 10 or 12 miles to go. My downhill run was a series of steep switchbacks with lots of stumbly rocks to slow me. Terry had told me there was a shortcut into town. I came to a really nice footbridge over the Yuba River. I turned and was watching the river. I had seen a sign but it wasn’t clear that I was leaving the route toward a shortcut. I spotted a neat well dressed couple heading up from that suspected shortcut. They had no packs. This gave me a green light to try their trail. One would think I’d ask them? But I remained taciturn. If you haven’t talked all day, it’s a leap into uncharted territory. Well after about a mile I saw no hope and returned to the bridge. I must be close to town with the day hiking couple just walking about. I didn’t need no stink in’ shortcut.

Things were going fast until I made a left turn. Both the route straight ahead and to the right had sticks piled up in front of them. I thought the sticks indicated not to enter. Well I plowed along to the left getting closer to being helplessly mired in WTF “I’m lost.”

This could have been big trouble. I had no signal. There were no other people. And there were many unmarked trails branching out as though I was standing at the Arc de Triomphe not knowing which avenue was the Champ de Elyees. I divagated for 45 minutes until I recognized some garbage.

Lucky me. I was back on the trail. One more bridge over the Yuba and I was on the highway by 4:00. I walked into town fretting the whole way that it’d be shut tight. I anticipated no camping, no rooms, no food. On the front porch of the bar, a man seated in a chair said “Howdy.”

Them’s some pretty friendly worlds. “Do you think I can get a room here?

“I got one cabin left.”

“I’ll take it and two cold beers.”

Welcome to Sierra City. Where they have no Covid cases in the whole county. Cheers!

I think it was the 4th of July

It was a bit cold on waking. My fingers weren’t up to par. The tent was down and rolled quickly. But I could not get the lid off my bear canister. The plastic was unmovable at that temperature. You needed strong manual dexterity to push past the little bump that latches the large lid on the canister. Even the large paw of a bear can’t span and push in the little notch. I must have spent a half hour on this before The plastic softened and let me in. The canister not only houses my food, it also houses any thing that has a strong odor. I wanted my tooth paste. I believe if Terry had been with me, I would have been audibly whining over my struggle. But I have no reason to vocalize without an audience.

The morning was picturesque. I moved from mule’s ears to volcanic formations. From no apparent crawlers to lizards. After a couple of hours, without seeing a human, Stack came walking my way. They (this pronoun is not used as plural, but rather as gender-neutral) told me about a poor night’s sleep in the hammock because they forgot an important attachment for the hammock’s stability. So it goes..

At 11:55 I had hiked 7 miles. At noon I came upon four trail angels. They had chairs and tables set up and a huge spread of food. They drove their RVs up a forest service road. The four angels hadn’t see many hikers. It appeared to me that the PCT hiker population had been reduced about 90 percent. In 2014 when Terry and I hiked the PCT, I went ahead to Sierra City via car while I nursed a sprained ankle. It was the Fourth of July. The hikers seemed to come off the trail in droves. Now no one. Just me with more food in my pack than I could eat plus free drinks on ice and many homemade selections. I sat awhile in peace. No jets. No contrails. No fireworks. Just a virus potentially lurking anywhere people meet.

I can only think the animals, the land, the skies have never in their lifespan witnessed such peace. I carried on nourished with an iced Frappuccino and a bar with caramel m&ms and peanut butter cups. What could go wrong?

Five miles forward, I started to hear “civilization.” It sounded like shouting voices, and jet skies. I could see Jackson Lake. By that time my shoulders were sore and my blisters hurt. I was coming down a hill unprepared for what awaited me. The trail ended at a paved road. Usually when you come to a road the trail clearly continues on the other side of the road. Nope. There was a small group of teenagers playing football in the street. I didn’t expect they’d be of any help and they weren’t. I walk back and forth on the road looking for an arrow or a sign or a local person. I did not whine or vocalize my frustration. I wasted about 45 minutes when a guy in a truck slowed and asked it I needed help. He thought I would get back on the trail across the bridge and to the right. It didn’t look like it could be the PCT or any trail. And then I saw the little triangular PCT sign on a tree. In three miles I found the campsite. There were several sites. All mi were empty. I had eaten dinner, another P,B&J while walking. I had spotted an evening grosbeak. It was almost 8:30 and I was ready for bed.

In the gloaming, I set up my tent, unfurled my bedding, set my bear canister away from my tent and crawled into my shelter. I fell sound asleep. Shortly I was wakened by a guy asking if he could share the camp with me. But of course.

July 3, 2020

After driving five hours from Corralitos to my friend’s house in Truckee, I lighten my load by emptying some items from my backpack. Then I could actually lift it into Sue and Clyde’s car.

Their dogs Hana and Blanca were reluctant to share the back seat. But soon we were turning off highway 80 onto a forest service road just off the PCT. The quartet hiked about a half mile with me, and then I was left alone. At this point of the trail a number of day hikers are coming and going. The number of hikers thinned quickly. I proceeded at a decent clip through the ups and downs, past dense patches of aromatic Mule’s Ears.

I was in my normal hiking state—eyes glued to each footfall. Then I glanced to my left. What do you know, it was the Peter Grub Hut. I stopped to investigate the hut and eat my first P,B & J.

After that point, I only saw one other hiker, named Stack. They were heading to a good spot for their hammock.

I wanted to reach the campsite located 12 miles in from the trailhead. My pace was good. The temperature was perfect, no mosquitoes, and good terrain. I came to an earlier site with two other campers. It was on a marshy stretch and that meant mosquitoes. So onward.

I found a good source for water from a pipe at snowmelt creek. I was shocked to hear a jet. I crossed a dirt road and met up with another hiker who mentioned how unusual it was to hear a jet. The trek to the campsite was up switchbacks. I sat and ate my dinner another P,B&J. Then I continued to the campsite on a saddle just over the pass. Nice site, clear and level. The wind picked up. It was beautiful, loud and wild. No one was there except me. There was no loneliness, only mountain peace.