Bible, New Testament, at a signpost
October 31 - November 6, days 215-221
PCT kilometers: 2,416; kilometers hiked: 3,921
Ahead of me lies a stretch of roughly 144 km to Dunsmuir.
At 5:50 pm, I take my leave from Kathy, from the Word Life Church, at the trail on CA 299. She kindly tucks some sourdough bread under a buckle on the side of my backpack. I'd switched back to bread, but just hadn't had room inside my backpack ;-)) Our goodbyes are cordial; I watch her car disappear, shoot a quick selfie, and discover a bible at the first signpost...
Despite the hour, I hiked 11.7 miles (19 km): above Burney Falls, which I'd already visited with Bon and Ron, and soon after along the impressive dam. In between, about 7 miles after Burney, there's a big campsite with toilets and – according to the comments – water. I take some toilet paper ;-), since I'd forgotten to buy some and only had a small amount left in my bag.
Pitched my tent at midnight, while listening to Cat Stevens; munched on spicy peanuts and carrots for an appetizer, then had Uncle Ben's rice with Edamame (soybeans) for dinner, pepped up with small pieces of swiss cheese. Cadbury Milk Chocolate and a sip of cherry brandy served as dessert. Lately, I’ve been listening to Roberta Flack singing Christmas songs. A large animal howls loudly a few times; well, it's Halloween, after all. I ask myself what I'll do if the howl – the animal – comes closer. My gas cooker, lighter, and knife are at the ready. Fortunately, the howling doesn't come nearer.
Minus 3 degrees Celsius; I fall alseep at 1:15 am.
At 8:30 am I wake up to find a thin skin of ice inside the tent. A squirrel cheeps imperiously, then whistles, then disappears. When I pour water from one of the water bottles (which I keep in the tent now) into a pot, the liquid forms ice on the surface!
Coffee first, then the rest of the chocolate. I’d repaired my glasses two days ago with superglue, but now the crack is brittle and the lens is in danger of falling out of its frame. I repair the glasses with some elastic K-tape. Check the day's trail. There are good water stations at 1.5 miles, 9.7 miles, and 17.3 miles, until the campsite I'm aiming for, 20 miles ahead. Elevation will increase from 3,100 to 5,400 feet, so 2,300 feet = 700 altitude meters. It's cold and I take some notes in my tent, while the sun slowly emerges. I can hear the road. At 9:44, the sun is full out. I eat bread and salami, drink hot chocolate. According to the forecast, the temperature is supposed to go up to 21 degrees Celsius.
Hiking, hiking, hiking. I'd like to get to Dunsmuir as quickly as possible. Martin and Hansel and Gretel made the trek in 3.5 days. Ok, they're 35, 25, and Hansel’s just turned 18. I'll need 4.5 days; but I'm 52.
Mount Shasta crops up time and again, covered in snow, over 4,000 meters high.
The following night turns out to be very windy, as proclaimed by the gusts I encounter on the last meters to a spot on a dirt road, where I pitch my tent. No trees above me, so nothing can fall on me, either. This year, a hiker was killed by a falling tree.
On the next tent site I have a great view: behind me, a dirt road and a utility pole; in front of me, a wooded valley. Next morning I'm rewarded by an incredibly sunrise. There's AT&T reception, and I send some greetings and photos to my family. A mountainbiker cycles past; two cars pass.
At Mc Cloud River, the day before I arrive in Dunsmuir, I meet Joe and his daughter Carsun Cloud, who’s middle name name refers to the river. We hang out at the campfire; it's freezing in this gulch. Wir stehen am Lagerfeuer, in dieser Schlucht (gulch) ist es saukalt. Carsun is 17 and a dancer with the Bandaloop Dance Company, headquartered in Oakland. She does vertical (aerial) dance, on skyscrapers, for instance, garnering a lot of attention; the company advocates for social justice, among other issues, and is very successful.
You can find the company online, including short videos of what they do: breaktaking. The Sierra is a piece of cake in comparison!
Despite their sprawling camp near the campfire, the two only stayed two days; Carsun has rehearsals on Monday. The two of them shlepped everything – from big cooker, pots, mats, fishing equipment, to bags/containers full of food – with a wheelbarrow from where their car was parked to the river, over a mile on the dirt road. It used to be possible to park the car near McCloud River; this has been changed in order to protect both wildlife and people. There's also a pit toilet here, rather sad to look at: hiker trash in every corner, e.g. empty packages of Mountain House freeze dried food, bottles, cans. I bring my own toilet paper ;-)
Joe used to fish here a lot with his dad. He told me he usually lets the fish go because he's allergic to fish. Carsun is here for the very first time. I interview Joe, who advocates for the indigenous people of Borneo and environmental protection, opposing the construction of large dams and large firms' desire to exploit land and inhabitants for their own profit.
They have far more food than they need, gifting me with 2 Indian lentil dishes, a Korean rice dish, apples, tangerines, milk, "killer" granola, and sardines. Which means I needn't eat the mashed potatoes I inherited from Martin. I guess I'll just carry the latter a while longer. I'm already looking forward to breakfast and coffee with milk...
Joe accompanies me to the bridge across the impressive McCloud River, and I continue my hike for a good while in the dark. Since when is it dark at 5:30 pm already? The lamps are charged and I'm aiming to reach the tent site 10 miles hence, which also has a parking lot, a pit toilet, and a river. The cold steadily increases. To reach the spot, you have to cross a bridge, then hike half a kilometer away from the trail in the opposite direction. It's worth it. Next morning, I note that further along the trail to my left, toward the water, there would have been a lovely spot, but the river is very loud. Besides, people have left their "business" everywhere, ignoring the "leave no trace" rule, not burying their toilet paper. I continue a little further uphill: where there is "civilization," there is filth.
I head for the toilet houses in hopes of finding a good, flat spot to pitch my tent - and discover a campfire site full of fast food plastic and doggy bag trash. There are shards of glass everywhere. Disgusting. Because it's very cold, I'm considering sleeping inside one of the toilet houses if they're as clean as the ones at Hat Creek Outlook, saving myself the necessity of pitching my tent. My flashlight picks up red and white lights; must be a truck or large vehicle parked there. I turn around. Fear seizes me. My mind produces too many images of "evil" movies - e.g., the one starring Michael Douglas, where his film wife is kidnapped by a truck driver.
So, back to the stream with its piles of shit... I clean up a spot and pitch my tent in record time, all the while keeping watch behind my back. I daren't listen to music, the battery is too low; better to play it safe, save on battery. I dine on bread with sardines inside the tent....
I'm up at 7 am, have myself a footbath in the icy river, which wakes me up and hardens the body. I breakfast on killer granola. I wonder what's supposed to be killed: tiredness, body aches, mental exhaustion? Never mind; I add a mandarin, a piece of apple, and milk instead of water. And add milk to my coffee. Then the 0.2 liter carton is empty. The sun peeks out; I put out the solar panel. A man, a dog, and then a woman emerge from the toilet house. First thing, they ask if I'm ok, whether I need anything. They turn out to be the scary denizens of the camper... I thank them kindly. They continue on. I do some gymnastics, shoot a few photos, make a few videos, record my thoughts. This delays my departure until 11:11 am. This "lucky number" inspires me to take a couple of swigs of cherry brandy before setting off. Life is good.
Once again, the trail ascends steeply. I'm tired of it. At a crossroads higher up, I encounter the nice couple again; canine Coco, who is supposed to be friendly, charges me immediately - after all, we've met. No signpost for the trail. From previous trips, the women recalls that the trail heads to the right. She accompanies me a few meters, kindly placing an arrow out of twigs on the ground. The trail ascends, higher and higher. In my mind, I practice thinking in my newly acquired Dutch vocabulary, with the intention of messaging my family something in de nederlandse tal.
I lose my sense of time. One day melts into the next. The same movements, over and over; only the sequence varies. Eventually, I notice I have reception:Jeremiah has sent me some funny text messages. He's the crazy young guy who gave us a lift to Quincy, between logs and spiders, who proclaimed that northern Californians do the real work while the folks in Silicon Valley merely sell bits und bytes. He's a chef at Bucks Lake who loves what he does...
Because of my earlier delay and also miscalculating the mileage to Dunsmuir, I ended up having to cover 27 instead of 16 km to Dunsmuir. The day before, my plan had been to do 30 miles (48 km), but quit after 41 km – the inclines were steep and took me hours. Likely I'd looked at the elevation app at too small a scale. (Olli is familiar with this.) I'd expected the descent earlier. Several sections of the trail were overgrown or crumbling along the slope, which meant going slowly so as not to slip.
The trail to Dunsmuir switchbacks through the forest, from 4,600 to 2,100 feet, an altitude difference of about 800 meters. It's dark, somewhere between 8 and 9 pm. In Burney I'd written Kellyfisch from Crossroads to ask if she'd give me a lift for the last 3.5 miles to Dunsmuir. She'd agreed, telling me to give her a sign when I was ready; there would definitely be internet reception on the slope before Dunsmuir. Crossroads is a small "hiker island" 1.5 miles from the trail between Interstate 5 and Dunsmuir, with room for up to 20 hikers, an outdoor shower and outdoor kitchen, a few sleeping places in the garage or small cabin, a trailer (the aquarium), a campfire site, modestly priced, including breakfast. Closed as of October 27. But, according to Guthook, offering rides to Dunsmuir in November.
At 7 pm I messaged Kelly to let her know approximately when I'd arrive at the crossroads. Just then I heard stomping noises and something rolling down from above - a rock, a branch? At 4 miles/6 km before Interstate 5, which could easily be heard, I headed round the bend, glanced up toward where the noises had come from – and saw I was being observed by a pair of button eyes about 7 meters away. The creature was upright, as tall as a man, and stopped: a bear! And Olli wasn't with me to share this. I was very surprised never to have glimpsed a bear after 3,921 km on the trail – but now, of all things, when I'm hiking alone! We exchanged stares. Then, petrified, I said, "Hey, what's going on here, bear?!" and hurried on, making a racket with my poles. Of course, I skipped the photo opportunity..... What an amazing experience to turn the corner and suddenly find yourself confronted with two button eyes about 5-7 meters away.
Sometime later, while hiking, I phoned Perllan House (an old Welsh word for orchard), where I'd hoped to stay the night, and mentioned my encounter with the bear to the owner Sas. His comment: "The local bears are no troublemakers. They sometimes even come down to hang around our trash cans." Boy, am I relieved I apparently encountered a local bear. :-)
Kelly picked me up from the train tracks, driving the 3 miles to Dunsmuir and dropping me at Perllans. I quickly checked into the "Aloha" room (lovely couple Sas and Janice). Then enjoyed a fantastic meal in the brewery: elk burger, soup, and a couple of beers. Uff. Met Asrael and Saphire at the grill and the Korean gal Trinity serving at the bar. Then had a nice long soak in the bathtub.