19 September 2019

Joshua Seligsohn September 19, 2019

As I plugged my phone in Forage raised the issue of where we would spend the night. I realized this was when the conversation had to transpire and I felt a knot develop in my stomach. I responded back to him, “Actually I think I’m going to hike out tonight”

Mule looked at me, cocked his head to the side and questioned, “what do you mean?”

“I think the time has come for me to hike by myself.”

We left Sierra City in the evening, now four with the addition of Lawrence, a teacher from Connecticut. We caught a hitch in a conversion van headed towards the High Sierra Music Festival. Our driver, Alex, had the van outfitted so that he might live out of it. The four of us stood huddled in his kitchen, I leaned against his bed, as we traveled down the winding road towards the trail.

Out of Sierra City, the trail begins a large climb up to the Sierra Buttes. Forage and I had been admiring them just a couple nights prior when we’d camped up on the ridge before town. Miles of switch backs work their way up from the valley far below. The four of us only hiked a couple miles that first night.

The next day was relatively easy hiking. Even though the climb up to the Buttes was long and somewhat steep and trail was quite rocky, it seemed trivial compared to the brutal climbs, no less steep or long, through snow we’d been doing just days before.

On the north side of the Buttes we could see patchy snow. A few miles down we encountered another hiker who warned us of a traverse she described as “unsafe” and advised us of a potential route, piecing together several other trails, that would save us having to traverse snow around the lake. Of course we, having hiked three hundred miles of snow through the Sierra, had no intention of heeding her warnings. Our perspective on what exactly constituted a dangerous traverse was slightly different.

That night we found a relatively bug free camp in a saddle up on the ridge. As the sun set we gathered firewood. It was the Fourth of July and there seemed no better way to celebrate than to have a fire.

With the fire cracking loudly as flames whipped up into the air, I thanked Mule for his country’s aid in our revolution. Forage brought some water to a boil as he made tea with the abundant pennyroyal around our camp. We passed his pot around, each sipping the tea. It was a cold night but the fire was warm on our faces and the tea was hot going down.

The Northern California section seemed to move quickly from my perspective. Maybe it was the comparatively big miles, the relatively easy hiking, or that we were just having fun. Whatever the cause everything started moving so quickly that much of the section exists not as a chronology of towns and mountains passes like either the Desert or the Sierra, but as fragments—various moments pieced together in a blur of hiking and camping.

The next week we made it to Old Station. Not all hikers go there because it’s a bit off trail and it isn’t really a necessary resupply point. I, however, had decided that I wanted a hamburger so I went into Old Station with Forage and Mule following suit. JJ’s Cafe in Old Station was incredible. I had a burger with Serrano peppers and blue cheese as I waited for the rest of my triad to catch up. When they arrived I got a milkshake made with Black Butte Porter. It was one of my favorite meals I had on trail.

Old Station is just south of Hat Creek Rim. It is a somewhat notorious stretch for hikers as it can be hot, is exposed, and has almost no water sources. We hiked out in the middle of the afternoon heat. Once up on the rim we were treated to incredible views of the mountains across the Hat Creek Valley far below, Lassen to our south, and Shasta well to our north. Forage also found serviceberries and skunkbush berries. We hiked along the rim, dodging the cows that roam around up there, as the sun began to set behind Burney Mountain to our west.

The next day was a full day of hiking along the rim. I expected it to be rough but I enjoyed almost every minute of it. It reminded me of home as we hiked along in the hot sun. There was abundant life up on the rim with all sorts of flowers and plants we hadn’t seen yet. We were headed to the Burney Mountain Guest Ranch where we would be able to get a meal and, more importantly, ice cream so our motivation to hike was quite high. We made the miles long flat miles along the rim with relative ease and before long we were at the Ranch and considerably closer to Shasta.

*Mule pushes the limits of his water carrying capacity.*

From Burney our next stop was Dunsmuir. At the Wheelhouse in Dunsmuir we reunited with Lawrence whom we’d lost some time ago. We spent the day eating and hanging out at the Wheelhouse, enjoying the fast internet and each other’s company.

Around 5 p.m. we caught a ride to the trail. We wanted to make it at least a few miles down trail so we found ourselves hiking in the dark. Lawrence and I were up front, a good distance ahead of Mule and Forage. As we walked around a bend I heard the unmistakable sound of a rattlesnake directly to my right a little up the hill. Lawrence stopped and asked me, “is that a rattlesnake?”

*Castle Crags the after we left Dunsmuir, CA.*

“Yep. Keep moving dude,” I snapped back as I gave him a push, wanting no part in spending excess time near the snake. I could tell it was a few feet above the trail though not far enough for me to be comfortable. Once we were well past where the snake was I shined my headlamp back over to try and find it. As I did so it continued to rattle at me. As long as it was rattling I figured it probably wasn’t moving and if it was we could hear it. Mule came around the bend a few moments later. I shouted to him that there was a rattlesnake above the trail and he probably ought to move quick. He gave a half hearted jog until the snake again took up rattling at which point he took off towards us. We conveyed the message to Forage minutes later when he caught up but apparently the snake had no interest in him.

A week later and I was hiking out on my own towards Seiad Valley. Another long descent, characteristic of most the journeys into towns in Northern California, leads down to the Klamath River where Seiad Valley is situated. The hike down was lined with thimbleberries and blackberries in quantities so plentiful all the hikers on the trail could not consume finish them. I would grab a handful of berries, eat them then as I walked another twenty feet, grab another handful and keep going. I did this all morning long.

The trail joins a gravel road for a long road-walk before town. The road was also lined with blackberries so naturally I continued to eat berries. At one point I decided to step halfway into a blackberry bush to get some particularly good looking berries. I shimmied into the bush reaching my arm out towards the berries only to hear that awful rattle. My heart sank as I looked just past my hand to see, on the hill, about a yard past where I was reaching, a large rattlesnake coiling up. I took off as fast as I could resolving to eat no more berries until I got to town. I told myself that this must be a sign to stop messing with berries and focus on hiking. For the rest of the day I walked in the center of the road.

Once I got to Seiad Valley I found almost everything to be closed. There are two places one can eat there, one of which has a reputation for the milkshakes, but it was Saturday afternoon and I was not interested in waiting until Monday. Quite frankly, taking more zeroes wasn’t too appealing to me. We had taken so many in the Sierra that I felt it was time to hike and put in some miles. Once I got to Shelter Cove Anthony was planning to pick me up on his way back to Eugene where I would take a few more zeroes so there was really no reason for me to waste time in town at this point. I was ready to push myself and put in some big miles.

I hung out outside the convenience store with the other hikers who were there until Forage and Mule got there. When they arrived we went in a large group over to the restaurant. I grabbed a table with Forage, Mule, and Side Trip. It was time for me to tell them that I wanted to hike on my own. I wanted to get up early see, how many miles I could do, and push myself. When I originally conceived of doing this a large part of my motivation was to challenge myself physically. The Sierra changed what that meant to me but I was still interested in hiking long days, putting in big miles and now was the time to do it. But how do you break that after hiking over 950 miles together you no longer want to hike with your friends? I was sure they would understand but nonetheless it felt like having to break up with someone. So instead I just decided to enjoy my meal with them.

That is, until Forage decided to try and plan out what we would do that night. At that point I had to address the issue with them. Of course they were totally understanding and wished me well. A few minutes later I paid for my meal, collected my belongings, and started off on the trail. It was melancholy leaving them. I’d hiked more of the trail with them than without, both in terms of milage and time, and we’d been through by far the most challenging section of trail together. Hiking away I was excited to get to Oregon the next day but I couldn’t help hoping that Forage and Mule would catch up somewhere down trail. I was going to miss them a lot.

*Claire and Forage descend from Donahue Pass towards Tuolumne Meadows.*

3 July 2019

Joshua Seligsohn July 3, 2019

The third and final stretch of the Sierra began as any other—try and get a hitch to the road the hike back to the trail. The hitch was easy enough though the ensuing road walk back to the trail was exhausting. Still with eight days of food and all of our winter gear, boots still a size too small and killing my feet, trudging uphill on pavement was miserable.

When we got to the PCT we immediately stopped to filter water. Moments later we heard voices and Gaper’s group came around the trail. The stopped to chat and during the course of our conversation told us about an alternate to the PCT that might possibly avoid some water crossings. Sunkist airdropped me the maps then the group took off.

It didn’t take long before we had our first creek crossing. Then another. Then another. Three creek crossings in a single mile of trail. This would be the theme of the next hundred miles.

*A bridge over the Tuolumne River—or rather over part of the Tuolumne as wading was required to get on and off of the bridge.*

Being now mid June much more of the trail was actually open. Our best estimate was that two thirds of the trail was still completely covered by snow and the remaining third was split between submerged trail and relatively dry trail. Not ideal but we hoped that meant we’d be able to move a little faster.

The first few days weren’t so bad. We crossed Donahue pass into Yosemite and met the first John Muir Trail hikers we’d encountered during our time on the trail. This was the last time we’d be above 11,000 feet. Looking north we could see Tuolumne Meadows with the Tuolumne River snaking through the snow free valley far below.

I did not understand at this point how hard the trail was about to become.

That night we camped just before a raging creek. Overnight the water level fell in excess of two feet allowing us to cross on a log. Shortly thereafter there was another stream we would have to ford so we took our boots off and made our way across. On the other side we dried out feet, put our boots back on, then walked another fifty feet only to find another creek. We’d gone less than a mile all morning so I said screw it and walked straight through.

My boots would not dry out again.

That afternoon we had to cross McCabe Creek and Return Creek. We met McCabe at the junction of the two. We scouted out the trail quite far upstream but there was no great spot to cross so we crossed in somewhat mild looking rapid. Water was moving quickly but it was relatively shallow. With ease we made our way across. I talked some smack to the creek about how nature “ain’t got nothing on me.”

Next up was Return Creek. Water was swift here but with far more intimidating sections up and down stream we decided to cross.

I went first. As I side stepped across the creek the water was dark and I couldn’t see the bottom. Feeling around blindly for a solid spot to step I made my way, little by little, farther across the river. The current was strong—my trekking poles were shaking violently and I was hinged forward trying to resist the force of the water crashing into me. About three quarters of the way across there was a large wave coming over a rock. At this point the water was above my belly button and it took everything I had to stay upright. I stepped to my left and suddenly the water ripped me down.

In 2017 two PCT hikers passed away in river crossings. This fact had been oft discussed in the desert and here I was now, being swept downstream by a raging river. I thought to myself, “don’t be that guy. You’re not seriously going to let this river kill you.”

I opened my eyes and tried to grab a rock but it was too slick so I started to swim as hard as I could towards the shore. It wasn’t long before I was close enough to grab onto a tree branch. I popped up to see Claire with her hands on her head in disbelief.

Smiling, I gave a thumbs up. How could I be upset? I was alive and I’d made it to the other side. I unpacked my bag and laid everything out to dry. My legs had some scrapes and I’d chipped a few of my nails. My GPS and knife were gone and I could see water sloshing around inside my camera.

*Forage, Mule, and Claire cross Return Creek.*

On the other side of the river Claire, Mule, and Forage searched for a better place to cross the creek. After finding a spot it took them over an hour to make it across with Claire getting knocked down multiple times.

Once across they dried out a bit and I packed my belongings we were off as if nothing had happened—we still had to make our miles.

The next few days saw more and more river crossings. At times we walked miles upstream to find an appropriate spot; other times we tried to cross, getting in excess of four fifths of the way, only to decide it wasn’t doable and turn back. Sometimes, with a wide and slow moving body of water, we had to swim. At the unnamed creek in Stubblefield Canyon we swam across only to find ourselves, wet and cold, in a thunderstorm once on the other side.

*Forage crosses the deep Wilma Lake outlet on a submerged log. Normally the outlet can be crossed dry on the log bridge.*

When we went over Dorothy Pass and out of Yosemite it was as if a switch had flipped—suddenly the water went away. The trail went from hundreds of small creeks to almost none. We had one small creek to cross but it didn’t even get to my knees. Knowing the worst of the water crossings was an incredible relief.

As we hiked out towards Sonora Pass it became real that the Sierra section was over. Behind us stood dramatic snow-covered peaks but in front of us we only saw green, rolling hills. On top of the ridge and only a few miles out from the pass we stepped off the snow and onto a dry trail. The snow wasn’t done yet but it was clear the Sierra was—we’d finished the most challenging section of trail in a particularly challenging year. Whatever lay ahead of us would not compare to what we’d already accomplished.

*Forage and Claire lead the way towards Sonora Pass on a dry section of trail.*

At Sonora Pass my mom met us. She had a new GPS so that I could continue to let her know each day that I’m still not dead.

We gave her our bear canisters, crampons, and ice axes as we bid farewell to the Sierra.

Leaving Bridgeport was easy. We had Tahoe in our sights and it was only a few days away. Our pace over those next few days increase by almost fifty percent.

In Tahoe we again took zero after zero. My dad smoked brisket and we ate pint after pint of ice cream. I walked into town weighing 183.3 and walked out weighing 196. Still light but doing my best not to be.

*Forage journals in camp near Tamarack Lake.*

Desolation Wilderness was incredible. Graham and I were last there in September with a completely snow free trail. I was here again with a mostly snow covered trail but it was still relatively easy going. Temperatures were moderate enough that I cowboy camped daily for the first time since the desert.

*Forage writes in the register at the Peter Grubb hut.*

What’s more is that since we have more snow free trail there’s tons of spring growth so Forage has been finding all sorts of food for us to eat. There have been ferns, cow parsnip, loads of onions, and many more.

We have only had to get our feet wet once in the drainage tunnel under I-80.

*Forage wades through water beneath I-80.*

The ensuing days had even less snow. Our most recent day, heading into Sierra City, was a twenty two mile day with less than a hundred yards of snow. That’s basically a snow free day! It’s been five hundred miles since the last snow free day and my joy at the prospect of more snow free days cannot be overstated.

*Hiking into Sierra City brought us to our lowest elevation since the desert. We found ourselves in much denser forest.*

*Mule and his massive pack at the Hostel California.*

11 June 2019

Joshua Seligsohn June 10, 2019

Hitching out of Bishop was somewhat of a hassle. All of our packs were loaded down with snow equipment and ten days worth of food. My pack was smaller and lighter than Forage’s or Mule’s but it still weighed forty seven pounds. We walked down 395, straps digging into our shoulders, for quite a while before someone stopped for us. After a several minutes trying to fit our packs in the back of the truck then ourselves—it was one of those pick-ups that technically has a back seat but we all know it’s not really designed to fit full sized humans—we were off towards Kearsarge Pass again.

Hiking up Kearsarge for the second time was worlds different from the first time. Whereas our initial visit was during a blizzard and we couldn’t see a thing (what point during that week wasn’t a blizzard though) this time we had great conditions for hiking and stunning views. It was cold enough that the snow was hard so we could just walk on top of it. Afternoon light poured through the valley onto the mountains as we made our way down towards our campsite.

*Afternoon light as we head towards Kearsarge Pass.*

*Light pours into the valley where we would make camp.*

When we got to camp it was quite cold but I was happy to be on trail again. After several days in Bishop I was starting to go stir crazy.

We packed down the snow we were going to set our tents up on, made dinner, and went to bed.

That night I had strange dreams about being in some sort of existential battle with a mouse. I awoke in the middle of the night bewildered.

As I was getting ready for the day, packing up inside my tent, I moved my granola and a little spilled out. Weird. I must have accidentally punctured the bag.

*Snow camping after Kearsarge. Also a crime scene.*

Then I noticed a hole in my bag of dates. And a hole in my food bag. And in my bag of salami. And in the wall of my tent!

I was the victim of a burglary. I shouted to Forage about this and he said he thought he heard something running around last night but didn’t think much of it. Frustrated, I wanted to fixate more on this but we were already behind schedule so I packed up and we set off for Glen Pass.

This isn’t the most challenging pass we’ve done to this point—the climb is neither the steepest, longest, nor most technical we’ve done—but after five days at 4000 feet and with the heaviest packs we’ve had yet it was work to make it over.

*Mule and Claire lead the way down from Glen Pass.*

This type of hiking would become somewhat repetitive over the next several days. A big climb in the morning followed by a steep descent down several thousand feet as we try and find the low point to camp at. Then we wake up the next morning and do it all over again.

*Claire crosses the suspension bridge at Woods Creek.*

That night we camped with the group that left Bishop a few hours ahead of us. They told us they were going to hike out at 0430. We decided to leave several hours after them. We didn’t see another group of people until Mammoth a week later.

Heading to Pinchot Pass again took us out of the forest and put us in an impressive tundra. With no trees or other signs of life these high altitude passes feel like another planet. I love them. They are so otherworldly I find myself giddy as I look upon massive snowfields surrounded by jagged mountains. It’s so foreign, so exhilarating. In these moments I am shocked that I ever considered skipping the Sierra. This high snow year is such a blessing that I would have never in a million years anticipated being such.

*Forage at the final approach to Pinchot Pass.*

The hike towards Pinchot as Glen before it was brutal. Sun scorching down on us and reflected up by the snow it feels like being cooked from every direction. To make matters worse the snow at the Pinchot was melted and soft. With every step snow was collapsing under our feet. It took much longer than it should have to actually make it up the pass but sometimes nature just makes decisions for you and there isn’t much you can do.

*Forage stands in a frozen tundra near Pinchot Pass.*

Fortunately the distance between Pinchot and Mather Pass isn’t far, only nine miles or so, so taking our time there and getting somewhat close to Mather was really just setting us up for success the next day.

The common comparison to Mather Pass is Forester. It doesn’t have the late season ice chute in the same was as Forester but right now what isn’t snow or ice?

We camped a few miles short of the pass. It was a breeze hiking that morning. We flew through those miles, snow hard under our feet, and before long we were at the base of the pass. After a quick snack we strapped crampons on, traded trekking poles for ice axes, and started the climb.

Compared to Forester this was a breeze. Snow was solid; my crampons could grip into the ice with ease. With no powder to deal with it was really such a dream compared to the week prior. Conditions were nearly perfect. At its steepest point it was a good deal steeper than Forester and had we been doing this in the white out conditions we did Forester in I might feel differently but good weather and hard snow made this leaps and bounds easier. The only part that felt somewhat concerning was the final climb. To get there we went directly under the cornice before climbing straight up the wall of snow. Knowing it could collapse at any minute is a bit terrifying but at the end of the day there’s really no choice but to keep moving forward. After that we were home free!

And best of all a nice glissade was waiting for us after the pass.

*Claire takes her finals steps up the climb at Mather Pass.*

That night as we were hiking down to our campsite Forage pointed out that there were some wild onions growing. We gathered a few handfuls and I munched on them as we kept hiking down. At camp I was planning on sautéing them up to have with my pasta for dinner. Instead it started raining and I just ate my pasta immediately. Forage still sautéed them up with some salt and olive oil. They were so incredibly flavorful. I figured that another time I’d have to hold off on dinner a little longer but that night was not to be the night.

The hike towards Muir Pass was going to be a long one. We started eleven miles out from the pass which when we’re almost never doing more than fifteen miles in a day means the entirety of the day will be consumed by climbing the pass.

It took us forever to even get close to the pass. Several miles out and the real work started. There were several hills where we postholed with every step. Post holing is what it’s called when you’re walking along on top of snow then it suddenly gives way plunging you down. Sometimes you fall a couple inches and sometimes you plunge one leg into some sort of snow cavern with no apparent bottom. Every time it happens it’s equal parts frustrating and terrifying. Miles of postholing that day was pushing me to my limit. My solution was to plug my headphones in out my head down and work.

*Forage climbs a hill working towards Muir Pass.*

The shelter was a magical respite from the outside world. I put my tent, socks, and quilt outside to dry as I had my lunch inside the walls of a real building for the first time in a few days. It was dark and wet inside but it was so nice to be out of the elements for a short time.

*Forage hikers away from the shelter and memorial at Muir Pass.*

As we hiked away from our late lunch and down from the pass I watched the storm clouds move in on our position and slowly the last of the sun was forced out. Before long lightning cracked above as we were hiking totally exposed. Then it began to hail on us. Shortly thereafter hail turned to snow as we found ourselves in the middle of a blizzard. Visibility was reduced to feet and lighting continued to crack above us. Who knew you could have snow and lightning at the same time!

*Claire and Mule lead the way down after Muir Pass.*

At this point the priority became finding some cover for our campsite. Still around 10,000 feet there were almost no trees to be found. I also needed to find some water before making camp. Normally I use about two liters of water between dinner, something to drink, and breakfast and I had less than a quarter liter at this point. We were hiking along a stream but there were walls of snow several feet high on either side making water totally inaccessible. We kept hiking farther down the valley looking for water and cover.

*Putting Canon’s weather sealing to the test.*

We found a patch of water with a thin layer of ice at Evolution Lake. It wasn’t far from some trees where we thought we might be able to camp. This seemed to be the best option for water.

I drove my trekking pole into the snow to see how sturdy it was. It seemed fine enough. I took a step and tested it again. As I got closer the snow still seemed to be holding up just fine. I plunged my trekking pole in the area where it looked like I might be able to get some water and began trying to clear some ice out of the way so I could access some water.

Suddenly the ice below my feet gave way and I plunged into the lake. I felt the warm water rush into my gaiters, then my boots, as my feet hit the bottom. I stood there for a moment, waist deep in the water, as snow continued to fall, considering just how difficult it would be to dry my boots off.

Forage and Claire rushed to help me out but it was really as simple as hopping out of the shallow end of a pool. The immediate priority became setting up camp and getting out of wet clothes. Though the water in the lake was shockingly warm being soaking wet in freezing temperatures was not a recipe for success. And what a way to start the month of June off.

It wasn’t long, maybe thirty minutes, before we made it to camp, packed down the snow, and set up our tents. Forage and I found water at the lake outlet and I booked it back to put on dry tights and socks.

*A clear morning after heavy snow the night before near where we camped at Evolution Lake.*

It took me the next several days to return my boots to their normal state of dampness.

Though still gorgeous the next few passes were nothing compared to what we’d done to date. They were more akin to large hills than the quasi mountaineering we’d been doing. Yet we still were having regular precipitation. All in all of the seventeen days we’ve had in the Sierra we have had two days without precipitation.

*An old snow survey shelter owned and maybe not maintained by the Department of Water Resources.*

According to SFGate.com this year’s snowpack is thirty-three times what it was last year at 202% of the average. I’m not out there measuring it but I can confirm that there seems to be nearly endless snow. Out of our two hundred miles in the Sierra we’ve had around twenty snow free miles.

*The team surveys our route before making the descent after Silver Pass.*

It’s been a challenging stretch but it’s been some of the most stunning terrain I’ve ever seen. We will be hiking back out today from Mammoth with a seven day stretch towards Bridgeport and Sonora Pass at which point we will have a quick resupply before heading to Tahoe.

*Our final morning this stretch of trail.*

Word is that there will be many more water crossing in this stretch so that will certainly be a challenge but I’m ready to get back out on trail.

26 May 2019

Joshua Seligsohn May 26, 2019

I arrived in Kennedy Meadows on 12 May. Traditionally this is a place where hikers pick up a bear canister and some extra gear for the Sierra. In high snow years it becomes the central location for people to decide to flip—go hike another portion of trail before returning—and where the real fear mongering begins. With two restaurants and an outfitter in town hikers don’t have much to do but sit around and speculate about what might lie ahead.

My first two days in Kennedy Meadows were pleasant enough. I made lots of new friends and said goodbye to some old ones as they decided to flip or take time off to go take a road trip. By day three I was starting to go stir crazy. A storm was rolling through the southern Sierra and the group I was with wanted to wait until Friday before hiking out. There were some signs that there might be intermittent weather after that but waiting forever just wasn’t an option.

While hanging out in town I made several additions to my pack. The aforementioned bear canister, required in the National Parks, was the largest and most annoying of them. I also picked up new snow equipment for the snow: crampons, ice axe, gloves, and pants. I made the decision to stick with my trail running shoes for this stretch and see how that might work.

My mother had mailed my bear canister with some food to supplement my resupply. Between the outfitter and my resupply from home I had ten days worth of food to make it from Kennedy Meadows to Kearsarge Pass. Given the long nature of this stretch I decided to err on the side of bringing less food since it was such a significant food carry. I allotted myself a bowl of granola for breakfast, four fruit leathers, a complete cookie, and a cliff bar for snacks throughout the day, a Knorr rice side (red beans and rice or the queso rice) for dinner with a salmon fillet and some cashews for dinner then a Milky Way bar for dessert.

When Friday rolled around a couple of us were still waiting for packages so our group, now at nine hikers, decided to make it a short day. The bulk of the group hiked out early, around 2 pm, and we would catch up when our gear arrived.

We didn’t get hiking until 5 pm. With ten days of food and all the new snow gear packs were heavy but we hiked hard and fast. After two hours we caught up with the group. It was getting cold so we quickly pitched tents and turned in.

*Our group making our way into the Sierra.*

The next morning as we packed up a group of boys from Mississippi joined us. My understanding was that they wanted to find people more comfortable in the snow because, well because Mississippi.

The group deliberated about which campsites we might make it to. We picked a closer and a farther site, agreeing to shoot for the father but have the closer be our fallback plan. With everyone moving at their own paces the group quickly split into smaller groups.

It wasn’t until early afternoon that Forage, Mule, and I found snow. Fortunately it was cold so the snow was relatively easy to walk on. We caught up with Claire as the snow started to get more serious. Clouds were rolling in looking quite ominous and it seemed safer for us to all stick together.

Our normal rate of travel limited by snow travel we decided in the late afternoon to stop at the closer of the two campsites. There were a couple patches of dry ground which meant we might be totally surrounded by snow but none of the hassle of actual snow camping. We started making dinner and waiting for the rest of the group.

The next morning everything was covered in a new layer of snow, nothing too deep but new snow nonetheless and it was still coming down. The group still hadn’t caught up but we figured that by our virtue of being the smaller of the two groups we could continue to operate on our own without feeling to responsible to them. We hiked on into the snow.

We had weather on and off all day. Fortunately again the base layer of snow was still hard and compacted so it was relatively easy hiking as we did our first large pass up to 10,600 feet.

The afternoon started to clear up and we really hammered the miles. At camp we caught up with the same group of Canadians who I had hiked through the snow into Idyllwild with when we were assailed by the wind some 500 miles ago. It is one of those endearing aspects of the trail—you never know who you’ll see when. The impermanence of life and experience is always present. Parting at lunch maybe the last goodbye you say to a person but you also never know who might be just around the bend.

We camped away from them on another patch of dry ground to keep the streak alive.

The next morning we woke to find not a cloud in the sky.

As the day started to warm up snow at lower elevations turned to slush. We were slipping and sliding everywhere trying to work our way up to our next big pass—Cottonwood Pass.

Even at high elevations the snow was still soft and every step was knee deep.

When we got to Cottonwood Pass we tossed all of our wet gear out to dry. The air was still so I didn’t bother to toss rocks on anything. Suddenly, with the air still motionless around us, the wind began to rip at Forage’s rain fly and suddenly sucked it straight up into the sky. We sat for a split second watching this before my quilt flew straight up into the air followed shortly by my tent. As my tent sailed up higher and higher into the sky my heart sank and I wondered how I would survive the night with no shelter and no insulation. Replacing it would be expensive too. That was going to be another issue. Would I have to share a sleeping bag and tent with someone else for the next several days? That would be a huge hassle.

Suddenly it began to fall. Tracking the tent as if I was back in the outfield I charged barefoot across the snow and gravel. I caught it clean, called the batter out, and proceeded to run around like a mad man. The relief I felt having my shelter in my arms when seconds before it’s future had been so unsure cannot be overstated.

The air was again still so we tried to dry out our belongings again this time anchoring then down with large rocks. None of Claire’s belonging were tampered with by the wind though her tent was right next to mine and all my socks were sitting exactly where I had layed them earlier. We have yet to come up with an explanation for this phenomenon.

*Claire, Mule, and Forage (left to right) on a ridge walk after Cottonwood Pass.*

As we hiked that day water was scarce and the sun was beating down on us. The map listed numerous streams but every time we crossed one there was nothing there. The Sierra have notoriously difficult water crossings and ample water sources in most years but we couldn’t even find water to cross. All the streams were either frozen or so far below the snow there was no indication that a stream was ever there. We even walked over a couple lakes with no luck finding water. It was looking more and more like we may have to melt some snow, a tedious undertaking.

There is certainly a great irony that exists when one is out of water but also surrounded by snow everywhere. We desperately need water and water is also the root of almost all of our problems. This much is not lost on me.

*Mule and Forage cross over a frozen lake.*

In the afternoon it started to cool down early and we were able to pick up the pace substantially.

Looking at the weather we knew we were going to have to make a decision about Mount Whitney soon. In 2013 I was part of a group that planned a trip to Whitney that summer. I ended up being unable to go but the rest of my group went and had an outstanding time. I was somewhat frustrated I couldn’t go and ever since then I’ve been yearning to go summit the contiguous United States’ highest peak.

We looked up a weather report on my GPS and it indicated snow every single day for the next five days with increasing precipitation each day. Doing Whitney would be possible but it would jeopardize the passes that followed. We agreed to make that decision the next day.

*Claire crosses the most difficult creek crossing we’ve had to date.*

The next morning started off with near perfect conditions again. We relentlessly mocked the weather report all morning as we approached the Whitney Junction. But shortly after noon conditions changed and the blue sky was crowded out by clouds moving in. By the mid afternoon clouds had ominously blocked out the sun. Our decision was made for us. Whitney was going to be a no-go and we’d just have to push on to Forester Pass. Having to walk past the junction and save Whitney for another day was a difficult decision for me but I knew it was the right one. The upside to all this was that by not summiting Whitney we all had a one and a half day’s of food surplus so I no longer had to ration snacks and dinners so strictly.

Forester is the most notorious of the passes on the PCT and also the trail’s high point at 13,200 feet. It is a granite wall jutting out of the valley floor that features a wall of ice hikers must cross that lasts late into the season even during low snow years.

The morning we started hiking toward Forester there was minimal precipitation but after an hour of hiking we found ourselves in near white out conditions.

*Slowly working our way through the blizzard to Forester.*

As we hiked on conditions got worse and worse. We were climbing, that much was certain, but beyond that it was a challenge to ascertain any information about our whereabouts. We were above the tree line for most of the morning so there was no visible vegetation and the snow was so thick we could not see the mountains that surrounded us. We were resigned to endlessly climbing white hills into a white sky. The wind was blowing snow side ways covering the inside and outside of my glasses making it hard to even follow Forage’s tracks just a few feet in front of me.

Suddenly out of nowhere Forage pipes up, “I think that’s Forester.”

It took considerable work to see it through the storm but sure enough he was right. There was Forester.

We sat at the base discussing what we should do given the conditions and agreed to give it a shot. There were no dissenters.

We strapped on our crampons, traded our trekking poles for ice axes, and off we went.

Immediately we began the steep climb through feet of powder. Forage was first in line and I was second. Stepping in each of his tracks I could feel how unstable the powder was. As put my weight into the next step I watched it give out the side beneath my foot. I began to try and pack down every step before trusting it with my weight. It was an arduous process doing this for every single step.

*Forage leading the way up the switchbacks to Forester Pass.*

After what seemed like an eternity we made it to the first of the switchbacks. It was reassuring to know we were on a flat trail even if it had waist deep powder and the consequences of a fall were now much greater with all the rocks around. Still, slow going was the name of the game as the powder there was just as unstable as before.

*Myself, Claire, and Mule working our way toward the wall of ice. (Christoph “Forage” Lee).*

Switchback after switchback, hour after hour we worked to clear waist deep snow and create solid steps. At the end of the first set of switchbacks is a long stretch of trail leading to the ice. It requires, at points, getting on ones hands and knees to crawl along the trail. As I did so my pack scraped along the granite above me, pushing me out towards the wall of ice. This was the second most terrifying moment for m.

The moment when I really stood there and had that deep conversation with myself was when Forage chopped the first steps onto the ice then stood there. Was it worth the risk? Why were we doing this? But then I remembered these were the kind of character defining moments everyone likes to talk about and now it was time to be about it. So I got after it and started moving even though I couldn’t feel my toes at this point.

*Climbing straight up towards the cornice (Christoph “Forage” Lee).*

Thanks to Forage’s steps once I was on the ice it felt like I was home free. I even had the energy to be a smart ass to him as he tried to give helpful advice up there. Across the ice all the was left was to climb straight up and over the cornice.

*Some brief visibility coming down the north side of Forester.*

Coming over the top visibility went from bad to worse. We debated sliding down the north face of the pass into the valley but we had almost no depth perception and couldn’t see if there was a cliff or something right below us.

*Forage and I on the north side of Forester.*

I interjected as we stood around talking at the top that if we didn’t get moving I was about to become a liability—having lost sensation in my toes I knew frostbite was becoming a real and present danger. In retrospect I’m very lucky to have avoided that. I’d assumed that if we were hiking and moving that it would be almost impossible to get frost bite. Blood is moving through the feet and that should keep them warm right? It seemed like the big threat was overnight when hikers stop moving but at this point there have been several hikers who got frostbite during the day while hiking.

The walk down was brutally difficult. Powder was deep enough that every step was like doing high knees leaving the hip flexors totally toasted. After the three and a half hours to go nine tenths of a mile on Forester and a morning that saw zero streams we were all getting somewhat desperate for water. As snow again made travel difficult the one thing we needed was to find water. Stream after stream listed on the map did we pass with no indication that there was actually a stream. We made fast time even though we were all exhausted as we tried to find a water source. It took several miles after the pass to actually find a creek we could get water from. At this point no one was bothering to filter water anymore. Drinking that ice cold water, knowing all that was behind us, I was at peace.

We made camp in snow for the first time of the trip. We were unconcerned with that fact as it felt like we were home free. The next day we would be in town.

That next morning we got up late. Most mornings were hiking right around dawn but knowing it would be a shorter day we didn’t even get up until 8 am. We lazily headed out towards the trail junction to Kearsarge Pass. It didn’t start snowing until we had to climb the pass that morning. For a short while we could clearly see some of the nearby ridges—something we’d be deprived for days.

At the top of Kearsarge we were back to whiteout conditions with waist deep powder. We walked several miles and thousands of feet down through that to the parking lot, excited to head to Bishop.

When we made it to the parking lot at the trailhead the parking lot was empty. We sought shelter in the pit toilets. It wasn’t my first choice but it was the only shelter from the snow. We sat for several hours texting our families from my GPS to see if they could order us an Uber as we didn’t have any reception. Texting from the GPS takes forever and trying to coordinate travel this way was taking forever. Eventually a man came up scouting the area for game and let us pile into his truck. We were going to town.

Now in Bishop I’ve made a single but significant gear change. I traded my trail running shoes for boots and gaiters and that will make all the difference. Those unfortunate hiker’s experience with frostbite and my close call were enough to persuade me I needed some form of superior foot protection.

We plan to return back to the mountains Tuesday. We can see them from here, constantly enveloped in clouds but I know people who have left while I’ve been here and none of them have turned around so far. I know what kind of conditions lay ahead and I’m chomping at the bit to get back out there. If things go according to plan we will stop in Mammoth Lakes, Bridgeport, then South Lake Tahoe. And I couldn’t be more excited.

*Shelby tries roasting a tortilla in Warner Springs, CA.*

16 April 2019

Joshua Seligsohn April 16, 2019

Warner Springs was a pleasant break. I took a full zero there, hanging with friends, eating burritos, and, perhaps most importantly, I took a shower.

On the day it was time to hike out, I made plans with Matt and Shelby to meet them at Mike’s Place. We didn’t know much about Mike’s place other than that we could camp there and that there were dollar beers. That was enough to persuade me.

They left before I did that morning as I lounged around and lazily went to the post office and got a breakfast burrito before leaving.

I was packed up by late morning and figured If I hiked hard and fast I could make the 17.4 miles to Mike’s Place pretty quick and catch up with Matt and Shelby.

It was cool in Warner Springs and hiking out of the valley there into the hills led directly into the low lying clouds that obscured the tops of the mountains from view. It felt like nearly every training hike I’d done in Oregon with a cool breeze and moisture clinging to everything including my beard.

I powered through those miles with ease. At the six hour mark I checked my location to see that I’d gone exactly 17 miles.

As I rounded the hill I heard a familiar voice shout out, “Damn it! I was sure we were going to beat you!”

“Race you there!” I challenged back to Shelby.

With that we embarked on the final stretch to Mike’s Place. A side trail with a handmade sign welcoming PCT hikers led us there.

As we wound our way there numerous things felt somewhat off. The property was strewn with old car parts and unidentifiable rusted pieces of metal. Were it not for periodic signs leading us toward the house I would have been sure we were in the wrong place.

We found our way down to the main property but saw no signs of other hikers. The house lacked any signs of people currently there and we heard nothing but the wind.

As we wandered around it looked more like a scene from Breaking Bad than a place we would find hikers.

An odd hiker poked her head out from a detached carport and invited us in. Lisa, along with two other Canadians, explained that they were hiding from the wind in the carport-turned-kitchen and that there were other hikers inside, high, watching Lord of the Rings. We figured it was best to stay outside for the time being.

Matt and I set about pitching our tents. As we finished a man in a collarless button down shirt, brown pants, and striped socks with no shoes walked out through the dirt. A large feline looking tail bounced along behind him.

“Hi I’m Strange,” he said introducing himself.

Matt quipped to me, “you don’t say.”

Strange explained to us that there were other hikers inside watching “the Original Animated Lord of the Rings” and that he’d normally make pizza but today was his day off. I wasn’t sure I really wanted pizza from that kitchen anyway.

As Strange went back inside we opted to head for the carport and make some dinner. Shelby expressed her reluctance to staying there but we decided to nonetheless.

*Soliciting donations for beer that doesn’t exist.*

After dinner I decided to poke around to satisfy my curiosity. I found shooting benches in the front lawn, days old food almost everywhere, a drum set on the porch with a broken snare, but no beers.

I decided I should see what was inside. When I opened the door to the house I was hit by the musty smell of old tobacco. No lights were on but from the light of the front door I could see the wood paneling and some odd Native American artwork. To be clear, this was not artwork done by Native Americans but rather odd caricatures of Native Americans, similar to the kind one might find outside a tobacco shop decades ago. Down the hallway on a small bubble screened television played a cartoon. Presumably this was the Original Animated Lord of the Rings. I said hello to those on the couch before deciding I’d had enough.

I went back outside and went to bed.

I woke up after several hours to hear Strange explaining what he described as the “quantum mechanics of love” and how since “god is everything, and god is love, everything bad that happens in the world is because god loves you.” Fair enough I guess.

Later in the night Strange pulled out the laser Christmas lights for everyone to enjoy. I went back to bed looking forward to hiking out in the morning.

At first light I was packing up ready to leave. Matt and Shelby did the same, leaving that odd place as fast as we could. It’s not somewhere I would return.

The next day’s hiking was long, hot, and shadeless. It seemed to almost rebuke the previous day’s cool weather, issuing a stern reminder we were still in the desert.

*Matt works his way through the desert during the heat of the day.*

Not wanting to dry camp we set our sights on another trail angel’s place, Mary’s Oasis. After our time at Mike’s Place we were all a little on edge about what we would find.

Mary’s Oasis was everything Mike’s Place was not. If Mike’s Place had me feeling like I was staying at what could possibly be a meth lab, Mary’s Oasis made me feel as if I was at my English teacher’s house. A sign explaining that each year Mary picks a theme and this years theme was Walt Whitman welcomed us to the premises. Larger than life cutouts of Whitman, Muir, and Thoreau stood adjacent to the library that featured some of their seminal works as well as a variety of others.

We ate dinner on the picnic tables there and read Muir’s the Mountains of California. Mary came to visit along with her German Shorthaired Pointer. It was serene.

*Chaparral and mountains. Pretty much encapsulates the desert.*

From Mary’s Oasis the next day we hiked out towards the Paradise Valley Cafe for breakfast. Breakfast turned into a couple beers which turned into lunch. We spent almost the entire day there just hanging out enjoying the weather before hiking out late that afternoon. At the risk of making it seem like we didn’t do much that day we still managed to hike 10.5 miles that day even though we spent almost seven hours sitting around doing nothing.

*A shady spot to camp and a whole lot of laziness.*

That night at camp we had serious matters to discuss. 13.6 miles ahead of where we made camp was Apache Ridge. This stretch of trail had seen recent snow and was still in large part covered in snow. One specific part, Apache Ridge, had been giving hikers significant trouble. The northeast face is quite steep, features a large fall, and when snow covered, this traverse can be difficult. A week before a hiker was airlifted from here after a slipping and falling. I’m normally the fastest hiker in our group, now featuring Josh and Antoinette who had just shipped their microspikes ahead to Idyllwild, so it was decided that when I reached the snow I would relay back to them information on current conditions.

*Endless switchbacks, San Jacinto in the distance.*

The theme of the day was up and down. The entire morning was spent bouncing back and forth between 5100 and 7400. It was exhausting. By the time I got to where the now infamous snow was supposed to be there was a little patch of snow by the trail. Out of water at this point, which my cousin Susannah described as her “worst nightmare,” I decided to boil some snow and report back on the situation. A hiker by the name of Vader rounded the corner here as I decided I should mix some granola in with the water as it tasted terrible. I did not realize my worst nightmare was going to be right around the bend.

I debated whether or not to tell this next story because I didn’t want to come off as self aggrandizing and I also didn’t want to make any hikers look bad but I think it’s important for a couple reasons. First it’s a reminder of how important safety is—backcountry travel, especially when done in adverse conditions like snow, should also be done with a buddy or at the very minimum you should be in close contact with others who know where you are going and when you’ll be there. Second this is important because it is how I got my new trail name.

Twenty minutes or so go by after Vader passes me and I text, check Instagram and take in the views of Palm Springs and the rest of the valley far below me. After a while I decided enough time has passed and it’s time to hike on. I toss my pack on and start hiking. 25 feet later I see what all the fuss was about. The trail is completely covered in snow. I strap microspikes on, break down a trekking pole and pull the basket off, and begin to make my way slowly across the snow just like Hoosier Daddy showed me back at Scout and Frodo’s. Plant the trekking pole deep in the snow uphill, kick in one good step, kick in another good step, move the trekking pole, and so forth. It’s slow going but it’s rock solid.

*Shelby and Matt hike in shallow snow on Apache Ridge.*

I make it about 50 yards before I see Vader sitting there below the trail, clearly having slipped. She’s sitting there on her buttocks, both trekking poles in the snow, staring at Palm Springs some 7000 feet below.

“Hey there Vader, what’s crack-a-lackin?” I call out to her.

She responds in a shaky voice saying that she slipped. Well no duh I think. Otherwise you wouldn’t be sitting there like that now would you?

“Yeah I figured as much. What’s your plan?”

She explains that she intends to slide down to some trees 45 degrees off to her side, catch on to one of them, then use the SOS button on her GPS to call for help. I’ve heard better plans before.

“Why don’t we just get you out of here ourselves?” I suggest instead.

I talk her through kicking in steps from where she is as I kick in steps myself working my way down toward her. It’s a long, arduous process trying to get her to come uphill, partly because the snow is soft and also because her refusal to turn around makes things harder. Her insistance that she can’t use her legs doing nothing to help the matter. I’m sympathetic to what that must have been like but ultimately that didn’t make either of our lives any easier.

I remind her that her legs have carried her some 169 miles and that she can make it the several feet back to the trail at the point.

When she’s close enough I get a good grip of her pack and pull her onto the trail. Still clearly shaken after over an hour sitting out on the snow it takes us awhile to work our way back.

When we finally make it back to where I had my granola with no knowledge of what lay ahead, Josh and Antoinette and Matt and Shelby are there waiting. Before long Shelby had renamed me Superman.

Without their microspikes, Josh and Antoinette made the decision to hike back to the bailout a mile before and head down to Idyllwild with Vader. The rest of us proceed on.

We cruise through Apache Ridge. Having spent an hour and a half out there any fear of heights I had out there is now gone.

We come up with a plan to hike a few more miles to a campsite. When we get there we find it in an area totally burned out, no cover whatsoever, and howling winds. Without hesitation we decide to hike on even though its getting late.

Several miles more hiking in the dark, bouncing from one side of the ridge to another, crossing more snow, and we finally made it to our next camp site. We find a number of other hikers there, all having already turned in for the night, and we get to pitching our tents. There’s no wind at this point so I don’t even bother putting rocks on my tent stakes.

Sitting down in my tent, I take off my socks and shoes, then my shirt, and pull out my food bag. All of a sudden a gust of wind comes along and my tent collapses on top of me.

In nothing but my shorts I roll out from underneath my tent and run to go find the biggest rocks I can. Carrying two at a time I run back and forth through the sand to my tent laying each rock across my stakes. Confident my tent will stand up I have a quick snack and fall asleep.

It isn’t long before I awake to my tent hitting me in the face. The wind is pounding my tent. Unclear if my tent has fallen over I poke my head out to see if the stakes are all still in the ground, they are. My concern shifts to the durability of the tent itself. Can it actually withstand winds like this without tearing? I resolve to worry about it in the morning and go back to sleep. For the next several hours I wake up every few minutes from my tent being whipped around in the wind.

At 4am I see that the same group of Canadians we met at Mike’s Place are now packing up. I signal to them that I’m coming with and pack up as fast as I can.

*Lisa and René hike through the snow early as dawn breaks.*

It isn’t long, maybe a hundred yards, before we’re putting microspikes back on. We’re all headed for town so at this point we’ll do anything it takes to get there, nothing can stop us. We spend the next couple hours slowly working our way across the snow lit only by the light of headlamps. Time seems to drag when moving across snow and being endlessly assaulted by the wind doesn’t help.

We make our way off the mountain and almost immediately catch a hitch into Idyllwild. Our driver gives us a tour of town including the most important information available—where the best breakfast is.

It certainly must be said of Idyllwild that it is the most welcoming place I have ever been. Standing on the street corner chatting, a man pulled up to us, rolled down his window and shouted “welcome to Idyllwild. Enjoy your stay!” A banner hanging across the town square welcomed PCT hikers into town. At the pizza shop photos of hikers from years past adorn the walls. At nearly ever turn people were offering to help in whatever way possible. When we needed a ride back to the trailhead the first car that approached stopped for us. Our driver, Laurie, told us she’d never picked anyone up before. She was a kindergarten teacher before she retired and was an absolutely pleasure. If I’m ever in the area again Idyllwild is on my list of places to visit.

*Matt, Shelby, and I celebrate Smokey Bear’s birthday.*

Our hike out of town was short and steep it started 5000 feet and climbed a quick 2000. Along the way we were stopped by a volunteer with the Forest Service who wanted to check out permits and spread information about wildfires. I told her about my Smokey the Bear themed birthday I had when I turned four.

After that we kept working our way up. Our goal for the day was the summit of San Jacinto. Soft snow and high elevation made for slow travel. We didn’t reach the shelter there until 5:40 pm. Inside we found one of the guys from Mike’s place smoking weed. I was pretty pissed off about it but it was too late in the day to head back down and try and find a campsite. We dropped our packs there then scurried the couple hundred yards up to the summit and checked that out before getting cold and heading back to the shelter for the night.

Upon returning back to the shelter we found a small crowd. Myself, Matt, and Shelby included, nine people were now in the shelter. I knew that the three people we met at the summit were planning to stay there as well. For a building the size of a small bedroom twelve was going to be a tight fit.

*A very crowded shelter on San Jacinto.*

All night long cold air blew on me from a crack between the wall and the window. When I awoke in the morning my socks and shoes, wet from miles of hiking on semi melted snow the day before, were now frozen solid. It took a while to get them on my feet but as soon as I could we were off again.

San Jacinto sits some three miles off the PCT roughly at mile 181. The hike down was freezing cold and for much of it I could not feel my hands. Once back on the PCT we had about ten miles of snow before another area that had been giving hikers some trouble—Fuller Ridge.

*A brief, snowless section of Fuller Ridge with San Jacinto watching over us.*

Fuller Ridge is a three mile section of the PCT coming down from San Jacinto with steep switchbacks that are currently entirely buried by snow. Downed trees and large boulders don’t make the trip much easier. Frustrated by the seemingly endless snow we silently hiked down.

From the San Jacinto Summit around mile 181 to mile 209 where the PCT crosses under I-10 it’s almost all down hill. The elevation of I-10 is 1341 feet so it’s about 9500 feet down. Personally I cannot stand hiking downhill. It’s slow going and it beats up on my patellar tendons. There’s really nothing little worse in my opinion. So a day that’s defined by hiking downhill on snow and then just downhill is my least favorite way of hiking. The wildflowers in the afternoon made it a little better but it really wasn’t my favorite day.

But alas the trail provides. The next day I finished the nine miles to I-10 pretty quickly where I again found Josh and Antoinette as well as Roadrunner and Hot Ice, a pair of English hikers I hadn’t seen since Warner Springs. Someone had left a case of Natty Lights in a cooler with ice so Josh and I had a beer together before I caught a ride to In-N-Out in Cabazon.

A dirty, lonely hiker surrounded by my fashion forward peers headed towards Coachella I must have surely stuck out. I ordered one double double to eat then and two for later. After that I walked over to Hadley’s Fruit Orchard where I bought a date shake and did the rest of my resupply. Less than an hour elapsed and I was back on trail.

Several miles after the freeway I caught up with some hikers at the Mesa Wind Farm. Employees of the wind farm had a cooler filled with homegrown grapefruit and partially frozen water bottles. It was just another act of generosity that seems to surround me while out on the trail. I enjoyed my grapefruit as I hid from the mid afternoon sun.

A nice little break like that makes the final miles of the day so much easier. I breezed forward and again found Josh and Antoinette at the Whitewater River. It was such a nice evening I didn’t even bother pitching my tent, I just cowboy camped right there in the sand.

*The Whitewater River, where my feet got wet, just moments before I got lost heading towards those mountains.*

The next morning I just woke up, packed my stuff up, and started hiking. The largest water crossing in Southern California started my morning after a little less than a mile. I immediately got turned around in the sand. I hiked about a half mile off trail until I realized I was lost then had to work my way back. Winding my way up a draw I was getting a little hungry so I parked it when I found a little lookout with an incredible view looking back on where I’d just come from. As I sat there eating my pita, avocado, and tuna, I decided I should put some things back in my pack. I turned around and in doing so caught my tent with my elbow and sent it flying. I sprinted down the trail as it bounced over switch backs, farther and farther down the steep slope I’d just worked my way up. It was frustrating but how can you really get upset when you have breakfast in the early morning with incredible views?

*Where I had breakfast and nearly lost my tent.*

I got to Mission Creek early that morning. The PCT follows Mission Creek Canyon for about twelve miles. What I didn’t know is that there are few trail markers there and more of the trail has been washed out than not. It was a grueling afternoon of getting lost, wandering around the large rocks that are strewn about the creek bed, seemingly endless stream crossings, and seeing more snakes than I would have preferred to. It was all too common to find a quarter mile of trail only to have it end abruptly at a fifteen foot cliff with no sign of where it picked up. Miles like that are so much more work than normal trail miles.

*ADL in one of too many river crossing at Mission Creek.*

The next day I planned to hike 25.9 miles. Running low on food and ready for a shower I wanted to be able to hike into Big Bear the next morning. I packed up from camp at mile 239.9 and set out. Eight miles in, I stopped for my first snack. Three dates and a handful of nuts and seeds later I was back on the trail.

*Creek leading out towards Coachella Valley.*

One hundred feet short of the 250 mile marker I found an older man sitting next to the trail. We chatted just long enough to exchange names before I continued on.

I hiked another five miles before I saw Danimal again. It was just after 11 am and I’d plopped down on an odd couch in the forest. There was an old dumpster there with “magic” painted on it. Seconds after arriving there I met a couple guys who had come to retrieve both couch and dumpster. Grayson, owner of the hostel in town, explained to me that he used to do trail magic here until the fires a couple years ago. After that the Forest Service gated the road thus making it impossible for him to get his truck out there. They’d just recently been able to borrow a key to retreive Grayson’s property. Moments after this conversation Danimal caught up with us. Together we moved the dumpster into Grayson’s trailer.

*Couch and dumpster that used to house trail magic.*

Grayson went into his truck to see if he had any food or anything we might want. The only thing he could find was a bag of hard candies. With only one salmon filet and five dates left I readily accepted.

From there on Danimal and I hit it. We were unstoppable together. Chit chatting all along as I munched on hard candies, we crushed miles. With Danimal I got twenty miles by 1:45. It was nice having someone to fly with for a while. He is also a photographer, specializing in nature photography, and up until his recent retirement was a professor. I guess that means he should really be Professor Danimal? Anyway together we were closing in on thirty miles by 3:45.

*Danimal admires the desert to the east.*

He hitched into town and I carried on for another few hours. Yesterday was a personal record day for me by quite a few miles. I finished with 33.1 miles, a good bit farther than I expected but it was one of those moments when you realize you’re capable of a lot more than you give yourself credit for most of the time.

An oddity of the trail is the nature of friendships on the trail. Danimal and I were great friends for a day. I got to know all about his family and have deep philosophical conversations. We worked hard for a few hours together, but I said goodbye to him and it’s quite possible, probable even, that I’ll never see him again. Ultimately I only have a trailname for him, and though his happens to suggest what his real name might be, no real contact information from him. We got to a road said goodbyes; just as quickly as our friendship began it was over. Maybe I’ll see him again but as I sit here in Big Bear trying to kill time I know every minute here makes it more and more unlikely that our paths will cross. It’s an interesting situation to exist in where every time you say goodbye to someone there’s a significant chance it’s the last time you see them. Of course it’s always a possibility in the real world but on the trail it’s far more common. Almost every day there’s a new person I befriend that I never see again. Certainly there are the recurring figures that turn up at every town but those are anomalous. For me personally it makes me value the minutes that I get with a person because that may be all I ever get.

As I write this from Big Bear, CA I appreciate all of your support more than you know. I hope you all are doing well and living life to the fullest, whatever that may mean to each of you individually, back home. Keep it real.

*Border fence with hikers and monument to the left in the background.*

4 April 2019

Joshua Seligsohn April 5, 2019

Day 1 started early. I stayed at Scout and Frodo’s house; they’re a pair of trail angel’s who house hikers before their first day providing them with info on what to expect, dinner, breakfast, and a ride to the trailhead. Breakfast was at 0530 and by 06 three other hikers and I were off to the trailhead.

The trailhead is about an hour from Scout and Frodo’s house in suburban San Diego. We wound our way through rolling hills, past old farms, passing scores of border patrol vehicles all along the way. It was somewhat surreal ride knowing that this quick jaunt in the car would take me days to replicate and that I’d be repeating that over and over again in the coming months.

At the trailhead we received a spiel about Leave No Trace, other best practices for trail maintenance, and which direction to head—North.

Then people took pictures with the terminus monument and stood around chatting. I was ready to hike so I hit the trail.

*Abundant wildflowers of the desert on day 1.*

Immediately I was struck by how green the desert is and how life is everywhere. Surely this is not a full look at the desert—I’m here early in the season in a particularly wet year—nonetheless I have ceased to be impressed by the sheer abundance of life here.

*Sign reads “Caution! Don’t expose your life to the elements! It’s not worth it!”*

Before descending into the final stretch into Hauser Canyon there’s an ominous sign warning you not to expose you life to the elements. It features somewhat comical imagery including a saguaro in a desert where there are none and a person presumably waving for help while also warning that there’s no water. It also features a coiled snake.

I’d heard from a number of people that they had seen their first rattlesnakes between miles 6-10. I was on high alert during that stretch, checking behind every rock before stepping over and under all bushes that encroached upon the trail. By the time I got to Hauser I’d grown lazy.

The trail into Hauser is steep and overgrown. As I was getting close I pulled out my phone to check how close I was to the creek. I walked less than 25 feet looking at my phone when I heard a noise infront of me. I looked down to see a large rattlesnake laying across the trail about a foot and a half infront of me. I jammed my trekking poles into the ground as hard as I could to stop myself as it flicked its tongue out and began to draw up. I booked it out of there as fast as I could, letting loose a series of profanities as I charged back up the trail.

Behind me was a German man who was mildly shaken by my language and inquired as to what was wrong. I explained the situation to him. He told me that he was totally terrified of snakes. I’d found a friend.

We ventured down checking behind every bush but the snake was nowhere to be seen. We got water and had lunch, chatting about differences in American and German healthcare systems before carrying on to Lake Morena for an even 20 miles on that our first day.

The next day was hot. Sunburns on my ears and calves didn’t help. In an attempt to prevent further burns I wore tights and my buff all day. The buff wasn’t so bad but the tights, without a doubt, exacerbated the heat.

One of the good things about the climb in the post lunch heat is that I tend to thrive on a good climb. I enjoy putting my head down and working. It was several miles of hot, rocky climbing and no water after the I-8 underpass.

When I finally found a shady patch I pounced on the opportunity to get out of the sun. One of the only complaints I have about the desert is how hard it is to find shade here. And that should be qualified by saying that temperatures are quite moderate so this is only a factor late in the afternoon.

Back at Lake Morena I’d discussed the possibility of meeting some guys at a campsite around mile 32. The Cibbet’s Flat campground has campsite and a coin operated shower so that was the big attraction there. As I was hiking down I saw a large campsite off the trail featuring lots of large oak trees and a creek; it was the perfect place to call it for the day. But I hiked on to the Cibbet’s Flat campground. To get down the campground is about a mile hike off the trail down a dirt road. Upon going down that road I discovered it costs money to camp there. Immidiately I turned around and hiked back up the dirt road.

When I made it back up I had to make a decision: late in the afternoon with hot spots (early stage blisters) developing on my feet and a half liter of water left should I backtrack a mile to the beautiful campsite I saw earlier or should I forge on and hope to find water and a good campsite down trail?

It should be obvious that at 4 pm in the desert running low on water I made the decision to forge on. It took me another 6 miles to find the campsite I was looking for and as soon as I filled up on water I crashed. That was enough for the day.

Two days and almost 40 miles into my journey I found myself well ahead of my intended pace of not more than 15 miles per day. The extra miles late in the day before meant that I was only a short hike out of the town of Mount Laguna. I got to the only restaurant in town early, just after opening and hung out for most of the morning. After that I did my resupply and like a group of bums we hikers sat on the porch of the Mount Laguna Store for a couple hours until we decided to walk over to the park to get some water. We passed time doing a whole lot of nothing all afternoon.

As evening approached I decided to hike out. I needed somewhere to stay and figured I could find a place a couple miles down trail.

It only took me three or so miles to find a spot with an incredible view of the San Gabriels looking north and the vast desert stretching east to the Salton Sea and beyond. It wasn’t a hard decision—I’d be spending the night.

The next morning flew by. I met a buddy from the day before and we crushed some miles, saw the mile 50 marker, and made it to a picnic area that had several other hikers we knew there. We hung out and ate for an hour or so, then when it came time to roll we first had to go fill up on water. This was my first experience drinking what I’ll call bad water. In my eyes water from a stream seems natural. Water belongs in streams, that’s what happens in nature, the streams normally look ok, even if they’re gross—well sometimes streams look gross.

This water was not that. It was red, filled with flies, and it was standing still. Would a horse drink this water? Without a doubt. Would I? Well I didn’t have much of an option.

After we filter our water we rolled on up the trail. We only made it a quarter mile or so when we met Andrew who was frantically setting up his light.

*Photography and trail magic all in one.*

Andrew is a photographer and backpacker working on a personal project to photograph as many long distance backpackers as he can. We all happily obliged him. I was conscripted into the role of lighting assistant, making sure the umbrella didn’t blow away. Someone handed me a beer and I was more than happy.

It wasn’t long before photo time was over and we had more hiking to do.

*Left to right: Peter, Panting Deer, Drew, and Austin seeking refuge from the sun, trying to come up with a plan.*

We hiked on into the gorgeous mountain, exposed granite, and manzanita lining our walk north. Several hours of hiking with the sun beating down on us we made it to the Sunrise Trail head in Anza-Borrego State Park. There’s almost no shade whatsoever in this stretch so we immediately headed for the side of some large tank. Out of the sun, still in the early afternoon we decided to weigh the options for what to do. We were around mile 59 and it was possible there wouldn’t be water again until mile 77. If one were to hike out it would mean a heavy water carry in the hottest part of the day. Panting Deer immediately ruled out any more hiking for him. Drew did the same, as he was badly burned and needed to stay out of the sun. Austin quickly signed on to this plan to stay there and camp.

*Peter filters water before heading out for a long dry stretch.*

Panting Deer looked to me and asked, “what do you intend to do?”

I remarked that “in spite of better judgement I would push on.”

Panting Deer lept up and decided my trail name should be “in spite of better judgement” and I’ve been rolling with it since.

Peter and I made it to the next site just fine. The sun wasn’t too bad and I was happy we’d gotten a few extra miles done. We camped around mile 63.

*Gorgeous views before I fell in with Powerhouse and Iron.*

I awoke at 0530 the next morning and immediately broke camp. There was still the question of whether or not there would be any water for the next 13 miles and I’d rather get those done when it’s still cool out.

Shortly after leaving I fell in with a group of fast hikers all pushing for Julian that morning. Together we flew down the mountains and into the valley towards Scissor’s Crossing.

Iron and Powerhouse work their way to the valley.

The hitch into Julian is supposed to be easy but when we got to Scissor’s Crossing there was literally a van waiting for us. The three of us ran to the van and piled in to join a couple other hikers and our driver, Ghost, who took us to Julian and gave us a tour of the town.

Iron and I hit Mom’s Pies as soon as we were out of the van. Mom’s Pies is famous among hikers for giving out free pie if you can present your permit. I got a slice of strawberry rhubarb and a slice of apple boysenberry. It was heavenly.

A burrito, a resupply, and another easy hitch and I was back a Scissor’s Crossing.

*The trail north of Scissor’s Crossing.*

With a fully belly I was happy to be hiking again. I felt great. There were wildflowers everywhere as I hiked back up into the mountains. It was more gorgeous hiking winding our way up exposed trail with massive views.

Hiking by myself out there I was struck by an overwhelming gratitude. I hadn’t originally planned on going to Julian. I’d hiked in with people I’d met that morning as we hiked together. We all piled in a car driven by a total stranger who showed us nothing but kindness and asked nothing in return but that we donate to charity. In Julian we were given free pie, simply because we were walking. I went to get a coffee and the proprietor gave me an apple because she “heard fresh fruit was hard to come by on the trail.” And when I needed a ride out of town the first time I stuck my thumb out I got a ride. Then I began to think back to the previous days. A total stranger gave me a beer and wanted to take all of our photos. The latter was not predicated on the former; some say no and they’re still welcome to have his drink or eat his food. On my first day a man gave me a beer and some snacks for no reason other than to do so. All because we walk along a trail? Why can we not always be this good to one another? Why is it that in our world of abundance we are not always so generous and so kind to those around us especially when there are people truly in dire straits?

A cold, familiar breeze shook me from this train of thought. Immidiately I panicked a little bit. It was the cold kind of breeze that disrupts a sunny afternoon to bring a storm. A thousand feet above the valley floor I decided to check the weather. Rain and wind gusts up to 60 miles per hour. Well shit. Good thing the trail is almost totally exposed. I’d only planned on hiking a mile or two out of Scissor’s Crossing to find a campsite but I’d already gone three. It became clear I needed to find a campsite that was both not in a wash, should there be any significant rain, and not exposed to the wind.

I was hiking along, with really no luck finding a spot when I rounded a corner and heard a familiar voice call out my name. My friend Peter had a spot big enough for three tents set up and welcomed me to join his camp. I gladly did so and not long after another pair, Matt and Shelby joined. After the stress of finding a site it was good to be surrounded by friends.

*Front to back: Matt and Shelby’s tent, my tent, and Peter’s Tent all hides from the elements.*

The extra miles looking for a site brought me to my longest day in trail yet at 21.1 miles on the day and 84.7 miles into the trip.

Where that day was defined almost exclusively by my relationship to the people around me the next day stood, juxtaposed, in complete solitude. I saw Peter only briefly in the morning before hiking in another 25 miles to Warner Springs where I’d again see people and where I am still now.

I took a zero today—I did not hike at all—to hopefully recover before the big stretch I have coming up that includes some snow. I spent much of the day hanging out with Matt and Shelby and Josh and Antoinette and we all plan to hike to the same point tomorrow.

This is kind of my idea for how these newsletters will go, if there’s something you’d like to see me do differently or something you’d like for me to address respond to this and let me know and I’ll do what I can! If there are any typos please let me know—I’m doing my best to catch them but I’m typing this on my phone in a tent so errors are bound to happen. And if you have read this far then enjoy some extra pictures from yesterday’s hike and thanks for reading!

*Graham your Eagle count is at one now.*

4 March 2019

Joshua Seligsohn March 4, 2019

March is officially upon us and what better time to give some pertinent trail related updates. First, my final day at Prime Time is 09 March. My father is going to arrive the next week and assist me as I move back to California where I will putter around and wait out the couple weeks that stand between me and the trail. On 26 March my mother and I will road trip down to San Diego. We’ll spend a couple days there before she drops me off and my journey begins.

The day before my hike starts I will go to Scout and Frodo’s. Scout and Frodo are trail angels—volunteers who help hikers—who, for the past twenty years, have opened their doors to hikers the day before their hikes. At Scout and Frodo’s house hikers get insider information from experienced hikers who have housed thousands of hikers over the years, breakfast, and a ride to the trailhead.

I’m going to do my best to answer questions I’ve received but certainly contact me if you have other questions and I will answer those too.

Which direction am I hiking? I’m hiking northbound (NOBO) starting at the Southern Terminus near Campo, CA. The trailhead is at the border.

When do I start? The morning of 29 March I will be stepping off with all 2665 miles of trail ahead of me.

Will I be carrying a gun? No. Guns are heavy and I’m carrying a bunch of camera equipment which accounts for all my luxury weight.

How heavy is my pack? My baseweight, consisting of everything that is neither consumable nor worn and is the metric favored by hikers, is 14 pounds. My full pack list can be found here but this does not represent the true weight of my pack. With food and water at maximum capacity my pack could weigh up to 40 pounds. In the desert where there will be long dry sections and in the Sierra when resupplies are harder to come by this is certainly possible but most of the time it will be somewhere in the middle.

Where will I poop? In the ground.

Am I worried about the snow? Bruh, I’m tripping about the snow. But also, what can I really do? My plan is to walk slowly in the desert to buy myself as much time as possible and then roll with the punches. Not a whole lot more than that to it.

How long will it take me? I really don’t know. There are just too many variables to give an accurate answer. My best guess is four to six months but who’s to say I’ll even finish!

Am I hiking alone? I don’t have a battle buddy I’ll be hiking with but given the nature of the trail you aren’t exactly alone. There are all sorts of other hikers not to mention the through hikers all starting from the same point, traveling the same direction, at roughly the same rate of travel. So am I undertaking the hike as an individual? Yes. But am I alone? Not at all.

How am I going to get my food? By and large my resupply strategy is to purchase food at stores along the way. I will mail myself a few packages but the bulk of my food is going to be purchased on trail.

Will I lose weight? Probably. I am not particularly happy about it but it comes with the territory. I’ll do my best find some scales along the way. For reference I’m currently 195 pounds.

A portion of the Pacific Crest Trail in Desolation Wilderness, El Dorado County, CA. This was taken on a section hike of the Tahoe Rim Trail I completed September 2018.

9 Dec 2018

Joshua Seligsohn December 9, 2018

On 29 March 2019 I’ll be starting my thru-hike of the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT). For a number of reasons I’ve made the decision to get off all of social media. This action has prompted a number of questions from various individuals: how can I see your photography? how will I know what you’re up to? how can I follow along with what you’re doing on the PCT? Well I am here to quell those trepidations. I’ll continue to post, likely more consistently than before, to my photo blog and you’re always welcome to drop me a line. Furthermore, starting in March 2019 I’ll be regularly updating this page as my hike progresses. There’ll be regular reports on all facets of trail life including my progress and of course lots of photography. Should this be the kind of thing you find interesting simply subscribe and you’ll get an email from me when I reach town. Emails won’t be overwhelming; I’ll only post when I get to town so there shouldn’t be more than 1-2 per week. If there’s anything else you’d like to see just let me know and I’ll do the best I can to accommodate any and all requests.