Big Bear Lake to a pool, May 11th-13th

I hiked until dusk and camped next to a friendly young guy from San Diego, who went by Senor Verde.  He had just spent the weekend in Big Bear with his girlfriend, who had come up to visit, and was struggling to readjust to the trail. 

Senor Verde

The next day I met Marion and Ray, who do volunteer trail maintenance.  A large part of trail maintenance is cutting up and removing logs when trees fall across the trail, which necessitates chainsaws.  Marion and Ray use llamas to pack their chainsaws and other equipment.  I was thrilled to find out what had been leaving the little pellet-like poops I'd been seeing along the trail for a few days, and thanked them heartily for their work on the trail, joking with them about the llamas.

"Llamas with chainsaws?  You know, I've never woken up screaming from a nightmare before, but I think it's in my near future."

Marion and llamas

Ray and llamas

 

Looking back on the lake

Seriously, what could be more terrifying than a llama with a chainsaw?

And these llamas mean business.

I was making really poor time, largely because of the ridiculous amount of food I was carrying.  I night hiked to make a 20-mile day, and camped alone at a gorgeous river site.

The result of recent forest fires

This random outhouse was located in the middle of nowhere...

...and even furnished with a copy of Maxim.

Again, you know you've been alone in the desert too long when rocks seem interesting.

Althought the landscape looked post-apocalyptic...

...there were new flowers...

...and even new leaves...

...amount the skeletons of trees.

This sign cracked me up - this single tree, in all of the national park, is wildlife habitat.

Cowboy camping...

...by a lovely little river

The next day I hiked out to the Deep Creek Bridge, where I was disheartened to realize that I'd taken at least two hours to cover only four miles, in terrain not particularly challenging.  The added weight in my pack was largely to blame.  I'd stupidly switched back to my tent after the single cold night outside of Big Bear, and since then the cold snap in the highlands had abated and terrain had sloped gentry downward, leaving me sweating and cursing the desert anew.  But my tent was light, much more importantly I had bought groceries for my first long stretch without a resupply with too much relish, drastically over-estimating the volume of food I would consume, and loathe to dump it on account of the money spent and the distance I'd already carried it.  I was also in worse shape physically, the debacle with the barefood running shoes having left me wearing foam braces on each knee and wearing a much better but still new, unfamiliar pair of shoes.  I noticed how much more frequently I was passed by other hikers than I had been initially, thought about how I'd spent more than a month completing the first 10th of the trail, and how the previous day I'd hiked from early morning into the dark just to complete 20 miles. 

California - big state, big pinecones

300 miles!

Looking down on the river...

...from the dry trail...

...was excruciating.

There was a hot springs another 8 miles ahead, and I left the hikers congregated in the shade under the bridge.  From the bridge the trail climbed up out of the bottom of the valley where the river flowed, high enough that only desert scrub surrounded it and almost no shade was found, but not so high that the meandering oasis wasn't visible.  Green trees and grey boulders ringed huge blue pools, algae waved beneath the surface in the gentle current, and marsh grasses waved around it in the gentle breeze.  Through the hottest part of the day I trudged through the scrub and looked down on it.  The trail was narrow and had given way to dirt slides in some places and I was dizzy from the heat, but I was determined to reach the hot springs and there was nowhere to stop anyways.  I finished the three liters of water I'd taken from beneath the bridge without peeing, and happening across a tiny mountain stream I looked up my location and found that I'd gone six miles, meaning that I was sweating out at least a half liter per mile.  I filtered a liter from the tiny stream and staggered on, determined to reach the hotsprings.  Less than a mile later the trail dipped slightly and neared the creek, where I could see part of a large pool, thick green trees surrounding.  I realized that if I cut down there I could bathe in private, and who wanted hot water in this heat anyways?  I stumbled quickly down to the trees, laid out my mylar blanket, peeled off my shoes, socks, and knee braces, and attacked my stash of food.  I ate a burrito leftover from the night before, salami and cheddar on crackers, and cranberry almond trail mix, shaking my head at the volume of it all. 

I looked up towards the trail but the canopy shielded me completely.  After lying down to digest for a few minutes I took the shampoo and conditioner that I'd meant to use before leaving Big Bear and my comb, and walked to the water.  The bottom was sandy, and dropped off quickly.  Grey-white boulders and clumps of marsh grass protruded at the far and downstream sides, and trees hugged both banks.  The water flowed slowly, and a breeze blew downstream, rippling the suface as it helped the water on it's way.  Birds sang, and though the scrub-covered hills rose all around, they were not part of this place. 

I stripped, took out my hair rubberband and wrapped it around the shampoo, conditioner, and comb, and waded into the water.  As my waistline fell below the surface I saw a huge sculpin dart away from me.  The water reached my chest and I dipped my head back under it, washing the sweat of days off of me.  I reached one of the boulders, climbed onto it, and sat in the sun.  Dragonflies of an almost electric blue flitted about the water on errands, and I saw the fry of what may have been trout darting around under the water. 

I got back in the water, washed my hair, and then sat on the rock combing the conditioner through the knots and tangles, listening to the birds sing and the water rush over rocks somewhere just out of sight, feeling the sun and the breeze on my back.  I have not been able to articulate why I wanted to hike the PCT, maybe because I still don't understand the reason myself, but that pool and the process of bathing in it were the beginning of an answer. 

I washed my clothes in the pool and hung them to dry, and by the time I had each item of clothing draped across a tree branch the warm breeze had dried my body and had made serious headway on my hair.  I had my sleeping clothes but stayed naked, lying under the trees on my mylar blanket, trying to record my impressions on paper while my clothes dried in the sunlight on the green branches.