Trailhead
New Boots • Gathering • Grapevine • Springer Fever
A.T. Companion • Headlamp Material • Work Trips • Side Trails
ANN AND I are taking a rest day here in the desert town of Mojave, Calif., 555 miles into our hike of the Pacific Crest Trail from Mexico to Canada. This normally hot desert town is refreshingly cool as La Nińa winds bring sprinkles of rain to the desert and snow to the Southern California Mountains.Nine days ago we left Wrightwood, Calif., at 2 o’clock in the afternoon, hoping to hike 13 miles to the next water source on the trail. As we climbed the steep slopes of 9,399-foot Mount Baden-Powell, we realized that we would not make our intended destination by dark. We weren’t carrying enough water to dry camp, but wouldn’t it be great to sleep on top of the mountain? As we climbed higher, patchy snow appeared on the trail. We began eating snow to conserve our water supply. When we came to the short spur trail to the summit I walked to the top, leaving my pack at the trail junction. On top was a monument dedicated to the founder of Scouting. “A Scout is Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind, Obedient, Cheerful, Thrifty, Brave, Clean, Reverent.” As a boy my father encouraged me and my brothers participate in the Boy Scouts. With his prodding we all made Eagle Scout, forming the foundation for my love of the outdoors. Looking at that monument I was struck by the thought that if it were not for Lord Baden-Powell’s efforts I might not be standing on top of his mountain. It was a very emotional moment for me. I rushed down to Ann. “We’ve got to camp on top,” I said. “There’s a sheltered place in the middle of some Juniper trees.” We used snow instead of water for our usual evening body rinse. Snow added to a little water in our cook pot soon melted and provided enough water to cook our evening meal. The sunset was spectacular, with clear views all around from the highest mountain yet encountered on our journey. Talking to other hikers who had been Boy Scouts, I found that all had shared the same emotional experience. A week later, after circling the Southwest edge of the Mojave Desert for several hundred miles, we descended to the desert floor to walk across to the Tehachapi Mountains. At Highway 138 the trail passes within a hundred yards of the home of Jack Fair, age 76. He gives hikers water and, for a nominal $6 charge, let us take a shower, wash our clothes, and camp in his back yard. But the most welcome benefit was a trip to a convenience store a mile away. With increased trail appetites, Ann and I easily split a half-gallon of ice cream. While we were there Lindy, a trail friend who had passed us earlier, called to let following hikers know that there was water in Tylerhorse Canyon. We cooked supper and went promptly to sleep at sunset as the full moon rose in the East. A little before one o’clock I woke Ann. “It’s time to hike.” We packed hurriedly and started down the trail. A quiet wind blew softly across the desert. We wore our parkas against the chill, a sharp contrast to the heat of the day before. Coyotes howled in the distance, first one, and then a whole chorus. Joshua trees seemed to wave their arms in the breeze, welcoming us along the way. At 3:00 a.m. we passed Mike and Jen, students from Penn State, sleeping by the side of the trail. Mike woke up. “How’s the hiking?” he said. “Great! The moonlight is awesome.” “We’ll be along as soon as I can wake Jen.” A glow appeared in the east as morning approached. Soon the skies turned a brilliant red. “Red sky at morning, sailor take warning.” It looked like some weather was on the way. After following the Los Angeles Aqueduct for 16 waterless miles a tap was finally provided for thirsty hikers. We drank our fill, then spread our Thermo-Rest pads in a small patch of shade on the banks of dry Cottonwood Creek and took a nap. About 11 o’clock we hiked the 7 miles to Tylerhorse Canyon, where we cooked a meal, took another rest, and filled our water bottles. At 4 o’clock we started hiking again, finally leaving the desert and climbing to 6,000 feet elevation. The air became colder as we climbed. Selecting a campsite among the Pinyon Pines and Juniper on top of the mountain, we pitched our tarp just as the rain started. After a 32-mile day we ate supper snuggled warmly in our sleeping bags. With less than 150 miles to Kennedy Meadows, we are almost through the dry Southern California sections and into the High Sierras. We’ll exchange our extra water bottles for ice axes and our long sleeve sun-protection shirts for fleece jackets. From the mountains to the desert, it’s been a great trail.