When Bambi attacks, true danger on the PCT

Over halfway, hiking in Oregon has been great, but it hasn't been without challenges. Sometimes the trail greets you with magic, other times hardships. I have heard from a friend that "hardship builds character," so there's that.

A day into Oregon my reflexes and bravery were put to the test. I was walking with a German hiker known as Free Refill. We were covering all the usual topics as we walked - politics, history, science, culture, you know, the light conversations. At a point not far after a road crossing we found a note warning of a hornet nest, but we didn't see anything so we kept walking. Within a half mile of that spot a tree had fallen across the trail. Free Refill and I each started clambering around it. The moment my foot made it to the trail again as I stepped off the fallen tree, before I even raised my head from looking at my landing place some brown shape had buried its head in my chest.

I remember dropping my elbows down hard and stepping back to keep from falling. Next thing I know Free Refill and I both are pointing our trek poles at the beast, like spears, unsure of whether to attack or run. We should have run. Ilene were faced with a beast not unlike the fanged rabbit from Monty Python. It was a four foot tall female deer. Thank god it wasn't an antlered adult male. But the encounter wasn't over.

In an instant the deer was up on its hind legs and falling towards Free Refill. BAM! The deer smacks him in the face with its front hooves as it knocks him over and leaps over the logs we had hiked around moments ago.

I jump over Free Refill. "Stay down," I say, thinking he's hurt. I face off between the monster and my German compatriot as the deer lowers its head like a mad dog. Before we engage each other I feel fire on my legs. Turns out the log Free Refill fell next to, the one I was standing on, was a hornets' nest. Oops. 

The fire I felt was the hornets stinging. "Stand up, Refill. Hornet nest." We both shuffled away, keeping an eye on the mad deer. 

It seemed we were safe as we backed down the trail. The deer held its ground, head still lowered, eyes locked on us as we started walking briskly away.

"I wanna punch that deer," I said. 

"I would do more than that," Refill replied jokingly. Neither of us could believe what had just happened. And that we came out far worse than the little deer. And we were thankful she wasn't a huge buck with antlers.

Just another day on the PCT.

Scenes of and thoughts on Oregon

Wow, just wow. Oregon blew me away. Getting through California was such a feat that I felt really fresh as we got going in Oregon. I have heard it referred to as Boregon in reference to a hiker's experience as one travels the PCT. Sure, we all have our own experiences, but for me Oregon was superb, maybe even my favorite section to date. 

There were certainly a considerable number of dense forests, but I never minded these. They helped shade you from the sun. The weather was impeccable anyways, save for one day of storms, and that was actually pretty fun. Sometimes when I would think about this blog post I would laugh because there are no scenes of Oregon. Only forests. I jest, but we really did spend a lot of time walking in the woods. The times we weren't in the woods we found ourselves in quite diverse landscapes. From Crater Lake to lava rock fields to the Sisters Wilderness, Oregon truly has much to offer. 

Even beyond the actual wilderness, the Beaver State's culture sets it apart. While the whole west coast is seen as liberal, Oregon and California do not seem to be the same type of liberal. For starters, there are tons more hippies here. More than any of that though, California seems to talk a good talk, but Oregon really lives it. California likes to seem environmentally friendly, but Oregon truly is. There's no front to it. I have seen solar panels everywhere, and I mean everywhere. Environmental consciousness in Oregon feels natural and engrained into everyday life more than any other place I've experienced in the States. I understand that I have limited experiences in both states and I am no expert. Equally, I'm not trying to trash California nor make Oregon out to be the Holy Land, but Oregon was magical.

But I digress; on to the landscape photos.

Thunderstorm at sunset. 

Crater Lake

More Crater Lake

South Sister

Jeff Creek

Mt. Hood

Mt. Jefferson from the North

Oregon fog

Tunnel Falls

Burn section over a ridge. 

Mt. Jefferson

Cheers,

Jonathan

The first one didn't count

I guess one double-marathon simply was not enough.

Fence and I had been waiting around for two days. We mostly slept and ate. That is, until we realized how much food we were plowing through.

Fence lounging while we wait for Dan. 

Then, finally, Dan showed up with Cheese, Baggins and Choop in tow. I had only hiked 37 miles in three days, which made me itch to do something stupid, something big. Now that I knew Dan was safe and caught up, I somehow had the desire to go and just keep going. We were at mile 1453.

Sunset with the bros before heading off into the night. 

I left camp at 7 p.m. and walked all through the night, which can be a tricky thing when there is no moon and you are in dense forest. Still, I found a rhythm and was able to get by without kicking too many rocks and roots. By 4 A.M. I had reached McCloud River, mile 1476. After putting my pack down I cleaned my feet off, ate a snack and got a bit of rest. By rest I mean I leaned against my pack in the dirt at the end of the bridge for an hour.

Having rested a single hour, I got back up and kept hiking, but this time in a state of delirium. I met a new hiker, Free Refill, shortly after getting back on my feet. What a cool guy. He's a middle aged German engineer with one helluva sense of humor. This fact, however, I would not learn until a bit later. Free Refill was just warming up for the morning, and I needed to get my blood flowing so I didn't pass out on the trail. I pressed on at an unusually quick pace for that time of the morning.

Completely random note I saw that afternoon.

At certain points I could feel the proverbial wheels start to come off, but I hung in there. With enough caffeine, food, Ibuprofen and water you can do just about anything. Willpower doesn't hurt either. The miles kept rolling by. I saw a few other hiker friends, but mostly I kept my pace steady and powered on. The goal was Interstate-5 where I could hitch into town. By 2 P.M. or so I had reached mile 1500. WOOHOO! I still like the feeling of passing each hundred mile mark written in stones in the dirt.

By 4 P.M. I had finally reached my mark, mile 1507. After 21 hours my 54 miles were complete. 54 miles! That included 12,000 feet of climbing and and 18,000 feet of down. I felt accomplished. Also, I felt wrecked. My body had nothing left. Trail magic always makes everything better though.  A couple and their daughter showed up with fresh watermelon, giant muffins and freshly baked cookies that were still warm. It felt like a pretty good reward for my day's trek.

About an hour and a half later Free Refill showed up. I had not yet moved from the spot where I stopped walking. He asked about my day and so I told him of my my distance record.

"Yeah, but you didn't do it in one day," he said.

"Maybe not in one calendar day, but I did it in 24 hours," I retorted.

"So, it still wasn't in one day."

God dammit.

This day was not Free Refill-approved.

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Two weeks later, having passed Ashland, OR (and all of its magic), I was hiking with Ms. Frizzle, a bad-ass with an equally insatiable desire for doing stupid stuff as I do. Now that we were in the flattest section of the trail, we felt like we could do anything. Having told the tale of my first 50+ day, Ms. Frizzle wanted get on the bandwagon. Let's be real here, it's not like I was ever going to turn down another opportunity to do a crazy big day with another cool hiker.

And so on the 107th day of our journey on this Pacific Crest Trail, Frizzle and I awoke at 4:30 to embark on a double marathon. Mostly, the day went off without much incident. Frizzle likes to hike hard, which means that if you manage to hike in step with her the miles start to fly by. By mid-afternoon we hit some pretty crazy lava fields, but the actual trail through said lava rock was like a magic carpet, smooth as can be.

Frizzle and lava rock fields. 

Sometime between 4 and 5 P.M. we heard cars. A road! We were 32 miles deep and while I didn't feel bad, it had already been a sizable day.
"Pray for magic, pray for magic, pray for magic," I muttered to Frizzle.

Awaiting us at the other side of the road were a couple of tail angels doling out tons of food to a group of hiker trash. There were grilled cheese sandwiches, beers, orange juice, coffee, ibuprofen, fruit snacks and more. I can scarcely think of anything that would have made that moment better than the grilled cheese sandwich brought to me upon reaching the other side of that highway. Oh, did I mention chairs? It turns out that chairs are, in fact, a pretty sweet invention.

Glorious trail magic

We spent 45 minutes hanging with our fellow hiker trash and the generous angels who were passing out magic galore before Frizzle and I nodded to one another that we needed to get back out on the trail.  We still had 20 miles to go, after all.

Things really started getting rough as the sun went down. The batteries in my headlamp had worn down to the point of making the light barely useful. My body was already fairly depleted of all resources and the almost-constant tripping did not help the situation. I doubled-up on lights, adding my iPhone's LED as a secondary. We pushed on into the night. And pushed. And pushed.

The last few of those 52.4 miles felt eerily similar to the last few of the first time I ran 26.2 miles. Everything hurt. The voice in my head kept saying "Please, just let this be over with." I conjured what willpower I had and forced myself to keep putting one foot in front of the other until, at 11:10 P.M. Frizzle and I had reached our double-marathon mark.

A few days later Frizzle and I met back up with Free Refill and told him our tale.

"This time I did it in one day," I exclaimed.

"OK, now you can tell people it was approved by a German engineer."

Frizzle waking up the next morning to an early sun. 

Cheers, 

Jonathan

The Magic of Ashland

This is the kind of post that might start with something cliché like "Sometimes you find the adventure and sometimes the adventure finds you." Or maybe even "This is why you don't make plans."

The last day of California Jonathan gently convinced Dan to hike a 52 mile challenge into Ashland. While it might have been best to get up and going by 3:30am we got out of "camp" about two hours later than that. We were not exactly fresh - we literally slept on the trail, and we only slept there for about six hours after a night hike which included a 5000ft climb out of Seiad Valley. 

Once we got going we put big miles behind us. We still weren't making outstanding time, but it could be done. After a quick lunch at the Oregon border we trudged back out into what had become a sweltering hot day. By 8:30 p.m. we had hit the 40 mile mark. Jonathan wandered up a ridge to see the sunset. It looked as glorious as ever with {blah blah flowery language about pretty colors}. As Dan followed we heard some voices and saw a fire. "Do you guys want a beer?" they said to us. Of course we do! They were amazing people. There were six of them, a little boy and a dog. They gave us beer and smoked salmon. Dat smoked salmon doe.  On top of being generous, they were extraordinarily cool people to hang out with for an evening. At first we felt bad, since it was sort of a going away gathering for one of the guys, but they insisted that they had all secretly been wanting to magic stuff to PCT hikers but hadn't gotten a chance. Now they had one. At 10pm we were talking about hiking out and sleeping by the highway. A few hours past, and by midnight we knew we weren't hiking any farther. These gregarious people from Ashland truly gave us the best welcome into Oregon that we could have asked for. 

Good company and a campfire are a great start to an evening. Especially when they're unexpected. 

Things were off to a good start. We finished out the last 12 miles early the next morning to make it into Callahan's Lodge. 

While crossing an outer road to I-5 a big white van pulled over to the side of the road. After honking and rolling down the window the driver yelled over to us "Beerman!" Dan turned, his eyes lit up and he shouted "I'm getting in the car with those strangers!" as he raced off to the van. Jonathan could do nothing but sit and stare confused as his hiking partner rushed off to a car of strange people. These "strangers" turned out to be a mentor of Dan's from college and Alpha Phi Omega (community service org) and his wife. The amount of chance involved for this meeting is astounding - we're talking alignment of the planets. They had planned on meeting Dan, but had to return to Ashland, Missouri. They left a note at the trailhead and were on the on-ramp to drive when our paths crossed. The couple (Paul and Charlotte) drove us into Ashland and bought us beers. After Paul and Dan spent some time catching up and marveling at the serendipity of our encounter the couple bid us farewell. They headed back toward Missouri while Dan and Jonathan ventured out into the metropolis of Ashland (pop. 20,000).

One delicious Indian buffet later, we knew that finding lodging needed to be at the top of our priority list. We were in a gear shop checking out a trail register when we came across names and numbers of some trail angels. Dan made a call, while Jonathan looked on with puzzled eyes. It seemed like the call went well, but all Dan said was that the guy was going to call us back. A few minutes later Dan received a call. It drags on a while. Somewhere along the way he looked up, smiled and gave a thumbs up. Now we had a place to stay for the night. 

For the record, this formula is not a foreign experience for us. In college we moved after two years in a piece of shit house to an apartment. That apartment would have never happened without Dan's research and effort. Jonathan put forth enough effort to say thanks that Dan found us a place to live and to sign the lease. 

It turns out that this trail angel is a former thru-hiker and angels for current hikers. He said we could stay at his place. Awesome! But wait, he's not even in town. His son may be around he said. The front door is unlocked, though, because of course it is. He asks that we keep things LNT (leave no trace) and clean up after ourselves, maybe grab some laundry detergent. Not a problem. We wouldn't dream of being anything but the most respectful guests - laundry, air conditioning, a safe place to leave the packs while we walk around town, a base camp. Seriously, when people show you the sort of kindness we have been shown you do everything you can to pay it forward and not take it for granted. 

A good nights sleep, laundry and a shower later we felt like this adventure could not get any better. 

A little friend that came to hang out on the porch as we sipped on morning coffee. 

Not only are beds pretty cool every once in a while, but being in an actual home felt comforting, even if we didn't really know this home's owner. By day three of this story Jonathan found himself lounging on the couch and writing a blog much like this very one. All of a sudden, in walks this late 20 something man that is super fit. Jonathan looks up as the young man says "Um, hi. You must be a hiker from the trail." It's said more like a question than anything. 

"And you must be  the son of (trailname of dude whose house we're in)," Jonathan said, equally as unsure of his own statement. 

"Yeah," says the young man. "I run a fitness apparel company and I'm just here to grab this bag. You guys have a great hike and enjoy Ashland."

As fast as he was in the house he was once again out of it. Not only did he seem a nice fellow, but he seemed totally unphased by walking into his father's house to find hikers and all their gear sprawled across the living room. 

At this point it is unclear if the levels of awesome and strange will continue to escalate at consistent intervals, but it seems possible. As it stands they are at an all time high. We are loving Oregon. 

Needless to say, all you trail angels out there, everything you do for hikers and to maintain the ethos of trail culture is inspiring. Your actions demonstrate a humanity and consideration I want to carry into my own life.

Keep adventuring,

Dan and Jonathan

The Bet, concluded

How?! How is this possible? How do you make one roll of toilet paper last for a little over 900 miles? I don't think of myself as a gambling man, and thus I found the prospect of Dan accomplishing this feat preposterous, absolutely ludicrous. I had this in the bag. Then the miles past, but the size of the toilet paper roll barely seemed to shrink. Eventually, I realized that Oregon was fast approaching, and Dan hadn't run out of TP yet. It is now to my dismay that I must announce my concession in the bet over the Roll of Toilet Paper that Could. This is truly an impressive achievement. Many a hiker has listened wide-eyed as Soap Box explains the meaning of this roll. In the end, he only had three measles squares left. Now let's all continue walking through the woods as the number of miles left until Canada wain to under 1000. 

-Jonathan

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Perseverance. Perseverance, a steady hand and restraint are the skills required to make a roll of toilet paper last over 900 miles. Long days and many calories, stretches of no towns or pit stops, even a nasty bout of GI and still the roll turns. I'm not saying the PCT isn't impressive, but limiting toilet paper doesn't make the hiking easier. The bet has come to a close and I will gracefully accept my prize. 

I'm not sure I'm even happy I won this bet... Or at least I won't be until I taste a few beers. Also, if anyone won any sizable side bets feel free to share the wealth.

-Dan