This is the NorCal inferno, where the Sierras end and the Cascade Mountains begin. In this 303 mile stretch from Sierra City to Mt. Shasta, I finally reach the halfway point of the PCT, explore a cave, tackle the 30 mile water-less Hat Creek Rim, see some volcanoes and get a ride in a police cruiser.
On my way out of town, I see Lo Flo again stop to talk to him. I start road walking in the already blazing heat, but a pickup truck pulls over and the driver tells me to hop in the back. He saves me from pounding two miles of hot pavement, and drops me off back at the trail. (Photo: Staying another day at Herrington’s in Sierra City isn’t a difficult choice)
I reach a spring late in the afternoon and section hiker called Space Cowboy is there getting water. I sit beneath a large tree in the shade and wait for my turn to have a go at collecting water from the trickle. Lo Flo catches up and sits with us for a bit. I eat a pile of candy and lament over my feet.
By late afternoon, the trail comes to a road junction and I have to walk a bit on the pavement. My feet don’t agree with the road walking and are throbbing in pain. Once back on the trail, I push on to the next water source, Alder Spring. It’s a trek getting down there, following a mucky trail to a barely flowing piped spring. It’s incredibly buggy down there so I decide not to camp there despite others doing so, and make my way back up the main trail.
I make camp in tiny clearing in the woods, but it turns out to be an awful spot. Not only does a mouse continually nibble at my Tyvek sheet all night, but a curious, rather large animal kept stalking around my tent. Every time I flipped my light on, it lumbered away. Little sleep was to be had. (Photo: I catch my first glimpse of the volcanic Mount Lassen in the Cascade Range)
My saving grace comes when I arrive at a fantastic swimming hole beneath a bridge at the Feather River. I’m the only one around, so I scramble down to the rocky bank and strip my clothes off. I dive in, and let the cool water wash away all my pain and doubt. I spend a few hours there, avoiding the heat and once again finding joy in what the trail has to offer.
The switchbacks enter dark forest the more I climb, and I feel myself tiring. I hike well into the night, and decide to stop just a mile short of the top. It’s now after 11 pm, and I’m completely spent. I pitch my tent and hop in, but I hear a strange tapping sound coming from outside. I peer out and am horrified to see that it’s a spider making that sound as it makes its way across my Tyvek. I open my tent door just enough and pull my pack and shoes inside, then use a stick to sweep the nasty little creeper away.
I pass Buck’s Lake Road and was disappointed that there was no trail magic, and continue on through a marshy bit of forest. It was lovely here, albeit buggy, with wildflowers blooming and a nice shady trail.
I cross some railroad tracks and do a short walk along a road into Belden, an odd place where people are living in camping trailers along the edge of the river and the only business in town is 3-in-1 tavern/shop/inn. It’s early, but there are hikers and locals already tossing back drinks at the bar. I pop into the shop, but there’s not much in the way of resupply. I decide to hitch to the neighboring town of Quincy instead, and make my way to the highway.
The hitching is hard going. It’s Sunday, and the highway is busy with mini-vans full of families and retirees in retirement-gold colored Buicks. A man in a pickup truck turns into Belden and says he’ll give me a ride on his way out, but I wait ages and he doesn’t show. Another hiker called Jester joins me, and finally a woman picks us up.
I wait around in Belden for a bit hoping that the heat will ease up a bit, but I get impatient and head out in late afternoon. As I make my way back to the trail across the highway, a fisherman warns me that there’s a lot of rattlesnakes in the area. About a mile in, I wish I had stayed put in Belden. The climb is exposed and scorching hot.
I find some relief once the trail enters some woods, and I stop at creek flowing across the trail to wet my bandana and hat and camel up on some water. By the evening, I enter Lassen National Forest and find a nice campsite along the rushing creek in Myrtle Flat. A few more hikers arrive and also make camp, and I’m happy to have the company. (Photo: the town of Belden)
Mount Lassen is getting closer on the horizon as I reach an open ridge by early evening. I hike with signs a half of a mile off trail down to spring to filter some water, and her Dutch friend Van Go catches up to us. I keep going solo, and the ridge walk proves to be challenging in the heat. I’m nearing the halfway marker, but I stop a few miles short of it in the evening. My feet are too swollen and in pain to keep on going, and Signs and Van Go pass me by. I make camp near a trail junction, still proud of my 25 mile day.
Chipmunk the trail angel is at the highway, making breakfast again for hikers. I drink some coffee and another trail angel called Jedi offers to give Van Go and I a ride into Chester, which we happily accept.
I get to the highway and stick my thumb out, and a woman immediately picks me up and takes me into the town of Burney. I’m grateful, even when she criticizes me for not carrying a gun. I get a hotel room with a bathtub, ditch my gear and head to the post office to pick up my resupply box. I have a nice surprise there waiting for me: a box from my friends back at home containing loads of junk food, homemade beef jerky and things to pamper myself with during my stay (Thanks Annie and ‘T’). I buy some ice cream and beer from the Rite Aid, then spend my night soaking and eating horribly delicious things.
In the afternoon, I reach a frigid creek and stop to soak my aching feet. Safety First catches up to me, and from there we continue on together. We plan on camping at a primitive campground near a road, but when we get there, we both agree that it’s a shit spot with bad vibes. We keep going for a few more miles, and settle into a small area near a creek in Fitzhugh Gulch. There’s shade here, and the creek is clear and cold. I soak my feet some more, and I as I’m eating a dinner of summer sausage and bread, another hiker called Bear Bait, from England, joins us.
Bear Bait continues on ahead of us for a few miles, but we meet up again below a bridge at Squaw Valley Creek. The guys have a snack and I rinse out my shirt and shorts in the creek, wearing them dry as I sit in the sun. From there the trail climbs, crossing a parking area and a junction for a couple of dirt roads. Bear Bait and I climb up the switchbacks through the woods, leaving Snowflake behind. We tell him we’ll wait up ahead and meet him for lunch. After lunch, the trail levels out after the switchbacks, and rambles along the side of an exposed hill. We stop several times along the trail to wait for Safety First and take in the views of Mount Shasta. We break again at a spring a couple of miles before we reach the campsite that we all had agreed to meet at, and Bear Bait and I fill up and wash our dusty feet and legs in the cold water. Safety First catches up to us again, and we decide to all walk together the next 2.5 miles to camp.
The campsite is directly after a dirt road crossing and within some thick forest. There’s just enough space for the three of us, and we set up and eat our dinners together. Just as we are about to go to bed, three more hikers arrive at sundown and try to squeeze in.
When we get to Ammirati Market (nice hiker friendly convenience store), Bear Bait picks up his resupply box that he’s sent there and stuffs the contents into his pack. I peruse the hiker boxes and grab a few things from it, snatching up a full jar of Nutella and some wet wipes, and buy a couple cans of beer from the shop. Safety First has a box waiting for him at the post office, but it doesn’t open until 11 am, so Sailor and I head to the freeway and hope to score a ride into Mount Shasta. Snowflake says he’ll meet us there, so we bid him farewell until later.
Well fuck.
He screeches across three lanes of traffic to reach us, and hops out of his car.
“Hey! You know you can’t be hitchhiking along the freeway like that, right?”
I’m nervous. I don’t want a ticket and I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of my new friend. “Yes, I’m sorry. It’s dangerous. I know.”
Bear Bait explains that we’re PCT hikers, and that we both have foot injuries and are just trying to get to Mount Shasta so we can rest. Thankfully, he’s familiar with the trail, and he says we don’t look like the usual junkies that come through here.
That’s good, I guess.
He offers us a ride into town, and we’re incredibly grateful. Bear Bait crawls into the back and I get to ride shotgun (literally, I sat next to a shotgun). He forewarns us of the colorful locals, recommends a few places in town to eat, shows us a good spot to try and hitch back to the trail and then drops us off at the post office. I grab my resupply box sent from my friend, and we head to the outskirts of town towards the KOA. As we go, and I can see what the officer said about the locals being colorful. The shops along the way are filled with incense and therapeutic oils, head shops, crystal shops and crystal healing centers. I was already aware of the history of religious groups living in the area, worshiping the mountain, its so called purple pyramid shaped aura that stretched up into the galaxy, and its mystical Lemurian advanced race dwelling under its snow capped surface (for real). It was all incredibly interesting, and also really odd.
We got to the KOA midday, and the clerk at the front desk was kind enough to let us check in early. Our campsite was incredibly spacious, with an electrical outlet, a picnic table and a fire pit. I shared one of my beers with Sailor, and then we parted ways for a bit to go take showers. Safety First arrived by cab shortly after, which we poked fun at him about since he admitted to never hitchhiking before in his life. We shared in doing a load of laundry, and then walked back into town. We stopped at the outdoor store and nosed around; Sailor was looking for a new pair of hiking boots and I was looking for nothing in particular, perhaps just a miracle in advanced footwear that would get me to Canada pain free.
After we found nothing to spend money on, we decided to go and get dinner at the taco bar across the street. We ordered a round of beers and the special carnitas plate, all of which was exactly what we needed. After dinner, we agreed to meet back up at the pool for a swim and parted ways for a bit to run some errands. Back at the camp, I skipped out on the pool (it was kind of on the dingy side) and bought a beer and a childhood favorite, a Choco Taco, from the KOA shop. I call home for a bit, then we order a pizza when the two guys return from the pool. After eating way too much, I crawled into my tent and went to sleep.
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