This 218 mile section from Mount Shasta to Ashland, Oregon, feels like I’m walking through the depths of hell; between the scorching heat and drama with another hiker, I’m ready to get out of California and have a lengthy break in Ashland.
We started our hitch at the spot that the officer had recommended, directly in front of an abandoned restaurant. Some shady looking characters were coming and going as we stood there, and it was suddenly clear that this was a heroin den. We were having a difficult time getting a ride, probably due to fact that our location turned out to be poor, there were three of us and for some reason, Safety First was waving his trekking poles in the air at passing motorists. I’m not sure what this was supposed to accomplish, but I asked him to hold back with the threatening weapons while we tried to get a ride. Some of the junkies were starting to scope our packs, so Bear Bait and Safety First watched our things as I attempted to seduce a ride with the help of my tiny shorts (don’t judge me). Just as Safety First was starting to suggest that cab fare again, a pickup truck pulled over and a nice couple offered us a ride back to the trail.
The campsite was in a large grassy meadow, with a small creek running through the middle. Bear Bait went straight to bed once he made camp, while Bear Bait and I had dinner and hot chocolate. More hikers arrived later on, and filled up the area. The weather turned again, and it started to rain heavily. We retreated to our tents, and I dozed off to the percussion of rain on my tent.
The trail left the forest, and crossed a wildflower filled meadow where we stopped briefly for some water at creek. We climbed again to a parking area for a trailhead, passing several day hikers and stopping to talk to a couple of them. In the parking area, there was no trail magic, much to our disappointment. We sat in the shade at the trailhead and Safety First made his way up, and we all had lunch together. From here, the day went to shit for me. As we were resting, Safety First made a rude comment about my appearance, and what he said was intended to hurt me. He succeeded in doing so, and I felt crushed afterward. I was noticeably upset, but he offered no apology and walked on, bearing an odd smirk.
I was surprised to see Bear Bait about a mile ahead, waiting for me in the shade. He apologized and said he wanted to be my friend, and his efforts meant a lot to me. We continued walking on together. We both caught up to Safety First and passed him, and I had nothing to say to him anymore.
We entered a large burn area, stretching from the valley below, across the trail and up the mountainside. We had one last climb before reaching camp, and it was colossal. We crossed a small stream, and then began our ascent up the exposed trail. It was narrow, rocky and steep, and incredibly difficult. Bear Bait and I powered up the mountainside, not stopping until we reached the end. At the top we entered the Russian Wilderness, and nearly collapsed in camp from exhaustion.
We reached the highway by late morning, and the hitching conditions were grim. Another hiker had been trying to thumb it for a while before Bear Bait and I arrived, but wasn’t having much luck. The road was too remote, and wasn’t well-traveled enough. More hikers piled onto the side of the road as time passed, including Safety First, and it was clear that this was going to take a long time.
Finally, a pickup truck pulled up and had room for three. Bear Bait, Safety First and I threw our packs in the back and piled into the cab. The trip into town was only ten miles, but it was slow going on a narrow, winding mountain road. We were dropped off in the center of town at the grocery store, where I bought some beer and snacks for the night. I headed over to the motel, and the guys followed me, wanting to split the cost of the room. I agreed, although I wasn’t too keen on spending any more time with First. I was willing to give him a second chance, however.
Once in the room, Bear Bait went about having the first shower so he could have his hair trimmed by the Australian housekeeper. She had offered to give him a haircut and had made him a cup of fresh coffee because she clearly fancied him, which I took the opportunity to tease him about at any given chance.
I was at my wits’ end with Safety First by the end of the evening, when he decided to utilize every outlet for the vast collection of electronics he had apparently been packing the entire time. There was nowhere left for myself or Bear Bait to charge our phones; I felt pure rage creeping from my head throughout my entire body. I still managed to keep my cool and not scream, and I asked him (in between my gritting teeth) to kindly free up an outlet, because somewhat shockingly, other people had things to charge as well. I needed to shake First. There was no other way.
We went out to dinner that night at the local greasy spoon, where I ate a huge basket of fish and chips and washed it down with a giant beer. When we were back at the room, Safety First sat inside on his roll away bed and phoned his family back at home, while Bear Bait and I sat outside the room in some lawn chairs, continuing to drink beer and eat junk food. He mentioned how maddening things were with Snowflake, and we both agreed that it was time to part ways with him.
It’s too hot, and I’ve been walking through pine forest for too long. The scenery has been the same since Mount Lassen, and the water situation is worse than what I experienced in the Southern California desert. Only 119 miles to go until I reach Oregon. I can’t wait.
I wake up to Safety First shuffling around the room, putting his pack together, talking under his breath and just generally being irritating. It’s early, before 7 am. Bear Bait asks him if he’s heading out, and he’s on his way to get breakfast at a diner and wants us to join him. We politely decline. After he leaves, I get up and start getting my things in order, and then Bear Bait and I head to the post office to get our boxes.
After grabbing a few items at the store and picking up our boxes, we head back to the room. We’re hung over from our beer drinking session the night before, and moving slow. It’s already a hot day, and I have no desire to do any hiking whatsoever. First sends me a text, saying he’s finished with breakfast and ready to start hitching with us. I don’t respond, and get on with going through my box. I’m happy about my resupply box, sent from another friend back at home, and my new Merrell trail running shoes from REI. The two of us start to hitch late in the morning, and a woman in a pickup truck eventually gives us a lift.
Back at Etna Summit, we trudge up the trail, sign the register and push on into the Marble Mountain Wilderness and past the 1600 mile mark. It’s a struggle trying to make mileage, with the heat and our hangovers complicating things. I’m ravenous with hunger, and extremely dehydrated. We pass a forest service crew out digging ditches for a prescribed burn, and then stop for a quick break at a spring for some water and a snack. During this time, Safety First comes up the trail and catches us by surprise. We thought that we had lost him for good, and I’m momentarily disappointed. We take off ahead, though, easily putting some distance between us.
The trail rambles through forest, in the shade and is by all means an easy walk. We are suffering too much from our previously made poor choices, and decide to call it a day early in the evening. After walking only 14 miles, Bear Bait and I make camp on the beach beside a small lake. We take it easy the rest of the day, trying to re-hydrate ourselves, cooking up some dinner and admiring a buck that was hanging around our camp. Late in the day, First passed by and kept going up the trail, not noticing us crouched along the lake shore in camp.
I meet Bear Bait’s hiking partners that he had been with since SoCal, Shake n’ Bake from Ottawa and Fun Size from Alaska. Shake n’ Bake and Fun Size pushed on without us after a lengthy break, and we remained to filter some water from the lake and eat some lunch. We promised to catch up to them, but with my current struggles with the heat, I was worried I wouldn’t be able to.
In the morning, I topped off my water from the spring and we headed out, crushing the first five miles in no time. The trail descended, winding through lush forest abundant with Oregon Grape, vine maple and Myrtle trees.
We forded Grider Creek, where there was a skeleton of a bridge scattered in the water downstream. The trail continued to lose elevation, dipping into Seiad Valley and crossing the creek again via a steel foot bridge. There was a large car park and campground here, with pit toilets and picnic tables. We made use of the facilities, having our lunch in the shade at a table like civilized people do. I had a soak in the creek below the bridge after lunch, rinsing out my clothing and scrubbing my feet and legs. We had a lengthy break, enjoying our down time since we had made fairly good time getting here. Up next was a dreaded 6.4 mile road walk into town, so we wanted to be well rested when we set out again.
We started the road walk midday, following a dusty unpaved road alongside the creek. It was insanely hot and miserable, and my feet were in agony. After a couple of miles, the road became paved, and my feet couldn’t take any more abuse. I took my shoes off and continued on in my sandals, regretting my decision in choosing the Merrell shoes. They had no support in the soles, and it felt as though I was walking with only a thin sheet of paper between my feet and the ground.
We reached the junction for the Highway, and walked along the narrow shoulder towards town. The noise and exhaust from the fast-moving traffic was stifling, with drivers honking as they flew past us. We crossed the inviting Klamath River over the highway bridge, then entered the incredibly tiny town of Seiad Valley. The town consisted of one building, which housed a general store, the post office and a cafe. There was also an RV park that offered a hiker discount, but it looked pretty shabby all around. I bought a few things from the store, including a couple of beers and an ice cream bar, and picked up a resupply box. I was a little turned off by the State of Jefferson propaganda that was plastered all over the store, but they had decent hiker friendly supplies and the cashier was nice enough.
I sat at a picnic table in a shades area outside with all the other dirty hikers loitering around, drinking my beer and listening to a local giving a provocative lecture to the crowd on why the State of Jefferson is better than California and Oregon. Safety First also made an appearance, wearing squeaky clean shoes and freshly laundered clothes. He was staying at the RV park, which pretty much cemented our decision to stay somewhere along the trail instead of in town. Bear Bait disappeared back in the store, and reemerged with two more tall cans of cheap beer and a special present for me- a sticker of the State of Jefferson seal. Gee, thanks buddy. We met up again with Fun Size and Shake n’ Bake, and had a good laugh over the current surroundings.
Once the day had cooled off, we set out again, with our sights set on a campsite just 2.5 miles up the trail. We followed the highway out of town, where the trail began again in a small gravel parking area. It climbed significantly, not an easy task for me to accomplish with a couple of beers in me. We found the campsite empty, just off a pin turn in the trail and surrounded by loads of poison oak. We carefully made camp, and watched as a full moon rose through the trees. The night was bright and cool, and we stayed up for a bit enjoying our tall cans of cheap lager and trying desperately to avoid the poison oak when we went off to have a pee.
We passed a dirt road at Cook and Green Pass, then began another daunting climb on exposed switchbacks into the mountains. The heat was fierce, and really doing a number on me. I felt ill, to the point of fainting and needed to stop. It was really wearing on my mental strength, and I couldn’t help but think about leaving the trail for good. My feet were actually burning with pain, and I had to stop for a short siesta beneath some shade for a bit.
The trail entered the forest, filled with endless pine trees and boring terrain. We were practically sleep walking along when we were startled back into reality by a rattlesnake in the trail. We levitated to the side, and it slithered off in the opposite direction to the base of a tree, where it coiled up. We quickly left.
We took a break in a large campsite, where I found a cowbell and some other strange relics, and ate an early dinner. We pushed on a bit more, but after a mile we decided to settle into a campsite in a large forested saddle. We set up our tents, had the usual cup of hot chocolate and then went to bed as more hikers arrived and made camp.
The trail descended over the course of several miles, passing a hillbilly looking camp with a shanty structure and a bunch of junk surrounding it. For miles, we were miffed by the sound of a bell ringing steadily as went along. Between the weird shanty camp and the tinkling bell that seemed to follow us, I felt on edge, with thoughts of Deliverance and wild mountain men running through my head. This was stupid, of course, but a banjo could easily be replaced by a cowbell. Right?
Near the end of the descent, we stopped at a small flowing spring to fill up on water and have some lunch. The area was plagued with wasps, who helped themselves to tiny bites of my beef jerky as I ate. After lunch, I walked below the spring to rinse out my socks and a lone cow emerged from the trees, thus solving the mysterious bell sounds. It made its way over to the stream of water a few feet from where I was and had a drink, completely unmoved by my existence.
The trail came out of the woods, and crossed a meadow to a creek crossing with a bridge. The day was incredibly hot once out of the trees, and we stopped to soak our feet in the creek. We passed a backcountry ranch, with a herd of cows grazing in the meadow below the trail. A mile on, we came upon pure joy:
The Oregon border!
We cross over several dirt roads, going up and down and following the trail through rolling hills. There are many tourists and day hikers out today, and they smell strongly of perfumed soaps and lotions. From the bottom of a hill, I can see the trail making its way up to a parking area at a road junction. I race ahead, with a gut feeling that there is something good waiting for us at the trailhead. I find that I’m dead on; there’s two lawn chairs sitting beneath some shade and two coolers filled to the brim with soda. I plop into a chair and crack open a drink, and wait for my friend. He walks up beaming, and we sit and flip through the trail register. We see that our friends have already been here, and we hope to catch up to them at Callahan’s. We arrived at Callahan’s Lodge in the evening, just as the sunlight was fading. The state of the lodge stunned us. It was on the luxurious side, and looked expensive. It was shocking that they were friendly to grubby hikers like us, but they assured us at the front desk that we welcome to camp on the lawn and hang out at the bar or in the dining area. The two of us were a sight for sore eyes: dirt stained clothing and packs, filthy faces, legs and fingernails (we lovingly refer to them as our “hiker French tips”), sunburned faces, matted hair and reeking to high heaven. To say that we left an impression on the regular guests would be an understatement; they were aghast at the sight of us and mouths dropped when we entered the lobby. We were thoroughly entertained by the scandal that we had created. We spend the evening in the bar, drinking beer alongside other hikers and having a wild time.
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