On my 33rd day on the PCT, I flipped back to CA Section C and began the 30 mile, 6000 foot climb from the hot desert floor toward Big Bear and the San Gorgonio Mountains, hiking alongside of Mission Creek, within the Sand to Snow National Monument.
From PCT mile 223.2 to 235.4 Total: 13.4 miles 5/23
Vicki and I woke up super early that morning. She wanted to beat the traffic back to San Diego and I wanted to beat the heat on my hike. We ate a simple breakfast of a Pop-Tart and a Danish in the car, and then I took down the hatch-tent and stowed the car gear away. Once it was getting light, we knew that it was time to part. Neither one of us liked sleeping alone, but Vicki wasn’t interested in hiking fifteen or twenty mile days, so if I wanted to do this crazy solo PCT thru hike, then she would support me in it as best she could. She’s awesome like that.
I double-checked that I had everything I needed, we gave each other a big hug, and she headed off down the road.
Thanks, Vicki! I waved goodbye until she was out of sight, then I picked up my heavy backpack and put it on. Ugh! There was a lot of food in there. But what else could I do? So I headed over to the trailhead and got started. This first section of my hike, about three miles long, was spent on a dirt road that led north to a junction with the main Pacific Crest Trail. After that I would be on the PCT for about two weeks, until I reached the trailhead in Acton where I flipped to last month. All I would have left after that was the still-snow-covered San Jacinto Mountains, which would hopefully be melted sufficiently by then. The year 2023 was a crazy year to be NOBO on the PCT, so I was doing the parts I could, when I could, wherever I could.
The road was pleasant enough. It was shady down on the valley floor this early in the morning, and the grade was easy. Eventually, the creek grew close to the road, which crossed it twice when the creekbed hugged a clifflike canyon wall. I didn’t really want to take my shoes off this soon, especially when it crossed back over again right around the corner, so I scouted along the edge and discovered a path beside the cliff that took a bit of scrambling to surmount. Success! My boots were still dry and away I hiked.
A mile or so later I met up with a locked gate. There were “Private Property” signs posted there. Crap. This wasn’t shown on the maps I’d been looking at online. Of course, this route I was on was largely my own creation anyway, and now I knew why. The official trail within the Preserve led northwest to the PCT just before it climbed up and over the high ridge between the Whitewater River valley and the Mission Creek valley. My route avoided this pesky climb and reached the PCT more directly. I looked at the gate. There were no recent tire tracks, but there were plenty of boot tracks. Hmmm… What to do? Well, all I can say here on this blog is that I may have trespassed on Private Property that day, and, if I did, then please accept my most profound apologies.
I can, however, state truthfully that I arrived on the PCT as planned, and began the long climb north toward Big Bear shortly afterward. Take only pictures, leave only footprints, was today’s official motto. I stopped to take a bite of snack and a sip of water. It felt good to be back on the trail again. Vicki and I spent the night next to a wooden post that marked the junction back in 2019 when we hiked this section of the PCT. That time, it had been an even hotter day than today was forecast to become. I hoped.
Far to the north, I could see the 8500 foot mountains on the way to Big Bear. I already knew that the PCT would be traversing along just below the tops of those peaks, with a great view down the Mission Creek valley to where I was standing. Was I really going to hike and climb that far? It sure looked that way.
Just ahead was the first unavoidable crossing of the creek. And this time I had a plan. Back in the first days of my thru hike, it was raining and my feet stayed wet in my waterlogged boots for far too long, so that I developed terrible blisters. This time would be different. I had some croc-like water shoes, plus my secret weapon: Liner socks! The problem with crossing sandy creeks in crocs was that you still ended up with gritty, blister-causing sand between your toes. The liner socks were there to stop that sand from sneaking in there, like mittens that keep your fingers warm in the Winter. As it turned out, this plan worked perfectly. Highly recommended. It was much faster to simply remove the liners on the opposite side of the creek, pat my feet dry, and put my socks and boots back on.
This first crossing was a mile or more from the next one, so it was worth putting the boots back on. I knew from studying the map (and reading the comments) that there were exactly 27 creek crossings on Mission Creek. But who’s counting? Some of the crossings happened one after the other in quick succession, while others were miles apart. I decided to save time by leaving the crocs on between the close ones, and hoped that I wouldn’t get blisters due to hiking with wet feet in poorly fitting shoes. But it had to be tried, or I would never have time to hike all fifteen miles that day.
As the canyon grew narrower, the crossings grew closer. The creek kept hugging the steep walls, first on one side, then the other. Meanwhile, the sun was up and the air was hot. And I have to say that it really felt great to step into that cold flowing water! With each crossing, I was liking this more and more. If I survived this day without blisters I would call it a major win, as there were only two more crossings much higher upstream in the mountains. But they would be tomorrow’s problem.
The best part about 2023 was the superblooming wildflowers along the trail. There were entire hillsides of blooms, and trailsides of blooms, and individual blooms as well. Different areas had different species prevalent, often with different colors, although purples and yellows dominated the collection.
Twenty Seven Creek Crossings! I took photos of them all, and marked them on my CalTopo app as I crossed them, but there’s no point in showing them all here. Needless to say, the most annoying part of it was that the creek was flowing just strong enough to make it impossible to jump across with sufficient confidence that my boots would remain dry. Aggravating!
The miles went by. The valley narrowed into a gorge with clifflike walls. It widened into a broad expanse with views. And back again. The sun grew hot, but luckily there was a breeze, and always another creek crossing to help cool me down again. It was actually quite nice, and the slope was very easy.
The day wore on. I stopped for a lunch break in the shade of a big cottonwood tree and read my Kindle. It was the sort of spot that was a perfect temperature when shady. Out there beyond the shade was the inferno, so why not keep reading a while longer? Or so my Kindle whispered to me. But I had to resist the call to sloth or I’d never get up this mountain. So on I hiked, my body sweating while my mind enjoyed the sights. “But it’s a dry heat” the desert-dwellers love to say. As they sit inside their air conditioned living rooms. Bah! Hot is Hot.
I found a shady spot next to a small cliff near a side stream about a quarter mile before my chosen campsite. I decided that this was far enough. I set up my tent and inflated the air mattress, then took a happy nap inside. Aaahhh! This was excellent. My reward for a long hot day of hiking. I shook off the sleep and remembered that I still needed to collect some water. I put on my shoes and grabbed the water jug. When I stood up and started walking was when I suddenly realized that I was limping. It wasn’t just stiff muscles. It seemed as though my feet hadn’t gotten better after all, during the two weeks that I was home. My heels seemed to be the center of the unhappiness. So I tip-toed down to the stream and got the water. I made it back to the tent, took off my shoes, and rubbed my feet. I hadn’t noticed them hurting this bad during the day. It was odd, but I’d have to hope for the best tomorrow. I kicked back with my book for a while.
As I lay there I heard some footsteps. “Hello!” I called out. It was an older gentleman, heading downhill. Downhill, like a civilized human being, not a crazy uphill NOBO thru hiker. He stopped to speak with me. He wanted to know about water sources in the next few miles. I told him about a side creek just ahead that crossed the PCT, so he wouldn’t have to scramble down into the main wash, which had remained far below the trail for this last section. He thanked me, and then said that he was 75 years old! Damn! And I thought that I was old at 65. I was just a kid! I told him that I hoped that I was in that kind of shape in ten years. He was tall and skinny, just like me, so maybe there was a chance. He attributed his success to a ten pound Base Weight. “Ten pounds!” I exclaimed. My pack’s Base Weight was closer to twenty. “Yep, couldn’t do it otherwise. That’s the secret right there,” he replied. “Ten pounds’ll do it.” After he left, I tried to imagine what it was that he left out of his backpack. Probably the tent, and the stove, and the air mattress, and maybe even the water purification gear along with many of the ten essentials. And what was left was probably the most expensive ultralight gear he could buy. True, he had to choose his weather if he was going to Cowboy Camp every night, but you could do that as a section hiker. It was something to think about, and sound advice for me as I got ever-older each year.
After that, I did my end-of-day routine, cooking up some ramen noodles, eating salty chips, and mixing up a cup of Gatorade. Good stuff. I texted Vicki via the InReach, then headed for bed while it was still light. I’d get an early start tomorrow, and make it up to higher elevation before it got too hot. That was my plan. All in all, it had been a tough day, a hot day, a wet day, but also a good day. I could handle that any day.
For a topographic map of the hike see my CalTopo Page
For LOTS more photos of the trek see my Flickr Page
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