Monday Jul. 24, 2023
- Start: Pumice Flat (PCT mile 1822.4)
- End: Stuart Falls Junction (PCT mile 1813.3)
- Distance Hiked: 20 miles (9.9 miles south + 10.2 miles north to Mazama Village)
- Distance to Hospital: 110 miles
Today ranks among my 5 worst days of backpacking. At first, the challenges were small, but maybe they were just foreshadowing the big event yet to come.
I’d been mildly annoyed to wake up around midnight and discover my quilt was completely damp. It had been warm last night as we set up camp, so I didn’t bother to put my rain fly onto my tent. However, once the sun set and the late-July temperatures dropped, the moist air settled in.
Our camp must have been in a bit of a depression, and now everything inside my tent was wet. In hindsight, I should have just popped outside in the dark to set up my rain fly right then. But I didn’t. I decided to just lay my tent’s poly-nylon fly over my quilt like an extra blanket instead. I’d hoped this half measure would keep my quilt dry underneath. But it just trapped the existing moisture on my quilt, making it even wetter.
I woke again around 3:35 am to the sound of critters moving loudly around our tent site. It sounded like they were competing in the track & field events for the wildlife Olympics. The noise was incredibly loud, but I knew it couldn’t be a bear or cougar. The animals were moving way too fast. It was probably just deer or maybe some squirrels or chipmunks fighting to the death.
All this noise made me paranoid that these frisky animals might chew their way into my tent. I’d already put my food inside an Ursack and tied it to a tree 200 yards away before bedtime. But what if I’d accidentally forgotten a granola bar wrapper in my tent? This thought, coupled with the constant racket in the trees, kept me awake for the next hour and a half.
When I woke for good around 6 am, I was exhausted. My quilt and tent were soaking wet, and the morning air was surprisingly cold. The temperature had to be down in the mid-40s now, and I needed to warm up quickly. It was time to make myself a nice warm backcountry mocha (instant coffee and chocolate Carnation instant breakfast)
So imagine my disappointment when I opened my Ursack and realized that I’d failed to pack ALL my drink supplies. I had no instant coffee! There were no chocolate IB packets either. I didn’t even have my powdered electrolyte drink mixes. The only thing I would have to drink on this section of the PCT was plain old water. And now I was really in a sour mood with no caffeine to transform me into my positive self!
Stuart Falls
Poledork and I lingered at camp until just before 8 am, and I was still feeling a bit moody from the lack of morning coffee. How in the world had I forgotten such an essential item? I’ve spent hundreds of days on the trail over the past few years, and I’d never made that rookie mistake!
Instead of focusing on coffee, though, we turned our minds toward water. Our last water source had been at Mazama Village near the southern entrance to Crater Lake National Park last night. We were nearly to the edge of the park now and well into a 13-mile dry stretch. The next reliable water source near the PCT was Jack Spring, and that would require a 1.2-mile detour (round-trip) down a side trail.
During breakfast, Poledork suggested we use an alternate water source instead of waiting until Jack Spring. She read in her PCT guidebook that we could take a detour onto the Stuart Falls Trail and hike past a waterfall that flowed year-round. The trail junction was just 1.5 miles south of where we camped. We could turn west and follow the 6.5-mile loop to the waterfall and rejoin the PCT at the end of the Stuart Falls Trail.
This proposed detour was a mile longer than just following the PCT south. But getting water at the waterfall (or at the creek just below it) could save us from having to take the 1.2-mile detour to Jack Springs. So it was a wash in terms of adding mileage to our day.
I didn’t have strong feelings about which water source we used. The waterfall and the creek were probably cleaner because the water was flowing. And it was a little bit closer to our starting point this morning. So we agreed to veer off the PCT when we reached the sign for the northern end of the Stuart Falls Trail.
Worst detour ever!
Unfortunately, the Stuart Falls Trail wasn’t what we’d expected. The trail conditions were fine during the first half mile or so. But the deeper we got into the burn area, the worse they became.
By the time we hit the National Park boundary, we were struggling to find anything that resembled a trail. As a result, our pace had slowed dramatically to less than 2 mph. The downed trees and an overgrown trail left us with little to follow. I needed to keep my GPS app open to constantly help us stay close to our intended route as we continued west toward the falls. Plus, we were expending far more energy than necessary to reach this water source.
About 3 miles into our detour, we finally made it to Stuart Falls. The waterfall was a 30- to 35-foot cascade that poured down a cliff toward a small creek. It reminded me a bit of Ramona Falls, located farther north on the PCT (and Timberline Trail) near Mount Hood. And as expected, the water was cool, clear, and delicious. Maybe the detour was worth the effort, I mused.
I was quickly disabused of this optimism as we turned our sights south. We still had 3.5 miles on this detour before we rejoined the PCT. A faint trail was visible for about 200 yards, and then it disappeared altogether as we walked deeper into the burn zone. We hadn’t lost the trail. It just ceased to exist.
The 2008 Middle Fork Wildfire burned around 18,000 acres (or 28 square miles) of the Sky Lakes Wilderness near the Crater Lake NP boundary. And we were now smack dab in the middle of a burn scar with charred trees and thick, ashy dirt. There were more trees on the ground than there were standing, and you couldn’t see any reasonable route to avoid them. It was as if the fire had built an abatis to repel us.
I still had the trail’s original location highlighted on my phone’s Gaia GPS app, so I walked in the lead for the next mile. With no trail to follow, our progress was even more agonizingly slow than it had been before Stuart Falls. We were now down to half speed as we made our way over and around fallen trees. What’s worse, many of the burnt trees blocking our path had jagged branches sticking out. The long pine boughs had broken off and turned the branches into pointy spears.
After a sweaty hour of trying to find the trail, I was falling into a sourer mood with every step. Poledork and I switched places so she could walk in the lead. At this abysmal rate, our 6.5-mile detour would take us 4+ hours! We were using up all our energy and water just trying to get back to the PCT.
By now, we both agreed that the Stuart Falls Trail was a shitty detour. We might have found good water, but at what cost? It was taking us forever to make any forward progress, and by the time we got back to the PCT, most of that fresh water would be gone from all our effort getting there. We’d probably still need to make the detour out to Jack Spring anyway.
After departing the falls, we headed southeast toward where the Stuart Falls Trail should have been. But our slow progress had us both reconsidering the wisdom of this plan. There was no trail here. Maybe we should turn east so we could intersect the PCT a bit earlier instead.
Unfortunately, it only took a minute to realize that idea was impossible. The steep terrain between us and the PCT eliminated the option. Whoever built the Stuart Falls Trail had definitely picked the flattest route back to the trail. We just needed to try to stay the course.
And then catastrophe hit…
With Poledork now in the lead, I was busy picking out the next feature for us to walk toward without getting off azimuth. I looked down at my phone, and when I returned my eyes to our route, I saw Poledork pitch forward and hit the ground.
She’d just stepped over a downed tree, so my initial thought was that she’d turned her ankle or landed wrong. But when she stood up, I could see lots of blood. One of the jagged tree branches on the downed tree had cut her leg open. This wasn’t a superficial wound either. A 3-inch chunk of skin on her shin was flapping open, and it looked incredibly painful.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I immediately tucked my phone away and went to Poledork’s side, trying my level best to project a calm mindset. Don’t freak out. Just fix the problem.
We got Poledork seated on flat ground, and then I located both our first aid kits. We had enough supplies, but we didn’t have anywhere close to enough water to clean out her open wound. There was a fine, ashy soot caked up and down both her legs, and this wildfire debris had certainly gotten into the gash during her fall. It was readily apparent that she needed about a dozen stitches or Steri-Strips to close everything up, too.
Poledork was unflappably calm, and she tried to reassure me that she was fine. She even proclaimed that we could just bandage her leg and continue hiking south. I balked at this suggestion. We had another 40 miles before we got to her car at Fish Lake. There was no way we were going to hike for 2.5 more days while her leg got infected. I didn’t care if she was a badass and wanted to hike on. This was not a minor injury!
We used some water to wet Poledork’s bandana and then placed it over her gaping wound. Then we wrapped an entire roll of Coban (i.e., the self-adhesive medical bandage that labs use after a blood draw) around her shin to keep as much dirt and debris out as possible. The dressing would hold for a while, but what was our game plan now?
We were still a solid 1.5 miles off the PCT. And the closest trailhead where we could get help was Mazama Village up near Crater Lake. All told, we’d need to hike at least 10 more miles to evacuate her to the frontcountry. It would mean a 20-mile day of hiking for us, and Poledork was injured. But what other options did we have?
And so we hoisted our packs back on, and we set off with the intention of getting back up to Mazama Village before dark.
A ridiculously long journey
I honestly don’t know how Poledork managed to hike 10 more miles on her injured leg. She kept telling me that she was fine and that it didn’t hurt that bad, so I have to assume she was in shock. There was no way she couldn’t feel the pain of such a significant injury.
It was also bittersweet to end our hike early. I was sad that Poledork wouldn’t get to celebrate finishing the Oregon section of the PCT this week. She was so close to the end when her accident unexpectedly shifted our plans. Yet bailing on the hike and getting her to an ER was 100% the right choice. We both knew it.
Once we made our way back to the PCT, we turned north to backtrack to Crater Lake. We were hiking on an actual trail again and didn’t need to pay attention to navigation or where to step. It was now time for me to assume the role of distracting Poledork. I spent the next several hours telling her stories.
If the Army leaves you with one skill, it’s the ability to entertain others with stories during long periods of boredom. These miles would go by faster while distracted. And there was no reason for us to embark on a silent, painful death march toward Crater Lake.
When we reached Mazama Village, we discovered a new problem. It was just after 6 pm, so there wasn’t a ranger on duty at the park’s southern entrance booth. I’d been banking on the chance to explain our situation to one of the park rangers and get a ride from Mazama Village up to where my car was parked — 13 miles farther north at Merriam Point.
However, the only thing open at Mazama Village at this hour was the camp store. I asked if they could contact the ranger on duty, but they demurred. They were a private concessionaire, so the only help they were willing to offer was to call 911 on their landline. That was pointless. We didn’t need an ambulance. We just needed a ride back up to Merriam Point, so I could drive us to the closest ER.
It was time to fall back on Poledork’s superpower: extroverted friendliness. We stepped outside the camp store, and Poledork immediately struck up a conversation with a Swiss guy who was visiting Crater Lake National Park with his family. She explained our situation, and he graciously offered to drive us north to Merriam Point in his rental car. He’d get to return to Switzerland telling the heroic tale of saving an American damsel in distress while on vacation.
Once we reached my car, we still had another 110-mile drive through the Umpqua National Forest to the closest hospital in Roseburg, Oregon. Plus, there were several more hours of waiting in the ER, followed by a nurse and doctor cleaning/repairing her injury before Poledork was finally discharged around 2 am.
Our section hike would soon become a cautionary tale we’d share about the importance of hiking with a good first-aid kit. And there’s one more thing we can both agree on: Stuart Falls was truly the worst detour ever!
