May 21, 2026
- Start: Vista side trail (PCT mile 1794.2)
- End: Ridge north of Goose Egg (PCT mile 1814.2)
- Distance: 20 miles
My lovely little camping spot on the vista overlook worked out perfectly last night. I didn’t have any wildlife visits (except for some mosquitoes). I was treated to beautiful sunset and sunrise views, and it wasn’t nearly as cold as I’d been expecting overnight. I was snug as a bug in my 10°F quilt.
I was also up earlier than planned and decided to begin hiking by 7 am, as I might need the extra time today. I was expecting snow on the trail this morning as the PCT climbed from 6,600 feet to 7,500 feet near Lucifer Peak and Devils Peak. This would be the highest elevation on my section hike through the Sky Lakes Wilderness, and I was almost certain I would have to deal with winter’s leftovers.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit worried about what might lie ahead. It was only the third week of May. In a boneheaded move, I’d hadn’t failed to pack my microspikes or my ice axe for this section. But that’s only because I put my pack together two weeks ago, when I was also preoccupied with packing for a trip to Colorado to pick our son up from college and a follow-on trip to Idaho to see my sister. So, I’d not surprising that I missed one or two “seasonal” gear items for this PCT trip.
During our drive to the Mt. McLoughlin trailhead yesterday, I kept trying to eyeball where the snowline was on the mountains, and it looked iffy. I was going to hit snow above 7,000 feet. The question now was: how much snow, and whether it was going to be icy, soft, or something in between?
I’d spent some time in my tent last night reading over the comments in FarOut, and the 2025 thru-hikers were talking about glissading down the north side of Devils Peak in early July last year! 2026 was definitely a lower snow year, but I wasn’t going to pretend that Oregon was devoid of snow in May. The high peaks like South Sister, Mount Jefferson, and Mt. Hood definitely still had a ton of snow on them. The next lower tier of Oregon peaks, like Mt. McLoughlin and Diamond Peak, still had plenty of snow, too.
But I noted that the snow was beginning to recede on Mt. Thielsen (just north of Crater Lake), and I was only going up to 7,500 feet. So who knew what that meant? If the conditions ahead were too gnarly, I guess I’d just have to turn back toward the Mt. McLoughlin trailhead instead of continuing north toward Crater Lake.
Knife hurdles & Missed turns
As I returned to the PCT this morning, the trail transitioned to red lava rock. Over the next three miles, I gained elevation as I hiked toward my first water source of the day. I’d camped about 8 miles north of my last water source last night, and the next one was another three miles past my camp. So my first order of business was to make it to Snow Lake to fill up my dwindling water bottles.
The morning’s theme over these first miles seemed to be: blowdowns and patchy snow. I was becoming rather annoyed by all the blowdowns, and not just because of the extra effort required to scamble over them with my pack.
Many of these trees that had fallen across the trail over the past season were in the category of blowdowns that I’ve come to call “knife hurdles.” These are the large pine trees that once had branches along their trunks. But at some point after the trees hit the ground, those branches broke off . Maybe it was a deer jumping over the trees. Or hikers grabbing onto the branches to balance themselves. Or just the brittleness of the dry wood over time.
Once broken, each branch remnant seemed to have a sharp, jagged end that would pierce you like an inmate with a shiv. Thus, each time I climbed over a fallen tree, I not only had to focus on making it over to the other side, but I also had to avoid getting stabbed by one of those sharp protruding “knives” that now stuck out, trying to stab me in the leg.
On the brighter side, I was also treated to some views of the Sky Lakes down in the basin below the east side of the PCT. The water seemed to shimmer in the morning sunshine like sapphires in a soft bed of pine trees.
I continued uphill to an overlook with even better views of the Sky Lake Wilderness, eventually reaching a place where even Upper Klamath Lake was visible in the distance. Meanwhile, elk prints dotted the PCT and small purple wildflowers seemed to line my route to the next blowdown I needed to hurdle over or detour around.
Up ahead, Luther Peak towered over the trail, and it seemed to be completely devoid of snow. Meanwhile, I was coming to some signs on a tree. I should have checked my map at this point, but I didn’t. I merely glanced up at a tree above me and saw the wooden signs that read: Pacific Crest Trail and Divide Trail. The trail heading off to my left (which I presumed was the Divide Trail) was covered in snow, while the trail I was currently hiking on seemed snow-free.
If I’d paid closer attention, I might have noticed that someone had drawn arrows on the PCT sign, but the arrows only pointed toward the direction I’d come from. I’d glanced up so quickly that I mistakenly thought the arrows went in both directions, and I’d continued hiking straight ahead onto the Divide Trail. It only took me about 0.2 miles to realize my error. The route was becoming much fainter than the PCT had been, and I was losing elevation as I headed toward the Sky Lakes Basin. This had to be wrong.
I reluctantly unlocked my phone and realized I should have made a left turn back at the junction. The snow-covered trail I’d been trying to avoid was the PCT. Sigh. Time to backtrack.
Sketchy Snow
The next quarter mile of the PCT was not my idea of fun. The snow covering the trail was icy and slick this morning. I would have made quick work of it with my microspikes, but it was far more treacherous without traction. My trail runners were no match for the morning snow.
I don’t mind hiking on top of snow piles. But that feeling changes when it’s icy snow spilling down the slope. One wrong step could send you sliding down a hillside toward rocks or trees. I wasn’t going to risk tragedy here, so I spent an inordinate amount of time climbing up the steep slopes to get around the snow blocking my forward progress.
Luckily, the PCT changed directions and returned to the sunshine after just a quarter mile. The sketchy snow was behind me, and a rocky trail filled its place as I headed across a flat ridge. Behind me, Mt. Thielsen and even Mt. Shasta rose skyward and formed snow-covered prominent triangles to my south.
Eventually, I hit the junction for Snow Lake, where I could finally get water. I briefly worried this side trail would lead me down to the lakes in the basin that sat several hundred feet below Luther Peak. But I needed water, so what was I to do?
Much to my surprise, Snow Lake didn’t require a huge drop in elevation. It was hidden about 50 vertical feet below the ridge that the PCT sat on, and the water was super clear and mosquito-free at this hour. There wasn’t even any of its namesake snow beside this lake at 6,600 feet elevation.
Dance with the Devil
Once I returned to the PCT, I set my focus on the bigger challenge up ahead. The day’s high point was just 2.5 miles away. If I had to turn back and retrace my steps south, I would probably make that decision within the next 60 to 90 minutes. This was the make-or-break moment with the snow. The next few miles would take me up to 7,400 feet in elevation and decide my fate.
The initial bit of trail was still rocky and took me around the backside of a Shale Butte. There wasn’t much mystery to how this summit got its name. Gray boulders of all sizes lined the slopes and the path itself seemed to be on crushed shale.
I’d started the morning wearing my hiking pants, and I now desperately wanted to change into shorts as the cloudless sky warmed overhead. The temperature was going to climb into the 70s today. But I knew I needed to hold off changing until I made it past Devils Peak and the obstacles that lay ahead.
Patchy snow emerged again as the PCT curved east below Lucifer Peak. This snow was far easier to cross than the snow near the Divide Trail junction this morning. The trail was above the treeline and in direct sunlight, which naturally softened the snow. And it didn’t spill over the trail to the same extent that it had earlier. This allowed me to walk directly over the patches instead of detouring around the snow at the abyssmally slow pace that had been required an hour ago.
Much to my delight, three-inch-wide yellow mountain pasqueflowers emerged from small crevices between the shale pieces. It never ceases to amaze me to see bright little pops of color on exposed, higher-elevation trails like this. It’s one of the sights that regularly brought a smile to my face on the Colorado Trail back in 2024.
And being out on the trail early, while the snow is melting, is the only time to see this particular wildflower in its early bloom phase. Later this summer, these “western anemones” will transition into feathery plumes that look like something straight out of a Dr. Seuss book, as they line the PCT. So I’m counting myself super lucky to see them in this stage of bloom.
Once I made it beyond Lucifer Peak, I reached the trail junction that led down to the Seven Lakes Basin. This trail is a popular detour for PCT hikers when the snow on Devils Peak is too high. But the Seven Lakes Trail looked to be in less-than-ideal condition as I peered down it. Snow was spilling over the trail as it wound down the north side of Lucifer Peak and back into the shade of the trees.
I’ll keep this detour in my back pocket as a possibility. But was it really any better than continuing the next half-mile up to Devils Peak? It looked just as sketchy as the snow I had to detour around near the Divide Trail. Meanwhile, the exposed PCT was mostly snow-free as it continued east toward Devils Peak.
Ten minutes later, I crested the shoulder of Devils Peak, and I had my answer to the big question of the day. The craggy summit above me was snow-free, but the northern slope where the PCT should have been was still covered in a solid 3-4 feet of snow! There was no visible trail whatsoever! What’s more, the mountain looked like a steep ski slope punctuated by the tops of green trees.
I eyed the snow below and tried to calculate if I could safely get down. I’d definitely gone down worse in crampons. But I didn’t have crampons or even microspikes. And there was zero chance I was going to risk glissading down this slope without the benefit of an ice axe to help slow my descent. I didn’t want to crash into one of those trees at 15-20 mph.
The missing section of the PCT below Devils Peak had to be at least 0.75 miles long. If the snow was soft enough, I should be able to cut my own switchbacks down. I’d have to kick every step in, but I could probably sidestep down this steep slope even in trail runners.
I debated my options while standing atop the ridge. Backtracking to the Seven Lakes Trail didn’t seem any better than breaking trail down the north side of Devils Peak. There was still plenty of snow on the alternate route, and it might be even more frustrating to try to follow a partially snow-covered Seven Lakes Trail than to make my way down the shortest way to where the snow ended here.
I was going to go for it.
So after filling up on a snack and water, I pulled on my rain pants and double-checked that my Garmin InReach Mini was turned on. If I lost control and slid down this slope, there wasn’t going to be anyone to assist me. The Garmin was my safety net if I broke a leg.
Then I tentatively stepped out the snow and began my descent.
I side-stepped down the slope as I dropped the first 500 vertical feet, then made my way through the trees to where the PCT was supposed to pick back up again. I made it safely to flattish ground, and eventually below the snow line without injury.
HARD Pass on the Mountain Lions
Eventually, the PCT re-emerged from the snow, and I could pick up my pace. By the time I made it to Honeymoon Creek, it was 100% time to strip off my rain pants and change to shorts. The hardest part of this section hike was now in the rearview mirror. All that was left was to hike north.
I looked down at my watch while gathering water at the creek, and I was shocked to see that it was already lunchtime. The combination of blowdowns, sketchy snow on the trail, and making my way down the north side of Devils Peak had taken much longer than I’d expected. It shouldn’t have taken me 5 hours to hike just 9.5 miles. So after a quick lunch break, I loaded up my pack to resume the “knife hurdles” of the PCT as I made my way north once again.
The afternoon took me through more forest, and a meadow before transitioning to dry miles through a large burn scar. In 2021, the Bootleg Fire burned more than 413,000 acres across the Fremont-Winema National Forest south of Crater Lake. This made it the 3rd largest wildfire in Oregon history, but it certainly wasn’t the first (or last) to come through here in recent years.
I checked my maps regularly to see how many miles I’d come since Honeymoon Creek. I couldn’t risk walking past the water source that sat 16 miles into my day. There were supposed to be two ponds about 0.2 miles off the trail, and that would be the last time I’d see water for the remainder of this section hike. The next possible source was 13 miles later, when I reached Mazama Village inside Crater Lake National Park.
The upcoming ponds weren’t fed by streams running through the burn scar. They seemed to be just two depressions that seasonally filled up with snowmelt and rain. I’d scrolled ahead to read the FarOut comments about the ponds back during lunch, and the general consensus from prior PCT hikers was that the farther pond (which had been dubbed pond #2) was much better in terms of water quality over the closer one (pond #1)
Each hiker seemed to second this opinion, but my favorite comment was the one that read: “Pond #1 has 6 baby-daddies & spends the child support on bad tattoos & cigarettes. Pond #2 drives a Volvo & has dental coverage.” With that recommendation, I had to see both ponds just to compare the quality.
Pond #2 was, indeed, the better water source. It was surrounded by boulders and flat areas, which made it tempting to camp nearby and have easy water tonight and tomorrow morning. But it was still early enough in the evening that I knew I should hike a bit farther and cut my mileage for tomorrow.
According to the map, there were four established camps ahead, spaced roughly a mile apart. I already knew I was 100% going to avoid the first campsite. Last October, some hikers put comments in FarOut claiming that a mountain lion had come through their camp. They also reported that a day hiker saw the mountain lion in the vicinity. So, the first campsite was a hard pass in my book. I was camping solo and didn’t need that hassle.
The next campsite, two miles away from the pond, seemed like a better idea. It filled the sweet spot. It wasn’t too far to lug the three liters of water I was currently carrying for the remainder of my hike. But it was farther from the ponds that might attract wildlife, such as mountain lions, deer, elk, and other animals.
Unfortunately, as I approached campsite #2, I began noticing animal prints along the trail ahead of me. Most of them were deer tracks, but there were definitely some fresh cat tracks, too! I took a photo of six or seven perfect mountain lion prints in the dirt to document them. And then I kept walking. I wasn’t making camp here at camp #2 either.
(Note: Once I was in my tent this evening, I went into my iPhone to review my photo album for the day. That’s when I realized the picture of the mountain tracks was missing! The only thing I can figure out is that my finger missed the photo-taking button. What a bummer!)
Campsite #3 was equally unacceptable. There were no mountain lion tracks around, but the camp was right in the middle of a burn area with dozens of widow makers near every flat spot.
And so I continued walking, with my 3 liters of water weighing me down. During my fourth mile, the PCT wound around a large hill called Goose Egg and climbed up to campsite #4. This final site was up on a ridge, with views to the east and west and a nice breeze to help keep the pesky mosquitoes away.
I hadn’t wanted to hike four miles beyond the ponds this evening, but what other choice did I realistically have? I wanted a safe campsite where I didn’t have a high risk of being eaten by a mountain lion or crushed by a burnt tree falling to the ground. And so, I ended up hiking a 20-mile day.
Campsite #4 brought me within two miles of the southern boundary of Crater Lake. I still had 8.5 miles before I’d reach the trailhead, plus another one-mile road walk on Crater Lake Highway (OR-62) to Mazama Village where I’d arranged for Keith to pick me up tomorrow.
But those two meager miles between my campsite and the Crater Lake boundary were all that remained of my PCT gap in the Sky Lake Wilderness. Everything beyond that boundary repeated the miles I hiked with Poledork three years ago, right before she got injured. Tomorrow will be dry, but it should be easy as pie.
