Wed. June 3, 2026
- Start: Willamette Pass (PCT mile 1909.4)
- End: Somewhere above Lily Lake (PCT mile 1929.5)
- Distance: 20.1 miles
I’m finally done with the southern half of Oregon! It only took me four section hikes (three in 2023 and one in 2026), plus some repeated miles, to reach Willamette Pass and mile 236 of Oregon’s 455 miles.
All the PCT sections I completed up to this point involved 3-5 hours of driving to trailheads in southern Oregon. But for the next 100 miles north, I really only need to access the two PCT trailheads closest to my home in Eugene: Willamette Pass (Highway 58) and Santiam Pass (Highway 20).
I frequently pass both of these trailheads on my way over the Cascades Mountains when I’m heading out to check off a new Oregon CoHP from my bucket list or taking a quick visit to Sisters or Bend. But I’m somewhat ashamed to admit I’ve never hiked this section of the PCT right in my backyard. But now, that’s all about to change.
I should have been walking this morning before 10 am, given that the Willamette Pass trailhead is a mere 72 miles from my home. But despite leaving our house at 6 am, it didn’t work out that way. The extra 2-hour delay was 100% my fault.
I came into this section intending to hike the entire 96 miles from Williamette Pass to Santiam Pass in one shot. But I didn’t want to carry 5 days’ worth of food because I knew I’d encounter hundreds of blowdowns this early in the season. The USFS trail crews were not scheduled to even begin their trail work on this part of the trail until mid- to late-June. That meant I would have to hurdle over every tree that came down across the PCT since last fall. The less weight I was carrying on my back for this endeavor, the easier it would be.
With this in mind, I convinced Keith to drive 50 miles beyond Willamette Pass this morning so I could drop a food cache at Elk Lake. This way, I could head into the Deschutes National Forest with a moderately light pack, carrying only 2.5 days’ worth of food and picking up the rest mid-hike. But that detour to cache my food meant 100 miles of extra driving (round-trip) before I could even begin hiking.
Before beginning this section, I also made some minor adjustments to my packing list. I’d been almost too warm at camp during my recent section through the Sky Lakes Wilderness before Memorial Day. So I swapped out my 10-degree quilt for my lighter summer-weight (30-degree) quilt to cut 8 ounces off my base weight, and I downgraded my rain jacket to a lighter version to drop another 6 ounces.
These substitutions helped offset the addition of some extra gear. I’d added my microspikes (just in case I encountered more sketchy snow spilling across the trail) and my 20,000 mAh power bank for this longer 5-day stretch of trail.
Yet the most important gear change during the 10 days between my last section and this one was treating my hiking clothes, shoes, pack, and tent with permethrin. I didn’t want a repeat of the tick bite on my last section. I still didn’t seem to have any obvious symptoms of Lyme disease or Rocky Mountain spotted fever during my time off trail. And I was hoping this invisible layer of protection would repel any other PCT ticks hiding in the woods.
ROSARY LAKES
By the time we finished dropping my food cache and returned to the Willamette Trailhead, I was itching to get hiking. Those first few miles were a repeat for me because I’d done more than one day hike around here. Thus, I knew it would be an easy climb through the forest, following the blue diamond markers tacked to the trees.
Just before I reached Lower Rosary Lake, I crossed paths with the only people I would see today: one solo trail runner and one hiker with his dog. It was still only the first week of June, and way too early in the hiking season to see any PCT thru-hikers yet. The bubble is just getting to Kennedy Meadows and just entering the Sierra around this point in the hiking season. They won’t see Oregon for at least another 6 weeks, which means no crowds!
Lower Rosary Lake was the first (and the largest) of the three lakes clustered on this section of trail. The water looked as blue as the sky, but despite its clarity, I had zero doubts it was ice-cold. But I didn’t plan to find out firsthand. I’ve never been one of those hikers who loves to swim in lakes during my hikes, even on a warm day.
Less than a mile later, I was hiking past Middle Rosary Lake, which sat directly under Pulpit Rock. The water here was equally clear, but a more aqua-blue than the deep sapphire blue of the larger lake.
As I continued on toward Upper Rosary Lake (the third and final lake of the series), I caught sight of two brightly colored Montbell tents pitched on the small stretch of forest between the two lakes.
This was where one of my earlier day hikes ended a few years back, when I came out here with some family members. My brother-in-law is not an avid hiker, so getting him to venture 3 miles from the trailhead was a major victory. Then we sat down to enjoy a picnic lunch on the lake’s shore before returning to our car.
Today, I wouldn’t be turning back or going home to my soft bed. I was hiking north along the edge of the Deschutes National Forest toward more lakes and the backbone of the Cascades.
The next 2 miles of the PCT involved a moderate climb above the lakes to a trail junction. Metal signs pointed left toward the downhill ski lift on the backside of Williamette Pass Ski Resort. This section of the trail doubles as a Nordic skiing route in the winter months, which is one reason it has such an enjoyable uphill grade.
Once I made it to the top of the climb, a small vista offered me some epic views of all the lakes to my south. I could see the three Rosary Lakes immediately below me peeking out from the trees. A bit farther south was Odell Lake (which many PCT hikers informally refer to as Shelter Cove because of the Shelter Cove Resort that holds hikers’ resupply packages). And in the distance, I could even make out the distinctive orange shoreline that surrounds Crescent Lake.
This is not the AT
Around 6 miles into my day, I came to a sign nailed to a tree announcing the Maiden Peak Ski Shelter. The sign had an arrow pointing into the forest, and I debated whether to follow it. It was noon already, and while I’m accustomed to hiking much farther before my lunch break, the clock doesn’t lie. It was lunchtime already, and my stomach was beginning to grumble.
The shelter seemed as good a stopping point as anything else, so I detoured several hundred yards into the woods to find it. I was expecting a three-sided lean-to shelter like the ones I’d frequented during so many lunch breaks on my AT thru-hike in 2019. However, this shelter was nothing like that picture in my mind.
The Maiden Peak Shelter was more like a rustic log cabin. It was fully enclosed, had large windows, and a metal stovepipe poked out of the shingled roof. This wasn’t a hiker hut. It was a serious 4-season snow cabin that hikers or backcountry skiers could use year-round!
I made my way to the porch for a better look and found a 4-foot-high pile of stacked wood beside the entrance. Ok, this shelter is downright bougie! As I unlocked the door to peek inside, I was more astounded. There was a table with folding chairs in the center, raised sleeping platforms and benches on one side of the cabin, a food prep area on the opposite side, and a wood-burning stove near the entrance.
An engraved sign above the door said that the shelter was constructed by the Eugene Chapter of the Oregon Nordic Ski Club and other volunteers, in cooperation with the U.S. Forest Service. If this is how the Nordic skiers roll, I may need to quit backpacking and take up skiing!
Although I ended up eating outside under the shade of the porch, I did take a moment to peruse the visitor register. Six hikers had come through in May, but I was the first one to sign in June. The most interesting entry was from a hiker named Taichi, who self-identified as a PCT hiker from Japan. May was awfully early to attempt a hike here. Based on the comments, it appeared as if Taichi continued north toward Charlton Lake and Elk Lake on May 6, 2026, but returned two days later, reporting there was too much snow on the PCT.
That news didn’t bode well. But then again, Taichi’s entry was almost a month old. Surely the conditions have improved since then. This shelter sits at an elevation of 6,000 feet, and there was no snow here. Yet this warning about the trail conditions made me wonder what lay ahead to me in early June.
Round 1 to the blowndown
After lunch, the trail was mostly flat or downhill as I hiked north toward Bobby Lake. A sign beside the trail told me Bobby Lake was a 1/4-mile detour (each way), which is farther than I prefer to hike for water. But I was beginning to run low, so it was a necessary trip out to the large, clear lake.
Once I arrived at Bobbly Lake, I began to see why this section of the PCT is so popular with day hikers. The lake was blue and clear, with lots of campsites nearby. A person could easily make a quick weekend backpacking trip from Willamette Pass up to Bobby lake and back.
A short while later, the PCT took me directly past a pond, but as I peered over at it, I was glad I had taken the detour out to Bobby Lake instead. This pond was one of those green, scummy ponds where you might accidentally scoop up tadpoles or salamanders while gathering water. No thanks!
This was followed by four miles of uphill hiking and the beginning of a section of trail covered with blowdowns. I didn’t make it until 2:30 pm on my first day of this section hike before scraping the inside of my leg on a broken branch while hurdling over the trees. At first, I didn’t think anything of the injury, but then blood began dripping down my thigh. It looked like I’d lost round 1 with the blowdowns.
windy afternoon
The clear, crisp day transitioned to a cold, windy afternoon. There was a touch of snow at around 6,600 feet, but it didn’t affect the trail. Maybe all the dreaded snow had all melted out since Taichi’s trek last month.
Light rain began to fall, and I mentally cursed the weatherman. I’d checked the forecast before this trip, and while there was a 65% chance of rain on Saturday, the forecast said there was a 0% chance of rain for today and tomorrow.
I continued walking in the rain and debated whether it was just some passing clouds or whether I really needed to pull out my rain gear. It finally let up after 45 minutes, but the afternoon never warmed up again. The minor storm was being pushed by a solid cold front, and the mountains felt 10 degrees cooler than when I’d begun the trail this morning.
By the time I reached Lake Charlton, I was debating whether to pull on my pants. But I was being lazy, and I didn’t want the seam of my pants to irritate the bloody scrape on my thigh. I’d wait until I got to camp and had a chance to clean up.
Charlton Lake was 17.5 miles north of Willamette Pass, and I’m sure hundreds of hikers have set up camp there over the years. But today was not the day for that. On 1 August 2022, a lightning strike sparked the Cedar Creek Fire, which burned more than 127,000 acres.
What was left behind from the north end of Waldo Lake to Charlton Lake was now completely unsuitable for camping. Widowmakers were everywhere, and the ground was covered with dead trees, branches, and sooty soil. Charlton Lake was still fine as a water source, but I wouldn’t be ending my day until I could get past this burn.
As I continued north toward Charlton Butte, some sort of vibrant orange moss lined the trail. I have no clue what this flora is, but the pop of color made me think of fall rather than the start of summer.
Where to camp??
The trees began to thin out as I hiked closer to Charleton Butte, and soon the terrain seemed to resemble an apocalyptic wasteland. Thin black or gray charred trees poked skyward, and the soil was still loose and ashy. This area was equally bad for setting up camp, so I continued hiking north.
As I rounded a bend in the trail, I almost stepped directly on a walnut-sized toad that seemed to be perfectly camouflaged with the sandy, ashy dirt. My first thought was: where the heck did this guy come from? Lily Lake was over on the north side of Charlton Butte, but the lake was about 800 vertical feet lower than the trail and a solid 1/2-mile away. There’s no way this little toad jumped that entire way.
But another turn in the trail revealed a depression that must have filled with water from recent snowmelt or rain. Ok, that made more sense. I’d never consider drinking from that gross little cesspool, but that pond was probably amphibian heaven up here in this inhospitable environment.
Eventually, I reached the area where the PCT junction with the Harrison Trail should have been. The side trail was gone now, so it must have been destroyed by the fire. But on a positive note, I was now mostly above treeline, with lots of boulders and loose dirt, and nothing big enough to crush me in my tent while I slept. But the absence of trees up here at 6,600 feet also meant there was no protection from the increasing wind.
By this point, I’d hiked 20 miles, and I knew the open area was probably as good as anything I was going to find before sundown. I’d just need to find some good-sized rocks and set up an extra guyline on my tent to keep the strong, cold wind from collapsing it.
As I settled in for the evening, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that I even had a bit of cell signal up in the open wasteland. So I checked the weather forecast one more time and discovered it was likely to drop into the mid-30s tonight. That’s when it hit me that I might have made a huge mistake by swapping out my warm quilt for my summer-weight quilt on this section.
