June 28, 2023
- Start: Carter Creek (PCT mile 1721)
- End: Telephone utility road (PCT mile 1737.8)
- Distance: 16.8 miles + 0.6-mile water detour
Faint traffic sounds lulled me to sleep quickly last night. We were less than a mile away from I-5 as the crow flies. And for some reason, that background noise was almost as soothing as the more natural noises in this flat meadow beside the trail.
After a night of good sleep, Poledork and I were up before 6 am and enjoying a leisurely breakfast above the creek. I’ve been digging our time out here on the PCT together. We still haven’t run out of things to talk about after two full days of hiking. And, honestly, I feel as if I’m getting to know her so much better.
Our hiking styles are different enough that we are teaching each other new tricks out here. But things are still similar enough that we are pretty darn compatible. That was one of my biggest fears as we began this trip. But I needn’t have worried. Not for a second.
We packed up camp with a bit more efficiency today, though neither of us was in a rush. Our first few miles today would take us uphill above the meadow where we’d camped. Signs beside the trail told us the property on either side was protected by the Southern Oregon Land Conservancy, a non-profit that’s been protecting these natural spaces since the late 1970s.
After a few miles, we passed even more signs. This time, they were from the BLM, advising us of a Peregrine falcon nesting area ahead that might lead to seasonal closures along the trail.
The falcon warning led us to discuss these endangered birds of prey, which often use the same nesting site year after year. We didn’t see any birds though. The only thing of note were the pinecones lining the trail, which reminded me of small pineapples.
I’d come across even larger pinecones out on the Tahoe Rim Trail back in 2020, and it still amazes me that nature can produce such a silly-looking thing. Despite their odd look, pinecones are supposed to represent human enlightenment. And I once read that Ancient Romans even placed a 14-foot bronze sculpture of a pinecone near the Pantheon (which was later relocated to the Vatican)!
PILOT ROCK
Nearly two hours after departing camp, Poledork and I were ready for our first break. We’d just crested a climb, where epic views of Pilot Rock unfolded in front of us.
Pilot Rock is a prominent volcanic plug created when lava broke through a weak spot in the Earth’s crust. The lava hardened on the eastern end of the Siskiyou Mountains, and over time, glacial erosion removed the surrounding rock to expose the plug. So now it stood like a tower 500+ vertical feet above the valley in front of us.
Another hiker, named Coin-Flip was already hanging out too. He’d hiked up there sometime last night before spending the evening up on the flat ridge with just enough space for one or two tents and the best views in the house.
Coin-Flip had a distinct British accent and told us he’d hiked the first 1,500 miles of the PCT (from Mexico to Mt. Shasta) last year. So now, he was attempting to complete the rest of his journey from Mt. Shasta up to the Canadian border.
What a lucky break for him! Starting north of the Sierras this year meant he wouldn’t have to worry about the amazingly high snow in California. He’d already made it through that arduous stretch of trail last year.
As we lingered during our break, I asked Coin-Flip the story behind his trail name. How had he gotten it? He cheerfully explained his name was bestowed upon him after a spate of bad luck early in the California desert last year. As a novice hiker, he was oftentimes faced with two choices:
- Do I take this long detour to get guaranteed water now? Or should I gamble on the rumors of water up ahead?
- Do I set up my tent tonight because there’s rain in the forecast? Or should I cowboy camp because I’m just too tired?
- Do I buy more batteries for my headlamp while I’m in town for this resupply? Or can I make it through one more stretch of trail before I need to change them?
Each time he faced these binary options, he’d inevitably make the wrong choice. He’d flip the coin and lose… 100% of the time.
SODA WILDERNESS
We said goodbye to Coin-Flip and wished him luck on his hike. It was time for us to continue hiking north into the Soda Mountain Wilderness where Poledork and I would spend much of our afternoon today.
As soon as we entered the wilderness area, we hit a touch of overgrown trail. But it soon transitioned back on the lovely gentle path that the PCT is so famous for. Wildflowers were everywhere today. Fuzzy, pink flowers just starting to bud, followed by orange, yellow, and white ones.
When we planned this hike, Poledork shared her concerns about how dry this section of the PCT might get. Several recent years of drought left southern Oregon a dry tinderbox. But that didn’t seem to be as big of an issue this year. Thus far, we haven’t had to go further than 10 miles without a water source, which was a pleasant surprise for both of us.
As if to prove the point, we reached a piped spring just after 11 am, and it was still flowing strong. A half dozen thru-hikers were already down at the spring pulling water, so we meandered up a hillside toward some shade to wait our turn. After a solid 8 miles of hiking, we were ready for lunch and this spot near the spring seemed as good as anywhere for a long rest.
We spent the lunch break coming up with an idea of how much further we intended to go today. Our initial agreement was to hike roughly 15 miles each day so we didn’t overdo it too early into the trip. But as we looked at our map, the options up ahead were a mixed bag.
There was a pond another 10 miles north of us, but neither of us was certain we’d be up for hiking quite that far today. My feet were still pretty chewed up from my Mt. Rainier climb a few days earlier. I had virtually every toe taped up thanks to the blisters acquired from the double-walled boots I’d worn returning down from that 14,411-foot summit. Thus, I was more than eager to keep our mileage on the shorter side.
There were also quite a few unsavory comments about that particular pond from the hikers just ahead of us. The consensus was that there was ample water there, but we’d have to endure mosquitoes, a thick coat of surface algae, and some mud if we wanted to camp anywhere near the water source.
Pushing an 18-mile day to the pond didn’t seem to have any benefits other than super easy access to water. So, we agreed to dial back our mileage and dry camp somewhere shy of the pond. We’d undoubtedly find somewhere flat and suitable near our intended mileage goal. But the price for that flexibility would mean taking a 0.6-mile detour down to Keane Creek Reservoir to get water en route.
TRAIL MAGIC
After lunch, wildflowers and butterflies dotted the sides of the trail. Grassy meadows appeared here and there. And we spotted an a small algae-covered pond in the distance where a group of hikers was having a nice little siesta.
But the real surprise of the afternoon came just before 2 pm when we made our way to the Hobart Bluff Trailhead. There, at the edge of the parking area, sat a vault toilet! You know you are riding the ‘hikertrash express’ when you get as ridiculously excited as I became at the idea of a toilet seat. And there was even TP inside too. Thank you USFS!!!
I was equally happy to see some trash cans at the trailhead. We were only on the third day of our adventure, and I honestly didn’t have that much trash going. I play this little game with myself in the backcountry where I fold up all my used food wrappers, baby wipes, and first aid detritus, and I try to stuff it all into a single item (like a ramen wrapper) just to see how small I can condense my trash’s volume. But that didn’t mean I wanted to carry the weight one more mile than necessary. My trash from the last 48 hours was 100% getting dumped here!
As I slammed the metal critter-proof lid closed on the can, I turned my attention to find our next trailhead on the opposite side of the parking area. My eyes landed on dozens of school-aged kids, and it looked like some sort of summer camp was taking place at the trailhead.
Poledork and I set off walking toward the trailhead, which seemed to be located directly adjacent to their white pop-up tents. And one of the adult counselors called out to us as we passed by.
Did we want some watermelon on this warm June afternoon?? She offered. Oh yes, please!!! And I helped myself to a juicy slice of melon.
The Hobart Bluff Trailhead was ticking all my boxes today! I’d gotten all three “Ts” a hiker could want…a toilet, trash cans, and some trail magic!
KEENE CREEK reservoir
As we returned to the PCT, there was another trail register for us to sign too. I love this particular custom on trail culture. I always get such a kick out of seeing who’s just ahead of me. How many hikers signed the register today? How many are a day ahead of me? What are their names?
When you are out on a long hike, it’s always a treat to meet a hiker who you’ve been behind for days or weeks. You undoubtedly form an image of that person in your mind after seeing their name over and over in the trail registers or shelters. And even though my imagination is almost always wrong, it’s fun to speculate what some hiker named Giggles or Cheez Fingers looks like during my quest to chase them down.
As the heat of the afternoon set in, the journey wasn’t quite as smooth sailing as the morning had been. The trail was now littered with grapefruit-sized rocks. I once heard a hiker on the Arizona Trail refer to these types of rocks as “baby doll heads” because they reminded him of the plastic heads on the dolls we’d played with as children.
For my part though, I was just grateful these rocks didn’t last long. Their unevenness was doing my battered feet no favors, and I didn’t want to become that whiny hiker who turns into horrible company on the trail. Poledork and I had a good thing going and I wanted to keep it that way.
About an hour after departing the Hobart Spring Trailhead, we reached a piped gate and a sign informing us we were now entering the Green Springs Wildlife Sanctuary land. And it wasn’t much longer after that when we caught our first glimpses of the dam and Keene Creek Reservoir below us.
The water was a lovely turquoise under the cloudless summer sky. But it was evident from the views that we’d also have to drop a fair bit of elevation to get down to the water.
Once we made it to the junction with Highway 66, we turned right on the asphalt and headed away from the PCT. From here, we’d have to begin the hot roadwalk east to Keene Creek Reservoir. Each step brought us closer to the lake, but we couldn’t just drop down to the water just anywhere. The slope from the highway was far too steep. To have any chance of actually accessing the water, we need to keep walking until where the road wrapped around the reservoir’s far eastern end.
As the highway curved around, we spotted a small, defunct bridge that seemed to head toward a creek feeding the reservoir. A steep, dirt slope was the only route down to the water. But at least there were some trees at the top of the slope where we could lay our packs, unburdening ourselves from that extra weight before our descent.
On closer inspection, the easiest spot to grab water seemed to be directly under the bridge. So Poledork and I spent the better part of the next half hour filtering water under the roadway and then scooping water to rinse all the dried sweat crystals and dirt off our legs. We looked like two hobos living under the highway, and we probably didn’t smell much different either.
Unfortunately for us, the creek’s water was very silty and it didn’t taste great – even after filtering it. I suspected there was some livestock upstream somewhere or run-off from a local farm. But hobos like us couldn’t afford to be choosy in this situation.
DRY CAMPING
As we scrambled back up the steep dirt slope to return to our packs, I was dreading the roadwalk back up to the PCT. I was now carrying 4.5 liters of water, which added a full 10 pounds to my pack, and it felt far too heavy for comfort after a long day of hiking.
I didn’t need nearly that insane amount of water to dry camp for one evening. But this heavy load wasn’t all for me. After losing one of her water bottles yesterday, Poledork was now down to a mere 2 liters total carrying capacity. So I’d collected 3 liters of water for my needs, and another 1.5 liters to help her out too to ensure we’d have 6.5 liters between us. Better safe than sorry, especially since we hadn’t backpacked enough miles together to dial in how much water we needed as a duo.
On our slow uphill roadwalk back to the trail crossing, Poledork offered to relieve me of the extra weight. But I insisted I was fine. We weren’t going much further and there was no reason I couldn’t carry it. I was just being a crybaby.
Upon rejoining the PCT, we moseyed another 1.3 miles north before calling it a day. We’d made it to a junction with an old telephone utility road. This area seemed as good a place as anything else we were bound to find tonight. The abandoned road meant some relatively flat terrain, and after 17 miles of hiking, we were more than ready to stop and set up camp.
CHANGE OF PLANS
As we settled in for dinner near the old telephone lines, Poledork threw an unexpected curveball at me. She had an idea she wanted me to seriously consider.
We’d initially come out here to hike the PCT miles from the California border up to Crater Lake together. Knowing we’d need to resupply at least once during those 216 miles, we’d pre-arranged to have Keith meet us at Fish Lake Resort (near mile 81). We planned to make a brief pit stop at the resort, grab our resupply packages from Keith, and then continue north to hike the remaining miles.
But now Poledork was having second thoughts about whether that was wise. The high snow year meant there was still a lot of snow in the miles north of Fish Lake. Yes, there were PCT hikers ahead of us who were getting through. But a number of them were also leaving comments in FarOut about needing microspikes near Sky Lakes. More of the shared comments talked about how numerous water sources were still completely frozen over. Those conditions did not sound like fun!
Neither of us was packing traction devices on this trek. And even if we were, my feet were still far too torn up for that kind of mayhem. So Poledork suggested that perhaps we should pause our section hike at Fish Lake to let the summer melt some of the snow up the trail. Keith could drive us home from Fish Lake and then we could return to the trail in two weeks when the conditions were more ideal.
I mulled this idea over in my mind during dinner and I ultimately had to agree with her. Once again, Poledork proved why she was a good hiking partner. My stubborn persistence would have probably led me to just barge ahead with the original plan.
But what was the rush? We weren’t like all the thru-hikers who were trying to squeeze 2,650 miles in before the season ended. We lived locally. We could 100% afford to pick the best part of summer to hike this next section. We didn’t have to “embrace the suck” and hike in the crazy snow.
And with that, we agree to change our plans. We would hike another 36.5 miles to Fish Lake and then head home until the next section of trail thawed out. Hopefully, that temporary pause would also let my toes heal enough that I could enjoy those upcoming miles on the PCT to their fullest!
