July 26, 2018. Cougar Creek to Bonaparte Lake Resort.
Leaving behind my subterranean mystery, I scooted down the gravel road with a skip in my step. See, I was going to be at a restaurant in just a few hours.
Out of the forested Cougar Creek valley I climbed to higher grassland country. There was a gorgeous old ranch there.
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Also, the remnants of an old school.
Leaving the grassland I passed the largest larch tree I have seen on this trip. It had to be 80 feet tall.
Eventually I entered a forested area where the mosquitoes were vicious. For the first time in weeks, I stopped hiking to put on repellant.
The PNT official route was supposed to veer off this empty road and angle towards the resort on an abandoned road. I chose to stay on a perfectly good unabandoned road that went straight to the resort.
They had my resupply package. On an impulse, I purchased a tent site for the night. I had a designated spot with a picnic table and access to restrooms and a warm shower.
I ate a huge breakfast, showered and then lazily soaked my legs in the lake. No fish died.
Since leaving Northport, there have been two types of military aircraft on a daily basis. First, there are fighter jets that sometimes have exercises. I recall watching a couple of very aggressive moves on one day where a low flying jet flew through a valley and then went quickly up to intercept a plane coming towards me.
Second, there must be some stealth bombers practicing. You can clearly hear the plane. But when you look up and follow the sound and project forward, you don’t see a plane. A commercial aircraft is easy to spot this way on a clear day. Even if there are no contrails, the plane is easy to see. Only once was I able to see a bomber. It was late and the sun was low in the horizon and somehow the sunlight illuminated the underside so I could see it for about ten seconds.
I mention this because I was lazily soaking my legs in Bonaparte Lake when I heard one of the fighter jets. It sounded like it was approaching. The sound got louder until the jet roared overhead only 100 or 200 feet above. It was fast, loud, and such a contrast to the idyllic lake.
Under the category of “No way!” I went over to the resort restaurant for dinner at 6:00. I walk in and there’s a big sign saying “closed.” I asked the server why. She said the cook sliced his finger badly and had to go for stitches. In remote locations like this, there is no backup. One thing I’ve learned backpacking is to not react emotionally, instead just honestly stating my situation. “I’m staying here tonight. I am backpacking and only have two dinners to get me 50 miles to Oroville. I was counting on a meal here. Do you have any ideas on what I should do?” The server said she was not allowed to cook, but there were some veggies for a salad. I said that was perfect. She ended up making a delicious salad with ham and avocado to boot.
A PNT backpacker came in. They gave him the bad news about the kitchen. They served him a beer and he bought a bag of Doritos. I walked out with him, asking him questions about the trail. Since I was clean shaven, I’m sure he thought I was just a pesky old guy.
I went back to my tent site. While it was ideal for much of the day, unfortunately the RV closest to my tent site turned out to be the host location for some large family reunion. A whole family of RVers! They were mostly older, so many headed off to bed at 8 or 9. The hardcore drinkers, of course, stayed on and got much louder but made even less sense. To my relief, they shut themselves down at 10:00 sharp with “good nights” shouted to each other five feet apart.
I slept ok and felt pretty good having eaten, showered, and rested.
backpacking over the hill 