July 31, 2018. From Oroville to Goodenough Mountain.
Not sure whether I’ve done the math here before, but I generally pack about 2 1/2 pounds of food per day. Seven days of food is thus 21 pounds.
I bring this up because there is a “taxi” service that could take me from the motel over 28 miles of paved roads to the start of a dirt road incline leading to the mountains. Given pack weight, temperatures around 100, and scenic value (nil), I broke down and took the taxi.
It was $40 for about 45 minutes through arid canyon country. Dan, the driver, seemed to only give hikers lifts. He refused to go up the dirt road that rose out of the canyon saying the road was too rough for his sedan.
I got dropped at the bottom of the Chopaka road. The air was smokey and warm, the road steep, and the valley below a sprawling cattle operation. I huffed and puffed my way up the hill and noted how very smooth the road was. If I were an entrepreneur in Oroville, I would offer rides up to the trail junction for $50.
Eerily, I was getting water, and I heard a strange whirring sound. I looked uphill for the source. It was two guys on motorcycles rolling downhill with their engines off. They were clad in black and did not acknowledge me.
Around 11:30 I left the dirt road and followed an abandoned jeep trail. I would catch glimpses of footprints and could see Jackson’s.
I passed an abandoned mine and cabin. Later, there was also an abandoned cowboy cabin in the appropriately named beef pasture. Cabins have an irresistible draw to Americans, conveying comfort, coziness, and peace. In reality, they were often harsh places of respite for hardworking folks at the fringe.
The trail basically disappeared heading uphill in a meadow. Being an overachiever, I walked a quarter mile uphill further than I needed to. It was cooler in the mountains, but still the temp must’ve been upper 80s.
Thankfully, a beautiful developed spring was on the route. The water was so refreshing and cold. I downed a liter and a half, figuring I would rather carry the water in me than on me.
The trail got worse. Basically it was an abandoned jeep road that was crisscrossed by cow paths. At some point, it joined a real road. I decided to stay on the unabandoned road and it looked like it would intercept the next main route. Even when the road turned severely in the other direction, I rationalized that I was at least walking faster than I would’ve been on the official route. Eventually, my long-cut turned out ok, adding only an extra mile and a few hundred more feet in uphill elevation, the cost of stubbornness.
After the trail/road leveled out some, the wind picked up from the west and the temperature dropped a bit. The mosquitoes were gone. Unfortunately, that was because the flies were so pervasive no living thing remained for the mosquitoes to eat.
I passed a very impressive campground developed by the Okanogan Valley Back Country Horsemen, the same organization that built out Whistler Canyon and also the Fourth of July Trail. These guys were busy. And they did great work. They weren’t horsing around. (Sorry, that sounded really funny in my trail mind.)
After meandering on a wide dusty trail, I eventually came to another burn area. I needed to pass through this and climb to my targeted campsite: a saddle high up in Pasayten Wilderness.
Remarkably, the trail through the burn was good. At 6:00, I hydrated my dinner and tanked up on water, knowing I was sleeping up high. The small stream had some big trout.
I climbed Goodenough Mountain. The trail was clear at the start. I was glad that I was able to steadily climb despite a long day, heavy food, and four liters of water. About halfway up, though, it all went to hell in a hand basket. Some hikers went one way, the cows another. Fortunately, I guessed right: I went with the cows.
Cutting across the grassy face of the mountain, I came across some small springs.
Then, I ran into a small herd of cows and calfs. We danced the timeless dance of them running up the trail, me eventually catching up with them, and repeat. However, one of the cows was at the evolutionary vanguard and led the herd off the trail. Better yet, this was right before the trail led to a refurbished spring with a water tank and cold water.
Around 7:30 I reached the edge of the Wilderness.
I was exhausted, but needed to get a good campsite. This was a bit of a challenge because the top of the mountain had been burned in the fire. Combine standing dead, burned trees with the winds common on a mountain top, and camp selection gets tricky. At times like this I wished I had paid closer attention in geometry so I could figure where trees would fall and where I would be clear.
Eventually, I found a place about 100 feet off the trail. Ironically, Jackson’s footprints were there, too. He may have been looking for a campsite, but for sure he was likely taking a look at the smoke plume from the Canadian fire.
There were some interesting sunset pictures. Fortunately, the strong western wind died down and I fell asleep up high in the charred forest waiting for the moon to rise.
backpacking over the hill 