Day 42. August 7.
I love being an experienced, smooth, sophisticated backpacker. I am confident. I don’t need to impress anybody but myself and then just brag about it a little on my blog. This was going to be one of those days. Set alarm for 4:00 am. Break camp. Hike by headlamp early to avoid heat. Stroll into resupply town early.
The plan worked flawlessly up to the point when my headlamp batteries failed as I was taking down my tent. Fumbling around in the dark, I slowly got everything stowed and got walking. However, I was hesitant to hike very fast for fear of tripping.
Eventually, as the first rays of sun started lighting the way, I was able to pick up my pace. But then I was captivated by the sunrise on Shasta and stopped to take too many photos. Later, I came across a ridge where clouds were blowing up and over from the valley below. I experimented with the time lapse feature on my phone and burned a good 30 minutes.
I was surprised at how much uphill there was initially to get down to Seiad Valley. I was basically going to drop a mile in elevation. After a steady climb in the early morning, I finally started heading down.
The temperature was rising and the tree cover disappeared the further down I went. There was one slow, spring on the side of the hill and it provided an amazing break. A slow dribble of icy spring water is a welcome diversion on a hot day with little shade.
I came across a thistle plant that scared me. It was about four feet high, had red flowers, and was white. To me it looked like a fake Christmas tree at first glance.
I finally reached the valley floor around 3:00. It was flaming hot, around 95 F. In 5th grade science you are taught heat rises. In hiking, heat in a valley is always the hottest.
The Seiad Valley is a land of controversy. There is the new upstart Wildwood Tavern. A former local came back, fixed up the old watering hole and aggressively recruited the PCT backpackers. It featured overnight camping, showers, food, alcohol, and a “cool vibe” according to Guthook. At my age, a cool vibe means the refrigerator is making noise and needs service.
Countering this is the establishment of a cafe open for breakfast and lunch, a convenience store that has accepted hiker resupply packages for ages, and an odd, small RV campsite that hosts backpackers providing showers, tent sites, and a “clubhouse” of sorts.
I walked past the Wildwood tavern and made a bee line to get my resupply package. Entering the convenience store, an ancient lady croaked “backpack outside.” No please, just a command. The store smelled of mildew, decay, and sadness. I think she might’ve, too. I bought a beverage and got my package and left. It appeared I was the only one in town wearing a mask.
The RV camp offered backpackers laundry, tent sites, and showers. I secured a site and explored my resupply to see if there were gaps needing a supplement from the sad store. The shower at the RV park was, alas, sad. I skipped laundry.
Since the cafe attached to the convenience store only served breakfast and lunch, the only dinner choice was Wildwood.
I waddled down with my mask. I was told by a very young person on the porch that the tavern had its license revoked, was operating as a church, and if I wanted dinner I would have to eat it on the porch. Oh, and the dinner choices were vegetarian jambalaya or non-vegetarian jambalaya. It was 5:15 and dinner would not be served until 6:30, so I ordered a beer and sat on the porch, talking to a couple backpackers
A group of wealthy Bay area residents pulled up at 6:15 in a bus-like vehicle. They got out and sat at a big table on the porch. They were served wine, appetizers, and dinner. Off to the side, the other dinner-seeking backpacker and I waited as the Bay area folks got drunker, louder, and less coherent. And they produced a ukulele and started playing all the best ukulele hits which, as you might guess, are none. (To my unsophisticated ear, ukuleles sound like the dwarf love child of a guitar and banjo being played inside a wooden box or small bathroom. I don’t care for it.)
As the loud group was losing speed and diction, the server came by. It was almost 7:30. I asked when I would get my dinner. Taken aback, she asked “You wanted dinner?” I was going to offer a smart aleck reply about how I had answered in the affirmative when she asked me the exact same question two hours ago, but I did take pity on her.
I finally got my dinner. It was a bowl of rice, two slices of “sausage” and one tail-on shrimp. Honestly, I think I would’ve been better off with rice-a-roni and a sliced up hot dog. $15.00 later I was heading back to my tent in an RV park wondering why I look forward to town stops so much.
backpacking over the hill 