Day 43 August 8.
Sleeping in the RV park was revelatory. I had never appreciated how there is a hidden slice of America. Specifically, of the 10 RVs permanently moored there, two contained people that must have had chronic diseases. One told me so. I walked past him and rhetorically asked “How are you?” and he responded with the candid answer “I’m dying.” I tried to think of a witty rejoinder, but he doubled down and said “Really, I’m dying” and coughed up some form of lung or throat. The other one was consistently and quietly coughing all night. Depressing, but economically understandable. I suspect the cost differential between assisted living and RV hookup must be considerable.
I hit up the cafe for breakfast. My expectations were low. It seemed all my town meals recently were a combination of average food delivered slowly with sketchy service. Seeing the operation in person, my heart sank.. You basically went to a backdoor and ordered from a cook who wore her mask flopping off one ear. Dining was outside. I sat down as the warm sun rose and promised another hot day. I was joined by another couple that was backpacking and a hungry Harley biker. I got a kick out of the male backpacker. He was dressed as a poster boy of backpacking: Altra running shoes, dirty girl gaiters, beard, sunglasses, second hand polyester button down shirt under a Melly. If you don’t know what a “Melly” is, that’s OK. It is a Melanzana hoody. There is a trendy clothing company called Melanzana. They are based in Leadville, Colorado. They make outdoor clothing and have a cult following. They use a particular design of fleece and make primarily hoodies that seem to have two features: the hoods are large enough to fit over snowboarding helmets and the designs are ugly. Think of a kindergartner’s color choices stiched on to a garment that would fit snugly over an old fashioned diving suit with the metal helmet. Adding to the mystique, the company produces only a set amount of product that they release in batches, creating a scarcity air about them. As far as I can tell, they sell their batch, buy a couple pounds of weed, and think up designs for the next batch that they will get around to making. Of course, I have two of their hoodies, but don’t wear them outside the house. I am, after all, 58.
My admiration for the complete outfit was interrupted by the chef / cook/ waitress bringing me breakfast. It was huge, delicious, and perfect. I gobbled it down, swilled some coffee, and headed out for the long climb out of Seiad Valley.
The hike consists of a walk along a highway for a mile, then some gradually ascending local roads for a few more miles, and then finally getting in to the forest for an elevation gain of about one mile. It was going to get hotter all day.
Initially, I enjoyed the hike. I found some nice traffic signs that had been riddled with bullets. I also found the home of the world’s toughest ground squirrel or chipmunk. It had dug a hole through the asphalt in the road. I thought that was one way to signal other varmints that they should not mess with your nuts.
The trail jumped off roads and went into the forest at a park. I wandered around the park looking for the trail and eventually got my bearings. For the next five hours the trail gradually climbed along a stream (Girder Creek) that got smaller. There were some impressive bridges built across the stream. I was also surprised to see a bald eagle in the narrow valley. Usually they are in open areas near bigger water.
Climbing away from the creek, it was hotter and water sources diminished. I had an interesting bear encounter. I was rounding a hairpin turn on the trail. It was steep hillside at that point. I heard something in the brush above me. I got close to the hillside and took a peek around the corner. It was a black bear cub. That was both cute and frightening. The cub was about 30 feet uphill from me. I dared to pull back a little further to see if I could spot the mom. There was no breeze, so I was hopeful that I would not be seen or smelled. Sure enough, I was able to see the mother bear leading two cubs across the hillside. All three were very focused on looking for food and not me. I was close enough that I might’ve been considered a threat, but I felt like staying put was the best course. After I few minutes I heard them crunch past and I scooted my way up the trail.
There was one section about a mile long where the shrubs had grown over the trail. It was a chore to constantly push through them in the heat. Then, the trail broke to open country and skirted along a ridge. The view was to the west and there was a bit of haze. I thought it might be a pretty sunset. Forest fire smoke is not good, but it can definitely spice up sunrise and sunset.
At last I reached Buckhorn Spring, a reliable water source. Some of the commentary on Guthook was that the deer around the spring were not afraid of humans. There were a few people camped already. I tried to get a site further away from the common campsites on the hopes the deer would hang out in the heavily used spaces. As a reminder, deer become “addicted” to salt. Once they correlate human urine or sweaty trekking pole handles with salt, they are dauntless in their pursuit. So, as the sun was heading down and I was eating dinner, I had no qualms about throwing sticks at the deer that kept circling closer.
While I was getting water, the lady who was trying to set a Fastest Known Time (“FKT”) came through. She declared on social media that she was going to set the FKT for southbound. This struck me as odd. Like saying you were going to run the fastest mile on a track clockwise. Anyhow, I felt sorry for her. Basically she would have to hike 40 miles per day every day to set a record.
I tried to get some sleep, but the deer, about six of them, kept crunching through the trees and swishing through the grass. Laying awake, I increasingly imagined them getting ensnared in the lines I use to stake out my tent. Eventually, I drifted off to sleep around 2:00, but the deer were relentless all night.
backpacking over the hill 