From 90 to 30 degrees

Palm Springs is the Las Vegas of California. Green grass, fountains, and dream seekers abound in this desert of the Coachella Valley.

After finishing our hike out of the San Jacinto mountains in the cooler morning hours, we met up with Jan's father at the intersection of the PCT and Interstate 10, near the town of Cabazon. While most hikers stay with nearby trail angels Ziggy & the Bear, we luxuriated in a Palm Springs Marriot suite courtesy of Papa Drees' elite membership. Outside, the temperature pushed into the mid-nineties. Inside, we were enjoying air conditioning, showers, guest laundry, and lounging on the sofa wearing only bath towels. As our ever-present hunger became more acute, we ventured out into the midday heat in search of sustenance. Alyssa had a hankering for something with fresh vegetables, Jan for something cold and creamy. First stop: the nearest health food store for the biggest salad they could make and a kombucha. Second stop: frozen yogurt, piled high. Third stop: requisite nap time on our California King-sized hotel bed. 

Capping off this day of recovery had us consuming top shelf margaritas with Jan's dad and enjoying live music and carnitas in the cooling evening air.  We reveled in the decadence, knowing well that the next few days promised a brutal climb out of the desert and into the San Bernardino mountains.

Without the sun streaming in and a cacophony of birdsongs for an alarm clock, a pre-dawn rise in a hotel room is not as easy as one in a tent. Nevertheless, we persevered to drag ourselves off of the clean sheets and onto the trail while the morning cool still prevailed. 

The trail wound up through the low Sonoran Desert of the San Gorgonio pass, steadily climbing up the sandy alluvial terrace and gradually bending south into the foothills of the San Bernardinos. Though the sun beat down out of a cloudless sky, the heat was tempered by a constant breeze. Up and up we curved; past an ancient windfarm on a hill, less than half the machines still turning, the rest standing mute and broken like rows of ancient idols. Here and again headless towers were twisted into grotesque shapes, testament to their catastrophic finale. 

Finally the narrow ravine opened up onto the mile-broad flood plain of Whitewater Creek. Most of the time the creek meanders sedately, no wider than a few feet and no deeper than a couple of inches, the cool waters disappearing into the sands before it reaches the desert floor. However, the breadth of the valley and the size of the boulders scattered in the channel betray the fact that the gentle stream can turn into a roaring muddy torrent in a moment's notice. Under the clear skies we weren't particularly worried about a flood, so we contented ourselves with a nap and a snack in the shade of a gnarled tree.

Up and up we climbed, out of the main channel and along a narrow ridge where strong gusts kept threatening to blow us into the ravine below. Finally we descended into Mission Creek and the first shade in ten miles. Under Cottonwoods and over the sandy cobbled creek bed we walked, tracing the valley upstream and ever higher into the mountains. After twenty miles we found a perfect creek side camp and fell off to sleep just as a bright Jupiter blinked on. 

The next morning the climb continued up Mission Creek, then up steep switchbacks as the Cottonwoods turned to Oak and Pinyon, which turned into enormous Jefferey Pine and Sequoia. Past 6,000 feet, then 7,000 feet - finally the trail levelled off at 9,000 feet. The light began to fade as the log cabins of Coon Creek Camp came into view. No sooner had we stopped moving than the chill wind cut right through our bones. We hurried through dinner and huddled into our down bags for warmth through the thirty degree night. 

The next morning dawned windy and cloudy, and the freezing cold made getting out of tent especially challenging. We finally hit the trail at eight in the morning, our goal for the day being Highway 18, another twenty miles distant. The cold and wind whipped us on as we stomped out the miles, the pines changing almost immediately to manzanita and cactus as we crossed over to the eastern flanks of the mountains. A few Joshua Trees and a bright orange and yellow Western Tanager added highlights of color to the flat light of the cloudy afternoon just as the first flurries blew in. A few miles later we reached the road - twenty miles in less than eight hours, a record pace for us. 

We hitched a ride into Big Bear Lake for our resupply box and to wait out the storm for our first "zero" day of our journey.  Cold beer and hot coffee are helping loosen sore sinews before we return to the trail in the morning, continuing our journey with a single step.