The first hundred miles

We finally got started at 8:30AM at the trailhead outside Campo, CA. The border fence was already radiating a fierce heat off of the rusted steel, even this early in the morning. 

"Well, let's go," and so we went, our 1,900 mile journey beginning with a single step. 

The pace of the first few hundred miles of the trail is governed by the scarcity of water in the desert. A healthy person requires at least one gallon per day to hike in the heat of the day, and a gallon of water  weighs about ten pounds. You can already see that carrying even enough water for only two days becomes oppressively heavy. Our first day was therefore going to be twenty miles, since this was the distance to the first water source on the PCT at Lake Morena. 

The first mile went very quickly. The next next ten reasonably quick, the next four a slog through the afternoon heat, and the last five a misery as our water ran out and the aches and pains of the day began making themselves known. 

We pulled into Lake Morena campground eleven hours later to be greeted with a "slow clap" by the hikers who had arrived before us. We made camp and ate in the dark, and fell into a fitful sleep after deciding to wake up at first light to try and beat the heat of the day. 

Day two, our goal was Mt. Laguna some 23 trail miles away. We started around seven, a little later than we wanted, and wound our way through scrub oak chaparral onto a oak-covered floodplain, eventually crossing under I-8 and beginning a very hot and sweaty climb on mostly shadeless granite slopes. It was already 85 degrees at eleven o'clock when we began looking for a place to siesta to wait out the heat of the day. We eventually came upon one of the few water sources along the route, and a majestic live oak provided shade for us as we napped underneath in the still heat. After a few hours we realized that we needed to get moving, whether we wanted to or not, and after pumping some water from the algae-slicked creek we resumed the hot airless climb up the southern flanks of Mt. Laguna. By this time all manner of heat rashes and foot blisters which had never materialized on our training hikes in temperate Bay Area winter weather began taking their toll. Our pace slowed, then slowed more. Occasional light breezes felt arctic blasts in contrast with the langourous shimmering heat. 

Soon it became apparent that we were not going to make our chosen destination before nightfall, so we aimed to camp at a small creek about four miles  short, up on the flanks on Mt. Laguna. There we camped under the Sycamore and Live Oaks, surrounded by thickets of Poison Oak. Our feet hurt every time we had to stand up, so we opted to lie down and go to sleep as soon as possible, which was just after sunset. Two days and thirty-eight miles down. 

The next morning we awoke with the birds, and decided to postpone hot food and begin hiking immediately so that we could enjoy our breakfast at Burnt Rancheria campground some four miles away. Fresh and driven by hunger, we made great time and were soon enjoying the luxuries of pit toilets, running water, and a picnic table. Our blistering pace continued as we resumed walking after breakfast, climbing north and west. Suddenly, the Jeffrey Pines gave way to a vista of the Cuahilla Valley and Colorado desert five thousand feet below us. The Salton Sea shimmered off to the east about eighty miles. To the northeast, some one hundred miles distant, Mt. San Jacinto squatted like a darker grey phantom against the gray morning haze. We would be there in another ten or so days, after crossing the five intermediate ranges and two hundred miles of desert.

The rest of the hike followed this ridge northward, the desert valleys baking off to our right, but the temperature at our altitude perfectly pleasant. Finally, twenty miles on, our energy ran out, and the last two miles were a slow foot-sore shuffle to our camp for the night at Sunrise Trailhead, the last water for nine miles. 

Again, we nursed sore feet and went to sleep with the sun as the full moon rose to keep watch over the night. 

Day four began early as usual, but with the added knowledge that water on this stretch would be scarce, the terrain steep and hot. We began our descent to the valley below, stopping for a rest at a small spring-fed water source before pressing on for the next water another nine miles on at Highway 78. Finally the trail dropped off the side of the mountain, allowing us to cross the valley to the junction of highways S2 and 78, where we made camp in a dry arroyo under the cottonwood trees. Again, we were asleep with the sun. 

Day five we began our climb up the San Felipe hills, a hot, shadeless and usually barren section of trail. This time, the weather was on our side, with high cirrus clouds keeping the sun at bay while we climbed switchback after switchback, passing stands of blooming agave, ocotillo, barrel, and cholla cactus.  From a distance the hillsides looked lifeless and Martian, but up close they were teeming with spring efflorescence. 

Fifteen or so miles on we came across the first water of the day just as the towering thunderstorms overhead began rumbling ominously. Occasionally pairs of Marine fighter jets would scream over the ridge an arms-length away and roll inverted, diving into the valley beyond. 

We camped along the trail at about mile 96, too foot sore to continue on. 

The wind and fog woke us up with a chill, a welcome contrast to the still heat that marked the first few days. Quickly we passed the one hundred mile marker as the scrub oak and Manzanita transitioned to live oak and Sycamore. At Barrel Springs, the first natural water source in 24 miles, we had oatmeal and watched a huge Tom Turkey pick through the leaf litter in search of his own breakfast. The last eight miles wound though alternating wide open pasture land and oak-shaded ravines, eventually intersecting highway 78 just south of Warner Springs.

Here is where we take our first real rest, at the community center which has been specially opened to serve hikers. 

Palomar Observatory looks down on us from a distant ridge while we enjoy hot dogs, showers, and clean laundry. Today was a short fourteen miles before lunch. Tomorrow we will be back on the trail at dawn, beginning the rest of our journey the same way we do every morning - with a single step.