Bill Walker - Skywalker: Highs and Lows on the Pacific Crest Trail

eBook ISBN: 978-1-62112-206-7

My mother, Kathleen Malloy Walker, who has never given in to the surely strong temptation to crane her neck up at me and cry out in horror, What hath I wrought?

This book describes the authors experiences while walking the Pacific Crest Trail and reflects his opinions relating to those experiences. Others may recall these same events differently. Some names and identifying details mentioned in the book have been changed to protect their privacy.

Contents

The most beautiful adventures are not those we go to seek.

Robert Louis Stevenson

I s this the worst youve ever been lost hiking? Lauren suddenly asked me.

It was the afternoon of July 3, 2009. All across America people were heading off in packed cars to barbecues, beaches, and sunny vacations to celebrate the upcoming Independence Day holiday. Lauren and I, however, were confronted with a stunningly contrarian scene. All we could see, for miles on end, was a heavy blanket of snow interspersed with frozen mountain lakes. The last few miles had been up to our waists at times.

Lauren was seventeen years old, and we were hiking together completely by accident. Her mother had heard from a co-worker that his son was planning a hike on the Pacific Crest Trail. Because Lauren had shown some nascent interest in hiking, her mother had inquired perhaps against her better judgmentabout the possibility of Lauren joining her co-workers son. That had led directly to this mess.

Weeks earlier Lauren had joined up with this proposed hiking partner. His name was Pat, and he was a 26-year old male of extraordinary athletic ability. The two of them had set out together on the hardest part of the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT). It is called the High Sierra and reaches the very highest points on the American mainland. By everyones appraisal, Lauren and Pat were making a game effort.

Having a hiking partner allowed them to share several items, including a tent. This critically reduced their backpack weight. However, because they slept in the same tent, there had been some murmurings on the trail grapevine about Pat trysting with the 17-year old Lauren. But I had seen them up close for several days and nights running, and it seemed all business. All about miles.

A hiking partner also reduces ones chances of getting lost. Theoretically. But Pat was perhaps the fastest hiker I had ever seen, despite having a backpack that looked like it was loaded down with sandbags. He appeared so rhapsodic about hiking in this magnificent mountain setting that I had begun to think he was afflicted with the Icarus complex. Pat habitually blasted off ahead of Lauren first thing in the morning. She repeatedly sacrificed breaks, hiking for hours-at-a-time, (earning her the trail name, No Break) to keep up with him. One could objectively say she was being courageous.

At the end of the day, when Pat and Lauren were finally reunited at some distant campsite, he often had a slightly embarrassed look on his facelike he couldnt help himself. Maybe he couldnt. Like so many mortals who had preceded him over the eons, he was utterly in the thrall of the High Sierra.

Long-distance hiking is inherently conducive to mood swings. But on this 3d day of July, my morale was especially fragile. The previous night I had camped alone, about a half-mile ahead of Pat and Lauren. I had gotten up this morning at first light prepared to clear Muir Pass, the last really difficult, snowy pass in the High Sierra. For days I had been anxiously debriefing southbounders passing in the opposite direction about what exactly lay ahead. One after another had reported that the Pass was covered with a thick blanket of snow for miles on each side of the summit.

Not surprisingly, soon after I began trooping this morning, Pat had come jackrabbiting past me.

Wait for Lauren and me, I yelled ahead to him playfully.

Yeah, yeah, he said self-consciously. Ill, uh, see you up at the top.

Yeah, sure!

The biggest problem was simply figuring out where to go. The vast amounts of snowmelt had created more surging streams than I could have ever fathomed. This morning I had been able to follow Pats footprints through the snow along the western edge of a couple of alpine lakes. But as the PCT started up the face of Muir Pass, the placid lakes and footprints gave way to the heavy rush of water crashing down a ravine. I saw footprints on the far side, which meant I needed to somehow get across.

Tentatively, I edged down the icy bank to get to a large rock. But my feet came out from under me, and I did a base-runners slide right into the icy running water. I frantically thrashed around attempting to reach the next icy boulder. I didnt completely careen over, but splashed wildly the last several feet in the rushing current getting to the far side. At least Im over.

When I looked back down the hill I spotted Lauren, scoping around trying to decide on a route. Instinctively, I started waving her to come up my way. Lauren dutifully followed my footprints up the left bank, and soon stood at the precipice of the tumbling rapids.

Here, here, I kept shouting. She looked dubious. For good reason. The spot I was pointing out was shallower, but the current even stronger.

Right there, there, I kept shouting over at her. That rock. Finally, we gave up any cross-stream communication, as she hung in suspense atop a jagged boulder, plotting her next step. Water roared by her on all sides, and she took on plenty of it. But soon enough she, too, was across.

Good goin, I tried encouraging her. Well stick together until we catch up with Pat.

Alright.

When her mother had arranged a hiking partner for her, it was probably just this type of situation she had in mind. But in this case it was just as necessary for me. For starters, we were in one of the most isolated areas in the entire United States. Any kind of civilization was days away in any direction. The biggest problem, though, was that due to a post office glitch I didnt have any maps.

Could I take a quick look at your maps? I asked Lauren.

Pat borrowed them last night, she said. She doesnt have any maps either. We exchanged worried glances.

Well, this must be Helen Lake, I motioned at yet another gorgeous, but frozen, alpine lake. My data book here says its only a half-mile from the summit. Good, she said, sounding relieved. But after another half-mile of humping through the snow, lo and behold, another open expanse of frozen water appeared. The silence was pregnant.

I guess this here is Helen Lake, I finally said in resignation.

Beautiful alpine setting. Hard to believe it is July.

Well, at least we know weve only got a half-mile to the top, she said matter-of-factly.

As long as we dont get lost.

Of course, that was just a fallacy. We had been effectively lost for several miles. Sure, we were following Pats footprints. But Pat was obviously improvising, himself, given that the PCT was completely invisible under the snow. Finally, we followed Pats footprints up to a steep precipice that led off a cliff. I stepped back and looked at Lauren in disbelief. But not because of the steep dropoff.