Reflections in Arcata

We drove down the coast to Arcata to meet Michael Kauffmann, the guy who created this crazy trail. We really enjoyed the trail and prepared some nice things to say. But we also decided not to ask the real question on our minds:  "What were you thinking!".

Michael, a local high school science teacher, has been infatuated with the conifers of this area for years and written two books on the topic. He thru-hiked the Continental Divide Trail in 2002, and in 2009 combined those two passions by mapping out the initial route of the Bigfoot Trail and completing the first thru hike. To date, there have been about 30 people attempt to hike the entire trail.

Michael peppers us with questions about the trail condition and experience. We are able to update him with details, such as that the flagging at Baldy Peak is quite visible and helpful but the flagging west of the Bigfoot Highway has all dropped to the forest floor. Mostly we just wanted to thank him for all of his efforts.  The Bigfoot Trail is purely a volunteer affair, and Michael still shoulders most of the burden.

Wildcat and I continue to reflect on who we would recommend this trail to. The list is short. You need the physical stamina of a twenty or thirty years old, very good outdoor and navigational skills, and incredible persistence. We hear that one pair of hikers this year abandoned their hike the first week on the trail. Between us, we have hiked with or met most of the Triple Crowners, so that is a likely pool of candidates. But beyond that? This trail was by far the most challenging either of us had faced, both physically and skill-wise. It is not to be undertaken casually.

Ocean

We start with a lovely stroll through the Stout Grove of Redwoods, a collection of giants by the river. Easy miles up the Mill Creek Trail pass by, with our first view of Sitka Spruce.

The trail ends at Howland Hills Road, signaling the final five-mile roadwalk to the ocean. Perfectly ripe blackberries conspire to slow us down and enjoy our last couple of hours.

We head to the beach, and WILDCAT wants me to take the first step into the water to finish first. While I protest that we should step in together a wave washes over both of us, answering the question. It is a tie, as it should be.

The end came so fast. The beginning went so slowly, the miles never came easy, but now it is over.

The last day of any hike has never been a big deal to me; it is just another day of hiking. Soon, the Bigfoot Trail will simply become the past, and it will be time to enjoy the new day, whatever that brings. This trail is over, and tomorrow brings something new.

10 miles to the Pacific Ocean, at mile 360.

Redwoods

We are going to slack-pack the rest of the way to the ocean, meeting the RV at night and just carrying lunch and water with us. We climb up and over the Little Bald Hill and drop into the redwoods at the River Trail.

That was our last climb. We really are in the final stretches now. It seems like it went so fast.

8 miles to the River Trail on Smith River, at mile 350.

Slowly, slowly

Despite our earlier concern about making daily miles, now we are in great shape. We decide to finish slowly, taking our time and enjoying the last few days. I reflect that we pushed so hard early on, and now we have some extra time. Perhaps we could have eased up a little and enjoyed it more? But where? So many days we needed to get the extra miles to reach water, to get out of an overgrown area to camp, or to line up for a hot climb early in the morning. I'm not sure where we would have added days. Maybe a zero or two, taking time off for our bodies to rest?

Today we just hike down the road to the Paradise Trailhead and take the afternoon off to swim in the river again and spend time with Fran.

Despite my attempts to love the Altras Lone Peak shoes, I have given up on them. They are completely worn out with glue coming apart, the cushioning smashed to smithereens so that I feel every pebble, torn mesh, worn sole, and just generally beat up. Not to mention they still cause a bloody blister on the top of my foot from a poor quality tongue seam. I toss them to the side and pull out my New Balance shoes. They will get me to the ocean. No more Altras for me.

6 miles to the Paradise Trailhead, to mile 340.

Finishing the last tough section

Five simple miles to the trailhead and Fran with the RV. Good trail and little up or down. Yippee.

We bang out the short miles and ... no Fran.  We had reviewed the plans enough that a misunderstanding is unlikely. We wait a few minutes, eat our last snacks, and consider options. Perhaps the road is blocked, or impassable with the RV. There could be worse options, such as a breakdown, but those are less likely.

We had planned this section for four days, but the overgrowth challenges stretched it out another half day. I had texted a couple of days ago to let her know to expect it us in five days, but don't know if she got the text.

Our best bet is to start walking the road. We are out of water and waiting here doesn't accomplish anything.

The road goes steadily uphill for a couple of miles, then starts down. We begin the slog uphill, fill up water at a creek, and climb.

At the top of the hill, we find the RV!  Fran had driven up these roads and was concerned about overheating the brakes on the downhill. She had not received my text so drove up higher this morning to get a signal, and was able to pick up my text, albeit a little late, and then return to where we met her.

Typically, Fran does not worry too much about me if I'm tardy coming into a checkpoint. Actually, I was only late once on the PCT.  She knows that I will not make foolish decisions and if I am late it is probably for a good reason. She has talked about that before. But this time she is worried since she knows there is no one else on this trail. If I have a problem, there is no one coming up behind me to help. Given that, and the trail conditions of this section, she is already considering calling Search and Rescue. She was pretty worried. Fortunately, she received my text message first.

After a nice afternoon break, we slack-pack on down the road to the Stevenson bridge over the South Fork Smith River and have a nice swim.

12 miles to South Fork Smith River, to mile 335.

The toughest part of the Bigfoot Trail

We have seven miles downhill to Gunbarrel Slide, a seemingly easy hike. But this section is completely overgrown, and the trail is obliterated. Michael Kauffmann warns that this section is tough and requires expert navigation. Buck-30 called it a challenging, very difficult section: "Get ready for hell. Way over head high and very thick brush to push through. At times I had to use everything I had to push up through the brush. I had no problem following the super vague trail as it's not even possible to walk off it." 

This promises to be a tough day. We had a tough slog through overgrown vegetation a week ago, but that was just a half mile or less. I fear this one will go on all day. I hope I haven't built it up too badly and psyched myself out.

As we descend Harrington Mountain, the trail vanishes, and the brush closes in. We slowly pick our way down, but it really is not that bad, not as bad as the last couple of miles last night. I'm glad we got those out of the way yesterday. Next, we start the climb up Baldy Peak, which is pretty much straight up. The trail is horrible, just steep. We take a break at the top, munching Fran's homemade peanut butter cookies. So far so good.

After Baldy Peak, the trail deteriorated. The brush closed in and swallowed up the trail. Michael had recently flagged a route through the brush, tying flagging tape to the top of the brush every ten feet or so. Our task was then to climb up some brush branches to get a view of the next flagging tape, drop back into the dense brush and push forward toward the tape. Once we found the tape, then we would climb up again and spot the next flagging tape, and repeat the process.

The trail was completely insane. I added new rips in my skin and pack. We shoved, pulled, pushed and forced our way through the vegetation. If we were just five feet apart, we couldn't see each other. We barely made any progress. As WILDCAT says, "and then it got worse." We just kept on pushing through.

Eventually, the brush thinned out, though the trail was still invisible until we were near the Gunbarrel Slide. At the bottom, we took a nice break at Harrington Creek, cleaned up and cooked dinner. We talked about what a crazy trail this is, and how insane it is to hike. Who would we recommend this to? Not very many. Yet we both are loving it. Maybe it is not just the trail that is crazy.

With just seven miles for the day, we decide to hike some evening miles and head down the South Fork Smith River Trail. But as always, to go down, you must go up. We take switchbacks up and down, and up again.

The trail gets fainter and fainter. We expected simple trail after Gunbarrel Slide, but we underestimated The Bigfoot Trail again as it became overgrown and strewn with the downfall. As it hung to a cliff, it became narrower and more difficult. Once again, "and then it got worse."  It didn't feel right. I flipped on my GPS and discovered that we had missed a turn - we were on the old, abandoned trail and a new one had taken a switchback up higher. But we were almost halfway through, so going back or forward were about equidistant, and either was likely to take a long time. We continued on, but the trail got worse. Eventually, we reached a stretch just a few inches wide at the top of a cliff a few hundred feet down. That was too dangerous. We reassessed, turned around, and slowly backed our way out.

We finally returned to the missed turn and discovered why. A tree had fallen over the new route right where it turned up the hill, obscuring the switchback. I broke off some of the branches to clear the new trail a little and piled it on the old path. It was still not great, but maybe the next hiker is less likely to get in trouble.

We hiked for a few more miles and found a flat spot to pitch my tent. The mosquitoes again are bad. WILDCAT has permethrin treated clothing that works well with moderate mosquito populations, but these are pretty thick. His tarp won't shield mosquitoes, so I've been offering him to join inside my tarptent the past few nights. Tonight he accepts the offer. The evening is hot, and our two bodies are both radiating lots of heat. It takes a few hours before it cools down enough for good sleep, but at least the mosquitoes are kept at bay.


10 miles to South Fork Smith River, to mile 323.

Uphill, and approaching the worst section of the Bigfoot Trail

We finished the downhill (which seemed like uphill) yesterday, but today is definitely uphill. After following Clear Creek downstream, we are now climbing up the West Fork of Clear Creek, gaining 3,500 feet in six miles. While the trail is okay, after a few miles we enter a dry five-mile stretch. That feeds into tomorrow's challenge, the most overgrown, notoriously horrible section of the Bigfoot Trail. We hike a couple of miles into that mess today, both to reach water and especially to get a head start on a tough hike tomorrow.

The trail evaporates near Harrington Lake, an overgrown lake with no places to lay out a sleeping bag. Someone tied flagging tape to delineate a trail, but much of it was on small twigs that have blown down, so you only see the flagging tape if you step on it. We have a GPS track but it follows a different course than the flagging tape. Neither actually has a trail associated with it so we traverse up and down, cross the outlet of the lake, and work our way towards a stream a mile away. The miles are slow, so we are thankful that we put those miles behind us today.

From here to Gunbarrel Slide, seven miles ahead, will be dry, overgrown, and tough. This is our last challenging section of the Bigfoot Trail, and it threatens to kick our butts.

9 miles to Harrington Mountain, to mile 313.

Swimming at Wilderness Falls

The miles are going by quickly now. Well, our daily mileage is still modest, but we have just 56 miles left. I can see the end coming.

The new socks are amazing. The blisters are going away quickly. Sometimes I'm too cheap!  I should have replaced my old socks a few hundred miles ago. The shoe repair was less successful. There are now blisters on top of blisters, and some fill with blood. I'm staying on top of it to drain and prevent infection. I took another shot at trimming the seam, but am not sure it helped any.

Today is just an easy hike down the West Fork of Clear Creek, except that downhill always seems to mean uphill.  A local we run into even refers to the trail "up" to the waterfall, despite it being downstream. The swimming hole at the waterfall is great, crystal clear and 25 feet deep. I take a quick dip and then retreat to the warm rocks to warm up.

We see several pockets of the carnivorous Darlingtonia pitcher plants, pretty amazing things.

The mosquitoes are bad tonight. Not enough Darlingtonia I guess. It is too hot to climb into my sleeping bag, so I put up my tarptent so that I can lay on top of the pad. That's the first time I pitched a shelter other than the night of the hail storm.

13 miles to a junction of West Fork Clear Creek, to mile 304.

Bushwhacking

Fran records an amusing video as we head back onto the Bigfoot Trail. The trail is simply marked with flagging tape at the side of the road. There is no visible cut through the bushes, no tread. No trail. Just flagging tape. Fran records us plowing into the bushes as we follow the flagging tape.

We follow that for a couple of miles, and then it gets worse. Much worse.

The flagging tape ends at an overgrown meadow. On the other side is an old abandoned road, but in between is overgrown, six foot high, thick brush. We cannot climb under it, nor over it. We push some branches upward, and climb onto others, trying to squeeze between. It is a solid wall to be slowly negotiated. The branches rip new holes in my pack. We cannot see the ground.

At one point, my right foot gets caught under three crossing branches. Standing on other branches on my left foot, I cannot get it free. Then I lose my balance and drop my butt onto the branches that have my right foot pinned. I find it comical, even though I am pretty stuck. I finally find a way to wiggle sideways and free my foot to stand up.

We finally pop out the other side. I have had one memorable bushwhack in my life, on the Oregon coast in salal bush. This was just as extreme, or more so.

We have several new scratches on our legs. Several are rather deep so I treat and bandage them to keep them clean. Blood oozes through the bandages, making them look worse than they really are. I guess I will have to cut back on swimming for a couple of days as they heal. Even a few weeks later, the injuries are still problematic.

13 miles to a small lake above the Lieutenant mountains, to mile 292.

Margarita

Ten easy downhill miles!  Well, downhill in the Bigfoot Trail meaning of the word. WILDCAT knows that when I say we have 500 feet of downhill, it usually starts with a few hundred feet uphill, so we start our downhill with a climb, of course.

Before lunch, we are done with our miles for the day!

Fran surprises me with new socks. My socks are old, wearing thin, with a few holes that I have darned and some that I have not. I slip on the new socks and immediately feel the difference. They are much more slippery. Perhaps that will solve some of the blister problems?

We get cleaned up, and Fran drives us 30 miles to Cave Junction, Oregon. She found that Carlo's Mexican Restaurant claims Margarita's are their specialty. WILDCAT gets his frozen margarita after three failed attempts and 278 miles!

10 miles to Indian Creek on the Bigfoot Highway, to mile 278.

Cinnamon bear and great swimming

As I awake, I notice a beautiful, large cinnamon black bear about fifty feet away, across the creek. She does not see me and quietly gets a drink and then slowly ambles up the hill on the other side. WILDCAT is still asleep, and I choose not to wake him since that might scare the bear away.

Michael Kauffmann notates upcoming Azalea Lake as providing amazing swimming. We take a leisurely morning start and arrive just as the day warms up, and Michael is right. The lake is clear, shallow and warm.  We feel so refreshed and clean after a swim.

My right knee has strengthened so that I rarely wear the knee brace anymore. However, the left knee, the one I had surgery on, is hurting, so I put the brace on it instead. The left knee has very little cartilage, and I do not want to get it inflamed.

The trail holds out in good shape, so the miles are easy. We just might finish this trail yet! With just 100 miles left, and two spare days remaining, we can relax and enjoy it.

16 miles to Tanner Lake, to mile 268.

Boundary Trail

Off to the restaurant for a big breakfast, a hiker tradition in Seiad Valley. Afterward, Fran checks the status of forest fires at the forest ranger office and is told that where we are headed is fine.

I figured out the cause of the blisters on top of my foot. The Altras Lone Peak shoes have a bad seam at the base of the tongue that rubs on the top of the foot. I poke tiny scissors in as best I can and trim off some of the excess fabric. I'm really trying to like these shoes since they are comfortable and have a great toe box. However, they are already showing considerable wear, and seem to have real quality control problems. I had to exchange my first pair due to a poorly cut insole that caused pain and affected my gait, and now a bad seam may be causing blisters on top of the foot.

We try to get an early start since we are facing a steep, long climb back up 4,500 feet in 5.5 miles. For a morning leaving town, we don't do too badly. We met several other hikers in town, plus the ones we partied with last night. We expect some of them to overtake us as we slowly climb up the hill, but none do. They are probably waiting until evening to hike in the cooler weather. We stop at the two springs on the way up the hill and get our shirts wet, and I pour water over my head. We call that turning on the air conditioning.

The smoke gets thicker all day. I trust the outlook provided by the forest ranger. Otherwise, I think I'd be too nervous to continue into possible danger.

We leave the last water source, Lookout Spring, about six miles up. Ten miles up, the Bigfoot Trail turns west onto the Boundary Trail while the Pacific Crest Trail heads east. We depart the PCT, grateful for 71 relatively good miles, but now continuing with a dry 11-mile stretch forcing us to hike until dusk.

16 miles to Lonesome Lake, to mile 252.

Seiad Valley

Last night's storm transitioned into a quiet, dry night. I slept surprisingly well considering the slope and rocks.

Today's destination is Seiad Valley, 18 miles downhill on a good trail. Yeah, that's what I'm talking about.

This area is largely burned just as it has been most of the past couple of days. Several wooden footbridges were destroyed, but we are pleased to find new steel footbridges installed last year. The miles go easily.

Fran is going to meet us at the campground, which WILDCAT and I both assume is the RV park in Seiad Valley. Instead, we find her at Grider Campground, six miles before Seiad Valley. Pleasant surprise! We relax in the shade sipping drinks and eating fresh fruit.  In the evening we slack-pack the miles to Seiad Valley to complete the day's miles and return to Grider Campground for showers and dinner.

Three hikers appear at the camp, thru hikers on the PCT. We have a party with beer, Scotch and wine well into the night.

18 miles to Seiad Valley, to mile 236.

Storm!

I had spotted mackerel clouds two days ago and mentioned to WILDCAT that they can indicate a change in weather two days out. Yesterday we saw mare's tail clouds, which foretell rain one day out. Today we woke to dry thunder and lightning. The lightning seemed to be just between clouds rather than striking the ground, so I just smugly congratulated myself on my weather prediction and ignored it.

Later in the morning, we saw five plumes of smoke below our ridge. Apparently, some of the lightning strikes did, in fact, hit the ground. So much for my powers of observation. They all looked small, maybe just a single tree. Later, I learned from Fran, 21 separate fires were started in the area around Happy Camp. Fortunately, none were serious.

In mid-afternoon, we climbed a ridge and could see dark streaks of rain pouring down to the east. The cloud was headed more or less in our direction, so it bore watching. Then I could feel the temperature drop and the wind come up, typical signs of imminent rain.  I pulled out my poncho and got ready in case it hit us, though I still didn't expect much. After all, the average rainfall for the entire month is just 0.2 inches.

Then the hail hit. Hard! All of the hailstones were at least a half inch across, and some were a full inch. I quickly donned my poncho and Tilley hat, which fortunately has a padded top.

Now that it had hit, it was too late to pitch my shelter. I'd get everything soaked since my tarptent is at the bottom of my pack, having not yet been used on the trip. I'd underestimated the storm, and shelter was no longer an option. We took refuge under a cedar tree for a bit to wait out the storm. Instead, the storm just increased, and the ground turned white. I started to get cold. The only choices when cold are to pitch the tarp and climb into my sleeping bag, which I'd already ruled out, or to keep hiking for warmth. We headed back out into the storm.

At one point, WILDCAT yelled at me to watch out for the trail. At first confused, I soon realized that a flash flood was coming down the trail behind me. I jumped to the side as it steamrolled past. Thanks for the warning!

After the storm passed, we looked for a campsite. Unfortunately, there was nothing even marginally suitable. We continued down to the Cold Spring trail head on a forest road and started to unpack to cook dinner and make camp. A light rain started, so we decided to set up our shelters. I threw everything else back into my pack and grabbed the tarptent. Instantly a fierce wind took off, so our tarps flapped impossibly as we tried to set them up. I abandoned my first site and sought protection from the wind behind a tree. The new location was horribly rocky and sloped, but I could tie off the tarptent to the tree and find refuge. Slowly we wrestled our tarps into submission and slid under. A half hour later, the wind died down and the rain stopped.

What a day!

20 miles to Cold Spring Trailhead, to mile 218.

Burn

We finish off the dry stretch in the morning and enter another one in the evening. Dry camping again.

At one point we crossed over enough snow that the trail played tricks on us. It crisscrossed underneath the snow on a switchback and headed back in the same direction it came from, only higher up the hill. That took a while to figure out!

The views are not as stellar as I remembered in 2004. A huge fire devastated the area in 2014 and we have probably hiked twenty miles in burn with just isolated pockets of trees. One area on the map is designated as Old Growth forest. Now it is just ash. The distant views are still wonderful, but my heart aches at what once was as I plod through the burn.

18 miles to a ridge above Cliff Lake, to mile 198.

Pacific Crest Trail

After finishing the climb up to the PCT this morning, it is like a whole new universe revealed itself. The PCT is wonderful. Visible trail. No debris. Ah, this is what a maintained trail looks like. Water is not an issue until later in the day, when a large stretch before and after Etna is dry. I load up with nine pounds of water.

I absolutely fell in love with this area on my PCT hike in 2004. Rereading my 2004 blog I see I was positively gushing about it. Take a peek:  trailjournals.com/steady

As we approached the crossing of the road to Etna, we both wondered about going into town. Naw, let's get the miles done. Besides, it is notoriously difficult to hitchhike down to town on this remote road. Regardless as we cross the pavement, a local person drives up and offers us a ride to town. We decline, still preferring to make more miles.

I do find that the PCT is more physically challenging than I remembered. This section still has lots of up and down. Maybe it was easier in 2004 since I was thirteen years younger and had already hiked 1,600 miles. Back then, I clocked 25 miles a day through this section. Today we hike 17.

Huge milestone: 180 miles is exactly half way!  We can relax a little on the pace now since we will have two spare days left with half the miles to go. Much better than we faced a week ago!

17 miles to a saddle above Etna, to mile 180.

Island Fire detour

Again, the trail refuses to give up miles easily. The six miles to the RV include faint trail and a 2,000-foot climb over the ridge. But we arrived by late morning.

Fran was all set up in a great campground next to a 220-year-old Sugar Pine. Hot showers! Chilled watermelon!  Iced tea!

We spent the afternoon re-planning the hike. I reviewed all of the maps through the end at Crescent City. There are still plenty of opportunities for the trail to bog us down, including climbs and descents through the most overgrown stretch of trail just a few days from the end.

We face a detour a few miles up the trail. The Island Fire has been burning for a couple of weeks, and while it is not a threat, the Bigfoot Trail is closed for a section ahead. The detour is to cut over to the PCT just before the fire. In fact, the Bigfoot Trail joins the PCT about 21 miles farther ahead anyway and follows it for 42 miles past Seiad Valley. As we study the maps, the detour on Right Hand Fork trail looks dubious. It may be yet another faint, unmaintained trail, and the PCT and Bigfoot are rather far apart where it connects them. We start looking for alternatives.

The irony is that the closed section of the Bigfoot Trail is said to be well maintained and follows a gentle river valley. Arg! We're skipping some of the few easy miles on this blasted trail!

A new plan emerges. The Bigfoot Trail momentarily touches the PCT just three miles past the campsite. Jumping on at that point raises our total on the PCT to about 71 miles instead of the 63 for the detour route, and eliminates the uncertain Right Hand Trail. That also might gain back a half day which would allow us to reduce the incessant push for miles.

The bonus is that this section of the PCT was one of my favorites along the entire PCT in 2004. I'm jazzed!

We set off on the climb in the evening, trying to get most of it out of the way.  We toss our sleeping bags on the ground and cowboy camp about two-thirds of the way up, by a stream.

8 miles to Trail Creek Junction, to mile 163

Another day, another climb

Today is the third of four consecutive climbs. We are again a few miles short of being perfectly lined up, but we are taking all the miles that the trail and our bodies give us. It feels like a hard push more than a recreational walk. I wish we had more spare days and didn't have to push so hard.

Today there is a choice on the climb. The more intense route is up Packer's Peak, while the less intense route is the Lady Gulch trail. Both are big climbs, but going over Packer's Peak adds about 1,500 feet more and is steeper. WILDCAT doesn't yet have his full speed climbing, so we opt for the less strenuous route. That is unusual for me, and I had been planning to hike over Packer's Peak, but the pressure of time is real. The Lady Gulch trail is faint and climbs 2,800 feet, so it is still slow going.

Since water is sometimes infrequent, I start soaking my hiking shirt every time I fill water bottles. I figure that the evaporative cooling is just as good as sweating, and eliminates the need for my body to drink, absorb and then sweat the water. Besides, the cold shock of putting on a damp shirt is fantastic.

My feet continue to blister. I drain them morning, noon, and evening. The blisters on the pads might be getting tougher, as is one inside my little toe. New blisters have started on the top of my foot, just before the big toe. Weird. I've never had blisters there before.

I pretty much put on the knee brace mid-morning every day now. I start each day without the brace to strengthen the knee and then brace it at the first sign of pain.

Fran is waiting with the RV at the base of the next climb. We hoped to get there tonight, but come up about six miles short. We have used about 1.5 of the three pad days, not as bad as it looked at first, but still, that leaves little cushion for the next 200 miles.

13 miles to Trail Gulch Junction, to mile 155.

Scary Snow!

We were warned by another hiker yesterday that the deer here are aggressive and crave salt. Sure enough, WILDCAT woke up this morning to his shirt dripping with deer slobber and two buttons missing. I thought it was stinky before, but now it is truly yukky!

Today's climb is extremely steep, 2,500 feet in just two miles (since we came up short yesterday, it will be 3,000 feet in three miles).  For reference, the Pacific Crest Trail is designed for a maximum 12% grade, while this section is 24%.

We get an early start and begin the climb. With little shade and no water sources, it is still a hot, slow trudge with our packs full of food and water, but we get it done.

Near the top, we meet a family on their way down. Their leader quickly queries if we know about the snow. We stare back with blank faces, asking what snow.

This is one of the areas of the trail that I worried about because of a steep northern slope that would retain snow. A couple of months ago it had nine to eighteen feet of snow. I was quite concerned, so WILDCAT and I both packed our ice axes and crampons. But the melt was very rapid, and so far we had only crossed little snow drifts around 8,000 feet elevation. I had dismissed concern about snow and forgotten all about this area.

The leader said that the north face is covered in snow so travel is extremely dangerous. He spent the prior day scouting out and marking a safe route to the west that weaved around the snow.

Still, we were stunned when we crossed over the top and looked down towards Caribou Lake. An unbroken snowfield dropped about 600 feet directly from the top. Without our ice-axes and crampons, that would be absolute suicide. We began searching to the west for the route that the other hiker had described. The snowfield was contained in a bowl so the slope to the west had a little more sun exposure and less snow. We very carefully picked our way along the jagged rock ridge, occasionally seeing the tracks of the group that came up. For a couple of hours, we slowly progressed down, following narrow bands of rock between the snow, and crossing smaller, safer snow fields.

I couldn't help but wish I had my ice-axe. With that I might have glissaded straight down the snow chute, having a blast and getting down in no time at all.

To get lined up for tomorrow's climb in the morning, we now need to make some serious miles. The climb up and the descent around snow were both very slow going, netting under four miles by early afternoon. The trail out from Caribou Lake is good and well maintained as this is a popular overnight hike with locals, so we circle the lakes and then bang out eight miles to the Big Flat Campground.

As we begin to doze off, just sleeping under the stars in our sleeping bags, I hear a noise and sit up. Just 15 feet away a startled small black bear hurries away in a panic. He obviously thought the camp was abandoned since there were no tents and he came in for a look. He doesn't return all night.

The reality of the challenge of this trail is settling in. The level of skill and fitness required is well beyond any trails that WILDCAT or I have encountered previously. It is fun but in a perverse sort of way.

13 miles to the Big Flat campground, to mile 142.

Climb!

Today starts with a 4,000-foot climb in just 5.5 miles!  It takes us six hours to get to the top.

Just over the top, the conifer diversity explodes. Without even stepping off the trail or searching hard, I identify a dozen different species, including pines, firs, hemlock, spruce, and cedar.

The trail down is overgrown and slow going. It is not clear how many miles we will make today, but the plan was to reach Portuguese Camp at mile 126 so that we are lined up for a major climb in the early morning tomorrow. We might not make it that far, but we want to push hard to line up that climb as best we can. We are in the first of a four day series of stiff climbs, usually with hot southern exposures, so we really want to keep to the plan to avoid hot afternoon climbs. But we can only make whatever miles the trail allows us to make.  As the sun sets, we halt at Stewart Creek, about 1.5 miles short of the target.

13 miles to Stewart Creek, to mile 128