I cowboy-camped last night (slept with no tarp over me). My friends, the stars, did not ask where I had been. They simply rose to their appointed places and looked down on me like a mother admiring here child in the crib. My feet are to the west for the first time, so the Milky Way rises over me from above my head. About 2am I see it – the two stars in the neck of Cygnus looking like two fish jumping toward each other – silvery Milky-Way water spraying out behind them.

My sleeping place is elevated above all others – conspicuous like an Aztec altar. However, the sacrifice is cancelled and I am allowed to awaken normally. It seems that I was not worthy. The view from my bed certainly is.

It is 6 miles to the road that leads to Etna. The Wander Women and Jane (now J-Diddy) have left (per usual) at some God-forsaken* hour and are halfway down the mountain by now. I still manage to leave camp at 5:38.

The morning is stunning. It beckons me to stay longer – a Siren in the trees. I will return in time, my love, but first I must attend to hamburgers and beer.

The trail looks ancient today. The stones are square and smooth, like a Roman road through the Pyrenees. The ascent to Etna Summit reminds me of football camp where we run high-stepping drills over low obstacles like tires and hurdles.

Real snow

The imagined snow we learned about last night becomes a sudden reality. Bad snow on the trail is like a giant blowdown, except you cannot go under it because it completely covers the trail. You can sometimes go around it by ascending higher or going lower, but this is often not possible because of other obstacles. That means you must climb up onto this slippery sloping beast and try not to lose you footing and go shooting down the mountain into what ever obstacles there may be (trees, rocks, cliffs).

When I arrive at the first baddie, I see that the Women have made it over. (Their footprints are visible in the snow as they have kicked little shelves into the ice with each step). However, I remember an incident in my youth when my ever-confident father tried to do the same thing down the frozen front steps of our house as his coworker waited for him below. As one foot reared up to kick, the other one slipped, my dad and his briefcase tumbled down the hill. When I did not suppress my laughter at this, my dad shared the pain with me, too.

Wanting to be a better man than my father, I put on my mini spikes even though the Women had shown that, with skill and courage, spikes were not necessary. Also, you know, Florida Man is always lurking in my mind.

The spikes work amazingly. The dig into the icy crust and really give me confidence. I navigate half a dozen of these slopes (mostly in the footsteps of the Women) with the self-assured grace of a bullfighter.

All the way down

The rest of the trip down the mountain is “easy”. Just before I reached the road, I meet these youngsters who were out celebrating their 50-year anniversary. How many people do you know who would I do that?

I had called my hotel from up on the mountain because there was good reception. The hotel owner, Cassie, said I should have no trouble getting a hitch into town since it was still morning. At the road I wait almost 90 minutes before the first car goes by! And it stops. Hallelujah. What a strange state, this California. It was a couple with their dog. When I get in the dog goes out the door on the other side to “prevent an incident”. The wife jumps in the back of the vehicle – a panel van – the dog jumps back in and on we go. Here is my savior:

In town I check into the hotel and start my town chores: showering, blogging, washing clothes, eating enormous quantities of real food, getting more trail food, getting rid of stuff I don’t need (or have grown to hate), replacing worn out clothes, and putting my feet up.

Stan

When I arrive at the hotel, some dude is making breakfast in the kitchen. I think he works there, but he is just another hiker that got off the trail two days ago. He offers me breakfast of sausage links and fried potatoes. OMG. I end up eating mine and most of his – enough for four people.

His name is Stan and he said he has had enough of hiking even though he had planned to go another 100 miles. The trail had given him what he needed, and now he was going home, a better man. I really like him. He is vulnerable without being creepy. We exchange numbers and there is a good chance he will join me again as I near his home in Eugene, Oregon. The trail is a surprising place.

I am changing, too.

Tomorrow I take the advice of my friend, Pete, and take a true zero day (no hiking all day). The Wander Women did the same thing after about two weeks. If they need a zero every now and then, then I must need one to. And I will sleep as long as I want to in the morning!

• June 16
• Starting mile: 1593
• Ending mile: 1599
• Daily PCT miles: 6
• Total PCT miles: 227
• Animals: An Australian Shepherd who only wanted to be pet (not create an incident)

* It is well known among nomadic cultures that the purpose of the sun is to dry one’s tent to avoid overburdening the tent-bearing animals. To leave camp before this, is an affront to God and his purposes.