PCT Day 29 – Kennedy Creek Canyon

Yesterday there was a wedding at Kennedy Meadows. It may have been one of the strangest juxtapositions of cultures I have ever experienced. First, it was a Wednesday. There is a logical reason for this: Kennedy Meadows is booked solid on weekends for over a year in advance. But here’s what’s odd. Kennedy Meadows is mainly known as a base for hunters and fisherman. It’s normal customers are the four-wheel-drive set. The wedding was a goth wedding.

Now I actually think a goth wedding would be loads of fun. I applaud the couple for doing something so novel (maybe it’s not). They certainly got some stares from the normal clientele. There were more than a few “Oh my God, did you just see that” referring to the clothes and makeup. I couldn’t have asked for a more entertaining evening.

By 8pm the party was really going. They were laughing and dancing under the trees at the far end of the pasture in front of the lodge. I listened to those joyous sounds until 11pm when the generator to my building stopped and all went dark. Out my window the wedding party was in full swing. Candles on the tables. Lights strung in the trees, blinking as people moved around, laughing and dancing.

A momentary lapse of judgment

Of course there must be one more big breakfast. The breakfast waitress is all business – terse and to the point. It is the second time she has served us, so I have her dialed in. Yesterday when she said “Jam, ketchup or hot sauce.” After a pause I said ketchup and hot sauce. A minute later Bob asked for jam. “Too late,” she said. But she got it. Today when she says “Jam, ketchup or hot sauce” I immediately say “All three.” She smiles and dashes off.

I leave her a big tip and then I swipe my spoon.

Yesterday I ditched my titanium spork because it poked a hole in my odor-proof food bag. That left me with nothing to eat with on the trail. The store had no good plastic ones, however a cheap one from the restaurant might do.

It felt wrong immediately. But I was afraid that my offer to buy one would be rejected, so I did the patently worst thing. I am a twelve-year-old again. “Doolittle, why did you do that?” “I dunno.” Really, there is no explaining it. Here is the criminal.

Last preparations

The shuttle from the resort to the trail leaves at 10am. I give Patti one last call and then spend the last few minutes trying to figure out how to attach a new bag to my pack because the enormous bear can inside is taking up all the room.

As I haul my stuff to the van, I can’t help noticing what a cool place this is. Just look at all these saddled horses standing ready before their daily excursions.

There are four hikers in the van to the trail: two nobos and two sobos. Bob and I are the sobos. We monkey with our packs one last time at the trailhead.

Up and away

Bob and I are immediately climbing to 10,800 feet. This is the highest I have been, and while it is exciting, it is hard with heavy packs full of five days of food and two liters of water.

We are going to pass in front of that mountain from left to right and then go over its shoulder just to the right of the peak.

The mountains are different here. Since we are above 10,000 feet there are no trees and the bushes are low and tough. I focus on hiking because we need to get to a lower elevation to camp and because the hiking is so hard that it’s all I can think about. At the top I look back down. It’s an accomplishment but we are just getting started today.

Search for shelter

One thing you don’t realize until you get up here is that there is no place to hide, and the wind is gusting between 20 and 30 knots! But it is exhilarating. I’m breathing hard. My lips are chapped. My clothes and bandana and every loose strap is flapping like crazy. And I’m loving it.

We come on this sketchy section where rocks have tumbled from above over the trail. Horses could not pass here. We pick our steps carefully. There is a small alpine lake below us, glistening in green.

We find a place to shelter for lunch, perching above the trail on some rocks and dead branches. I ask Bob if he will be my confessor. I show him the spoon. He laughs. He winds up. “You know, when I met you and learned you were an ordained deacon in the Episcopal Church, I thought you would be a model of virtue. Turns out you are nothing more than a common thief!” Ouch. I deserve it. Bob is smiling broadly. He feels good about this one. “That hurt, Bob.” Bob is going to get some miles out of this situation. I may have made a grievous mistake.

Gliding in

The afternoon is a long slow descent to Kennedy Canyon Creek where we will camp. We zig zag down through this rocky moonscape to where there are trees again.

We are heading down into that cloud-shadowed valley. We have only hiked 11 miles today, but once again the altitude makes it seem longer and harder than that.

The camping spots are perfect. I hurry to make dinner and get into my tent for the night. Bob keeps an eye on me and on his spoon.

• August 25
• Starting marker: 1016.9
• Ending marker: 1005.9
• Miles hiked today: 11
• Total PCT miles: 345
• Today’s revelation: Bob would make a terrible priest