Once in the vehicle, a
late-model Ford pickup truck, I asked the driver if he would recognize the
place where the PCT crossed the highway, because I knew there were no PCT logos
on either side of the roadway to indicate the trail’s presence. He said
he did, but he overshot the spot anyway. I told him not to bother turning
around and going back; I would walk back to the trail crossing.
Two hundred feet into
the woods, after leaving the highway pavement, I found the most incredible bit
of trail magic I would encounter on the trail that wasn’t hosted at the home of
a trail angel. These trail angels had built a sturdy wooden table on
which was arrayed: a battery-operated radio to check the weather, a small
camera to take a selfie (I guess so the trail angels could see who stopped at their
offerings), a trail register, and bolted to the bottom of the table, a donation
box. There were lawn chairs in which to relax, coolers filled with
drinks, milk, breakfast cereal, granola bars, fruit, chips and Cracker Jacks,
and a box filled with first-aid items. It was definitely the most
elaborate trail angel camp I came across on the entire trail. I grabbed a
Gatorade, a few Granola bars, signed the register, and left a donation in the
box.
The trail was level and
I was moving fast as I hoped to make it to the campground store inside Burney
Falls State Park before it closed at 8:00 p.m. There were a number of
roads in the area, so I had to watch carefully that I didn’t mistake a Jeep trail
for the actual PCT. Off to my right was the Pit River that flowed into
impounded Lake Britton and on my left was the dry streambed of Burney Creek.
Beneath this creek bed was an unseen, flowing river that rose to the
surface just feet after crossing a wooden bridge over the dry creek bed.
The volume of water that erupted from the springs below the bridge was
enormous and was the sole source of water that cascaded over Burney Falls,
creating the natural spectacle that drew visitors to the region.
As luck would have it, I
arrived at the store just minutes after it closed. I found Hermes and
Lotus sitting at a picnic table in front of the store, so I joined them.
We debated where we were going to sleep for the night; the two of them
decided to backtrack towards the PCT, while I elected to stealth camp back in
the trees behind the store, as I had to stick around until ten tomorrow morning
to retrieve my package that the postal service would be bringing to the post
office located inside the store. I erected my tent tonight as there were
mosquitoes about; then, when it looked like all the tourists had settled in for
the evening, I made my way to the restrooms and commenced to do a little
laundry in the sinks. The socks were the big culprits, being filthy dirty
from the long hike on Hat Creek Rim.
As promised, the postal
service truck arrived at ten the next morning, and I now had a new pair of Keen
Voyageur shoes, but the old ones still had life left in them, so I’ll send them
home when I reach the next trail town. In the meantime, I just tied them
onto my backpack and let them flop around as I hiked up the trail.
Cowgirl and her husband,
Charlie, came into camp, as well as Commando. We visited awhile, shared
some cookies and drinks, then packed up and re-crossed the bridge over Burney
Creek and picked up the trail just beyond, up a small hill. At the
trailhead was a large wooden sign that read Pacific Crest Trail, Mexico 1,418
miles; Canada 1,231 miles. Even though it was still a long way, it really
felt good to be on the downhill side of the total distance to travel.
My walking speed was
still a mystery to me. Most times, usually going uphill, it was a
sluggish walk that sometimes slowed to a shuffle. Other times, like this
morning, with a fairly even tread, I could walk with ease and some speed.
Feeling a burst of energy, I flew past Cowgirl, Charlie, and Sherpa C,
caught up to Pia and moved out in front of the group, like I was in a race.
Ahead of me was the dam that impounded the Pit River, forming Lake
Britton. I was across the bridge and up the hill before any of the others
even started across the bridge. If only such energy would last. It
was not long before they all passed me and I settled into my more leisurely
pace.
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