June 21
My camp was situated on a ridge, and for the first time in days I woke to the rising sun. I felt better, less lazy, and as I packed up camp I determined to stop deliberately slowing my progress. This turned out to be perfect timing, since the trail began the day on a gentle downgrade - perfect for making good time. I enjoyed field after field of wildflowers alongside the trail (pictured), but started to grow concerned when I found no water. I had used the last of my water for breakfast, and it was a long and dry 13 miles before I finally had a chance to restock.
I reached the turnoff to a small lake and, though I hate to take detours, my need for water forced me to hike half a mile to the lake (pictured). I sat, enjoying an early lunch, and watching the fish near the shore. I had had to wade into the lake a bit to get water that was free of debris. As I stood there about three dozen small fish crowded around. They weren't trout, though I couldn't identify the species. Each one was about 6 inches long and had a black dot on the gill flaps. The bravest fish swam up and nibbled at my legs, and I found that by holding my hand under water I could pet the fish as they passed.
I moved on and the downward slope continued. Eventually the trail dropped precipitously, some 2000 feet, to the Middle Fork of the Feather River. Here an impressive bridge spans the river (pictured), and nearby I met a couple of through hikers stopped for a rest. They were Trailbait and her mother, hiking from Donner Pass to Canada. Trailbait did the first 1000 miles at the ripe old age of 13, and is now back at 15 to finish the job. Her age, of course, explains the trail name. After the bridge I began a long 4000 foot climb back out of the canyon. It wasn't particularly difficult, but I was surprised to see I had made 31 miles with the sun still high in the sky. It was at this point that I realized, if I pulled a long day, I might just make Belden before the post office closed the next day.
I kept up a steady pace, passing another hiker named Tick Tock. At 58 years old, he is making great progress, and has yet to take a single zero day. I admire that persistence, though I don't really see the point. I passed Bucks Lake and stopped for dinner at the highway crossing at Bucks Summit. The sun was just setting and I had already made 39.5 miles! I was getting good reception so I made a couple of phone calls. That was when I found out my uncle Ron had passed away and that my parents were back east for the service.
It was tough continuing on after dark with the bad news, though perhaps it gave me the proper atmosphere to remember what a great guy my uncle was. In any case, I tried to keep him in mind as I hiked the last 6.5 miles by headlamp. 46 miles, my new record. The forest was dark and a bit creepy with the moon still not up yet. It was almost like hiking through a vast cave, with the trees as monstrous stalagmites. Eventually I began to see bright stars, and when I finally laid out my sleeping bag I had trouble sleeping because I was busy watching shooting stars lace the night sky.
June 22
I rose early, needing to make the last 12 miles to Belden before the post office closed at 1. I had just enough time, though, to have a quick breakfast on a rocky ledge overlooking the surrounding hills (pictured). The hike was mostly downhill, once again ending in a precipitous drop. This time, however, the drop was 4000 feet to the river, highway 70, and the town of Belden. "Belden Town" is a small resort/rv park with a restaurant, shop, and inn. I dropped my pack there and headed over to the post office. The man at the resort had said it was 1/4 of a mile away. It turned out to be at least 1/2 mile. That may not sound like much, but bear in mind I had already hiked 12 miles and was now jogging to make sure I got there with time to spare. Fortunately my resupply box and my new credit card made it just fine.
I headed back to the resort to have a burger and a beer before packing my resupply and moving on. Say what you will about Belden, but the Belden burger was amazing. The right combination of fresh tomato and onion, thick cut bacon, cheese, and two generous meat patties. It was love at first sight. The side of potato salad wasn't anything to write home about, but I figured it was kind of like my girlfriend's brother, Doug: bland and lumpy, but when you commit to the burger the Doug comes with it, whether you want it or not (just kidding Doug, you know I love you). I devoured the burger with my eyes, and man it looked good after trail food. I touched those perfectly proportioned buns and somewhere in the back of my mind Barry White started playing.
As I left the restaurant it began to rain. I threw on my pack cover, put my maps away, and crossed highway 70 to start another long uphill section. The trail was horribly overgrown, and with the rain it was like walking through a long flowery carwash. The only difference was that a car wash ends with a nice shiny wax, whereas I just ended looking like I had an uninvited conjugal visit from an 800 pound perennial named Bubba. The trail was so overgrown I often couldn't even see it, and if it turned suddenly I literally had to sweep aside whole bushes to look for it. Five miles and 2400 feet up, the trail disappeared altogether into a vast field of briar bushes. There was no way forward without getting shredded. The rain had stopped so I got out the map and tried to find a cross-country route around. The problem was that I had no clue where I was. None of the topography matched up. At least, not until I realized I had gotten onto the wrong trail and that the PCT was a whole ridge away. Worse, the distance between was impassable due to briar patches and steep ravine. I sighed and headed back through Bubba's carwash, five miles back to town.
On my detour I did see some beautiful flowers, including an amazing tiger lily (I think). I also saw a family of grouse, and can say that baby grouse are adorable. Still, ten miles and 2400 feet of climbing were not exactly worth it. I returned to the resort to reward myself with a drink before trying again. Fortified, I went back to the rest stop across the street, this time finding the PCT next to the last stamp mill on the Feather River (pictured). Still, my detour had bummed me out, so I made it about a mile before deciding to quit early and relax. I called my mom and had a nice long chat. That, along with the burger and the early stop, made the day pretty decent in my book. I hiked 23 miles, only 13 of which were on the PCT, but I still feel good. I feel more resilient despite my detour, and am ready for whatever tomorrow brings.
