Today the trail started looking a bit more like my preconceived notion of Oregon. The trail was dirt and pine duff, well groomed, and it ran for miles through the forest. It wasn't exactly a green tunnel, but the open hill tops are now behind me.
Around midday I crossed Dead Indian Road, and soon reached the slopes of Brown Mountain. The hillsides around me quickly changed to rough volcanic scree, and the trail itself was covered in red cinder. The section wound through lava fields under the warm sun. The trail looked like an artery of dried blood against the grey blocks surrounding, and when Mt. McLaughlin came into view the sight was something to behold (pictured).
I crossed highway 140 in the middle of the afternoon and stopped for a second lunch and to rehydrate. Then I headed up a long gentle grade into Sky Lakes Wilderness. Unbeknownst to me at the time, that marked the last of my fun for the day.
Shortly into the climb I was getting a few mosquitoes. They weren't bad at first, so I just kept moving. Soon there were noticeably more, and I started counting how many I killed. Around 50 there were enough that I started jogging. However, the trail was still uphill at that point, so I only made half a mile. After that I just kept methodically swatting every part of my body. I had to pee too, but I knew stopping to do so would mean getting eaten alive. You see, as long as you are moving, the mosquitoes have more trouble getting you. Soon I couldn't wait any longer. I had an idea, though. I unzipped, aimed off trail, and began walking as bow-legged as possible. In this way I was able to relieve myself and keep moving. Of course, there was some collateral saturation, but not much I swear!
When the top of the hill came I stopped to put on more clothing. I dropped my pack and started walking back down trail as I changed to keep the movement up. It worked. The mosquitoes went for my bag, which gave me time to change in relative peace. But when I came back and saw my bag, an extension of myself at this point, surrounded by 30 blood suckers, I snapped. The odds were evened now that I had pants and long sleeves. I was at about 82 confirmed kills. I decided to liberate my poor bag - the bloodlust was upon me. I leapt into the fray and the mosquitoes turned as one to see if I was more tasty than the bag. I began swatting, calling out the numbers as I went. I felt like Gimli in The Lord of the Rings, when he is competing with Legolas to kill as many orcs as possible. "This is for malaria! 83, 84, 85... and this is for dengue fever! 86, 87, 88..." I was really getting into it now. "That's for west Nile! 89, 90, 91... and, and... and this is for spotted dick! 92, 93, 94... AND THAT'S FOR MAKING ME PEE ON MYSELF!!! 95, 96, 97." Ok, so I'm pretty sure we have the British to blame for spotted dick, but I was on a roll. Anyway, around 97 I ran out of opponents, shouldered my bag, and moved on. How was I to know it would get worse?
As I hiked the mosquito hordes grew thicker. There were points where just running my hand through my hair (one of the few uncovered parts of my body) would yield two or three dead mosquitoes. Soon I was doing this almost incessantly, and swatting at the ones that landed on my hands and sleeves as well. I hiked faster, feeling a pressing need to get out of these woods, but every corner in the trail revealed more of the same. I was getting exhausted, and I had already hiked 32.5 miles. At last I threw off my pack and pitched my tent while wildly fighting off droves of mosquitoes. When it was pitched, I opened it just long enough to throw my gear inside and dive in after. Even so, I had to kill about 10 mosquitoes that made it in with me. That brought my total of kills to 327.
There is a constant whine from inches away as thousands of insects try to find their way in. I hope tomorrow is better, or else I may go insane!
