My love/hate relationship with Oregon continues. Mostly hate.
Woke up to the largest swarm of mosquitoes yet. Had to pace all over as I was packing, but even that had limited success. The first 9 miles of trail, up to highway 138, were so bad with mosquitoes that I was practically jogging. There were stretches where I only had a half dozen on me. Those were the good stretches. On the bad stretches I had about 15 to 20 on me, and another dozen hovering to find a landing spot. I'm sure I killed at least as many mosquitoes today as in the Sky Lakes Wilderness. Unfortunately this stretch had a lot of downed trees, and I had to slow to step over each one. This got a bit awkward, so eventually I just started hurtling them. That is until I came down after one such hurtle, heard a snap from my pack, and felt my load start listing to the right.
Backpacking packs, for those who don't know, have lots of straps. There are straps to adjust how high the pack sits, how tight to your back it rides, how tight the hip and shoulder straps are, and so on. Either one of the straps had snapped, or some support had given way. I wasn't about to stop in the middle of a mosquito horde to find out. Fortunately, being near resupply my pack is fairly light. I adjusted some other straps on the fly to compensate, figuring it wouldn't kill me in the next couple of days.
I made the highway and nearly collapsed. 9 miles and I was exhausted already. The side of the road was fairly free of mosquitoes, so I sat and pumped myself full of food. Then I began the climb up the slopes of Mt. Thielsen. Again I was mobbed by mosquitoes, and only got relief when I reached the snow line. That's right, me relieved by snow. You know those mosquitoes must have been bad. I took a quick rest to snap a picture of the mountain, then began the long slog through the snow.
At first the hike wasn't so bad. The snow was patchy, and where I lost the trail it was fairly clear where I needed to go. When I got to the north side of the mountain, however, that all changed. I got to the ridge separating the west and north face to find a steep face of snow. Parts of the top looked partly undercut and ready to fall. I opted to stay on the rock and dirt along the ridge, and climb until I found a safe route down. For a while this worked, and when I realized I was getting too high up I was even able to descend slightly as I traversed. I reached a section of really loose rock and dirt, which slid downhill at the slightest touch. Carefully I continued forward and downward until I found the reason why the trail didn't go this way. I looked down to find myself atop a sheer 400 foot cliff. I scrambled higher, away from the edge, but the loose rock and dirt slid under me, threatening to drag me back. Very slowly I inched back the way I had come, grabbing onto any fixed objects I could for support. One of these was a dead tree, bent low by the weight of the scree. I grabbed the tip of the tree and supported part of my weight with it, easing myself past it on the downslope side. It broke, and the force of me pulling on it drove the tip into my chest before I could gain my balance. Damn but that hurt! Now I have a bruise and a small hole in my chest for my efforts.
Eventually I reached a point where there was no longer cliff, just a long dirt and rock slope. I began slowly sliding down, but the sliding dirt soon had me picking up speed. I managed to stop myself, when a rock I had dislodged further up slope caught up with me. It hit my ankle with a thud, sending a wave of pain up my leg. Now I have a bruised ankle for my efforts too.
I got back to the trail, but soon lost it again in the snow. I studied my map this time and could see how the trail followed the contour of Sawtooth Ridge, which ran northward. I headed on a course that would roughly match the trail. As I worked my way along the ridge the snow eased off (allowing some mosquitoes to return, yay). I had a feeling the trail was below me, so I descended a bit and sure enough, was back on track.
I was back on the trail, through patchy snow, for maybe 2 miles before it disappeared again. This time, though, the entire landscape was snow. I stopped on the last piece of trail to collect my thoughts and eat. Speaking of eating, here is how it's done in Oregon: first, you stop and wait for mosquitoes to find you. If, after a minute or two there are no mosquitoes, you make a hopeful justification of why there aren't any, just to assure yourself that you're not crazy. For example, you might say "ah, there are no mosquitoes because of the snow." Then you put your stuff down and wait again, just to be sure. When still no mosquitoes come, you begin to unpack your pack, at which point the first mosquito will arrive. Now you have a choice - repack, or hope it's just one solitary mosquito. You kill it and allow yourself to dream. You start to cook, and VOOM! Mosquito city. Thus the scenario unfolded for me.
After dinner I headed up to higher ground to see the lay of the land. I had a hunch that a low ridge to the north of me was where I needed to go. However, if I was wrong I would end up way off trail. I decided to give it a shot. After about 3 miles of crossing snow through trees that all look alike, I was beginning to lose hope. I had begun a northeasterly course that I judged would get me roughly where I needed to be. I was about to give up, camp for the night, and climb a ridge in the morning, when I spotted sky through the trees ahead. I was reaching another ridge, that would adjoin the low ridge I had scouted earlier. As I topped the ridge I was amazed to see a PCT marker. I had crossed three miles of snowy terrain and come out exactly on the trail.
Now in case you're not properly impressed, let me tell you that in the Oregon woods there are no landmarks. Sure, you can climb a ridge for a view, but you better memorize your course because the second you come down you'll have nothing but trees in every direction.
After rejoining the trail I lost it a couple of times in snow banks, but for the most part was able to stick with it. I had rejoined it on a saddle below Tipsoo Peak, and as the trail descended the eastern side it finally broke free of the snow. So, with a long, difficult, and painful day behind me, I have only 27 miles to show for it. Swell.
By the way, a big happy birthday to Erin, who is now officially an old maid!
