Journal Entries

May 3rd- Day 12- 17.2 miles from mile 129.2 to mile 146.4.

I'm asleep when Colleen leans over me in my tent. "Amelia. Amelia. Wake up!" I am awake now, my sleeping bag is toasty hot even though the sun has only just risen. I take my time in camp, learning how to pack up with a different tent. I'm going to try putting the poles on the side of my pack today, I think it was too rigid inside yesterday and was hurting my back, not too mention poking into my butt.

I'm out after everyone except Twerk. The trail is in the shadow of the opposite ridge at first, the sun just brightening a spot on the horizon. 6 ish miles in I stop to take an extended bathroom break, finally changing my socks, which are stiff like cardboard from the salt and sweat pounded into them. Everyone is ahead of me now. It's very hot, even though the sun is still low and the side of the ridges that the trail follows are still mostly in shadow. It was forecasted to be 100 degrees today. I pass Karma, Colleen, and Twerk just before the trail down to Tule Spring and fire tank. Kathleen is there, and she decides to walk the quarter mile down with us to wait out the heat of the day. It's 10.

I grab my water filtering ziploc, food bag, maps, and sleeping pad and shuffle down the road. I set up in the shade as the crew filters in. I try the fire tank pump but it's empty. Laziness defeated, I scramble down a steep bank to get some water. Then we sit around in the shade, talking, eating food, napping. I make Mac and cheese and my fuel runs out halfway through. Karma lets me borrow hers. I welcome people and point them to the water and shade. Everyone looks beaten by the heat as they come down the road for water. Scissors is here, as well as Twerk, Karma, Colleen, and Rawhide. We talk with Toby, who is a gender and queer studies professor, and Shipwreck and Iguana. We finally start out at 4, after 6 hours of waiting for the heat to die down.

I'm now ahead. I see my second rattlesnake as I'm pulling myself foot-by-foot up a hill. I hear something rustle by my foot, and look down to see the zebra stripes and supple, muscular curves. I quickly step back. It doesn't rattle, but begins making its way up the hill, then changes its mind and goes across the trail again. It hides behind a granite rock, peeking its head over to watch me. Iguana and Shipwreck come up and it decides to head down the slope.

A few minutes later, Twerk sees me coming from his perch up by a behemoth granite slab. He says there is another rattlesnake by the trail. I step around and join him on his slab and watch as the snake meanders its way along the rocks. The sun is hiding behind a cloud so it feels like dusk, even though we have a few more hours of light. It's still hot as heck. My sleeves are rolled up and they gleam with sweat.

I've decided I want to try and walk the fire-closure alternate into Idyllwild tomorrow instead of hitching down, and want to get as close as possible so my day isn't so long tomorrow. I join Twerk briefly at the Sandy Road Water Cache, then head across the beach-sand road at a clip. I get to the campsite where we were meeting tonight at mile 144 and call out Karma's name. She replies, and I find her and tell her I'm going to go ahead and night hike, and that I'm trying to get into Idyllwild tomorrow on the alternate.

I stop to pee and stuff my hip belt pockets with snacks and get out my headlamp. Then off I go, weaving in between views of the valley and the twinkling lights of houses, and dark manzanita. It's light out, but it starts getting darker as the trail bends back into the folds of the ridges. I start to think of all of the horror movie commercials that I've ever been forced to watch on YouTube because there's no skip button.

Finally I stop and pull my ear buds out, and turn on Jack Johnson's album, Brushfire Fairytales. If I walk fast enough and focus on the music, which is happy and bouncy and brings me to a sunny beach in Hawaii, I'm not too freaked out. I think about yetis and cougars. My right trekking pole rattles like a rattle snake with each step and the squeak of my backpack sounds like hissing.

I come upon a picnic area called Walden. There's a library box and the group of guys camped there invite me to stay, but I shake my head no. They seem impressed, but I want to keep going and I had caffeine Mio from Rawhide during the break today so I have energy.

I'm sweating, jumpy from being alone in the darkening maze of looming manzanita bushes. Finally it gets dark enough that I decide to stop at the next campsite. For sanity's sake. The sun is now just a slightly lighter-colored red smudge on the dark horizon. I set up a cowboy camp alone, with Jack Johnson still playing. The Big Dipper is upside down across the horizon. Everything is dark but I feel safe with the music playing and with the routine of setting up camp. Goodnight.

May 2nd- Day 11- 14.2 miles from Agua Caliente Creek at mile 115 to campsites at mile 129.2

Kathleen, now known as Rawhide because of a mixture she had one day of butt chafe, blisters, and sunburn, is already packed up and disappears down the trail as I'm pulling myself out of my tent. I head off before the others and hike with myself for a while, until Nirvana and Karma catch up. I trail behind them for a while, but they're deep in a conversation about salmon and fishing and I feel like I'm third-wheeling (Nirvana has spent summers on a fishing boat in Alaska and has a fisheries degree). I stop to let them get ahead, and then join them again later when they stop for a snack break.

I pack my food away first and head off. I'm ahead of everyone, hiking through a maze of chaparral, lilac bushes and manzanita with pink bell-shaped flowers, as well as a big bush with soft feathery leaves. There are big black flies everywhere so I don't stop longer than it takes to get a sip of water. Sweat plasters my shirt sleeves to my arms.

It's getting hot, so I take a break underneath a big rock overhanging and ruffle through my food bag. Karma walks by and I invite her into my shade. We eat some food and then head out again, the last 3 miles to Mike's Place, a trail angel who has a house in the middle of the desert and lets hikers sit on his porch and fill up on water. The trail is sparkling with mica, and I put my head down and hike. There are hand-painted signs down to Mike's, and I take a side trail down to the road.

It's a bit run-down and creepy; I don't think I'd approach this place if it wasn't on the PCT. I set my pack down against the side of the house with everyone else's and walk under the porch. Everyone is sitting there in a dead stupor, blank-eyed and dusty, eating watermelon slices from a rusty soup pot. "You look too peppy," Rachel says.

I go help Blue's Clues make banana pancakes. I'm in charge of the bananas while he flips. I join Karma and Nirvana and Rawhide at the porch out back to talk and avoid the growing crowd of hikers out front. I eat lots of pancakes, filter water, and make jalapeño refried beans with rice noodles. I have to be careful now with what I cook so I don't make something gross, ever since I wrote that I'd take the trail name of Polenta if I screwed up some food a third time. Twerk interviews Karma for a video series he says he's calling "Trash Talk." Everyone's talking about whether or not to hitch around an upcoming trail closure, or do the long road walk. I have no idea yet what I want to do; I can't think more than a day or two ahead, and everyone is throwing around contradicting information on the alternate route options.

We finish eating our dinners and head back on the trail. We set up in a big group campsite with a ton of other people. Below us is a small town. We sit on Karma's Tyvek and pretend it's a magic carpet. The sunset's streaks of hot pink turn dusky orange, and the town lights up below. The silhouette of our ridge in the foreground is sharp and black, the mountains far away a smoky gray.

Tent flys are rustling, Karma's Tyvek crinkling. One by one our headlamps go out and all that is left is the wind.

May 1st- Day 10- 5.5 miles from Warner Springs Community Center at mile 109.5 to Agua Caliente Creek at mile 115

The sun is bright but it's still cool enough to lie in my sleeping bag, my eyes tight to block out the light. I can't hear anyone packing up near me; it's hard to get out of towns early. A group of guys is sitting at the picnic table, talking loudly and audibly about guy things (later, Colleen will joke about waking up early in the middle of a big camp and talking loudly about menstruation).

Blah. I have to force myself, one step at a time, out of my sleeping bag. First, uncinch the drawstring that holds my hood tight around my face, then unzip it, then get out. The first thing I do each morning is stuff my sleeping bag into the bottom of my backpack so I'm not tempted to get back in.

I stumble to the bathrooms and brush my teeth, then wander around aimlessly listening to conversations. Karma is up and I say hello. Then it's 7:25 which is an acceptable time to start walking to the post office. The walk is long and the low sun hits my face so I have to walk with one eye shut.

Once I'm there I sit and talk with a guy who's a Triple Crowner (has hiked all three of America's popular long trails, so the AT, PCT, and CDT). I don't remember his name, but he's hiking a section up to Cajon Pass between jobs and he did both the CDT and AT and AZT in one summer.

I get my package at the desk, and am about to walk off before I realize I should have two. I text my mom to get the tracking number. Apparently it was in San Diego last night, so it's probably just come in and needs to be sorted. I go to get some breakfast to wait. I join Karma and Colleen and Rachel and order an avocado-feta-Tomato-spinach omelette with hash browns. Yum.

Back at the post office, I get my second package with my new tent in it, and go to sit out front and open my first package, which is my food. There are notes from home, and a picture of my puppy Wren, and locks of her and Zephyr's hair. The top of the box is filled with cookies and salmon jerky and delicious things that my parents packed. Underneath it is all of the random food-things that I threw in before I left. Condiment packages and other food-things that look gross and unappetizing.

We're just about to try and walk back when Chris and Kelsey, who we hiked around a few days ago, drive up. Kelsey has an insanely long beard that flops around as he talks, and Chris is a doctor and carries an enormous medical kit. They spent the weekend off-trail with one of their girlfriends, and offer us a ride in the back of their hitch-on trailer back to the community center. We climb in. Driving is so much faster than walking!

I putter around camp some more, doing who-knows-what, it seems important at the time. Sorting food, dropping off things in the hiker box and picking up crumpled bags of salt and vinegar chips to bring back. Charging my electronics, setting up my mom's Fly Creek UL 2 tent for the first time. I feel bummed about sending back my tarptent and I go to the gear shop twice to get advice from Pillsbury, the owner, about which tent I should take. I don't get it, I hated my protrail so much just a while ago, but now I'm super attached to it. What. When it comes time to throw away all of the notes that my family sent me, I can't bear to throw away the puppy hair for some reason and decide to carry it with me. I'm sitting with Colleen and Karma and laugh-cry about it, my eyes watering while I'm doubled over with laughter. Really I think I'm just crying.

Towns are really hard to get out of. Colleen and I catch a ride back to the post office and I send my tarptent home, as well as a bunch of other things. We get a ride back in a truck bed. The wind is pressing into my face. Colleen is just sitting there, grinning and clutching the side. "Wait, are we past the community center?" I say. The hills rush past, golden and empty of buildings. Suddenly, the car brakes, we slide forward in the truck bed and clutch the sides of the truck bed. The truck makes a 3-point turn, and we're rushing back the way we came. The community center comes into view as the car brakes again, and we're pulling into the parking lot.

We hop out, and the driver apologizes. "We almost forgot you were there."

More procrastinating and slow packing-up. I reach escape velocity, buckling down my backpack top and heading off. I weigh my pack at the gear trailer. 25 pounds with food and almost 2 liters of water. Then off!! We all plan to meet at a campsite by a creek 5 miles in. It's hot out, the trail threading through an obstacle course, under a highway overpass, through tight winding hills. I'm already just as sweaty and gross as when I came into Warner Springs yesterday.

We come into camp and I help Tarantino set up his new tarptent protrail. Everyone's been telling him it's a bad tent, including me, but I feel bad that we're giving him a scare about his new piece of gear. I tell him it's a definite upgrade from the 5 pound tent he was carrying before.

We sit around in the sand in a circle and cook our dinners. Frogs are croaking in the creek. I make a ramen bomb, rice ramen mixed with mashed potatoes, and it is delicious. It gets dark and finally we pull ourselves away to go to sleep.

April 30th- Day 9- 8.4 miles from Montezuma Valley Road/Barrel Springs at mile 101.1 to Warner Springs Community Center at mile 109.5

I slept with my earphones in last night and my sleeping scrunched as right as possible around my face. The sounds of hikers waking up and the sunlight are muffled. I un-cinch my hood to a surprise. "I love my tent!" I announce.

"What made you love your tent overnight?" Colleen says.

"Look at it. It's collapsed."

"Oh, I was wondering what made you change your mind..." she says.

"No, it turned into a rainbow tent and gave me cupcakes and apologized for everything it's done."

I stay in my sleeping bag for a while before trying to move. It's only 9 ish miles to Warner Springs today, so there's no rush. Finally I wiggle out and pull everything out after me. Stupid tent.

I decide to make some more instant mashed potatoes for breakfast, since they were so good last night. They're Betty Crocker brand today vs. Idahoan last night. They fill up the pot to the top and I still need to add more water, and there's no room to stir. It's cold on top and hot on the bottom, and super bland. I decide to try and "polenta it" to make it taste better. I sacrifice a lemon pepper tuna packet, chili cheese Fritos, and a packet of barbecue sauce. It tastes even worse. I can't believe I've polenta'd a second meal. I can't eat it and decide to pack it out. I announce that if I do this a third time I'll have to take the trail name of Polenta.

I'm about to head off when Twerk starts another stretching/dancing/twerking circle, so I drop my pack to join. Scissors comes up and takes a video. Then across the road and through rolling hills of brown and purple cheatgrass. I can see everyone hiking before and behind me, stretched out. We stop and start. At a break everyone finds out I have no clue who a guy named Will Smith is, and they tease me about it until I decide to leave. They weren't trying to be mean but it still stings a bit and makes me pissed for half an hour. Will Smith's movies are probably all really stupid and lame anyway. Or so I tell myself.

I stop at Eagle Rock and I take a picture. There is an enormous group of day hikers taking pictures and I feel like a tourist on my own trail, and a bit overwhelmed. I almost skipped when I saw the mass of bodies, even though dayhikers are nice and smell like laundry detergent.

Then it's just two miles down to Warner. This is the first time I've really seen day-hikers. We pass a big group of Boy Scouts out backpacking, they look like cute little mini versions of ourselves, half our height and marching in a bouncy line.

I'm just getting over being mad about Will Smith when I start the final descent through trees. So many day-hikers, and horses, and horse poop. I step through a final gate and hike to the Community Center. I walk up a porch and into the building, and sign in at a table. My hands are dirty and I'm conscious of the fact that I smudge dirt on the white paper as I write.

I set my pack out in an empty spot out back, under an enormous oak tree. There are tents everywhere, clustered by the base of the tree in the shade. It's in a field of golden mowed grass that's rough and smells like straw. I can imagine a pumpkin patch here in the fall. Then I go get some loaner clothes- it's a walk-in closet full of hand-me downs. I find brown pants and a big red T-shirt that says "I'm not lazy, I just enjoy doing nothing." Then I go to the washing area, where I get in a stall and pour pitchers of water over myself from a Home Depot bucket, and then wash my clothes. Rachel looks amazing in her loaner clothes, like a model with white Bermuda jeans and a red shirt- Twerk wants to give her the trail name Ralph Lauren. Colleen has a Little House on the Prairie dress. Karma has a turquoise dress and her hair up in a towel and looks like the woman sidekick to Gru in the Despicable Me 3 trailer.

Then we all head off along golf course trails the mile to the restaurant. It's a blasphemous amount of walking. Soon we'll be too lazy and just hitch everywhere. Nirvana the Seattle-ite is dying in the midday heat and I write his last request in case he expires. He gives his cat to his mom.

Then we're in the restaurant, conscious of our awkward loaner clothes as we walk past tables of golfers in pastel polo tees. I drink two glasses of lemonade. I fantasized about lemonade on the mile's walk here. Then delicious fish tacos. We sit there, stunned and lethargic after our food consumption. We head out to the gas station and I get some ice cream. We go out to the parking lot and stop to smell all the big roses planted there. The chocolate dip from my ice cream bar falls off onto the asphalt and I pick it back up and eat it without blinking. Hiker trash is real.

Then back to the community center. I buy a double wall charger from the mobile gear shop, 2 Foot Adventures, which is in an airstream. The owner and I (her trail name is Pillsbury) follow each other on Instagram and she takes a picture of me. Kathleen is here recovering from blisters, and Colleen's dad is here with fruit and pizza and Gatorade magic. I hang around and talk to people, unable to keep up with all of the new names. It's only in towns when I truly realize how many hikers there are.

I've set up my tent but it keeps on falling. Stupid tent. Why won't it stay up? Someone suggests that it's the stakes, but it's a little late now. I feel bad giving up, but I'll have my UL Fly Creek tent tomorrow. It's not much heavier than my Protrail. I'm cowboy camping tonight.

The sun is setting slowly. I sit with everyone else under the shade awning on picnic tables and eat a slice of veggie pizza. It smells like weed smoke and beer, and I'm falling asleep so I go to my sleeping bag. Everyone talks late into the night. It still smells like weed over here as well as laundry detergent from my loaner clothes, and I listen as another group of hikers make their plans to get to Idyllwild. Everyone else here seems to be going for 20 mile days and then they're crashing and burning, getting off trail or zeroing for several days because injuries and blisters. I think I'm going to stay with my Trail family for a while longer and doing 15s.

The moon is finally here, a crescent moon lying on its back. The light bores into my eyelids. I rummage around for my headphones to quiet the noise, pull my hat over my eyes, and try to sleep.