PCT
Today was my day off because I work on Saturday. Always open for an adventure, I planned to take the dogs on an outing. Because of my new found love hate relationship with the book I am reading, Wild by Cheryl Strayed, I thought I would log a couple of steps on the Pacific Crest Trail as some sort of reader homage. Since it was a day off during regular people business hours, I did have some obligations to fulfill. God has been trying to teach me to listen more closely to His will. As I hung up after a frustrating phone call with the family law lawyer or should I say former lawyer, I knew it was time to go!
As I drove through town trying to suppress my seething inner self, I could hear God telling me, “I have a plan Daughter. Enjoy My beauty.” It was hard not to agree because it was a magnificent day today. The dogs were happy to be on an adventure one to each window, head and tongues out, smiles wide. I decided I wanted to picnic by a lake. A lake on the other side of the McKenzie pass just so I could mentally think I’d been “on the other side.” I pulled over in the miniscule parking area, put on my little day pack, filled out my wilderness pass, no easy feat with two exuberant doggies, and headed down the path.
We hadn’t gone far, maybe a half mile, when a couple came up the trail. I dutifully pulled the dogs to the side to let them pass. The fellow stopped and greeted me. He told me that just a short way down the trail he and his wife had been accosted by a big (bigger than Liko, he indicated) off lease dog and that there were two others in that group. He talked about growling, and snapping. I thanked him for the news and wished him and his wife a great day.
As they passed out of sight I stood there wondering if I should continue. I was irritated by the prospect of a forced change in my day. I wondered how valid the man’s tale was. Perhaps it was just an over friendly lab? But he seemed to be seasoned and a credible source. I would put him and his assumed to be wife in an old, old category, but with their sinewy legs and tandem hydropacks, I was fairly certain those two had logged many miles and seen quite a few dogs on trails. I turned around.
By then I was ready to stop just about anywhere that didn’t have people! I was supposed to be hiking today not driving! I saw a historical marker sign. I love reading those, but passed on and around the corner was a nice turn off. A drive through kind, but there were no cars and I took it! Again I donned my pack and set off with the dogs to find anywhere to eat my lunch before hooking up with the PCT. To my surprise, through a clearing on this micro trail we were following was a lovely little lake.
The dogs happily plunged right into the clear water. There was a nearby log that I used as a bench, after inspecting it for inhabitants, and we ate our lunch in solitude and beauty, just as I had hoped only better. I thought about God’s earlier message, He always has a better plan. If those dogs wouldn’t have been at the more well known lake, I wouldn’t have discovered this secret hideaway for me! And I thought of the frustration I had let wash over me that morning and realized, maybe a new lawyer will be a needed change and FINALLY wrap up this custody mess. I let out a heavy sigh and it felt like the breeze picked up my troubles and wafted them across the shining water.
Refreshed by their swim and food, the dogs were ready for more exploring. I thought perhaps if I back tracked we would come across the historical marker that was indicated on the road. As we crested a rise, I noticed a boulder that seemed human placed. Sure enough, the other side held a plaque dedicated to John Templeton Craig. Actually, this boulder was dedicated to the cabin that had once stood there and was where Mr. Craig had died in 1877. Who was John Templeton Craig?
I paused at where a cabin once stood and thought of the hardy people that had built and tried to live up there. What a beautiful place to live, but death making it so inhospitable too! I noticed a rock lined path up ahead and went in that direction and saw a grave, John Templeton Craig. He was a postman trying to carry the Christmas mail from the McKenzie Bridge to the good folk of Camp Polk (near Sisters.) The grave marker read that he was caught in a terrific storm and froze to death in the cabin located at the other marker. 56 years old, poor Mr. Craig, trying to do such a nice thing as bring the Christmas mail had died trying. In the end though, he did leave quite a mark on Central Oregon since it is the mail route path he created that the State used to make the McKenzie Highway. I was thinking of Mr. Craig and what he would think of all the cars, bicycles, and hikers that go by his unknown resting spot in the wilderness.
At the point, I was startled out of my reverie by the deep throbbing of V-twin engines down shifting for a hasty stop. I hadn’t realized that below the short cliff I was standing on was the actual turn out for the historical marker. Four men on Harley’s had pulled off the road and one was frantically removing gear. I wasn’t sure they saw me from my higher vantage point, but I could clearly hear the saga of the frantic rider being stung by a bee! I melted back into the forest with the dogs and said a little prayer that the rider wouldn’t have a bad reaction and shortly heard the v-twins loudly echo off the rocks and trees, back on the road.
And so was I, back on the road for the PCT. Only four other cars were in the trailhead area of this section of the PCT. Wilderness pass in pack, we were headed down the PCT. Only a couple of miles, I said to myself, max. It was such a nice day, so inviting, so quiet. Each corner and bend in the trail begged for us to keep going and the dogs, in their glory, didn’t object. I was thinking about the book Wild. Thinking about how similar and how completely opposite I was from the author. She from Minnesota, me from Iowa, a year apart in age wearing POW/MIA bracelets, married at similar ages, child of divorce at six, both losing our mothers far too soon in life. I thought, here I am, walking in her literal footsteps, she had been here, she had hiked this very spot and I am reading all about it years later. I want to like her, I really do. We had been living in Portland at the same time. I think what she did was both brave and very stupid. But fact is, it is a love hate with her book. Love the trail, hate that at the time I was turning to God, she turned away. I’d like to think if we had met at Powell’s Book store that we would have been friends, but I doubt it. Still, I haven't finished her book yet either.
At this point of the trail, all thoughts of Wild, of lawyers, of bills, of cranky library patrons, of cell phones disappeared. We stood on the edge of a lava field looking or more listening to the vast spread of trees that stood on an island surrounded by lava because they were singing to us. The wind had come up so abruptly creating a song so loud, even the dogs stopped to listen. It was mesmerizing like a siren song begging for us to come. I had no intention with the dogs to cross any lava fields, but when the song faded the dogs forged ahead and I didn’t say no. That in my mind is why people should be on the PCT, not to escape reality, but to truly live it.
And around another bend is when it happened. PCT man. There he was on a switchback in another lava field. A real, PCT Thru hiker! His pack towering over his head and his clink clink of his hiking poles in the lava. I actually heard him before I saw him in the vast expanse of lava. I’m sure he must have heard us too. The ting ting ting of the dogs’ tags, the mechanical clunks of their retractable leashes keeping them on task. I wanted to run ahead. I wanted to catch up to him and ask him so many questions. It’s August, had he started in Mexico? Was he going all the way to Canada? Where was he from for real? I thought he was older maybe late 50s? but maybe he was just that trail worn and he was really young.
Instead, I stopped in my tracks. I knew it was time for us to turn around today. I didn’t want to intrude on his journey. Had we met in the parking area, I probably would have gushed my questions like the spring water in the falls, but not here. I watched him climb slowly up and up and up into the lava and out of my sight. “Come on doggies,” I whispered and turned to head back. I was deliberately slow, savoring this masterpiece of God. I took some photos, a record of my first PCT, as if I would brag at the water cooler, “Yeah, I’ve been on the PCT” (for a day…snicker snicker.)
On my way back down in the car, I pulled off and looked at Three Finger Jack and the massive lava flow. Somewhere out there was PCT man. I knew soon enough, I’d be back in cell service land, and tomorrow I’ll go to work with the inevitable cranky patrons, and eventually find another lawyer, but I will also know that PCT man is “out there.” How cool is that? Thank you God for refreshing and glorious day and God Speed PCT man.
