Miles hiked: 18.4
Mile marker: 169.2
It’s 6:00 AM. Dad, Rafiki, and I are sitting at a cozy coffee shop called Pure Bean Coffee House. I order a drip coffee and have my eyes on the blueberry lemon scone, but settle for the cranberry coffee cake instead. The barista recommended it, and I’m trying to be a big girl and try new things.
We sit with Zog, the older guy who will soon hike the trail southbound but did a stint northbound while we were on trail.
Shepherd and another hiker from Washington state join us. It turns out that the lemon blueberry scone was better than the coffee cake. Dad and I split the two pastries. Zog laughs at our interactions.
“What?” I ask.
“That’s how it should be. A father and his daughter.” Zog says.
The sight of Dad and I never gets old.
We return to the inn, where I frantically fly around the room to pack my bag before our ride arrives.
“You’re like a tornado!” Rafiki says.
Yes. Yes I am. Frantic and anxious.
At the office, I dump items into the hiker box — this is a place for hikers to give and take things they no longer need or have excess of — and the rest of the crew shows up. A minute later, Rochelle arrives in her little sedan.
Rochelle is dark haired, friendly, and extremely kind and generous. She’s agreed to ship off our boxes for us, which comes as a huge relief to me! While she doesn’t make any money from her business, she manages because of the tips hikers give.
She just moved here somewhat recently with her pre-teen son. Idyllwild is quaint and small, much different than the busyness of Apple Valley, where she moved from.
I’m sitting in between Dad and Denis as we ride. The terrain is beautiful as we go.
She drops us off at the trailhead. She gives us oranges and another woman in a camper gives us a fruit gummy bar. I’m frantically packing all my things and tying the laces on my new shoes while Dad talks to an older couple who are hiking the trail.
It’s low brush and dusty out here. Desert.
We get to hiking and I try to keep pace for the first five miles or so. The sun is warming things up quickly. We begin to take breaks here and there. The flies are relentless. When they get a chance, they bite us. We end up smacking ourselves and shooing away the bugs as best we can.
I eat my Rice Krispy treats that Rafiki gave me. In fact, I eat all three of them. It’s hiker math. Less Rice Krispies = less weight.
I take a look at the elevation profile for the next bit.
On the way out of a cozy campground where we’ve been lounging — where Dad also lounged with his tramily (trail family) the first time he hiked the PCT — I climb up a soft dirt hill and my trekking poles slips on the loose ground.
“First fall of the hike!” Dad says.
Not a real fall, but yeah.
We continue up.
We’ve already been at a steady climb, but now we’re going to go at an even steeper incline!
“It’s downhill, Katy,” Denis says. This is of course, a joke.
We continue on. Sweat settles on my eyebrows and soaks the back of my hair. We decide not to camel up at a spring .6 mile off trail. At this point, we are all rationing our water.
My new sunglasses — Gooders — have been perfect. While I loved my Willy Wonka sunglasses (as Rafiki describes them), these glasses with the brown lenses have enhanced the trail. Every crevice of a hill or tree line is more clear. Right now, gnats are flying around my sunglasses like I’m in a 4D animation film.
It’s odd, I always thought gnats liked the moisture of my eyeballs, but apparently not!
Then comes the big hill. It’s incredibly steep — steeper than anything I’ve done on trail yet. It’s rocky, and even though the weather cools down a hair, I’m still struggling to put one foot in front of the other.
This is so frustrating. We started late and now we have to climb this stupid hill. Worse, I’ve been anxious all day. Worried about my family and thinking about my brothers. I just want my siblings to be happy in life. Worried that Dad’s trail experience is being disrupted by me joining the trip. Worried that I’m not cut out for hiking life. Irritated that I brought some scripture from the Bible but have no time to read it — which is one of the most important things I can do to be at peace (my personal meditative practice.)
Even the scripture is monopolizing my thoughts. I keep it in a privacy pocket of my bag. It’s so protected that I can’t grab it. The most important thing in my life is hidden away in a secret pocket.
I need it out. It should be accessible, where it may get wrinkled and folded, but at least it will be on hand.
This hill is endless. Rafiki is behind me, Dad ahead. We’re all rationing water. Dad has to fly ahead because he is low on water and doesn’t want to become dehydrated. Rafiki walks behind me, but I bet he would move quicker without me in front.
I like having Rafiki around, though. He’s good at conversation, which helps pass the hard times. Plus, it keeps me moving.
The climb up is dirt and rock. I’m crawling at this point, calculating miles until we arrive. It should have been three miles from mile 15.84.
The ground opens up into a field of small manzanitas that are overgrown to the point where we are navigating what looks like a maze.
My chest fills with joy and relief.
At last!
We pass through the field of manzanitas and enter into a low brush area. We begin a steep descent down hill. There should only be about .2 miles left! As I track the distance on my watch, we reach 18.84 miles. This should be where the water is, but the switchbacks continue on a long and smooth path.
“Are you sure we’re on the right path?” I turn and ask Rafiki.
“I’m sure,” he says.
We keep going down the switchbacks that take us deeper in the woods. We’re .1 mile over.
.2 over.
“Rafiki, that sign must have been wrong. You’re sure this is the right way?”
“I’m sure,” he says again.
.3 over.
“Rafiki! The sign was wrong!”
“Trust me! This isn’t about you anymore,” Rafiki says.
“I didn’t say it was about me,” I mumble, knowing full well I rely on others for navigation, hiking advice, and conversation. We turn the corner, and there is Dad, sitting on flat open ground!
We plop down next to him. Poor Rafiki is so dehydrated. Dad says he had to go on because he needed water.
A few minutes later, Rafiki and I make our way down a narrow and brushy path to a little box of water.
This will be my first time using my water bladder.
“Move the floaties out of the way, but try not to disrupt the sediment,” Rafiki says as he moves his hand through the water. He pushes the bladder down and in a big movement, scoops the water across the pool.
“Your turn,” he says.
We have to wait for the sediment to settle. My fleece is on, but Rafiki wears only his hiking shirt. We both shiver in the cool evening, now that we’re settled down and still.
I swim my hand through the cold water and push my bladder down into the pool. I swoop it across the water, only gaining about half a bladder.
We do this for about ten or fifteen minutes. It was a big day, lots of uphill. Tiredness consumes us both as we sit, grab water, wait for the sediment to settle, and do it again.
Once finished, we carefully cross the muddy slope that led us up here and join Dad.
Rafiki, having drank lots of cold water due to his dehydration, is lying facedown on his mat, the chill of the drink having brought his core temperature down. I chuckle as I see him in this position — it’s a little mean, I know.
I begin to prepare my dinner, which is jalapeño tuna and chicken ramen. I have a bandana system that some may call unsanitary. After rinsing off my pot as best I can, I wipe out the water and potato residue. Then I get it wet to wipe off the dirt that dusts me from feet to knees. Then I use it as a tissue, since all this dust is making me a bit stuffy. I have desert nose.
Unsanitary? Meh.
As we all settle down, I chat with Dad about some of my anxieties of the day. Of course, the way anxiety works, none of my concerns were reality. Dad is having a great time on the trip and doesn’t feel like I’m a burden at all. He’s happy I’m here and happy to slow down and enjoy the trail — something he told himself that he would do if he ever hiked the trail again.
As the day goes to sleep, the city below shimmers like coal in a fire. I’m so exhausted that I close my eyes and let sleep take over.
The Wonderland Journal 
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