The Wonderland Journal

Miles hiked: 20.7

Mile marker: 226.4

The sun is just yawning as we quietly roll out of our sleeping bags, which sounds something like jumping into a pool of potato chip bags. The wind is cutting through my shirt as I fill my water bottles. Dad draws a smiley face in the ground as he waits for me to get ready. He’s always ready first, after all. 

My bag feels like it’s full of bricks as I throw it over my back. We’re on a 16 mile water carry, which means 4.7 liters of water for me. 

My feet are stiff as I hobble after my Dad and Rafiki. It’s a road walk, and I quite enjoy it. From San Jacinto, I could see the windmills that are right next to us. There is something special about civilization, something exciting. 

On one of my training hikes prior to hiking the trail, I was on something of a twelve mile trek when I returned to the parking lot. 

My heart leapt in my chest at the sight of my little sedan, Sunny! Oh, blessed car. Blessed cities and blessed comfort. 

I love all of civilization. It’s easy. It’s fast. It’s so very comfortable. 

Blisters, 124 degree weather, uphill walks, 40 lbs packs? Not comforting. Difficult. Very, very difficult. 

So my road walk is bliss. The Camino trail in Spain? Yeah. I can do that. In fact, I want to do that. Road walking is fun. Light. Trail walking? Well, it’s tough. 

The sun glows bright and gold ahead of us in the pale blue sky. Rocks and low shrubs border us on either side, for miles and miles. 

A little cottage is in the distance. It looks like something out of Lord of the Rings, and I know my sister-in-law would love it. It’s made of cobblestone and wood and has the rounded features of a fairy home. 

As we walk onto the sandy path of a trail — where we navigate low shrubs and rocky dirt by wooden poles — Dad spots a bench in the middle of no where. 

The power lines above us crackle like the whine of broken headphones. The wind whooshes through them, strong and wild. I hate the sound of the whine, though. It sounds otherworldly, like I’m being put in the experimental chair for a scientific project on time travel. 

The wind is so heavy here that sometimes it tries to take my foot away as I step! It pushes me to the side, and as I try to catch up to Dad, I see his slight unbalance from the huge gusts of wind. 

I absolutely love this! The wind is so powerful! This is my favorite moment on trail so far. I feel free in the middle of this strong wind, as if I’m a character on a boat. It feels wild and elemental. 

Dad pauses to look at his phone to check that we’re on track. There is no obvious trail here, just randomly placed wooden poles with yellow tips. 

I think long and hard about how we coil could less affected by the wind. When I was a camp counselor years ago, I taught the campers how to sail on Hobie Cats, a small catamaran. 

When a sailboat faces the wind, the sails flap uselessly. I wonder if we walk into the wind if we wouldn’t be so pushed around. 

Of course, that’s not how it works, but I get caught thinking about the term. Caught in signs? In sighs? What is it called?

While the wind gusts and sings around us, I contemplate this matter. 

I’ll go ahead and tell you, but please note that the term never came to me and I had to look it up. 

Caught in irons. 

My brain never makes it far enough to think about how being caught in irons may or may not parallel to walking into wind, since I never can remember the term. 

The windmills in the distance look like a dance ensemble. The ones up front are large and still while the ones in the back are small and all moving their arms in a circular motion. It’s like the front of the ensemble froze to give the back row some stage time. 

The grass around us is windblown to one side and looks like Pooh Bear hair, wirey and gold. 

A train track just across the way moves on, and it has to have at least 100 cars on it! It is the longest train I’ve ever seen!

We come to an underpass where trail magic is often left. There is some water and tofu, but we’re all full on water and tofu… well, let’s just say it’s a little early for breakfast soy. 

We hang out here for a little while and eat breakfast, since we didn’t want to wake the others sleeping around us back at the water fountain. 

There is a board we can sign our names. There is a patch of Lady of the Nights — a flower that will give you nightmares if you sniff it for ten minutes and kill you if you eat it! We learned that on our second day in from another hiker at Kitchen Creek. 

Dad takes the opportunity to remind me it’s going to get hot and I need to be aware of how long I’m spending under shade in our precious morning hours. Always a learning moment with Dad!

We hike on through the rocky desert. A thru-hiker from Hong Kong gives us a cookie — he stayed at a place that Denis went to for a food resupply. 

Apparently Denis didn’t math how long we were going to be gone, so he just packed a random assortment of food! No wonder he wouldn’t stop talking about trail magic. He was out of meals!

The sun rises and it’s hot, the kind where the sun is beating on the back of your neck and sweat is leaking down the sides of your face. 

We have a short set of switchbacks that lead us to a perfect shaded area, where Dad chats with another hiker who is a lawyer. 

I’m trying to catch up on my blog, so where our time is done (no set time, here), and I’m rushing to put a Liquid IV in my water bottle, Dad reminds me that these things need to be done while I’m sitting down. 

So much to learn. 

Our hike continues down a long set of switchbacks. I see a rock that looks like a snake head. The trail is easy and downhill, but man, is that sun hot!

We finally reach our end and begin walking on flat ground. It’s sandy, so walking is a little bit of extra work. Lizards scuttle away from me like lightning as I pass. I’m stewing from just existing underneath this wicked sun. I begin to fall into a daze, as if I’m an alien on a different planet, dazed and delirious by the foreign elements. 

I find Dad under a tree for a break from the sun. The tree branch arches low, so I have to take my pack off and crawl underneath it like a little garden gnome. 

Nice place, Dad! 

The fingers of the trees are bent as if they’re playing the piano. It makes for a nice back rest!

“Rafiki!” Dad calls. Rafiki looks up and the other way, taking out his single earbud. Dad says his name again, and Rafiki sees us. That was animated. 

We’re up and moving again through the hot sun. 

At last, we reach Whitewater River!

Only there’s one problem. 

Where’d the river go? 

Rivers have a habit of moving, so we choose to have lunch in this shaded area. Shade is no guaranteed by the River. 

Rafiki drinks his last sip of water. Since I have extra, I offer mine about four times. I guess he meant it when he said he didn’t want any the first time. 

We close our eyes with our feet elevated. I’m using my shoe as a pillow because we’re on a slight slope. As I doze off, my right leg twitches and it wakes me up. I doze off again and my left leg twitches. 

Gosh, I’m exhausted and just want to nap. This is like sleeping in class in high school all over again. You’re not supposed to sleep in school, so you twitch randomly only to wake up and wonder if anyone saw. 

I hear Dad talking to some day hikers. My eyes are closed as I’m in a half-sleep, and as the hikers walk away, gust of wind catches the sand on their shoes!

The sands cuts across my face and I turn my head immediately. 

I just wanted a decent nap! 

Dad is up and finding water soon. Rafiki and I follow a few minutes later, but it takes us a while to navigate the dried-out river bank. 

Rafiki is in the lead, but another hiker we ran into who we met at Mike’s Place is with us to navigate. I begin to worry we lost Dad in this rubble of rocks, that I don’t know where I’m going or where the trail is — which is true. 

My navigational skills proved to be incorrect, again. I spot Dad by a huge and glorious river! A snake glides across the water majestically, gliding across the rocks. 

The water is rushing clear and it’s almost warm to the touch! We toss our bags aside and bound into the water. We’re like golden retrievers on a summer day, rolling around and dunking our heads. 

This place is magic. I’ve never appreciated a river more in my life. I rinse off my underarms, looking like a monkey. We’re all pretty ripe today after the hot hikes. 

The rocks are both big and small beneath us, and there is one pool where the water comes up just past our hips. 

Soon, our glorious experience has to come to an end. I look at my blister. It’s green. 

“Is it bruised?” Rafiki asks. 

“It does hurt,” I say. 

“Is there sand in there?” Dad asks. 

Oh boy. 

“You need to cut the blister off. It’s bad if the sand stays in there,” Dad says. 

I begin working away with my utility scissors. I have no idea what I’m doing, thinking of only two things: one, this is like cutting fabric and two, if I cut too close to the healthy skin then that will really hurt!

I sit on a rock by the river for a few minutes, feeling like I’m 14 again and needing my dad’s help since there is still little bits of sand at the bottom of the cut skin. 

Worse thing, is I feel like I’m watching something out of a science fiction movie. I have a blister under the blister! It’s so bizarre that my stomach churns as I think about those movies where an alien comes out of the chest or mouth of another alien. To make matters worse, my skin is all pale and puffy under the blister! So weird!

Rafiki flushes it out for me with his water filter. Dad helps me patch it up with the last of my Leuko tape. Everybody has filed out by this time and I’m feeling pretty lame for holding my group up. 

I’ve been using KT tape, which is trash, and should have known better than to swim in a river filled with sediment when the tape was halfway off my foot. 

We finally moved on to climb up some switchbacks and take some beautiful photos in the sleepy hours of the day. 

The mountains are various layers of blue as the sun still sings, accompanied by a gentle early-evening breeze. 

Tiny tents pop into view as we peer over the ledge into the snaking Mission Creek. 

It’s late, I’m exhausted, and my feet hurt, especially as my new Topo Vista trail runners are biting into the back of my ankle. These shoes have more support, so the bottoms of my feet haven’t been nearly as sore as they were with my Topo Pursuit 2’s. However, the back of my ankle does look like I’ve been scratching at an ant bite due to the back frame of the shoes being quite high. Apparently this is a common issue with Topo’s.

I’m ready to be done. My fear is that we still have two miles past this point. 

As we turn the corner, we cut into a new bubble of people. Dad is talking to an animated hiker named Richy as I approach. My feet are nearly dragging at this point. I’m hungry for my ram-bomb. 

This new bubble of hikers — a term for a group of hikers who travel about the same pace and in the same direction — are people who we’ve never seen before. We pass them and hit a flat area about half a mile up. 

“Is this okay or do you want to keep going?” Dad asks. 

“This is perfect,” I say. “I’m ready to just eat and go to sleep. 

After we settle down, I go to use nature’s restroom. A snake is laid out in front of me and my heart skips into my throat. It’s a grey and thick snake that — 

Oh. 

That’s not a snake. 

It’s a stick. 

Anyways. 

The stars are exploded through the night sky as I lay in my sleeping bag — another night of cowboy camping. I try to journal and a bat flies right over my face! Or was it a moth?

My legs feel stretched out and dehydrated. Very achey legs after all that walking. The crickets and frogs sing a lullaby as the river flows gently in front of us. Most nights I wear ear plugs — a task where I’m still navigating where exactly my ear canal travels — but tonight requires none of that. This night holds the most beautiful nature sounds on this whole trip. 

What a beautiful night! Moths, bats, stick snakes and all. 

https://thetrek.co/pacific-crest-trail/day-13-interstate-10-whitewater-river-into-mission-creek/