The Wonderland Journal

Miles hiked: 20.4

Mile marker: 498.2

Aside from the slow leak in my air mattress that leaves me on what feels like an inflatable pool floatie, I was quite surprised to wake up at 10:30 pm and hear the cry of a coyote. I sat up abruptly, remembering I never shut my backpack. The coyote might get into my food!

I rushed to close my bag and turned to see Savannah standing over me — her sleeping bag was right next to mine. 

Savannah was out with the coyote!

In the early morning, I tossed and turned on my half-deflated air mattress, reinflating it at some point. I’m caught in between two lights. One side is the moon. The other side is a porch light on the fire station. 

It’s a little bright. 

Before I know it, my alarm goes off. I try unsuccessfully to get the air out of my sleeping bag. I may need to ask Dad about this one. 

“I think Rafiki left already,” Bumper says. I peer around at the empty space next to the fire station where Rafiki was just getting ready a few minutes ago. I guess he did start already. 

We’re waiting on Bumper and another girl who’s been hiking with us. At least I’m not the last one. 

“Where’s Rafiki?” Dad asks. 

I shrug. “He left already, I think.”

We walk on the road for a minute before swinging a left onto the trail. It’s marked by the PCT trail marker. 

The sun is barely lighting the sky as we walk. There’s a morning yellow glow behind the power lines. The hills in front of me look like textured green ribbons. 

My honey bun isn’t sitting well in my stomach. An ascent at 5:45 AM on a sugared stomach? Yeah. Wouldn’t recommend. 

It gets hot quickly, but soon I’m at the next water source. Our path today has been hard-pact sand. The scrubby brush grabs at me as I walk by, often there being a pathway where the foliage tries to steal the things handing on the outside of your pack as you walk by. 

Another ascent. I’m pushing now, staying close to Dad. I can keep pushing. I’ve done this before at the gym. It’s only another 1.5 miles until more water. I want to quit, but there’s always a small hill that follows the tough one. 

It flattens out a bit. I made it! I’m on Dad’s heels. We chat about life, happiness, and what we may want to do in the future. 

We’re going to walk seven miles to the water source, but we pause at a campground. The flies have been swarming us all day. I doze off, never falling into a real sleep. 

I hear Dad getting ready to go. 

“What are you doing?” I ask. 

“I’m going to go for a walk,” he says. 

I feel like I’ve woken up from a long nap on a sunny afternoon and don’t know what to do with my life. I join him, and soon we’re followed by Savannah and Lucie. 

Dad pauses to take a video of the poodle dog bush. This is a velvety leaved plant that has pretty purple flowers shooting out of it. 

It’s very poisonous. 

The oils on the leaves can stick to your clothes for years. It’s bad news if it gets on your skin. 

Lucie knee was bothering her before lunch, and now it’s quite bad. Savannah walks behind her to encourage her. We ask if she needs us to carry anything. 

Savannah straps Lucie’s food bag to her pack and soon we scramble up the hill to the road. We walk together on the hot road for a few minutes. 

“You can get extra long lasting deodorant,” Savannah says. 

“And take two showers a day!” I add. 

This makes Lucie chuckle. We’re just trying to cheer her up. She’s really upset about the about the decision she has to make. 

Lucie is going to hitch into town and wait for us there. Her knee is hurt and she needs to rest it. She feels awful at having to leave the trail. 

“It’s a long trail,” Dad says. “You have plenty of time! Just take care of that knee.”

Dad flags a car down. The couple in it are Spanish speaking. The woman speaks some English, so we struggle our way through the conversation. 

“Tell them a town, not a doctor,” Dad says. 

“Doctor? No doctor there,” the lady says. 

We struggle our way through the conversation with the sun beating down on us. 

Soon, we bid goodbye to Lucie — she gives us some extra snacks — and continue on. 

“Wait here, and if I yell, come down,” Dad says as we try to find the trail from the road. Savannah and I sit on a rock. A few minutes later and he yells, “Aaahh—yup!” 

His usual call. 

We carefully slide down the loose dirt. Savanah goes first. “I see the trail!” She says. We navigate long grass and small rocks until we find the trail. 

“Dad?” I say. 

“Yup!”  he replies. 

Forward!

We find him and after Dad and Savannah empty their shoes, we keep going. We find Bumper and our other hiker addition, Socks, at the creek. We fill water and keep going. 

Soon it’s just Dad and me. I’m glad he’s with me though. We talked about going more miles, but I’m beat. My heel is hurting, too. I’m walking with a weird gait because of it. Every time I step on my heel, a shock of pain shoots through my foot. 

I thought that blister had reabsorbed. 

I’m glad Dad stays behind me. He’s so much faster than me and sometimes needs to push ahead that at times, I miss walking with him. Sometimes I spend so much time around other hikers that I wonder if he’s having a good time on trail. 

He is. This time around hiking the PCT is so different than his last time. When he hiked it in 2021, it was right after Covid and people were in a different mindset. He developed an awesome tramily very quickly. I guess I feel a bit anxious that my presence is holding him back from the best trail experience. 

This, of course, isn’t true, because I’ve discussed this with him with him. That’s just my anxiety talking. 

The sun is calming down so we’re in the speckled shadows of the trees. It turns into a meadow of sorts, one that’s on a slope. 

I pause as a snake about a foot long slithers in the middle of the trail. He’s doing a sort of head jig, his head moving back and forth like a slinky. 

“I wonder if he’s hunting,” Dad says. 

I hope he’s not injured.  

As he dances across the trail, I step past him. He slides forward. 

Oh! He’s not injured. He moved like someone attached a string to his head and pulled. No meandering like I usually imagine for a snake. 

“I bet he was hunting,” Dad says again. 

Probably. 

I’m so done with today. Sad Lucie had to get off trail. My foot hurts and I have to walk with a funny gait: stepping on the ball of my foot. At least Dad is sticking with me. 

We reach the junction for the campsite and find the others sitting there. They try to plan for tomorrow, but I have other priorities. 

“I need to find the privy,” I say. 

“And maybe a Rafiki,” Dad adds. 

I rush uphill the next quarter of a mile.

Rafiki is laid out on his sleeping mat. The ravens laugh like monkeys as Dad says hello to Rafiki and I run to the privy. Soon the others are here too. I immediately sit down and clean my blister. It’s calloused. When I stick the needle in, the fluid doesn’t gush out like it has previously. 

“Hey Dad,” I say. “Can you help me out?” 

He presses on my blister with the alcohol pad. He’s pressing hard. The pressure hurts! We end up putting the needle in about three times to get the fluid out. 

I didn’t think the blister would harden while still containing fluid. It would have been better if I’d popped it when I first saw it! I was just hoping it would reabsorb!

We dine together at the picnic table and then cowboy camp.

My legs are so sore that as I walk away from the table, my walk is a hobble. 

Everyone laughs as I walk away. 

“A little sore?” Dad asks. 

Yes. Yes I am.

It has been a long and hot day. Lucie made it to a trail angel’s house and is enjoying a sandwich. I’m glad she made it somewhere safe!

https://thetrek.co/day-30-green-valley-fire-station-to-sawmill-camp/