Oregon, part 1: Skeeter season

I’ve been waiting for this. I was captivated stories of lush forests and a more indulgent land. «Oregon is flat,» or so says the saying. Not exactly, but ups and downs are remarkably more gradual. The soft profile of the central waterfalls allows the largest volcanic spikes to remain visible on the horizon while guiding the road to the north as giant and snowy reference points. When Coopera, Oregon has been my favorite section so far.

In terms of company, I would prefer less mosquitoes and more hikers, but, as I said more times than I can count here, beggars cannot be chosen.

Storm clouds gather

I was lucky to spend two storm nights under a roof with family. When I got to the road again, the weather was crunchy and clear. While crossing Oregon’s soft land, the air began to warm up, although he never reached a critical point that first day. I was not lucky day two. The end of the afternoon brought clouds, then thunder, and finally a hail shower. He gave up after approximately an hour and found a good tent place along Ridgeline. The horizons were clear, so I installed my store without the rainfly and went to sleep.

A few hours later, I woke up with a sudden and bright flash. Another storm was on the horizon. The night sky dyed the threatening color of the even deeper clouds. More than an hour had passed two before: I realized why they provided some shadow of the tough moonlight and finally allowed me to sleep. This meant that they were comfortably in favor of the wind … right? I stayed there half awake, reflecting on my options.

And then I felt it. A dropped rain drop hit the mesh of my tent and crashed into a dozen smaller bits that dispersed my dry team. This sudden wave of moisture took me out of my indecision. I left the store and tried frantically unite the fly in the dark. It was not the softer operation, but I kept most dry.

Independence

The following was something I had been planning for a while. It was the reason why I had pushed me to shave the days of my Northern itinerary. I was desperate to get to Crater Lake for Independence Day … and it was a bust. Let me explain.

This completely arbitrary deadline had been in my mind for a while. Armed with dreams of seducing other campers with small talks and stories on the path, I was sure that an invitation to a grilling dinner in the camp could score. Now, this free food desire is not entirely selfish. I really enjoy making new friends. The food does not have to be at stake to make a stranger. In fact, when Indy, the hands stop and I shared a trip, it was my job sitting in shotgun and talking.

But when I arrived at the camp in Crater Lake after a long morning that felt even more time than it was, I could say that things were not what I expected. This was not a small community, very close and focused on the hiker. These were weekends from all over the country, all happy to be here for the holidays, but most of them had probably never heard of the PCT. The chances of being recognized as a hiker, much less being invited to a family meal, seemed depressedly scarce.

Instead, I spent most of the holidays sitting on the floor of the convenience store, next to the current reserved for hikers. It is not exactly what I expected.

It wasn’t all bad. I had the opportunity to catch up with some friends who had skipped. I didn’t think I would see them again, so running out with them was a pleasant surprise. And perhaps the most important thing, having a failure of one night meant that I could go to bed early, early enough to walk through the sunrise to the edge of the morning.

Snow revenge

Perhaps the «walk» underlines the steep and snowy rise that I made in the dark, but seeing that the sun rises on Crater Lake was special. It also meant that he had had an advantage in the day. That was good, because he had been looking at a camp at about 40 miles ahead that had a reputation of being quite picturesque. As you probably have already discovered, I am a fan of a good view, so I pressed ahead.

I can’t remember the word «snow» in conversations about Oregon’s PCT. But this was a record year of snow here, and I am approximately one month ahead of its typical through Hiker, so maybe it should not have been a big surprise to face a 12 mile snow tour. But it was a bit discouraging. Many of the hikers ahead had commented on the difficulty of this section.

But once again I was surprised, this time pleasantly. Even without my snow team (my microspikes and my ice ax have been sent for a long time), the snow never felt dangerous or difficult. I did a good time surprisingly good through the section and I arrived at my camp early enough to have a relaxing night. In the end, walking on the PCT is a massive exercise to let expectations, for good or sick, and embrace what you are in front of you.

Out of blood

When growing in the swamps of the east of North Carolina, I thought I had seen the worst of what the mosquitoes had to offer. But then, a pair of backpacker trips at the beginning of summer in the high mountains deactivated me of that notion. Mountain mosquitoes really operate in a higher stratosphere. In the JMT, they were bad in patches; Here, they are a constant threat.

I began to notice them in the mountains. My first bite was in VVR, but in reality they became a nuisance to Yosemite. It is an unfortunate fact that, while walking north, I remain in the summer bubble, since it extends towards the latitudes of the north. Indeed, my rhythm keeps me at the top of the mosquito season wherever I go. However, at this point I have to believe that they have reached their peak.

Like the vampires they are, they seem to avoid direct sunlight (it is not known if they shine as Edward Cullen). But in the softest temperatures in the morning and night, in a shaded cane, or next to a stream that springs, in summary, in all time and places that are more pleasant for a break, blood hunting creatures are in force.

One of the strange things of mosquitoes is that you can not only overcome them, but you can overcome them. Even in their most important form, they cannot exceed a 2 mph flight speed. But if you decrease the speed for a second, they are ready to jump. Every time he bends down to brush, three more lands; Each break requires a small blood donation. Forget a network of full body errors. I want a danger suit.

Maybe that is the real reason I have been covering so many miles in Oregon.

Until next time

«Switchbackjack.»

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