Oregon, part 2: Unlocked waterfalls

The wind spread strongly through the carbonized landscape. There was little to catch him. Normally, I would consider this combination of wind, burned trees and sunlight without specialization as something to fear, but today they formed an unlikely alliance against a much more formidable enemy: mosquitoes.

Mere hours after writing a vain hope that blood of blood has reached their maximum point for the season, I found They didn’t do it. The above conditions had been bad; These were limit apocalyptic. John de Patmos could not have imagined a more horrible scene. Fortunately, as Apocalypse’s book itself, this story has a happy ending: mosquitoes improved after Elk Lake.

Hordes of vampiric insects except Oregon has been my favorite section of the PCT. Excursionists often describe this state as «flat.» While that is far from true, the terrain is certainly more indulgent. Here, the path slides along the gently undulating crest of the central waterfalls. This allows views without obstacles of the massive stratiscanes that splashed the range to approximately every fifty miles from here to the Canadian border.

The best path so far

After diverting in Elk Lake to have lunch just to discover that his restaurant was closed for renewal, I found myself confronting an even more serious problem: a large and noisy and rough storm was gathering behind me. Can you overcome a tournament? I was about to find out.

Fortunately, the miles ahead were my favorites from the entire path and the steps flew. He had experienced this part of Oregon before, but never of the crossbar. And although I felt a few drops of rain, I somehow managed to overcome the storm clouds.

The next morning, he brought impressive tours through snowfields, fragments of obsidian and finally a hot and dusty work through steep basalt miles. Lava rock can look good, but it is not a joke when it starts baking in the sun. I felt relieved to shoot at the Big Lake Youth camp, friendly with the Adventist.

The art of being still

The next beak on the horizon was the irregular mounting Jefferson. In the approach, some slopes oriented to the north held snow patches. The hikers of the section, who had clearly experienced the horrors of an early May of the Sierra Nevada, had left Farout comments suggesting that trying to cross this section would result in my premature disappearance. It is not so. I did it through what I suppose and (really In fact Waiting) will be the last significant snow of the PCT without sweating.

I had stored some additional miles, so I could enter Lake Orelallie the next day. The pleasure of sitting in a chair, next to the water, with a cold drink in his hand and there are no miles in the day is one that I hope not to forget. Full attention, the art of focusing on the present, is not something that is natural for my mind oriented to planning. That, aggravated with my quick rhythm lately, has not left much for a quiet reflection. I will make that a priority as I approach the terminal.

The next day it brought easy miles but a new challenge. A 50 mile race was scheduled on the PCT. When I walked to the first aid station, with trailers, music at full volume, chairs and several tent awnings, I was very excited. I thought I had encountered the mother of all the magic of the path. I made a mistake. They seemed a bit surprised to see me, as if they had not really hoped to see a hiker of Pacific Crest Trail in the Pacific Crest Trail. Ultimately, I probably spent more than the day dodging hikers who actually walk. Even so, I put great miles and arrived at the camp at a reasonable moment, and a few miles later, I found a real magic of trails.

There is no space in the inn

He had waste and reserved a room in the historic Timberline Lodge; After all, he had saved a lot of money running through Oregon without any stop from the city from Medford. When the path climbed into the flank of Mount Hood, one thing motivated me: thoughts of the famous buffet in the shelter. I would not arrive on time for breakfast, but I would arrive on time to get the value of my money at lunch. I appreciated my rhythm.

Too fast, as it turned out. I got there before lunch was served. It doesn’t matter, he had some errands to execute. The main one was trying to negotiate the entrance to my room at some point before Check-in at 4. Explaining that it was through a trip and that I desperately needed a shower and a nap, the receptionist assured me that it would not be a problem and that they would let me know as soon as I was available. So, I got into the buffet and waited … and waited. I bothered them a few times more, but it was in vain. I had imagined that «early» meant 1 or 2, maybe 3 no later than. Obviously, it meant 3:56. Oh good. I realized my shower and siesta eventually.

The next morning, I stayed to see the buffet for breakfast again. It was full to the point of exploding, and it would probably have been easier for me to simply roll through the mountain instead of walking. But I decided it wasn’t safe, so I walked.

I had a full circle moment when I hit Ramona Falls. Two years ago, I had visited as a hiker and I ran into a group of hikers. Today, I was visiting as a hiker and I met hikers someday. It’s curious how things change.

Two weeks later, two states below

One of the peculiarities of the Oregon PCT is that its most iconic view, Crater Lake, is not really on the road, which requires hikers to take an alternative path to the edge. The reason for this is a technicalism: the PCT is an equestrian path and, for obvious reasons, horses are not allowed in the Lake Rim crater. The same is true for the second most iconic point in Oregon. The Eagle Creek path is well worth the detour, mainly due to the unreal view of the tunnel falls. I worried that I had no one around to take a picture. Fortunately, some hikers of the forced days.

With that, I surrounded in waterfall locks before noon. The 14 -day challenge was complete. I blinked and Oregon was behind me.

If I’m honest, I wasn’t sure if I would get so far. When I started from Mexico, the probabilities were against me. Many things, injuries, diseases, family emergency, mental fatigue, can be combined to avoid the completion of a walk. I intended to finish, but I realized that getting to Canada would require the cooperation of many factors outside my control.

However, I told myself that when I arrived at the bridge of the gods, I would start letting me believe. And I’m here. Come to hell or high water, I will lie down through the finish line if necessary. The border is 500 miles already three weeks away. Thus begins the beginning of the end.

Until next time

«Switchbackjack.»

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