Suddenly I realized how easy it would be to die here

Rainbow, TC, Durango and I left Idyllwild early Sunday morning, just as the sun was beginning to peek over the mountains. Clean, rested, and pampered after spending two nights in a proper bed, we headed up the steep side trail back to the PCT and then to San Jacinto.

At the top, we looked down at the arid desert below, toward the straight line of the interstate we would walk toward tomorrow. Durango (his government name) told us stories from his time in New Zealand on the TA: the time he was attacked by furry possums while he slept, the time he received an $18,000 bill for a helicopter evacuation, and the time he broke his ankle and still walked another 20 miles. TC aptly nicknamed him Mishap.

We met several hikers who warned us about the heat in the valley. Once we reached camp, the last source of water for 12 miles, we pulled out our phones to strategize the next day. 16 miles, all downhill. Once we got to I-10, we were able to Uber into town to wait out the heat of the day. It is not necessary to get up too early. It is not necessary to carry more than 3 liters of water.

The next morning, I woke up to the familiar sound of crumpled plastic bags: TC and Rainbow packing up camp. They always got up at five in the morning and so did I. I quickly put on my fleece to combat the morning cold. After walking 0.1 mile, I took it off. The breeze had turned warm, as if someone had accidentally turned on the heater.

After a few kilometers I had already drunk a liter of water. I did some quick calculations and realized I needed to ration. One sip every 10 minutes. Half a liter every 2 miles. No more.

I quickened my pace, desperate to get to the next water source before the heat really took effect. I got cell service and sent voice messages to my friends to distract myself from the pain of my backpack rubbing against my sweat-soaked back. I took out my umbrella to get some relief from the relentless sun that was scorching my skin.

I came across another hiker lying on a rock in a narrow strip of shade. He had run out of water. I gave him half of what I had left. I needed it too, but she needed it more. As I walked away, I looked at the quarter of a liter I had left and wondered if I had made a mistake. But we were only 2 miles from the water.

I followed curve after curve until I could see the water source below. I groaned as the trail took me further before finally turning around. Once I got there, I filled my bladder with water, crawled into a shady spot under a big rock, and puffed.

Another hiker carried a thermometer in his backpack. It said 104 in the shadows. 116 in the sun. The woman who ran out of water arrived shortly after me. She soaked herself in water and called a trail angel to pick her up. She offered me a ride, but I said no. It was only 3.7 miles to the interstate.

I could do anything for 3.7 miles.

I called my boyfriend Matt as I walked. I told him how much I would hate the heat. I told him I felt surprisingly well. When he hung up, I only had 2 miles left.

I was basically there.

Then the wind picked up. I had to put away my umbrella. The packed dirt gave way to hot asphalt and then soft sand. Mishap walked ahead of me, so I just focused on following his shiny Topo shoes. I saw a small sign with the words “Trail Magic” and an arrow, but I couldn’t understand it. I ignored him and kept moving forward.

Somehow, each step seemed to take me further and further away from the overpass. We had walked miles but we had not gotten any closer.

Mishap stopped to take a break, so I continued alone, with no footsteps to guide me. The trail wound around a sandy dirt road and I couldn’t tell which was which. I kept walking maybe both, or maybe neither. Forward was the only direction he knew.

The backs of my legs were on fire, heat radiating from both the sun above and the hot earth below. My mouth was as dry as the desert around me. He hadn’t urinated all morning. I wasn’t sure if I was still sweating. I tried to drink water but it was as hot as everything else.

I suddenly realized how easy it would be to die here.

I looked at my watch as my heart rate climbed into Zone 4. I usually walked at 3 mph, but I was fighting for my life to maintain a 1.5 mph pace. I told myself that the faster I walked, the faster I could stop. I just needed to get to the interstate. I was wondering how much my helicopter evacuation would cost.

Finally, I turned a corner and emerged into the shadow of the I-10 overpass. I took off my backpack and slid down the cold concrete wall as the traffic roared above me.

A few moments later, Mishap, TC, and Rainbow did the same. Rainbow’s knees were covered in dried blood, her normally bright pink shirt unrecognizable from salt and sweat. My face was smeared with gobs of bright white sunscreen. Mishap was red from his face to his calves. TC seemed completely unfazed: he had obtained frozen Gatorade thanks to the magic of the trail.

We looked at each other and laughed uncontrollably.

This website contains affiliate links, which means The Trek may receive a percentage of any products or services you purchase using links in articles or advertisements. The buyer pays the same price they would otherwise pay, and their purchase helps support The Trek’s ongoing goal of bringing you quality backpacking information and advice. Thank you for your support!

For more information, visit the About page of this site.