Hiking the PCT has turned into something of a life project for me.
My brother and I started north from Walker Pass in 1976, headed for Lake Tahoe, 500 miles to the north . A torn cartilage in my right knee forced a bailout after a hundred miles.
I didn’t resume the trail until 2013, having acquired an education, a family and a career in the meantime. I’ve hiked a couple more 500 mile sections since then, ending up near Mt Shasta (but unable to see Mt Shasta due to wildfire smoke) at mile 1500 in 2018. Getting back on the trail has been a challenge since then: my wife’s 60th birthday trip to Italy and a promise to sit my daughter’s dog while she rafted the Grand Canyon (when you get a permit for the Canyon you have to go) limited my hiking window in 2019 to about 3 weeks – enough to hike the Theodore Solomons Trail, but not enough to do a satisfying chunk of the PCT.
2020 was Covid of course, which limited me to loop hikes in Colorado and Yellowstone.
I was determined that 2021 would be different. Although I returned to work (developing a 5-minute Covid test now in clinical trials), I made it an explicit condition that I have 2 months off in the summer to go hiking. I was set.
When I returned to the PCT in 2013, I was not alone. Bonny, a 125-lb Newfoundland-sled dog mix was my companion. She had joined our family a few months before, an adult rescue dog who had apparently led a pretty rough life.
Or maybe her incorrigible food stealing, bike chasing and separation anxiety were just who she was. But her need for affection was matched by her ability to give it, and we became friends.
She was a powerful animal, not only strong but fast, agile, and intelligent. She ruled the local dog park, enforcing a strict no-conflict policy through sheer intimidation. The sight of a huge dog barreling down at high speed quickly convinced quarreling poodles that they had other matters to attend to.
She accompanied me north on the PCT from Lake Morena in 2013. Although not fond of packs, she had no trouble keeping up, and would dash around meadows and up and down hills when we camped, delighted to be free and unencumbered.
That went well enough until the winds shifted from cool Pacific westerlies to hot desert easterlies. She was a snow dog, and it soon became clear that bringing her on a desert hike was a mistake.
Fortunately my daughter Leah was going to college nearby and had been begging me to leave Bonny with her. She readily agreed to meet me at Scissors Crossing and take Bonny while I continued hiking.
That ended Bonny’s long-distance hiking career, but she went on plenty of shorter trips in cool mountains. She especially loved going on youth trips that I led for the Sierra Club: short hikes, kids to fawn over her and give belly rubs, and plenty of leftovers to clean up after dinner time.
Big dogs have big hearts but short lives. Bonny was 9 when she began to weaken. Backpack trips became shorter and then I had to start leaving her behind. Day hikes and ski tours dwindled from 5 miles to 2 to 1 to 0.
Neighborhood walks got shorter and shorter as progressive paralysis set in, weakening not only her legs but closing her windpipe until a walk of half a block left her gasping and needing multiple rest stops.
I put off the inevitable as long as I could but it was time. Bonny departed this life as she lived it, gently and with affection.
I arrived on time at the Redding airport in 100 degree heat, turned on my phone and found a message from my shuttle driver wondering exactly where at the Castle Crags campground I was. Apparently she got the direction of the ride reversed and thought I was going from the campground to the airport.
A phone call set her straight. While waiting for her to show I noticed a couple of other hikers, chatted with them and found out that they were trying to find a ride to Etna, a bit further up the trail. The driver was agreeable to taking on the extra fares and we set off to the nearest outdoors store, to get me a butane fuel canister.
Not seeing any on the shelves I asked a clerk and she pulled one out from under a counter and asked to see my drivers license so that she could document the sale for the authorities in Redding.
Apparently butane is useful in methamphetamine synthesis, and there are enough degenerates in Redding to make control of a simple 4-carbon alkane a societal necessity.
I was dropped off at the state park exit and discovered it was the wrong spot – the PCT crosses I-5 a few miles further up at the next exit. But there was a connector trail, so no real problem.
The heat was a much bigger issue. Even at 5pm it was close to 100 degrees. I compounded the issue by taking a wrong turn that took me on a climb over a ridge before rejoining the PCT.
I made 5 miles before it got dark, and found a steam side forest camp occupied by Fomo and Princess, who not only welcomed me but offered to paint my nails.
I declined in favor of cooking dinner, but may take her up on the offer at a later date.
