Oregon Part 1: Smoke, Berries, and a Whole Lot of Poop!

Welcome back to my blog, helping me to remember and reflect on my experiences hiking the Pacific Crest Trail in 2018! If you're interested in the pictures (which are the best part, in my opinion), I recommend checking this out on your phone or using Google Chrome - they don't appear to load well on Internet Explorer!

Where we left off, I had just made it to the California/Oregon border, having finally successfully hiked the entire length of the state of California over 126 days.

When I got to Oregon, I was feeling pretty exhausted and unsure about how much longer I could keep moving, but I was also really excited at having hit such a significant checkpoint and looking forward to the prospect of experiencing Oregon, a state I have always very much wanted to visit. I expected Oregon to bring an excited and much needed change in scenery after what felt like weeks of long climbs, small mountains, and never-ending forests. Overall for me Oregon did involve a bit of disappointment and a lot of exhaustion and feeling down, but it was punctuated by so many incredible moments that are the sharpest points in my memory now. Without a doubt, those many moments of pure joy is what kept me pushing through hundreds upon hundreds of miles of physical exertion, boredom, loneliness, monotony, and exhaustion, so I will try to find some words to describe them.

Let's get started right at the very beginning: The day I crossed over the border. It was still morning when I arrived, alone at the time. I had left Macro around 5:15 a.m., him still relaxing in his hammock enjoying his second cup of coffee, as usual. He arrived at the border after about 20 minutes, and after jumping up and down in celebration and taking a bunch of pictures, we set out into Oregon, heading in the direction of Ashland, our first OR resupply, where we would be arriving tomorrow. Macro sped off ahead of me, and after a few minutes of hiking I had to take a break, as my usual mid-morning poop was fast approaching. (You will do well to prepare for a good amount of poop talk during this blog installment - it's good practice of what it's like to be a thru-hiker... it was pretty customary to be discussing one's bowel movements in detail within minutes of meeting a fellow hiker. One of the many things I loved about hiking!) I followed my usual routine: doffed my pack, left it on the side of the trail as a marker to other hikers to move along and not look around too much, trekked off-trail to a good distance behind some trees, and fished out my trusty trowel and started digging my cat hole. Alas, it was diarrhea. Oh well, it happens! Wasn't the first diarrhea I had on trail, so I buried it all up and continued on my way!

Unfortunately, that was only the first of 6 or 7 such stops throughout the next few hours, and although I was not feeling feverish or anything too concerning, I was starting to feel tired, run down, and probably a bit dehydrated. Diarrhea is never fun, but when you have to go venture into the undergrowth, dig a hole, squat, bury the hole, and use limited amounts of tp so that, god forbid, you don't run out.... it becomes even less fun. Macro and I had planned where we would meet at the end of the day, but when some hiker friends passed me mid afternoon, I told them to pass on a message to him that I might stop earlier, and I would see him in Ashland tomorrow. I felt like crap (excuse the pun). I still managed a 20.6 mile day and then finally stopped at a random, sloping spot on some dirt that I felt was flat enough to make work. I pushed the cow pies out the way (random piles of dried cow poop in the middle of the mountains... weird), set up my tent, and spent another night camping alone.

The next day my stomach continued to ail me. I left at my usual early time and caught up to Macro while he was packing up his camp and hiked with him most of the way to Ashland. I was suffering. I was weak, tired, and not remotely interested in hiking. I slumped my way the 12 miles to Callahan's Lodge (a fancy hotel on the outskirts of Ashland) and Macro and I managed to get ride into Ashland from a trail angel. After some lunch we checked into a motel, showered and hit up the laundromat, and then I finally, blessedly crawled into some clean sheets on a real bed.

The plan was to resupply and head out the next afternoon but my unfortunate bowel movements were continuing, and I was starting to wonder if heading into the wilderness was a wise choice. When I was so tired that even walking to the grocery store made me feel like death, I decided a zero was in order, so I booked the motel for  another night and crawled back into bed. Macro decided to stay too, which helped to lower my guilt and anxiety at taking yet another zero day. Later that day I slowly plugged through my resupply and prepared to head out early the next morning.

Next morning we got all packed up and headed out the door, hitched back to the trail at Callahan's, and began walking. After about 2 miles, however, I was exhausted and on the verge of tears. I still hadn't had a healthy poop in 4 days and I couldn't begin to imagine hiking all day. I told Macro I had to head back, and so we parted ways. He had to get to Crater Lake to meet a friend, and I needed to go back to bed. We were close to a road crossing and I was lucky to get a hitch with the first car driving by, so I headed to Callahan's. My amazing and generous dad knew I was sick and offered to pay for me to stay at Callahan's for a couple nights while I recovered. I used the PCT discount and got myself set up in a beautiful room with two fluffy queen beds all to myself, and I was in bliss. Then I discovered I could log in to netflix on the tv in my room, and I pretty much died of happiness. I spent the day in bed catching up on some T.V. shows - a favourite pastime of mine which I hadn't done in 128 days.

The stomach ails continued, so the next day I went to the walk-in clinic. I was given some antibiotics and told to keep hydrated and that I could probably hike out once things... solidified a bit. I ended up staying at Callahan's for 3 nights - 2 in my luxurious hotel room, and the 3rd night in my tent on the lawn. Finally, after a whopping 4 zeros, my stomach was being a little nicer to me and I finally got up at my usual 4:30 a.m. wake time, packed up my tent, and hit the trail.

My tent on the back lawn of Callahan's Lodge my last night in Ashland

What I remember at this point was a strong feeling of not wanting to go back on trail. The whole time in town, I was anxious about how long I was resting, not because I really wanted to be hiking, but because I worried that I couldn't afford to be wasting time sitting around when I still had 1000 miles to go. Like I've said... I was tired, I was struggling, but I really wanted to finish this trail. I can be a pretty stubborn person and when I say I'm going to do something I try really hard to follow through. I just knew how accomplished and proud I would feel of myself if I managed to actually hike the entire PCT, and holding onto that feeling kept me going through frequent desires to quit, which were at an all-time high as I hiked out of Callahan's, in the cold, dark, very smoky morning. I remember very distinctly saying to myself, "Michelle... if you quit and go home right now, you will regret it forever. It's one thing to quit because you can't keep going, but if you can keep going and you choose to stop, you will regret it. This will be worth it". And of course, I was right.

My face pretending to be excited about leaving the road (AKA my option for escape) and heading back onto the trail

Feeling pretty thrilled at the think smoke making it hard to breathe

I will take a quick moment here to acknowledge that I am not the most positive person, and anyone who was around me during my hike knows this. I knew it was going to be the hardest thing I've ever done and that there would be days I would really want to quit, but truly nothing could have prepared me for how insanely hard it would be. Some people get out on trail and are immediately in their element and happy as happy could be... I was not one of those people. I loved being out there, don't get me wrong, I just really had a hard time adjusting to the discomfort that was associated with all the amazing parts of the experience. Covering all the distance using your own two feet is an incomparable, and outstanding thing, but also... it freaking hurts. Physically, yes, but also emotionally and mentally. I knew somewhere in my brain that all of it was so worth it, and I also had so many amazing moments that filled me with some of the purest joy I've ever felt, but those moments are hard to describe, and at times are so intensely personal, it often seemed easier to share in the struggles instead. In hindsight, of course, I am grateful for all the parts of the PCT, even the challenging ones, and a lot of the hardest days have become warm memories for me now. It's a good reminder of the impermanence of any given moment, and the difference a shift in perspective can have.

Shift in perspective: Smoke sucks, but look at this magical view of the sun illuminating the smoke between the trees

That first day back on trail ended up being pretty lovely. I remember my feet hurt a bit more than usual, adjusting to being walked on again after 4 days off, but otherwise the miles went by quickly, and before I knew it I had gone 27 miles and found myself at cute little horse camp next to a water reservoir 0.3 miles off trail. I also enjoyed the wonderful surprise of another run-in with my buddy Doctor Pineapple! This guy is a super funny, intelligent, cultured, and yet fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants adventurer. He truly took it to heart to make this hike his own and to do whatever he felt like doing, resulting in him always appearing at the most random times with the best stories. On this occasion, I was hiking along and randomly started thinking about him and wondering where he was. I knew he was probably a few stops ahead of me, based on the communication we'd had, so I pulled out my phone when I had some service and sent him a message saying hi. Less than an hour later I saw a figure walking towards me on trail... as in walking southbound. As it approached I discovered it was Dr. Pineapple. And to make matters even weirder, he had no pack and was carrying nothing except his pants. Which he was not wearing. I had to sit down on the trail due to laughter - it was the most Dr. Pineapple thing I could have imagined. The story was that in typical Dr. Pineapple fashion, he ended up not leaving town because he was invited to a folk music concert, so he had just been dallying about in the area, jamming with hippie musicians, and was now slack-packing a section on his way back to Ashland. The pantlessness was just because he got hot and decided to hike in his underwear... that really wasn't that weird on trail, to be fair.

Oregon looked a lot drier than I expected, having only really seen pictures of coastal Oregon!

View from my camp on my first day back on trail

The next day I caught up to another friend who I had hiked with in the Sierras, Chill Bill. We hiked together and chatted for much of the day, ate a TON of wild huckleberries, and camped at an adorable little flat spot right beside a roaring creek. I had hiked 30 miles that day and I slept like a baby, with the sound of rushing water in my ears reminding me happily of the Sierras.

More giant pinecones!

The first of oh so many huckleberries - Everyone had blue lips and fingers for weeks.

During that day I also encountered some of the first pumice stone on trail, something we would be encountering a lot more in Oregon. Although there is recent volcanic history throughout all of Northern California and Washington as well, the areas the trail traverses in Oregon contained a significant amount of evidence of its geologic history. In some places, the hardened lava was so distinct it looked as though it could have erupted only a few years ago. Oregon also has the highest number of volcanoes in the Cascade Volcanic Arc, including Mt. McLoughlin, The Three Sisters, Mount Jefferson, Mt. Mazama (Crater Lake), Mt. Thielsen, Broken Top, Mt. Washington, Three Fingered Jack, Mt. Jefferson, and Mt. Hood. Unlike many of the mountains I'd seen thus far, which were all strung together in a series of jagged peaks or rolling hills, most of Oregon's peaks stood alone, towering above the earth around them, huge, solitary, and majestic. In addition to that, the landscape is scattered with huge lava fields, with black, porous rock the only sight for miles. At times the landscape was quite alien in appearance. I found it fascinating and loved to imagine the geological processes that shaped the land I was looking at, so long ago.

Me hiking across the first of many lava fields

Mount McLoughlin

Bright Fireweeds cheering up some charred trees.
Fireweed is named because it's usually the first life to appear following a wildfire.

One of the less picturesque sections of trail on the way to Crater Lake - Burn areas SUCK.

A very excited hiker arriving in Crater Lake National Park!

Two days, and another solo camp later, I arrived at Mazama Village, the campground located at the base of Mt. Mazama, the home of Crater Lake. I was happily reunited with Macro, who had decided to stay at the campground for a couple nights and wait for me to catch up. The next day Macro was AMAZING and offered to take my super heavy pack up to Crater Lake on the trolley, so that I could slack pack the PCT section up to the lake, which he had done the day before. That saved me a long tiring climb, which felt easy-peasy without a heavy pack to weigh me down! I beat Macro to the top, where I was lucky to get a semi-visible view of the lake through the thick smoke.

Crater Lake selfie, waiting for Macro to join me for breakfast

Crater Lake was high on my list of sights I was excited to see on this hike, and I was definitely disappointed that the smoke kept me from seeing it in all its glory. Crater Lake (known as "Giiwaas" or "Most Sacred Place" to the Klamath Native Americans) is a huge water-filled caldera that was formed when the volcano collapsed during an eruption thousands of years ago. It is the deepest freshwater lake in the United States and is known for its brilliantly blue, clear water. I had heard that many hikers weren't even able to see across the lake to the other side because of the thick smoke that had been permeating the trail almost constantly since Shasta, CA. I was so worried I wouldn't be able to see the lake at all, so I was very grateful that the smoke cleared enough for a couple hours so I could experience it, but it was a bummer to miss out on the famously blue water, which appeared mostly grey. Still, to be able to see the other side was a treat, because it really is amazing to see the huge lake and imagine that once it was a full mountain, possibly towering 4000 ft higher than its current elevation at 8,157 ft.

Me, a tree, and Wizard Island

Macro and I had a delicious breakfast at the Crater Lake Lodge and then took the Rim Trail around the lake, the official PCT detour thanks to an old fire closure. It was a windy day, which resulted in the smoke getting pretty thick by mid afternoon. At this point I remember feeling really fed up with the smoke. It had been a daily presence for almost a month, leaving everything appearing hazy, grey, and depressing, and definitely not benefiting my health in any way. There were signs in every town outlining the smoke hazards as "very unhealthy" and instructing people to stay inside and avoid strenuous activity. I was like... "okay, well I'm going to go climb a mountain now!"...SMART. People from home were trying to encourage me, by saying it would clear soon, but the fires were continuing to burn, and I wasn't really having it. A huge reason for doing this hike was so I could experience being outside in nature, and I felt like it was hard to experience anything of the surroundings with the curtain of smoke following me. Crater Lake felt like a bit of a last straw situation for me. I was questioning how much longer it would be worth it to keep up the hike if I felt like I couldn't enjoy (or even see) the stuff I was looking forward to seeing. Luckily this is the last time I remember feeling this way because over the next week, while the smoke did continue and was very heavy at times, there were more and more frequent moments of clear skies, and within a week the smoke cleared up, pretty much for good!

The best view of Crater Lake before the smoke really blew in.

I remember the next day as one of those days where I just felt great the whole day, and really got into the groove of hiking. The trail was soft beneath my feet and had gradual ups and downs so I didn't feel like I needed to work too hard, and the smoke was pretty mild throughout most of the day, even clearing up entirely for a few hours. I entered Mt. Thielsen Wilderness and got to start the day off with some awesome views of Mt. Thielsen's jagged peak silhouetted by the rising sun. At one point during a pleasant section through some deciduous trees, it started to rain, which quickly escalated into a loud thunderstorm, complete with hail. I felt like I was in a safe, not too exposed area, and the storm seemed to not be too threateningly overhead, so I continued hiking through it, which was an exciting half hour or so! I was excited about some rain to maybe lessen the local wildfires, but also a bit worried about the storm (lightening = more fire possibilities). We had a bit of a dry stretch later in the day (aka no water sources), and our options would be to do a 30-miler to get to a water cache or stop earlier but then have to go down a long, steep side trail into a ravine to get water for the night. Macro and I had decided earlier that we would choose the latter, but when I got to the side trail, it was only 4pm, I had only 6 miles to go to the water cache, and I was feeling surprisingly energetic. I sat down on a log and wrote a note to Macro and put it under a little rock directly in the middle of the trail, telling him I was continuing forth, and then I danced and sang along to my music all the way to the water cache, bagging another 30 mile day. (I also had an embarrassing moment when I turned a corner and there was a hiker right in front of me who had heard all my singing, but c'est la vie). Macro ended up meeting me at the water cache - turns out he walked right over my note, did the whole side trail down and back up to get water, and then someone else showed up and noticed was a note for him.

Mt. Thielsen in the morning sun

Mt. Thielsen Wilderness - turning the corner to this view was a highlight of the day

The only downside to the Mt. Thielsen day was that it will also go down in history as the day I shat my pants. Yes, indeed. In my one, I REPEAT ONE, pair of underwear. In case you were wondering, sharts are indeed a real thing. All I will say on the matter is thank goodness I brought baby wipes and purell. Also I did have to throw out my only pair of underwear and go commando until I could get new ones in Portland. On the bright side, there is an actual saying among many thru-hikers: "You're not a real thru-hiker until you shit your pants on trail"... so I guess that was the moment my thru-hiker status became official!

Funky moss on the trees

The moss in this area was plentiful - It kind of reminded me of The Lorax's moustache (a la Dr. Seuss)

In the next couple days after the Mt. Thielsen / Shitting-My-Pants day, things continued as usual. There were some gorgeous lakes to stop and rest at, but I had discontinued my habit of jumping into every lake I saw, because the temperature had become a lot cooler since entering Oregon. The day I got to the border was the coolest day we'd had in a month, and after that it started to get downright cold at night. It was beautiful and refreshing to take breaks or camp by so many lakes and pretty ponds, although at times that did result in a few mosquitos (of course, after the bloodsucker hordes in Yosemite, this felt SO manageable). We were slowly nearing the Three Sisters Wilderness, so named for the three large volcanic peaks that shape the landscape in that area. I'd heard of the Three Sisters so many times in my PCT preparations, so I was really excited when we stayed at a campsite that showed my first views of them in the distance, silhouetted in yet another beautiful sunset. The next day, Macro and I spent an afternoon relaxing and eating at Shelter Cove, a small fishing/RV resort, which included picking up our mailed resupply boxes and sorting through what items we actually needed and what could be dumped into the hiker box. (Hiker box = place for hikers to drop non-required food / equipment and for other hikers to find free items along the trail). After Shelter Cove we spent the night at one of my more memorable campsites, nestled on a small strip of land between Middle and Upper Rosary Lakes, two beautiful, peaceful lakes, surrounded by huge trees and rocks.

Lunch break by a lake

Sunset views the night before entering Three Sisters Wilderness

Camping between Rosary Lakes

Around this time I was determined to keep moving forward, but did hit some unexpected challenges as some conflicts arose with my partner at home. Six months apart is a long time in which a lot of personal change can happen, changes that I guess neither of us really expected, and that we felt the need to try to process together, while I was still away. It was hard. I wanted my mind to be present with where I was and what I was doing, but it was so often at home instead, wishing I was there, feeling confused and worried about what was going to happen, and desperately wanting to finish hiking so that I could go home and work things out in person. There were many days, starting in Northern California and continuing throughout Oregon that involved me frequently keeping my eye on my phone, hoping for phone service, and then whenever I found it, trying to coordinate some time to talk on the phone with my partner. I spent a few town visits when I wanted to be socializing with my fellow hikers and resting up, instead talking and crying on the phone for hours. I also spent a few days on trail, perched on the side of a mountain, talking on the phone for hours, unable to keep moving because the phone service would only stay in that one place. It was stressful, exhausting, and confusing.

Since finishing the trail and reflecting back, I often find myself wishing that those conflicts hadn't happened, and that I had been able to spend that time focusing on being present and learning to enjoy my own company. I feel regretful about it sometimes. But, there has continually been one thought that I have kept in mind, some advice I heard on a hiker podcast: "We never get the hike we want, or the hike we expect. Instead, we get the hike that we are given". It's pointless to spend time wishing it was different, because then I will never be able to appreciate what it was. So during my hike, and still now, I continue focusing on appreciating the beautiful, challenging, and complicated experience that I was given, and the truth is that it was a truly wonderful experience and I am grateful for it, exactly as it was.

An original PCT blaze, being eaten by a tree. These blazes (labelled the "Pacific Crest Trail System") are from before the PCT was designated a National Scenic Trail in 1968. It was super cool seeing a bunch of these in Oregon.

An excess of moss. Always fun to see little Leave No Trace friendly messages from other hikers ;)

Anyway, I'll leave it there for now, and leave the rest of my Oregon reflections for another post! If anyone is still reading these, thanks for following along, even if it has been seven months since all of this happened. More still to come!

Bye for now! :)