Day 1 (83 Total)
Elk Lake to McKenzie Pass, 30.2 miles (+1.3 Non-PCT Miles)
1,236.1 Total PCT Miles
Alpine starts sound completely easy-breezy when you’re mapping them out weeks in advance, but then the alarm goes off at 2:50 am and I rue the day this plan came to be. Despite my bleary eyes, the feeling doesn’t last long once I finally peel myself out of bed as my excitement for the day ahead builds. On the agenda is a roughly 32 mile jaunt from Elk Lake to McKenzie Pass on the Pacific Crest Trail. I don’t know what’s more impressive – that this hike made it out of the group chat, or that I had not one, not two, but three willing friends to take this on with.
Our plan is to meet at a pullout at the start of the Cascade Lakes Highway, and we time it perfectly. Even in my tiredness, I have the brain power to wonder what the other cars we see out on the roads are doing right now. Sure, we’re the weirdos heading out to hike 32 miles at this hour but what about the other kooks driving past us up the highway as we pile into one car at the pullout?
As we start the drive up towards the lake, we begin to notice the occasional flash of light across the sky. Meteors are streaking through the pitch black of 3:15 am and it feels like a little reward for being up at this hour that I very rarely see, at least on purpose. Besides the meteors, the drive is uneventful and it’s not long before we are spilling out of the car, shifting from foot to foot in the crisp air as hiking poles are adjusted and shoelaces tightened.
It’s the second week of August but you wouldn’t be able to tell by how cold it is up here (granted, it’s 4:00 am and also we’re in the mountains but I digress) – we each throw on a layer and then begin to walk, the darkness all encompassing except for the four beams of light streaming from our headlamps. We talk because it seems to make us feel better about whatever may be at the edges of our headlamp’s glow but also because it’s now 4:15 am and we are all still just waking up.
The pre-dawn hours pass quickly in the swing of conversation and cruising. It makes for quick hiking when it’s chilly, and you can’t see anything, and there’s no reason to stop. Eventually, though, the darkness begins to lift. Headlamps are pushed into packs and layers taken off. We pass by Sisters Mirror Lake and take a quick minute to appreciate the fog rolling off the water – how magical and green and mysterious it is.
But then we are quickly hiking on. It’s the thing about such a massive day – you try as best you can to stop and smell the roses, but the reality is there just isn’t time for stopping. As much as I plan to enjoy this stretch of trail, it’s not necessarily a pleasure cruise. It’s a mission.
Around us, the world is continuing to wake up. We walk through fields of purple lupine that smell like jasmine and cross over babbling creeks that certainly belong in a fairytale and wind past green meadows that seem especially lush for the high desert of Central Oregon. It is dreamy and the day is gorgeous; hiking is easy and we are fast.
There are some climbs, but overall the day trends moderate – at least, it does when you account for all the elevation gain and loss being spread over 32 miles. It’s not hard to get lost in the day when you’r really just out here on a long walk with friends, chatting and catching up.
We pass by Obsidian Falls at the start of the afternoon. The waterfall is beautiful but it’s the obsidian itself that strikes me. Around us, the ground shimmers and sparkles in the sun like lava confetti strewn about. There is a little time spent ooh-ing and ah-ing and then we are off again, the stream a mile or so ahead a beacon in our minds as our stopping place for lunch.
At last, we arrive at the creek winding lazily through a meadow dotted with wildflowers, where we can slip off our day packs, sit in the shade, and slam some food. Our break is long enough for blisters to be bandaged and water filtered, socks changed and sunscreen reapplied. It’s also long enough for stiffness to set in, and the first mile out from lunch is closer to a crawl as we shake out the legs and ease back into movement.
Those watching our map link from home will later comment on how quickly we crushed the first 20 miles and how slowly the last 12 went in comparison. But hey, when you’re out here for 32 miles they can’t all be fast and they can’t all feel easy.
After all, it’s not just the tiredness that’s hit us. The terrain itself has changed from the flowy single track of the morning to hard, unstable lava rock. Steps have to be more calculated and there’s really no momentum to gain, there is only loose trail as we climb upwards. We’re now above tree line, too, walking through what vaguely might resemble Mars, which means it is hot and exposed. Basically, this section is a grind, and it’s with audible relief that it ends and we are once again back on a dirt trail.
The late afternoon passes in a blur of conversation and silliness, grasping for things to keep our minds occupied as we approach being single digit miles from the pass.
Our final miles for the day bring us past South Matthieu Lake and then down, down, down, through burnt trees and scorched earth on a dusty, ashy trail that is crumbling off the side of the hill. I’m absentmindedly chewing on my last pink lemonade caffeine gummy and feeling my legs crisp up in the late afternoon heat as we descend, the group experiencing a collective loss of sanity as we stare down the last one to two hours of hiking. The only way to make it stop is to keep moving, and so we do, following the trail downward until we leave the burnt trees behind and greet the final boss: one last stretch of lava rock.
The last mile turns into a silent slog, the only noise the shifting of lava rock beneath our feet as we drag ourselves toward the highway on a trail that seems to wind in every direction except towards the highway. This is decidedly the type-two fun portion of the day, the kind that is sort of fun to talk about once it’s over but feels rather miserable in the moment. It’s the “I’m never doing this again” kind of fun, when in reality our little cavewoman brains have short term memory and we will, in fact, eventually do something with major type two fun in the outdoors again.
And at last, the trail spits us out onto the side of the highway without ceremony and it’s over. The longest day hike I’ve ever done is in the books – we are sweaty, dusty, tired, hungry, and happy. Happy to have done it, happy to have friends to share in the adventure with, happy to be done. Onto the next!