DAY 4 (90 TOTAL)
Warm Springs River to Frog Lake, 21.9 Miles
1,386.3 Total PCT Miles
Today reminded me why I love backpacking so much. Great solo miles, time hiking with someone else, trail magic that shows how incredibly kind most people are, lush forest, no burn zones, and good vibes. See? I told you no two days were the same out here. To say I needed this after yesterday might be an ~understatement~.
But first, I have yet another night of getting a 9:30 pm wake up call. This time, it’s not by a car but by an otherworldly chortling that I am going to just assume is an elk. For such a regular looking animal those things sure do make some unsettling noises. I fall back asleep, thankfully, and am up and hiking by 7:30 am.
I start around the same time as a NOBO lady (different from the couple I passed at Olallie Lake) who is in the midst of a 24 hour challenge with her <boyfriend/hiking partner/PCT love/I don’t know>. I’ll tell ya what, this is what I love about the PCT: It’s early (ish). This couple is in the middle of what I imagine is one of the hardest things one could do to their body. But there the <boyfriend/hiking partner/PCT love/I don’t know> stands, just ripping cigs. I think it’s hilarious.
It’s also rather nostalgic, this image of a hiker puffing away while on a dirt trail in the middle of nowhere. I hiked with people in 2019 who would either either roll their own or smoke a pack, and the smell and sight this morning takes me right back to 2019. I keep these thoughts to myself, though – no need to be too weird – and set out down the trail.
The NOBO woman and I end up leapfrogging all morning, our paces so similar. I’ll pull over for a pee break and she’ll pass me, she’ll step aside thirty minutes later and I take the lead. On and on as the day warms, until I come around a corner and notice, out of nowhere, a trailer in the middle of the woods.
Immediately I am on alert. My mind spins through the instant options of what this could be. I hadn’t realized there was any access to the trail at this point, which is why my first thought is “crazy hermit living out of old broken down trailer that somehow made it this far into the woods”. I want to quickly hike past. As I approach it, though, I notice a square sign proclaiming in bold letters “Trail Magic!” with an arrow pointing towards the camper. Still cautious, I slow my pace and wander into the clearing. This could be a great treat. Alternatively, I could get kidnapped.
A booming voice calls out “Welcome!” A man who looks like Santa Claus if Santa had a shorter beard and wore Carhartts approaches, looking excited. He introduces himself as Carbs and gives the other NOBO woman and I the lay of the magic. Eggs, toast, coffee, fruit, “breakfast” wine if we want it (I simply cannot). Magic, indeed! I am, quite frankly, stunned. Trail magic?! This late in the season?! Hot food?! Fresh coffee?! Carbs directs us to his barrel of clean water to wash our hands (barrel of clean water?!) and we do before plopping into camp chairs and sipping on the coffee he’s thrust into our hands.
We eat and chat, a handful of hikers heading south wandering into the clearing to join us as we do (their expressions equally amazed and eager). People 😀 are 😀 so 😀 kind 😀 I see how this is the sort of trail magic that could easily vortex a person. Fully satisfied by the calories, caffeine, and camaraderie, I sign the trail register and make my move to leave before the morning fully slips away.
Fueled by the magic, I hike a fast next mile chatting with the NOBO woman before she stops for water and I continue on to Timothy Lake solo. I wonder if eating eggs on trail would make me feel this good every day?! The trail is flat and wide, the pine needle covered dirt soft beneath my feet. I feel good. Really good.
Eventually, I pop out at Timothy Lake and stop for a snack and a quick dip into the water, trying not to let the way that smoke envelops the whole area get me down too much.
I lose a bit of momentum after my stop at Timothy Lake. Not all of it. But some. Between the smoke and the heat, the air feels thicker. My feet are starting to feel tired, and the climb away from the lake is dusty and steep. I’m rage hiking, a little bit. I’m not even mad, just in that mental headspace where charging seems like the only way to move forward.
As I’m rage hiking uphill, I see ahead of me heading downhill a young couple. Day hikers, based on how they smell and the cute hiking outfits they have on.
“Good job girl!! You’re crushing it!!” The woman calls out to me. I can’t help but smile. Something about girls cheering on girls that feels uplifting. I continue charging uphill.
Eventually the trail begins to plateau. I walk through thick trees along a hillside, what I imagine would be sweeping views were it not for the smoke out to my left. I know the highway is getting close because I can hear its occasional roaring ahead. As I’m approaching the crossing, I come across the <boyfriend/hiking partner/PCT love/I don’t know> and his brother, who ask me to take their photo. They’re nearing the end of their 24 hour challenge and are plopped on the trail leaning up against a log, smoking a joint.
I take their photo and then pop out of the woods to scurry across the highway. I knew the PCT crossed here but no matter how many times I’ve driven by, I’ve never been able to pinpoint where exactly. Speaking of which: I’ve hiked big sections before, but the sheer fact that I know how long it takes to drive here from Bend makes the scope of the this one resonate more. I walked here. Sure, I “cut through” the mountains but…I came here on foot!
Turning away from the highway, I head right towards the Frog Lake Campground which is just over half a mile off the trail. Walking extra mileage on pavement is not ideal, but I don’t exactly fancy the idea of camping somewhere in the woods right next to the freeway. If the graffiti-ed trees are any indication, all sorts of folks roll through this pullout and I’m uninterested in a potential interaction with any of them. (Also, who tags trees like this I mean be for real ??!!).
The day’s magic continues when I walk up to the camp host and after chatting, he informs me that I can choose any open site and not have to pay, because there’s hardly anyone reserved for tonight. Say no more!
I walk the loop of the campground and choose a spot on the far end to avoid traffic and other people, and be close to the lake. The thought of swimming has been floating through my head all afternoon. Unfortunately, the lake turns out to be much shallower and murkier than I had imagined, and I settle for wading around in the mud.
The afternoon haze has turned into evening smoke as I set about my camp routines. I wander around the campground looking for the water pumps, where it takes me, oh – about six tries to figure out how to pump it. Wasps flock to the water splashing around as I lift my entire body weight up and then onto the lever to get any sort of momentum.
Finally, once I’m mildly enraged and beginning to sweat, I have enough filled bottles for dinner and the next morning. I cook, I sit, I enjoy the picnic table. Even tucked back into this far side of the campground, the sounds of the highway filter in. I guess that’s why I carry earplugs – and also, a ~fun~ change of pace from the insane animal noises I’ve been hearing. Then again, maybe I’d take insane animal noises in the woods over the glare of headlights that blast into my tent at 8:30 pm (nearly hiker midnight!). Sigh.
DAY 5 (91 TOTAL)
Frog Lake to Timberline Lodge, 10.4 Miles
1,396.7 Total PCT Miles
The blast of headlights last night may have been an omen, as I do not sleep well. The ground feels extra hard and even with earplugs, the highway sounds close. How many people are driving over the pass out there?! A billion, it sounded like.
It’s 7:30 am and I’m back on the paved road heading towards the PCT. I keep a steady 3 mph pace once I reach it and begin to climb, the woods warm and steamy.
The day goes by quickly, encased as I am climbing up through the trees. I see no one until I’m 8 miles into my day, and then I hit the last mile: a sandy slog that I remember from the Timberline Trail. Up and up and up, feet sliding around on the loose ground. It’s a hot climb but I’m spurred on both by the views that have opened up around me as I’ve left the trees behind, and by the thought of the lodge ahead.
I booked a room at Timberline Lodge after a particularly rainy multi day stretch of August. Sure, I could hike one hundred miles and then just camp along the trail with a beautiful view of the lodge. But I’m an adult, gosh darn it, with a silly little job that pays me silly little dollars! As it turns out, I’m looking forward to having a room not because of the rain or the cold but because of the heat.
It’s with a sense of purpose that I stride into the lower lodge looking for customer service, the smell of a handful of hot, dusty, sweaty days wafting around me. I’m intent on situating my resupply box quickly so that I can get to what’s most important: the buffet. I make short work of it and then am marching myself back up to the main lodge where I am immediately seated by a window and told to have at it.
You don’t have to tell me twice.
I’m four plates deep at the buffet, simply shoveling food. Right now, it’s everything – breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I sit for an hour by myself, the water refills constant as I fill my belly with real food. 97 miles in and I’m filled with gratitude for each one. Well…maybe slightly less gratitude for the paranoid miles, but I digress. It’s been a good section and a tough section and now I get to sit still and enjoy Timberline.
So I eat, check in , shower, nap, rinse the dirt out of my socks, soak my feet in the hot tub, and then sit outside as the very first glimmers of golden hour begin. A formal event spills out onto the patio next to me but I fear I’m not moving until someone tells me to. Instead, I listen to the mildly drunken ramblings of well-dressed people and stare at Mt. Hood before finally wandering off to my room when the light is just a blink away from darkness.
