Wednesday, May 20, 2009

The Great American Desert (check out this great essay by Edward Abbey if you dare: http://www.moonstar.com/~acpjr/Blackboard/111BB/abbey.html)





























KIMOSABE AND THE WAVE

Day 6:
Day 1 on the trail: Mexicooooooooooo!

We reached the great black wall! And at this wall we discovered, not immigrants fleeing every which direction (however we did see > 15 border patrol vehicles and a helicopter pass over us several times), but the monument marking the southern terminus of the PCT. And it was grand. Furthermore, essential information to relay:

unofficial team name: Kimosabe and The Wave (yes, it does make for a sweet band name)

unofficial trail names: Itchy Bum (Ben) and Stinky Finger (Paul)

Paul's other unofficial trail name: The Wave - Why? Because he likes to sit in the splash zone of life.

Oh, and as for the trail, snakes galore and lizards galore, and the most brilliant sunset over Hausser Canyon.


Day 7:

Chopper Crash near Mt. Laguna

*After a grueling 20 mile frist day, we set off with fresh-ly sore feet and medium-high spirits. The morning was swell, but when we reached 10 miles for the day, a forest sevice employee in a green truck blocked our way and explained we could not use the trail and instead follow a detour (12 miles of road walking!). Apparently, there was a helicopter crash near the trail several days ago and the chopper was carrying live ammunition and missiles. The forest caught fire and there was a high risk of explosion. So, we took the detour.

TRAIL MAGIC AND BORDER PATROL:

Day 8:

*The desert certainly has its surprises. Take, for example, Mo Miller and his wife, Gerry, who just so happened to delight us with water (always magical in the desert), beef stew in a can (which had been warmed to perfection by the desert sun sitting in the trunk of his car), and a handful of stories beginning with, "you'll probably think I'm a liar or 100 years old," about his teaching days, and his border patrol days, and his volunteer work as a local sheriff.

Or, take for example, the 25 border patrol vhicles, 3 fire engines, 6 police cars, and a couple of ambulances speeding past us along sunrise highway after a high speed border patrol pursuit ending in a rollover only a couple miles up the road from us.


Day 9:

*What appeared to have been, and still could be, a couple of film makers out to make a hiker porn (filming our willies from afar while we peed at a picnic area), actually turned out to be a pair making a PCT documentary (perhaps 3), about a hiker on the PCT. But Brice, Stacey, and Daniel are excellent hiking companions and we expect to see them often along the way.


Day 10:

*Things we once took for granted, but no more:

1: Water-if it weren't for some angels of human beings, we would be without water for 20+ miles, daily. NO WATER IN THE DESERT! Instead, we've stumbled upon gallons and gallons of water caches left beside readsides and arbitrary gates along the trail. To whom should these good deeds be recognized? We are only left to wonder. . . perhaps the divine . . .

2: Shade-twice now we've been caught up in the desert mountains at high noon, the flora only reaching up to our waists, searching and searching for any refuge away from the sun. But alas, we walk until 1 or 2, and when it becomes too unbearable, we huddle next to one another beneath a shrub. The price for escaping the sun: smelling Paul's stinky socks and feet and shirt and shorts and the list goes on.

PAUL THE RATTLESNAKE CHARMER:

Day 11:

*100 miles complete!!
Paul=slowest hiker ever to pack his stuff up in the morning. He's even slower than Bison (Ben's AT hiking buddy for anyone who doesn't know him), and he was SLOW!

Also, it's been determined that Paul is a rattlesnake charmer. His rattlesnake count is at 4; Ben's is only at 2, and he's only seen them when Paul is nearby. Therefore, Ben hikes away from Paul. He charms rattlesnakes in his sleep too. Ben hears him snoring.

Joke of the Day:

Man and daughter, two equestrians by nature, are riding their horses down the PCT. They pass us, and the horse that the man is riding, a beautiful black and white spotted mare, turns skiddish. The man asks, "Are you French?" "No," we reply back. He says, "Because the French eat horses." He proceeds to coax the horse, "see they're not French, they're just a couple hikers." (Is that true, Nicolas? Don't worry, we didn't believe him either way).

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