Claire Henley: Adventures West (Connecting The Dots)

  • Tuesday, October 13, 2015

(Editor's Note: Chattanoogan Claire Henley started an adventure of a lifetime on the remote Pacific Crest Trail in April. Along the way, she had many adventures and found herself a husband named Big Spoon).

“In their hearts humans plan their course, but the Lord establishes their steps.”

-Proverbs 16:9

There were several things Big Spoon and I had to figure out in order to get to Alaska. First and foremost, we had to find a way there. Our budget was tight. To take a cruise, to ride the ferry, or to rent a car cost well over a thousand dollars. Flying was our best option. But we couldn’t fly from anywhere at any time because flights were also expensive. We would have to fly out of Seattle on Friday, August 14 to get the best deal: one hundred dollars a head. 

Big Spoon found this exceptional flight while we were at Chris’ house. We stayed with Chris for three days making our plan of travel. After booking the flight to Alaska, the next thing to orchestrate was getting to Seattle. Due to our finite funds, this was where some strategic connecting of the dots came into play. 

It was Tuesday, July 28. Big Spoon and I packed up and left Chris’ house early that morning to catch a bus to Chester, forty-six miles north of Quincy. Chester was another stop along the PCT, and a town where I had a resupply package sent before Big Spoon and I got off the trail. Our plan was to go to Chester to pick up the package. Then we would take it from there. 

The first thing we learned upon our arrival to Chester was that hikers could sleep for free in the backyard of the Lutheran church. A woman who saw us walking down the street, and who pulled over to give us a twenty dollar bill, saying, “I’ve always wanted to give to the homeless,” informed us of this after we told her we weren’t homeless but backpackers. She let us keep the twenty regardless and drove us to the church where Big Spoon and I pitched our tent in line with the rest. 

Chester was hot, in the high nineties. The other hikers at the church lounged on the back deck with their shirt sleeves rolled up, drinking cold beer from paper bags. Big Spoon and I sat down next to the gang and began to ask questions on how we could get up to Seattle. 

“You could always hitch,” said the hiker, Skunk Ape, who, with his tangled dreadlocks and burly beard, looked like the spitting image of the swampy legend. “But there’s no guarantee how long that’ll take.” 

“We’re taking the Amtrak from Redding to Seattle in a few days to hike Southbound and beat the heat,” the couple, Indiana and Chunks, advised. “It’s ninety bucks per person, which is a really good deal for the seventeen hour trip. And we won’t have to hassle with the uncertainty of hitching.”

That was an idea, Big Spoon and I thought. One we greatly liked. We called the train station and reserved the cheapest tickets available: Monday, August 3, at 2:45 a.m. This brought about the next two dots to connect: reaching Redding and solving where to stay. Getting there was easy. We could take the bus that traveled two hours northwest to the city. But because Redding was a larger city that didn’t exist along the PCT, finding affordable accommodations for the few days leading up to our train departure would be tricky. We could stay in Chester at the church for that amount of time, we considered. But seeing as more hikers would be coming in each day who would need the space to sleep, we didn’t want to milk our free spot for longer than was fair. 

Then Big Spoon and I remembered something. We had a contact in Redding named Tom McConnel. We met Tom way back at Kearsarge Pass, at a campground one afternoon as Big Spoon and I were gearing up to get back on the trail. Tom had spent the last few days camping and was loading up his brand new Jeep in the site next to us when Big Spoon, who had a love for Jeeps, called out, “Nice ride!”

It’s amazing how a seemingly inconsequential spurt of words can tamper with your fate. For, after Big Spoon said this, Tom invited him over to check out the Jeep. From there, the two connected; and Tom, a retired helicopter pilot from Redding, gave Big Spoon his number and told him that if we were ever near the area and needed anything, to give him a call. 

Sitting on the church deck, Big Spoon pulled out his phone and called Tom. The conversation between the two lasted a brief two minutes, during which Big Spoon reminded Tom of who we were and told him of our current situation. 

“We were wondering, could we possibly camp in your yard for a few nights until our train leaves?” Big Spoon asked. 

“Well, what did Tom say?” I asked after Big Spoon hung up the phone. 

“We can stay with him,” replied Big Spoon with a smile. “He said he’d meet us at the bus station whenever we arrived.”

True to his word, two days later Tom rolled into the Redding Bus Station in his tan Mercedes to pick Big Spoon and me up. We stayed with Tom and his wife for the next four days. They treated us as guests and gave us the spare room to sleep in. Tom lived in a house on an oak-shaded hill that looked out on Mount Shasta. During the devishly hot days, he took us all around Redding in his souped up Jeep. One day we went to Whiskeytown Reservoir and swam in the transparent water. Another day Tom showed us Shasta Dam that rose like a fortress wall over the Sacramento River. On our last day before leaving he took us to his old airbase and gave us a tour of the helicopter he used to fly. Tom was a pilot for Cal Fire for a good portion of his career. He was responsible for flying firemen to the deadly scenes of wildfires, as well as dropping water on the raging furnace below. I could tell Tom missed his job as he thoroughly educated us on the mechanics of his chopper. 

“But I had to retire once I knew I was the best I’d ever be. From that point on I couldn’t get any better and would start to make mistakes. Mistakes that could cost people their lives. And so I stepped down,” Tom said as we left the base. 

He was an honorable man.  

When the time came for Big Spoon and I to catch our train to Seattle, Tom drove us to the station at 2:15 a.m. We had all stayed up watching The Sand Pebbles starring Steve McQueen until it was time to go. At the station in the wee hours of the morning the bold whistle sounded. Tom wished us farewell as we boarded the train. From Quincy to Chester to Redding to Seattle, our plotted dots leading to Alaska had almost all been joined. Once we arrived in Seattle we would have ten days until our flight to Anchorage. Fortunately, Big Spoon and I had already come up with an exciting plan on how to spend those days.

* * *

Claire's first book on her adventures while living in Colorado can be ordered here:

http://www.amazon.com/51-Weeks-The-Unfinished-Journey-ebook/dp/B00IWYDLBQ/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1394801373&sr=8-1&keywords=51+Weeks

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