Pine House Cafe and Tavern
Trail magic at Kitchen Creek
Trail terrain
Into the storm
(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).
“Don’t give in without a fight.”
-Pink Floyd
After leaving Lake Morena Thursday afternoon, I hiked 6 miles through rock, sand, and sweeping pasture to the Boulder Oaks Campground. It looked like rain, so I quickly set up camp, made a pasta dinner on my camp stove at the picnic table, then hunkered down in my tent, serenaded to sleep by the buzzing croaks of giant toads.
It rained all night, a light but cold rain that did not cease the next morning and made me think as I awoke in a soggy tent: Whoever said there was a drought in the desert lied.
I boiled water for coffee beneath my tent vestibule, slipped on warm layers and rain gear, then broke down camp methodically and fast to prevent from getting too wet and cold before hitting the trail for a 16-mile day to Mt. Laguna.
There was no sunshine on the trail, only fog and the drizzling incessant rain. However, that morning I had the trail to myself, and there was something beautiful–mystical–about the mountains I climbed that were enclosed by the cool mist. I was surrounded by lush green peaks and white flowered hills that could only be seen every few miles when the wind momentarily wiped out the gray air.
It was an uphill hike through rock and mud on the open ridge–a total elevation gain of 2,500 ft. My feet hurt. The back of my heels had developed deep blisters, and though I doctored them that morning with Neosporin and tape, I felt the rubbing burn with each and every step.
Sweet–and unexpected–relief came at mile 4 at the Kitchen Creek road crossing. As I entered the pull off where the trail came out, I saw a parked car and some hikers huddled by a blue beach umbrella and foldout chairs.
“Welcome to the Kitchen Creek Trail Magic station!” Said the man wearing a baseball cap and contagious smile. “And help yourself!”
I walked over to the umbrella, took a seat out of the rain, and gazed in wonderment at the goodies in the cooler at my feet. (For those of you who don’t know, Trail Magic is a spontaneous gift to thru-hikers on the trail that takes the shape of many different things–from beer to food to even, I’ve been told, massages.) In this case, the Trail Magic consisted of cheese, salami, fresh strawberries, and white wine. And it was lunchtime!
I spoke to the Angel, David, who provided the magic as I ate some swiss and waterfalled some wine. He lived in the area and had hiked the section we were on several times, but never the whole PCT because of his 3-year-old who he dearly loved, and therefore satisfied his hunger for the trail by encouraging hikers with his magic whenever he could.
“It’s just so rewarding to see you people so happy over cheese,” he said.
After I got my fill, David hugged me and shouted, “Safe journey!” as I crossed the road to regain the foggy trail.
The rest of the day’s walk led through a fresh-scented pine forest where large rounded pine cones textured the ground and glowing golden birds swept from branch to branch. I reached the very tiny town of Mt. Laguna in the early evening and walked straight to Pine House Cafe and Tavern. There was a communal table in the wooden lodge for thru-hikers. I offloaded my pack and sank in the closest seat. I was tired. Dead tired. And the scattering of sweaty, smelly hikers (aka Hikertrash) at the table with me were too. We didn’t say much to each other but absorbed a quiet camaraderie while scarfing down dinner–French onion soup with homemade bread for me–each understanding the silencing weary in our bones.
In the back of the tavern, in front of a log wall where the hide of a black bear hung, a guitar man in a cowboy hat sang soft songs that nearly sent me to sleep. I woke up, however, when a boy from Idaho–a blonde mustache just sprouting from his upper lip–sat next to me and asked, “Did you hear about the storm?”
The boy had just come from the outfitters store down the street where the locals told him that tonight and tomorrow called for a giant storm up the trail with 80 mile per hour winds.
“They said it would be wise of hikers to stake out at Mt. Laguna until the storm passed,” the boy said.
This sounded like a good plan to me to take a zero in Mt. Laguna the next day, especially since I was blistered and sore and needed to resupply on food. After leaving the tavern, I walked a few hundred yards to Burnt Rancherio Campground where a designated campsite for thru hikers had been reserved for $2.50 a night. The site was next to the bathrooms and coin showers. I picked a spot in the plump grass near several other hikers and set up camp in the cold, high wind. Next, I grabbed my toiletry kit and long johns and ran for the showers. It cost $2.00 for an 8 minute shower that was worth every quarter. I watched my caked-on dirt run into the drain as the steaming hot water nurtured me body and soul. I had a long, rainy, cold, and windy night ahead, I knew. But, in the warmth and rejuvenation of the bathhouse as the 8 minutes ticked by, I also knew, with comforting confidence, that hardship was followed by a saving cleanse.
And that’s what life was all about.
* * *
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