Mile 628.1 to 651.

The sky was awash with color as we rose sleepily from our slumber. Standing around our tents, we looked out on a kaleidoscope of colors slowly rising over the mountains heralding the arrival of the sun. We moved stiffly from yesterday’s effort, but were set on leaving camp quickly before the temperature creeped any higher.

The trail started with an easy downhill and we coasted the 2.5 miles to a dirt road crossing that would mark the start of our first serious climb of the day. There were some jugs of water at the road and the remnants of trail magic in a cooler. I grabbed two bars, signed the log book and headed up the mountain with Bedazzled and Vipr in tow. Far up the trail, we spotted Burnout and Valdy making their way up the long switchbacks scratched into the side of the mountain.

We zigzagged upwards making little progress as the crow flies, but slowly making gaining elevation. As we crested the mountain, we saw the second half of the mountain looming above us. Disheartened, we bent our backs and continued the upwards grind while stealing glimpses of the sun drenched  desert floor below.

The mountains are slowly changing as we make our way to the Sierra. No longer rounded peaks, they are becoming rocky and more jagged poking through the earth towards the sky.

We arrived at our “thank God it’s shaded” siesta spot at the end of a dirt road. We prompty scattered around the ground moving only as the shade shifted with the sun.

We were startled awake by the sound of two off-road jeeps pulling up the road. Some locals jumped out, pulled out coolers of beer, a weber grill, and started barbecuing prok chops and chicken. 15 PCT hikers looked on with puppy dog eyes and rumbling bellies trying their best to curry sympathy.  No longer able to stand the smell of grilled meat or resist an ice cold beer, Octane walked over and introduced himself, “hi, I’m a PCT Hiker and gosh is that ice cold beer? I haven’t seen that in weeks.” “Haha, yeah,” says the local. Completly shut down, Octane walked back to his shade with the rumbling of his stomach filling his ears.

Unable to stand the smell of grilled meat that we couldn’t eat, we headed off to the Walker Pass Campground. We covered the 7 remaining miles in the golden light of sunset.

As we pulled in, there was excitement in the air. Burnout and Valdy waved us over and we dropped to our knees for before stood The Pope, the God of trail angels. His trunk was overflowing with soda and dounuts and when we had gotten settled he went back to his car and pulled out some freshly harvested cherries he had picked up in northern California on his drive down. The Pope hiked the trail last year, and when planning a place to do trail magic, he thought about the place on trail he most wanted to have a soda, but never got one. As the night went on he even went out and brought some beer. What can I say? We were blessed.