“Poor Man’s Shower”

I didn’t go into Sierra City—the town was close, but the store didn’t open until 8. I crossed the road and tackled the big 5-mile climb. The goal was to get out of the snowpack. I remembered from past years that it usually ends near Bucks Lake. Since I skipped Sierra City, Haskins Store was my next stop—about 65 miles away.
Around 10 a.m., I stopped at a small campground to get water. Some guys were there, hanging out for a bachelor party. I found it amusing that the groom already had his wedding ring on—he’s clearly not taking chances with that 60% divorce rate.

As I moved on, the climb continued. The snow was sporadic, with a few sketchy sidehill stretches. A storm rolled in behind me, and another one loomed ahead. Fortunately, the trail weaved between the two, and I made it to mile 1,235 with a 42.2-mile day. As soon as I crawled into my tent, the wind picked up and the thunder, lightning, and rain hit. Great timing!
Thankfully, the snow had finally stopped. Now the trail was covered in massive blowdowns and overgrowth. Pushing through all that mess left my legs scratched and soaked from the wet branches left over from the previous night’s storm. This section has been like this the last four times I’ve been through—another challenge courtesy of the PCT.

After bushwhacking down to the North Fork Feather Creek Bridge, I faced a 10-mile climb in the heat of the day. Haskins Store closes at 6, so I pushed hard—it’s a 2.7-mile road walk off trail. A kind lady gave me a lift, and I was dropped off at 4:30. I promptly devoured food for an hour and did a light resupply that set me back $115. Oh, California—your prices never fail to impress.
I hit the road again at 5:50, walked back to the trail, and got back on the PCT around 7. I hiked halfway up to Bucks Summit, still 16 miles from Belden and dreading the 13.4-mile uphill out.

Belden itself is quite the place—part hippy commune, part trailer park. I crushed a double Belden burger ($21 + tax) and started the climb at 1:15 p.m. My timing lately for big ascents has been, unintentionally, right at the hottest time of the day. It’s been a lesson in endurance—90+ degrees and a 13-mile climb. I must be crazy, or maybe just stubborn. Probably both.

I aimed to complete the climb in 6 hours—it took 7. I passed a few smiling southbound hikers who had flipped up to avoid the snow and were enjoying their pleasant downhill into Belden. Part of me was a little jealous.

At Frog Lookout, reaching the summit brought the usual rush. For all my complaining, there’s something addictive about conquering these climbs. Serotonin surging—it’s almost up there with life’s best moments. Yes, I smoked a celebratory cigarette at the summit.

Next stop: Chester—a major resupply point for me. This is where I’d prep my food boxes for Oregon. The hitch? The post office closed at 4 p.m., and I had 25.3 miles to cover to make that happen. I’d need to hit the highway by 2:30, hitch to the market, do a massive 12-day food shop, break it into three boxes, and ship them all out. No pressure.

Thankfully, the trail was mellow—no major climbs, just a stark burn area from the 2021 Dixie Fire. By 11 a.m., I hit the PCT halfway point: 39 days, 21 hours—a personal best. I didn’t linger. I reached the highway by 2 p.m., caught a hitch by 2:15, and wheeled my loaded cart to the post office. I broke everything down just in time and shipped out the boxes at 4 p.m. Success.

Back at the market, I charged my devices and grabbed some food, then went to do laundry and shower. The shower cost $3 for 6 minutes, so I put in $9 and went for 18. Ten days on trail had left me caked in ash, sunscreen, bug spray, and grime. I took my time—dedicated scrubbing to my legs and feet. Just as I was covered in soap and shampoo, the water suddenly shut off. I had 8 minutes left! Couldn’t get it back on, so I used the last few drips and then hurried to the laundry room sink for a rough rinse while someone nearby waited for his clothes. Not ideal, but it did the job. By 7:30 p.m., I was back on trail and logged another 7 miles before calling it for the day. What a day.

This section to Old Station and Lassen Volcanic National Park is smooth—perfect for big-mile days. Still hot, but manageable. I pulled off 40 miles the next day and, despite sparse water and more burn zone terrain, wrapped up the week with 246+ miles. I landed at PCT mile 1,401. Now, my goal is to crush through Northern California and get into Oregon, where I’ll meet whatever late-season snowpack awaits.

Week 6 Mileage: 246.5

PCT Mile: 1401

“It Won’t Get Out!”

Hiking into the Donner Ski Ranch after doing 20 miles on one packet of Ramen noodles was a sight for sore eyes. Nevertheless, 20.3 miles by 2 pm, I was very happy about that. I ordered loaded nachos but couldn’t wait, so I got a piece of chocolate cake and a bag of Dorito’s to hold me over. After that, a slice of caramel apple pie ala mode. Thankfully they had my resupply box, and I spent the next 3 hours charging my stuff, organizing my pack and taking a nap in the ski lodge. A quick thunder shower rolled through and afterwards I took off, saying goodbye to Breeze and the rest of his trail family. I only hiked 4 miles out. All that food and heavy pack made the going tough and after a hard-fought couple of days, I was spent.

Rolling out at 5am the next morning, I made it to Peter Grubs Hut about 6 miles away. The snowpack had returned, and I figured another 70 miles of this before lower elevation would clear the way until Oregon.

I was between hiking bubbles, no footprints to be found. So here I was, getting in touch with nature, staring at my phone screen every 30 seconds to figure out where the hell I was. After lunch, I found myself in deep thought about why they don’t make Cool Ranch Fritos when all of a sudden some winged devil larger than a mosquito and smaller than a June bug flew into my ear. No, not just flew into the side, flew IN! Inside my ear canal. At first, I thought it was gone, but after a minute or so I felt crawling, tickling and then, wings fluttering. I tried to grab whatever it was with my fingers but too big to fit. What about a stick? No that would smoosh it. I thought about using my tweezers, but the ends are too pointy. I didn’t want to stab my ear drum. Now I’m thinking about the nearest road to the nearest town to the nearest hospital. I was literally in the middle of nowhere. The fluttering and crawling continued. AAHHH, what a nightmare! Finally, I had a thought. Bugs are attracted to light, what if I tilt my head towards the sun? Maybe it will come out, it’s gotta be getting bored by now, not too much going on in there. So, I stopped, and like a statue, stood still looking like the possessed girl from the Exorcist and waited. If any hiker showed up now they would definitely be freaked out. At first nothing, then I felt crawling, a little at a time. The damn thing was walking through my ear canal around like it was in one of those fun houses at the fair. Around and around it went until eventually it reached the exit point and flew away. Son of a bitch, you’d think after 22,000 miles of hiking I’d dealt with it all. Broken bones, poisoning, hypothermia, heat exhaustion, helicopter extraction to name a few. Well, let’s add invasion of the body snatcher to the list. If I get an ear infection, the damn thing laid eggs. I finished the day 38 miles in at a campsite next to a water tank. Right near the road that led into Sierra City. After playing Pacman with the hiking trail all day and dealing with the winged devil, I was spent.

Week 5 Mileage: 194.2

PCT Mile: 1154.5

“Mad Rivers and Stupid Technology”

The mosquitoes are starting to come out, not bad yet, but they will be. I caught back up with “Handshake,” the Irishman I had accidentally flipped off earlier. We talked for a bit, and I got a quick education on Guinness. By 6:30, he was stopping, and I was moving on. By 7, I came to my first good river crossing. This was the section on the backside of Yosemite where there would be a lot of them. I made it across, and the next two. I had to put my phone and other things in a Ziplock and then my bear can for safety. Climbing out of that low area was tough, and the snowpack returned. I pitched my tent at an odd spot halfway up the climb under a tree. It was a little slanted, but it did the trick. The next day was going to be tough.

This section has it all: big climbs, snowpack, and dozens of river crossings. Last year I was just ahead of peak melt, but this year, I seemed to be right in the middle of it. My timing for these rivers was terrible. I reached Kendall Creek after a snow-packed, steep downhill at 5:30 pm. Where the trail crossed was raging. I had to go for it. Four steps in, and I was swept down. Luckily, I was able to grab some branches leaning offshore and pull myself back up. That was close. About 200 yards upriver, I noticed that the river had split and then rejoined about 50 yards before my crossing. I walked up and saw a log dam. Carefully, I balance-beamed across, pushed through the first part to an island, and then across the second. My adrenaline was going pretty good at this point, so I just hiked on, plowing up a 3-mile climb, crossing two more sketchy rivers. By 6:30, I reached another huge lazy river, and after 15 minutes of trying to find a safe and shallow spot to cross, I just said, “screw it.” I put my pack on top of my head and walked across, up to my chest. From here, another good climb before more snowpack and down to what I thought was my last big crossing. It was 8:45 pm, all my electronics were in my bear can, and I didn’t want to stop and pull out my headlamp and phone to see where I was. I decided to walk over to a log right on the edge of the shore and pick my crossing point. Right as I got to it, I took one more step and fell right in, up to my neck. Just like the kids in the movie “Stand By Me,” except I didn’t have any leeches stuck to my body. I decided to call it for the night.

The next morning, after putting back on all my cold, wet clothes (it was in the 40s), I could now see where I went wrong. The path was 50 feet to the right. I wasn’t even at the river I thought I was. I was actually at a lake inlet 0.2 miles before the river. Anyway, I had 29.8 miles to Sonora Pass and Kennedy Meadows North, and come hell or high water (which there would be), I’d get there. Luckily, after getting across the river, which was cold but lower than last year, up to my belly button, the trail was quite cruiser for the first 10 miles. Some snow but mostly wet meadows. I hiked with a kid named “Kind Heart” for a bit, and once we caught up to his trail family, I continued on. Twelve miles to go with a snowpack ascent leading down to the pass. I had called and arranged a shuttle ride. About 10 minutes later, a ’95 Ford pickup flathead with two young kids showed up: Aiden and Cote. We piled in, and by the time we made it down the steep mountain road, the brakes on the old Ford were smoking pretty good. As soon as I arrived, Deserae, who worked there, remembered me from last year and took my order. The biggest cut of prime rib I’d ever seen. It was the whole cow without the hooves. I ate the whole damn thing. A couple of extra shower tokens and a quick ice cream sandwich, and I was back in my old familiar room. I met a couple of PCT hikers, Tarzan and Mr. Sunshine. They were surprised at my pace. I slept great that night, excited for the trail in the morning and being over a day ahead of last year.

The next morning, I shipped shoes north. I had sent a big resupply box there via UPS. I broke everything down and sent separate pairs of shoes to two places up the trail and the rest to the CDT. Grabbed more food for the next 132 miles and headed back up to the pass with Grandpa Ron, the designated shuttle driver. I checked my guide to see mileage, and my map app wouldn’t load. Strange. I knew there was service a few miles out of the pass, so I would reinstall it then. I did four miles out and continued down into the valley. It was all snowpack, and there were footprints, but very faint. I lost the trail. Checked my map app. It wouldn’t load. It wouldn’t even show the map. It would start loading and then close. I wandered around for two hours trying to find some semblance of trail. Nothing. And if you think the trail is marked well, it’s not. Usually, one of the first things that gets done when establishing a trail is to…MARK THE FUCKIN ROUTE! (that’s my Sam Kinison impression). By this time, it was approaching 3 o’clock, and I was totally lost. A storm came in. Wind, rain, and hail. I had no choice but to hike back up to the top of the mountain to get service and reinstall the app again. By the time I reached service, trudging through snowpack, soaking wet and cold, I was spent. I pitched my tent, got the app working, and by 6:30, the storm had passed. By 7, my tent was dry. I thought about packing up and eking out six or so miles, but I was done. 3.9 miles for the day. The trail won. I quit for the day. Fell asleep by 8.

I woke up and started just before 6. Following my working app, now I found the trail only 50 yards to the left of where I had been looking for it the day before. After a couple more miles, wouldn’t you believe it, the snow ended, and the trail cleared. This resulted in a pissed-off mood for me, thinking if I had just packed up last night and went for it, I could have snagged another 8-10 miles. I thought about this all day. By 3, I had to stop and tell myself, “you made the decision last night to stop and quit, there’s nothing you can do about that now, forget it and move on!” So, I did. Only getting 33 for the day.

The next morning, I was better, moving by 5 am and pushing big miles. The best way over the years for me to get out of a funk is to have big mile days, and it always makes me feel better. The snowpack through this section towards South Lake Tahoe had less snow than last year, and I didn’t miss a trail junction and go three miles in the wrong direction like I had the year before, so that helped too. I did fall through a snow bridge over a small creek, bent my trekking poles, and cut my ankle, but just like in years past, arriving at Echo Lake near SLT, my morale shifted to feeling hopeful and good. I was about to enter the Desolation Wilderness, and with 62 miles to go, closing in on Donner Pass and out of the big snow-covered mountains. This is the hardest section of the entire hike for me, and to keep my MPD average over 30 is a huge morale boost. I set off out of Echo Lake at 5:30 am. Low on food, with a light pack, I needed a big day. I pushed hard, limited my breaks, and was able to finish at 11 pm with 41.9 miles, putting me 20.3 miles to Donner Ski Ranch. All I had left was four packs of oatmeal and one pack of Ramen.

I was on-trail at 4:30 am. No sense in dicking around; I was basically out of food. Six miles in, I passed a group of tents, no doubt the hikers whose footprints I had been following the last couple of days. I guess it was my turn to navigate. I climbed hard up to Squaw Valley Ski area and was very careful on the downhill, making sure I didn’t make a wrong turn and go too far down and off trail (I did that last year). The snow cleared up high on the ridgeline, and I was able to call Grandma and see how she was doing. My cousin was there keeping her company, and since entering the nursing home, Grandma’s mobility and speech have deteriorated. She doesn’t respond as much and often doesn’t answer the phone when I call. It’s hard for me because she has been my biggest fan since I started this crazy shit 10 years ago. At any rate, it was nice to tell her everything that had been going on, and although I’m down to 157 lbs., I’m right on schedule, in fact, one day ahead of last year and moving well. Soon to be out of the snow.

A young Dutch kid called Breeze caught up to me, and we hiked to Donner together. We made it there by 2 pm, just under the end of my week 5 mark. I was starving but happy.

Push through, no matter how hard the challenge, but quitting, that’s forever.

-Cam Hanes

Week 4 Mileage: 170

“Zero Time”

I know what you’re thinking, only 170 miles in a week and taking nudes, has he lost his mind? Well, anyone that would try this again after a 3,000-mile failed attempt the year before must be a little crazy, so there’s that. Furthermore, I need to blow off some steam every once in a while, so the photo certainly did that and I did get some interesting comments from it. Also, this is the toughest section of all the trails for me, so resting the feet and legs for a day will be beneficial down the trail. I’m trying not to be so “bull in a China shop” on this hike. More calculating and efficient so as to expend too much energy or waste time.

I got into Mammoth on Wednesday. A cool couple, Mitch and Blake brought me in. It seems their morning routine is drinking road sodas and walking the dogs, my kind of people. I was able to check in at Motel 6 at 9 am and beelined it to Carl’s Jr. Nothing was going to get in my way. If there was an elderly lady on the sidewalk, I’d be kicking her off the curb. A cripple at the crosswalk, he’s getting wheeled into traffic. I was in a zombie-like fast food trance. I crushed a bunch of salt, sugar and fat. I took a double cheeseburger to go and headed to Mammoth Mountaineering and supply. I replaced my broken pack buckle, new socks and replaced my snow baskets. From there, I hit a discount grocery store and loaded up with food for the next leg and food for the night. A lot of dairy. Back to the motel for showers, naps, TV and food. A proper zero day.

I had given Mitch my website and he emailed me later that day letting me know if I needed anything in town to let him know. The ride back to trail was no problem and Blake and Mitch were ready and waiting at 9 am.  A great couple! I would have liked to hang out with them and get to know them, but no rest for records. I wonder if Blake has a sister.

I finally reached the PCT by 11:30. That side trail was rough. Also, full resupply and a bloated belly from all the cheese the night before made me not feel like a champ. Luckily the trail cleared for most of the day from here, I had to take a reroute for a bridge washout from 2 years before (I actually shimmied across it last year) and made good time. Island Pass had less snow than last year, so it was a cruiser to my camp spot.

The next morning slow, post-holing Donahue Pass. It frustrated me so much, continuously falling through the snowpack, that I turned and flipped it off as I reached the top. There was a dude 15 feet behind. I apologized and let him pass. Once I got to the floor of the valley it was a no-snow wet cruiser. I met a kid named Booth and we hiked all the way to Tuolumne Meadows together. The mosquitoes were starting to hatch and I was glad to be out of that section. Yosemite wasn’t open yet, but the Ranger Station had a volunteer. I ended up at a picnic table in the sun. Feeling good, but still kind of full.

Dairy recap on zero day: A wheel of havarti, a bunch of fresh mozzarella, 2 pints of ice cream, and a half gallon of milk with my family sized box of cinnamon toast crunch. Oof, gotta eat more ruffage…