PCT day 17

June 1

Whitewater to Whitewater Preserve

Mile 210-219

Leigh made lots of coffee this morning. She had a big French Press and plenty of half and half. It felt decedent. She had an early gig substitute teaching at an elementary school Field Day Event so we had to hustle out before 7:00.

I saw the place where I got turned around and started walking backward. What a lucky little fuck up that was. 

It was only a little windy as I started up the hillside. Maybe seeing all those windmills made it feel windier. It was all uphill and slow going. The trail goes up a windmill lined canyon to Mesa Wind Farms. They have a little palapa hut for hikers, and you can buy ice cream and assorted junk foods inside the main office. And there’s WiFi. I was in the hut when I felt something wiggling in my hair, near the brim of my hat. I ripped off my cap and bandanna and a honeybee came off as well. It wriggled on the ground, stunned. A lizard dashed over to snatch up the bee. Sorry Bee, it’s you or me. That’s the price you pay for almost stinging my head.

Leaving the hut, it was a long awful climb up the canyon. The view gets more incredible at each turn. I needed lots of photo stops to make it to the top of the ridge. 

I should have hiked further since I’d had a free night indoors. But Whitewater Preserve sounded so plush I really wanted to visit. It has free camping with water and toilets and outlets. It also has a foot soak wading pool. That wading pool had me sold. So when I saw the turn off, I found myself turning off, even as I told myself, “No, I should hike some more, get in a couple more miles.” I made a straight line directly to the wading pool.  After my feet were chilled, I stuck them under the little waterfall. I set up my campsite on the hiker lawn near a big sycamore tree. 

It was still early so I did a long yoga and wrote for awhile. I made some tea, and then made dinner since I’d put too much alcohol in the stove. I boiled a second pot of water and set my couscous in to soak. Then I got distracted and walked around admiring the park and the pretty stream. When I got back, it took me a minute to realiz that my dinner was gone!

Something stole my cook pot! My rad mini titanium cook pot, with the lid and the cozy! I bet it was a raccoon. Haha, Raccoon, it was only couscous. Maybe it wanted the pot. It was perfectly raccoon sized. Maybe my Toaks pot now lives in a raccoon house in the sycamore tree. I only wish I could have seen the raccoon running away with a tiny stolen pot, still in its orange cozy, in its thieving paws.

I poked around in the bushes, thinking I might find the discarded pot. Part of me expected the animal to eat the food and return the pot. “Here you go, nice couscous, thanks, maybe Mac and cheese next time?”

I’m also suspicious of the rabbits. Possibly they were also involved in the heist. There were a lot of distractingly cute bunnies nibbling grass in the field.

Sorry I fed the animals. My penance is cold coffee and cold soak meals. At least till I find a new pot in Big Bear or Wrightwood.