Pct day 101

September 15

1625 – 1649

I’ve been out here for 4 months now. Crazy that there’s enough California wilderness to walk for that long. I guess if you’re slow enough…

I saw a light last night. It was from a hunter camp. Hunters wear boots, not trail runners. I’ve been seeing their prints for awhile. Should I get an orange vest? I’m dressed like a tree. Or a deer.

I came to a meadow. Some cows with bells were hanging out. The calves all spooked and ran downhill. The brown and white cow mooed and mooed for them to come back. These are tough cows that don’t go running downhill at the first chilly night. When the cow revolution comes, they will lead.

I saw a dude dude in camo carrying a bfg. Then a few more. I came to the hunter camps. There were a lot of pretty horses tied to trees. When I talked to them, they whinnied urgently that they wanted to be untied to eat some grass. That sound made me start crying for some reason.

Another forest chicken!

Around 7pm, I looked ahead on Guthooks and saw a campground 8.8 miles ahead. A toilet in the morning would be nice, but did I want to walk that far in the dark? Turns out I did. For hours by headlamp and when that battery ran dry, with my phone flashlight. I would’ve camped earlier but there were no flat spots. It was all cliffs and poison oak. And downed trees. I gave myself a good jab in the leg climbing over one.

My poor feets, they were aching when I pulled into the campground. I prowled around looking for a place to put up my tent when I saw something bad hanging from a tree. It was a dead deer in a white body bag, really not the sort of thing you want to see by flashlight in the middle of the night. In the center of the campground there was a mist of alcohol fumes and some hyuk hyuk laughter. I set up on the periphery, close to the river.