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(Editor’s Note: Kristin is able to send us her blog entries when she comes to a town with internet access. As a result, the entries are published as they are received rather than on the day the events actually took place.)
Mojave is the last desert town on the PCT and I was very eager to leave. 700 miles of desert was quite enough for me, thank you very much. All I could think about was getting to Kennedy Meadows and the start of the Sierras. The wind coming out of town knocked me around pretty good and it did not help that there was no water for 30 miles. In the desert you need to drink about 1 liter of water for every five miles, so for 30 miles you need to carry a gallon and a half and it gets pretty heavy. I hiked until dusk that evening and ate a delicious turkey sandwich for dinner that I had bought in town.
The start of the following day was a disappointment. The guidebook refers to the mountains after Mojave as the “foothills of the Sierras,” so I was a bit disheartened when the trail brought me through hot, dusty hills that looked suspiciously similar to the previous 700 miles. Around midday I took a break under a small Joshua tree and hung my umbrella from its stubby branches for a little extra shade. About twenty minutes later, quite a parade began to march by. Five thru-hikers who I hadn’t met before passed my resting spot. And so I met Los Tres Amigos, Miss Potato Head, and the Germanator. They came about five minutes apart, each introduced themselves, made a comment like “thank god we’re almost out of the desert”, and before marching onward shook my hand (all except the Germanator, who bumped knuckles “because of the germs” he explained).
Vincent, one of the 3 Amigos, came by just as I was packing up and I ended up hiking with him to the next water cache. I learned that the 3 Amigos were brothers who had grown up in a mixture of Iowa and Mexico City. They had caught the hiking bug during a trip on the Via Alpina in Europe and decided to see what adventures the PCT had in store for them. Miss Potato Head and the Germanator had been hiking with them ever since Wrightwood where they had been caught in a wild snow storm. Their story of what happened next was so fantastic I almost had trouble believing it. During the blinding snow storm they lost the trail and after a little wandering discovered a road which they decided to follow. They followed pavement for a couple of miles and stumbled onto some combination of a restaurant and ski lodge where the owner insisted that they stay. He gave them free shelter and some food. Unbelievably, the following day a pro snow boarder showed up, took them up the mountain and gave them rides on his snow mobile. I probably would not have believed this story if Miss Potato Head had not confirmed it. Miss Potato Head was the only female hiker my age that I have met. Also a college student excited to see the world.
That night we camped next to one of the last water caches on the trail. Water caches are specific places where trail angels leave gallon jugs of water to help hikers through particularly dry areas. As a rule you cannot depend on these water sources because oftentimes they are empty. Luckily, this one had an unbelievable amount of water. We all watched the sunset from the hillside there and spoke eagerly about the Sierras, only 50 miles ahead of us.
Two days later we arrived at Kennedy Meadows, the entrance to the High Sierras. Kennedy Meadows was bustling with excited and nervous hikers. Excited to be out of the desert and so close to one of the most amazing mountain ranges on earth, and nervous because of the treacherous terrain that lay ahead.
