Diamond View in the Rough

• July 16, 2019
• Miles: 22
• PCT Mile 1972 to Skyline Alternate 15.6

When I awake on the ridge in the morning, my left calf feels very wrong. Not just muscles awoken after a long slumber complaints, but muscles alarmingly visibly swollen and tender. Adding to the rapidly accumulating bodily betrayals, my hiking skirt now reeks like a neglected public toilet. I resort to washing it in a gallon ziplock with the last precious ounces of seep-water laboriously lugged up a steep slope and filtered of scum last night. There’s no way I’m heading down for more. At least I’ve learned a lesson in humility, right? Hike my own hike, and no need to hit 20+ miles when just (re)starting out, right?

So, of course I hike a 22-mile day. A whole mile shorter than yesterday! I am the master of humility, or at least of oxymorons. I don’t mean to do so many miles, hobbling along, bladder threatening to dribble. I even take the gentler, snow-free Skyline Alternate suspecting all the micro-spikes and snow had something to do with the pain. And the alternate should land me at enticingly large Crescent Lake for the night when I desperately could use a rejuvenating swim and the others have spoken so well of promises of a hiker-friendly horse camp there.

I wander calmly down the gentle trail, descending along the ridgline through the forest and a small burn area. I take advantage of cell service and call home. I pass a road crossing with trail magic cache that consists entirely of water jugs (mostly full) and mosquito repellent (mostly empty). I have a leisurely lunch watching clouds dance on a shallow lake, dipping my heat-rash speckled feet until I notice the leeches. And, I finally have a game changing revelation when it comes to my post-pregnancy body: it’s the caffeine that is the culprit. The super-concentrated Goo packets I’m resorting to at post-lunch slump times are massively irritating my system. So, thankfully for all of our sakes, future honest posts should have a lot less leaky-pee talk.

I continue through gentle, sandy forest, on efficient (almost to a fault) trail. The heat is considerable down here away from lingering snow, but all signs point to swimming soon. As the lake nears, I hear cars, then happy shrieks of kids splashing and there are occasional views of vibrant blue water through the trees.

The problem? When I get to the horse camp it’s merely 3pm. No one is there. Not even the camp host. Just a sign in a dusty forested loop that says camping is only for people with horses. And though the lake has been looming large on my map, in the distant views, in the near soundscape, I have somehow missed the beach. I sit in disappointment near the host’s unattended RV, where I am assaulted by wasps and the smell of horse manure. I can’t even seem to locate the flush toilet and do not want to tax my body wandering aimless miles in search of promised amenities.

Plans in disarray, I do the only logical thing with a slightly broken body: hike 5.3 more miles alone. Uphill. In the later afternoon heat. Into yet-more infamous Oregon mosquito forest all crisscrossed with confusing side trails. And somehow I’ve managed to lose my maps (despite suggesting many others without take photos of mine I did not do this myself), which normally is no big deal. Except I’m on an alternate which my new phone app doesn’t cover. After a brief panic, I open up my trusty old Halfmile App, which to my great relief, reassures me with minimalist exactitude, that I’m currently at mile 14.96 of the Oregon Skyline alternate.

I finally make it to Diamond View Lake, the snowy namesake peak backlit with the setting sun. And though the mosquitoes are thick enough to warrant brushing my teeth in my tent (a first), I still risk a swim. Well, it’s more of a splashy-bath in sandy shallows, but still divine to wash away all the lingering sweat, strain, and shame.

I wander the campsite dotted along the shore, assuming others must be here or are surely soon to join at such an idyllic spot. But nope. I make my rounds again later, hoping for company, but still nope. Because alternate again, I suppose. I’m calmly settling into the solitude, when a tree crashing to the ground across the lake shatters the evening calm. And then a lout snort blasts nearby, and what I can only describe as a trumpet-sneezing reverberates up from the shore. Solitude indeed.