Journal Update 16 May 2000 (I)

[12 May]
Working at leaving Mt. Laguna.  Towns can have a gummy-sticky attraction
that makes it difficult to get free. I meet Christopher Cox, a
58-year-old Englishman from Bristol England, a tall, bearded fellow who
has done 1000-mile hikes in England. He's a sign-maker, has two daughters
and a bag full of stories.  We leave together.  Walking along the rim of
the Vallecito Valley is astounding.  The erosion of the hills is so
apparent that it seems as though the next rainstorm would finish washing
them away.  We can see all the way to the Salton Sea, in ancient times an
extension of the Baja Pacific.

We stop for water at a site specifically put in for hikers.  Water is key
in Southern California, as it was to the Arabs in Doughty's Deserta
Arabia (and to Doughty himself).

Even "taking a dump" is tough in this place; many of us are suffering
from a new-diet looseness and don't always have enough time to pick easy
places; I thrash through nearly impenetrable chapparal only to lose my
handkerchief in the process.

We can't always pick ideal camp spots either; this night we spend camped
about 20 yards apart on a concave part of the trail; Christopher with his
tent in the wider angle; me with nothing but the clear stars and the
bright waxing moon on a more-or-less level part of the hard 2-foot-wide
trail.

[13 May]
We pass an on-trail PCTA water cache; Chris tops off but I have enough. 
We meet up again with 4 younger fellows doing film of their trip;
although they have some support, they are not professionals, but as we
get to know them over the next few days we find they are friendly,
humble, open, and fun to be with.
A hot descent to Chariot Canyon near Banner, CA, then back up along the W
side of Rodriguez Canyon.  After long, hot shadeless miles winding among
flowering prickly pear cacti, we arrive at a junction with the Rodriguez
Spur Truck Trail, the four filmmakers Joe, Kimo, JB, and Steven, and
Dave, who is the fastest hiker we've seen yet (51 miles in the first two
days).  The guide book says water at a house about 0.9 miles down the
dusty road; there is also a concrete tank marked 'FIRE WATER'.  I do not
want to face the chore of filtering 7 liters of water, so I start down
the road; everyone else, with larger, faster filters, stays.  I find that
the only thing left of the house is the foundation and an outboard motor,
of all things; no water for miles and miles.  A dirt-bike rider happens
along and offers me a ride up; I come in triumphantly, empty water bag
held high.  Chris lends me his filter while everyone else takes off for
the next destination.
That night we stop early because I am exhausted from carrying so much
water with my frame-less, hipbelt-less pack. After many contours along
the San Felipe Valley, we have found a little garden-like spot full of
white sand; just enough room for a tent and a ground sheet side-by-side.
That night the deep sand, heated earlier by the sun, keeps each of us far
warmer than previous nights.

[14 May]
A three-mile trek across San Felipe del Valle to Scissors Crossing, a
conjunction of roads where a stream of questionable quality runs.  Chris
stocks up on water with his filter and I do a quick wipe-down bath,
primarily for the sake of my downwind hiking partner.
We climb the interminable switchbacks up into the San Felipe Hills, then
begin contouring in parallel with one of the Scissors crossing roads.  It
is quite hot and progress is slow; I attempt to measure the temperature
then realize I have left my thermometer 20 miles back.  We make the
obligatory joke: "Just wait here, I'll just go and get it; won't take a
moment." Christopher and I begin dealing with the inevitable questions of
hiking together -- is the behind-one just taking his time or has he been
blown off the trail by a gust of wind?
These hills are browner and dryer than the Laguna Mountains we left
behind. 


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