Chase Nelson

It had been hot and getter hotter. I don’t have a way to tell the temperature but due to the amount of sweat that pools in my shoes and runs into my eyes I’d say we’ve had a few 85-95 degree days out here.

Thankfully there has also been water. Friday morning after 10mi of gradual downhill, we rolled into Deep Creek Hot Springs. Amazing hot natural baths to soak my sore feet and a cool crisp creek to jump in as the day got piping. Needless to say I did a few circuits.

And, being a two mile walk to a main road, it does happen to be a favorite of the LA and San Diego nudist communities. Surprisingly, no women between the ages of 22-35 were a part of the nudist representative party that day. Nope. Just men over 45 and of awkward stature who enjoy endless stretching atop the highest most visible rock perch they can garner. As great as the hot springs were, there were a few inappropriate interactions that ultimately spoiled the wonderful springs for me. It was good while it lasted.

I left there and put in another 10mi to set up my next day. I struggled to find a camping spot as the sun set and I walked a steep ridge. Finally, I came upon a nice fella, Starbucks, who had room enough on his flat to let me cowboy camp. I scarfed down some instant mashed potatoes in the dark and passed out exhausted.

I awoke at mile 319 and set out before the sun crested the hills around 5:30. I was shooting for mile 342 where the trail hits I-15 and more importantly where there was a MacDonald’s. It’s remarkable how the fantasies of quarter pounders with cheese and mcflurries can fuel a man’s fire.

At 8:30, I’d already put in decent miles, the sun was already cooking my brain, and I was drenched in sweat. As fortune would have it, at that time I was descending towards Silverwood Lake. I treated myself to a morning dip and dropped my core temperature back down in the chilly lake water. Morning fishermen watched with confused looks. It was a little slice of heaven.

From there it was full steam ahead. At around 1, I was dragging ass and staggered down to Cajon Canyon. The shining golden arches kept me upright all the way into the air conditioned automatic doored greatness of Ronald MacDonald’s Deliciousness factory.

Culture clash ensued. In I walked, backpack high, gaunt, covered in sweat and stinking, to face a mass of clean cut fat jowled Socalers most likely en route to Sin City. They stared. I didn’t care. This was the first time rolling into civilization where the folks weren’t used to rugged hikers. Some folks were intrigued enough to ask. Others were disgusted enough to make their order to go.

No matter to me. I was hammering quarter pounders, chicken sandwiches, and Dr Pepper like woah!! 4 hours later I’d stagger under some interstates and over some train tracks and out of society.

Tomorrow morning some time I’ll be at mi 369 and hitching into Wrightwood, CA. A trucker, Keith, in Big Bear recommended the whiskey at the Racoon Saloon. And by gosh, I think I’ve earned me one.

A la prossima…

Rolling into Big Bear marks 266 miles down. Sign sealed delivered. I repeat the last 16 days 10 more times and I’ll be skipping into Manning Park Canada happy as a clam at high tide. Please hold your Congrats though. This rodeo is just getting warm.

At mile 200 I was miserable. It was desert, narrow rocky knee crushing downhill for 15 miles. The saving grace? The wind. I love a good strong wind. One that tries to pull you off the ridge. One that sneaks up and tries to steal your hat. Always adds a little excitement to the day. We had plenty of it.

We’d push on that day to another trail Angels house. Ziggy and the Bear! (I like to sing it like Benny and the Jets) We rolled in there dust covered looking like Mad Max banditos and were ordered to sit while our feet were put in hot lavender water soaking tubs, gatorades and fresh fruit forced on us. I may have slammed three things of ranch dipping sauce but it a happened so fast I can’t be sure if wasn’t 4.

The vortex wonderland lasted for 3 hours. And, after elevated feet and extensive stretching, we headed out back out of the desert into the hills. With the sun setting we climbed right next to hills of massive wind turbines. Alien machines harvesting our breath, I’m sure.

More and more up. We climbed 3 days to settle into Big Bear.

Still traveling with the birder. Our paces seem to match well and my slowness gives him ample time to gander at every Bush Tit and Thrasher (Those are actually birds. Look it up).

My health has held. I can say I feel better at mile 266, after 3 consecutive 20+ days, than I did at mile 100. Although, I did get my first blister today out of nowhere. I’m pissed and have to reevaluate my system over here to put an end to that business.

The scenery keeps getting better and more extreme. More mountains ahead but also the Mojave waiting to take a shot at us. Gonna be a good tussle. Hope she’s ready for us.

Now I’m gonna do a bit of polar bearing here and jump in this lake. Outside temp of 44. We’ll see if the water is colder or warmer.

Disclaimer: First, this is in no way actually a love story. Second, the subject of this post is bowel movements. If you can’t handle that, you may want to navigate back to buzz feed.

Pooping. Everyone does it. Humans, for as long as I can tell have done it. Babies do it. Your boss does it. Grandma does it. That hot chick in marketing does it. Even Nicholas Cage does it. I know this may be shocking. For some of you, you’ll never look at Nicholas Cage the same, and for that I apologize. But these are just the facts. It serves an important role in maintaining our mediocre health as civilized humans. We all do it and it’s never pretty. Now that you know where I’m going with this, you may want to put your Bagel with jalapeño spread down for a minute.

On the trail it’s called “Catholin”. Some are more discreet than others but generally your trail mate will let ya know “You keep on going, I gotta go catholin”. At this point you know two things: 1. You need to get upwind 2. Your trail mate is entering into a dangerous gamble that could change the entire direction of this day.

Now, performing a movement of the bowels in civilization is like taking 10 minutes at a spa. You bring your favorite reading material, you’re in a quiet safe place where no one will intrude, the rolls of toilet paper seem endless as you relax on that butt shaped porcelain throne that hardly requires you to bend your knees.

On the trail? Oh buddy.

First, you decide that you have to go bad enough to face the dangers. You’ve already waited too long really because you wanted to be sure you don’t go through all the trouble just for a hot aired false alarm. So now you’re almost at red alert mode. Sweats and awkward waddling already in effect.

Second, you must find a place. You look frantically. Is the ground soft enough? Can I dig there? Maybe I can just lift that rock. Is there a snake under that rock? Can anyone see me here? Am I far enough away from the trail? Waddling over bushes, around rocks, tapping your trekking pole like a blind man in the hopes it’ll scare away rattlers, looking around frantically, back and forth. What if I’m too far away? What if there is a trail I don’t know about just below me? What if a group of ten school children on a nice nature walk is about to get their world views shattered when they come around that bend and discover me here…hovering. No time. Train is coming to the station, it has to be here.

Start digging. Gosh I hope there isn’t a wasps nest here or a family of jumping scorpions. I wonder how high a scorpion can jump…can scorpions jump?

Squat over the hole. Wait, seriously? You want me to squat? I’ve sat at a computer or on a lazy boy for the last 18 years of my life and have the flexibility of sheet rock. Now I need to do a full squat and hold it? On this steep grade? And unstable footing? I look around for something to hold onto for balance. I grab some shrubs even though I know they won’t hold. I grab anyway because hope is heartless and dishonest when you’re desperate. I’m already exposed and I just know a Mountain Lion is already tracking me or that school group is coming any second. Lets be honest, probably both. I grab the shrubs and squat.

If you’re lucky, it’s not a false alarm. All goes well and bowels move.

Now, you find yourself exposed with pants at your ankles hovering precariously over a self made death trap grasping to shrubs that are slowly pulling out of the ground like a ticking time bomb and you’re still looking frantically and pathetically in all directions to ensure no one can see you. And now you must wipe. As you reach for your “shit kit” which has your toilet paper, you say a prayer to all Gods that have ever been. It goes something like this: Dear All Gods Ever, please hear me now, please just this once make this an easy wipe, a clean pinch. You pray because you already know. You already know you’re screwed. You already know you were off balance and tilted to one side. You already know the protein bars never treat you well during departure. You already know that you’re down to your last sheets of TP. And so quietly with the focus only fear can provide, you take your first square of TP and wipe. Peering between your legs you almost slip, the shrubs finally pull free from the ground and only by some miracle are you able to windmill your free arm behind you in time to catch yourself. Now you’re doing some sort of one armed backward bend over the aforementioned death trap. You breath a sigh of relief and finally evaluate the results of the first wipe. You’re screwed. You have three more squares before you have to resort to pine needles and sticks. Somehow with that last square you’re adequately clean and you escape the terrible alternatives. Ants are crawling up your legs, your hip is cramping, and your stabilizing arm is beginning to wobble. You roll away from the cat hole and pull up your pants just to realize that you peed all over them. Well at least you weren’t mauled by a mountain lion. You cover your tracks, fill in your hole, and tap your trekking poles back to the trail hoping that once was enough for today.

Just another day in paradise.

San Jacinto Peak stands proud at 10,834 feet. Now, that doesn’t require an oxygen tank or a sherpa named Temba but it is the 2nd tallest peak in Southern California and John Muir is reported to have called it’s vista one of the most beautiful he had seen (fyi – that dude knows what’s up).

This morning with light just sneaking into the sky we charged that mound like it sent a heater above the numbers. And, I have to agree with Mr. Muir. It’s a gem.

With an imperial stout and meat lovers pizza in my system from Idyllwild the afternoon prior, the morning charge was tougher than I expected. We left from the saddle at 8110 ft and the altitude got to me a bit right around 9500. Respiration rate increased a bit and legs felt heavy.

The view though is very unique. To the East you have drops to the Palm Springs desert 8000+ ft below, to the south mountain ridges that drop towards the Mexican border, and to the west rolling terrain to San Diego and the ocean.

We enjoyed our time at the top but have plans further north. After the summit, we put in 12 miles to crawl down towards the desert before we climb back up to Big Bear. And so it goes.

Here you see what I’m seeing now, looking back to San Jacinto where I watched the sun rising earlier today.

That’s living.