Water, Water. Everywhere.
Over the last week, I climbed out of Agua Dulce, spending two days hiking through low, misting clouds. With healthy manzanita bowing over the trail from both sides, it often felt a lot more like sections of the Appalachian Trail—the Green Tunnel—than the PCT. Yet, it was the night a large group of hikers spent walking the Los Angeles aqueduct, and the day that followed, that dominate my memories. They were far from my favorite days of hiking, but I find myself remembering them as standout days. The inaccessible pipe of the aqueduct and the towers of the wind farm imposed on the trail; infrastructure as landscape.
After writing the last post, I caught a ride from Acton to Agua Dulce where, among the movie ranches and horse farms, sits Serenity’s Oasis, a section of Farmer John’s backyard where hikers can stay, shower, do laundry and resupply. I skipped up so I could spend the next morning hiking “backwards” or sobo (southbound) back to Acton to meet my friends Gustavo, an owner of the Frogtown Brewery and Dave Paradice, DJ and Glenfiddich Ambassador, rather than spend the morning in Acton waiting for them to arrive in the afternoon.
I could have met them both in LA, but I was excited for my friends to get a sense of the trail, meet some hikers and share some snacks and Frogtown beers with them. And so an afternoon at a parking lot trailhead it was, pit toilet and all. Beers were shared. I enjoyed Frogtown’s finest hard seltzer, Frog Claw. Snacks were devoured. Best of all, Gustavo brought some clippers and gave me a trim. I’m thinking the beard is going to go fully rabbinical, but it’s nice to keep the noggin fresh. We somehow also squeezed in a trip to the post office and the 49er Saloon for some town food, but it was all too brief and Dave was dropping me back off at the Oasis to continue on.
This next stretch of road walk was not the highlight of the trip. Despite shedding close to a pound thanks to swapping out some gear, my pack was heavy with resupply and extra Frog Claw and the roads were dusty and clung to an endless series of fenced off properties. Back in Park Slope there was a guy on Union Street who used to make and hang unusual carnival style posters in his front window. One of my favorites read, “If there’s one thing I wouldn’t want to by twice, zombies is both of them.” Well, if there’s one section I wouldn’t want to hike twice, the road walk out of Agua Dulce is both of them. I camped a few miles in by a distinctive pink tent and, unknowingly, a few yards down from Lite Bright, Kidska, and Door who I had hiked with briefly the day before I hiked Fuller Ridge.
The next morning was misty and almost magical. There was a steady, gradual climb into the clouds that had been blanketing L.A. for the last six weeks in what they call May Gray and June Gloom. This wasn’t just climbing in fog, but truly in a cloud. Moisture hung on everything, the new array of flora on the climb, especially. Tall grasses bent over the trail and before long we were all soaked. It couldn’t have been more than fifty degrees. We were soaked and cold. As I turned one wet corner to another, I heard a familiar voice. Lite Bright! I was sure that he and Kidska and Door were miles and miles ahead. It turned out that they had been going at a moderate pace and had taken a few days in L.A. to gear up to enter the Sierras. We caught up for a bit and, a mile or so later, I got to see Door and Kidska again. I still almost can’t believe it.
That night I made it to a paved road that leads to Green Valley, but where no one stays thanks to some very aggressive mice near the campsite. Instead, I ran into Waldo and along with about 20 other hikers, camped at the Green Valley Fire Station before climbing again toward Lancaster and Hikertown.
Water on the trail always two sides. It’s tough to carry, but important to have. Beautiful to camp next to, but that can lead to cold nights and condensation clinging to the inside of your tent. It’s a beautiful relief on hot days, but get wet on a cold day and you can become hypothermic. It is worth mentioning that down loses all its insulating properties if it gets wet. Almost all puffy jackets and sleeping bags on trail are down. I’m sure we’ll get to snow melt and river crossings later.
In any case, I woke up the next morning with a very wet tent, so I was excited to find creek-side oasis that was only mildly ant infested for lunch and to dry out my tent. Thankfully, the drying went quickly and the lunch was a leisurely affair when Splinter and Dundee showed up. We hiked together for a bit before hitting a road that, just 11 miles into my day I thought would be a way station. Instead, we pitched tents on the side of a forest service road in a rare on trail nearo. We weren’t the only ones to see this roadside as a resort. By the time night fell there was a very expensive tent city lining the road.
The next day I would pass the 500 mile marker and camp just outside Hikertown, a fantastical movie-set of a hiker retreat, complete with only the best in bucket laundry, dollar beers, mail station and refreshments from a lovely caretaker named Marta. It has also become the jumping off point for a night hike of the L.A. aqueduct, a notoriously hot stretch as the trail becomes firmly ensconced in the Mojave Desert. In dry years, I imagine that the water carry can be longer than the 14 miles that we had to deal with, making night hiking an absolute necessity.
I did a small resupply near Hikertown, met Postmaster and Forerunner who helped me find and patch a hole in my sleeping pad and generally just lazed around until 4 when hikers started to trickle out to start the hike. The sun started to set just was we hit the pipeline of the aqueduct, creating a landscape of backlit Joshua Trees and desert scrub. Night fell, but a full moon kept the scene bright and surreal. Over the next several hours I hiked a little with almost everyone I had met over the past week. A past PCT hiker named Coffee Break had provided three days of trail magic along the aqueduct in order to surprise his friend Detour and I was thrilled to have an 11:30pm LeCroix. I caught up with Lite Bright, Door and Kidska and we eventually cowboy camped on one of the enormous concrete slabs that cover the aqueduct and drifted off to the sound of L.A.’s drinking water rushing beneath us.
Lite Bright’s alarm went off about three hours later. It was not enough. I hiked most of the morning by myself, dragging. I’ve discovered I need at least three things to hike well: good hydration, good nutrition and good sleep. Most of all, good sleep. A steady ascent into the Tehachapi wind farm felt relatively unremarkable. Big structures. Unshaded hills. It was the kind of steady climb I usually love, but without sleep it was a struggle. I also made the mistake of breaking for a second breakfast around 8:30 and by 9 the heat was oppressive. This isn’t even considered to be a hot year. Not yet. I made it to Tylerhorse Canyon and embarked on an extended 5 hour siesta with Andrew, Extra, Matrix, Island Time and others. One dry creek and a big climb later we were at an amazing on trail oasis with a massive water cache. I cowboyed again under the big moon, relishing in the simplicity and the open sky. As summer gets into full swing the mosquitos are going to make these nights under the stars a faded memory.
The next morning was a quick jaunt into Tehachapi. Unlike the hike into the wind farm, which felt odd, the hike down from above the turbines and through them left me awestruck. They poked up from behind hill crests like giant aluminum sunflowers behind a garden fence. Their shadows cast a mosaic over the hills and occasionally over the trail itself. And the scale of the wind farm, one of the world’s largest, is simply epic.
I was thrilled to run into Lite Bright, Door and Kidska right as I reached my hitch point into town and I was equally excited to reach Tehachapi. I had met some local grain farmers a few years back when I was in L.A. and learned about the famous marvel of railroad engineering, the Tehachapi Loop from Scout’s Journey’s North. I was more familiar with the name, though, from the Little Feat song Willin’ (though I recommend the Linda Ronstadt version):
And I've been from Tucson to Tucumcari
Tehachapi to Tonopah
Driven every kind of rig that's ever been made
Driven the back roads so I wouldn't get weighed
And if you give me; weed, whites, and wine
And you show me a sign
I'll be willin', to be movin'
The local bakery makes a killer reuben. The pizza place has gluten-free crust. The Best Western has laundry and a jacuzzi. The Walmart is a hiker’s resupply dream. I can also recommend the well-named Thai Hachapi, where Door, Kidska, Lite Bright and I had a veritable feast. Today, I expect to slack pack a short section of trail and may extend my stay for a friend’s birthday.
In the beginning of the hike, I knew I wanted to do this. Once I figured out my shoes and my feet, I knew I could do this. Now, with twenty percent of the trail behind me and a lot of uncertainty ahead, I had been thinking I was left with the question, “Will I do this?” I think I’m realizing now, as I luxuriate in Tehachapi’s riches, is that the nature of the question is “How will this all unfold?” I’m feeling a distinct lack of pressure at the moment, another luxury that might dissipate as soon as I figure out my flip plan and July rolls around. For now, it’s a nice place to be.