May 21, 2000: Day 9—Bullied and nearly beaten by winds whipping across a parched meadow, we finally reached the rusty barbed-wire gate that led out to Sunrise Highway. On day 4, we'd detoured off the PCT and onto an old jeep track about 62 miles into our summer journey and 13 miles into our morning's descent from the Laguna mountains. After a blustery night at 6000 feet and 35 degrees, re-entry into the land of desert chaparral warmed my bones but sapped my stamina and patience.

So far, both Duffy and I had managed to protect our Philly-white skin from sunburn, but the thorny shrubs and razor-sharp grasses showed no mercy on our shins. As we stumbled over the uneven, sandy track, visions of apple-boysenberry pie kept me going. When we hit pavement, the small town of Julian, California, would be just a 7-mile hitch away. Once known for its gold mines, Julian is now famous for its pie shops and cider. I was sucking wind trying to keep up with Duffy's long strides, but when he turned to ask how I was doing I perked up, smiled and said "Okay." Aside from these periodic, stimulating conversations we hiked in silence, concentrating on our next steps—leery of rattlers and ankle-wrenching holes.

In the distance, I almost expected to see the silhouette of that tormented soul Heathcliff from Bronte's "Wuthering Heights". These endless, rolling, inhospitable hills reminded me of the moors. But of course, this isn't Yorkshire, England, it's sunny Southern California and we have the sand beneath our toenails, gaiter tan lines and salt-stained shirts to prove it.

Southern terminus of the PCT

A few more miles under our boots and Duffy was hanging back while I thumbed for a ride along Route 78. I couldn't help feeling sort of rejected every time a driver pretended not to see me or my hard-working opposable digits. Exhausted from only 4 days of lugging my 43-pound pack in and out of canyons, along countless switchbacks and up buttes, I wished our trail angel Bob Riess would pull up with his dark blue Dodge minivan and PCT 2000 placard again. After the weeks of hectic activity leading up to our departure we were thankful to have this ex-Navy commander take us under his wing for a day. Not surprisingly, Bob was perfectly punctual. He met us at the San Diego airport at 12-hundred hours on Sunday, May 7, and drove us to the trailhead before sun-up on Monday.

Many thruhiking hopefuls take the once-daily bus to Campo instead, which seems to put them behind the 8-ball before they've hiked an inch. Arriving at this Border Patrol-dominated town at 5:30 p.m., those that bus it must then walk 1.3 miles to the PCT monument and—after signing the spiral-bound notebook/register and snapping some pictures—they probably don't begin their pilgrimage to Canada until nearly 6 p.m. That doesn't allow for much daylight during which to hightail it away from the corrugated iron and barbed-wire border. Water sources are scarce during these early miles and with the additional threat of nocturnal illegal alien activity no one's anxious to hang around Campo too long.

"It's just no way to start something of this magnitude," says Bob, which is why he starting running a thruhiker hostel, of sorts, in his San Diego home and driving folks the 43 miles to the trailhead. We found Bob on the Pacific Crest Trail Association's (PCTA) email digest. By the way, he's looking for more business, not less, so class of 2001, drop him an email and he'll help you out any way he can—heck, he spent about an hour driving me around looking for a Baskin Robbins. If you don't compute, you can also find Bob at the PCTA's Absolute Day Zero Annual Kick Off.

More on trail angel Bob Riess.

Pacific Crest Trail PCT Fun Fact The PCT's lowest point in California is at around 1,200 feet in the San Gorgonios. Pacific Crest Trail Peak Experience PCT Forums

Check out Duffy and Angela's gear lists.

Move on to Pink Motel Return to Top