Day 14

Today was undoubtedly the most difficult day so far. Though Rocksie warned us that the walk up Mission Creek would be difficult, I wasn’t prepared for the mental and physical anguish of 12 miles of extremely washed out trail at its best and painfully slow and often directionless boulder hopping at its worst. Today the trail drew its first tears from me, and after the tap was opened I cried at least twice more.

After waking up in a grassy field at the idyllic Whitewater Preserve, I scarfed down a huge pancake with walnuts and maple syrup and we set off.

The first 8 miles were over largely inoffensive switchbacks up and over 2 canyons. I’m still recovering from my old shoes so the morning was a bit painful, but I think we’re getting there.

Then we got to Mission Creek. In the beginning there were lots of cairns and the change in scenery was quite nice. I even remember thinking around mile 2 or 3 that I was enjoying myself. My photos will undoubtedly give the impression that this is a nice place to walk—don’t be fooled. The PCTA themselves advises hikers to skip this section. Anyways, Bailey and I soon became separated and I found myself forging along alone. Long story short I take a wrong turn, walk off trail for almost a mile and am thus faced with the decision to scramble up and over a ~100 foot high ridge or backtrack. Opting for the former, I made it to the top in no time and, to my utter dismay, I found the trail at the bottom of the ridge on the other side. This broke me. When I made it down and found shade I started sobbing and couldn’t stop for quite some time. Lots of emotions. This drained me so utterly that for the next 7 miles (on trail thankfully) it felt like my legs were made of lead. Neither food nor water helped me feel better.

I eventually caught up with Bailey who had waited for me for quite some time. We entered a nasty burn scar in the San Bernardino National Forest and I was feeling depleted. I cried more as we walked, overwhelmed by more emotion. Unfortunately, where we planned to camp was 4 miles and 2000 feet of elevation gain away. The sorry state of the trail—massive blowdowns and washouts which required scrambling—made this too much for me. When we got to our last crossing of Mission Creek (baruch hashem), I took my pack off, started crying, and told Bailey I was sleeping here (the least appealing campsite I’ve chosen by a country mile). After 10 minutes of me not moving, he finally believed me and, with my encouragement, he set off to reach our original target.

I found an okay spot, put up my tarp for the canyon wind, and fought off the rodents who live here while I ate my favorite meal of the moment—couscous, refried beans, olive oil, Fritos, and summer sausage. Now I’m going to sleep the sleep of the dead.