Day 35: Simply Complicated: Accomplishing Ordinary Tasks on the PCT

(Mile 478.6 to 496.2, Ridge Top Jct. = 17.6 miles)

The stuff of my nightmares!

One of the surprising things about the PCT is how little free time you have.  This is, in part, because so much of a day is spent walking.  If you are a tortoise like Gumby and I, you spend a block of between 12 to 14 hours on the move.  Broken up, of course, with rest stops.  It is hard to do much but think during this time.  The remainder of your time is spent accomplishing daily maintenance tasks that take an unusually long time.  Simple essentials like cooking, cleaning, drinking, communicating, and going to the bathroom are not quite so straightforward out here.  Wondering how we do these things?  Here are our methods:

Cooking.  Of the tasks, this one is relatively straightforward.  Except that you might go down in history as the one who burned down half of California.  See, a number of us, including myself, use homemade alcohol stoves.  They are lightweight, easy to find fuel for, maintenance free, and -- depending on the design -- fairly fuel efficient.  The problem is that you have to pour fuel each time, and the stoves are highly susceptible to wind.  They can be a bit of a fire hazard.  You have to both find and create a wind-free area.  Then you have to clear it of flammables.  Prep your water, prep your food, fill your fuel, fill your preheat, light, and then watch that thing like a hawk to make sure nothing goes wrong.  I have to admit, I breathe a sigh of relief everytime CJ, my stove, runs out of fuel.  Another crisis averted.  You don't actually "cook" your food, either.  You boil the water and then let it sit long enough that the dehydrated rehydrates.  If it's nighttime, I like to stretch while my food soaks.  Then you eat.  Immediately upon finishing, you pour a bit of water into your pot.  If you're good, you'll clean your pot straightaway -- the longer it sits, the crustier it gets, and the more difficult it becomes to clean.  Which you do by rubbing your finger on the sides of the pot, drinking the grey water, and repeating.  Pack it all up and dinner is complete.

.2 miles to water. Down a steep ravine, over a tree, and under a tree ...

Cleaning.  There are two major things you are concerned with cleaning.  Yourself and your clothes.  Real showers and laundry (if you're lucky) happen in town.  On trail, they're, well, modified.  Gumby and I use wet wipes to clean ourselves at night.  I use one or two for my feet and legs depending on how dusty the day was and one for my upper body.  It leaves a bit of a sticky film, bit it's better than nothing.  Occasionally, I'll put a few drops of Dr. Bronner's soap in a baggie, add water, and find a secluded place for a little sponge bath.  But this takes time, and we don't have much to spare.  Laundry can be done this way, too, but, if it is not an essential, laundry is usually just overlooked.  We do  try to clean our socks and underwear as often as possible.  But, you really need a faucet to get a good rinse and justify the use of water.  So, the essentials are rinsed every couple of days; the rest waits for town.  You wouldn't believe how excited we get about faucets, laundry, and showers.

Drinking.  Water is one of the highest priorities of the trip so far.  Most of us carry a paper or electronic copy of "the Water Report."  I, of course, have both.  The Water Report is a spreadsheet compiled by AsABat that lists the mileage, the name, the last-known status and date, and directions to just about every water source in Southern California.  You schedule your entire day around water sources.  I can tell you right now that it is 10 miles to the next water.  We'll carry 3 liters.  We cooked dinner at the last water source so that we didn't have to carry that liter.  One liter weighs 2 pounds.  You don't want too much, and you definitely don't want too little.  A water source is a faucet if you're lucky; other times it is a spring, a concrete tank, a creek, a horse trough, or a cesspool.  You get less picky as you go.  Water must (well, should) be treated before drinking.  We use Aquamira; others use pumps, UV lights, drip filters, or other chemicals.  It takes 5 minutes for the Aquamira chemicals to react and then another 15 before the water is ready.  Turning a knob and having drinkable water pour out is a luxury.

Communicating.  With the outside world, that is.  There are a number of challenges to talking to all of you.  Many of us carry phones, but with the terrain and remoteness of locations, we can go days without cell or internet service.  It is not rare to find a group of hikers stopped in the middle of the trail because someone picked up service.  If you need to communicate you'll drop everything, anywhere.  While we write or talk, we may be getting eaten alive by bugs, roasting in the sun, or standing in the most uncomfortable position you can imagine because we're afraid we may lose you if we move.  And, when you do have service, you have to make sure you have enough battery power to take advantage of it.  Gumby and I carry PowerMonkey solar chargers.  Hers is bigger, mine is lighter.  My adapter is also on the fritz, so it isn't exactly working right now.  This is a definite source of frustration.  We all have to accept that communication is sporadic and totally unpredictable.  

Nearing the full moon.

Going to the bathroom.  This is probably a little more complicated for the women than the men.  We carry a bandana cut into fourths to wipe when going number one.  This isn't too complicated, but sometimes finding a private spot can be.  My lower legs bare scars from battle with brush to get far enough away so as to not be visible.  Number two requires a bit of planning.  You need a flat-ish spot far enough from the trail -- a view is a nice touch.  Then you have to dig your cathole and set out your supplies; take care of your business and do the appropriate cleaning.  It takes a little while.  We love flushing toilets and use them as often as possible.

It's funny.  We come out here partly for the simplicity of it all.  But then the simple is made so complicated.  Where does this leave us?  It definitely makes us more appreciative of the everyday conveniences of modern America.  I also think it is somehow as Colin Fletcher says in his introduction to "The Complete Walker" -- that the simplicity of backpacking is a corrective.  It offers perspective.  The stress and chaos of our over-stimulated, complicated, work-a-day world seems pretty straightforward when we consider that we have accessible food, plentiful running water for cleaning and drinking, unlimited outlets, and flushable toilets.