We started our fourth day with a slow and relaxed morning:
Steam coming from Tricia’s hot chocolate:
Then we had some decisions to make. The terrain and the road situation both change north of Olallie Lake. Plus, a certain 22 year old was driving up to meet us. Should we hike? If so, how far? Where to camp/meet Katie?
Coming up less than four miles from our last end-point was an area where the trail passes up the west side of the Warm Springs Reservation. This area is heavily logged and the dirt logging roads there “change” a lot year by year (even the PCT guidebook mentions this). As best as I could tell, we’d likely need to do 24.6 miles through that area in one push. We could look around some, but it didn't seem likely that we could shorten this. So, for today it seemed logical to hike just under four miles to set us up for the longer leg and then drive north to find camping.
Our less than four miles hike traversed the west side of Olallie Butte on easy terrain:
About the only break in the forest was where the trail passed under high tension wires:
We finished with Olallie Butte well to the south:
A very interesting driving reconnaissance then followed. The maps we had showed possible dirt road pick-up points. We thought we’d check these out and maybe thereby cut the coming, long, 24.6 mile day into two pieces. A discerning reader, seeing the words “very interesting,” might think to themselves: what, in the context of these nut-jobs, do those words mean?
Well, let’s see. How to answer politely…? To start with, the “main” dirt road we took was fine. But then we needed to take a side dirt road. We barely made it. Over three miles Vicki kept it in first gear, four wheel drive and we still barely made it. Dust, bumps, and trees resulted in massive jostling, many stops and tight turns, and, ultimately, scratches to the Ford and a destroyed right running board. But she did it. She did a masterful job of driving really.
The “quality” of this side road left us with an easy decision too. We made it to a better dirt road and unanimously agreed: no way. No way on God’s green earth were any of us going back there. To hell with cutting the distance down, we simply were not driving anywhere near those three miles again.
That decision made, we had only to find a place to camp. Instead, we got lost. After we got off the really bad road, what was there, in that forest by way of roads, bore absolutely no resemblance to what was on our maps. We tried “dead reckoning,” but in a forest? With a third of a tank of gas, no phone reception and no road signs? Sketchy. We kept calm (mostly).
Half an hour of driving passed. Nothing. I used the InReach to text Steve (Alex’s dad). “Where are we relative to Road 42?” (The InReach sends a message that includes a map link with it - Steve could click on this and then text back some idea of where we were.) But nothing again. Steve got the message, but for the first time in either of our experiences ever, the message did not include a link. Crap again. We kept going, now at least headed in the right direction (northwest, thank you very much).
Finally, we stumbled on the road we needed, paved Road 42 (like many such crises, we went from “oh shit” to “thank God” in about three seconds). Relieved, we continued north toward Timothy Lake and our intended camp. (I’ve never, ever, ever seen maps that are so far off that I couldn’t at least reconstruct where I’d been after the fact - even using Google Earth, the Half Mile and strip maps bear no resemblance whatsoever to what we drove).
Once there we tried to put together the remains of a rest day. We set up camp. We ate. Katie texted that she’d be there by 4:30. Then it was time to clean ourselves up (Olallie Meadow Campground is dry and we’d gotten there after the three-day backpack short of water). Tricia and I decided to walk over and at least wash off the dust in the lake (we’d been doing what we could along those lines each day). And Alex? Well, Alex is a 13 year old boy. I was one of those once, and, at least I thought, I know what it is like to be completely unworried about getting and staying dirty. After four days though, I thought he must be pretty dirty and ought to clean up at least a little. Vicki and I insisted that he join us in the lake.
Pretty dirty? He wore long pants hiking for four days. When he took them off to go in the lake? Well, I’m at a loss for words; it can’t be described. Here it is:
