I'd forgotten how the ravens talk down here. The ravens at home are more squawky than the ones down south. These ravens click, clack, and cluck a lot more. To my ear, they sound more patient and wise than the ones at home.
The squirrels here look weird. They look like Captain Spock—they have long ears with hairy tufts sticking out, and they make a sound like weep! Grrhimimhim? The trees are farther apart here, so they run along the ground further than they do at home, and they move with a serpentine hopping style. If you could imagine a mongoose hopping through deep snow, that's about how they move. All of these characteristics together I'm sure would make my dog's blood boil.
Hiking here is different than on the PCT. For one thing, most of these past three days there haven't been many places where you could stop and relax. I've been walking across an old basalt flow and there are sharp rocks all over it. There really is no place to set up a tent if you wanted to stop for the night. It's as if the DOT came through and rocked everything to keep the homeless people from loitering.
The other thing that keeps me going to campsites rather than stopping wherever I want is that it's difficult to get water here. There are all sorts of blue dots on the map that are labeled as lakes, but when you get there you find a shallow depression with different-colored rocks. Sometimes a rancher has gone out with a bulldozer and pushed a hole into the depression so that his cows can stand ankle-deep in the water and crap in it. The dedication these animals show to fouling these water sources is admirable. I haven't tried any of this water yet, but when I do, I'll get back to you and tell you what it tastes like.
I'm using an app that rates water sources, and so far it seems that everything not marked as "abundant" has had cattle standing or dying in it. So my choice for camp two was to hike 7 miles out or continue on another 14 miles to the next abundant water source. I wasn't feeling well enough to do that yet. I'm not sure if I caught a little bug in the airport coming down here or what, but I'm not feeling all that well or performing very well either right now.
On the bright side, I apparently looked pitiful enough that the few hikers I met on the trail have all tried to help me one way or the other. They've adjusted my backpack straps, offered to re-lace my tennis shoes, and offered sunscreen for whatever is wrong with my face. One lady gave me a hat. She's a local and hikes through the deserts here all the time. She carries with her a hat for walking north and another for walking south; today she was walking north. After chatting with me for a bit, she shook her head, pulled her southbound hat out of her pack, and put it on my head. It's nice—it has a big bill that keeps the sun off my nose, and it is making my hair smell like patchouli oil.
I finally felt better after my third night out camping. That made for a good day along the trail to Mormon Lake Lodge. Along the way, I ran across a real live bull elk.
He was a big boy and held his head up high, crowned with at least five points on a side. He had half a dozen cows following him and a couple of spike bulls lurking around acting like they shouldn't be there. There was a lot of bugling, and they sounded angry. I tried to stay out of sight to skirt around them since they were standing right in my path. And again—no pictures.
At Mormon Lake Lodge, I managed to wash my clothes in a sink with hand soap and take a cold shower. I strung a line between two trees by my tent to dry everything out, then headed into the bar wearing the only clothing I had left: my rain gear. While I was sitting there, I met a local rancher named Bruce. He wondered if everyone from Seattle dressed like that. I told him yes, and he bought me a beer.
My plan had been to restock my food supply at the little country store attached to the lodge, but the selection wasn't up to the task. All they had for dinners were ramen packets, and for me, that just doesn't work. My body can't seem to do two things at once like digest and walk, so my strategy is to snack and nibble through breakfast and lunch, then really tank up at night. Ramen packets just don't have the calories for that. So, I decided to walk from there to Sedona. Here's some Snickers soup I made for myself for breakfast...
Between Mormon Lake and Sedona is 17 miles as the crow flies, but to get around canyons and ridges and link up Forest Service roads, it ended up being a 40 to 42-mile route. The first part involved a little bit of bushwhacking until the Forest Service roads linked up. When I was nearing the freeway, a nice man in an ATV picked me up. He took me to his house so I could restock on water and then got me across the freeway and onto the Forest Service road that leads to Sedona. It turns out that he had hiked the PCT and the AT and had written a book about the Appalachian Trail. (I'll leave a link to it here. Check it out, he's a nice guy!)
That night in camp was lively, with thunderstorms that continued through the night and into late morning. I realized that somehow I had left my rain jacket back at the lodge. Maybe Bruce had stolen it out of jealousy, I don't know. So I had to make makeshift rain gear to hike into Sedona in style.
I like Sedona. It's a great town. I spend all my honeymoons there.
Anyway, once in Sedona, it was easy enough to find a pub and wait for a Lyft ride to get me south. I'm sitting here now in a hotel room in Camp Verde. My plan from here is to walk Forest Service roads again between here and Pine, Arizona, where I can regain the AZT.
I'll post this while I have some Wi-Fi. Hope everyone at home is doing well. Love you all.
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