The morning was rough. The storm kept me awake most of the night — I finally fell asleep at some point, only to be woken by a gust so strong it pushed the tent walls in on me. About an hour of sleep total. Got up.
Others had it worse. One hiker had half his gear blown out of his tent and had to collect it from several metres away.
Made breakfast — oats with chopped dates. Still good, every single time. Even with the sweet variety I’d ended up buying at the last resupply. The weather was still bad, and while I ate, others sat around sharing their night. Most of them had slept about as badly as I had. A couple of hikers had found sheltered spots. A group of women had discovered a shed and slept in there.
While I was finishing breakfast the wind picked up again. Worried the tent would take damage, I started packing it up — the main challenge being not to let it get blown away in the process. Didn’t leave immediately, stayed and talked for a bit. Eventually set off in rain gear.
Met an interesting man on the trail. He couldn’t understand why people go out when they have a comfortable home waiting for them. I pointed out that he was out here too. He said he was trying to figure that out. I liked that answer. He agreed that there were simply too many people on the trail right now — which was true all day. Constantly catching up to hikers, passing them, having others close behind. Having people around at camp in the morning and evening is fine. Having them permanently at my heels while walking is not.
After about an hour I took off the rain gear. Stayed more covered than usual though — overcast all day, first time hiking in long trousers, pulled the jumper back on later too.
Around mile 9 the sleep deprivation hit properly. Sudden and total exhaustion — mental, not physical. I wanted to lie down somewhere and sleep. Not possible. And for once I had a specific destination in mind: Little Bear. I kept going. No regrets in the end, but it was a hard stretch. The wind didn’t help. Often had to push hard against it. At one point it dropped suddenly and I nearly fell down the slope — I’d been leaning into it so long my body had adjusted. Another time a gust almost pushed me into a cactus.
At some point I met a man whose partner is hiking the PCT. He has no interest in doing it himself but supports her — drives between resupply points, waits with the car, handles logistics. He had water containers in the back and offered me some. Didn’t need it just then, but it was a good brief conversation. He’d converted the bed of his pickup into a closed sleeping space. I thought that was genuinely well done. American trucks are a different scale to what we have in Europe.
Further along I passed a spot still doing Trail Magic. It sounded good — apparently two large tents with mattresses, unlimited snacks, beer, drinks, all free. I was too tired for a two-mile detour. Heard about it from others later and didn’t regret skipping it, just noted it.
On the way to Little Bear I found enormous dog prints on the trail. Photographed them. My shoes are size 48 — these tracks were significantly larger. Didn’t see the dog, wondered briefly what kind of animal leaves prints like that. Later found out from other hikers: there were several dogs, they’d approached multiple groups, and the encounters had been aggressive. One hiker was nipped several times — not seriously injured, but it had shaken a few people.
Almost everyone from Mike’s Place the night before had ended up at Little Bear. Little Bear is the man who owns the cabin and runs the place — not a hostel, just his home. He’s hiked the PCT himself. He was selling hot dogs for $3 — I had several. Slept in the shed. Some others were in his house, others in their tents. We talked, someone put on music. It was a genuinely good evening.
