Hannibal's Pacific Crest Trail Chronicle

For the sake of those readers less-than-lion-hearted, who found the last posting disturbing (I will not name names), I will refrain from discussing my rather good prospects for fire-walking in the coming week. Of course, you all must be aware that this has been a banner year for forest fires in the West. Enough said.

What I really want to talk about are Oregonians. And food, naturally. You will see how the two are (on the PCT anyway) often linked. While California was mainly about the scenery, Oregon, with the exceptions of spectacular Crater Lake National Park and the awesome Three Sisters Wilderness, so far, has been about the people. How does food come in, you wonder?

While the trail through the state has been fairly remote, it is blessed by a necklace of lakes extending through Central Oregon. These lakes have fishing resorts, and those fishing resorts have fine, PCT hiker-loving employees. The resorts, by a rather amazing coincidence (or maybe an Act of the Hand (read my father's comment for context)) are located about one day's hike from each other. On to the trail magic...

At Hyatt Lake, the gentleman operating the tiny store asked me why I was taking only one Budweiser, when the second one is free for hikers. "At least when I am working, anyway", he added. Budweiser, incidentally, has the highest calories/cost ratio, making it an excellent choice when Hefeweizen is not available.

The next day I hiked a couple of miles to Fish Lake. I ordered pancakes. The waitress, who actually looked like my paternal grandmother mentioned that she arose at dawn, picked fresh huckleberries for three hours...and while they do not normally do this, "Would you like me to have the cook mix some in the batter?" Note to wife: I like huckleberries. Not too sweet and just the right amount of tartness. Perfect for pancakes, or waffles for that matter.

Crater Lake. This seems almost criminal, but I wasn't the perp. So no guilt. After a long, hot hike I made it to the Italian AYCE buffet at dinnertime, and gorged on every type of carbohydrate-based food you can think of. When I was finished, the waiter and host came to the table and told me that dinner was on the house. They were both aspiring thru-hikers and said they did this for hikers when the manager was out. A big tip was left. The Crater in my stomach, filled.

The next day, in a non-food related act of trail magic, a hiker gave me the name and phone of the bed & breakfast he and his wife own further north near Mt. Hood. "We'll feed you, give you a bed to sleep in, let you do laundry, and pick you up and drop you off at the trail. Just Call." I will.

At Elk Lake, I ordered a double scoop of ice cream to finish off my meal. The waitress returned with something quite a bit more substantial, and handed me the bill with the most ridiculously exaggerated wink I have ever seen. The only items on the bill were my double bacon cheeseburger and plate of fries. No charge for the Bud or the ice cream. Forgive me Julie, but she got a wink and a smile in return.

And, on three occasions hunters have shared their beer with me.

This goodwill is astonishing...or maybe it isn't so unusual after all. There have been a large number of Oregonians on the trail, and to a person they are smiling, enjoying their time outdoors and glad to share it. Rather than the trail being populated mainly by tourists as it was in California, most here are locals. The time of the year is a factor, but I get the idea that this is not a seasonal phenomenon. Oregon has a reputation for placing a high value on the outdoors. I am seeing this in action. Hunters, fishermen, hikers and those employed in the outdoor industry along the Trail take care of their own. It is a pleasure to be in such good company.

A final word. Five years ago today I was somewhere near the Pennsylvania-Maryland border, in the midst of a thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail. But, not unaware. I had been in the habit of carrying a small radio and was listening to the NPR news broadcast as the first reports of a plane striking the WTC came on. It is hard to believe five years have passed. It will, I suspect, always feel like yesterday.