Day 3: 17K (2000′⬆️ 1600’⬇️)

Manzanita Bluffs – Rieveley Pond

Once again, my idea of an early morning start and Jody’s and Stacey’s greatly differ. Most likely because they are both paddlers and live adjacent to the Hood River which is known for its wind. So being awake at 4:30 am is normal for them. And, in Jody’s case, it was more likely because she hadn’t gotten much sleep due to her mattress failing. What I was most looking forward to on this hike (besides the storied views and fellowship) was escaping Paul’s obnoxious 5 am alarm (that is set for most of our thru-hike endeavors). Here I was hoping to wake up “naturally ” with the sun. Oh well, best laid plans…

Stacey, however, reminded me that we had agreed to hike to breakfast. So, my bad.

As I wrestled myself awake, I discovered that my left wrist and forearm had swelled significantly overnight. During our climb to Manzanita, I had been stung twice by hornets on my wrist and bitten once by a horsefly on my calf. These Canadian horseflies and hornets have absolutely NO respect for permethrin or deet!

While I’ve never really had an adverse reaction to bee stings, these hornet jabs were troubling. Swollen and hot to the touch, I’m not sure if it was, or could have become, infected so quickly. (As I write this, a week later, I still have a bit of tenderness and swelling. This is even after a topical antibiotic and steroid)

On our way toward breakfast, we stepped over a shallow and slowly flowing water source, that none of us recalled from the map and guidebook. We briefly considered getting water here, but Jody and Stacey thought the water was too “stagnant” to collect. Compared to the water on the Continental Divide, this was pretty good water. Part of me wanted to grab a liter anyway, just in case the cache was a bust. Considering we each had a little over a liter, with breakfast and a continuous climb coming up I was a bit worried. Against my better judgment, we continued on.

A sharp descent, followed by a gradual climb, eventually brought us to the logging road that we had spied from our evening’s perch at the Manzanita Bluffs.  Breakfast accompanied by much anticipated coffee was consumed as we admired our view.

With the day warming up quickly, we decided to move on and make our way closer to a water source.

Along the way, I was aggressively attacked by a dense thicket of blackberry bushes that flanked us as we climbed. I decided to let it bleed, as it was “just a flesh wound”.

Continuing through the thicket, I was consciously aware of the draw they have for large furry critters. Above me and to my left, I heard the crunch of brush underfoot. I stopped to listen more intently,  not sure of what was approaching. I then saw a black mass meandering down in my direction. I moved for a better look. Yup, a black bear. At that exact moment, he either saw me or smelled me. And then, without hesitation, it turned tail and ran up the hillside, disappearing out of sight. I assume it was originally grazing its way down to the water we had crossed just before breakfast. As I was “point” for the morning, Jody nor Stacey had heard or seen the bear. While they were disappointed,  they couldn’t help but talk “at” the bear, to ensure we wouldn’t cross paths. As we were now well out of, and past the blackberries, I wasn’t too concerned.

We topped off the first climb with a manufactured view, which was beautiful, all the same. And then, just as Stacey was told, there appeared an ice chest with gallons of ice-cold water just before our intersection with Malispina Rd. Somewhat parched, we each took a liter and marched on.

As we hit the road, a sign was posted for the next section. Below it, the trail’s upcoming elevation profile is shown. This should be fun.

Today had to be the most memorable day of all. We passed through an amazing “second-growth” forest that held remnants of towering giants whose bases had been cut out from under them well over a 100 years ago. Springboard notches, where loggers stood opposite each other operating large hand saws scarred their majestic bases. In many ways, it told a story. One of history, innovation, adventure, and resilience. Single-track trail choked with exposed tangled root and rock drained onto repurposed logging roads that now yield to the persistence of nature.

Lush thick moss blanketed fallen limbs and since discarded trunks of Cedar, Doug Fir, and old growth Maples. Ferns and other low-lying vegetation filled in the gaps.

We stopped for a rest underneath a massive tree (Tokenatch Fir) that is estimated to be over 1,000 years old.

From here the Marathon Trail, which is aptly named, intersects the SCT. It works its way to the Gibraltar Bluff alternate (that we bypassed) and eventually to Rieveley Pond. It is here that I employed the SCT marker-to-marker method of motivating my already dusted self up this “moderate to challenging” 5K. I would hike to a marker. Take a short break and then hike to the next. All the while trying to reduce the nagging pain in my left foot/ankle. Frankly, we were all sucking wind. It was hot, and we just wanted to be done. By the time we were done, we had hiked essentially 10 miles, but it felt like 30. Namely because the last 3K was brutal!

With relief and gratitude we shuffled our way into the Rieveley Pond Hut site. It didn’t take me long to stake out a spot. Stacey and Jody took a bit more time. Once set up, Jody went about working on properly sealing her mattress.  I collected some luke warm frog-riddled pond water for dinner and breakfast. Jody and Stacey said they’d pass. I’d save the nice stream water we had collected at the base of our climb for the next day. Mostly set up, the rest of the Manzanita crew arrived and crammed into the space near the picnic tables and hut. Not sure why they all wanted to “crowd camp”, when there was plenty of real estate in the section Stacey and I had set up.

I downed some pharmaceuticals to reduce the inflammation to my foot and ankle. I even applied my tried and true Arnica salve in hopes of not stiffening up too much in the event I had to crawl out of my tent to pee…which I did.

As I was just beginning to examine the inside of my eyelids, a blood-curdling scream pierced the quiet of the night. WTF?! Instinctively I grabbed my headlamp and bear spray. An eerie quiet followed, upon which I could hear nervous chatter asking, “What was that?” “Is everyone okay?!”. It turns out, thanks to Jody having encountered a sound like this before, declared it was the “scream” of a fox. Not of distress, but just because. Go figure.

Jody chronicles:

Jody was a trooper and offered to show us how NOT to step on/off a minor foot bridge, just after the Tokenatch Fir. She made sure to rip the seat of her pants in the process of re-righting herself whilst retrieving her shoe that the vegetation had swallowed. All this was done literally in slow motion so we could grasp every aspect of the lesson. This way, she would only have to do it once. We are grateful for her thoughtfulness and offered to share our duct tape (that she was out of) to repair the hole in the seat of her pants. She decided to “air” things out and repair it later.

While I offered my sit pad as a backup for the night, Jody declined, believing she had sufficiently sealed the leak in her air mattress. She hadn’t. But at least, she said, “ The ground was much “softer” than the night before, and I was able to get some sleep.”

I dare say, she is handling this much more gracefully than I believe I would by now. Such a trooper!