Section hiking the Pacific Crest Trail provides a degree of flexibility in choosing the season, direction and location of a journey. Backpackers are bonded by common goals and basic human needs, and interactions can be brief or prolonged. Occasionally, a familiar face from a past encounter is recognized. Stories are shared, and sometimes a story is made.
It was early April, 2004, weeks before the annual PCT Kickoff. I was hiking southbound from Kennedy Meadows. The hills glistened from a recent snowstorm. Large globules of clear ice fell from pine boughs onto the ground, refracting light. I felt like I was hiking on a trail of diamonds. As the southern flank of the Sierra transitioned to desert, the silhouette of Spanish Needle framed the sinking sun. A tattered wooden sign pointed to Joshua Tree Spring, a quarter of a mile away. I needed to get water and climb another1650 feet before the sun set.
I descended to the spring, which was sheltered from the cold wind. Next to a blazing fire sat Eric, a tall Austrian hiker who wore the largest boots I had ever seen. My lightweight trail runners paled in comparison. The combination of his accent and my exhaustion made it difficult for me to understand him. My eyes were fixated on twelve cans of beer that he had placed around his pack. As thirsty as I was, I felt that if he had carried the beer, it must be important to him. I restrained myself and filled my 2-liter Platypus at the trough. When I learned that he was headed for Canada, I told him he was very early and there was a lot of snow in the Sierras. The target date for through hikers was to leave from Kennedy Meadows on June 15th. He nodded, but I wasn’t sure that he had understood me.
Late that May, atop Mt. Ashland I was headed southbound with Del “Steelaway” Granlund, a section hiker from Pittsburgh, who had returned to Oregon for his high school reunion. The reunion dictated our early start, yet Del, formerly with Oregon Mountain Rescue Council, was familiar with snow travel. As we gained altitude, the snow and wind grew in intensity. Drifts of snow on the windward slopes were up to twenty feet in depth and navigation would be a challenge. Suddenly a large figure emerged from the blizzard. To my amazement, it was Eric! After greetings and congratulations, Eric spoke of his goal to be the first to complete the trail that year. As he began his descent to Ashland (and more beer!), his last words to me were “I lost my hiking stick near Etna Summit.”
In the following days we oriented our maps with distant ridge lines, often estimating where the buried trail might lay. Yet occasionally, much to our relief, we would spy large tracks that let us know that Eric had passed this way. What a mountaineer! South of Seiad Valley the terrain through the Marble Mountains became more difficult with steep run-outs necessitating exhausting detours and a multitude of cautiously kicked steps.
After a particularly grueling stretch, I took off my backpack and flopped onto my back next to a small creek. As I was recovering, I glanced to my right and there leaning against a tree stood an intricately carved walking stick--Eric’s stick! Prominent among the carvings was a prophetic Bible verse from Jeremiah 29:13, “You will seek me and find me when you search for me with all of your heart."
“You will seek me and find me when you search for me with all of your heart."
Ken never saw Eric again. With no address or contact information, it was impossible to return the walking stick to the Austrian. Del Granlund took the walking stick home with him intending to forward it to the PCTA. Del's brother stored the stick in his garage and, as happens after trips, it was never sent. Fortunately, as Ken tells me, Del's brother never throws anything away and was able to locate the walking stick and not long ago posted it to Ken. The photos of the much traveled walking stick are recent . . . and capture the sense of this loved walking stick.
