Leaving Lake Morena (PCT Day 3)

We awake to the sunshine touching the tent. The rain tarp is wet with dew. Our sleeping bags are damp on the outside. We unzip the front door and I reach for my hiking clothes. They’re cold as they touch my skin. 

We tear down the tent and let it dry some in the morning sun as we pack our gear.

It’s a beautiful morning. The sky is blue with a puff of fog, blowing southward. It hovers over the sandy brown terrain. Gold and brown fill our view. A group of two passes us, and comments that they were wet with dew as well last night. 

Our gear is still damp when we pack it away and head down the trail. This part of the trail runs close along the property of several houses and I comment that its like we were sleeping in their front yard. We begin to climb upward as the trail parts the chaparral.

An occasional cactus pops through the sand and I admire them without touching.

The air is cool and crisp, as it enters our lungs. The sun is warm on our backs. We emerge at the top of a hill and can see the rolling hills from where we came and where we’re going. Large rocks stand solid in the sand. This landscape feels prehistoric. 

We spot shepherd to our left, his gear airing out in the sun. It appears he had dew as well. We plop down in some shade and eat our breakfast, sipping coffee along the side.

Rachel dries her sleeping bag in the sun.

Theres a breeze today thats keeping the air cool. We set out our gear to dry then pack it back up when we finish eating and we’re feeling cold. A few hiker parties pass. We stop to talk to Shepherd than again we part the chaparral.

The trail winds along a cliff and we can spot Lake Morena to our left, and a road and bridge to our right, that we approach as we descend. We drop under the bridge and cross a tiny stream.

From here the trail is flat, passing through a meadow with farm land on our right and a road running parallel on our left. Giant coastal live oaks sprout from the sand casting shade onto our backs. We stop to admire them, looking up in awe. They look like the trees of legend, from a Tolkien tale. 

We continue through flat terrain, pastures on our right, a road to our left. Even with the car noise, it’s beautiful. I spot a dead snake, and watch each step that follows all the more closely.

We stop for a snack at Boulder Creek Campground, and don windbreakers to block the wind. We them reunite with the trail and cross interstate 8. There are cars parked along the road. As we ascend we begin to pass many groups of people coming down, the most we’ve yet to see. At an overlook we stop and chat with some other day hikers trailing behind us. They tell us this trail leads to a waterfall that’s popular amongst San Diegans when it’s running. With the recent snow at Mt. Laguna, it currently is running, hence the crowds. Plus it is a Saturday.

We must see 50 people coming down. Once we pass the spur trail to the falls the crowds thin out, and again it’s just us PCT hikers. We cross trails with a man named Mountain Goat who’s planning for pizza, and a hotel room at Mt. Laguna. I wonder how he got his trail name. Did he get it before the trip, or has he already earned it by day 3?

I wonder aloud to Rachel how one could earn the trail name Coyote. She points out it has certain conintations with trafficking people across the border. Great, this name is sounding like more than I bargained for. I was hoping all I had to do was look shaggy and scamper across the trail at night, and somehow I’d earn the title of Coyote. 

We introduce ourselves as Jon and Rachel. Should we have trail names yet? Suddenly this feels like high school.

The trail climbs along a ridge then reaches another road. Two hikers are already there. There’s a cooler labeled “trail magic”. We open it up, theres beer and cheddar cheese chips. Rachel opts for chips, and I for the ice cold beer.

We sit in the dirt of the parking lot sipping beer and chatting with other hikers. Then we cross the road and continue up. It’s the best views of the day. You can see for miles to the east, looking down on the world. 

We cross paths with a couple heading down. Their names are Trevor and Sarah. They’re from San Diego and they’re hiking the PCT south bound with a start date of June 28th. This is the opposite of what we’re doing, but we both will be heading home. The tricky thing with going southbound is the snow pack in Washington that typically doesn’t melt until mid to late july. But this year the snow pack is 180% of normal which could make it extensively more challenging than normal. Rachel recommends they take a snow course to become familiar with snow travel, using ice axes and crampons. They thank her for the advice and we hope to see them in a few months. 

We hike again through chaparral, it’s beauty never tiring, and we eventually reach our campground.

It’s quiet and sits above a stream shaded by ancient live oaks. The host tells Rachel they are over 400 years old. He says that when sand blows and sticks to them the bark just grows around it… the sand becomes part of the tree. Then if you cut the wood with a chainsaw, sparks fly as you hit the sand.

He also says that Bob Taylor comes to this campground at least 4 times a year. He is the owner of Taylor guitars, the guitar manufacturer I worked for when I lived in San Diego. It’s a fun coincidence, that coincides with my past.

The host also warns us to beware of Coyotes. I’ve ever been warned of Coyotes before, and think of the ones I’ve seen from a distance before, trotting through the desert. Oh, he means the other kind of coyote. He says this campground has a lot of activity. Apparently a few weeks ago, a coyote dropped off some migrants here, and got blocked in by the border patrol. He tried to ram their truck. It all happened across the stream from where we camped. It sounds like a movie.

We soak our feet in the cold stream, eating dinner, then sun ourselves in the last rays of the day, sitting in a grass meadow.

Finally we resign to our tent, letting the frogs serenade us to sleep.