Day 19, Interstate 10 to Whitewater River

After making the steep but short descent to the trail, we made a quick stop at the spread of trail magic. Call it second breakfast.

Two hikers were there, Christine and Papers. They told me they were from Northern California, but Papers had an accent I picked up right away. It sounded very familiar. Then he told me he was originally from Sevierville, Tennessee, which is only about 40 miles from where I live.

We finally began hiking at 10 a.m., which was much later than normal.

This part of the trail went through San Gorgonio Pass. At just under 1,200 feet in elevation, we were at the lowest segment of the PCT in California.

As it was yesterday, the trail was surrounded by yellow wildflowers. Besides yellow ragweed and a few varieties of low-lying shrubs, there was nothing to obscure views of the San Bernadino Mountains that lay ahead.

The trail was making a gradual climb as it continued across this desert plain.

It was a warm day and quickly getting hotter. Almost imperceptibly at first, I began to feel some discomfort, but it wasn’t caused by the heat.

I continued on, trying to ignore what I was feeling.

Then I realized the cause of the problem. The Mexican dinner I ate last night was not sitting well. Without getting too graphic, let’s just say that within minutes, I knew I needed to find a spot off trail to dig a cathole.

A minute later I was frantic.

Unfortunately, there were no large clumps of trees or shrubs to use for privacy. There were only small bushes, no more than two or three feet tall. I quickly looked around for the least exposed spot where I could go, then dropped my backpack and desperately ran to it.

No more needs to be said about this incident, other than to reassure that no living thing was harmed in the explosion.

Once I was able to continue hiking I had fallen far behind my friends. The trail was easy, and knowing how they like to take breaks I thought I could catch up to them soon.

The trail was heading to Mesa Wind Farm. This area is said to be one of the windiest places in the U.S.

The wind mills here seemed to be older compared to most I’ve seen in other parts of the country. The farm was constructed in the 1980s and there is now an attempt underway to modernize the facility.

Just off the trail, wind farm employees had constructed near their office building a small canopy for hikers. They had placed under it a cooler filled with bottles of drinking water.

By the time I arrived here, some of the Woo-hoo Crew had already left. I stayed to cool off and drink a cold bottle of water.

In several places I saw the damage done by a heavy rainstorm that hit this area last Valentine’s Day. An estimated eight to ten inches of rain fell that day.

The storm was reported to be the biggest disaster to hit the county in at least 10 years. Thousands of residents had to be evacuated, and several million dollars in damage was done to roads and structures.

At a spot where the trail crossed a fence, it and a gate were half-buried in sand, gravel, rocks and other debris, which had washed down from a higher elevation.

The sky became increasingly overcast as the day wore on. This was a light layer of clouds, so I didn’t expect to see any rain today.

When I reached the top of the climb, I could see where the trail was heading next. It was a more gradual descent that included several switchbacks.

The trail continued the twisting descent into a canyon. After a couple of switchbacks I could see to the bottom of the canyon. Sitting there along the trail were all of the tramily members. They had stopped for lunch.

When I caught up to them the time was 1:45 p.m. I could see why they picked that spot to stop. It offered a nice breeze.

Shortly after I began hiking again the trail entered San Gorgonio Wilderness Area as it made another big climb in elevation.

The wilderness area covers 96,595 acres. The next 20 miles or so of the PCT will be in it.

After rounding the top of the climb, I was able to get the first views of Whitewater River. Spanish explorers called it Agua Blanco because a high amount of lime in the area’s rocks made the water white.

The riverbed was wide, but the flowing water within it was no wider than most creeks.

The trail then made a long and circuitous descent to the river bed.

At the bottom, the footpath became a mix of sand and rocks, which I found hard to walk.

Not far from here was a conservation center called Whitewater Preserve. Under normal circumstances, we could have walked there. Hikers are usually invited to stop and relax, but for the time being we couldn’t.

The facility was closed because a road to the preserve had been washed out in last February’s storm.

Thirty minutes later, I saw Tengo standing by the side of the trail. He had thoughtfully waited there to make sure I saw where the others were camped. The campsite was hidden among shrubs and low-lying trees near the river.

The time was now 4:45 p.m. We had only been walking since 10 a.m., but this was the best spot to camp.

We will next have to cross the river, and from there we won’t be able to find a satisfactory spot to camp for more than six miles. We decided to leave that to tomorrow.