Pacific Crest Trail Day 12: Much Ado About Washouts

PCT Day 12 — May 8, 2025
almost Mission Creek to Onyx Summit
Big Moony Camp to Highway Roar Camp
PCT miles: 26.6 miles
Total miles: 256.9 miles
Elevation change: 6932ft gain, 2575ft loss

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Finally, it was time to see what all the hubbub was about. A humongous storm in 2023 had apparently washed out a 10-mile stretch of trail where it followed along Mission Creek, and the resulting difficulty was the talk of the trail. Especially so after a harrowing helicopter rescue went viral a few weeks before. I couldn’t remember much about this stretch from 2015, so I was coming in with a blank slate, anticipating an adventure. Revved up for a challenge.

Sunrise had already caught me by the time I was moving from camp at 5:45am, but I descended back into shadow as I followed the trail way down to meet Mission Creek at the bottom of a deep wash. Like Whitewater Creek yesterday, a narrow flow cut through a wide swath of gray rubble. It wouldn’t have made any sense without some knowledge of the cataclysm.

As I followed the trail to meet Mission Creek, memories started coming back to me. In 2015, I’d gotten here in the afternoon heat, exhausted and thirsty after a water miscalculation. Now it was nice and cool. I was fresh, and as I stepped off the trail where the water had erased it, I thought I recognized the big cottonwood 50 yards to my right. Was that where I lay down to recover in the shade? The tree was as gray as the river stones and sand now, dead, somehow still standing, surrounded by total destruction. In that distance between us had been lush growth and soft dirt. Now it looked like a bomb exploded. Even if I had remembered anything about Mission Creek, it was probably long gone.

“Are you ready for this?” I asked some hikers packing up camp. They grunted, then I hit the jets. I was excited, excitable, and eager to hike as hard as I could while the creek was still shaded. My blisters took a beating on the uneven stones, and I could already feel the gritty sand on the rest of my feet. This was going to be uncomfortable, but hopefully I could get through it quickly.

“The climb was nicely shaded and lush. Very riparian and jungle. Crickets galore.” Yeah, well, that was all gone now. However, I did find a long stretch of trail intact. I followed it, ten feet above the newly carved channel, for a quarter mile before dropping back to the chunder below.

All in all, the way was easy to follow, and I maintained a healthy pace. Ultimately, it was up to the individual to pick their way through the waves of boulders, but many hikers had come before me, so there were usually some footprints to follow. Sticking close to the creek was a safe bet, though I successfully shortcut the way across a couple of bends. And for all the loss, life was already renewed. Sapling cottonwoods lined the narrow creek in a dense row on either side. Given enough time, those who remained would anchor the new bank. Other vegetation would fill in and eventually, Mission Creek might again look as it had in 2015. If only I could remember it.

I chugged along, passing new faces every now and then after a hello. I felt uniquely capable of moving efficiently over this unstable ground, and was grateful for all of my scrambling and off-trail experience for guiding my route and keeping my balance. This was hard, much harder than following a buffed trail, but it was also more engaging and fun.

The sun eventually came down to party, so I mixed a punch of iced tea and electrolytes to celebrate. That put some pep in my step, but the heat was stifling. An hour later, I needed to stop in the shade of the berm to cool down and catch my breath. Although the creek had already climbed a few thousand feet, the solar gain rendered the nominal temperature moot. It was pleasant in the shade, and brutal in the sun.

It wasn’t much farther from there before I left the worst of the destruction behind. Without blowing a gasket, I lurched out of the creek bed back up to the trail where it branched to the right, following a tributary. Now, I remembered this place. Well. In 2015, this was where shit got hard.

But water was more abundant in 2025, so I carried just one liter instead of six up the steep hillside after leaving the wash bottom. That helped a lot. It also helped to know just how much this last part of the climb back into the mountains was going to burn.

Despite the switchbacks, the trail was mega steep and often overgrown. I tried to figure out if one of these bushes was the infamous and rash-causing Poodle Dog Bush (PDB), but results were inconclusive. I avoided it for as long as I could before giving up. Eventually, it covered entire hillsides. If this was PDB, then every hiker was getting a rash.

Lunch under a shady canopy of oaks after the first steep slope seemed really nice. But it was only 11am, so I pushed on to the next water crossing. Big mistake. Unfortunately, the upper reaches of Mission Creek were a wasteland, devastated by fire and barren. I gulped a bar and handful of chips into my gurgling stomach then kept pushing. Next stop, the top.

The grueling climb was mostly complete, so the final ascent was mercifully short. Some big logs blocked the top of Mission Creek, which was a muddy gully here, but then the trail reappeared, and living pines cast their glorious dappled shade and softened the tread with their needles. Faster than expected, the wildness was behind me, and I was back in the best of forests.

I gathered water from the same spring that had revived me in 2015. It was magic as ever, tucked at the back of a small tunnel of roots, fresh water trickling straight out of the dirt. Back then, it had been all I could do not to sour the flow with my vomit, so I couldn’t complain about my thirst now. More so than anywhere else on the PCT so far, this spring felt sacred. Mission Creek was still flowing up here, so there was no physical need to visit this water, but I had to return and pay my respects. Something more than just water had its source here. I didn’t know what, but it was special. It revived me before and would do so again if I was in need now.

Bringing my bounty of water with me, I posted under a humongous ponderosa and let the afternoon slip away on the warm breeze. Other hikers had a rowdy conversation over there at the picnic bench, but I preferred to lounge alone here. They came and went, and when I finally got up to rejoin the journey north, a whole new set of faces were there.

Maybe that water was magic, because I felt amazing during the evening leg. The trail gently carried me along and around a mighty ridgeline, which was easy on my legs despite their fatigue. The forest was calm and warm. It was good to see the fuzzy red trunks of juniper trees again, to smell their pungent scent. Feeling inspired, I plugged into Taylor Swift’s Lover album for the afternoon cruise, and astute readers will remember that this is always auditory ambrosia for me. I’m not sure why, but it hits the spot. By the time the heavy opening beats of Cruel Summer started, I was hit with longing, joy, gratitude, peace, and love for everything. It was pure euphoria, and I was close to crying. Why? Well, why not? This day, all of it, all of the days, everything — it was all so good, it was all so hard. Sometimes thru-hiking is just a lot. It’s overwhelming. It was now, a potent hit facilitated by magic water and Tswift.

Like the trail, there were ups and downs from there. I wasn’t riding that high the whole way to camp, but the evening miles were great. San Gorgonio reared its snowy head behind, and even San Jacinto poked back into view. Juniper glowed. Birds called. Wind whispered. I crunched along, feeling my feet slowly get more stumpy until it wasn’t fun to walk anymore. Perfect, there was camp for one right off the trail.

I set up, noticing the cold up here at 8000ft and wasted no time getting under my quilt like I had yesterday. I finished my jerky, beans, Oreos, and most of my chips. Town tomorrow. I had been looking forward to Big Bear, and still was, but I knew it didn’t have anything close to as good as what I got today. There have been plenty of ups and downs on this PCT exploration so far, but I couldn’t help feeling like I may have just figured it out. The world felt righter now. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t care one bit.