Pacific Crest Trail Day 13: Hallowed Ground

PCT Day 13 — May 9, 2025
Onyx Summit to Highway 18, Big Bear
Highway Roar Camp to Hostel Perch Camp
PCT miles: 15.6 miles
Total miles: 272.5 miles
Elevation change: 1493ft gain, 2838ft loss

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I was the calmest I’d been on this entire trip. Maybe it was because I had a set, easily achievable mileage goal for the day. I would make it to Big Bear, it was only a matter of when, and I was in no rush. Or maybe whatever good thing I had going yesterday carried through the night. All I knew was that this was a sweet start to the day.

I slept warm even at altitude, waking rested just a bit before 5am. With nothing better to do and nothing frightful ahead motivating me to procrastinate, I decided I may as well hike. Everything was dry except for my groundsheet, and everything was quiet except for a few birds.

First, there was a new breakfast bar to ponder, which was followed up with some good, clean juniper bark stroking. The fuzzy strips of orange were alien in a world where almost anything else was sharp or hard. Was it soft or coarse? It needed to be touched. Then, aplenglown painted Gorgonio’s bald summit pink to match the sky. It was a nice view before dropping over the far side of a ridge. Here, the trees stole the show. These days, I always feel lucky to meet old trees, like they’re an endangered species living on borrowed time. I might be right about that, or not, but with mass-casualty fires becoming more normal, I am never confident that the giants I visit will be around the next time I return. These ones were, and I was grateful that they had been spared so far. Would I, with my soft and squishy human body, outlive these towering ponderosa? I hoped not.

The morning air at this altitude was pleasantly cool, perfect for hiking. I was chilled, but not cold, enough to notice the warmth on my calves of the few shafts of sunlight that found a gap through the lofty canopy. It only flickered, but left an impression that I carried until the next. I loved these miles along Arrastre Creek. The ground was soft, and my footfalls were light like my backpack. My hip belt was an absurd accessory without the usual weight transferring to my pelvis. It kept my lip balm and snacks at hand, but it was taking a deserved day off.

Breaking out of the large trees, a damp earthiness wafted with sage from around my ankles. A few miles later, the sage aroma was still there, but in place of the dew was baked dust. A crow launched into the wind from a bare-limbed juniper, dipping and wobbling to start before soaring over the ridge without a flap. When I got to the same spot, I spread my wings to a slightly different effect. However, although I remained bound to the ground and felt my blisters with every step, the weird freedom I felt was worth looking goofy. Could other hikers see me? Did other people do this too?

Gnome seemed to have all the good questions when I passed them as they sat on a rock and applied sunscreen. Wearing heart-shaped sunglasses, I knew this would be a worthwhile interaction as I slowed to meet. “Why does everyone run to town?” That was a great question, and they followed up with a comment about it being better out here.

They had a point. I’m guilty of speeding through good stuff to get somewhere that is nothing special — I’ve done that a lot and I’ll do it again — but I agreed that rushing to get off trail is absurd. The allure of a burger, burrito, or pizza is strong, but why does the stomach get to set the pace for the precious few miles preceding a road? Why do we crave the comforts, the trappings, of town when we sacrificed so much to leave them behind in the first place? Why can’t we just sit in the dirt and be happy?

I did try. Inspired by Gnome, I took a 90-minute break within sight of the road. Town could wait, and this shady patch was as good as any recliner I’d find in Big Bear. Quieter too. And I knew from experience that it’s easy to neglect one’s basic needs once town fever takes hold. First, you hitch, standing in the sun on pavement while wearing a pack. Then you find your accommodation and check in. Then you shower. Then there’s an expedition to find food. And finally, you sit down with a glass of ice water too cold to drink. When was the last time you drank anything? Then maybe, if you’re being kind to yourself, resuppling gets pushed to tomorrow, and there is finally some quality couch time. It took four hours, but you held on and made it. Congratulations on not being dehydrated. Unless you are. Fixing that is your job now.

Instead, I was already relaxed and hydrated when I finally stood along Highway 18 where it crossed from desert to forest. It was nothing to endure rejection for thirty minutes before a family from Yucca Valley stopped to pee their little terrier and pick me up. They didn’t know a darn thing about backpacking or the PCT, which burst my bubble a little bit, but that helped me appreciate their kindness even more.

All those things I already described then happened, ish. I was immediately aware of a hazy past at this hostel, but not from a visit in 2015. No, I’d stayed at a different hostel when I hiked through on the PCT. What I remembered now happened years later, during a ski trip that had gotten a little wild. Each room resurrected a few more pieces of the puzzle, but some of the important ones eluded me. However, now as then, the vibes were good. Hikers everywhere. Piles of food too.

I set up to camp on a flat spot perched on a hill in the backyard. It was perfect. Unlike Idyllwild, the weather was ideal for outdoor living, so I kicked off my shoes and reclined on a couch of my own making, using all my clothes to prop myself up. A call home brought me to hungry time, so I ventured back out into the land of overabundance to find a burrito.

Big Bear offers a free bus service, so navigating the sprawl was easy. First, I bought town groceries to keep me fed through a zero day tomorrow, then I found the site of my greatest triumph of 2015, even greater than completing the PCT. Back in the day, La Nueva hosted a burrito challenge. “This burrito is HUGE! 18” apparently, and at least as long as my forearm and wrist. Really big around. Halfway in I think, there’s no way, but I just keep going.”

I finished it in 25 minutes and thought I was going to die for the rest of the night, so uncomfortable that I couldn’t fall asleep. I proudly wore my bead necklace all the way to Canada. The restaurant was different now, with no challenge, but it was still cool to return and eat on hallowed ground. And the veggie burrito was still plenty big for my appetite.

I finished off the night quietly with half a pint of ice cream in front of the roaring fire in the main entrance. A party raged in the rumpus room. I wasn’t a curmudgeon, but I’d already made those mistakes and was supposedly wiser for it. This time, I wanted to enjoy my day in town, free from hangovers of any sort, the burrito kind included.