PCT Day 16 — May 12, 2025
Holcomb Creek to Deep Creek
Windy As Hell Camp to Group Dinner Camp
PCT miles: 19.8 miles
Total miles: 314.3 miles
Elevation change: 1378ft gain, 4229ft loss
The wind factor was no match for my exhausted state, and I awoke rested after a solid sleep. It was still a bit breezy, but nothing compared with last night, and I was pretty sure that all my stuff was accounted for as I packed up under the brightening sky. A few shreds of cloud burned orange above the bouldered horizon. Bare limbs rustled. I crinkled my plastic things and was moving by 6am.
It was nice to have a full night of rest, but now my left knee was barking. It was a familiar pain, one that highlighted my lack of stretching and overall neglect for my well-being since starting this walk. Some simple stretching would have kept it at bay, but, you know, who has time for such simple and impactful self-care? Why would I stretch when I can sit and eat Oreos instead? So I tried some stretching now, but like a big middle finger to my brain, my knee pain sharpened for the next few steps instead of dissipating. Served me right. My blisters, on the other hand, and in contrast with yesterday, were a non-issue for now. Hey, I’ll take it.
I hiked forward, ignoring the twinge, in a slight haze, almost like I slept for too long. However, this was better than yesterday, and I was happy to let the day scroll by along with my thoughts. More flowering manzanita bushes and sharp other bushes eventually transitioned to cottonwoods and pine as the trail dropped back from the bouldery lump lands to Holcomb Creek. The flow was much bigger now after growing from a trickle last night. The rush of the pour-overs orchestrated a base white noise that was soothing and accompanied by the tufts of pine needles bending in the breeze. A frog or two chirped. I crunched along.
The trail skipped across the creek a few times, never rising far above the sandy flats, before saying goodbye after a few miles. Like the lump lands before, the gravel plain was overgrown and exposed. I pushed through the tight corridor, grimacing each time my foam pad snagged on a twig, grateful for the eye protection of my sunglasses. Still, I couldn’t remember if this area had been so brushy in 2015. The memory bank was blank.
Oh yeah, I remembered this part. This big bridge meant I was finally joining Deep Creek to wiggle for miles through a fold in the earth. That’s right, it was evening back then in 2015, and I climbed under the bridge to collect water for the night. Well, it was still morning today, and I still had plenty of water, so I stayed in the treetops and crossed to the other side. It had been too late for a swim then, and it was too early now.
A high veil of clouds and steady breeze kept it cool as I followed the trail into the gorge. It was something, being perched so high above the rushing water on a narrow track. The trail seemed to say, “Pay attention! This is beautiful and you’ll fall to your death if you don’t appreciate it.” Okay okay, take it easy. I’ll watch my step, jeeze.
And I did. The blooming flowers were cool too. If only my stubborn knee wasn’t so committed to getting even, I really would have enjoyed myself. Not that it was super painful or worrying. Just annoying and distracting sometimes.
I accessed Deep Creek by following a short dirt road to the sandy shore. There, I found a slender sycamore to lean on and settled in for lunch. It was just 11am, but hey, I was calling the shots. Or maybe it was my knee talking. Who was in charge here?
Gravity did all the hard work of filtering water while I relaxed and stuffed my face for a couple of hours. Three other hikers showed up, but something about the setting helped the gathering feel more like independent study in the library rather than an open forum for fart jokes. I appreciated the quiet and was amused by the 5lb version of The Lord Of The Rings that one was reading. That was cool on so many levels.
I was surprised that my feet felt alright in their gritty socks when I got going again. The poor things. They had taken so much abuse already, and somehow still managed to recover whenever allowed to rest. They were almost done with this round of break-in, but it appeared that they would not reach their full potential before I took them off trail. It almost seemed like a waste, but then my knee reminded me that it deserved all of my attention.
The sweet sweet trail continued, almost for so long that it didn’t feel cool anymore. This canyon sure could bend and turn, and it wasn’t cheating us out of our daily mileage. The flowers remained remarkable, and I counted the time by my dwindling snack supply. I caught a whiff of cell service at one bend, using it to confirm my ride to San Diego two days hence. Unfortunately, this eliminated the possibility for that rare, on-trail zero that I’d prepared for, but I wasn’t going to let it get me down. Actually, it perked me up. Losing a day was a strong reminder that my time out here was fleeting. Time to enjoy it to the max.
One hiker that I passed was concerned that “everyone and their grandmother, and great-grandmother,” was going to be at the impending hot springs. I thought that sounded great, but I couldn’t judge his hesitancy too hard. In 2015, I’d passed right by, fearful of supposed unsanitary conditions and nakedness. It’s probably extreme to say that I regretted my choice, but I was intent on soaking this time. The more the merrier.
Finally, after rounding one last bend in the creek, I arrived at the hot springs. It was just like I remembered it, but with less toilet paper scattered amongst the bushes. Was it actually cleaner, or was I just viewing it differently? A gaggle of non-PCTers congregated at one pod of pools, but I recognized some faces in the nearest and dropped my pack next to theirs.
The hot water was perfection, soothing to my muscles and mind. And with Deep Creek just over a short rock rim, it was easy to alternate hot and cold as my thermostat requested. Now that I was here, I had just one goal, relax. And avoid dehydration, that was another big one.
The overcast protected my pasty shoulders as the hours passed. The first familiar group of hikers left to camp a few miles down the river, but another set replaced them. In all, it was a perfect visit, rounded out by some cool folks just visiting for a day hike and Human, the energetic dog. My knee wasn’t miraculously healed like I had hoped, but I was sure that the water did my legs some good. Skipping this place in 2015 might have been the right choice at that time, but I was certain that stopping to soak in 2025 was an even righter choice.
I gathered my stuff and wandered up stream to where the others were setting up to camp. Joining them, I filtered a gallon of water and started soaking my dinner before laying out my stuff on the outskirts. Then, the group naturally circled up to share dinner under the setting sun. These were good people. The conversation was lively and light. Even though we all barely knew one another and hailed from different states, countries, and backgrounds, the connection was real and maybe even profound. I don’t know, perhaps I was just feeling sappy on my penultimate night, but this shared dinner was pretty cool.
Knowing that I was almost finished with my hike, someone asked me what I noticed this time. “This whole experience, revisiting all this stuff, it’s just more real than I expected.” My memories of the PCT from 2015 are so broken and watered down that they miss so much richness of the real thing. They’re like seltzer water flavored with a hint of PCT — PCT La Croix. Hiking in 2025 has shown me plainly that no matter how vivid a memory might be, or how many photos I have in an album, none of it compares to actually living it. The blisters, the fatigue, the temperatures, the burning sun, gritty socks, salty mustache, fragrant wafts of sage on a warm breeze — time erases all of these for me. Intellectually, I understand and appreciate that they have existed, have happened to me, and I’ve experienced them all, but my memories often lack the emotion, the true essence of the experience. Listening to the right song at the right time, can evoke a primal return to a different time for me. It can conjure intense emotions. My memory, though, the kind where I squint my eyes and look to the sky as I try to remember, that misses so much. That is the PCT in 2015 for me. I did it, I remember a lot of it, people, places, and things, but my memory lacks so much.
And so I’m grateful for this trip. To come back now, ten years later, helps me remember what 2015 must have been like. Even though it’s just a reenactment, what I’ve experienced on this hike has gotten me closer to the original than the thin overlay of my memories, or even my gigabytes of photos and journal entries. And I may not remember the true depth of 2025 any better than I have that of 2015, but I do hope to remember this lesson — nothing compares to the real thing, and the richness of the present begins fading instantly. Just because I’ve done something once doesn’t mean it isn’t worth experiencing again. I like hiking. I like a lot of things, actually, and I must not be afraid to seek to do again what I have already done. My memories are my treasure, but they are also worthless and will not sustain my spirit alone.
Most of this stuff came to mind later, after the color drained from the clouds and we watched the French guy try his first Gushers. I lay in bed now, pondering and trying to stay awake. I’d had a mind to walk back to the springs for a soak under the full moon, but that seemed so hard now. Instead, I rolled over and fell asleep before it even crested the desert rim.
Hike For Days 