[Disclaimer: this journal deals with sensitive subject matter and all illegal activities should be considered fiction]
Continuing south to Burney, I encounter a lot of dry section water carries. Maybe it was the desire to do something good, but about halfway into the section I noticed comments talking about a water source near a place I wanted to camp that was unmarked in the FarOut GPS. I decided to take the time to find this water, maybe out of boredom for the section and maybe because it seemed like a good thing for others to do.
The directions in comments were poorly written, talking about looking for certain trees…in an area where trees fall down all the time.
The USGS map however, it shows a spotted water line somewhere off trail down a forest service/ fire road called Tate Creek. The first road I went down turned out to be a waste of time for nearly two hours of downhill, just to come back up again. Fortunately, in not depending on this water I was carrying a couple liters. The waste of time led me to drink most though and irritated I was determined to find the water source.
Backtracking and using another road to move in the direction of the dotted USGS water line. The next mistake I made was misinterpreting the blue forest service tree pain markings, that while did mark the water source boundary did not mean it was accessible. As I approached it seemed like there was deer trails or areas other people had got to it. You could hear the water flowing, but most trails fell short of teaching the source. When I bushwhacked down a steep incline, I was finally standing over it. Only to find Tate Creek was completely covered with blowdowns, bushes, and sticks so thick you could barely see the water loudly flowing underneath.
After a while of trying to break through to the water, I gave up and went back to the road where I first saw the forest service markings. On the way, I trip and hit my head on the ground. Which in the moment wasn’t too bad and I continued on.
Following the forest service road a little further down, I finally come upon a Tate Creek access point. I refilled my water, then see I have phone service so I label my GPS position as a water source and report it to FarOut. I then record my GPS track and after making it back up to the trail, I submit it in hopes they will include it as a blue blaze for a water source in the area.
Instead of camping at the trail intersection, I decide to hike a couple more miles as it is getting dark in being fired up with a sense of accomplishment. Not only because I was going to get to camp in a higher area with full water, but knowing what I did might help someone coming north in a few weeks in this dry stretch.
As I’m heading up the trail, I am startled by a giant buck slowly walking north on the Pacific Crest Trail.
This time of the year I think the animals use it as an easier migratory path more than hikers.
I set up camp in the dark by headlamp and get some sleep.
Over the next few days, heading into Burney I began to have some slight aches in my upper tooth. Which would later begin breaking off. At first a quarter of a tooth. Exposing the pulp to some pain. Then another quarter. Until all pain was relieved, but the tooth was broken to the gum line. Such I guess is the price of being nice. Another missing tooth in a life that keeps claiming them. I keep the pieces of tooth in my fanny pack as a souvenir.
My last night before town I planned to camp at Burney Falls State Park, but upon visiting the location I decided to hike on from those masses of tourists. As a hiker spot it is nice they have a charging area with tables, bathrooms, and wifi. Watching the strange consumption of viewing a natural wonder left me feeling sick for being caught up in this tornado of a thing.
My phone communicates the wishes of the Pit River Tribe, speaking of the extreme foot traffic and loudness transform it from a place of sacred healing for far longer than America has existed to one of constant consumption. Such is a painful realization, like that I had in the White Mountains back east the year before. Watching the phones of crowds lift for pictures of the views and flickering over this image in my mind’s eye is a mine as deep as the mountains are tall with a crowd of slaves mining the components. The tourist, smartphone, and social media trifecta is like that mining continued where all that was ever sacred becomes a lifeless collectible in algorithms of comparison. Like a scrolling thief of joy, life is trapped in these phones looking for dopamine hits and if you watch closely the interactions between people when the phone is away start to look all too much the same.
In Burney, I take two nights to rest at the Word of Life Church that allows hikers to camp in its gymnasium where I spend too much time wishing something I could share in the bright screen of mining materials in my hand could break this spell or at least make a connection in understanding it.
Leave a Reply