My Brush With Danger on the Pacific Crest Trail

Infinite Raspberry is Explorer Katrina Hemingway’s memoir about hiking the Pacific Crest Trail with a stranger and Type 1 diabetes. This extract below shares an unexpected danger she encountered on the way.

I Didn’t See That One Coming – A Cautionary Tale of Courage

Read the full story on my website.

I wrestled with the terrain… but not in the way you think

After resupplying in the town of Bishop, I’m back on the official Pacific Crest Trail (PCT). I added two more passes, Piute Pass and Bishop Pass, to my 2023 list. These approved alternate routes allow you to bypass the snow-damaged South Fork San Joaquin River bridge.

A substantial 100 ft-long steel structure, it now resembles a twisted cork screw. It’s not worth the risk to clamber over it or consider crossing the raging torrent beneath it with the snowmelt in full swing. I thoroughly embraced the much safer alternate routes in this unprecedented high snow pack year.

Today’s aim is to get to Upper Palisade Lakes before tackling Mather Pass the next day. The forecast is for cooler weather, high winds, and dust storms. I stow my bucket hat, swapping it out for a new tight-fitting bright orange baseball cap.

Two Cups, another PCT hiker who can’t get out bed before she’s had two cups of coffee, is a few days behind me. She has my favourite orange cap, which I accidentally left behind at our last lodging. Hopefully, we’ll be reunited soon.

Back when I had my orange cap

Overall, I’m feeling good. My pack weight is heavy, but my trail legs have developed. I’m also acclimatizing nicely to the higher altitudes, with a little help from Diamox medication. You could say I feel invincible. I’m considering Mather Pass today.

As a couple approaches, I ask them if this goal of mine is possible in a single day. The distance is about 16 miles. Seasoned hikers say you should plan on 10 miles a day at altitude. I’m moving at a good pace. I’d love to challenge myself and see if I can reach the pass at 12,093ft (3,686m) and then descend to a lower altitude for safety and a good night’s sleep.

‘Yes, it’s possible, but you have the Golden Staircase to factor in first. Not long in distance, but it’s a relentless multiple switchback slog. It can take a while to get through it.’

They have a point. I’m not a fan of steep difficult ascents. But if I don’t try it, I’ll never know what I’m capable of. Still, I’m alone. The PCT has been quite troublesome with all the avalanche debris and dangerous stream crossings. I doubt the winter snow will fully melt before summer’s end. It’s important I proceed with caution and care in this high snowpack year.

The start of the Golden Pass

Head down, I get into a good walking rhythm, stepping capably over protruding rocks and roots. The occasional look ahead. There’s a skinny fir tree in the distance, high across the path. Some larger rocks ahead. I navigate confidently around these obstructions with the help of trekking poles. This is the life, walking early in the morning along a shaded forest pathway deep in the Sierras. Glorious stuff. How magic is the great outdoors?

WHAMMO!

An almighty bang, then silence. Not sure for how long.

What am I doing on the ground? Did I just fall over? On what?

Drip! Drip! Drip! Gosh, where’s all this blood coming from? Is it me? Get up, you goose!

A steady trickle finds passage down the side of my nose, over my shirt, down my arm, through the webbing of my fingers to the ground. Big droplets decorate a lovely granite rock beneath me.

I look up and see the culprit. I’ve gored myself on the tip of a torn branch jutting from that fallen tree. From a distance it looked high enough to walk under, but my new orange cap has a longer visor than my other one. It’s blocked me from seeing impending danger. Perfect for sun protection. Not so good for distant observation when your head is down. The force of the impact has flung me a good metre from the tree. I’m aiming to summit Mather Pass today. Or I was.

The scene resembles a massacre. Blood splatter is everywhere. I’m likely concussed. I untie my bandanna from my backpack to stem the flow, wiping the rivulets from my face and hands. A massive mopping up effort awaits. But first I need my first aid kit. As I fumble with my pack, Under Cover appears out of nowhere.

In a pleasant enquiring tone, ‘You right there? Can I help you at all?’.

‘Nah, and yeh. Sorry, I mean no, I am not right, and yes, I would love your help.’ Bleeding like a stuck pig, I explain what I think has happened. While it may look like I need a transfusion, a cut to thin forehead skin will always gush.

The scene of the crime

‘I think I’m alright. If you can help me apply pressure to the wound and patch me up, that’d be great.’

Under Cover bursts into action.

‘You know what? I’ve never used my first aid kit before. I’ve got butterfly strips, alcohol wipes, sterile gauze pads, antibiotic cream, and some big band aids. Been dying to use this stuff for a long while. You’re going to need it all.’

He jumps into action with gusto. I am so grateful this fellow hiker came when he did. This is a true ‘The trail will provide’ moment. I would find it very difficult to stop the bleeding and cleanly apply the dressing to a head wound.

While he’s hard at work, I ask, ‘So, Under Cover, how did you get your trail name?’.

‘The moustache. It makes me look like a police officer.’

‘The mo sure does make you look like a cop. That’s the Aussie version of what you just said. Under Cover is a perfect trail name for you.’

‘For now, I’m happy to be a paramedic. You’ve got a three inch (7cm) vertical incision, half of it in your hairline. It will be difficult to keep the band aid on, but I’ll do my best.’

I patiently stay still and accept this trail angel magic.

‘Right, you’re good to go, and here are some painkillers should you develop a headache. That was quite some knock you took there. Before I go, do you mind if I take a photo of the crime scene for evidence?’

‘Ha! Ha!’ I take one too. No one will believe my tale if I don’t have bloodied proof.

‘Thanks again, Under Cover.’ I walk off, bending under the offending limb, with a mega-sized band aid stuck to my forehead.

Can I still make it over Mather Pass? Don’t be stupid? You’ve got a dull headache; possible concussion and you need to clean yourself up. Take a look at yourself with your camera.

I’m a redhead. Doesn’t look half bad. Gives my face more colour than my natural grey hair. Except it’s a sticky mess. I need some luscious frothy conditioner to get rid of it, which I don’t carry. That’s because I’m practising the Leave No Trace principles in this pristine wilderness area. I need to find water and clean myself up or I’ll become an appealing morsel for a bear or mountain lion. I find a suitable stream, launder my blood-stained clothes and rinse my hair.

An hour passes, as does the thought of reaching Mather Pass. It will be another four days before I reach town. Foremost in my mind is my current state of health. Have I sustained a serious concussion? Will I fall asleep and not wake up? Should I consider exiting the path? I can’t. Retreating will take the same time. I will activate my SOS button on my GPS if I have to, but I think a regular wound management strategy will prove as effective.

What a lesson I am having undertaking this challenging trail. I definitely didn’t see that one coming. Nor the wonderful interaction with a fellow hiker. What an eye-opener the PCT is. Everyone thinks your greatest foe is a river crossing, snow, black bear, rattlesnake, or mountain lion. Who’d have thought a skinny fallen tree would be the threat that takes me down?

Want more? Head to Katrina’s website to read the rest of Infinite Raspberry.