A community of kind-hearted humans exists parallel to the Pacific Crest Trail. We call them "trail angels." If a hiker ever needs help, a ride, a place to stay, or just a hug, a trail angel is not far away.
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| Trail angel "Hillbilly," his first year to host hikers |
On Memorial Day, my trek took me down a very unpleasant stretch of trail. After a traverse of the mountains surrounding San Jacinto Peak, hikers begin a long decent on the Palm Springs side of the range. The cool mountain air quickly dissipates, and the hot, dry desert heat blankets the terrain. The trail zig zags a mile this way, then a mile back, and then back again. It's a frustrating twenty miles of trail, even though one can see Interstate 10, just five miles away as the crow flies.
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| Just another awesome sunrise in the desert |
The day began with a brilliant sunrise and two curious hummingbirds flapping before my face. Even though I started early, the temperature hit 90 or so by about 8:00. I took several breaks to water up, but water was running short. I passed a milestone, the 200 mile mark of the PCT. It seems like further. About then, I passed by a swarm of angry yellow jackets, and one of them struck me in the shoulder. The highway was right before me, westbound traffic at a near standstill at the end of the holiday weekend. But with every switchback, it seemed I was getting no closer.
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| 200 crummy miles, that's all? |
At around noon, I approached a man and woman, about my age. The man was in bad shape, suffering from heat exhaustion and laid out in the tiny shadow cast by a large rock. I offered my last half-liter of water, solar heated to about hot tub consistency. It was just a mile to the bottom of the mountain where there is a drinking fountain with water piped in from who knows where. As I approached the bottom, another hiker was returning to the ailing man with more water.
I was able to refresh somewhat at the fountain, sharing the trickle with about 1,000 honey bees, and an occasional yellow jacket, likely from the swarm that struck me. But then it would be another 4 plus miles across the flat sandy desert floor to an access road parallel to the interstate. My plan was to hitch a ride into nearby Cabazon to get town food and a quick resupply.
It took two hours to make that final trek, and I was beaten and worn after trudging through the hot sand. But as I reached the underpass, my fortunes changed, and my day took a turn for the better. A trail angel by the name of Mama Bear had set up a tailgate of sorts for the exhausted hikers, something she does at this spot five days a week during the peak hiker season. She greeted me with a hug and a cold soda. She said the temperature under the overpass was 94F. It was 105F out where I'd just come from. After I regrouped, I had a hot dog, chips, watermelon, and chocolate cake.
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| Mama Bear (right) brings relief to hurting hikers. |
After an hour or two, Mama Bear packed up to head to her home over 40 miles away. But first, she braved the holiday traffic to get me to a convenience store for my mini-resupply. She told me about another trail angel they call "Hillbilly," who lives in Cabazon and hosts weary hikers. A quick call to Hillbilly, and she confirmed that I was welcome to stay.
When we pulled into his driveway, we were greeted by his three dogs, Jack, Hershey, and Sadie. The next thing I noticed was a beautiful antique Ford pickup truck parked in the garage. I unloaded my things from Mama Bear's vehicle and met Hillbilly. He invited me inside, where four other hikers were watching movies in the air conditioned front room. Two of them were still there from the previous night, while two others just needed a getaway for the afternoon. I grabbed a much needed shower and tossed my stinky clothes in the laundry. Hillbilly drove the others to the trail head for an evening hike out. I would have the couch to myself.
In his absence, I became acquainted with Hillbilly's dogs, and also his two house cats, Buddy and Holly. I enjoyed the Disney film, Muana, while resting on the sofa. When Hillbilly returned, we became acquainted, and I had many questions about that Ford truck. He fired her up and backed her out of the garage for me so I could get some photographs. Next, he showed me a room he referred to as his wife's room, filled with M&M collectibles. His wife just passed away in December. They were married 39 years, high school sweethearts, two kids, two grandchildren.
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| A 1949 Ford. He drives her in parades sometimes. |
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| I think I want one! |
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| M&M Museum |
Next, we went to his office. On his computer screen was a picture of his late wife, who he obviously missed tremendously. He poured two shots of grain alcohol, 190 proof, and we threw them back, much to my hesitation. He tipped his glass to the picture on the screen and said, "Miss you, honey." It really touched me. Next, as is tradition I suppose, I was offered a cherry marinated in moonshine, hence his name, "Hillbilly."
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| Moonshine cherries? Not bad! |
Hillbilly joined the army right after high school, and later, he served in Baghdad as a sniper in the days leading up to Operation Desert Storm. Back stateside, he served in the little-known branch of the army known as the narcotics division. He let me leaf through a scrapbook with photographs and many of the raids he participated in, some of which lead directly to big time cartels. He was shot in the back while working border patrol, and shows off his scar as he is usually shirtless around the house. He was shot in the sternum during a raid, but he had a custom made bullet-proof vest, not the standard issue variety provided by the military. It saved him.
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| A former Army sniper, and many scars. |
The years in the military took a toll on his body, and the army put him on full permanent disability years ago. The physical deterioration is a obvious compared to the hulky young soldier in the scrapbook pictures. He's had six surgeries on one shoulder and three on the other; both are clearly still messed up from breaking down doors back in the day.
This is Hillbilly's first season hosting hikers. I suppose he's thought about it for years, being so close to the trail, but his wife's passing must have triggered a need. Perhaps Hillbilly needs the hikers as much as the hikers need Hillbilly in this rough stretch of desert hiking. He estimates that he has hosted about 300 hikers this season, since the first of April.
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| Derek, Anthony, Cronk and Mattie, heading back to the dusty trail. |
Hillbilly spends his days tending to exotic flowers in his garden, refreshing jugs of water under the interstate, the "I-10" Oasis, as he calls it, and doing shots with hikers, while maintaining memorials and tributes to his wife.
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| Orchids in the desert. |
After a restful night, I was ready to get back to the trail, but there was a problem. My trekking poles were missing. A quick call back to Mama Bear and my fears were confirmed. I'd left them in her vehicle. Not to worry. Hillbilly had a spare set that a hiker had left with him when he decided to quit the trail. Hillbilly called it the exchange program; take a set, leave a set. They say in the hiker community that whatever you need, the trail will provide. Indeed it does!
I'm happy I took the opportunity to visit with Hillbilly. A more interesting character I've yet to meet, and a more memorable Memorial Day I've never experienced! God speed, my friend!
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| God bless the United States of America and all of her Trail Angels! |
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