My Journey to Freedom and Ultralight Backpacking Read Online Free Page A

ambled off into the woods, then Rainmaker told me, “I think he’s been cut loose from his mother recently and he’s not doing well.  He is looking for something to eat.” I remembered the trout we saw swimming in our lunchtime creek and hoped he would catch some.
      We hiked into the little town of Sierra City, population 228. There we ate supper at a nice restaurant and reserved 2 nights in Sierra Buttes Hotel, reputedly a brothel in the old days. This town’s only store proved a more challenging resupply, with its tiny deli and shelf selection. I bought candy, pop tarts, bagels, and ramen. A hiker box sat on a bench outside the store; Rainmaker told me I could take anything out of it I wanted. It had stuff other hikers left for that purpose, either not wanting to carry it, or being superfluous drop box items. Rather than throwing supplies away, a small cardboard box was found and labeled for the benefit of other hikers. This was right up my alley. I rummaged through the contents and from the box selected a jar of peanut butter for my bagels, and some powdered drink mix.
      Rainmaker used a long plastic toolbox for his “bounce box”.  It started out weighing about 19 pounds. He shipped it parcel post, insured. I used a “drop box”, a small cardboard box, shipped only once and containing supplies I anticipated needing at that point. There were 2 more bounce boxes sent to me by my sister farther up the trail. My first box weighed around 3 ½ pounds, and was uninsured. Rainmaker was able to shift through his entire inventory, choosing what he needed and bounce the rest ahead.  I had to buy stuff here, like a spray can of insect repellent, 20% Deet, that I wouldn’t normally choose. Not thinking I would need another bottle of 100% Deet until farther up the trail, I put one in my next drop box! Rainmaker paid $1 more in postage than I did and saved money in these small towns.  Next year I will definitely opt for a bounce box.
      We found interesting things on the trail. The list included: several apples in various places (which we split and ate), a valid credit card (Keith, where are you??), $.49 (in various locations), Aloe lip sun block, rated SPF 30 and perfectly good, a wrapped piece of root beer barrel candy, and a large man’s left tennis shoe next to the trail, with this note firmly attached: “For sale or rent. For more information, see One-Shoe-Pete at Switchback 95.” Then later on, a nearly new, rolled up tent laying on top a rock next to the trail. We lifted the package, evaluated the situation, and decided that no way would we haul it the remaining 35 miles to Old Station to mail it home.
      Crossing a stream in Lassen Park I found my magic trail spoon. It’s best not to turn down gifts from the trail gods, or they will quit giving stuff to you. That same metal spoon has been with me on all my hikes. It is my only eating utensil. 
      In northern California, the trail changed so that lack of water became a daily issue. We hiked and camped through water alert zones, which meant trail with no water for at least 12.5 miles. Our eyes and ears become attuned to the gurgling sound of water, which I found is surprisingly similar to the sound of wind rustling leaves. The heat compounded the situation. I followed Rainmaker’s example and carried my full capacity of 148 ounces of water. I also learned how to “tank up” by taking breaks at water sources, drinking as much as possible over the course of half an hour, and not leaving until I could hear my stomach sloshing. He taught me how ration water to the next sure source, and his method of dry camping. At times, trail angels left water caches. Many large caches have a notebook, or register where hikers write thank you notes, give advice, or say hello to friends. Some registers have a written note by the angel, stating how often they replenish the water. Trail etiquette teaches to take only two quarts, but at times the trail angel will encourage