Today marks one month on the trail. I wake up feeling worse than yesterday. I don’t want to finish my dinner so that I have the bag to make breakfast so I just get back on the ATV track and continue north. I recognize a pink floral shirt on trekking poles, like balloons on a mailbox, and say hello. Trailer Park waited, to make sure I didn’t break a leg and die alone in the desert, and let me get a headstart.

I appreciate that it seems the sun is taking its time, but contrary to popular hiker belief, the sun is still on its own schedule, regardless of where my next water source is. I’m out here without the coveted FarOut app, so Trailer Park let me know we were roughly five miles from getting the next dose of survival liquid. At that point, I take a photo of the wet rock, which could be pee, but isn’t enough for me to even bother licking at.

I figure Rachel is still out there, some five miles ahead, and didn’t leave a dying wish (as her last comment), so there must be water ahead. The trail splits and I follow it towards what looks like a group canopy, but it’s just a busted structure where a horror movie about a guy who loves splinters and small hikers could be filmed, and is possibly on private property, so back downhill to the PCT for me.

Hidden in the trees is a tadpole pond and a PVC pipe with a steady flow. I grab my filter bag and prop myself on the stump in the mud and fill it halfway twice as I chug any remaining water in my bottles and refill them. I’m debating “looking for a tree” but also wondering if a bear snatched Trailer Park while he was, as Rachel encountered one in that scenario, and lived so I could tell everyone about it.

Just then, he appears, and I’m so happy that he has made it to the water too, though no one is worried about him as he has more experience surviving these situations than I do. It’s a good thing I waited for him as the trail continues over the muddy boardwalk, not back up the hill to the busted dirt road. I know he’ll be there a while as I was making drinks and finishing them before moving on.

We are 20 miles from the next water option. With some space between us (people, trail, water), I can dig my fourth cat hole. I’m not even watched by a lizard or disturbed by a fly, but I guess all pooping in the woods is more about the view than the wildlife encounters. This is probably for the best. All that worry about water and there is a water cache on the road, with an uninspected tent and a trash bin that Trailer Park will take advantage of.

He is like the buoyant diver who can safely pick up heavy trash and deliver it from its resting spot at sea or a great hiker who hates to leave others’ trash for nature to contend with when they don’t have an option not to. I’ve seen him pick up after others in our camp and am grateful he didn’t get bitten by the litter bug as seems more common in certain areas over others. I’ll stop for a snack when my activity tracker tells me I need an extra half day of rest.

This is the same watch that thinks I’m out here on the elliptical, so it doesn’t realize stopping now isn’t an option, at least if I don’t want to be rescued (a common thought among hikers who appear physically ok, but are mentally over a section or time of day). For those who don’t know, there is no helicopter with rangers and EMTs hiding just over the next hill waiting for a hiker to get injured.

When the SOS button is pushed (it does a 20-second countdown in case the button was pushed accidentally), local rescue teams are notified, and the best vehicle to reach the last known location is deployed. This could be as quick as a few minutes, especially if teams are training in the area or it could be ten hours or more, but know that this is faster than waiting for someone to miss you.

I stop for lunch (leftovers) at 11am and find shade with flies in my face and sharp leaves on my ass and legs, which is why others bring a sit pad. This spot isn’t conducive to a nap to rest away the heat of the day but 25 minutes is better than none. I figure if I can do elevation in midday, then I can also conquer a flattish terrain. With yesterday’s dinner finished, I can have a second lunch at 2pm in the slim shade of a trailside boulder.

I keep my hat on as my hands and feet are in the sun too, but it’s nice to have my pack off and let my sweaty shirt dry some while I press myself onto a ledge. A majority of the trail seems to be at an angle so breaks are also taken with strain on my knees or ankles to hold me in limited shade. Sometimes I find a flat spot just ahead but other times I find sadness at knowing I should’ve stopped sooner.

The tiniest cloud gets blown over the sun and I appreciate the huge temperature difference, if only for a moment, as that breeze continues to blow. Back on Earth, I scare a snake from its mouse lunch. I hope it will return, but the mouse up ahead covered in ants lets me know that snakes, at least the species here, aren’t willing to eat something they left unattended.

Trailer Park and I will meet White Trash and Valentin at a large shaded intersection with their feet up after a short detour to water (which took them an hour and a half). They saw Rachel 20 minutes ago and the four of them are planning on making it to Robin Bird Spring for water and camp. I see baby quail in the bushes as the mother keeps a lookout from a high point. They are adorable, but fast and camouflaged.

There’s a sign letting hikers know we are entering private property again and to stay on the trail. I wouldn’t blame the cows for wanting to do the same with all the downed trees and random barbed wire. There is barbed goatgrass and plenty of rodent holes on the sloped path sides. I had found a place to sleep, but pressed on for the slowest hour yet. I might have made it a half mile before passing out between a rock and the trail.