Welcome to the State of Jefferson

Day 5- Etna, CA - 100 miles - Aug. 22

We are already 11 miles ahead of schedule, not an easy feat to achieve in the course of 5 days. I was convinced that my year of desk-surfing and gourmand-living in Portland had rendered me unfit for massive miles on the trail. Little did I realize that all it would take was a brief brush with the backwoods hippies of the State of Jefferson to motivate me to walk farther.

The State of Jefferson was a 1941 proposed state combining the most rural counties of Oregon and California, who wanted to secede from their states' rule. The movement continues through its own public radio station, license plate frames, flags, bumper stickers and policy arguments on private land rights. On the PCT, hikers may encounter elements of the movement--mining remnants, eerily cheery family retreats in the woods, living off the land, etc.-- from as far south as Dunsmuir, but my awakening came 9.5 miles from the road to Etna.

Day 4 we had planned to hike 25 miles, my first attempt since last summer. As we approached the endpoint--a campsite in the woods just below the pass-- I heard a child's playful scream. Hmmm, ok, so we'll be sharing, I thought. We turned the corner and I spotted two couples, barefoot, blonde and disheveled, with two rug rats, none who had probably brushed their hair or bathed. Ever. The children's faces were caked in mud, and the women, clad in homespun sweaters and tattered skirts, had hairdos more authentically natural than dreadlocks--like ratty Marge Simpson bird's nests, swaying from side to side with every tilt of the head. There they stood, like 3D "Pig Pens," sleeping bags in tow.

I crossed the stream, noted the multiple hammocks in the trees, and considered stopping for the night. That is, before two thru-hikers who had already arrived, Little Bird and Squirrel, informed us that the family had 17 goats on the ridge who would soon be joining us. "They like to sniff around the tents, but you can just shoo them away."

I excused myself by saying that we werent much for animals, and quickly cameled enough water to push on. As we walked another mile and a half, I saw hundreds of goat tracks in the trail, and I envisioned the grubby children riding on the goats for miles from their secret commune to the campsite.

I slept like a rock after my big 26.5 miles, and by 10am the next morning we had picked up a ride from the first car going into town! The driver was a transplant from Florida--a mid-lifer who sold his business, all his assets and bought a cabin in the woods. He powers his life off a generator, pipes water from the spring, and goes to town once a month to do his laundry and run errands. To make a living, he mines for gold.

He talked about land rights, the self-righteous environmentalists, the best way to mine for gold, and how lucky he is to enjoy the natural surroundings of "the valley." I thought the same thing as I stared out the back of his truck bed, watching the mountains get smaller and smaller, the road wind closer to town, and sensed the sweet smell of freshly-brewed coffee and my first shower and cell signal in five days. Wilderness just isn't for everyone. Right then, I happened to be more concerned with pizza.

The people of Etna have been fabulous, and well worth the stop. Next up - Seiad Valley, 56 miles away and home of the Great Pancake Challenge!

Until then, Sticky