I peered cautiously over the iron handrail at the Feather River some 300 feet below me. A quick look was enough as my vertigo kicked in and reminded me that a brief linger was all that was required. I knew Hawkeye would be setting up camp somewhere near the river bank so I walked a little further along the trail until I saw what could be a way through the undergrowth. Sure enough, after pushing various species of plant life away from me and ducking under branches, I emerged into a small, sandy clearing.
"Fozzie, hey", Hawkeye said with a welcome hand shake. "Where are the others"?
"Brains should be just behind me and Pockets will roll in at some point", I replied.
Brains and I had been relishing the prospect of a swim in the river all day. More to the point it meant washing away 5 days of grime from my body. The trail in this section of the PCT is covered in a layer of very fine dirt. As we hike it sends up clouds of dust like blowing flour of your hands, especially if you are walking behind someone. During the day you squint so as not to get it into your eyes, at night your head torch illuminates millions of fine particles like swirling, glistening stars. It sticks to your clothes, turns the sweat on your arms into a sticky, chocolate mixture that gets into your mouth and nose. All we wished for was the gratification of washing it off.
I pitched tent first as I always do and made my way down to the clear water, flowing fast in the middle but with a few welcome calm areas at the side. I lowered myself in expecting to shiver but the sun during the day had warmed the pools and I felt myself release a satisfying sigh.
"How is it"? enquired Brains as he walked past in a hurry, knowing my answer would have no bearing on his desire to get in anyway.
"Perfect", I replied. "Absolutely, bloody perfect".
I soaked for at least half an hour. At one point I looked over at Brains who looked back with a cheeky grin that summed up his relief of finally being clean. As I dunked my filthy clothing it leached out a brown cloud as I squeezed it clean.
"Hey Guys"! The silence was shattered by Pockets hopping over the rocks to meet us. "Look what I got"!
I glanced round to see my other hiking companion making his way quickly towards me with a rattlesnake wrapped around his hand and wrist. The mischievous look on his face was similar to a kid in a toy shop after being told by his Father to 'Have whatever you want."
All my brain registered at this point was something along the lines of 'Snake! Do whatever required to get the hell out of the way'!
I shot up and was just about to jump in the river when Pockets realised by the look of sheer horror on my face that I was about to soil my underwear.
"No! Fozzie! It's dead! I killed it, look see, no head"! He pointed to the bloody stump and then flicked the rattle. I watched as it swayed limply from side to side.
Pockets had stepped over a log earlier. As he heard the snake's familiar warning rattle it was too late and the reptile had lunged and struck the sole of his shoe. Luckily the teeth had not penetrated. Pockets had taken exception to this, as he tends to do, and had promptly diverted the snakes attention by waving one hand, then punched it on the head with his other fist. Now stunned, he grabbed it by the head and swiftly cut away the body a couple of inches behind the venom sack. The nerves were still buzzing though and I cringed as the body twitched, writhed and coiled around on his arm.
Hawkeye and Brains joined the spectacle as Pockets neatly and expertly dissected the body, slicing down the body, leaving the entrails intact. He peeled off the skin and removed the non edible innards and we returned to camp. After 10 minutes spitting and roasting on the embers the meat was ready. We each tentatively sampled our entree and all agreed unanimously that Pockets should resume his outdoor hunting escapades as soon as possible.
I still have the skin which has been drying and curing on the back of my pack for some days now. If you're going to kill something living, make sure you respect it by using every part possible is the advice we are given by the likes of Ray Mears and Bear Grylls. I agree with this wholeheartedly but it was more of a case of having a Rambo style headband as well.
What is the trail doing to me!?
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