Day 28 (September 13)

Breakfast at Crater Lake Lodge is quite good. We continue down the Dalton Creek Trail to rejoin the PCT, but quickly detour down to Mazama Village campground to resupply. ("Mazama" is a sort of fantasy name for the original mountain that blew its top to form the Crater Lake caldera around 5700 B.C.) It's nearing the end of the camping season, so the restaurant here is closed and the store is a little bare, but it's still the best store we've seen on the trail so far (where "on" means within 2 miles.) Still no stove fuel to be found here.

Back on the PCT hiking south with our new companions Sharon and Nick. They're carrying a huge load. Why do they hike so fast? Everybody's faster than us. That's just the way it is, no point worrying about it.

We head west on the side trail to Union Peak and make an early camp up on a pleasant rise. Plenty of time to take it easy and relax in the sun. Nick fires up his fancy Bush Buddy woodburning stove and sets to making polenta while the rest of us stretch out and enjoy the day. I see a small white ball that must have fallen out of my pocket. That's funny, I don't remember packing a small white ball. There's another one. Must be something that Sharon brought, but why did she drop two, no, four of them by my tent? Is it food?

A couple of painful knocks in the head later, I solve the riddle: we've been visited by a flash hail storm, and soon these suspiciously spherical nuggets are falling in a mad torrent all over our peaceful camp. They're as big as gumballs and they pack a serious punch. They're not food per se, but you can eat them.

Still, I'm looking forward to the polenta. Under the brunt of the storm, Nick heroically tends the Bush Buddy without missing a beat, while the rest of us take cover under our tents and trees. I can see the thunder heads blowing slowly east... get a move on, guys. That's better. Probably only hailed for an hour, but it sure did change the look of this place. We enjoy the delicious dinner in the chilly evening air, and cuddle up to sleep to the mournful sounds of a lone harmonica.