Charlton Lake (my mile 1296, trail mile 1925) to Santiam Pass (my mile 1465, trail mile 2000)

“The trail provides” is one of the many sayings often uttered by PCT thru-hikers. Nowhere has that been truer for me than in Oregon, which I pieced together in sections after getting forced off trail by an Afib episode at Charlton Lake. Exiting from a dirt road with no transport connections in the middle of nowhere created a huge logistical headache, but I managed to overcome it – with a lot of help.

I booked a room at The Graduate Hotel in Eugene after I was discharged from hospital, and resolved to take a zero the next day while I considered my options. Tidbit and I hung out at the hotel bar, which is decked out like a shrine to the Oregon Ducks. We made friends with the bartender, a nursing student named Nancy, who offered to let us stay in her spare room for our second night in Eugene.

We went to see Rocketman the next day, then caught the bus back to The Graduate. It was the grand opening (it had recently been converted from a Hilton), and we got free food and drinks out in the courtyard. I even met Puddles, the Oregon Ducks’ mascot.

By this point I’d decided to get back on trail, but we knew getting back to Charlton Lake was going to be difficult. Instead we caught a bus to Bend, where we stayed with a local trail angel named Heinrich who we’d met hitchhiking at Crater Lake just a week or so earlier. Heinrich took us to the Bend REI, where I picked up my third pair of Altras. After more than 600 miles my second pair was falling apart, and my right ankle was paying the price.

The next day Heinrich took us to see Smith Rock, a local climbing mecca. Afterwards he drove us to Santiam Pass, a busy highway crossing about 75 miles up the trail from where we’d exited. We began the long climb through a hot, exposed burn area into the Mount Jefferson Wilderness. After 14 miles we made camp by the shore of a pretty alpine lake.

We decided to slow our pace for the next section and average only about 20 miles a day to Timberline Lodge, on the slopes of Mount Hood. Somewhere around the base of Mount Jefferson I hit 1,326 miles – the midpoint of the entire trail.

I should have savoured the achievement, but the experience of the past week had left me feeling low. I was acutely aware that my A-Fib could come back at any time and end my hike. I was also unhappy about skipping another section, which only made it more difficult to finish the trail before I miss the weather window at the end of the season. Mosquitos were also swarming us at every turn, sapping our energy and souring our mood. Still, we pushed on.

As if sensing my flagging morale, the trail provided me with plenty of pick-me-ups over the next few days. The area north of Mount Jefferson was full of beautiful clear lakes, which looked magnificent against the backdrop of the dramatic snowy peak. After a long climb I got my first view of Mount Hood from more than 50 miles away.

Tidbit and I came across some snow fields on the descent, so we decided to have some fun. We glissaded down the slopes (albeit pretty slowly), and I found a Complete Cookie still its packaging at the base of a slide. Later that day we arrived at Olallie Lake, where a trail angel named OG was grilling hamburgers for a small group of hikers. He made us two each, which we supplemented with cookies and cider from the nearby resort store.

We experienced more trail magic the next day at a horse camp, where a local woman had set up a mini cafeteria for hikers in a pop-up tent. We made our own sandwiches, ate homemade brownies and drank a few cans of soft drinks each. We camped that night on the shore of Timothy Lake, where I found an unopened can of PBR on a rock. I don’t even like beer that much (I’m a terrible Australian, I know), but in that moment it tasted delicious.

The next day we took a short side trail to see Little Crater Lake, a 40-foot-deep, spring-fed lake that’s so clear you can see the bottom. We pushed on toward Timberline Lodge, where we’d planned to camp. Tidbit decided to skip the long climb up to the lodge, and yogi’d a ride from a couple of day hikers at a trailhead car park.

I really enjoyed the climb, which offered spectacular views of the Mount Hood summit for the last few miles. The last mile or so was a tough slog through soft volcanic sand, but the views made it worth it. I arrived at Timberline just before sunset and set up my tent between it and the mountain. The lodge is a beautiful historic building, constructed during the Great Depression as part of the New Deal. It was also the set for Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining. We ordered pizzas at the bar, then spent some time exploring.

In the morning, after stuffing ourselves at the breakfast buffet, we caught the bus down to Portland where a rental car was waiting for us. The plan was to drive all the way back to Charlton Lake, where Tidbit would drop me off. I’d hike the 75 miles back to Santiam Pass, plugging the gap I’d created when I got off trail. Then, I’d try to hitch a ride back to Portland. We camped by the lake before saying our goodbyes in the morning.

I spent the day walking from lake to lake, stopping at one particularly pretty one for a midday swim. I camped alone at Dumbbell Lake, on a small peninsula. I went for a short swim as the sun went down before retreating to my tent to escape the growing cloud of mosquitos.

The next day I reached the Three Sisters Wilderness, where the trail left the dense forest that characterises most of the PCT in Oregon, and entered a chain of wide-open plains. It was a nice change of scenery. I hiked for 26 miles – my longest day in a while – so that I would have a shorter hike into Big Lake Youth Camp the next day. The summer camp puts on a nightly dinner for hikers, and I didn’t want to miss it.

I left my campsite early the next morning and soon passed the last of the Three Sisters. The smooth ground under my feet gave way to jagged volcanic rock, and before I knew it I was in the middle of a lava field that stretched as far as I could see. I spent several hours slowly picking my way through the field, praying that I wouldn’t aggravate my right ankle. I eventually made it through, and the trail returned to the forest.

I reached Big Lake in time for dinner, and was greeted by camp counselor PCT Mama. Every southbounder I’d met for the past few days had made me promise to stop in at the camp, and now I saw why. The camp has a whole building dedicated to hikers, with showers, laundry facilities and a kitchen. At dinner time I followed a group of other hungry hikers into the dining hall, where we joined a few hundred Seventh Day Adventist kids for taco salad.

All of us hikers camped on a black sand beach just outside the summer camp’s property. In the morning, we had eggs and pancakes with all the campers. The camp doesn’t charge hikers anything for all of this, but does accept donations.

My plan for the day was to hike the last five miles to Santiam Pass, then stick out my thumb on the highway to get back to Portland. I’d never hitched that far before, and was worried it would be difficult to get a ride away from the trail corridor. Just as I was about to leave Big Lake, a trail angel walked in and asked if anyone needed a ride to the interstate, which was more than halfway to my destination.

I knew I could get a bus to Portland from any of the towns on I-5, so I accepted. It meant I’d skip the five miles between Big Lake and Santiam Pass, which is the first time on this trail I’ve skipped any section with no intention of returning to it. After everything I’d been through in Oregon, I just didn’t care.

I arrived in downtown Portland in the afternoon and rejoined Tidbit, who was staying in a hotel. We later moved to a couchsurfing host’s place on the east side. I spent a couple of days hanging out with Tidbit before I headed to the airport this morning and boarded a plane. I’m writing this from the skies over Crater Lake, on my way back to California to finally hike the Sierra.

Tidbit is staying in Oregon for now due to some commitments, but will join me at some point after the Sierra. The Sierra is supposed to be the most spectacular part of the whole PCT, and it’s coming right at a time when I need some motivation.

The trail provides.

Crater Lake (my mile 1192, trail mile 1821) to Charlton Lake (my mile 1296, trail mile 1925)

Our day off in Fort Klamath was sorely needed, as both Tidbit and I could feel our bodies protesting against the longer days we’d been hiking since the Oregon border. By the time we reached Crater Lake it felt like we were both running on empty. After a night at the Aspen Inn we walked to the Fort Klamath post office, which is only open for two hours a day.

We collected our resupply box and I picked up my new Dirty Girl gaiters, replacing my old pair of Salomons that I’d worn out. A local artist named John offered us a ride on our way out of the post office, then drove us back up the highway to Crater Lake in his camper van.

A bear was crossing the highway just before the park entrance, then scurried off the road as the van approached. We stopped, and I managed to get a great photo of the bear as it paused to look back at us.

Tidbit hopped out at Mazama Village and took the trolley up to the rim, while John dropped me at the trailhead and I walked the 4.5-mile alternate that took me to the same spot. Taking the Crater Lake Rim Trail is technically cheating since it’s not the PCT but almost everybody does it because the PCT doesn’t actually go to Crater Lake.

Instead, it takes a wide arc around the lake that is around five miles longer. I’m not so much of a purist that I’d miss out on such a highlight just to stick to the “official” trail, but I want my path from Mexico to Canada to be connected by continuous footsteps. Thus, I panted my way up the steep climb from the highway to the rim while Tidbit relaxed at the Rim Village cafe.

I power walked the whole way to the cafe, and surprised Tidbit when I rocked up earlier than she’d expected. We strolled out to the rim, and I got my first view of Crater Lake. As advertised, it was enormous. The lake lies at the bottom of a volcano’s caldera, which stretches all the way to the horizon when viewed from the rim. The original volcano, Mount Mazama, tore itself apart in a massive eruption around 7700 years ago, creating the huge crater.

The lake is fed only by snowmelt and rain, and sparkled a brilliant blue beneath me on what was a cloudless day. In the middle of it all was Wizard Island, the beginnings of a new volcano, jutting out of the lake near its western shore. Hordes of tourists swarmed the rim trail closest to the car park, but disappeared as we followed the trail away from the village and around to the north side of the rim.

Snow covered the north end of the trail, forcing us to walk along the road for a stretch. We stopped for one last look at the lake at its northern end, then rejoined the PCT a few miles later. We trekked through nine miles of flat forest in the dying light to make it to a water cache at a junction with a forest road just outside the park boundary.

We climbed half way up Mount Thielsen the next morning, then followed the trail as it skirted the mountain’s slopes. We hit snow on the north face, and had to strap on our microspikes for a steep descent into the forest. We had no idea we were descending into insectoid hell.

Melting snow, as it turns out, creates a lot of stagnant ponds, which are a favourite breeding ground for mosquitos. Thousands of them swarmed us as soon as we reached the cover of trees, forcing us to cover our faces with our bug nets. I was glad to be wearing long pants. We hiked on, praying that the swarms would dissipate somewhere. They didn’t.

Tidbit and I had decided to push all the way to Windigo Pass, making it a 30-mile day. From Windigo, Tidbit could take a 20-mile alternate to the resort at Shelter Cove while I would hike the PCT, which is eight miles longer. The 30-mile was tough but fast, as the mosquitos left us no opportunities to take a break. They were in absolute plague proportion at the pass, so I put on my rain gear and sprayed myself with DEET before making dinner. I dived into the tent the second I’d finished eating.

I wasn’t really in the mood to hike 28 miles the next morning, especially while being attacked by yet more mosquitos, but I resolved to push on. The extra miles would earn me a zero in Bend, the next town, while keeping me on schedule to finish my hike in mid September.

It was a miserable day of hiking, with no reprieve from the winged blood-suckers. I scoffed my lunch while they buzzed around my face, and jogged sections where they were particularly bad. The snow-covered Diamond Peak was the day’s only highlight, but I couldn’t stop to appreciate the views.

My ankle began to complain five miles from the resort, and it was nearly 9PM by the time I limped to the campground. Tidbit had already set up the tent and had spent the afternoon hanging out with other hikers after getting a ride from the camp hosts at Crescent Lake, half way between Windigo Pass and Shelter Cove.

We lingered around the resort past lunch time the next day as we washed our clothes and filled up on scrambled eggs and hamburgers at the resort cafe. When we finally rolled out at 2:30 I was feeling queasy. I was trying to stop myself vomiting as we walked the road out of the resort, but when we started going uphill I couldn’t hold it any longer. I puked in the ditch, and spent a few minutes feeling sorry for myself before we hiked on.

I figured I’d have lost a bunch of electrolytes when I retched, so I dropped some Nuun tablets into my water bottle. We made it 14 miles before we decided to make camp, where we were again swarmed by millions of evil f**king mosquitos. I munched on a Clif bar in my tent, not willing to brave the mozzies to cook.

As I lay back in my sleeping bag, I felt my heart flutter – just like it had back near Idyllwild. I held my finger against my neck and took my pulse. It had almost no discernible rhythm. I realised I’d slipped back into atrial fibrillation. I went to sleep and hoped I would cardiovert naturally.

I was still in A-fib when I woke up the next morning. Elk Lake was 31 miles ahead. I hoped my heart would return to normal on the trail, so we packed up camp and headed north. When we reached Charlton Lake four miles later it was still beating erratically. I tried meditating, coughing a lot and a bunch of other tricks to stimulate cardioversion, but with no luck. We spotted a couple of canoers as we worked out what to do, but decided to push on.

A mile later the trail began a gentle climb which left me panting for breath. We stopped by the side of the trail as I agonised over what to do. I remembered Frodo’s advice to us hikers back in San Francisco – “make good choices” – and decided to turn back. Tidbit and I returned to the lake, and found the car park the canoers had come by.

We waited for an hour or so until they returned, and I explained my situation. They were a friendly elderly couple, and agreed to take us back to civilisation. The couple were staying nearby in Oakridge, but drove me all the way to the nearest hospital in Eugene.

I was admitted right away, and was immediately attached to a plethora of electrodes. I’d been expecting a long stay, like my first hospitalisation at Eisenhower, but the doctors at PeaceHealth wasted no time. Given I’d already been diagnosed and knew exactly what was going on there wasn’t much to do but shock me back to normality. They put me under, and then it was all over. I walked out of hospital less than three hours after I’d arrived, sporting a new bright red burn mark on my chest from the defibrillator.

I was stressed out and worried my hike was over. Now stranded in Eugene, we had no idea what to do. I booked us a room at a hotel downtown, and we ordered a Lyft to take us there. The driver who picked us up, a cheery local guy named Chris, offered to take us on a tour of Eugene since I was new to town. He switched off the meter and took us to the spot where legendary Olympic distance runner Steve Prefontaine died in a car accident back in the 70s.

Eugene is the US capital of track and field athletics. The University of Oregon, which is based in the town, is the training ground for America’s Olympic track athletes. Tidbit, a former college track runner, was nerding out. We drove by Hayward Field then stopped for ice cream at Prince Pucklers, a local cult favourite. “Oh hey, that’s Marcus outside,” said Chris. “He’s a Heisman Trophy winner.”

I’m a big football fan, so I went outside to see who it was. It was Tennessee Titans quarterback and Oregon Ducks alum Marcus Mariota. “Holy shit, are you Marcus Mariota?” I asked. “Yep,” he replied. He let me get a photo, then we chatted for a second about the trail. It was a happily bizarre end to my weirdest day on the trail so far.