Saturday, March 15th, 2025, 0540-1400
Desert Hot Springs to Whitewater Preserve, End Section 8e, elevation 2100′
16 miles. Then skip to start of the SDTCT.
I woke early, as I was very eager to get out of the flop hostel and leave Desert Hot Springs behind for good. This was the day I’d finally finish my hike from the Arizona Trail to the Pacific Crest Trail, completing all legs of the Great Western Loop. My layover in DHS was necessary and revitalizing, but I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to leave a town.
I took a bus north a few miles to reconnect to the route where I’d gotten off, then walked some blocks through the remnants of town. As always, I was on high alert for unrestrained dogs… several barked at me but thankfully they were behind fences. But I did see a coyote running around free. It barked at me too. Pretty quickly I broke out into an area that was in various stages of development. There were some dirt roads, paved roads, curbs, and even marked lots. But apparently funding had fallen through and so the area had just become another massive illegal dumping ground.
I passed all manner of trash piles, from furniture to heaps of clothing, cars, electronics, appliances…you name it, it was discarded there. All the unwanted relics of ‘society’ on unwanted land. Humans seemed to think of the desert as the most lowly of environments, essentially a wasteland, but the desert did nothing to us to deserve our disrespect. It merely exists and we choose to see it as useless and to trash it. Our treatment of our only home on this planet is shameful in all regards, and will be the end of us no doubt, but the desert will survive us and go on to do its lonely dance with the wind long after we are gone.
I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or disrespectful about Brett’s routing efforts through these odd lands. After all, I opted to do the extra distance to connect to the PCT and unfortunately that meant going through some undesirable areas. At least Brett did a great job of staying clear of busy roads…better to walk past heaps of junk than get hit by a car, like the poor cat. I do think I might have also passed a few shanty houses where transient people were living, which is something for future hikers to maybe keep in mind.
I finally reached where Mission wash intersected a highway, then followed the access road towards the trailhead. A few cars passed, all day hikers on their way to enjoy nature. I was so relieved to be back on a trail and away from all the trash. Best of all, I saw a sign notating that I only had a few more miles before intersecting the PCT! I was so excited. Maybe I would see another thru-hiker! It was probably too early but there was a chance.
The trail was nice, but really just the continuation of the dirt road at first, leading to a historic stone cabin. There were a few cars parked out front, including a Tesla… apparently if one made a donation and reservation with the local authority, they were granted VIP access past the gate, saving them a few miles of lowly foot travel. Given that I’d been walking since Tucson, lowly foot travel suited me just fine…it was my preferred method. Finally I enjoyed some good single-track for my last mile or so to the PCT.
Just as with my completion of the Triple Crown, there was no fanfare or celebration when I arrived at the PCT to complete my section hike of the 7000 mile Great Western Loop. Because of my mostly solo journeys along these trail segments, no one was even around to acknowledge my finishes. In trying to describe these endeavors to others later, I’d also come to terms with the simple fact that no one really cared. These compilations of miles were all just an arbitrary construct of start\end points anyway. The meaning of it all was only significant to me, deeply intertwined with my memories and experiences formed in the walking of the miles. The hardships of traversing the desert and the beauty of the secret places I’d seen were for me to know and appreciate.
I’d accomplished a lot in completing my first entirely solo route, for which I felt immense pride and satisfaction. It was an extremely challenging year, given the lack of water and early hot conditions, but I’d preserved and gotten by mostly on my own (of course I have to also acknowledge Josh for his help around Tucson, plus Gary, Doug, and Alan for assisting with some crucial water caches).
My reminiscing about my journey was short lived, because not only did I still have 4 miles to go to Whitewater preserve, I also had many hundreds planned for the days and weeks ahead. It was telling that I was in such a good mood, not because I’d reached the end but because I still had the privilege and fortune to keep going awhile longer. I’d contemplated turning north to continue a complete thru hike of the GWL, rehiking the PCT, PNT, CDT, GET and AZT all in one go, plus probably becoming the first woman to do so. It was tempting, since perhaps the hardest part of the loop was already behind me. But I knew I didn’t have it in me. I hadn’t planned for such a massive hike and my timing was off…it would have been way too early to go through the Sierra.
Yet I was still determined and enthusiastic to make it all the way to the Pacific Ocean. I wanted to mirror the PNT in a way, traversing from a distant inland start point to the ocean. What better way to do that than a hike that used to be called the Sea to Sea trail? For some reason it had been renamed the San Diego Trans County Trail, which was a mouthful and not very catchy. Regardless, it sounded fun and my mind was already on this next chapter as I turned south on the PCT.
I arrived at Whitewater Preserve just after 1 pm and loaded up on water (in case I didn’t have a chance to get more before I started a 35 mile dry stretch the next day). It was yet another arbitrary end point but so satisfying, as I recalled it as one of my favorite places during my 2018 PCT hike. There were a lot of visitors on a beautiful Saturday day, so I had no doubt about getting a ride out. My plan was to get to Palm Springs, then take either a bus or uber to make it south to the Salton Sea, start of the SDTCT. I didn’t like that I had to break my footsteps to get there, but I had a plan for mopping-up those in-between miles later too…the PCT, of course.
I made a cardboard sign with my intended destination, but I need not have bothered since I got a ride within minutes. The nice couple drove me to a bus station in Cathedral City, then I took 2 different buses as far as Coachella. I should have probably just gotten an Uber all that way, since the bus rides were long and tedious. While I was making the transfer in Desert Palms, an old lady, maimed from too much plastic surgery and sun, yelled at me to “go beg for money somewhere else!” I was still holding my cardboard sign, hence the confusion. This and the endless mosaic of strip malls, golf courses and resorts left a pretty bad taste in my mouth. Palm Springs seemed about as fake and pretentious as Miami, possibly even worse. I couldn’t wait to get out of the area.
I got some fast food in Coachella and hailed an Uber. It was already 6 pm and the daylight was fading fast. There were no hotels in the area, so if I couldn’t make it to camp at the start of the hike, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. I didn’t even know if I could camp there…it seemed to be in the middle of nowhere but there was a residential development nearby, Desert Shores, which was where I was asking to be dropped off.
I felt bad for the driver that would accept the ride. It was surely out of their way, with no return ride possibilities. Yet a driver did accept within minutes and I breathed a sigh of relief. I was pretty new to using Uber, but figured it would all work out. Minutes later, the driver picked me up in his electric mustang. He tapped the app a few times, loading the route, then quickly pulled over. Apparently he hadn’t actually looked at the details before accepting the ride. He scoffed at the location and distance. He didn’t have enough of a charge to make it there and back, so back he took me to my pickup point. And for this waste of my time, Uber tried to charge me $10. I quickly requested another ride and then had to hassle with filing a customer service request to refund the previous trip. What a bunch of BS.
Thankfully the second driver was on top of things and had no problem with taking me to my destination. Of course, he did question if I was sure that’s where I wanted to go. It was probably one of the stranger rides he ever served. But we had a nice conversation on the way down and I made sure to tip him well. His only parting advice was to not drink the water from the Salton Sea. No worries, I came armed with 6 liters, figuring that would be enough to get me through the next day, plus some final miles to Borrego Springs on day 2.
A 35 mile dry stretch through the desert now seemed like child’s play. Most SDTCT hikers put out water caches, but I’d decided I was desert-hardened enough not to bother. I had the trail legs to do a +30 mile day and was very dialed-in to my water needs. The forecast was also for temps only in the 70s. With my umbrella up, I wouldn’t even break a sweat, and therefore could get by on a little less. I’d shed some items in DHS and barely had any food in my pack, thus was enjoying a slightly lighter load. On the upcoming PCT section, I planned to not even carry more than 2 liters of water. I’d earned a break from the weight.
It was pitch dark when the Uber driver dropped me off at the end of a quiet road. This actually worked to my advantage, since I functioned quite well under the cover of darkness. I walked a little ways away from the houses and towards the shore of the Salton Sea. The sea had long since retreated and was probably over half a mile away, similar to Lake Powell. Later I learned that the whole area was rather a big mistake and the pooling of the already stressed Colorado river water and surrounding agricultural runoff had turned it into a toxic wasteland. When the wind blew, which thankfully it didn’t do this night, the contaminated dust travelled for miles and caused respiratory problems for those that breathed it.
Thankfully I didn’t know any of this at the time, which made for a scenic and peaceful evening as the moon came out to reflect across the flats. To me, the area just smelled like the rotting tide. I had no idea who owned the land, but I was pretty certain it wasn’t public. There were some vehicle tracks in the hard-baked mud, which gave me cause for concern. But I was able to locate a spot in the middle of some creosote bushes, which provided the illusion of protection, at least. I also dragged the remnants of some crab pots? around me to close off some gaps. I didn’t like that it was Saturday night and could even hear the noise of some distant ORVs plowing around in the desert. Somewhere a party was also taking place, with the obvious beat of reggaeton filtering through the dry air.
No bother, I put my earpugs in and walled myself away in my camo tent. Despite my illicit and toxic campsite, damned if I didn’t get my best night of sleep the whole trip. According to my Garmin watch, it was a perfect 100 score, the only time since I began using the watch that I’d managed to achieve one. I guess that’s how satisfied I was about accomplishing all my goals on the journey thus far. I was at peace.