I never used to be a peakbagger.
For a long time, I never even really hiked to the tops of mountains. And then, sort of as a joke, I built an entire trip to Death Valley's Owlshead Mountains to hike the Lowest Peak in the Park. Because if you're going to hike a peak, why not the lowest?
That led to hiking the highest, and I'm now a little more than halfway through hitting the highest peaks in the Death Valley ranges.
I'm still not a peakbagger, but I have found that I like a good summit.
Today would be just that. We were headed to the highest point in the Klamath Mountains. To an elevation of 9,037 feet. To the top of Mt. Eddy.
Knowing that we wanted to get to the top not earlier than noon - so the sun was in the right part of the sky for some photos I hoped would present themselves, we kicked off down the trail a little later than usual; it was 8:40am, and in the shade, it was chilly! It wasn't windy, but we both wore a shell over our usual attire, trying to keep as much of the heat in as we could. Plus, I got to wear my new hiking shoes for the second time, and we were both sporting our new hiking poles!
The hike to Mt. Eddy is really a combination affair. The first several miles - through Deadfall Meadows - would see us skirt the edge of the Deadfall Lakes. Then, climbing out of the bowl, we'd gain the ridge and follow it higher through a series of switchbacks to the summit.
Suspecting that the second half would be a slog, we tried to make reasonably good time along the lower portion. Plus, did I mention it was cold? The solution to that, is speed!
Within half an hour, we'd covered a mile and a half, crossing the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) as we neared middle Deadfall Lake. There, several trails intersect, and given what I'm sure is a steady flow of traffic, there were several signs pointing in various directions in order to orient spatially-challenged visitors. Walking between the two groupings of arrows, I quickly realized that in addition to not being a peakbagger, I was also - now - officially not a distance trekker, but I had hiked a part of the PCT!
After joshing around for a bit about my trekking prowess, we pressed on. A small detour to Middle Deadfall Lake - beautiful, but crawling with people, even at this time of day - the terrain changed as we began the climb to the upper bowl.
A bit more up to gain the ridge and before we knew it we were at the saddle. With around a mile to the summit, it was finally warm enough to shed our outer layer; to soak in the sights in all directions; to have a snack. It was, plain and simple, procrastination.
Knowing that there was only one way we'd feel accomplished when hiking down, we pushed the points of our poles into the rocky terrain and headed up. One foot in front of the other, the poles allowing our arms to get in on the action, we made reasonable progress. At the very least, we were not slouches.
Or at least, it didn't seem so, until we were passed by a dude who was jogging up the trail. Show off.
No matter, our pace was much more conducive to enjoying the beauty of the undulating landscape unfolding to the west.
Soon, we were completely out of the trees, one switchback leading to the next, each switchback presenting views more distant than the last. This section of trail had us dodging piles of horse poop, apparently - we'd learn from a pair of hikers we'd pass - belonging to a wild herd of 11 friendly giants they'd run into on their way up.
"Keep your eye out," they said. "They were friendly!"
We were so caught up in the views from our current position to the distant western horizon that we - or at least I - completely forgot what lay in store for us at the summit. And so, as we reached the end of the final switchback, we were smacked in the face by something even more astounding. For the first time all morning, Mt. Shasta towered overhead.
The summit of Mt. Eddy is a popular place. It'd take us a while to find the summit log - it was unburied in plain sight - but when we did, every page of the three notebooks inside was jam-packed with the names of the hikers who'd conquered this hill before us. Dating all the way back to mid-July 2026, six weeks before our arrival. And yet, somehow, we had the place to ourselves!
Taking advantage of our isolation, I tossed our little buddy into the air for a better view.
Nestled into the ruins of the old fire lookout, it was time for lunch. For me, that was some more of the Asian chicken slaw that we'd eaten for dinner the previous evening. @mrs.turbodb dug into a chickpea kale and crispy red rice salad from Trader Joe's that apparently tasted significantly better than the name suggested. Munching away, we marveled at the views, and at how "not bad" the entire hike had seemed. Maybe we really were onto something with the poles!
Our time alone on the top lasted less than fifteen minutes. As another couple - and then another - joined us in amazement, we quickly realized that we'd been at the start of a long train of day hikers, out to enjoy the splendor of this little slice of the world. And, knowing that we'd get to enjoy it the entire way down, we picked up our poles and started our descent.
Even though it was only a little after noon as gravity assisted us off the mountain, it seemed only prudent to double-time it to the trailhead. This would allow us to tick off a few more miles of backcountry driving before finding a spot to camp for the night, and set us up nicely to wrap up the route the following afternoon. Of course, calling something double-time sounds fast, but is only a comparison to our usual speed. And remember, I stop for a lot of photos, usually.
This time, we only stopped for a few!
There weren't many wildflowers this time of year - it was, after all, nearly fall - but as we traced the shore of Upper Deadfall Lake, I noticed these two hiding in the grass at the water's edge.
And then, as we were nearing the trailhead, @mrs.turbodb stopped in her tracks. We'd been discussing - earlier, as she'd read the trail description from Day Hiking Mt. Shasta, Lassen, and Trinity Alps Regions - how cool it would be to see some predatory plants, but we'd both completely forgotten to look for any on our way up. Luckily, as we were traipsing through a particularly boggy section on the way down, she'd glanced a few feet off the trail and boom - an entire colony of the meat-eating menaces.
It took us less than two hours to complete our trek back, and by 2:00pm we'd dusted off our pants, folded up our poles, and stowed our packs, ready to resume the seating position.
It was a position we wouldn't enjoy for long; we'd soon find that my hike-distribution skills were apparently absent as I'd planned this particular outing.
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