PCT Day 168 – The End

Campsite at approx. PCT mile 2630 on the Holeman Fire Reroute to Canadian Border (mile 2653)

I wake up to leaden grey skies and the knowledge that this is it. Today is our last day on trail. And even though I know this intellectually I somehow don’t feel it, it doesn’t mean anything. Not yet at least. Everything is just, normal. Standard. Starman and I go about our normal morning chores, eating breakfast in the tent to avoid the early morning chill and the damp feel of wet nylon in my hands as I pack away the tent. Like usual, like always, like forever, we are the last ones out of camp. So it goes.

This morning we walk through a forest that seems even sleepier than I am. Only the occasional bird sings out, chattering chipmunks and squirrels remain silent in their burrows while we traipse through the damp understory, brushing dew from the grass and soaking our shoes. The clouds are a heavy grey blanket overhead, lulling the world into nap time. Pushing down all the sounds into the loamy green earth. It is time to sleep, for myself, for this land, for the season. This summer of interminable walking has somehow come to an end and fall has arrived seemingly overnight. Surprising. Though on the climbs my body lets me know that it is ready to be done, far more than my wanderlust mind will naturally consent to. My legs are strained with fatigue, each sinew crying out for the one thing I have withheld for all these months. Rest rest rest. Time to recover, time to be still, time to use my body in new ways to accomplish new things. But not quite yet. We still have 20 miles to go.

Our trail winds down into a low valley before beginning a long climb back out. Starman says he’s going to put in his audio book and I joke that he should be spending today in quiet contemplation of all that we have done this summer. He turns to me surprised. “Really?” I don’t know. It feels like what I should be doing, even though my brain cannot seem to muster any sort of profound emotional catharsis. This is simply my morning commute, eating snacks in the dirt is my lunch hour, our tent has become my home. All of it tangled up in such normalcy that I find I don’t have much novelty to emote towards. Humans are such supremely adaptable creatures, for good and bad. We can adapt to suffering and to great comfort, to wearing shorts in all weather and to climate controlled office cubicles. And I, and we, have adapted to this life outdoors. To the rigors of a nomadic life within the constraints of following a trail to Canada. And in the way that distance mutes the extremes of the past, I reflect on our five month hike and feel as though it were lived by someone else. Was that really me who hiked across the desert in 104 degree heat and spent an afternoon huddling under I-10? Me who minced terrified across snow fields? Subsisted on potato chips and American cheese? Dug and pooped in innumerable catholes? Or maybe I have simply come into being in the space between this step and the last, fully formed and filled with a stranger’s memories. I do not have the faintest comprehension of recollection, sometimes my life barely feels real.

Then ten miles from the border the weight of this entire rediculous thing becomes so undeniably real that I am reduced to tears. Though I cannot tell you exactly why or what I am feeling. Proud. Sad. Happy. Overwhelmed. Yes, overwhelmed is as close as words can get. What have we done? What have we failed to do? Am I any different today than I was 168 days ago when I stood at the Mexican border and looked north with a plan and hope and not the slightest clue of what was to come? In some ways yes, I have undeniably changed—though I imagine that these changes will only be visible with the distance of time and the space during which I can observe what new ideas will stick to my person and become me and which ideas will be discarded. Because in many ways I am not all that different today than I was when I started this hike.

There is a great fallacy within the narrative of adventure travel. One than tells us that travel will invariably cause dramatic change. We want to believe that a thru hike is the onus with which one completely alters their life. However, many or most of us who have undetaken a long hike will return to the lives, people, and cities that we came from. The details may change, but the essence will remain largely the same. Our experiences will manifest themselves in more subtle ways, ways that don’t make for bestselling novels. This story of city girl gone wild and then returned is far less romantic than what we want to believe. Honestly may be a great many things but it is rarely sexy. Of course the narrative of wilderness escape is not without it’s truth. Though from what I have seen, the people who are prone to eschew societal norms in favor of a life of adventure are those whose grasp on the status quo was already tenuous. Those with the fewest societal attachments and a nomadic personality before the trail are the selfsame people who may choose to relinquish their hold on normal forever. It certainly makes for a better story. But these people are not the majority, and they are certainly not me.

Four miles to the border and the clouds shatter apart, giving way to streams of sunlight and warmth. It is quite literally all down hill from here and I wonder if we will be lucky enough to reach the northern terminus beneath the sun. If I have leaned to do anything during the course of the hike it is to walk fast, letting my legs carry me quickly onwards. The bushes alongside the trail become a blur of greens capped with blooming oranges, reds, and yellows. But I barely see the colors, I barely register any of it until I see the clear-cut which demarcates the border. Etched razor straight across the land, this human marker of possession. The silly need to tell a handful of smelly hikers and unknowing animals that this right here is the border between two friendly nations. But behind the rediculous nationalistic meaning this strip of barren land tells me something else—we are almost there.

And isn’t it funny how nothing is ever like you expect it to be. The border clear-cut leads my eyes into the valley where the northern terminus must sit. Within 100 meters I can see the monument through the trees, not in a single great reveal but in a questioning “I think that’s it” squinting. And then we really are there. It’s right in front of us and I turn and hold onto Starman for a while and cry into his shoulder for only a few moments, my emotional depth having been exercised some hours before. Still, this does not diminish the astonishment that we’ve really done it; the knowledge that the odds were never really in our favor means that I never let myself fully imagine this moment. The unflattering truth is that I’ve always leaned towards being pessimistic and right over optimistic and disappointed. But today I am gloriously wrong and I love everything about it.

We are the only ones at the monument. And isn’t that fitting. Though the trail register reveals that today dozens of hikers have come before us and that some will certainly finish after, for now it is just us. For thousands of miles and many months it has been Starman and myself. How apt that we should arrive at the finish in the same way. Wide eyed and a little bemused with no one to stand witness besides ourselves. We spend an hour taking pictures, funny ones, happy ones, cute ones, until we can’t think of what else to do. I look to Starman and say “think about anything you want to get a picture of now because we’re probably never coming back here.” And in the resounding truth crater of that statement we are left dumb, staring at each other and not knowing what else to do.

When finally there are no more pictures to be taken and the trail register has been read and signed we shoulder our packs one last time. Leaving the little clearing and walking north into the forest, as it had been since the beginning, as it continued to be until the very end, just the two of us.

Thank you!

First and most importantly thank you to Starman, my boyfriend and hiking partner. Thank you for being our navigator, finding the most fun alternates, and giving me your pineapple gummy bears. This trip would not have been the same without you. I am so very proud of you and love you more than I can say.

Next, thank you to my parents for sending our resupply boxes, being endlessly supportive, and sending extra gluten free snacks and birthday cake in the mail. To Ian for sending our Washington boxes and letting us use your house as a mail drop, and never once complaining. You are so very appreciated.

Thank you to the Miller family – Carol, Bob, and Kyle for coming to visit us on trail. As well as Victor, Mac, Julie, Mihai, Angel, Patient, Iceman, Garbo and Connor, Aaron, Andrea, Mike and Joyce, for either coming out to see us or letting us crash at your place or giving us rides. It was always a joy to see your clean and shining faces.

Thank you to everyone who contributed financially to this blog via my Tip Jar —your support made this hike all the more feasible and I will always appreciate those who fund the content they enjoy. You all made me feel like a real writer. To those who left toughtful comments and questions, I read every single message and even though I didn’t always have a chance to reply, I was grateful for every one. And finally thank you to everyone who read this blog, be it once or every single post. Your support did, and continues to, mean a lot.

What’s Next for Me?

Right after the trail I’ll be traveling for a month. Before the trail I spent two years working multiple jobs in order to save money for this trip. And I am lucky enough to have a little extra in order to afford some additional travel. First I’ll be heading to Colorado for a week to visit family and relax. Then, in October I’ll be traveling to Thailand for three weeks with my sister and a good friend from school. I plan to do some writing about these adventures, so stay tuned!

After Thailand I’ll be moving to Seattle! One of the things I’m looking forward to most after the trail is fully relocating to Seattle. It is a city I have loved for a long time and I am thrilled to finally get the chance to live there. I will be looking for work, ideally in a creative capacity within the outdoor industry so if you have any contacts or are maybe even hiring yourself please reach out.

What’s Next for Wild Country Found?

Now that the PCT is over I’m going to be posting on this blog somewhat less frequently—I’ll try and aim for once a week when I’m traveling or have exciting adventures to share. You can always follow me over on Instagram at KayMKieffer or by searching “Kara on the Outside.” I post on Instagram far more frequently than on this blog, making it an excellent place to keep up with what I’m doing. However if you’d like to see anything specific on this site please reach out and let me know.