Month: June 2018

Campsite at mile 1003 to Kerrick Creek (mile 980)

Total PCT miles hiked: 1258

Due to our early start Keith (Starman) and I arrived at the Sierras when there was still a lot of snow, and decided it wasn’t safe to attempt a crossing given my skill level. We elected to flip up to northern California and hike southbound (SoBo) back to where we left off near Lone Pine – giving the snow a chance to melt out. During this flip the PCT milage will be counting down, but I’ll include a tally of our total milage hiked so that you can keep aprised of our progress in a linear fashion.

The trail, with it’s unending beauty and the ample free time one can devote to thinking, is excellent environment for learning about oneself. I would argue that this typically comes in the form of self reflection, especially the sort that revolves around ones priories in life. Sometimes however, the trail simply comes out and bitch smacks the ever-living hell out of you. Forcing you to decide in the feet and miles of the day just how stubborn, just how tenacious you’re willing to be.

Today was most certainly the later.

In which I learned that we were too proud and too vain to schedule such a day-but we did it anyway. In short, too full of that special brand of PCT thru hiker hubris. Tandemly, I also learned that 23 Sierra miles is dauntingly harder than 23 miles at any other point on the trail. The kind of hard where I found myself pulling my reluctant body up the final climb of the day. Behind me is chasm of granite and pine trees. Water gushing across the rocks and across the trail as it starts it’s hundreds foot plummet to the valley floor. I am learning on my poles, using my entire back along with every muscle in my aching legs to groan up this last 1,000 foot climb. Even though it’s painful in that eleventh hour burn of muscle fatigue that all endurance athletes know, I’m going to haul my panting carcass up this climb and back down the other side. Because doing so gets me that much closer to Tuolomne Meadows, where there are burgers and generic soft serve ice cream. And today I learned that apparently I’m willing to struggle over mountain passes for 12 hours just to get a little closer to a burger and some ice cream.

Sonora Pass (mile 1017) to campsite at mile 1003

Total PCT miles hiked: 1235

Due to our early start Keith (Starman) and I arrived at the Sierras when there was still a lot of snow, and decided it wasn’t safe to attempt a crossing given my skill level. We elected to flip up to northern California and hike southbound (SoBo) back to where we left off near Lone Pine – giving the snow a chance to melt out. During this flip the PCT milage will be counting down, but I’ll include a tally of our total milage hiked so that you can keep aprised of our progress in a linear fashion.

Sometimes it’s better not to know what’s coming. To dance joyful in the absolution of knowledge. As with many things in life, and many things on the PCT, knowing a little is being prepared while knowing a lot will freeze you in your tracks. Today I knew the climb up and over Sonora Pass would be challenging and snowy, and that is all I elected to know. The truth is, I can well and truly freak myself out on snow crossings, or talus fields, or lose rock. It is all too easy to let my mind run away with the thousands of what-ifs and maybes of fear. Or perhaps the real truth is that I am only now learning to cope with things that are out of my control.

The first snow crossing of note stretches long and low across the front face of a bowl. As we approach two hikers ease themselves onto the snow and begin the slow march towards us. We must cede right of way to them, which also provides a good moment to sit down and put on our snow cleats. Once it’s our turn to cross, the spikes of steel on our feet turn us into some sort of upright snow lizard, able to grip with ease to any angle of snow. Focusing on one foot after another I am surprised to see Keith a few hundred feet behind me. I’m never the fast one on snow crossings, but maybe I’m getting better, maybe this doesn’t have to be so hard. Across the first snow field we wash our cleats in a seasonal steam, discussing as we pack away our things how overblown hikers made this pass seem. We are cocky, we made it across the snow easily, we are also dead wrong. This is not the last, nor the longest snow crossing, but with a warm breeze blustering around us and a clear blue sky above we merrily hike on, unaware of what is to come.

We haven’t made it 100 meters before we cross onto another snow field, a short and easy stretch which we don’t bother to put our traction on. Beyond that there is another snow band cutting right across the trail and another – it’s becoming somewhat of a theme.

The afternoon passes with agonizing slowness. As often as not we arrive at a snow field to find a group of northbound hikers in the process of crossing, forcing us to wait. Some scamper across while others move more cautiously, while others still cross the snow so slowly that I start to think that the whole pass will have melted out by the time they get to us. Alas, I am not so lucky. But the slow hikers do give me something, undistracted time during which the only real thing to watch is the other hikers crossing the snow. This thing that I hate, that freaks me out more than almost any other aspect of this trip I am watching and doing all day long. Time and again until there is little fear left, until the emotional and physical exertion is simply too much to hold onto, and so I relinquish them. I cannot maintain the effort of getting worked up over every snow crossing. Somehow, mercifully the anxiety fades into a background hum, replaced by something that if nurtured might just grow into competence.

Campsite at mile 1030 to Sonora Pass (mile 1017)

Total PCT miles hiked: 1221

Due to our early start Keith (Starman) and I arrived at the Sierras when there was still a lot of snow, and decided it wasn’t safe to attempt a crossing given my skill level. We elected to flip up to northern California and hike southbound (SoBo) back to where we left off near Lone Pine – giving the snow a chance to melt out. During this flip the PCT milage will be counting down, but I’ll include a tally of our total milage hiked so that you can keep aprised of our progress in a linear fashion.

Keith wakes me at 5:30am. He seems eager to go and ushers me to start eating breakfast. This is an irony that is not lost on my sleep-foggy brain; every time I try and wake us up at 5:30am Keith complains until I change it to 6am. Today however, Keith wants to get up early and into Kennedy Meadows North, so of course we’re doing it. This is one of those arguments that’s not worth having – I begin to get ready. Except here is the thing, I just don’t feel like it today. I don’t want to deal with an unknown snowy climb over a pass that’s been described to us as both no big deal, and kind of a scary mess. I don’t want to hike uphill on tired legs, or put on gross sunscreen, or don the same dirty shirt I’ve been wearing all week. But here is the other thing, the trail doesn’t care about how I feel or what I might want to do. The climb won’t be shorter or easier because I’m not in the mood, mother nature didn’t really consider my fragile human emotions when she ruptured the Sierra Nevada into the sky. So we hike out, there is nothing else for it.

Hours later we are sitting on top of the world. The climb being closer to no big deal than scary – not that I didn’t post hole up to my hip several times. From our spot on the ridge we can see the Eastern edge of the mountains as they slowly unfold into green foothills that give way to rolling valleys. Keith points out that we can see into Nevada from here. What to do with that information.

I stare towards the horizon, as though I might see a line marking this geographic border, as though by looking hard enough I’ll be able to read California and Nevada written across the land. But of course there is nothing to see besides an endless tract of land expanding down and away from me into what feels like forever. I suppose compared to my tiny human form and brief mammalian life it might as well be forever. Behind me, circling on three sides are a vast reaching mountain range. Dark brown soil that smells of water and life breaks apart at the edge of snow fields which smooth the sharp peaks into gargantuan bowls of white.

All at once it strikes me that I will never be able to see all of these mountains. Even if I made it my life’s mission I could never witness every skyward peak, every brook rumbling with winter melt, every meadow thrumming with life. A permission of sorts, that I need not try. That no matter how hard I strive I will always be so small in this great wide world. A feeling that is at once liberating and terrifying, to know your true place in the world. There is a deep chasm of smallness into which I’ve been tossed, and I don’t know if I really want to climb out.

Campsite at mile 1051 to campsite at mile 1030

Total PCT miles hiked: 1208

Due to our early start Keith (Starman) and I arrived at the Sierras when there was still a lot of snow, and decided it wasn’t safe to attempt a crossing given my skill level. We elected to flip up to northern California and hike southbound (SoBo) back to where we left off near Lone Pine – giving the snow a chance to melt out. During this flip the PCT milage will be counting down, but I’ll include a tally of our total milage hiked so that you can keep aprised of our progress in a linear fashion.

In no particular order –

1 Day. Glorious and clear blue not a cloud in the sky. Not a single one. A strong, playful breeze to cool the day, almost as if to mark the day as the last of spring, not the first of summer.

21 Miles Hiked.

4200 Feet of Gain Climbed.

19 Creeks. Burbling out of notches in rock faces, sparkling leaping joyful in whitewater streams, seeping wide and low across neon green valley floors.

Four Water Collection Stops. Grateful for the few mosquitos at these higher elevations, and the corresponding decease in itchy legs.

One Each Breakfast. Lunch. Snack. Dinner.

2 Lakes. Reflecting the best blue crayon blue. You’d almost believe they were trying to out blue the sky.

39 White Dudes with Beards

9 Women

1 Million Wild Flowers. In shining yellows and pastel reds and every so often an iridescent purple.

Campsite at mile 1072 to campsite at mile 1051

Total PCT miles hiked: 1187

Due to our early start Keith (Starman) and I arrived at the Sierras when there was still a lot of snow, and decided it wasn’t safe to attempt a crossing given my skill level. We elected to flip up to northern California and hike southbound (SoBo) back to where we left off near Lone Pine – giving the snow a chance to melt out. During this flip the PCT milage will be counting down, but I’ll include a tally of our total milage hiked so that you can keep aprised of our progress in a linear fashion.

Today we marched relentlessly towards a skyline like broken, blackened teeth that looked ready to snap shut and swallow the sky. Massive turrets of dark brown and grey volcanic rock towering over the landscape before crumbling apart into the valley floor, a burst of sunny green. Such an astonishingly novel section of trail, standing in stark contrast to the towering white granite laviathins which lurk south of Yosemite, as unlike the endless ridgelines of pine trees to the north. This is a land distinctly marked by it’s volcanic past. A complete, yet delightful, surprise from the trail; both Keith and myself unaware of what lay here. It’s one of the things I treasure about the trail, these delightful surprises, and something I think I’ll miss most when it’s over.

It’s baffling to think that this trip is nearing it’s half way mark. That this endless romping summer camp will one day come to an end. I’m not looking forward to the day when I turn away from this life of exquisite simplicity and return to the world of office furniture and morning commutes. Though it seems inevitable that I will, as the majority of people on the trail will. Few and far between are the hikers who spend a season multiple years in a row attempting long distance hikes. They do exist, and their disproportionate volume of time spent hiking and the corresponding social media they create can give a false sense that everyone who hikes the trail uses it as a means to flee society at large. Yet, the vast majority of hikers will complete their hike and then return to their lives, communities, and jobs.

Personally, the idea of returning to work at the end of this hike would not be terribly alarming were it not for the fact that I am almost entirely clueless as to what I will do. After leaving a less than coherent career path in LA, I’ve been set adrift in the vast world and have rather lost sight of shore in the intervening months. Beginning to think about how I want to live my life after this hike feels a bit like trying to row to shore, only to realize that you don’t know which way to go. This makes answering the question “what are you going to do for work,” which, is still a common question on trail, rather daunting. My whole life I’ve observed that people are a tad unsettled whenever you respond with: I don’t know. In the same way people are confused by children who don’t have a canned reply to being asked what they want to be when they grow up. I have often felt, and continue to feel that I am totally lost when it comes to a career path. It’s not something people want to hear. Humans very much like categories and boxes and when you’re not sure which box you want to go in, you tend to get a hollow reply of “I’m sure you’ll be fine.” After which the topic is changed. Beyond that, these people are relative strangers who I in no way expect to help me figure out the central pillar that Americans build our lives around: work.

However, this is part of a larger issue, one which quitting my job, leaving my life, and living on savings is forcing me to contemplate. It’s as though stepping away from the norm ever so slightly has allowed a little objective distance to creep in. It is very easy, or at least it was for me, to live life when there are clear expectations placed on you. A support structure and the privilege of adults who care of what comes of you. School, good grades, college, job. Between six and twenty-something there was a roadmap to which I could navigate my life without the need to spend a lot of time reflecting on what I wanted l from my life.

I once told an elementary school friend that maybe I’d drive a car with ads on the side, because every other job that I knew of at that age seemed like crap. She wanted to be an actress and a writer. In middle school graduation we did these skits where the teachers did a “where will they be in 20 years” sort of thing. Some of them were so accurate it was uncanny and I marveled at the way these adults had so perfectly assessed the talents and predispositions of my friends and classmates. When my turn came they predicted that I would be a veterinarian. I had never expressed the slightest interest in being a veterinarian; I was far too pragmatic a child and understood that being a vet would be sad and gross most of the time. I remember realizing that these people I’d spent three years with didn’t know me at all.

Hiking today I was thinking about how the very things we struggle with in our everyday lives are the same things we struggle with on the trail. Another truth in cliche; wherever you go, there you are. And beyond that, how this amazing section we walked through today feels reminiscent of my understanding of the world. Yes, I have a map, broadly detailed. But there are so many sections that are blank via the very nature of being a human with limitations. Those unavoidable, sometimes cruel feeling limitations that bind everything. Even thru hikes.

Hiking, climbing peaks, exploration, these things are not inherently life changing. They are nothing more or less than what we bring to them, the meaning we inscribe on them. It is a falacy to believe that taking a five month walking vacation will change your life without considerable effort on your part. That simply walking through the mountains will imbue you with some grand life knowledge. No, it is the time to think and ask the big scary questions that, in the absence of infinite distraction, might allow one to focus on all the unhatched dreams. Maybe what I really I need is to start really rowing towards something.

Echo Summit (mile 1090) to campsite at mile 1072

Total PCT miles hiked: 1166

Due to our early start Keith (Starman) and I arrived at the Sierras when there was still a lot of snow, and decided it wasn’t safe to attempt a crossing given my skill level. We elected to flip up to northern California and hike southbound (SoBo) back to where we left off near Lone Pine – giving the snow a chance to melt out. During this flip the PCT milage will be counting down, but I’ll include a tally of our total milage hiked so that you can keep aprised of our progress in a linear fashion.

The climb from Lake Tahoe is unrelentingly steep. Meaning that the speed that I cultivated in northern California betrays me into going faster than I can sustain at this elevation. I am forced to stop often, allowing ample time to observe Lake Tahoe far below, receding little by little until it no longer dominates the landscape. This giant lake that wee have paralleled for days becomes nothing more than the bright blue bottom of a valley in the distance; from above the water appears calm, belyeing the infinite depth of the water.

The trail is granite stairs snaking through dense forest, steps cut right into the stone made by those with longer legs than myself. The rock, the dirt, the snow, all of it is taking us up up up through the trees until we are deposited without fanfare or ado onto the side of a sweeping verdant valley. Above rests a larger than life sky, pocked with cheery white clouds, floating on high like so many whimsical sky ships.

We have arrived, via this narrow strip of dirt into a land so picturesque that it forces one to stop walking in order to better observe the scene before you. Literally pulls you to a stop in order to fully look into the face of the land. Crescents of white spring snow give shape and form to the rolling green hills, while simultaneously being baked by the late afternoon sun into rivulets of water that pour into the valley. Creeks run high, bursting over their banks as though the water bubbling and rolling through the channels can barely be contained by simple soil and stone. We traverse through the depth of this valley on earth which is soft and damp below our feet, held in this special place by a nature that is kind and good and generous to her small, transient children. Looking further afield I am awed by the riot of color interjected by clumps of wildflowers into this landscape of green. As though they too wish to be seen and celebrated under the sky so blue.

These are the days and moments without compare. When the world cracks open around you and for a few glorious, fleeing moments you feel as though there is no place you would rather be. No place you could be, because surely, surely this landscape is where you’re meant to be. What a feeling to be suspended in time and space, left to simply walk through a land of immense beauty, embraced by the warm sun and caressed by the cool wind, while deep within your bones something thrums to life and whispers that things will be ok.

Dick’s Lake (mile 1108) to Echo Summit (mile 1090)

Total PCT miles hiked: 1148

Due to our early start Keith (Starman) and I arrived at the Sierras when there was still a lot of snow, and decided it wasn’t safe to attempt a crossing given my skill level. We elected to flip up to northern California and hike southbound (SoBo) back to where we left off near Lone Pine – giving the snow a chance to melt out. During this flip the PCT milage will be counting down, but I’ll include a tally of our total milage hiked so that you can keep aprised of our progress in a linear fashion.

Two strangers appear to be waving at us from the shores of Echo Lake as we descend towards the road under leaden grey skies. I wave back merrily because if nothing else, the PCT has taught me to embrace odd moments. It’s a good thing too, because upon closer inspection the strangers turn out to be Joyce and Mike—Keith’s friends from work who are here to give us a ride into town. We weren’t sure if they’d be able to meet us and I’m so grateful they’re here; saving us a hitch into town and ensuring that we’ll get to eat pizza. Heck yes.

After dinner and many pets of

Joyce’s dog Zeb, they abandon us to grocery shop while they head back to their lives in Berkeley. Goodbye friends, thank you for the food and company!

We are wandering the over stocked, over lit, and overwhelming aisles of Raleys South Lake Tahoe when I spy Hulk sitting at a table with two hikers I do not know. They have bad news, he and Lite Brite are getting off the trail. They’ve run low on money and are pulling the plug.

What do you say to news like this? I’m sorry, that sucks, oh no? Everything I can offer feels hollow and superficial. I imagine that the choice was an agonizing one, and that their good humor about the decision is something that has only bloomed once the sting of leaving the trail has mellowed. They say they’ll come back and finish the trail next year, and I really hope they do. I was so sure they’d make it to the end that their pending departure has left me feeling unmoored. This news comes on the back of learning that at least three other people we’ve hiked with are also ending their hikes. When we all started out in the desert it felt impossible to know who would make it and who wouldn’t, who would come to love the trail and who would hate it. I guess it’s still impossible to know.

Unlike traditional sports where there is a clearly designated winner and loser, a first place and a last, there is no reason that everybody can’t finish their thru hike. Or rather, there are many reasons people do not finish their thru hikes, but there are no set number of finish places every year. And because there is no need to scurry for a limited number of finish places, there is a desire for everyone to succeed. I wanted Hulk and Lite Brite to finish as much as I wanted every hiker I’ve met to finish. Learning that someone is getting off the trail strikes at something deep within me. Empathy, sympathy, sure. But if I’m being honest, it’s also a little scary. A reminder that we control less of the world around us than we’d ever like to admit. That sometimes doing your best doesn’t get you all the way to the finish line. That nothing, nothing is certain in life and that is the scariest thing to accept. I think many of us are taught that if we follow the road map and the rules we’ll arrive at life’s destination happy, unharmed, and fulfilled. It’s certainly a more comforting world view than the idea that we’re all just doing the best we can while roaming around through mostly chaos. Then again, maybe we’d be better served by learning how to float within the randomness of life, instead of striving to cling to what we think should be. Good luck Hulk and Lite Brite! I hope to see you in Washington next year, the trail magic is on me.

Four mile hike from hwy 89 toBarker Pass (mile 1125) to Dick’s Lake (mile 1108)

Total PCT miles hiked: 1130 (including the 11 miles between Five Lakes and Barker Pass which we did not hike.)

Due to our early start Keith (Starman) and I arrived at the Sierras when there was still a lot of snow, and decided it wasn’t safe to attempt a crossing given my skill level. We elected to flip up to northern California and hike southbound (SoBo) back to where we left off near Lone Pine – giving the snow a chance to melt out. During this flip the PCT milage will be counting down, but I’ll include a tally of our total milage hiked so that you can keep aprised of our progress in a linear fashion.

I first hiked into the Desolation Wilderness in the summer of 2016. I was high on solo backpacking, using an old day pack and borrowed gear from Keith I had been spending nearly every weekend in the backcountry. Embarking on my most ambitious hike yet, I planned a circuitous figure eight loop—exclusively because it was the only permit I could get—that would traverse the entire wilderness in three days. The trip ultimately proved to be a comedy of errors. During my three days tromping around: I got more mosquito bites than I ever have in my entire life. Lost the trail not once but twice, which resulted in me walking the PCT past Middle Velma Lake repeatedly as I tried to find my way on low res paper maps. In the end I basically hiked in circles for two days before bailing early only to return to a car with a dead battery because I’d left the headlights on when I’d crawled out through the passengers side door. You see, the front fender on the car had been jammed back when I’d hit a deer on the drive up, and as a result the front drivers door wouldn’t open. Yes, I also hit a deer while driving Keith’s car, or rather it hit me as it sprinted to it’s untimely death upon the side of the vehicle.

At least I can honestly say I’ve become a more proficient backpacker in the intervening years. And have killed no more deer.

I have such vivid memories of this place that it feels as though the 2016 trip has been superimposed on the landscape around me. Campsites and missed trail markers remind me of settling on a site above the lake where in the morning I would easily find the missed trail that I was so sure didn’t exist. Or the side trail where I emerged from a swamp onto the PCT with no fewer than 50 mosquito bites—a number that would swell to 80 before the weekend was out. I counted.

Memory vignettes slide across the screen in my mind and I marvel at the feeling of fondness bubbling up for an experience which at the time felt a complete fiasco. Time has worn the sharp edges from memory and the misery of Type 2 Fun has been long ago morphed into the kind of good story you can laugh at. It also helps that I can see the improvements rendered on myself. More capable, better traveled in the outdoors.

What is more striking, however, is the different face of Desolation. Just a few weeks earlier in the season and the area feels wildly changed. Long snow fields hide the green grass and bright wild flowers of July. While rivers run hight, loud, and white from water that pours from the hills. Snow melting fast as we approach the longest day of the year. The lakes feel the same, a visual anchor of sorts. It makes me question, a little, my tendency to want to see everything, try everything just once. The pull deep within myself that wants to explore more than know intimately. I am not really the type to return to the same lakes in a high alpine valley and see how they change with the seasons. Sometimes I wonder if that is a mistake. Is it indeed better to know one thing deeply, or many things superficially?

Triple zero in Lake Tahoe with Keith’s parents. No hiking.

We’re taking three days off in South Lake Tahoe to rest and visit with Keith’s parents. On our last full day off the trail I got the opportunity to take a glider ride with Keith’s dad. Honestly, I wasn’t really stoked on the idea, I was scared. Which is odd because I really like flying. But with a glider it feels like there is no room for error. Just a tiny, fiberglass cabin with wings, oh and a 4,000 foot drop to the ground. However, being brave isn’t the absence of fear, it’s being scared and doing it anyway, and beyond that I wanted my time on and around the PCT to when I pushed myself to do new things.

Try everything once, right?

And now for some light house keeping.

First – thank you to everybody who is reading this blog, commenting or liking my posts, or sending me money via my tip jar link. I don’t always have to reply to every comment or get the chance to say how much your readership means to me. I’m very flattered that so many of you have decided to join me on this adventure. Thank you so much.

Second – if you can, I’d love for you to share my blog or Instagram with a friend of yours, or via your social media accounts. Even just reposting your favorite post of mine goes a long way towards drawing in new folks. After the trail I would like to continue writing, and maybe even find a way to turn it into a job – this will be a lot easier if I have a substantial blog and social media following. I know that’s a little bit of how the sausage gets made, but it’s true and you’re support means a lot. Thank you!

Campsite at mile 1138 to Five Lakes Trail (mile 1136, plus four miles road walk to highway 89)

Total PCT miles hiked: 1102

Due to our early start Keith (Starman) and I arrived at the Sierras when there was still a lot of snow, and decided it wasn’t safe to attempt a crossing given my skill level. We elected to flip up to northern California and hike southbound (SoBo) back to where we left off near Lone Pine – giving the snow a chance to melt out. During this flip the PCT milage will be counting down, but I’ll include a tally of our total milage hiked so that you can keep aprised of our progress in a linear fashion.

This morning we discover that the Five Lakes Trail is less than two miles from where we camped. This is relevant because we are looking for a way to bail into South Lake Tahoe, and if we take this side trail paired with a two mile road walk we can be at highway 89 this morning. Yes. Done. This is it, we are heading into town a day and a half early.

This decision is based on a few factors, one being that Keith’s parents are meeting us in South Lake in three days time and given our slower pace due to the snow, we’re not sure we’d make it. When we initially planned this section—64 miles with 10,000 feet of gain in three days with unknown snow conditions—it was going to be challenging but achievable. However, when we only made it 15 miles yesterday that original plan became immediately unachievable. The second, and frankly more significant reason is that I am tired and on the verge of burn out and I just need a break where I can sit around and do nearly nothing. Not hours of writing, scheduling, and posting followed by hours of errands, emails, and phone calls—as an average zero day consists of. But a day of well and truly nothing.

I recognize that hanging out with Keith’s parents will be days off trail as well in which my body can recoup, but hanging out with your partners parents is never truly relaxing, is it. Even though I really like Keith’s family, especially his mom who I have often told him is especially cool. You’re a rad lady, Carol! I know it’s going to feel more like being at a friend’s slumber party where you’re having good time, but you know you need to be on your best behavior and volunteer to help clean up after dinner because your parents raised you right. And I don’t want to volunteer to help clean up! For a day, a day, I want to be my most basic, slovenly self.

We reach highway 89 at 11am. Three hitches with three different people, one Lyft, and 38 miles later we are posted up at a hotel on State Line looking up the best buffets in Tahoe. Heck. Yes.