I’ll be at Trail Days in Cascade Locks from August 17th to 19th, if you’re in the area and would like to come say hi message me on Instagram @kaymkieffer so we can meet up!
Campsite at mile 2029 to Olallie Lake (mile 2046)
Since leaving Bend we’ve entered the primary bubble of southbound (SoBo) hikers, most of whom have started in the first ten days of July. The SoBos are great because they can provide relevant beta about what is just up the trail and have different stories and experiences than the hikers we’ve been surrounded with, most of whom are northbound (NoBo) thru hikers who we’ve begun to know well. Conversely, they also can be an annoyance since you now have to find a place that’s hidden from both directions when popping off the trail to pee, lest you be surprised with a sudden visitor while in the middle of sensitive business.
One thing I’ve noticed is how easy SoBo hikers are to spot. Not just on trail where the fact that they’re going the wrong direction makes it fairly obvious that Canada isn’t their final goal, but also in towns and at water stops. They are simply less, haggard, for lack of a better word. At this point in a northbound hike, people have gone through a sort of hardening, their bodies are stronger, more tan, and their hair more unruly. 2,000 or more miles in people’s gear and clothes are sun bleached and salt stained beyond repair. There is also something in the nature of a thru hiker that seems to set in around 1,500 miles—a general disinterest in personal comfort. Where as a SoBo will still complain about the heat or the steepness of a climb, NoBos have so entirely acclimated to living outdoors and hiking all day that these minor discomforts barely register. SoBos will still talk about their level of cleanliness, or lack thereof, the dust on their hands and the sweat coating their arms are still deemed noteworthy. Where as we, we have been dirty and sweaty for months, months and months, filth has become our norm. The trail is an ever changing experience with so many moments of discomfort that it barely feels worth mentioning, it simply is.
As NoBos, we are no longer the clean and shiny hikers that wandered into the desert this spring. We have morphed both physically and emotionally beyond who we were at the start of the trip, and it is like taking a step back in time to see these sparkling SoBos, still so early in their hike that they look more like section hikers. Is that how I looked when I left the desert, still on my first pair of shoes and wondering if I’d ever make it out of California? Was that me, complaining about every climb over 1,000 feet as though it would make the experience any better? Probably yes, back when the newness of it all threatened to overwhelm us at any moment. The SoBos are a mirror to our former selves, a means for looking back at how far we’ve come.
Lovely.
A few months is both forever and a very short time frame. It’s nice to know that we’re a frame of reference for those hardy souls trekking north.
After a few days on the trail — I’ve never attempted anything beyond eight days — I’m always shocked by how strongly dayhikers smell. Their shampoo. Their deodorant. Their makeup. The detergent residue on their clothes. The whiff of hazelnut from the latte they purchased on the way to the trailhead.
The first time I noted this, I was sniffing at passing dayhikers like a dog sniffing out a scent trace. One of my companions pointed out that as strongly as they smell to us, we blow their noses away, too.
I try to keep my gripes to myself, but I’ll always internally whine about climbs. I am a hillslug, through & through.