Category: PCT

Chester (mile 1331) to Cold Spring (mile 1305)

Total PCT miles hiked: 933

**NOTE: I think there is a reroute south of us and is throwing off the milage between the two apps that I use (Halfmile and Guthooks) so until the our flip is over I’ll be using Guthooks miles exclusively in an effort to keep things straight, and likely it will still be off when we come back north. Ah whale, what can ya do.

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 forests around us stretches into infinity. Tall pines smattered with neon green moss marching away from the trail in near uniformity in every direction. The trail winding serenely through the understory, deeply shaded and quiet. It’s the sort of northern California forest that can lull your mind into absolute presence. I am thinking about nothing, listening only partially to the sounds of wildlife, we don’t talk as we make our way down the trail. Keith is but a vague presence behind me, inactivity comforting. It’s five in the evening and we’re still six miles out from camp. 26 today, our longest day on the trail – something that felt exciting in the planning, epic in the early morning, and now in the evening with tired feet and slowing pace it’s mostly about getting it done. But within it all I cannot imagine where I’d rather be.

We crest a small ridge. In the span of 100 feet the scenery transforms from dark pine forest to volcanic moonscape, dark brown conglomerate rock juts from the earth like spines along a dragons back. But less elegant and unform than dragon spines, so maybe more like leftover dragon poops. Below the dense forest stretches to the horizon, lit just so by the warming sun of late afternoon; hills marching into the distance, distinguished only by height. The view coupled with the knowledge that we’ll be walking across those hills for another 10 days trips something in my mind and all at once I realize that this is my life. It’s a moment of breathing in the cooling evening air in which I can recognize that I am actually hiking the PCT, living the two year dream of getting on the trail, that this experience right here and now is one of the many that will make up my time on this incredible blue planet. It feels like zooming in and out on a picture, experiencing this moment as a single instance and as part of a whole. It’s like seeing the powerful within the mundane.

I want more of these moments.

Prior to the trail I often felt that my life was rushing past me in great leaps. Caught in the cult of busy I feared downtime, seeking to cram every minute of the day with activity lest I become devalued by laziness. I sought to pull importance towards myself simply by overachieving, overscheduled, often overworked and overwhelmed. I thought a simple life would be one of mind numbing boredom. Who am I if I’m not being productive? What is the point if I’m not always making building doing something? I had so fully bought into the idea that a busy person is a fulfilled person that I could barely see that there was another way of existing. That maybe, just maybe, going into the woods to wander without interruption was it’s own form of living, and that the all stirring idea of productivity and business should not be my only aim.

Tee hee, butt mountain.

Campsite at Lassen NP boundary (mile 1365) to Campsite at Lassen NP southern boundary (mile 1346)

Total PCT miles hiked: 892

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.

We are 15 miles into our 19 mile day when we see Lite Brite and Hulkspiration at the campground outside Drakesbad ranch. We had originally not planned to stop here and get into camp early for once. But with so few familiar faces it’s impossible to hike on without saying hello.

“People I know!” Shouts Hulkspiration as he comes marching out of the tent to greet us. It’s amazing to see them here after the Sierra threw everybody’s plans to the wind. Hulkspiration and Lite Brite also skipped around the Sierra but unlike us, got back on the trail at Sierra City and are heading north. The first thing to cover is trail gossip; hikers, after all, are no better than the blue haired Betty’s at the hair salon. Who is on the trail or off the trail, which folks are where, any various interpersonal drama. It’s like catching up on a reality show in which you’re also a contestant. But instead of being able to watch a neatly edited 60 minutes you need to piece together this weeks events from various social media accounts and second hand narratives. We find out a lot of the people hiking near us are either waiting out the snow in trail towns or else heading north to drier climes. There’s also a new round of people who are off the trail more permanently. It’s always sad to hear that someone’s hike is over, whatever the reason. I think most people come into a thru hike thinking they’re going to make it to the end, but some folks just don’t like the day to day reality of thru hiking, while others head home to preserve relationships, and others still are injured and they’re forced off.

Suddenly Hulkspiration asks if the lack of people up here is bothering us. I know what he means, with our flip up north we’ve gotten off the typical path and the lack of other hikers is jarring, especially when compared to the desert where proximity to the start ensures a high volume of hikers and limited water sources cause folks to bunch up. Since coming north two weeks ago we’ve seen maybe 12 other thru hikers. However, I can’t say that the solitude is bothersome. In some ways it’s very relaxing. Hulkspiration on the other hand says he’s being driven bonkers by the lack of people to talk to. It’s something I’ve heard echoed by hikers with experience in the AT, which is a trail known for its social atmosphere and higher density of hikers. A number of these folks have mentioned that on the PCT people are on their own schedules and time lines and that the desire to hike in a group is weaker than on the AT. It’s an interesting point, and one I’ll have to take him at his word on, having never stepped foot on the AT. But I see where he’s coming from.

When I was panic reading old blogs before the trail a lot of people emphasize their experience with fellow hikers. There is a lot of merit placed on the idea of a trail family. But so far bonding seems to happen mostly in town and we rarely spent more than a day actually hiking with folks, not just camping next to them. But maybe it’s just the difference in priorities. When I got on the trail I was the most apprehensive about the social aspect. Which in comparison to the physical feat I was about to undertake seems a little laughable. I was really excited to be outside in nature all day, to push my body, and to just hike. Hiking is deeply restorative for me, it feels central to who I am in a way that no career or college degree ever has. Somehow the idea of covering all those miles seemed more enticing, more comprehensible, than the act of navigating a moving ameoba of strangers.

Communication Facility on Hat Creek Rim (mile 1391) to campsite at Lassen NP boundary (mile 1365)

Total PCT miles hiked: 873

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.

Tonight we’re camped just outside the boundary for Lassen Volcanic National Park. A campsite chosen exclusively because on one side of the boundary line we need to house all our food in a a bear cannister, and on this side of the line we do not. We’ll camp here tonight and tomorrow we’ll cover the 19 miles of the PCT that run through the park to the next boundary line where the bear cannister is no longer needed. It’s an arbitrary set of lines which, I’m pretty sure the bears don’t give a royal fudge about. But the line wasn’t built by bears, but by humans and we love arbitrary lines.

Take the PCT for example, on paper, according to national boundaries, the trail runs between the Mexican and Canadian borders. In a romantic sense it travels the height of the country. In practice, the trail starts just a few miles south of the small town of Campo, CA a top a small rise in what would be an open field were it not for the decrepit border wall. Campo itself would be unremarkable were it not for it’s proximity to the trailhead. The northern terminus of the trail is no more significant than a point in a dense forest, somewhat north and east of the city of Seattle. Geography class taught me that these places, these borders, have meaning. But when you stand at the southern terminus looking at that ugly wall, the one that everybody crops out of their photos, you realize how irrelevant it is. How arbitrary than on this side of a glorified fence we’re Americans and on that side they’re Mexicans. At this point, everything falls apart. Who decided that you need a bear cannister on this side of the line but not that side? Why did we decide there are three meals in a day and why is the first one the most important? Why is it called Wednesday? How come the trail has to zig zag around this ridge when we could go up and over for a tenth the effort?!

Which is all a very convoluted way of saying that when you’re walking down a trail watching it go hither thither and can see on your map that there is a very direct dirt road to your destination it can become apparent that your entire life you are surrounded by the choices of others that through time we have all come to accept as the norm, within our respective communities of course. And that for the most part you have chosen to accept these rules. That even now on this hike, something that until a few years ago was still seen as pretty out of the norm, your aim is largely about following the prescribed trail. And where there is a pervasive culture in which deviating from the trail is seen as cheating, somehow breaking the thru hiker code of conduct. It’s a feeling I’ve internalized despite generally disagreeing with. How did we all start out on this wild adventure with the goal to do it as uniformly as possible?

What am I even trying to say here.

It is apparent as a hiker that the PCT and the culture surrounding it are going through a growth spurt and are experiencing the normal growing pains associated with popularity. The trail is moving from counter culture to mainstream and some people just don’t like it. However, this happens to all niche activities as they are picked up by the masses. Ultra running had this happen a decade ago, and then too people laid the blame on a book, or in ultra running’s case, two books: Ultra Marathon Man by Dean Karnazis and Born to Run by Christopher McDougal. And just as we’re seeing now, people will make the argument that the changes in the sport are largely negative. A lot of this argument boils down to: it was better back in my day because I say so. I had a trail angel tell me that Wild was the worst thing to happen to the trail, just minutes after telling me how they’ve been able to put in better signs along the stretch near his home because of money from the PCTA. He couldn’t seem to see the connection between more hikers and an increase in money. Though the reality is with both thru hiking and ultra running the catalyst for change was slower to arrive and the result of larger factors at work. Running always sees an uptick in participation when the economy is tanking, and growth in the outdoors industry has been ticking up for years.

But people want an easy scapegoat in the same way they want easy lines and boundaries laid out for them. When there were only a hundred thru hikers or less each year it’s easier to define yourself by the achievement. You know where you belong and the community feels close. But as something becomes more poplar the box gets a little bigger and a little bigger until you can’t see the edges and you feel lost in the tide of mass participation. There are so many unfamiliar faces you can’t easily tell who is in the group or out. So you redraw the box, make it smaller to include just the ‘back in my day’ folks. But not everybody has the benefit of age, so in order to shrink the box maybe you put rules on the activity, arbitrary lines in the sand to divide thru hiking purists versus the plebian hoard. Even the way in which folks refer to these hardcore rule followers as purists is problematic; as though anything but strict adherence is tainted or dirty. But again, it’s something to hang your hat on, it’s someone to be. The Harry Potter sorting hat quiz has been taken millions of times, you think that’s a coincidence? Humans love having a quick shorthand to identify ourselves, recognize others, know we’re not alone.

Which of course we’re not, we’re all unified by our need to belong, to fit in. And maybe that’s the worst realization, that you’re just like everybody else, and you’re the only one who can see all those boxes you keep drawing in the sand.

Burney Falls State Park (mile 1419) to Burney CA the town (mile 1411)

Total PCT miles hiked: 829

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.

We spent this morning walking from Burney Falls State Park to highway 299 where we hitched into the town Burney; our driver is an older woman who moved up here four years ago, southern California born and bred who just couldn’t stand the city life any more. We never quite get around to introducing names. I share the back seat with Odie, an elderly terrier mutt who is quite content to stand very close to my face and allow me to pet him for the duration of the six minute drive.

The first thing that is apparent about Burney is that it’s a highway town, long and skinny, three restaurants a gas station, Dollar General and a grocery store. No sidewalks in the entire town safe for in front of the McDonald’s, whatever that says about America. It’s clear folks are used to driving in this town, they flash me a look that is at once confusion mingled with just a little concern as I make my way down the combination road shoulder-bike lane combo. Though hundreds of cars made there way through here earlier today during the busy memorial weekend, the population in Burney is just about 3,000. This is apparent during our lunch at Anna’s County Kitchen which, by the way, is everything you’d want and expect it to be. People coming in for Sunday brunch greet each other as neighbors if not downright friends, asking about health and grandchildren. It’s not something one sees commonly in LA, this sort of social circle by proximity.

I would have never come to Burney for any reason were it not for the PCT. For no fault of its own and no reason on my part, other than I hadn’t gotten around to visiting anything near it. This type of town is surprisingly numerous in northern California, though the vastness of the state means that Burney and towns like it are isolated for 30 to 60 minutes in any direction. It’s these rural American communities that people thinking about California forget. But it’s worth remembering that California only became a solid blue state in 1988; the year I was born. There are lots of towns where hunting, fishing, and riding an ATV are the preferred modes of outdoor recreation. Mountain towns without expensive tourists restaurants and health food stores. The kinds of towns that are all over this country.

But Burney also loves it’s hikers. Our driver, our waitress, the grocery store clerk, along with several people on the street asked if we were PCT hikers, all of them wishing us good luck on our hike. My last interaction with a well wisher is while I’m standing in the McDonald’s waiting for my McFlurry – M&Ms and Reese’s cups, if you want to know. Larry asks me if I’m a hiker, tells me he always wanted to hike the trail but he’s too busy working now. We talk about some of the areas I’ve hiked near here, tell him about how we’re flipping around the Sierra and then heading south and that’s why we’re here so early. I tell him he should consider section hiking if he’s busy and he tells me he gets out into “this country” a lot. Smiling, he says that when he’s free he heads out in any direction “find a lake to post up at and start fishing.” I notice his camo baseball hat and asks if he’s a hunter. He is, and a hiker too. “I love being outside any chance I get. We moved here in ’64 and all us kids rode our bikes around everywhere. We went all around these hills. And all this land,” he spreads his arms wide and ushers towards the north “is US Forest Service that’s leased to foresting companies, so it’s all public land. We can go anywhere we want up there.” By “we” he means you and me, he means the American public. Because of where Larry lives he’s very aware that the forests and lakes he loves are the property of the American public. You, citizen, this is your forest, your mountain, your desert. The PCT runs through a lot of these lands, they’re an amazing natural resource and something that’s central to the heart of America. We talk about the importance of public lands staying public and out of the hands of companies. How important it is for Larry to imagine future generations on this land, to grow up riding bikes around in the woods below the shoulders of Burney Mountain. Soon his food is ready and so is mine. We shake hands and he wishes me luck as we head in opposite directions at the parking lot.

Campsite at mile 1434 to Burney Falls State Park (mile 1419)

Total PCT miles hiked: 821

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 is the second part of a monthly series where I detail what I’ve learned or been thinking about during the last month on the trail. I can’t believe it’s been two months already. Sometimes Campo felt like a lifetime ago, sometimes it feels like last week. The last month has been wonderful, we’re finally out of the desert, we had a little taste of the Sierra and now we’re on our SoBo Flip north. Which I know was a choice I’ve hemmed and hawed over, but now that we’re up here walking south and it’s so beautiful and quiet I’m really happy we made the choice that was right for us.

One thing that I’ve found frustrating is that I feel we haven’t really hit our stride yet. Our wake up time and on the trail times still vary wildly, and I worry that our lower milage days while I was sick have erased any lead time we’d built up. It feels strange to already be looking to the end of the trail, even if only as a means for assessing our current pace, but it’s also an important thing to consider. Winter in the north Cascades can come really quickly and I don’t want to have the season suddenly shut us out. It’s also sad to think that this whole experience will come to an end some day, as I suppose all things do.

1. People who say “Cheryl Strayed didn’t hike the whole PCT” can be summarily ignored.

Those who say this couldn’t be bothered to finish a whole book, or even a movie, if they had they would know that Cheryl’s goal was to hike 100 days on the PCT, which she super did; good for her. Ideally those people would have also realized that hiking the PCT is really really not the point of the narrative in “Wild.” This phrase is usually used to express frustration at those who are hiking on the PCT because they were inspired by the book or film. It’s dismissive of someone’s effort and nobody has the right to judge why anybody else is out here. I’m certain there are worse reasons to hike the PCT than being inspired by a good book.

2. Distance is an illusion and a lie.

Sometimes five morning miles can feel like a 30 minute stroll while the last tenth of a mile during a long day can stretch into an hour. Nothing is as it seems.

3. Our personal standard for cleanliness has drastically decreased.

At the start of the trail I would wash all of my clothes in every town unless I literally hadn’t worn the item at all. Today after wearing the same clothes for a week through astonishingly high humidity and a muddy rain storm I rinsed only my daily wear items in a shower without any soap, which I was also washing myself in. Then I told Keith that we could skip laundry tomorrow if it was a pain and go another five days in the same clothes because, after all, we’d rinsed these ones out and gotten rained on.

4. The people who give you rides are really interesting; it’s worth the effort to ask them about their lives.

It’s a privilege to get to spend some time with a person you’d never would have had the chance to meet otherwise. Plus, it’s nice to talk to folks who aren’t in the isolated bubble that is the PCT.

5. Unfortunately, the folks who think there is one right way to hike the PCT and judge others for not conforming to the standards to which they hold themselves are totally out here too.

Luckily if you don’t conform to their strict rules they’ll basically start ignoring you and you won’t have to interact with them.

6. It’s worth it to always do your own research and check the data yourself.

People get things wrong or are told inaccurate information about the trail or water or the weather and they spread the bad beta around in an effort to be helpful. It’s not malicious, but it is rampant when hikers group up. We’ve all got the same apps and the same internet with weather reports, double check for yourself.

7. Stretching is your friend, remember to stretch!

Lots of folks will say that they never stretched on the PCT, and maybe that’s true for them, but it’s terrible advise. For most people, myself included, a thru hike represents a massive uptick in daily activity – your body needs all the help it can get in adapting to the new workload. Plus, stretching or self massage can make you feel better almost instantly. Why limp along with a tight hip for hours when you could feel better in five minutes.

8. Socially and culturally the PCT can feel very isolating.

In some ways it’s a welcome vacation from the daily barrage of news and and advertising and social media and the constant access to content. And I very much enjoy spending undiluted time in nature. It’s very pleasant to just check out from being an informed person. But then one day you’ll walk into a grocery store and you’ll overhear the clerk talking to the customer in front of you about the congressional vote to stop the repeal on Net Neutrality and you’ll realize that the world is moving on while you’re out here walking through the woods. And you’ll pause because you can’t recall what films are in theatres or which Whitehouse employee was fired this week and you’re not really sure when you last checked the news.

9. I miss route planning and navigating.

It’s very hard to get lost on the PCT, not impossible mind you, I’ve seen people do it, but it’s a very well marked trail. Both officially through blazes and unofficially through cairns and the footprints of other hikers. Because of this you rarely need to make any choices besides where you are going to stop to get water, eat snacks, and camp, other than that you just follow the trail as it goes north. In contrast, most of my hiking experience before the trail had me mapping out my own routes for weekend adventures. Even when using existing trails it’s fun to decide where you’re going to go and build a route to take you there. If I do another thru hike I’d like to try something where the route is only partially dictated and some navigating is required.

10. Finding a trail family is not as easy as it’s made out to be.

Unless you find people who hike the exact pace and style as you, and whom you like and like hiking with, you’re going to have to compromise in order to hike or even end up in the same camp sites as people. It’s not impossible, and making friends while traveling is always easier when you’re solo instead of in a group, but it does require you to give something of your hike in order to be around others.

11 – Bonus Lesson! People who have hiked the AT really love complaining about it.

It’s so strange, folks who did the AT before the PCT love to complain about how miserable hiking the AT was. They’ll say there are only four views in all of Virginia. How the climbs are heinous unrelenting. The tread is awful! Eaten alive by black flies! Humid, raining, snowed on in Maine! And then. And then! If you express that you’d never really like to hike the AT, they’ll turn right around and tell you that you have to! As though they didn’t just give you 16 reasons why the trail sucks. AT hikers, y’all got issues.

Campsite at mile 1450 to campsite at mile 1434

Total PCT miles hiked: 806

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.

To my right the world drops into nothing. Only empty white space and angry wind. Only tossing rain and a gaping maw of weather that feels ready to swallow me whole. Grey plate morning skies have broken open and crashed down upon us, the world is a 20 meter white sphere, trees like dark bodies crowding the perimeter. And rain. A thousand kinds of rain from ethereal mist to slapping torrents.

This morning Keith had said “today is one of those days where if we had extra food and time we’d just huddle in the tent all day.” Gods I wish we could, I so wish we could just snuggle down in the tent against this leaden grey day. But we don’t have the gift of food or time. The only way out is through and so we head out into the waiting storm.

Soon it’s raining. Soon the trail is nothing but rain and wet and at a certain point there is nothing we can do but keep walking. Keep moving or else we’ll start to shiver. Breaks are dangerous when it’s too cold to sit still. Filtering water, agony; cold hands like claws squeezing ice water through a filter. Water too cold to drink. The rain is just barely rain, a few degrees colder and it would be snow, which might be better or at least less capable of permeating everything; sinking down down into our packs and clothes. The best we can hope for now is damp.

The only way out is through.

And so we sing. We make up silly lyrics for the Alanis Morissette song “Ironic,” for no other reason than it mentions rain. And, I suppose, if you’re going to trudge through the freezing rain you might as well be doing it with the person you love while making up absurd songs about famous magicians. Again, the trail teaches me that this is not real tragedy, this is something I have chosen, something I can make the best out of. I’m partaking in a vacation for bored affluent folks, this trip only has the value I ascribe to it. I am not a martyr unto myself. Despite the misery, despite the hours spent walking in the cold, despite everything – it is a privilege to choose one’s method of suffering.

It’s like David Blaine at your son’s birth-day

He’s a creepy guy, but he already paid

He did his act and it seems he just wants to stay

Who would’ve thought – it figures!

McCloud River (mile 1471) to campsite at mile 1450

Total PCT miles hiked: 790

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.

You know that old phrase: if a tree falls in the forest and nobody is there to hear it, does it make a sound? It’s a silly idea, because of course the falling of a tree makes a sound; human observation is not required for something to have happened, to have gravitas, to exists. The world is so much more grand than what we can see and hear. So much more wild and untamed than we could ever imagine.

Today we climb a ridge so massive and wild that our human form and motions are dwarfed by the scale. All day we climb through a forest so dense that one could easily be forgiven for losing their sense of direction. A forest that stretches to the horizon and beyond, far beyond what our limited human eyes can see. Past trees that reach so far into the sky that I nearly lose my balance trying to see the tops of them. Trees that seem to say “I have stood in this exact same spot, reaching my branches into the never-ending sky since before your great great great grandmother was born.” The trees tell us that we know nothing of time, nothing of what it is to endure. To the north, towering above it all is Mount Shasta, breaking the hazy skyline and dominating the entire scene. A being so old as to appear immortal when taken in contrast of a human life, a decaying tree, a curious deer. Shasta exists, as all the old sentinels do, on a timeline that is incomprehensible to anything alive today. The mountains, the land, they are beyond time. And what are we in comparison to a being such as that mountain?

Small.

Small in a way that hurts to accept. Perhaps insignificant would be a better word. But oh my stars do we like to believe otherwise. All around us are the marks humans have left in this forest, from the very trail we’re walking on, to the overhead power lines marching into the distance. But already the forest is growing back below the metal forms. Life moves on, growing back over our footprints.

This endless forest, this enduring mountain, they force a sort of inward refection. A sort of search for meaning within what Mary Oliver so eloquently called “your one wild and precious life.” A life that will be my absolute everything, and yet will be less than nothing when compared to the giant mountain looming over my shoulder. Mary who asks us “are you breathing just a little and calling it a life?” But pray tell, Mary, how can I tell if I’m breathing just a little? How do I know if I’m living?

To go out, then. To lie in the grass as though we are the grass, to jump into the ocean an marvel at how it parts to let us in, to leap into the air, that is how Mary tells us we are to live a life. To venture forth, to observe, to cherish all that is around us. To look without, not within. And isn’t that what I’m doing here? With my limited time, for I know it won’t be forever.

Well, there is time left —

fields everywhere invite you into them.

Campsite at mile 1487 to McCloud River (mile 1471)

Total PCT miles hiked: 769

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 would like me to inform you that he came up with the pun for today’s blog post. If you have the chance please tell him how funny he is, I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.

And now to our regularly scheduled programming.

What is the most honest thing I can say about today?

Probably that it wasn’t very remarkable. At the same time it was beautiful and challenging and physically fun. But in another way today was just another day in the course of a thru hike. There are a fair number of these days, and they’re rarely talked about – they don’t make for epic social media posts. But a lot of hiking is really unsexy. It’s getting up early and pooping in the woods, it’s eating the same breakfasts and lunches and snacks you’ll eat all week, and then it’s walking through the mountains for like, six to ten hours. I wonder if people would be disappointed to know how much of hiking is sameness interspersed with moments of intense emotion. That hikers aren’t walking around in a blissed out nature-gasm all the time, but sometimes uncomfortably meandering up a steep climb trying to decide if that hot spot on your toe is a blister or if you can just ignore it.

Here is literally what I did today, it’s a decent representation of an average day. Also interspersed are some nice pictures that I got to take.

I woke up naturally just before 6am. I say naturally, but I think I woke up because I really had to pee. So I got up and took care of that, noticing on the way that the tent was nice and dry – a pleasant surprise after yesterday’s rain. I then returned to the tent where I saw Keith was only sort of awake, and so I went to pull down the food from the tree. Since we’re in an area with very few hikers on the trail, and this area is active bear territory, we’re electing to hang our food every night. Doing a bear hang right is actually a real pain in the butt – both getting it up and taking it down. In the time it takes me to get our food down from the tree, I’ve sustained five or more mosquito bites. Yeah, we’re definitely eating breakfast in the tent today.

Breakfast is a gluten free bagel with cream cheese, a cup of instant coffee, and one of the remaining gluten free stroopwaffle that my sister sent me. Keith eats granola and milk. After breakfast we waste some time hanging out just the two of us, Keith is feeling lazy this morning and while I want to be on the trail quickly, I’m not actually motivated enough to get us moving. Especially since I know that as soon as I’m out of the tent the mosquitos will come for me. Time together with your partner while thru hiking is really different than I expected it to be. In one way I’m literally spending all day and all night for basically this entire trip with Keith. On the other, physical intimacy is pretty scarce. Most of the time we’re sticky, smelly, wearing a backpack, and won’t be able to shower for at least a few more days. It doesn’t lend to closeness. Try hugging somebody wearing a full backpack loaded with gear, I’ll wait here while you do that. See how awkward that was? Now multiply that by 150 days for the average thru hike.

We’re finally on the trail at 8:45. It’s cool and overcast and we’re hiking through a dense green forest. The trees are massive, a positive explosion of green shooting into the sky. Below our feet the trail is a solid red-brown clay with soft pine needles on top. We climb all morning, talking of nothing in particular, until we’re both hungry and stop for our first snack break of the day. Snack is a hodge podge of Cheetos, gummy worms, a cookie that’s like an Oreo but gluten free and only 80% as good, some M&Ms, and I throw some powdered Gatorade into the water we just filtered. On the climb after snack I try to decide if I want to hike 16.5 miles with 4,500 feet of climbing and call it a short day, or go 20 and add an additional 1,400 foot climb. I don’t love either option, but the terrain here is so steep that there aren’t any camping options in between.

At lunch less than two hours later we decide on the short day. I woke up tired this morning, my sleep schedule thrown off by extra time spent in town, where an 8pm bedtime isn’t as acceptable. For lunch I eat summer sausage sliced onto a gluten free bagel with garlic and herb cream cheese that I pair with Cheetos. It’s ok, but the cream cheese doesn’t bring as much to the table as I’d hoped and Cheetos are good but overwhelming. Next time I’ll go back to regular cheese and potato chips. Live and learn!

After lunch we drop all the elevation we spent the morning climbing up, descending closer and closer to the McCloud River roaring below us. As the trail winds us down towards the river, we’re entombed in a tunnel of trees, the sun and clouds playing games overhead, neither one winning. Keith entertains me with his usual litany of puns and half baked jokes. With no preamble he says “what if instead of a coat of arms, you had a goat of arms? Maybe that’s just a goat with a small saddle with like, some maniquin arms attached?” Laughing and hiking downhill in the warm afternoon we ramble along with the joke until it’s well and truly dead.

We’re in camp at 4pm, which is still early enough to hike on but we decide to set up camp anyway and use the early evening to reset our sleep schedule. Vowing for what is probably the 40th time this trip that we’ll get up early tomorrow. I sometimes think we might actually be fast if we hiked full days. Camp is at a real campground, which just means there is a pit toilet. It’s very exciting. Two rivers confluence below us, providing the perfect white noise generator which should conceal the sound of approaching bears coming to eat us. And also dictating that all activity is done either in, or within the immediate vacinty of the tent, because there are hella mosquitos here too. I get about seven more bites.

Dinner is mashed potatoes and chili, to make up for the fact that we forgot to buy tomato paste for the chilli and it’s a bit crap without it. But this is thru hiking and there are no other options for dinner and we’re hungry enough that most any food qualifies as pretty good. I fall asleep reading while Keith giggles to himself while watching an episode of Flight of the Concords on his phone.