Category: PCT

Kelso Valley Road (mile 616) to campsite at mile 634

“You know what would make this really good? Add some dark chocolate, like the not even sweet stuff. Maybe a hint of cinnamon.” Keith nods appreciatively.

We’re eating rehydrated Bear Creek chili that we’ve tried to doctor up by throwing in some spare beef jerky, a cheese stick, and a stray packet of crushed red pepper flakes that somehow found its way into Keith’s food bag after a pizza order who knows how many town stops ago.

With an excitement that breaks like waves across his face Keith asks “do you think we could do a backcountry chili cook-off and get people to participate?”

I consider. Keith is full of improbable, if not comical, ideas which he’s found of punting out in quiet moments.

“That’s probably not in-pasta-bowl.” I say with all seriousness. A smile, eyes breaking away from the skyline.

Keith and I have started a game of sorts in which the aim is to replace an arbitrary word with one that sounds similar, just to see if people notice and say anything. Turns out the answer is mostly ‘no’ if you say the replacement word casually enough and without laughing. For a while it was ‘grape’ instead of ‘great’ and now it’s ‘in-pasta-bowl’ in place of impossible. I have no idea why other than I’ve found myself finding miscellaneous means to entertain myself during hours spent walking.

A group of us are perched atop Skinner Ridge, eleven people in total – one of the largest packs we’ve seen on trail. Each tent site gingerly spaced along a ridge so Keith and I sit secluded and watch the light splay across the mountains that roll away from us like paper waves. From here we look out upon weeks of effort, distilled in a way that feels grandiose instead of meek.

It’s one of those special moments, handed to you by the trail at irregular intervals. It feels as though the desert is not keen on letting us go before she’s revealed her full self to us.

Zero in Tehachapi – no hiking

This post suggestion came from an awesome reader, Dharma. Thanks for reading and commenting! A lot of our zero days are very boring to write about since we mostly sit around all day, run errands, nap, and snack. So I’m always down to write about what y’all are interested in as it makes great zero day material.

Like I said, Dharma was curious as to what I’ve been eating on the trail so I’m going to walk you through a normal day of food and point out what’s been working for me and where I vary from the conventional wisdom. It’s also worth noting that I eat a gluten free diet which influences what I can eat and how easy it is to do my grocery shopping. This also means that I spend way more on food than Keith, since there is often only one type of bread or cookies that I can eat.

Breakfast –

I hate oatmeal, I really do, I also cannot eat normal pop tarts so that cuts out two of the more common hiker breakfasts. This means I’ve had to get a little creative when it comes to breakfast. When I started the trail I was eating cheesey grits and dried jalapenos with a cup of coffee. However, having to cook breakfast every day before you hit the trail really slows down your morning. Then I tried Nutella on a GF hotdog bun, which was ok except it’s really sweet and the buns turn into crumbles after two days and you’re left eating bread crumbs and Nutella four days. Now I’m mostly eating cereal/granola and dried milk with a cup of instant coffee. Which I’m sure my parents find hilarious since that was the last thing I would ever eat for breakfast as a kid.

Lunch –

Some hikers don’t believe in lunch. Not in the way people don’t believe in unicorns but rather in the way that they don’t believe it’s worth it, preferring to snack all day between camps. However, I don’t like bars that much and I really don’t want to die choking on a Snickers as I attempt to walk and eat at the same time. Plus, I’ve found there’s a huge morale boost in having a real meal to look forward to in the middle of the day. Since the beginning of the trail I’ve been eating nearly the same thing for lunch and I haven’t gotten sick of it. A GF bagel with salami, cheese, and mayo, with a side of chips and a candy bar if I’m still hungry. Hard meats like summer sausage, salami, and pepperoni will keep for at least a week without refrigeration and the same goes for hard cheese like cheddar. And you can almost always snag a handful of mayo packets from the deli counter. This sandwich makes me very happy. Very happy indeed.

Dinner –

(I don’t have any pictures of dinner because hunger)

Dinner represents the biggest variety in our meals, and the only meal we plan out each day ahead of time. You don’t want to find out you didn’t pack enough dinners.

When we resupply from a grocery store things look a little different than when we pick up a box we’ve mailed ourselves. On the first day out of town we’ll pack out something a little heavier, and that won’t keep for multiple days. Often this is sausage and potatoes, or beanie weenies (a favorite of Keith’s). The rest of the meals are some combination of dried starch and a protein. Mac and cheese and tuna, ramen and salmon, instant mashed potatoes and summer sausage, or an instant soup mix. You’re probably catching on to a bit of a theme here around tuna. It’s one of the very few protein sources you can get on the trail which isn’t a powder.

Now when we get a resupply box, dinners are a lot more exciting. Before the trail we ordered bulk dried veggies and meats and packaged them into individual meals such as beef ramen with buckwheat and yam noodles, spaghetti Bolognese, Thai peanut noodles with chicken, and been, beef and cheese burritos. All told we made 10 recipes six times each for a total of 60 dinners between 11 resupply boxes. Again, this is where we diverged from conventional wisdom which says to make your boxes on the trail and send them ahead as needed. But we knew we’d be able to make better meals ourselves and so took the risk.

Putting together a Resupply –

I’m not a fan of resuppling, it’s always laced with unnecessary stress and I worry that I’ll miss something important and only discover what I’m missing once I’m on the trail and it’s too late to fix it. For this reason I always make a shopping list! I really encourage everyone to do this, if nothing else it speeds up the shopping process greatly – otherwise you’ll spend an hour wandering blankly around and not buy anything.

After shopping I typically explode my purchases out, bag what needs to be baged and throw out any extra packaging. I’m not a person who portions out what I plan on eating each day, preferring to eat what looks good in moment and generally remember that I can’t eat everything at once or else I won’t have enough for the section. So far this method is working out.

Aaaand that’s about it. Let me know if you folks have questions.

Campsite at mile 559 to Highway 58 (mile 566 then a hitch into Tehachapi)

Errands!! *Shakes fist angrily at sky*

The amazing thing about errands is that they exist in an elastic place outside the normal time-space boundaries. Insofar that a trip to the post office, grocery shopping, laundry, and checking into a hotel can consume the majority of a hikers day. Compare this to the three hours it would take a normal person.

Luckily for us we have Victor, Keith’s friend from high school who has a car (a car!) and is kindly willing to help us run our errands and take us to lunch with his friend Rosa. Yay Victor! Yay Rosa, it was lovely to meet you!

With Victor’s help we’re able to hop back into the normal time stream of errands running. Meaning that by 4pm Keith and I are in our hotel room, our packs exploded across the floor along with our groceries as our laundry spins along happily in the washer downstairs. More than expediency this accelerated errands trip has bought us a blissful day of doing nothing tomorrow. Something we haven’t had since Big Bear and which I’m looking forward to immensely.

Campsite at home late mile 537 to Campsite at mile 559

Today was almost entirely uneventful. Nothing terribly much happened while we walked 22 miles up and over a set of small desert foothills. But, the day wasn’t bad, or even boring either. I don’t want to give you the impression that it was a negative experience, it just was. In the same way that you probably don’t recall much of your day two Thursdays ago. Some days in your life just happen and they lack any real import, some percentage of your life is made up of unremarkable Thursdays. What I need here is the written equivalent of a shrug.

So while this day may not be an often told story, it was wonderful in it’s own, more simple way. Today we continued the work that we began yesterday – climbing up out of the Mojave basin and into the low foothills. Hills where they farm wind, hills that rise from a valley where they capture the sun’s energy. This land is a study in heat and thrashing wind. But covering these broad brown rolling hills are thousands, millions of tiny wild flowers. We traverse through an innumerable volume of these flowers. Bright yellows and oranges on slender green stems. Purple as puffballs in clusters or else a fountain of bells atop a riot of green leaves. This day encapsulates something I very much love about thru hiking. Which is that while the daily activity is largely the same, the experience can vary wildly.

Hiker Town (mile 518) to campsite at mile 537

Today we’re walking across the Los Angeles aqueduct. 15 miles of walking straight on top of, or directly next to an underground river that pipes water from the eastern side of central and northern California right into the heart of LA. It’s very flat, it’s very bright and most of the time it’s very hot. However, our sojourn over a rain soaked peak yesterday has bought us a relatively cool crossing in the tail end of that same storm. Still, the sun out here is oppressive. It feels like it’s roasting you even though the air temperature never climbs above 70 all day. The entire walk is done across a flat plane that drops gently away towards the horizon before rising up again as hills that conceal gentle mountains to the south and granite behimoths to the north. As such, there is no shade and one feels as though they’re walking both on top of the world and simultaneously at the bottom of a bowl. That lack of shade is even more apparent given our late start. Seriously, everybody else on the trail thinks we’re crazy for starting most days at 8-9am, but we cannot manage to get up earlier consistently. But this morning especially I slowed us down.

After our freezing day yesterday I woke up with wildly swollen hands and feet. My rewards for so many hours spent soaking wet and without any food or drink. Sort of an interesting endurance event, but not one that leaves you feeling perky the next day. By the time I’m done mincing and moaning, putting my legs up the wall to try and reduce the swelling in my feet, and doing my normal morning routine it’s well after 9am and finally enough is enough and it’s time to hike.

Dottling along the dusty road that will comport the majority of our trail today I think back on something a fellow hiker said last night while folks sat around complaining about the various body parts that hurt – a favorite hiker activity. They said, “you’ve got to get comfortable with being uncomfortable.” It’s a phrase I’ve always hated. It’s contradicting waffle that doesn’t mean anything. Getting comfortable being uncomfortable is just returning to your prior stage of comfort, you’ve missed the point. The phrase should be: discomfort is part of every growth experience, it’s not something that can be avoided. But that’s not quippy enough for a coffee mug so we’re stuck with people babbling out three old cliche.

Anyway, I’m thinking about this as I stare at the ground in front of me – my head lolling in response to the monotony of the day – because I am very uncomfortable. Mostly my feet, which waver between almost painful pins and needles and something kinda like numbness. It’s not great. And I’m just sort of trying to decide if this experience is what people mean by getting comfortable with discomfort. It’s not an experience that I’m overly familiar with, which leaves me questioning many of the more challenging moments of this trip. Am I growing? World I even know it if I was? After all, I grew up in a world in which the first 22 years of my life we’re relatively scripted. Go from school to school getting good enough grades to get into a nice respectable college, from college the goal is basically the same except now those good grades get you a nice job which you can use to buy the rest of the American dream. It’s not that hard, or at least it wasn’t for me. What’s hard is knowing what you really want in life. What’s harder is not knowing what you really want in life and the possibility that it’s all passing you by.

Vladimir Nabokov described life as “a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness.” Mary Oliver asks us “are you breathing just a little and calling it a life?”

I have no idea if I’m willing to get uncomfortable enough to turn my brief crack of light into a life.

Campsite at mile 493 to Hiker Town (mile 518)

Before the trail, when I would while away hours at my desk job dreaming about traveling long miles by foot, I always pictured the changing landscape like a gradient. A gentle slide between Point A and Point B, the land slipping from the desert into the Sierra into NorCal and on and on until Canada. But like so many things on the trail I’ve been proven delightfully, surprisingly wrong. Instead of my imagined slide from one ecosystem to the next the land through which we’re traveling transforms by leaps and bounds, backwards steps and new discoveries.

Today felt nothing like the desert and more like Washington. The cold grey morning gave way to a cool day, all old trees and moss, clouds racing fast fast through the dense bush, piling in until visibility is less than 100 meters. Then it starts to rain. At first just a light sprinkle, not enough to warrant pulling out our rain gear. But up and over a small pass and suddenly we’re scrambling to pull on jackets and pack covers, tucking phones and electronics into inside pockets. And then we do the only thing we can do; walk. Climbing higher into the wind and rain. Like a fever that has to get worse before it can get better we climb into the storm. The rain turns to sleet accumulating on the dry ground. Sleet bounces off the dry brittle desert plants, making a sound like television white noise. With the visibility reduced to a bubble only 10 meters wide and the sound of television static filling the air one could be forgiven for thinking we’re walking through a badly tuned television station.

With no phone for distraction I’m forced to be present in the cold. Without the aid of the sun I’m surprised by each meandering turn of the trail. Without the warmth of the desert we forgo food and ice cold drink. It’s too cold and wet to sit, it’s too cold and wet to want to stop.

13 miles of rain soaked hiking on a trail that never seems to get anywhere for ducks sake! The PCT is a cat and I am a mouse, beholden to the mood of the trail, forced to play the switchback game until it feels ready to release me. I try and go somewhere else in my mind. I imagine a hot tub in a warm winter cabin, replay the scene in aching detail. A plush robe. An immense swallowing couch. Warm Belgian waffles with strawberries and whipped cream. I’m almost but not quite warmed.

And then quick as you please the desert is back. From one side of the road to another the rain is gone. Up and over a small hill and we’re in the sun, warm wind drying my shorts. The desert warms my body, making the whole cold afternoon feel like it never happened. All around us are hills that ripple with golden grass. Above the clouds do amazing things with the light, the kinds of things you see in biblical paintings. Rays of light and clouds so immense you cloud almost imagine something is up there, orchestrating the splendor. Down from the hills, far below the fabulous clouds we walk into a little town that feels like anywhere America, and I guess it is.

Casa de Luna (mile 478) to campsite at mile 493

Have you ever been so sore and tired that it’s actually hard to sleep? I have, more often than seems reasonable, like I ought to know better by now. But I don’t, and I’m wrecked and so I toss all night. My left knee zings pain down my whole body when I try and straighten it fully, meaning my midnight pee run is done in a stooped hobble. I’m cold and then hot, the wind blows and my over worked body cannot get comfortable. Does a wrung dish rag ever look comfortable?

I wake hungry to a 7am sun, already late by hiker standards but it feels indecently early to me. Who told the sun it could wake me up after such a sub standard night of sleep. Around me other hikers mumble about free coffee and so I extract myself from the tent and hobble forward on tender feet to investigate. It’s not so bad as I’d feared, my body that is. The coffee is terrible – though that doesn’t keep me from drinking four cups of the weak brown liquid. I’m grateful for the warmth, the caffeine, and the fact that I didn’t have to make it. In the daylight Casa de Luna is even more bizarre, like a grandmothers attic exploded over a front lawn, with disheveled hikers milling about in their over priced gear, eating pancakes and drinking coffee from titanium mugs.

Hours later we’re finally on the trail and as I watch folks pull away from us up the first climb I wonder why I’m doing this. Why I do any of this. In high school it was early morning drives into the mountains and spring breaks spent sleeping in a friend’s car all in the name of snowboarding. In college it was 5am pool sessions where I self-consciously taught myself to swim away from onlookers, with the plan to turn a second knee surgery into a half Ironman finish. Then as a young professional it was 4am alarms on the weekends, marathon and longer days of hiking and running outside before returning Monday morning to slumpel over my desk. It’s easy to be flippant. A dismissive declaration that I’m just wired this way. But I think it’s more than that.

The uniformity of the terrain lends itself to introspection. We hike past a town called Green Valley and that more or less tells you everything you need to know about the scenery. Well, less because from the top of an innumerable ridge I can see down into the Mojave desert. All baked flatness and waving wind mills. The PCT is taking us west, towards the narrowest crossing of this real desert. Thank the heavens for that. I’m more of a dessert person than a desert person. But as with all travel on foot, our approach is glacial and indirect, allowing me to turn my mind from the future and point it inwards. Or rather, away from the imposing natural world and towards the wild and often wonderful human animal.

Because while it’s appealing to disect ones inner workings and motives, the truth is I’m far from the only person out here hiking the PCT. Or thru hiking this year. Farther still from being the only person who has undertaken a journey that has their friends and family impressed and, honestly, probably just a tad worried about my sanity. Why am I doing this? Or why are we doing this? What is it about humans that sets us in motion towards the unknown and often painful process of adventure and learning. We’re questing curious dissatisfied little creatures, humans. We like to believe in impossible seeming things and hair brained ideas and then head out and put them to the test. It’s one of my favorite things about us.

Think about the first person who decided to ride a horse, that’s a rediculous choice. And then once everybody saw that one person do it, we wanted to try it too. Or walk on the moon. Or jump out of a plane with a parachute. Whose bright idea was it to take animals who wanted to eat us and turn them into our best friends? Eat a banana? Run a four minute mile? Humans are such funny, creative creatures who want to see what happens when we push an idea a little further and a little further. Until what? I suppose that’s a lot of gravitas to put on a thru hike, when framed against the human desire to explore. I’m just waking to Canada, after all hundreds of people do it every year. But viewed in a larger context, it makes me wonder to what extent we believe something to be possible. And what could happen if we, if I, could think something possible without needing to see it done first. What could I accomplish then?